#this unlocked a deep part of my brain that i thought no longer existed

[ladyravenblack]

Part 2:

Months had passed since I started my job as Alastor’s assistant and more and more I began to wonder if he was our un-caught killer. Drops of blood on his trousers that I’m sent to clean, late nights out and constantly arriving at my house in the day before clothes in the morning, knowing more than the police every released but *he’s a radio host and just knows these things*.

As time passes, I watch his moves. How his lunch is always home made and he’ll never share, if anything he’s extremely irate if you even ask. *this is my food darling* he had spat through clenched teeth the one day I forgot my lunch. The shiver of fear penetrated my body the whole rest of the day. His inhuman smile and how it would grow whenever he reported on the killer. *the audience can hear a smile and they need comfort dear* he reassured me, his smile still plastered to his face. A few times he came into work he would have cuts on his hands but he would wave it off, *you know I hunt darling, comes with the game*.

He wasn’t a very romantic man, many women came for him and drowned him in wants, but he always refused their advances. Waving them off with a cheery smile and soft apologies.

‘Why turn every beautiful, young woman down?’ I asked one day over afternoon tea. He seemed lost in thought for awhile and I was just about to take it back when he spoke.

‘None of them suit me’ he had said calmly, the big smile still marking his face. Despite this reply of clearly no interest in anyone, and my lack of interest in him, my heart had tightened in response.

‘You have never met another who you want to woo and marry?’ He shook his head.

‘No darling, I am far too busy’ he sounded sinister almost but I ignored the tone, thinking I had simply been mistaken.

I feared him for no reason other than the chill that went down my spine every time he spoke or passed by but I also felt such comfort. Maybe he could cause me harm but he would also keep me safe. He had proven that.

‘Dinner Alastor really?’ I had teased over our little outing into town. He brushed his glasses up his nose and nodded.

‘I have kept you so busy and you have not once complained! A gift of gratitude is in order’ he had spoken with confidence and walked me to this little bistro. Soft jazz filtered through the radio on the counter as we ordered and sat down. It was nothing fancy but it was a welcomed difference in pace.

When we left it was dark and storm clouds brewed on the edge of the forest, strong winds whipping our hair around and pushing us together. Some men crowded at the end of the street stared and seemed to snarl with hunger at me, that chilling sensation of danger gripping my being. Alastor led me away, back to the station and they followed. Fear was stinging me like needles but Alastor seemed so unaware, like he couldn’t hear the whistles, the boots hitting the mud, or the murmurs of what they would do to me but he pulled me closer his smile never falling but becoming stretched, thin and terrifying. He had that same hungry look but it was distant.

Those men turned up dead weeks later and when I mentioned it to Alastor I thought I heard him say ‘for you darling’ but I must have been mistaken. I pushed every thought of Alastor to the side. Was he our killer? No, what a silly imagination. Do you like him? Never, he is my boss after all. Would he hurt you? I never answered this one, just shoved it down into the deep pits of my brain ignoring its existence. I longed for every bit of paperwork I could get my hands on, anything to rid my mind of new murders, how the timing always lined up with his morning walks, how I no longer ever felt alone.

After a long day of work, I walked home alone for the first time since starting my job. Alastor had not shown for work, I had unlocked the station and gone about my work, getting off at a decent time since no more was added through the day. I had worried, but Alastor was the boss not me and I had no reason to worry if he chose to not show one day. Right?

Once home I went about my routine; brushing my hair, teeth, showering, donning a red nightgown and dancing aimlessly to some music as I sipped my night tea when a pounding came from my door. My head whipped around, it was far too late for visitors. My breath trembled as I walked towards the door, I place my teacup haphazardly on a table and flinch as it falls, shattering against the floor. The handle was cold to the touch as I turned it barely opening the door an inch before Alastor burst through and shut it behind him.

He was truly a mess. Dirt, leaves, and twigs buried in his hair, his glasses askew and cracked, ragged breathing, and blood splattered about his clothes.

‘What a mess’ I whispered staring at the man who had never lost composure in the whole time I knew him, not really, shake and laugh in front of me. ‘Hunting?’ I asked, my voice low but I knew already. He wasn’t hunting any animal.

His head snapped towards me, his eyes catching mine.

‘Darling….may I stay for just a while longer and clean up?’ His smile was still present, the body racking laughter nothing more than soft occasional giggles now.

I nodded, I was calm now and I hated it. A man I’d only known maybe six-seven months had pounded down my door late at night covered in blood, laughed like a maniac, and asked for a shower all while I stood there like this was normal. I needed answers.

‘Answer me first’ my voice was a little shaky, I swallow and steady my voice ‘Hunting?’ His eyes bare into me, like he is telling me I will not come back from this question, and he nods.

‘Yes hunting’

‘Hunting what?’ That same stare, as he brings himself to his full height but I keep my ground ‘hunting what’ I speak with more force.

‘Rabble’ his voice is cold, no hint of the warm radio host I know but I nod.

‘What is going on?’ Too calm, why am I so calm?

‘I got messy..’ I nod again and point to the bathroom.

‘Shower, no one will know you were here and if someone sees, then we are working’ he cocks his head slightly, uncertain but goes to the bathroom and as the door shuts I lock my front door and close the curtains. What was I doing?

~

Four days had passed since Alastor had appeared at my door and we had said nothing to each other about it. He emerged from the bathroom clean, his suit scuffed up but the deep blood splatters no longer visible, his glasses cracked but perched on his nose perfectly once again and nothing was said. I had cleaned up my shattered tea cup, given him a coat, and bade him farewell for the night, a sting of worry piercing me as he left. I did not go to the police the next morning, I walked out to find Alastor waiting to escort me to the radio station.

We discussed the weather of late, how it rained the night before, and made everything new. Something I did not miss was the smile that spread across my face at the knowing he would not be caught. I kept it to a minimum, not wanting him to notice how giddy I was becoming at the knowledge of him getting away.

Every morning for the past four days he’s been at my doorstep when I wake and when I go home. I want to beg him to tell me everything but keep it to myself. Searching for an opening instead of just pestering him.

‘Are you walking with me to ensure I tell no one?’

‘If I wanted you to tell no one, I would kill you’ he spoke so matter of fact like that I almost pulled away from him. A look of shock and fear on my face as he seemed to grip me tighter.

‘Thank you for not killing me’ I mumble softly.

‘Mumbling is not very polite darling’ he had said staring at me, it felt like he could see into my soul and how I had started to feel a thrill with him. Something I did not want to admit to anyone but myself, and barely even that, but he seemed to know.

At the station I busied myself; paperwork, meetings, phone calls but I kept catching myself glancing at him and whenever I did he was staring right back at me sending those deep chills up my spine. Around noon two police officers showed up and my eyes darted straight to Alastor but I brought them immediately to the men in front of me.

‘Hello officers, how may I assist you?’ I struck the nervousness from my voice, determined to give nothing away.

‘We’ve come to ask Mister Hartfelt a few questions, and you too miss’ I nod politely.

‘Of course, let me get him’ I knew he was aware of the situation as I walked to his little studio and peeked my head in ‘some officers want to talk to you’ my voice was airy and light but my eyes searched his frantically. Nothing, no fear, no reassurance, nothing and then click! Like a light his eyes are full of warmth and caring as he stands, putting his hand on my shoulder.

‘Gentlemen!’ He speaks to the officers ‘can miss Holmes get you anything? Coffee, tea, biscuits?’ They shake their heads making it clear they’re only here on business.

‘We just need to talk that’s all’ Alastor nods and leads me to my chair, pushing me into it lightly, his fingers digging into my shoulder just enough to sting.

‘Let’s go speak in my studio, it’s a bit more private’ they all file in and the door shuts. I hear nothing but the occasional twitch of Alastor’s hands behind his back and the officer’s looks of concern lead me to to believe he may not be doing so well. I chew my lip until I split it, blood dribbling down my chin as I gasp softly and reach for a tissue. Alastor’s eyes flick to me, my sudden movement having drawn his attention, and he seems to indicate to the officers he must get going because they depart and head towards me.

‘Miss Holmes, how long have you known Mister Hartfelt’

‘A little over seven months now I believe’ I dab at the blood on my chin, cleaning myself up.

‘Has he ever seemed….off to you’ what a weird question.

‘Never. He’s polite, he walks me home every night and I tend to go home way later than he should be so he’s no reason to stay and walk with me’ I flutter my lashes a little ‘I think he’s got a little something for me’ I practically pur the sentence and fan my face with my hand.

‘How long have you lived here?’

‘In Louisiana or New Orleans?’

‘New Orleans’

‘A little over a year now’ I tap my desk ‘I moved here when momma died’ I add in, hoping to garner sympathy and they soften.

‘You wouldn’t know anything then? About the murders?’

‘No sir’ I shake my head sadly ‘but they’re awful and I suspect that’s why he won’t let me walk home alone’ I speak point at Alastor. They nod and bid me farewell and nod at Alastor through the window to his studio before exiting. I blow out a puff of air and slump, closing my eyes.

‘It is not very lady like to slouch’ Alastor spoke right in my ear and I yelped.

‘I told them nothing’

‘I know’ his voice sounded almost proud of me ‘you did very well darling’ the little shiver of fear was morphing into a shiver of unknown pleasure.

‘Why do you do this?’

‘Do what dear?’

‘Kill’ his face goes blank for a second, I’ve overstepped again.

‘So they can not harm others’

‘And you think that it is ok because they are bad people?’ He lets out a sharp laugh and shakes his head.

‘No but who else would I eat for dinner?’

[mystictrashandwheretofindgore]

A Study in Red and Radio: Chapter 1

Summary:

Alastor grew up a mixed child in the early 1900's, raised by his loving Mama. Everything changes when his father shows up and lays hands on his dear mother. Alastor seeks revenge, only to unlock a dark part of himself that he's unable to put back under lock and key.

A character study of Alastor from Hazbin Hotel. Why does he kill? How did he start? How did he get away with it for so long? What type of person did he typically target?

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence including murder and abuse

“Deliliah!” A fist pounded on the door. Alastor’s mother paled, dropping a dish. She cursed. Her hands were shaking as the sound came again, a viscous roar. Alastor looked between his mother and the door, setting aside the drying towel in his hands.

“Who is that?” He asked, taking his mother’s hands in his. Once again he couldn’t help but take note of how her skin was a dark ebony, while his was merely the color of teakwood. It was something that always prodded at him and invaded his thoughts. Still, he focused on the fact the woman who birthed and raised him was terrified of whoever was behind that door. She swallowed as though her mouth was completely dry.

“Al… my little pecan pie… you know how I said your pa didn’t know about you?” her voice wavered as she looked towards the door again. Everything clicked into place.

“Delilah, I’m going to bust down the goddamned door if you don’t open it!” The man’s voice sounded again and Alastor felt pure rage in his veins. He gripped his mother’s hands firmly and offered a smile.

“I’ll deal with him, Mama.”

“Don’t,” Her voice came out a whisper, pulling him back just as he tried to pull away. “I’ll… I’ll talk to him. It-it’s long o-overdue.” She took a deep breath and slipped her hands from his. Alastor clenched his fists. As his mother turned away from him, he couldn’t help but snarl. He tried to fix his face. Mama had always been very quiet on the topic of Alastor’s father. He’d been in the military, strong and confident. They had only shared one night, leaving Deliliah to not only birth, but raise Al alone. Coming to their door in such a hostile manner was not leaving a first good impression. 

He stood a few feet behind his mother as she opened the door. Sure enough, a tall white man with brown hair answered. He had a nasty scar along his jawline that sharpened his features and steely blue eyes. His lip curled in a natural snarl as he leaned with one hand on top of the doorway. Alastor couldn’t help the natural protectiveness he felt for his Mama in that moment. This man screamed danger. 

“About time,” The man growled.

“David,” Mama greeted in a small voice.

“What’s this about a little brat with my nose running around?” David demanded, “You were pregnant and you didn’t get rid of it?” The small african woman puffed out her chest and straightened her shoulders. Alastor could tell she was still physically trembling. 

“How’d you even hear about him?” She shot back, “I didn’t tell you for a reason.”

“I have a buddy in town. He’s a teacher. Said the kid looked just like me.” The white man’s cold eyes finally traveled past the woman to Alastor. Both parties seemed to be disgusted with each other. David, with Al’s existence and Al with David’s demeanor. Alastor racked his brain, trying to think which teacher from the school might’ve told the older man about him. There was Mr. Brenner, but that man had taught him since he was six. Why would he only tell David about him now? But that was the only male teacher Alastor had. Now that he thought about it, Mr. Brenner did look at him funny sometimes. Then again he seemed to look at any mixed child in an odd manner so the teen had never thought twice about it.

“So what? You’ve decided to get involved after sixteen years? What was the plan?” Mama demanded, moving herself so that David was no longer looking at him. A sickening smack made Alastor simultaneously sick to his stomach and seething with rage. He ran to his mother’s side, dropping to his knees.

“Get. Out,” He growled as he held Mama in his arms. David advanced and dragged Alastor up by the collar of his shirt. He gripped the wrist of his parent and snarled right back at the man. 

“I’ll leave when I damn well please, boy. Did she raise you to have a smart mouth? Shut up, behave, and I won’t beat your ass.” David let go of Alastor as Delilah scrambled to catch her son. “This stays quiet. He ain’t mine. He never gonna be mine. Don’t go holdin’ him over my head as if I give a shit that you spread your legs for me a few years back.”

Alastor opened his mouth to say something, but his mother’s nails dug into his arm. She stood, using him as support. Her hands were clenched into fists as she put herself between her son and his father. 

“I ain’t ever gonna say nothin’. I never was. As far as I’m concerned my baby don’t gotta pa,” She said, a tremble in her voice. David huffed and turned on his heel. He didn’t say anything else as he stomped off back to his truck. Delilah closed the door softly and stood there. She pressed her forehead against the wood and stood a shaky breath.

“You hurt, Pumpkin?” She asked. Alastor growled as he stood up and shook himself off.

“No, Mama. I’m alright. Did… did he leave a mark? Please, look at me Mama…” He put a hand on her shoulder. She shook her head but turned towards him anyway. Sure enough, her eye was swelling shut already. Alastor took a sharp breath in through his teeth. The man who sired him was going to pay for what he did here on this day. He was going to regret ever laying a hand on Delilah Hartfelt. 

That monday at school Alastor approached his teacher as all the other kids went to be in the yard. Mr. Brenner looked up at him with a raised brow. He was a black man with a bum leg and a beard that was turning from black to a stormy gray. It was no secret he only taught at the school for colored kids because he couldn’t get a job anywhere else. He didn’t mistreat them, per se, but he wasn’t the kindest man on earth. He’d used the paddle on his students plenty of times. He’d wrapped plenty of knuckles with a ruler just that day. 

“Yes, Mr. Hartfelt?” Mr. Brenner asked. Alastor cleared his throat.

“Mr. Brenner, do you have a friend named David?” He asked bluntly. His teacher blinked in surprise.

“Yes,” He answered carefully, his eyes wary, “A couple. Why?”

“Well… See, sir, I’m looking for my pa. Mama ain’t givin’ me any details to chase down except a name,” He lied easily, trying to look like a sad boy with no father. Mr. Brenner stroked his beard as though he was thinking. 

“I’ve… had my suspicions for awhile, but it ain’t my place,” The older man said carefully. 

“Please, sir,” Alastor pushed, “I just… wanna chance to know where I come from.”

He still didn’t have a plan. Even as he walked onto the porch and knocked on the door, he didn’t have a plan. He just wanted to make him pay. You don’t get to lay hands on Alastor and his Mama and walk away without saying anything. He knocked again. 

“I’m comin’,” The slurred holler came from inside the house. It was… a fairly nice house. That part wasn’t lost on Alastor. His mother and him shared one bedroom and the man who sired him was living comfortably. It wasn’t fair. None of this was. 

David answered the door, towering over Alastor. He was swaying a little bit, his face flushed. The smell of alcohol wafted downward into the teen’s nostrils. A drunk. That’s what his so called “Father” was. The man snarled down at him.

“What are you doing here, little man?” He growled. 

“I…” Alastor swallowed, “I came to give you a piece of my mind!”

“Oh?” The the white man looked like he was about to laugh, “Because I laid a hand on your ma? Soiled her honor? Well guess what,” He grabbed Alastor by the throat and pulled him forward, “You’re a fucking stain on my blood line. You’re a mistake. She should have used a rusty old hanger and done the job herself.” He stepped aside and threw Alastor onto his floor. Al coughed, too aware of the clicking sound of a lock. He tried to stand only to receive a swift kick to the knees. He felt a whimper try to come from his throat but he refused. He wasn’t going to show weakness to this… this… He couldn’t even come up with a proper insult as he was grabbed by the hair and forced to sit up. 

“What did you wanna say, boy?” David taunted, slamming Alastor’s head into the doorway to the kitchen. He felt a crack and suddenly couldn’t smell. Pain seared his face, his hands coming up to protect himself. He clawed at David’s hand in his hair, trying to get the grip to release. Instead, the older man tugged him upward and tossed him by the head onto the hard tile of the kitchen. Alastor tried to catch his breath, scrambling onto his knees. He lifted himself up using the counter. David grabbed something from beside him and slammed it over his head. He felt it shatter, feeling shards dig into his scalp as the rest fell around him. 

The knife block. It was Al’s only hope. He barely thought as he grabbed the biggest knife he could from the block and blindly swung backwards. He hit something. He twisted the knife, opening his eyes as he heard the choking sound. David clutched at the blade in his throat, trying to get it out. He only cut his hands. He tried to shove Alastor away when that didn’t work, only succeeding in getting blood all over his shirt. Alastor pulled the knife out and the man collapsed onto the ground. Hatred burned in his eyes. He grabbed Alastor’s leg and Al responded by taking the knife and stabbing at the offending arm. The man’s mouth opened in a scream but no sound came out except a sick, gurgling noise as the knife went through bone and muscle. 

Maybe he should have been horrified by his actions.  This wasn’t what he wanted. Blood was on the tiled floor, covered his hands, a man was dying by his actions… and he smiled. He started laughing. Alastor felt… good. Powerful, even. He took the knife from his dear father’s arm and took it firmly in both hands. He took his leg and kicked David’s head, causing the man to fall onto his back. Alastor knelt down and started stabbing. Again and again and again he plunged his knife into the man’s chest and stomach. It wasn’t about his mother anymore. He came here to defend her honor, and that was still in the back of his mind, but… he felt amazing. He felt free. The pain in his nose, his stinging scalp… it didn’t matter as he stabbed the man before him long after he stopped moving. Blood pooled all around him, covered him, covered his victim. 

He had to catch his breath. Manic little giggles left his throat, seemingly against his will. He’d clean up. Never speak of this again. David would never touch him or his mother ever again. 

[monodipita]

Security (Yandere!Satoru Gojo x Non-Sorcerer Reader

Part 2 of the Yandere Satoru Gojo Reader-Insert Series!

Word Count: 1,954

Warnings: YANDERE CONTENT. GORE WARNING.

"When will you see that what I'm doing is good for you, [Y/N]? The world isn't safe for you anymore. I've told you this many times, and yet, you won't listen to me." His voice used to be as smooth as butter, now scratchy and raw from the screaming he'd done. Yours was completely gone. It'd given out by the second day of being in this hellhole.

Still, your eyes glared at him through the cage's bars like you had plenty to say to him.

"Don't look at me like that, please. I love you too much for you to be upset with me," his brows crumpled as his expression did behind those black optics of his. He reached up to grab your hand through the bars, but you only slapped it away from him. He recoiled from the bars and glared at you silently for a few moments.

"FUCK!" His outburst was sudden. You flinched at it, just in time to miss him use one of the many powers at his arsenal to flip the couch over in his apartment. A loud clang, followed by the sound of glass breaking, however, spared you any details you might've missed. The couch had been flipped over and it destroyed the coffee table.

You gasped and pressed your back against the cold, metal bars of the cage. Any distance mattered with him. "Y-you're a monster-!!" You sputtered through the pain of your throat begging you to stop speaking. You coughed, squeezing your eyes shut from the pain. "No, n-no, no no no," Gojo stormed over to the bars again, gripping them taut in his hands and looking at you intently. "[Y/N], no, please. It's not what it looks like, please-"

"-Leave me alone," your mouth worded. Your hands went over your face.

"...you'll come around again. You'll love me again, I know you will." Gojo removed himself from the bars. "All you need is time, I know it, and we'll go back to having dates every Friday... we'll go back to holding each other under the moonlight while Law & Order plays on the TV, I know it. I-I'll be back, okay? I'll give you some time to yourself. I'll get some medicine for that nasty cough while I'm out, okay?"

There were some sounds likely concerning the flipped-over couch, followed by the sounds of footsteps and the door opening, then closing. Another day to yourself... maybe. He might just drop off the medicine and leave. You sighed with relief. You could go back to focusing on how to get out of the cage in peace.

But it was hopeless. Some hours later, you were stuck with staring at the TV that faintly played anime on it. The door opening caused you to flinch and swallow thickly. Who was it?

It was none other than him. Two bags were in his hands. One was small, while the other... smelled good, like food. Your favorite food. "...[Y/N]," he addressed you as he walked up to the cage. "I got you something to eat to take with these meds, alright? A friend of mine hooked me up with something." He reached into the small bag to produce a pill bottle for you to see. He reached into the cage and gently set it down on the blanketed ground. "...would you like to come out here and eat it with me..."

He swallowed thickly.

"W-would you like to go outside... and we eat it together..."

You glared at him through the bars. Your stomach audibly growled, but you were stalwart. Eat? With him? He was just tempting you. There was no way he was going to let you out of this cage willingly. But that food... how long could you willingly ignore him until he left the food behind?

"Please," Gojo bowed his head, "I know you can't speak right now, but I know you're ignoring me... I-I can't take it."

"No, I can't take it anymore..."

He was careful to put the food down elsewhere and out of the way. You clambered to scramble away from the middle of the cage, to the back, where you would've been safe from his arms. But no... he was doing something different around this time. You looked on in awe and horror as his hands unlocked the cage. The door slowly crept open to reveal a world that you'd been deprived of for far too long. But you stayed put. Your eyes never left Gojo's figure, even if your heart beat at the anticipation of freedom. There was no freedom with this man, he was only unlocking his cage to restrict you further.

His arms climbed into the opened cage, soon, his body followed. His arms wrapped around your frozen body and pulled it close to his. The warmth of another human being was comforting, it almost made you close your eyes and nuzzle into his form.

But this was no man that you could live comfortably around any longer.

You struggled against his grasp, your hands went to his cheeks, your fingers dug their nails into his skin and pulled down. You could feel the skin underneath tearing, enough so to draw blood. "I won't let go," Gojo hissed through clenched teeth. With your body now taut against his, he pulled you out of the cage. He felt so much stronger than you... because he was. He picked your body up like it was nothing. He grabbed onto the pill bottle he left inside the cage, he grabbed the food, and he began to carry you out of the apartment.

It was uncomfortable at first... you didn't want to be anywhere within the proximity of this man, but to be out on the street, enjoying, bathing and basking in the sunlight that touched your skin for the first time in days... weeks, maybe, it felt all too good. You were frozen by simply enjoying the outside. You ate your food like it was nothing and scarfed down every last bit of it. Your drink felt nice running down your throat. Being outside was nice. No one around but the two of you, it would've been an ideal date.

"Are you enjoying yourself, [Y/N]? Isn't this nice?" Gojo's voice threatened to shatter your grandeur illusions. You nodded quickly to dismiss him, and returned to eating your food.

Until you felt Gojo's hand violently push your body down onto the ground.

You let out a coarse scream as your body collapsed on the sidewalk. Your arms did little to absorb the blow, in fact, it just made things worse, you could feel how skinned-up they were after only a moment of being in contact with the cement. You turned your head in horror to see Gojo lifting himself off of the bench and turning to face away from you, as if you weren't even there anymore... like he didn't know you existed.

"You're pretty perceptive, aren't you? I thought slaughtering your friend was enough of a hint for you to leave me alone," he spoke. It seemed like he was speaking into the air at nothing for all you knew. Your eyes widened with bewilderment, and they watched as Gojo walked up to whatever it was, or whoever it was that he was talking to... and wrapped his hand around it. You audibly gasped when you heard something audibly choking while Gojo raised it into the air... but what was it?! Nothing was there!!

You scrambled to your feet. This might've been the chance to escape!

"Get down, [Y/N]! NOW!" Gojo roared, "don't you EVER walk away from me!" His head flung in your direction and made you freeze with those deep, impossibly blue eyes of his. You swallowed thickly and dropped back to your knees by command, grimacing in pain from the feeling. How... how were you still responding to his commands? You had every chance to be free...

...instead, you watched, your eyes glued to the scene before you. Gojo had resorted to taking his anger out on whatever it was that he held in his hands by now, you could see every little piece of gore splattering all over the place. Blood coated his fists as his punches became progressively aggressive, until he resorted to bashing. Brain matter flew where it could.

The smell of iron began to flood the air, making you feel almost nauseous. What was he doing? What was he hitting that could actually cause all of this blood to come out of it? Was that... was that brain matter?

"I'm not going to listen to them, do you understand me?" He hissed to the corpse underneath them, "I love [Y/N] with all of my heart. I won't listen to anyone... who tells me that I cannot experience love in my life, no one!" His voice broke out into a yell, making you flinch again. It was horrifying to see something like this. The blood on him was real, the brain matter on the ground was real. You hysterically sobbed; you needed to get out of here, and fast. You felt that your life was in danger.

You tried to bring yourself to stand, but your knee pain was unbearable. You hissed and sat back on your ass to examine the wound, light scratch marks mingled with blood, dirt, and loose cement like you'd fallen off a scooter. "Ugh!" You sobbed out. Keep trying, keep trying, keep—

"Did you hurt yourself? I'm so sorry for not paying attention, but something important grabbed mine,"

Gojo lifted himself from the ground. You glanced up at him through bleary eyes... no, you couldn't let him touch you, at any cost. So you did what you thought was best: and began to backwards crawl into the street behind you, to reach the other side of the sidewalk. He wouldn't dare walk into the street, would he? It was hypocritical of you to think that way of course, but you felt safer being in the street than anywhere near him.

"[Y/N], no! Please," Gojo stumbled forward, clenching the bench tightly in order to balance himself while his free hand extended for you. "Please, come back. I can't bear the idea of losing you!"

"St-stay away from me!" You screamed at him, your voice clearly scratchy. That was enough speaking for now, your voice couldn't handle anything else. You could feel your hands touch the hot bitumen under you. You were on the street now. As quickly as you could, you attempted to pass. But he was quicker.

"Don't you understand? The world doesn't want us to be together," he sounded delirious. The blood coated his face and hands, his shirt. His glasses were gone. Those blue eyes that you'd never seen before stared at you. "But I'm willing to do whatever it takes to keep us together, even if it means resorting to drastic measures." A wary smile spread across his lips. "I need you for my sanity, I need you for my serotonin. I can't envision a world without you, I don't want to, don't you see that?"

Your hands gave underneath you and made you fall flat. You rolled over into the fetal position and squeezed your eyes shut. You didn't have the strength to resist his arms as they wrapped around you so carefully. He lifted you off the ground and pulled you into his arms, hugging you taut to his chest as he forced you to stand. He kissed your temple sweetly as he began to drag you back into the house.

Back to the cage.

"The world doesn't want us to be together, but I won't let that stop me."

[tsukiihime]

Heartbreak (Bakugo x Reader, Shinsou x Reader)

Hey everyone! This is my first BNHA piece, something I wrote when I was bored and thought what the hey, I’ll post it! Feedback is appreciated!

Word Count: 3.4k

Pairings: Bakugo x Reader, Shinsou x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of cyberbulling, swearing, breakup, angst, just kind of a sad piece overall?

Next Chapter

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When you started dating the Explosion Hero Dynamight, you knew that you were throwing yourself to the wolves. The media is cruel and the fans even crueller - if they deem you unworthy for their Hero then you’re in for a hell of a time - and not in a good way. But you loved Bakugo - you’ve loved him more than you’ve ever loved anyone, and for two years of your life you’ve been by his side as he  climbs through the Hero charts. 

But recently, the media has been sniffing a little too close to home. Someone has tipped the tabloids off to your existence and ravenous fans have been finding your social media day after day. Your selfies on Instagram are being bombarded with hateful comments on everything ranging from your weight to your skin color to your fashion sense, while your Twitter messages are flooded with paragraph after paragraph full of venom and vitriol. You can no longer take the headlines, the hate, the disgust being dished out at you day and day out. You beg your boyfriend to do something, anything to make the media leave you alone. Which brings you to tonight - in a heated argument with the Hero Dynamight.

“All I’m saying is that if you address the media, if you tell them that I’m your girlfriend, they might back off. I can’t do this anymore Katsuki, I can’t keep waking up and seeing this shit on my feed!” You’re so angry you’re shaking, and it’s pissing you off even more that Bakugo stares at you, unblinking and unfazed, arms crossed in indifference.

“You know I can’t do that. I do that, and my ratings plunge.” Your eyes widen in disbelief as soon as those words leave his mouth, you can’t believe he even said that. 

“Are you serious Katsuki? Is beating Deku and becoming the number one hero really worth more to you than us? Than me?” Tears threatened to spill over at any moment, your fists clenching until your nails left tiny red crescents in your skin. You stared at vermilion eyes refusing to back down, waiting with trembling lips for his answer.

“You knew what you were getting into when you started dating me. I don’t know why you need so much fuckin’ reassurance that you’re different from all those other damn extras.” That sentence sends you from angry to fuckin’ pissed in less than a second. 

You jab at his chest, practically screaming: “Excuse me? When we started dating, I was promised that you’d protect me from everything, including the media. Do you see the shit they say about me Katsuki? What they say about my body, my family, my upbringing? How they call me a slut and a whore because my Instagram has ‘Toshi on it and now I’ve been spotted with you? I can’t even visit my parents because I’m afraid they’ll follow me. I can’t go and see “Toshi because they’ll shit talk me even more! And you sit there and do nothing. Say nothing. All I want is for you to tell them the truth, that we are dating and that we are a couple.” 

Now, it’s Bakugo’s turn to bite back. “And I’m sayin’ my hands are tied. They know I’m with someone, and I lose  fans. Which means, I ain’t gonna beat that damn Deku at the rankings next month.”

“Fuck the rankings Bakugo! Can you get your head out of your ass for a second?! How in the world,” you turn to go to grab your phone, pulling up the latest headline about you on the tabloid’s website, “can you let them say this about me? Don’t you at least care that I’m being attacked on the daily?” Tears fall freely from your eyes now, and Bakugo flinches for a second, but only a second. You laugh in anger, turning away from him. “I already know the answer, Katsuki. You care more about the rankings than me. I’m in the way of your dream if you say I’m with you, so let me remove myself from the equation.” You grab a jacket, an umbrella and your phone, and put on your shoes. “It’s over Katsuki. I’m done. If you won’t say that we’re together, then we shouldn’t be together.” 

You turn to leave, and a part of you hopes that he’ll follow - that he’ll grab you and hold you tight and tell you that he loves you, loves you more than the stupid rankings and that he’ll stand by you no matter what the media says.

But he doesn’t. 

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You walk a couple of blocks to another apartment building, ring the doorbell and wait for the response to come from the other side. A deep voice responds, belonging to someone who had obviously been sleeping. “Who the hell is it?”

“‘Toshi, it’s me.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? It’s raining idiot, get in here.” The doors unlock and you make your way inside. You know this building like the back of your hand, it’s the home of your best friend and your second home. You make your way to his apartment and he’s waiting for you in the hallway - purple hair tousled and messy, body heavy with sleep and dark undereye circles accentuating violet eyes as he scratches the back of his neck. It’s a tic of his, one you know well - he’s nervous.

“A fight huh?” 

“Worse. I broke it off.” Shinsou immediately tenses at the mention of this, and if you weren’t so pissed and hurt by Bakugo you would’ve laughed. 

“Shit...I’m sorry. Come in, tell me all about it.” He steps aside and lets you into his apartment, closing the door as he prepares himself to listen to you complain until the sun rises. He agrees to help you get your things when you’re ready to return, and says you can crash at his place until you find somewhere else to stay.

You return two days later, punching in the code to the apartment you and Bakugo share - well, you supposed shared was the better word. It felt so foreign, being here after everything. Memories of the last two years flooded into your mind - lazy days where you spent all day with Katsuki on the couch doing nothing but watching horrible horror flicks and laughing the night away, those early mornings that had you waking up at five o’clock in the morning to cook pancakes while the sleepy blonde wraps his arms around your waist while teasing your culinary skills. Even the late nights when schoolwork kept you awake well into the twilight hours and your exhausted body dragged itself to the bed you and he shared, breathing in the caramel scent of the man you loved as your head hits the plush pillows and you drift off to sleep. But now, all of those memories have disappeared into the wind, replaced with the fight you and Bakugo had before you had stormed out of the house that night. He’s been texting you like mad, calling you like there is no tomorrow, but you ignore his calls. He never leaves a voicemail, so you don’t know what’s on his mind.  

As the beige door swung open, you breathed a sigh of relief that Katsuki wasn’t home. You had neither the heart nor the energy to see him after all that had happened and instead resolved yourself to get all of your things before his shift ended at his agency. You spent the next hour rounding up everything you owned - books, pictures, everything that you had room to take and that you knew you wouldn’t miss if you left it behind. When you had a breather you sent a quick text to Shinsou to let him know you were almost ready to go - and took a deep breath as you entered your bedroom. No, your former bedroom now. “That’s all it is now.” you remind yourself.

You start dumping all your clothes into trash bags and gather up pictures and toiletries that belong to you as you clean up the bedroom from one end to the other. As you grab a pile and place it on the bed, an article of clothing falls that you don’t recognize. You bend over and pick it up to inspect it closer. 

You know your clothes, all of them. But this lacy lingerie set that is discarded on the floor isn’t yours, hell, it isn’t even your size. Your throat feels like sandpaper and your nose crinkles as you drop the clothes as if burned by a flame. You can’t help but stare at it as a million things run through your mind at once: whose is it? How long has it been here? Was this before or after you and Katsuki broke up? Did he already move on? The last thought is something you know you shouldn’t dwell on, it isn’t your business what he does after you’re the one that ended the relationship. You know this and yet the tears come anyways, endless and stinging without end. Your legs give out and you fall to your knees clutching your heart as sobs fall from your lips, as your emotions bounce all over the place. The molten hot anger you felt at first is now transforming into deep sadness, all the bittersweet memories racing through your mind now replaced by images of Katsuki holding another woman, another lover just like he held you. You can’t stop as your brain formulates these what if situations - what if he was waiting for you to end it so he could be with her? You start to imagine him kissing another with the same passion he held for you. You see another in your place, eating the food that he insists on making to spoil you after a long night of homework, running their fingers through his hair as he falls asleep on their lap, and seeing another wrapped in his arms as they fall asleep together under the moonlit sky.

“I can’t stay here” you whisper to yourself, desperate to stop the tears that won’t end - desperate to feel anything but this pit of agony. You’ll take numbness over this endless heartbreak, this disappointment, this feeling of self-deprecation that tells you over and over that you weren’t good enough. “I-”

The door opens and you hear Shinsou’s voice behind you, calling your name and making his way through the hallway at the front of the apartment. “You didn’t answer my texts so I came up to check on you and-” The purple haired man freezes when he sees you, sitting on the floor with your head in your hands, sobbing uncontrollably as a waterfall of tears spill from your eyes dripping onto your fingers. You can no longer hold back your sobs as everything comes to a head - your insecurities, the hateful comments left on your social media, Katsuki’s own dismissal of your feelings as you two fought that night two days ago. Shinsou immediately drops to his knees in front of you, wrapping his arms around your frame and holding you close. “It’s okay...let it out.” You peer up at him from tear filled eyes, lunging at him to wrap your arms around his neck as you bury your face in his chest. 

“Hitoshi…” is all you’re able to say before another sob wracks your body, tears staining your cheeks and dampening Shinsou’s hoodie. You try desperately to explain why you’re crying, and why you’re so upset but you can’t find the words as your tongue feels heavy like a bunch of bricks. Indigo eyes drift to the underwear discarded behind you, anger seething in his veins as he puts two and two together. 

“Bakugo, you fucking tool.” He thinks to himself as he holds you, letting you cry out what you can’t tell him but he knows. He knows you better than anyone, just as you know him better than anyone. He remembers the vibrant little girl he met on the playground all those years ago, who spoke to him without a care even with his “villainous” quirk. He remembers your ecstatic scream as he calls you to let you know that he was able to get into the Hero Course at U.A, and he remembers you celebrating his acceptance at getting into a Hero Agency by getting blackout drunk and waking up with you in snuggled in his arms as you wear his favorite hoodie. He remembers being the one to introduce you to Bakugo at a Hero Ranking after party when you accompanied him as his plus one. He remembers how breathtaking you looked that night - an obsidian dress that hugged your figure closely, long legs accentuated by black stilettos and your plush lips painted in a ruby red hue. He remembers being the man of the hour, the hero Mindjack accompanied by a beauty on his arm, the envy of the venue. He remembers dancing with you, his most beloved childhood friend, his most precious person. He remembers watching you stride to the bar, smiling as you greet the bartender with glee and and he remembers watching you bump into Bakugo as you apologize quickly to the blonde before making your way back to him. He also remembers Bakugo following you to him, prompting him to introduce you to the man who would eventually become your boyfriend.

“If only you hadn’t bumped into him that night”, Shinsou thinks to himself, “Katsuki Bakugo, I’m going to give you a piece of my mind when I see you next.” How helpless he feels watching you cry as your heart shatters into a million pieces, how powerless he feels as he holds you tighter than he’s ever held anyone before. “C’mon, let’s get you home. I’ll take what I can and I’ll get the rest another day.” he smiles as he looks at you, giving you a small grin that he hopes makes you feel a bit better. “Don’t worry, I grabbed your Switch and your laptop, so the lazy girl hours can still happen” you punch him in the shoulder playfully as you wipe tears away on your sleeve, pouting as you roll your eyes at his lazy jokes before he continues, “and I’ll send Bakugo a text on what’s happening. You won’t have to deal with him. I promise.” It doesn’t escape his notice how you tense up when he says Bakugo, but the small smile you give at his joke makes him feel just a bit better. You stand up and press your lips to his forehead, tippy toeing to reach. “Thanks ‘Toshi. I really appreciate it, truly.” 

“Anything for my Animal Crossing buddy.” You cross your arms and give him a questioning look, eliciting a chuckle from the taller male. “I’m jus’ kiddin’. You know I’d do anything for you. And your Switch.” You laugh as you turn to grab your boxes and make your way to the front of the apartment, the lingerie that had shattered your world moments ago momentarily forgotten in the corner of you and Bakugo’s bedroom. “It’s only Bakugo’s now” you remind yourself as you walk out into the living room, “this place belongs to Bakugo only.” You take one last look at your home for the last ten months, and quickly turn on your heels to make your way to the elevator with your entire life packed into a few boxes. A small sense of regret lingers in you, but you quickly shove that aside to stop yourself from crying some more. Shinsou grabs the rest of the boxes left on the table, and places your key to the apartment on the counter next to a picture frame with the glass faced down. He then turns and follows you out the door to his car.

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The next few nights are the hardest - Shinsou’s apartment only has one bedroom, one bathroom and the living room which means you’re on the couch until you find your own place. You’ve known Shinsou since childhood and you wouldn’t mind sharing a bed but you’re so distraught from your discovery in Bakugo’s room that you want to be alone to cry it out if you need to - you already feel like a burden to Shinsou despite his protests against the idea. He’s not home tonight - on patrol around the city as you sit in the living room wrapped in a blanket and wearing his favorite hoodie. You flip through the channels and stumble across the Hero Rankings red carpet. It’s been ages since Hitoshi attended one, becoming more of an “underground hero” and avoiding the spotlight if possible. In fact, the only time he attended one was with you around the time you met Bakugo. You cringe at the thought of him, trying quickly to remove him from your mind. The rational part of your mind wants to change the channel, to watch those documentaries you love so much and wait until Shinsou gets back home but you don’t. Instead, you decide to remain on this channel, watching as heroes come and go on the red carpet with their dates and hear the host gush about each one’s accomplishments. This is torture, you know Bakugo will appear since he’s the number four Hero, you know he’ll be there and yet like a train wreck, you can’t look away. Maybe you’re curious as to what he’s up to, or maybe you want to see if he looks as miserable as you know you do. In any case, you wait with baited breath to see a pair of scarlet eyes and ash blonde hair to satiate your curiosity. A flash of green catches your attention and you see Izuku Midoriya appear on screen in front of you. Deku is the number three Hero and on his arm is his girlfriend Uraraka, another Hero ranked at number seven. You’ve met the both of them at parties you attend with Bakugo - they both received a lot of hate from “fans'' when they announced they were dating, but the love they exuded for each other made the media change their tune really fast. They truly adored one another and didn’t care if their ratings took a dive. You had wished Bakugo would do that for you, but you weren’t a Hero and you didn’t have an impressive quirk, so his agency decided that it would be better for his ratings if he kept you a secret and he agreed. At first, you didn’t mind but the comments on social media and the tabloids made you feel as if he wasn’t yours at all - instead all you felt was that he was ashamed of you. 

Then you see him. You grip the remote so hard it almost hurts, but you keep on looking anyway. There stands the number four Hero Katsuki Bakugo, wearing a red and black suit and looking as he always does - confident to the point of arrogance, a grumpy face that makes him unapproachable, arms crossed in annoyance. The cameras go off flash after flash, and the announcer goes over his stats - how many people he’s saved, his amount of solved cases, so on and so forth. You smile at his ranking, he’s gone from eleven to four in such a short amount of time, and you know he has his determination to thank for that. He works hard, that you can’t deny. 

Then you see her. You recognize her, from the tabloids and the makeup commercials. The Illusion Hero, Maboromicamie. She’s tall, beautiful, and has a gorgeous figure as well as a comfy place ranked as the number ten Hero. Her arm is linked with Bakugo’s, and he has an arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her close for the photoshoot. The announcer raises their voice in excitement, as a headline appears on your TV: “Dynamight and Maboromicamie an item? Seen together getting close at the awards ceremony!”

You shut off the TV and close your eyes. What were you expecting? Why did you do that? You can’t help the tears that escape, but they do. There you sit, alone in the apartment with the image of those two stuck in your head, burned into your memory. When Shinsou gets home, he says nothing and you’re grateful for it - you know he’s seen the ceremony and he knows you well enough to know that you’ve seen it too. Instead, he showers, lays down next to you, and holds you close as you cry quietly into his arms.

[thisisgonnafuxkinkillme]

Light Under The Door

MAJOR TW FOR SELF HARM!

Au where Deku dies oops-

Warnings: angst, self harm, main character death

You first realized something was wrong when he wore long sleeves at home as well as at work. Usually, as soon as he got through the door, he’d ditch that uncomfortable looking yellow suit and don one of his much-too-large shirts, or sometimes even just skip into his flannel pajamas. 

For a good week, though, he had been choosing to wear his loose fitting winter shirts to bed and even while he relaxed at home. 

That wouldn’t have been overly strange on its own, all except that it was in the middle of summer. 

That, and he’d always slink away when you grabbed for his wrist or sleeve. He’d pretend as if it were nothing, and you believed him. 

That was until you got home from the store a little earlier than expected. His car was outside, so he was definately home, but the house was utterly and totally silent. 

You should have at least been able to hear him clicking away at his keyboard, or sipping some tea, or watching television. 

You silently placed your bags down, approaching the bathroom door quietly. You heard quiet hisses and hiccups from just beyond the door. 

It was unlocked and open a crack. You knocked quietly, calling out to him.

“Toshi, are you alright?”

He gasped, dropping something and audibly scrambling for the door. 

He peered out of the crack and into your eyes. 

“I’m fine,” he breathed, flashing a fake smile. He tried to close the door the rest of the way, but you put your foot in between the door and the frame, stopping it. 

He didn’t fight back. As you entered the scene, he hunched himself against the wall and covered his face. All he was wearing was a pair of boxers.

Your breath hitched as you saw what was going on. Upon seeing the abandoned razorblade and tiny droplets of blood, you knew.

"Don't...don't say anything. I already know," he grimaced, shaking his head. He’d struggled with self harm before, way back in his youth, but thankfully kicked the habit. Well, for the most part. One thing he always hated was being scolded for it, or being told how utterly stupid he is for doing something so harmful to himself.

It just reminded him of how he lets them down. How he let you down. Himself.

Him.

You held back tears. It's your turn to be strong now. For him.

You firmly grabbed him by his upper arm.

"Baby, look at me. Look at me," you breathed shakily. He did so, revealing his tear stained, ashamed face. He'd been hiding this for a long while. You could tell that much by the look in his eyes and his clenched jaw.

Your heart panged. This isn't him.

"I...I know you think..." He warbled, his voice cracking before breaking again.

"I don't think anything, baby boy. It's okay. It's alright. Just breathe for a second for me, okay?"

He slumped pitifully into your embrace, letting himself sob relentlessly into your shoulder. You weren’t exactly sure what to do with his bloodied body other than hold him there, for a moment or two. 

His upper thighs, which you’d expect to be pale and pasty like the rest of his body, were instead covered in shades of reds and pinks where he had freshly harmed himself, and in browns and purples where he had allowed the lines to scar over. 

His arms, too, were covered with these sickeningly familiar scars as well as freshly bloodied lines carved across his flesh. 

He’d definitely been hiding this from you for a while. A long while, at that. 

You whispered in his ear, “Oh, baby...you don’t deserve any of this...”

He clutched at your clothes, balling up the material in his fists.

“you...you wouldn’t say that if...” he let go of you.

 He couldn’t escape it. The scream. The blood. The utter helplessness.

His face.

He hit himself in the head, trying to knock the memory out of his mind.

You grabbed both of his wrists. This utter violence would have scared you anyways, but with it directed towards someone you loved so much, it was terrifying.

“I’ve killed people! They’re dead!” he screamed.

“You didn’t kill anyone, Toshinori! What-”

“No! They-he- died right in front of me!” he sobbed, collapsing into the floor in front of you. 

He gritted his teeth. 

“I couldn’t even show my face at their...at his funeral...” 

You held in your own cry, remembering when it all happened. It was so fast. No one could have predicted it. 

In the end, the boy had saved a classmate, but at the cost of his own life. 

Toshi was at the scene, screaming for him, but it was too late. He was gone in an instant. 

For weeks afterward, he didn’t leave his bedroom. He barely ate. What he did eat was just what you’d nearly force down his throat to keep him breathing. He just laid there, in the bed you shared, with the curtains drawn and his phone turned off, for entirely too long.

It absolutely killed you to see him like this. What killed you more, though, was when the boy’s mom wouldn’t stop calling, texting, and even knocking at the door. She would sob words of forgiveness, begging you to please tell him that she wasn’t angry at him for breaking that promise they made not so long ago. To tell him that something like this would’ve happened even if they’d never met. 

To tell him that it wasn’t his fault. That she didn’t blame him.

But no matter how much she pleaded, you just couldn’t talk to him about it. Whenever you so much as brought up her name, or mentioned anything alluding to...him...Toshi would just break down.

Just like he was now. 

You took his face in both of your palms, gritting your teeth and making him look at you.

He could barely see you holding back tears of your own through his blurred eyes.

“It was not your fault.” You asserted.

“...but-“

“It was not your fault.”

“I could have... he...”

“No. You didn’t kill that boy. Nothing you could’ve done would have stopped what happened from happening.”

Toshinori looked into your eyes, replaying that scene in his mind.

He couldn’t have magically teleported in front of that car. A healing quirk, nor any amount of surgeries or doctors could have undone the severe internal damage that it caused.

It was an utter accident.

He closed his eyes, squeezing the memory out of his brain. The blood was what haunted him the most. It was everywhere. More than he’d ever seen in his entire life, even being a pro hero for a good portion of his life and seeing horrific crimes.

The boy’s eyes glazed over mere moments after the collision, not even able to speak or respond to the rush of people surrounding him. Toshi had to essentially fight his way between the hoards of onlookers to get close to him. To stroke his cheek. To tell him that it was okay to go.

That he was a hero.

That he was proud of him.

He closed his eyes, taking a shaky breath and holding your hand to his chest. Your heart ached as you noted his shaky, skinnied fingers.

“You don’t deserve any of this, honey,” you repeated, bringing his head to your chest and stroking his hair. He was done crying. He just needed you.

His breathing calmed down after a good while of keeping him there, just existing with him for these moments without criticism and without judgement.

“Toshi, can you let me clean you up a little?” You murmured. He nodded silently.

“But... please don’t... I-I... just...” he muttered as you stood up.

“I’m not going to judge you, baby. It’s okay. I’m going to make sure you didn’t go too deep, and just help the bleeding stop. I’m not going to judge you for anything,” you assured him. His lower lip quivered and he nodded again. You left, grabbing the first aid kit and a bottle of water.

First, you handed him the water, instructing him to drink. He tried to refuse at first, protesting that he was fine, but after a little coercion, he took a little sip. Later, that sip turned into thirsty gulps. The bottle was nearly empty when he was done.

He was definitely thirstier than he thought.

These days, it was easy to ignore what his body needed. Hunger passed eventually, and so did thirst, and so did pain. Rather than deal with the issue, he’d usually just ride out the discomfort. He just couldn’t find it in him to care anymore.

So, for now, you had to do it for him.

You gently inspected his wounds. You sighed with relief as you noticed that he hadn’t gone deep enough to need a trip to the hospital for stitches.

He winced as the astringent met with his raw flesh, but you were there to soothingly comfort him with gentle touches and praise.

Soon, he was all bandaged up. He looked up at you, reaching for your cheek. He mouthed a thank you before placing a tiny kiss on your other hand. You kissed him on the forehead in return, helping him stand up and walk into the bedroom, assisting him to ease under the comforter and switched off the light before joining him.

You two coiled into one another, each warming the other’s body gently. Your breaths synced up harmoniously as you both drifted into a much needed afternoon nap.

When you woke up, there was no interrogating. No demanding to know where all his razor blades were hidden. No begging him to seek therapy.

You knew what struggling was like. None of that would help in the end. It’d only push him deeper into his own darkness.

So you settled on doing what you felt that you needed when you were in the same place he was: simply being there for him, and being ready with open arms to take on his problems when he couldn’t bear them any longer.

And he couldn’t.

Not on his own, anyways.

———

The next morning, when you woke up, Toshi was waiting for you in the kitchen. He’d already made you your favorite coffee and some honeyed toast.

After you ate, he gently took your hand.

“Will you help me with something?”

You nod, smiling sweetly.

He looked away. Shame burned his soul.

“They’re hidden in the medicine cabinet, in a box all the way in the back. Please, can you... get rid of them for me?” He whispered. You nodded.

“Are there any more?” You gently question. He shook his head, sighing.

“I’m really sorry for all of this trouble I’ve put you through...” he apologized. He was trying his best to stay strong, to appear okay and unbothered, but his voice was already cracking a little.

You shake your head.

“Don’t be sorry. I’m happy I can be here for you. I’m going to go take care of that for you now, okay?”

He nodded.

———

Recovery was slow but steady. You never asked if or when he relapsed, but when he’d lock himself in the bathroom, you couldn’t help but freeze and wonder if he was hurting himself.

But soon, his scars started to heal. He began wearing t shirts again. He started to laugh a little bit more.

And finally, he took Inko’s call.

You didn’t hear their full conversation, and you didn’t wish to eavesdrop. What you did know, though, was how different he was once he hung up from that call that lasted a good three hours.

He was lighter.

It was as if he’d been carrying an earth shattering weight on his back for centuries, and finally was just able to put it down.

He slowly became himself again, the darkness fading away at the touch of the warm sunlight within him.

——

[bbrandy2002]

Fool’s Rush In

Part 15

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Liam x MC

Warnings: mild violence

Series Premise: With two weeks until Liam is to marry Madeleine – his pick during the social season – the guys throw him a bachelor party in Vegas. After a drunken night, he finds himself with more than he bargained for.

Thanks @burnsoslow​ for the beta read.

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Supposedly, the more a person suffered in the name of love, the more it showed they really cared. 

At least, that's what Riley thought. 

After nightfall of this particular evening -- when she least expected it -- she never realized how much truth that belief held. 

Or how much it would hurt to sacrifice the one person who made her believe she was worthy of love and saw who she really was on the inside.

Her dainty arm -- a delicate bronze in color, sleek, with a glittering red strap across one shoulder -- linked through the arm of the man she had grown to love more than life itself as they entered the palace ballroom. Working tirelessly over the last week to ensure everything went off without a hitch had taken its toll on her. All she could think about, as she shook hands and charmed dignitaries with a sparkle in those twinkling brown eyes, was how much sleep she planned to make up for after the ball ended.

This ball was to introduce the King and his new bride to the Cordonian court for the first time. A show of solidarity and, hopefully, strength. A way to establish that what happened in a tiny chapel 10,000 miles away weeks ago between two strangers wasn't a careless mistake, and that she could handle the duties bestowed on her as a common American woman. 

Or at least pretend she could for now.

However, for the King and the "Jewel of His Heart" whom he escorted through the curious crowd of pretentious naysayers in extravagant gowns and tuxes, with their fake smiles and tedious posturing ...

It was nothing less than fate. 

Riley was the key that unlocked that safe space deep inside Liam's heart that had been sheltered for so long, waiting for the perfect person to come along and open it. This was the place where he kept his most sacred feelings: a genuine love, never-ending laughter, joy, romance, ecstasy, and every dream he ever held for the future -- one he presumed would never exist in any form he longed for. 

But she didn't just unlock it. Riley shattered it wide open, where everything came flooding out at once and consumed him like a raging wildfire. 

And it was the most remarkable, intoxicating experience of his life. 

Liam showed her off all evening as they mingled during their rounds, danced, and conversed with the variance of nobility. She was the sexiest woman in that room, and he'd dare say the looks of envy shot in his direction from high-class men as he proudly cavorted her around didn't bother him in the least. Not that that was her only quality -- far from it. There were so many things about Riley that were special. But he couldn't help feeling a sense of pride that she was all his.

And without question, he was all hers.

Seated at the head table, Riley swallowed a morsel of the veal medallion she wanted to be served for this occasion. When given a choice between fish and lamb, the fish never stood a chance. The memory of that smelly, god-awful lunch with Regina three weeks ago was not something her palate had forgiven her for yet. As wonderful and savory as this extravagant meal, covered in a light brown mushroom sauce and served with a side of broccoli rabe, was, it couldn't hold a candle to what she craved the most: a slice of white pizza from Carmine's back in Brooklyn.

Or a slab or two of the New Yorker.

With maybe some cheesecake.

Covered in chocolate.

And a sausage rice ball. A Frito pie smothered with sour cream. Definitely a rainbow bagel from The Bagel Store. Barbecue ribs and beans from the mom-and-pop diner hidden just off the strip in Vegas. 

Of course, her grandma’s country fried steak with white gravy sounded delicious too.

For sure, a fried Twinkie like the one she ate at the New York State Fair in 2013. 

"You've outdone yourself, sweetheart," Liam marveled while wiping at the corner of his mouth with a napkin. "The meal was delicious, and our guests appear to be enjoying themselves." The others seated at the table looked up, adding their compliments.

Still dreaming about a fat slice of New York-style pizza, Riley smiled graciously back at him, until she noticed the server refilling Liam’s glass with merlot, causing her to do a double-take. 

Hot tears pooled in her eyes, and a heavy feeling of sadness swelled in her chest as she panicked. "I asked for the Pinot Noir. Not the merlot,” she rasped meekly. “You don't like merlot, Liam. And the Pinot Noir was from the 'C' place where Duke Hakim lives. He'll be so disappointed and think I'm slighting his duchy. They’ll all hate me forever and ... wait a minute." She trailed off as a realization hit her, and Riley quickly glanced down at her plate before scanning each of the dishes from those seated around her.

The anxiety intensified; she could no longer suppress the heartbroken sob that wailed out of her. "Where are all the potatoes? We were supposed to have the potatoes, Liam. They didn’t serve the potatoes. Now the whole night is completely ruined, and it’s all my fault. I'm such a failure as a queen, and you should just send me to the dungeon now and throw away the key. I apologize to all of you for my incompetence and the lack of potatoes with your meal." Riley’s red-hot face, full of tears, plunged into the palms of her hands, then quickly sprung back up as Liam hesitantly tried to place a hand on her shoulder. A strong urge to use the restroom ended her crying spell as if it never happened. “Oh, oh. I gotta pee so bad. I’ll be right back.” She gave a warm smile and excused herself as she pushed her chair back and scurried merrily toward the nearest restroom.

Liam, Regina, Leo, Maxwell, and Olivia watched with confusion as she happily took off, not knowing what to say or what to make of the sudden shift in her moods.

“What the hell was that?” Olivia scowled, her eyes fixed on Liam.

“Is she all right, dear?” a concerned Regina asked.

Liam scratched the back of his head, nearly at a loss for words. “I ... I don’t know. I’ve never seen her that upset … especially over potatoes.” He paused in thought. “She was a little on edge this morning. Still, she’s been working a lot on the preparations and everything else going on. It must have gotten to her.”

Maxwell shrugged. “Maybe she just finally snapped.” 

Leo shook his head, swallowing a forkful of beef. “Or maybe she has the premenstrual syndrome.”

“Leo!” The group admonished.

“What?” Leo bit back, taking in each of their disappointed glares. “Don’t act like it’s not true. Trust me, when I have cramps and bloating, I can go from a happy little Leo to a Bertrand, just like that.” He snapped his fingers, following it up with a frown. “It ain’t pretty, you all.”

Maxwell looked across the table at Liam and agreed, “He has a point.”

Wanting to shed his skin and slither away, Liam pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can we not discuss something so personal and private, especially while several hundred people are dining around us?”

“I’m just saying, little brother, that you need to be understanding and gentle during this special time of your wife’s 'lady business.' You should speak softly and slowly to her because Shark Week messes with a girl's mind, man. Their brains short-circuit, and there’s nothing left up there but a couple of crickets and man-eating rattlesnakes. One second, you think she’s fine, but if you’re not careful, in the next second, you’ll find yourself with two venomous fangs rattling from your nut sack, dude. She will tear you apart and spit you out like a rabid dog. You can make it through these next few days, but only if you take my advice.”

“That is the single dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Olivia spat, boring her eyes into him. “And you’ve said a lot.” She turned to Liam, whose face was slightly pale and void of expression. “Don’t listen to his sexist drivel. Why you haven’t declared him insane yet is beyond me. You should have sent him away with that filthy hairball to Valtoria you had caged earlier.”

“IT WAS MONGO!” Leo erupted, causing the dishes on the table to clatter as he jumped to his feet and hovered over the redhead. Every head in the ballroom whipped around to see what was happening, and a deafening silence filled throughout. Even the orchestra stopped playing their classical tune.

A wide-eyed Regina smiled sheepishly as she glanced out at the quiet audience who were waiting to see what all the fuss was about. She thought fast before calling out, “We were just playing a little game of … 'It was Mongo.'” The former queen snatched Maxwell’s Sunset Rum punch from his hand, thrusting the drink up at her stepson, towering beside her, and instructed in a grandmotherly tone, “Be a good lad, Leo. You lost this round. It's time to chug-a-lug, my boy.” With his face burning, Liam slid down in his seat.

“Ooooo, I wanna go next.” Maxwell bounced excitedly while the guests resumed the festivities. "How do we play?"

“I think I want to go, too,” Liam replied, straightening back up before hurling his napkin on the table. “I’m going to go find Riley.”

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

Riley exited the ladies' room, clutch in hand and a fresh dab of clear gloss gleaming on her pink lips. She stopped walking just as the door closed behind her and smiled with a look of surprise at seeing Liam leaning against the opposite wall. "What are you doing out here?"

He pushed himself off the wall, closing the distance between them and meeting her in the middle of the empty corridor. They wrapped their arms around each other, indulging in the warmth of their lovers' embrace. "Would you believe me if I told you I just missed you?" he answered, placing a tender kiss on her lips that skimmed lower to her jawline. 

"I missed you, too," she moaned with each gentle pressure of his seductive lips, suckling and nibbling along the spot that trailed behind her ear that he knew drove her crazy. "But something tells me that's not the only reason you left the ballroom."

Their gazes met simultaneously. "Leo."

Riley chuckled softly. "Do I even want to know?"

Liam sighed, smoothing back a loose hair behind her ear. "You know my brother and his wonderful words of wisdom." There was no way in hell he would tell her what they really discussed after she left; he could only imagine her embarrassment. "Everyone was just a little worried about you, that's all."

"I didn't mean to scare everyone. I just wanted tonight to be perfect. Instead, so many things went wrong. I can only assume what the court thinks about me now." She lowered her gaze to the red carpeting where they stood. "I let you down."

"I don't want to ever hear you say that again. Riley, sweetheart, you can never let me down. Do you understand that?" Liam lifted her chin; her tentative eyes stared back at him for a moment before nodding. "Good. And just so you know, our guest are used to bombings, stabbings, kidnappings, shootings, and terror plots at most of my palace events --"

"Wait. What?"

" -- I assure you, just the fact alone, that none of that took place tonight, and they're all going to leave here soon -- alive -- will be huge for them. Not having potatoes with the meal or the right wine was the least of their worries. They will consider this night a success. And a testament to their new queen. You should, too. I'm so very proud of you."

"I have so many questions about everything you just said."

Liam smiled, caressing Riley's petal-soft cheeks and lowering his head to kiss her again. "All in due time, my love.”

Riley let out a deep, drawn-out yawn she lightly covered with her palm before stretching and rolling her neck. A couple of weeks' worth of planning and endless decisions had left heavy tension in her shoulders and overwhelming exhaustion like nothing she'd felt before. None of it went unnoticed by Liam, who placed his hands on her shoulders and gingerly kneaded the taut muscles. 

"What do you say about heading back to our quarters, taking off all of your clothes, and I'll be up soon to massage this gorgeous body from head to toe? And hopefully, when I'm through, you'll massage parts of me, too … with any part of your body that you'd like." His lips curved into an inviting smile.

"Mmm, that's tempting," she purred, rubbing her hands over his ample chest. "But I can't just leave. It's the Queen's Ball. Without me, it's just ... The Ball." She chuckled, despite herself.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little panties over the ball. Just go upstairs and take them off. I’ll handle everything down here. Then … “ He squatted down to her eye level. “ … I’ll handle you.”

Her heart fluttered every time Liam spoke to her that way. The way he desired only her. She bit the corner of her lip teasingly. “I love you so much.”

Liam smiled. “You better. You’ve got one hell of a husband. I’d even venture to say you’re the luckiest woman on the whole damn planet right now.” Before Riley could respond to his jest, he put both of his hands on her cheeks to hold her head still and began placing playful, wet smooches all over her face, causing her to laugh riotously. After a few seconds of her squirming around and cackling at his antics, he paused to look at her. “You know I love you, too. Now go on up. I’ll be right behind you soon.” 

With a pat to her backside, they went their separate ways.

---------

Liam returned to the ballroom, having offered to finish what little time was left without her. He would offer his apologies for her absence, but in reality, the King couldn’t have cared less what anyone there thought. Since his bachelor party weeks ago, he had grown from a man who had no choices to one who made his own. His marriage and relationship with Riley came first. Her wellbeing was the main priority -- to hell with anyone who had a problem with that.

As Riley placed a hand on the elegant wooden handrail of the grand staircase and took the first step up, her thoughts meandered to where she had been in her life one month ago and how vastly it had changed in such a short time. For the first time in years, she was happy, and it felt so good to be in that place where she could finally let go of the past and move on. Liam was a game-changer, and she was thoroughly convinced he was the only person on the planet who could have gotten her out of her own head and to this level of blissful existence.

Rounding the corner at the top of the stairs, she reached into her clutch to pull out the key card to her quarters, exhaustion slowing her strides. Shuffling past a row of closed office doors and framed artwork, she made her way to the residential wing. 

The squeak of a door behind her and the click of heels drew her attention, causing her to stop and turn to see who was there. 

The color drained from her face as Madeleine casually stepped out, her hands behind her back and a devious, unsettling grin cemented on her face. 

It wasn't the fear that made Riley's heart pound with a sickening thud, but more shock than anything. No one had seen or spoken to the Countess since the confrontation in Las Vegas when she showed up unexpectedly after finding out Liam had married Riley the night prior. 

Now, suddenly, there she was, as if out of nowhere, a gleam in her eye, looking all too pleased to have this run-in with Riley.

"A little dramatic, don't you think?" Riley scoffed, taking one step back the closer Madeleine approached. "What are you even doing here?"

"I'm not going to hurt you, if that's what you're worried about," she answered contemptuously. Her green eyes drifted to one of the cameras mantled at each end of the hallway. Riley placed a shaky hand over her stomach, letting out a low, relieved breath, hoping that was the truth. "Not physically, anyway."

"Well, that sounds promising," Riley replied sardonically. "Now, if you don't mind ..." She turned away, wanting nothing more than to escape this conversation and make it back to her quarters. 

Madeleine reached out and grabbed the Queen by her elbow, pulling her back and harshly twisting her around so they were now face-to-face. "You're not going anywhere until I'm through with you," she hissed with an icy glare. "I told you I would make you regret what you've done."

Riley jerked her arm, trying to free herself. "Let go of my arm, Madeleine!" 

"Not until you hear what I have to say."

"I'm not interested in anything you have to say! Now LET ME GO!" Riley hoped someone heard her yell or at least witnessed what was happening on the camera. Where the hell is security?

While continuing to struggle to free herself, she reached up with her free hand in an attempt to pry off Madeleine's bony fingers that were squeezing tight grooves around her elbow, her manicured nails digging deeper into Riley's skin. "You're hurting me. I said to let me go."

"Very well, then." The woman, who had twice lost her chance at the crown, released her firm grasp, knowing that the momentum would cause Riley to stumble back as soon as she let go. 

Just as predicted, Riley planted a foot behind her for leverage before drawing her arm back as hard as she could, one last time. Her eyes grew wide, and she let out a sharp gasp that sounded well down the corridor. Riley sailed backward, tripping over herself and toppling to the ground. She finally landed with a hard blow on her backside, the rear of her head just inches from slamming to the floor.

A shockwave of pain coursed up Riley's spine from hitting so abruptly. Before she had a chance to respond or process what happened, Madeleine crouched down beside her, holding a DVD up and gaining Riley's attention. 

The pain had morphed into a throbbing ache that was soon forgotten as the Queen stared quizzically at the object displayed in front of her like a grand prize. 

"What is that?" her voice trembled.

"It's my ace in the hole," Madeleine stated, then wagged a finger. "Someone used to be a very naughty girl." 

Furrowing her brows, Riley responded. "I don't know what you mean."

"You know precisely what I mean, but just in case, please allow me to refresh your memory," Madeleine smirked before rising to her feet and prancing around as if she were having the time of her life. "I did a little digging after my brief visit to Las Vegas and came across a man who knew you very, very well at one time. I made some calls. We exchanged e-mails, a transfer of money or two. And he was all too eager to accept my offer of payment for any dirt he could give me on you."

There was no point in asking "who" -- she already knew; the thought made her nauseous. Riley closed her eyes and muttered. "Tyler?"

"Yes," Madeleine beamed, " Your ex-husband. He had a lot to say about you."

"I'm sure he did. Does it even matter to you that he's a liar and a cheat -- not to mention greedy? He would make up anything if he thought he could profit off of it."

"Oh, it matters. Personally, I don't believe a damn thing he had to say. Honestly, Riley ... even someone like you could have done better than that slime."

Riley cringed in pain as she pushed herself off the floor and turned to her oppressor. "Just get to the point, Madeleine. Clearly, he gave you something you thought was valuable enough to use against me, so just spit it already."

Madeleine smiled, "How very astute of you. You're correct. He did." She held up the disc as Riley regarded it suspiciously. "On this disk are several hours of the two of you ... together. Very graphic, if I do say so myself." Riley's jaw dropped upon hearing those words as Madeleine continued, "Now don't worry. I only watched it long enough to make sure the video was legit --"

"Give me that!" Riley reached out to snatch the DVD, but Madeleine pulled it away just out of her grasp. A burning sensation filled inside her chest and spread across her face. "You're lying. I never made videos like that."

"Oh, I think you did," the blonde countered with a mirthful tone. "You just didn't know about it. Your ex admitted as much to me ... an asshole move, for sure. But nonetheless, I purchased the copy from him for a hefty sum. And ... well ... here we are now. You're more than welcome to take this disc and see for yourself; I have it downloaded as a backup, knowing you'd want proof."

At that moment, all Riley wanted was for Liam to walk down that corridor where she now stood, pick her up in his arms, whisk her away to safety, and tell her it was all a bad dream. Not that she did anything wrong -- she was married at one time to the man, presumably on the video, and would have been a consenting adult. 

No, it was the fact that Tyler Brooks had taken intimate videos with her during their marriage, without her knowledge. Now Madeleine had possession of them.

God only knew what she planned to do with them, but Riley had a pretty good idea. "What do you want?" she whispered in defeat, afraid to hear the answer.

Madeleine grinned from ear-to-ear. "For you to leave Cordonia tonight and never return, or I release everything to the press."

Riley shook her head. "No. As much as I don't want anyone to see that video, I did nothing wrong, and I won't be blackmailed or intimidated by you so that you can get your grubby little paws on the crown."

"Is that so?" It wasn't a question so much as a remark meant to convey who was in control. 

Maintaining her position, Riley raised a brow, refusing to give in.

Madeleine was far from giving up, though; she had manipulation in her blood. "Very well, then. I'll release the video in the morning. It should be interesting to see how the world reacts to yet another scandal by this monarchy. Their Queen plastered all over the internet again, except this time, uploaded on every porn site on the web. 

"The news will run the story with your blurred-out silhouette in the background. Your father will see it, and his business will become a target.: Your friends. Family. Students. They'll all be inundated with your sexual proclivities. But the worst part will be the tribunal. The council will have no choice but to question Liam's decision-making abilities after not only squandering his pick of queen on some American nobody, but now one whose ass will be featured on the desktops of teenage boys across the world. It's a shame that he'll lose his reign, all because of you. Would you really do that to Liam? Do you genuinely believe you're worth all the trouble it will cause him?"

Riley froze. She knew Madeleine was taunting her with the people she cared about the most. The last thing she wanted was to embarrass each of them. But to possibly cause Liam to lose his legacy, his birthright, and the rulership of a country he loved so much? It was something she couldn't shake. 

Staring blankly, twisting the bands of gold that belonged to Liam's mother, she couldn't get the question Madeleine just asked out of her mind: Did Riley believe she was worth the trouble it would cost him? 

Nothing was damning on that video, aside from the fact that she never knew it existed. But she already had so much to prove; another video in the press' hand would tarnish Liam. Maybe the Countess of Fydelia was right: He would lose it all.

"Time is ticking," Madeleine reminded Riley as she tapped her watch. "What's it going to be?"

----------

@burnsoslow​ @dcbbw​ @ao719​ @hopefulmoonobject​ @jessiembruno​ @texaskitten30​ @janezillow​ @merridithsmiscellany-blog​ @mskaneko @callmeellabella​ @queenjilian @sirbeepsalot @drakexwillow @caroldxnvxrs​ @jovialyouthmusic​ @forthebrokenheartedthings​ @bebepac​ @kingliam2019​ @lovablegranny​ @cordoniaqueensworld​ @amandablink​ @liamxs-world​ @choiceskatie @iaminlovewithtrr @hopelessromanticmonie @charlotteg234 @annekebbphotography​ @txemrn​ @thecordoniandiaries @alyssalauren​ @cordonianroyalty @monsoonbloom12 @mom2000aggie​ @theroyalheirshadowhunter​ @princessleac1​ @kimmiedoo5​ @graceful-leah​ @iam-the-kind-and-thoughtful @thegreentwin​ @gkittylove99​ @cinnamonspongecake @lifeaskim @neotericthemis​ @pink-diamond13​ @walker7519 @natureblooms24​ @yourmajesty09​ @gabesmommie1130​ @sweatyrysconnoisour @kat-tia801​ @debmcg1106

Liam x MC: Cordonia-gothqueen

FRI Series Tags:   @narrytheworld​​  @queenwalton​  @cordonianprincess​        @zaffrenotes​ @zilch3​  @drrookie​ @sfb123​​

[inforapound]

The Devil Inside  -  Part 5

Thanks for reading. I’m going with a couple of shorter chapters instead of one long finale. Hope you like it. 

Pairing - Ivar and reader       

Warnings - dark Ivar, explicit smut, bad relationship, toxic love 

By the following night without a word from Ivar, not a single call or text, and no sign of the black Camaro, you were no longer laughing. It felt like your world had collapsed to the ground. And, that alone was confusing as he was the one who had been such a prick. Right? Hadn’t he? Still, it was impossible to escape the feeling of guilt and some hard-to-define panic.

Your Ivar! Your beautiful, intense, complicated Ivar; his only fault being how much he loved you.

Was it actually over, you wondered for the zillionth time? Could the two of you work it out or would you never speak again? Would he ghost you? Ah yes, that was the fear creating the panic; you were worried he would write you off as though you had never existed. Just that idea, despite his display of rage, made your blood run cold and your heart straight-up rejected the notion that you were better off without him.

After months of the two of you cocooning away and blowing off the world, you were grateful, grateful, that your two best friends had your back. One look at your pale, despondent face the previous day, walking into class, and they flew into BBF mode.

God, they were great but you questioned their thinking. How would going out, within 24 hours of your love story ending, possibly help you?

But… there you sat in your room wearing a one-shouldered purple dress and strappy heels while Amanda carefully lined your lips and Kim flat ironed your hair. They yattered away as if to distract you, talking about what an asshole Ivar was, a complete psycho, and thank god you hadn’t slept with him. Eeeek, all that solidarity, and you had given them a watered-down version of what had happened during the fight.

Barely taking in their words, you thought over and over all that had been said in his car, questioning if it had truly been that bad. It felt awful at the time, but things seemed different after such a long time without hearing from him. Did it mean you had forgiven him? Definitely not but you still felt like a balloon bouncing in the wind without your Ivar.

Under it all, he just needed you and the thought of you with another guy was more than he could process. How can that be a bad thing? And it had been you, YOU, who desecrated his most treasured possession, his beloved mother’s necklace, a necklace he had imparted so lovingly. Wasn’t your behaviour as bad or even worse? Could he forgive you?

Tears rose in your eyes making the girls stop and stare, looking like a pair of barn owls.

“Oh babe,” Kim whispered squeezing your shoulder and Amanda leaned in, looking as if she was pitying a dog.

“Tonight is exactly what you need,” she nodded. “The dance will take your mind off of everything. Trust me.”

WELL, THAT WAS A FUCKING LIE.

The school gymnasium was dark and stuffy, the music pounding and the strobes seemed to flash all the way into your brain. It was the last place you needed to be! God! Every guy wearing a leather jacket made you do a double-take and Ivar’s absence screamed louder than the noise. Just twenty feet away your friends were dancing and yet you had never felt so alone. That must have been how Ivar felt, that day on the road, watching you run away from him. Your poor, love….. Where was he?

“Is it really you? Are you honestly here?” asked Mark Hasting as he, all-of-sudden, appeared at your side, reeking of weed and smiling one of his squinty-eyed smiles. “Mr. Lothbrok let you out of his grasp for a night. I almost don’t believe it.”

Not a word came out of your mouth and you looked from Mark back to the dance floor unable to tell him that the two of you had broken up. And….. that it was all your fault. Instead of easing Ivar’s fears, you had doused gasoline on his pain. Should you tell Mark that? What a horrible person you were? Oh god, what had you done?

Taking a deep breath, a gasp really, you felt like you couldn’t breathe.

“Mark?” you cried out and it turned into a sob.

“Yea, heeey, what’s wrong?” he scrunched his forehead with concern and stepped closer.

“Can you give me a lift home? I can’t be here right now.”

----

Waving your thanks to Mark, you watched him reverse out of the driveway and closed the front door. Not taking the time to remove your coat or turn on the lights, you riffled through your purse looking for your phone. You had to find Ivar.

Would you call or text? Call! Yes, calling would be better and if he didn’t answer, you’d go straight over to his house. Oh god, that was a nerve-wracking thought, driving over and just walking in. What if he wasn’t alone...what if some chic was there? Your mind began to spin as your insecurities played tricks despite knowing, in your heart-of-hearts, how unlikely that was.

Bringing his number up on our phone, you headed through your dark kitchen toward your room, your ears still humming from the music at the dance. Staring at his number, you slowed to a stop and leaned against the hallway wall, sliding down to sit on the carpet. It was time.... and it felt scary as you had no idea where to start and Ivar was not a guy to make things easy. It was no stretch of the imagination to envision him picking up and not saying a word, just listening on the other end as you stuttered on. Regardless, there were things that needed to be said and for your part in the horrible mess, you wouldn’t keep score. Honestly, how could any girl keep score who dated Ivar Lothbrok?

Deep breath in, you steadied your nerves and hit dial, your ear pressed to the phone as it began to ring. Waiting, listening, holding your breath, you didn’t at first hear the faint buzzing sound. It was when you lowered the phone that it captured your attention. Ending the call, you sat straining to identify it but all was quiet in the house; the sound was gone. Tapping his number again, you redialed, keeping the phone in your lap, your eyes fixed on the screen. The ringing began again along with that same buzzing.

Holy shit! Ivar was there! Somewhere in the house with his phone!

Ending the call, you weren’t sure what to do but panic hit your chest, and as if on autopilot, you silently pushed yourself up to stand. You didn’t call out his name, instead, walked, tiptoed, to your bedroom door hesitating when your hand touched the handle. Why weren’t you calling out to him? Why was your door closed?

A thousand thoughts and feelings swirled in your head but none you could name. Snap out of it, you blasted yourself! It’s Ivar, your boyfriend, your true love; the guy you had been pining for all day. Not some intruder on the other side of the door ready to do horrible things. Right? Of course not…. Of course not….you repeated to yourself.

Carefully you turned the knob and slowly pushed open the door. Your room was dark and at the end of your bed sat a hooded figure... waiting. The light was too dim to see his face and his hood concealed his outline. It was the tension in the air and the way his head suddenly tilted to one side, looking in your direction, that confirmed it was him.

“Oh my god!” you finally cried, and swiped the wall, hitting the light-switch on; both of you instantly recoiling and squinting from the brightness. “Ivar! You terrified me!”

Making no move to stand, he kept looking at you, his eyes skipping over your face and down your body, clearly analyzing the details of your appearance. It was his forced, joyless laugh that made every muscle in your body tense. Steadying himself, he fell silent before sighing in a way that gave no indication of his state of mind. Lifting his hand, he flicked his fingers, beckoning you closer, his wicked blue eyes conveying that all was not well.

Placing your phone on your dresser, you removed your coat, throwing it to the floor, and stepped out of your shoes. Walking toward him, you lowered to the carpet and stood on your knees, pushing in between his legs. He never took his eyes off yours and your mouth went dry from the intensity.

So fast it made you flinch, he brought his hands up and cupped your cheeks. Normally it would have melted your heart but his steeliness strummed all your nerves.

“Ivar?” you peered up into his bottomless eyes, his brows furrowed. “Babe, I was just calling you. All-day, I.…”

“Where are your parents?” he cut you off. “They’ve been gone all day.”

“Oh...” you hesitated, ignoring how he knew that, “They’re away. My mom is gone until Tuesday, my dad was supposed to be back tonight but his flight got messed up. He’ll be back tomorrow.”

It was hard to know what answer he was looking for, but that didn’t seem it as his face remained unchanged.

“They leave you alone over-night? A teenage girl with a bedroom on the ground floor and her fucking window unlocked. Any creep could get in.”

The irony was lost on him and pointing it out was not the thing to do. Instead, you waited for him to finish, knowing he didn’t actually want you to answer.

Not taking his eyes off you, he seemed to grimace as he, again, scanned your cheeks, and eyes and mouth, his eyelids narrowing further.

“And who are you so dressed up for, hmm? Mark?”

“No!” you rushed. “He just gave me a ride home from the dance. I asked him to. I was crying.”

That admission made his face flicker but only slightly.

“I was upset about our fight and missing you,” you explained.

Using your courage, you raised your hands and finally touched him, resting them on his thighs.

Instantly, he turned and you thought for a moment he was moving away but instead, he leaned back and grabbed the box of tissues from the nightstand.

“It's okay, I’m not upset anymore. Thank you,” your eyes flitted down to the yellow box he held up for you.

“No,” his face tightened, “Wipe your face. Take that stuff off.”

“Wha?”

“That lipstick,” he quipped, lifting his eyebrows and glancing at the box, urging you on. “And that crap on your cheeks.”

Slowly, you grabbed a tissue, pulling it from the box, another withdrawing behind. As you wiped the pink gloss from your mouth, and blush from your skin, he reached up and pushed his hood back, exposing the extent of his exhaustion; his pale face and dark ringed eyes and messy hair that for the first time had no product in it. Seeing his weariness, you wondered what kind of sleepless and heart-broken roller-coaster he, himself, had been on since your fight.

Grabbing the dirty Kleenex from you, he tossed it onto the floor and took your chin in his hand making you wish he would just break the tension and kiss you.

“You know I don’t like you wearing make-up.”

“I know, it's just...”

“It’s just what?”

“I don’t know,” you tried to look down, but he held your face in place, forcing you to look at him. You felt as if you were being scolded

“You don’t need that shit. You are so beautiful.” Shaking his head, his eyes lowered for a second and he sighed your name, his body and defenses softening and you jumped at the opening.

“Ivar,” you whispered, rubbing your hands over his jeans. “Babe,” you cooed softly making him close his eyes, frowning as if your affection pained him.

“What the fuck am I going to do with you?” he said quietly, opening his eyes and glaring. “What am I going to do?”

“Kiss me,” you replied despite his harsh look, thinking of the first day he picked you up at lunch. “Kiss me, and everything else will come,” you whispered and his face began to blur as tears rose in your eyes.

And like that, his mouth was on you, his hands holding your face, his breath revealing his relief and his whimper giving away his desperation. Your sweetheart was aching for you, all this time, but he had no idea what to do. His tongue pushed inside your mouth, his lips demanding more and you lifted your hands and gripped his hoodie, bracing yourself from the force of his emotions. Your beautiful Ivar had been adrift without you. Utterly lost!

Pulling back, he stared at you, his face filled with agony. “I love you so much,” he whispered, his own eyes filling with tears.

“I love you too,” you murmured back.

“Never. Reject. Me. Again,” he articulated as his nostrils flared, his threat easy to hear but you could see past it. “From this moment on, this second on, we belong to each other. Even more than we did before. Do you hear me? You. Are. Mine.”

“I was always yours, Ivar,” you sounded like you were pleading for him to believe you. “And I always, always, will be. I need you,” you whispered.

“I need you,” he repeated back as if swearing a vow. “Now,” he let go of your face and straightened. “Show me,” he jerked his chin and the slightest wave of arrogance came over him. “Show me,” he said again, raising his dark eyebrows expectantly. “With your mouth.”

What?

Was this a test, you wondered, wishing he’d continue touching you with the same love and need you felt just an instant ago. But of course his defenses were still up; he was searching for reassurance. The same reassurance you didn’t give the day before making the situation explode. Your poor Ivar, you would not let him down twice.

Nodding, you looked down at his lap, running your hands over the bulge in his jeans. If this was what he needed to feel your devotion, you would indulge him. In a flash, your quick hands had his jeans open, his beautiful cock upright in your grasp. It always amazed you how smooth his skin looked, his head a shade darker than the rest but all flawless with the slightest sheen.

Leaning down, you took him into your mouth, loving how it felt and his hand grabbed the back of your neck, not pushing but letting you know that he could. God, he tasted amazing; salty and clean and you tightened your fingers around his base and started to move.

Oh how you loved the way he hissed when you bobbed your mouth up and down, his hips jerking and his grip on your neck getting tight. Each time you took him into the back of your throat, it triggered that reflex and like some submissive craving pain, you were instantly turned on. What was wrong with you that the idea of suffocating on him made you wet? Picking up your pace made him moan and you began to slam down a little harder and a touch further each time, making yourself gag.

“Fuck!” he snarled in response clearly loving the sounds of it. “You want to choke on my dick, baby? Hmm?” he grunted out into the room. “Aw fuck I missed you. Last night and all fucking day, I missed you....so much.”

On you moved, and sucked and slurped, your lips sliding down his shaft, your throat getting used to the roughness.

“I’m so lucky to be with you. Fuck!” he growled, rolling his hips up toward your mouth. “I don’t give a shit about that other guy anymore. None of that matters. I just want to be with you. I love you.”

That was the closest you knew he‘d ever come to apologizing.

“Yea, baby, suck it,” he groaned again, “Suck my cock. You’re so beautiful. But don’t get greedy, I have plans for you tonight.”

Reaching down he yanked up the skirt of your purple dress, shimmying it higher until it was above your waist and you were kneeling in your thong. He obviously liked it as he growled and slapped your ass hard before pulling you off of him, his eyes staring at your mouth which must have looked red and puffy and totally wrecked.

“Get on the bed and open your legs.”

“Pardon?” your eyes flashed wide.

“I’m going to make you mine.”

@blonddnamedhandz  @whenimaunicorn​  @sweeneythots @funmadnessandbadassvikings @redama @mdredwine @didiintheblog    @fields-and-fields-of-poppies  @oddsnendsfanfics @youbelongeverywhere  @hecohansen31 @naaladareia @youbloodymadgenius  @geekandbooknerd  @ivarsgoddess  @where-beauty-goes-to-die @zuxiezendler @punkrocknpearls @snatcherheart  @lordsexmachine @fuchsiagrasshopper @wilhelmyna​ @heavenly1927 @cececolbert @peachyboneless @xbellaxcarolinax​​

[mdawritings]

Wanna Be Yours: Ch. 11

I.XI

Masterlist

Warnings: Mention of nausea and vomiting, very minor physical violence

Song(s): "Haunted" and "Dear John" by Taylor Swift.

It's late afternoon when you finally manage to haul yourself out of bed. Your head feels like it will explode and you rush to the bathroom, already feeling nauseous. You push the toilet seat lid up and gather your hair in one hand before completely emptying your stomach into the toilet. You haven't eaten anything in hours so you heave and gag painfully for a little before sitting back on the cold, tiled floor.

You stay there for a bit, attempting to recall everything that happened last night. You remember the multitude of shots, you remember the heartbreak of your best friend's absence, you remember Hotch picking you up. Hotch.

You stand up from the floor, looking around the empty bedroom for any sign of him. He was up out of bed pretty early. His clothes from last night are neatly folded at the edge of the bed. You reach for a pair of sweatpants from his floor, pulling them on, tying the string tightly to keep them from falling down.

Your birthday dress is draped over the edge of the chair in the corner. You walk over and pick it up, taking a smell of the fabric and you smell the clean scent of laundry detergent. He washed your dress for you. Your lips turn up in a small grin, picturing Hotch with his sleeves rolled up doing laundry for you. The pounding headache from your hangover is slowly fading at the prospect of finally getting the quality birthday time you want with Hotch.

You look to the side table, seeing a small glass of water, a bottle of ibuprofen, and a small note. You take the pills and down some of the water before reaching for the small folded-up note. You unwrap it to see that familiar handwriting never fails to make you happy, thinking about the man that the handwriting belongs to.

Einstein,

Had to run to the office to get work done. Not sure when I'll be done. Drink some water and get something to eat.

-A.H.

Your heart sinks at the thought of missing out on precious time with him but shove the note into your pocket anyway. You walk down to his kitchen, making yourself a large cup of coffee, pouring another glass of water, and attempt to find something to eat.

You expect that Hotch will be home soon, but even after you've cooked yourself some breakfast, finished eating, and cleaned up all the dishes, he still shows no sign of showing up anytime soon.

So you sit and wait for him. You settle into his couch with a book hoping to pass the time. The sun starts to set and still, no sign of him. You reach into your pocket for your phone, looking for any sign of a message from him, any notification that would tell you why he has been gone all day.

You end up waiting for him for so long that you even consider calling Katie to come to pick you up and take you home. If he didn't want you there why would he bring you back to his apartment last night? He could've just helped Katie take you home to your place, but he didn't. He brought you here. So where the fuck is he?

He doesn't owe you anything, you know that. You know there's no formal agreement between the two of you. However, you'd be lying if you claim it doesn't at least sting a little bit that he won't take advantage of free time to spend with you.

You rack your brain for anything you might've said last night to upset him. You remember crying about Charlie. Could that be it? He knows Charlie is your best friend, you hope he would at least be understanding of that. You close the book in your hands, barely paying attention to it at this point. I can't choose between falling for you and keeping my friendships.

You told him you're falling for him. It's the truth. Every waking moment is consumed by him. Every moment just feels so real. You feel everything with him. Life just feels worth living around him. Being with him makes you feel alive.

You hear the door unlock and open. Your head shoots up and you see Hotch by the door slowly kicking off his shoes and putting away his jacket and keys. When he finally looks at you, you know that something is wrong. His face looks worn and tired. His eyes are a little bloodshot. He sighs, a long dramatic sigh, "You're still here." He doesn't necessarily say it as a question, just a statement of fact.

You're confused. He didn't ask you to leave. His note was very vague, "I didn't know you would be back so late. Your note made it seem like I should stick around."

He nods and walks past you without even really acknowledging your presence, "You feeling better?" He reaches for the mail on the coffee table, sorting through it, giving you no focus.

"Hungover, but overall okay," You untuck your feet from under you, ready to stand up, hoping to garner at least a smidge of attention from him.

"Good. I have a lot of grading to get done," He gives you a quick once over before disappearing into his office.

You're frozen in place. Is he really mad at you for getting too drunk last night? You force yourself to your feet and follow him into his office.

"I'm sorry about last night," You mutter softly, standing in the doorway of Hotch's home office, seeing him hunched over at his desk.

He looks over at you but doesn't hold your gaze for long before turning back to his work, "You shouldn't have drunk so much."

You chuckle softly, "It was my 21st, doesn't everyone get a little bit too drunk on their 21st birthday?"

"It was irresponsible." His replies are short and blunt. You're taken aback by his icy demeanor. Just yesterday you were completely encapsulated by happy bliss, now he's giving you the cold shoulder.

"If you didn't want to take care of me all night you should've just helped Katie take me back to my own apartment," You stand your ground now. Just because he seems to be having a bad day doesn't mean he gets to take it out on you.

"That's not the point, Y/N," He rolls his eyes, standing up, pushing his chair in, "The point is, I can't believe you would act so immaturely and irresponsibly. You acted like a child." He brushes past you through the doorway, attempting to end the conversation with him getting the last word.

You follow him to the kitchen, "I am not a child." You argue.

"Well, you sure acted like one last night," He shakes his head. The tone of voice he takes with you is a familiar one, one he's taken time and time again with you. It's the tone he takes in class when he's trying to embarrass you. When he's acting like he hates you, but right now, it doesn't feel very much like acting.

"I acted like any other 21 year old would." You scoff gripping at your coffee mug tightly. Hotch walks to lean against the countertop, that angry yet smug look burned into his features.

He shakes his head as he speaks and rolls up his sleeves frustratedly, "Maybe I just thought you were different from every other 21 year old."

"Look, Aaron, I'm sorry that you were upset by my actions last night. I'm extremely grateful to you for taking care of me and making sure I was okay and safe. Let's just not fight, okay?" You're not sure what you're apologizing for since you have nothing to be sorry for. You didn't call him and ask him to come to pick you up. Katie didn't tell him to take you back to his apartment, she just called for help. He didn't have to take care of you. That was his decision.

"Don't you have an exam to get home to study for?" He reaches up into his cabinet for a glass and a bottle of whiskey. He pops the cork and pours himself a glass. "The term ends Monday. Aren't you worried about finishing with good grades?"

You furrow your brows. You're not even sure you recognize the man in front of you. Never, ever, has he been so short and harsh with you. He's only harsh with you in class but he's never been mean and right now he's being pretty damn mean and unfair to you.

"Speaking of, what happens after the term ends?" You trace your finger around the rim of your coffee mug, keeping your eyes trained on the contents of the mug, not wanting to look up at Hotch.

"What do you mean?" Hotch takes a long sip from his glass.

"Well after the exam Monday," You clarify, taking a few steps towards him, "I'm technically not your student anymore."

"Correct. And?" He gives you a bored look.

"And... I'm just wondering how often I'll see you after that. What happens to us?" You shrug.

"What do you mean what will happen to us? Isn't it obvious?" He crosses his arms and straightens up, so that he stares down at you, a judgemental glimmer in his eyes, "There is no us."

"What?" Your voice wavers. Your heart sinks into your stomach. You knew this moment was coming. Deep down, you knew that this couldn't last forever, this perfect happy state of contentment the two of you seemed to exist in for the past two weeks. Yet another part of you thought you would be enough for him. It all felt so real, how could it not have been real?

"I thought... I know neither of us intended for this to be anything real but—" You pause, struggling to form a coherent thought, "I know you feel something too. This isn't just casual sex anymore." You look up at him, but his face hasn't changed from the angry, dismissive look he has plastered on his features. You spend a minute just staring back at each other. Does he really not feel it too? Was it all in your head? You can't hold his gaze any longer, you have to look away, "I'm sorry, I just thought—"

"Thought, what?" He pauses to laugh. His laugh is bitter as he rolls his eyes, "You didn't really think I could love you." The way his tone is dripping with disgust at the mere mention of the word. "You're nothing more than a good distraction. Something to entertain me."

Your eyes prick with angry tears. You bite them away. He clearly sees you as an immature child, you can't let him continue to think that by crying. "If that's all I am, how do you explain the birthday gift? How do you explain last night? Why would you do all that for me?"

Hotch lets out a haughty scoff and shakes his head, "I like taking care of what belongs to me."

You know Hotch is pushing you away. He would never have said these things to you before. That doesn't change the way that you feel sick to your stomach at his words. That doesn't change the way that your hands tremble slightly. You know you're young, you haven't experienced much life yet but could you have been so naive? He treated you so well, so different from a fling. He remembered your favorite novel. He walked you home. He took care of you. You don't do that for someone that you don't truly care about. Hotch has never treated you so rudely, but that was before you revealed your feelings. That was before last night.

"Our meeting is canceled this week. There's no use for it as the final exam is tomorrow." He waves his hand dismissively, snatching the mug from your hands, dumping it in the kitchen sink.

"I'm not delusional, Hotch," You're startled by the way he grabs the mug from you. "I know you care about me. This wasn't all in my head. I know that."

"What do you know about anything?" He narrows his eyes, that sinister look in his eyes making you feel exposed and vulnerable. "Kid genius seems to have gotten herself too wrapped up in some childish fantasy of romance. Sometimes sex is just sex, Y/N."

"You know what?" You point an accusatory finger at him, moving closer, "I feel sorry for you. I do. It's truly pathetic the way you refuse to let yourself feel anything real. What happened that made you so bitter and unloveable?"

Hotch rolls his eyes and turns away from you to lean against the kitchen counter, both hands far apart, spread wide on the counter.

"You are truly the most wicked, disgusting man I have ever met," You spit at him and within seconds he's whirled around to you, and gripped the front of your shirt in his fist. It's not the first time he's grabbed you like this, but it's the first time you're scared of him. Your heart is pounding wildly like it's going to burst out of your chest and your attempts to fight away tears are failing. Despite the tears that roll down your cheeks, your face is hot with anger.

"I have given you everything you could possibly want," He growls out, his grip on your shirt tightening as he pulls you closer to him. "I have made you what you are. So in 10 years from now, when you're at the top of your career, know that it's all because of me." His words sting harder than ever before and as his eyes search yours. It's one thing to make you feel naive and misguided in your judgment of the caliber of your relationship, but to insinuate that this was all for you to get ahead in life is insulting to your character. You never needed his help to succeed. You never pursued him for the grade boost or the extra studying. You wanted to see him because you wanted him. Your bottom lip trembles. So much for staying strong and standing your ground.

Your eyes shoot down to his hand on your shirt. You've never been scared of him. You've seen how cruel he can be, but never have you felt that he would hurt you. Until now. Until you see the anger flash in his eyes and the grip on your shirt tightens. Your skin stings from where he scratched your chest when grabbing the fabric. Your heart races harder.

"Let me go." Your voice is soft and small in comparison to his. There's a moment of hesitation. He glances down at the way he's holding on to you. As if he realizes how much he's scared you. He lets you go much gentler than the way he grabbed you. He turns away from you again, leaning against his counter. You stand there, your body shivering as you feel sick to your stomach staring at the man in front of you. You really thought you cared for him. You really thought he cared for you.

"Just get out." Hotch pants slightly and you watch the muscles in his back strain against his white button-down with every breath. Something is stopping you from moving from your spot. Maybe it's the shock of it all.

"Jesus fuck. Get out, Y/N!" He yells at you, slamming his fist down on the counter. You jump out of your daze and shake your head, turning to leave his apartment. You dig into your pocket for your phone as the tears stream wildly down your face at this point.

"Hey. How are you feeling? Are you-" Katie's chipper voice comes through the receiver but you don't give her a moment to speak.

"Come pick me up. Please," Your voice is trembling and you have your arms wrapped tightly around your body.

"I'm on my way now."

You hang up the phone, walking down the street hoping to get away from his house. Hoping to stop the way that your body shakes and shudders with each tear that rolls down your cheeks. You don't understand what went wrong. What made him switch from someone who makes you feel so alive to someone who terrifies you? Is he that closed off to feeling anything real? Is he that emotionally damaged? Just a few hours ago, you believed that being with him made you feel alive, but maybe this entire time it was the opposite.

Maybe the line between living and dying is slim. If loving is living, then your relationship with Aaron Hotchner is like dying.

—————

"Y/N," Katie opens the door to your bedroom, letting the light from the apartment flow into the room. "Come on, you're going to be late for the final."

You pull the sheets up to your neck, never having gotten any good sleep last night. Everything in your body hurts. Your head is pounding, you feel sick to your stomach, but overall, you feel numb.

"Einstein—" She starts but you sit up in bed.

"Don't call me that." You say softly and pull the sheets aside, placing your feet on the ground, your legs shaking as you do. "I'm up."

You push past Katie to get to your bathroom. You grant yourself the first glance in the mirror since you left Hotch's and the past 36 hours of pain have clearly left their mark. The bags under your eyes are dark and purple. Your hair is a matted mess on your head. Traces of the makeup from nearly 3 days ago still exist on your face. You look over your clothes, still wearing Hotch's t-shirt and sweatpants. You grip the edge of the fabric and lift it to your face, taking a small sniff. Hotch's cologne is fading from the fabric quickly but you can still slightly sense it. Your first instinct is to smile at the scent, warm and musky, yet slightly sweet.

You lift the shirt over your head, staring back at yourself in the mirror. You can see a few faint scratches on your chest from where Hotch's fingernails dug through the shirt. From when he grabbed you so tight you lost your breath. When he pulled you so close with so much anger that you were terrified of him. You run your fingertips over the fading red marks.

You can't bring yourself to cry anymore. You have no tears left to cry over him. After today, four scratch marks along your chest, a pair of joggers, and a tattered t-shirt will be all you have left of Aaron Hotchner. Even then, the scratches will soon fade. The clothes will lose all traces of his cologne. Then you'll be left with that book. That damned book.

You go back to your room, leaving Hotch's shirt tossed aside on the bathroom floor. You reach for a clean t-shirt and your eyes look over to your bed. There, tangled up in the sheets, lies that leather-bound book. You sit on the edge of the mattress and reach for it again.

Y/N,

The beauty of life is in the grays. Thanks for being the gray in mine.

—A.H.

You run your fingers over his initials again. You've read through the whole book a million times in the past 36 hours. Every time you felt like crying or screaming or you couldn't sleep you opened that cover, read that note, and that all too familiar first line... "In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since. Whenever you feel like criticizing anyone, he told me, just remember that all the people in this world haven't had the advantages that you've had."

You close the book, knowing continuing to stare at the green ink that coats the margins of every page will do you no good.

One more final. One exam. Three hours. That's all the time you have left with him.

Staying awake for the past day and a half has allowed you to run over every interaction with him in your head. Every word, every glance, every touch. A day and a half ago you would've run to him, begged him to stay, begged him to hold onto you. But now, you just feel stupid. You feel foolish. You should've known.

You wonder whether you'll just become another name on a list. A list of girls that Professor Hotchner has used and manipulated before tossing aside. If there's one thing Aaron Hotchner is good at, it's keeping the lines and boundaries blurry. You think back to the moments you were most fed up with him.

That night outside your apartment. He seemed to know just how to keep you infatuated with him. He didn't let the flame die. He kept the spark inside you going. Just with that one apology. How did he manage to make it all seem so real? How did he manage to trick you into feeling loved? Into feeling cared for?

Overall, Hotch loved to play hot and cold with you. When it was hot, it was really hot. The passion and lust burned you. Every touch was like fire on your skin, and it all was so irresistible. The stolen glances and the secret kisses behind closed doors were so exhilarating. But when he was cold, like he was on Saturday, it stung. You wonder how he became so good at compartmentalization.

More than anything, the past day and a half have made you wonder what happened that made him feel so worthless and undeserving of love? Some part of you is even more hurt by that thought. It's selfish, but you wonder why you weren't enough for him. How come your company, your care for him, your feelings for him, weren't enough to make him want to change?

"Y/N," Katie knocks on the doorframe, standing in the way, blocking the light from the hallway, "You ready?"

"No," You sigh softly and put the book back on your bed, "But I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

Katie gives you a look of pity, that makes you want to crawl under the sheets and never face anyone ever again. You don't want the pity looks or the whispers, or the walking on eggshells around you. You want to get rid of this feeling. You want to go back to the start of the semester. More than anything, you want to forget what it felt like to love Aaron Hotchner.

You and Katie walk in silence across the campus. Usually, on your morning walk to class, the two of you are laughing and joyful, discussing anything and everything, but class today holds too much meaning for you to muster up the energy to talk with her.

Katie wraps an arm around your shoulder, helping to walk you into the lecture hall, "I've got you. You're going to do great. You know this shit like the back of your hand," She mutters some words of encouragement and you know you should fight the urge to look up to see Hotch but you can't help yourself.

As soon as you look up at him, he's looking directly back at you. Your red, swollen eyes must be a dead giveaway, because you swear, almost for a second he looks as if he's going to call out to you. He opens his mouth but the words he speaks are not what you want to hear from him, "Everyone hurry to take your seats. The exam will start in exactly two minutes."

You look around the lecture hall and, of course, the only seat open for you is your normal seat at the front. The thick exam booklet is placed down in front of you, but you don't look up at the man who put it down. You don't need to. You know the way he's looking at you. There'll be something about his eyes that tells you he cares, the soft glimmer you've seen a million times before. But the rest of his face will be stone cold. Stern. Emotionless. You wonder how a person's eyes could say so much while their actions and body language tell a totally different story.

The exam begins, but you just sit there for a while. You never open the booklet. You think about him. You think about the first time you ever kissed him. The way his stubble tickled your cheeks. You think about the way he called your nickname that night. Hey Einstein... Blue... My favorite color. It's blue. You think about how jealous he was when he heard about Charlie, and how attractive you thought that was. You think about the way he showed up at your apartment, no warning. At first, you thought it was creepy, but you grew to appreciate the gesture, seeing as he didn't seem to care who saw him there. He just wanted to see you. You think about the other day in his office when you were able to just exist with one another. You watched him grade, his hand on your thigh. The way he gave you full access to his book collection. You think about your birthday, the way he studied every detail of your face before kissing you.

Did he know then? Did he know he was going to break your heart? Was that his version of goodbye? You think about the small blush that spread over his cheeks when he gave you your birthday gift. The way he kissed you and told you to stay safe. You think about how gentle he was with you while cleaning you up and changing you while you were drunk. You think about how tight he held you while you fell asleep, shushing you softly and rubbing your arm gently.

You think about the way you feel with him.

Being with him is comfortable. He reminds you of a rainy day when all you want to do is curl up in the sheets or sit by the window, watching the rain race down the glass. He's like reading a book late at night when it's storming outside but it's completely peaceful inside. The storm might be banging against every wall of the house, but you feel safe and secure at home, sipping coffee and losing yourself in the words on a page.

That was before. Now every time you look at him you feel this growing sense of dread in your stomach. The scratches on your chest sting.

You sit like that for a while. Just thinking. Your lack of work doesn't go unnoticed by Hotch. He glances over at you every few minutes, hoping that you'll pick up your pen and start the exam soon. But you take your time.

You're delaying the inevitable. Once you finish the exam, once you hand it in, this whole thing is truly over. If there's one thing you've learned, however, is that it's pointless to fight against inevitables. Some things are just born to die. You need to accept that. So you pick up your pen and start writing.

You watch as each student rushes to the front of the room to hand in their exams. A small swarm forms around Professor Hotchner as they begin to heckle him about recommendation letters, internship opportunities, and possible grade changes.

You're slow to stand, holding the thick exam booklet daintily at its corner. The weight of the exam does not come from the nearly 20 pages bound together, but from its implications. You know that as soon as you hand in the exam, you and Hotch are through. He made that abundantly clear the other night. This whirlwind of a semester, the sneaking around, the wild sex, the companionship... it all will come to an end.

And what happens after all this? Are you just supposed to nod at him in the halls? Pretend that he didn't toss you out like trash just when you were starting to feel something real for him?

You feel like you're moving in slow motion as you push past the swarms of students. You push to the front holding your exam out for Hotch to take from you, "Done, Miss Y/L/N?"

"Yeah. I'm done," You attempt to maintain the icy demeanor but you know your swollen red eyes give you away. You want him to think his words didn't affect you. But you swiftly turn on your heel and leave his classroom. You're practically speeding to get out of the stuffy old building and out into the fresh air. When you do, the cool winter chill hits your face, pulling you out of the enchantment that Hotch's presence seems to suck you into.

You're just grateful you never have to take another fucking step into his class ever again.

—————

What you wanted more than anything was a winter break full of meaningless sex, something to take your mind off your brute of a law professor, but as much as you wished, you found yourself unable to follow through. There wasn't a single moment in the day that the memories stayed away.

Beyond the memories, it was impossible to exist at school without feeling his presence. It wasn't that you saw him constantly, you avoided him like the plague. You weren't even ashamed to stop and turn in the opposite direction when you saw him coming.

But besides that, there was always this lurking feeling that he was just a few feet away from you. The idea that he's just a classroom over or just a flight of stairs away or he could be just around the corner of every hallway haunts your every moment on campus. Even now, as you attempt to simply hand in a paper to your professor, your mind wanders to last semester.

You walk down the all-too-familiar halls, looking for office #336. You know exactly where it is. Directly across the hall from Hotch's. You come to find your legal methods professor's office door shut and hear him chatting away with another student. As a result, you're forced to wait outside, your focus unwavering from Hotch's closed door.

You can just picture him: sleeves rolled up, tie askew, hunched over a student's paper, grading furiously. You feel a smile prick at the corner of your lips, thinking of taunting him about his furrowed brow and harshly bitten lip.

A small timid voice strikes you from your thoughts. "Excuse me? Is this Professor Hotchner's office?"

You resist the urge to laugh at the girl. She practically shrinks away under your gaze and you see fear dance around in her shimmering eyes. You want to laugh, seeing as she's probably older than you, but you can tell she's new from the shy way she looks at you. You simply raise a finger, pointing at the nameplate besides the door that reads:

#335

Aaron Hotchner, J.D.

Criminal Law

She nods and looks down at the paper she's clutching against her chest. Your eyes wander and you see a large red C that is circled and Hotch's unmistakeable chicken scratch handwriting scrawled just below the grade that reads: 'Come see me. Immediately'

That's when it really sinks in. Hotch was right. You weren't anything special. You were just a momentary obsession. You were convenient. It was easy. You fulfilled his needs just for him to toss you away once it became too complex. Too inconvenient.

Your heart is racing, anticipating Hotch opening his door first. You let out a small sigh of relief when you hear the office door of your professor open, but at the exact same time, the door opens across the hall. The young girl immediately explodes with nerves, "Professor Hotchner, sir. We need to discuss my grade, I really put a lot of work into it."

You know you shouldn't look, but you do. You glance over at his office door, your eyes locking with his immediately. At least this time, it's not completely obvious how much he's hurt you. The last time you saw him, your eyes were bright red and irritated from lack of sleep and tears that were wasted on him.

Your presence doesn't faze him. That unmistakable voice like velvet and the words he says to her are not ones that are unfamiliar to you.

"Call me Hotch," His smooth voice is unwavering, "Come on inside, we have a lot to talk about." His eyes never leave yours until he places a hand on the small of her back and leads her into his office, the door slamming shut behind them.

And you're grateful that's the last time you ever see Aaron Hotchner again. At least, that's what you thought.

"It is invariably saddening to look through new eyes at things upon which you have expended your own powers of adjustment" — F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

A/N: And that's the end of part 1! Part 2 is going to be so much fun...

Part 2: Chapter 12: II.I →

[shimeiro]

1- Jean Jacket (Maxwell Lord x Fem!Reader

- Part 1 -  Maxwell Lord x Fem!Reader

┃Next Part┃- ┃Masterlist┃

( a / n : I don't know if it's my love for clothes in vintage thrift stores that made me create this story or just my love for that asshole Maxwell but ... Yeah, we'll all see how it goes I guess? (Alistair does not exist in this story so no Father Max sorryyyy) )

Warnings : None ? 

 Words : 2275

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

Your life was rather quiet and pleasant, you like your job as a saleswoman in a big and quite famous second-hand store in the neighborhood, the vintage clothes are in good condition and the stock is renewed every day so new pieces from the 60's to the 90's make their appearance on the shelves and the hangers of the store full of clothes, Shoes, accessories... Your status as a saleswoman gives you the right to be one step ahead of the store's regulars to choose clothes you like for half the price and that alone makes your job so nice. Just yesterday you managed to find a real denim jacket from the 80's, and as everyone in this store knows: each piece is unique and when you manage to find something you like it becomes a bit of a treasure just for you because no one will find exactly the same thing in the whole store.

Today you decided to come to work with your new jacket, it's a little big for you but the oversize side is very fashionable at the moment, your work doesn't require a proper outfit and the boss himself wears very extravagant and colorful outfits, this man is adorable and full of life which makes the atmosphere at work great. So, your outfit of the day consisting of a black strapless crop top in fabric that holds your breasts does not leave much to the imagination because you are not wearing a bra underneath - necessarily a bustier. - but more and more women do not wear a bra and you're lucky that you don't have boobs that don't necessarily require a bra so you take advantage. 

But for some people it seems vulgar even though it's summer and the sun is scorching outside and yes women can wear crop tops and no bra, but with your jacket and your high waist jeans that hide your belly button make the outfit modern and vintage at the same time with your wedge ankle boots found a month ago at the bottom of a cardboard box in the store's reserve. But if this is really neccesary you can close your jacket if you feel that some men will become too... agressive in front of a bar when you come home tonight. Women life...

You feel especially pretty today thanks to your new jacket, the new clothes have the power to make you happy the first time you wear them so you walk confidently towards work while the soft air of the sunny summer morning makes a few strands of your hair twirl to the rhythm of your steps while the music in your headphones makes the street atmosphere you taking every day almost magical.

A strange feeling has been gripping your heart since you left home, it feels like some kind of strange nostalgia and you can't really understand why you suddenly feel this way for no apparent reason, maybe it's because when you left home and put your hand in the pocket of your new jacket you found a small piece of paper yellowed by the years, you immediately found it strange because normally when the clothes arrive at the store they are cleaned because most of the clothes come from people who give them to the store to resell them because they used to clutter up their parents' or grandparents' attics or garages sometimes. So finding a paper in a pocket of your jacket is surprising but not impossible.

But when you carefully unfold the little piece of paper it is the sentence written on it that stirred something in you, it's just a few words written with a black pen:

« Can't Take My Eyes off You. » It's the lyrics of an old song but you felt something strange while reading the paper, maybe it's because of your small - big - hypersensitivity and your romantic side but since reading this old paper - which was clearly meant for the former owner of the denim jacket - you feel this strange feeling. You get out of your thoughts when the music you are listening to ends and another one randomly launches from the playlist in your phone but the earphones start to sizzle in an unusual way, you sigh with annoyance because you bought them no more than two weeks ago, and having music while walking alone outside has become almost more of a necessity than a habit, Having music in your ears almost makes you feel like you're in another world when you're walking and it makes you forget your slight discomfort when you find yourself in crowded streets or a bus full of strangers invading your personal space.

Suddenly you feel a violent vertigo that forces you to stop walking and your earphones sizzle even louder so you have to quickly remove them from your ears before they pierce your eardrums or something like that.  You open your eyes gently and don't even notice that you closed them first, your head spins a little and you feel a little nauseous for a few more seconds and then the world stabilizes again and you look around you with incomprehension, you don't know at all the street you're on right now.

You look frantically from left to right hoping to find something familiar, a store, a café, a sign, anything that would help you find your way, but you find yourself in a big, completely unknown avenue that doesn't even look like an avenue that the city where you live might have. You feel your body warmth rise a notch when panic starts to creep into your mind when you realize that absolutely everything seems unknown, the cars are all old American cars, the people walking down the street all seem to be going out in old fashion stores from the 80's, even their hairstyles. 

You feel like you're in a movie.

Your brain rushes to try to rationalize the situation you're in to try to prevent you from having a panic attack in the middle of a street crowded with people looking at you weirdly, if only you had your headphones and relaxing music to make you think about something else ... But yes your phone! A wave of relief comes over you when you take your phone out of the back pocket of your jeans, just having it in your hands right now makes you want to cry with joy, you quickly retreat until your back is against the wall of a building and you are no longer in the passage of the street crowded with people who look at you as if you had a second head. You don't even look at the building you're leaning against and you quickly press the button on your phone to turn it on, but once the screen lights up he flashes frantically it's impossible to unlock it and call someone. 

« What the hell ... Please ..! » You whisper in a trembling voice as you feel your breath accelerating, the stupid phone has absolutely no mercy for you even though you desperately try to make it work properly by turning it on and off, You have a glimmer of hope when the image on your wallpaper - an adorable picture of Mando with his green baby from The Mandalorian series - stabilizes enough for you to unlock it and access your contacts, you were going to text your position to your colleague and friend Daisy to beg her to come and pick you up in car but suddenly the screen goes completely off and you can't turn it back on.

« No no no no no no no… » You swear that you can feel your heart stop beating for a few moments because of the black screen of your only hope in this nightmare. Yes nightmare, you must certainly be in full dream and you will wake up nice and warm in your bed and Roucky your long-haired red cat will come and purr in your ear for you to wake up and give him food and then ...  You are startled when you hear someone clearing their throat insistently right in front of you, it must have been a little while that person has been trying to get your attention and you hadn't even noticed their presence. You raise your head gently with a little smile on your lips to try to hide your internal panic, a salesperson reflex when you are lost in your thoughts while a customer wanted to attract your attention. But your smile fades when you finally see the person right in front of you with his arms crossed over a large chest dressed in a three-piece sky-blue suit, a smirk on his lips and an eyebrow raised in a questioning manner. Maxwell Lord.

Wait...

Maxwell Lord?!

What the fuck ?! 

He is literally a fictional character who is played by your favorite actor Pedro Pascal, and he is there in front of you and his deep brown eyes are staring at you with a kind of fun and curiosity not hidden, you it looks strongly like a dream but everything seems far too realistic in a same time, you can smell his masculine perfume and certainly the smell of his aftershave if he was even closer, you hear the noise of the passers-by behind him. Yeah It's really much too realistic. 

Instinctively you look down on the hand that is not holding your phone to observe the palm of your hand and your fingers, usually when you have a doubt in a dream about the reality of the situation you are in and if you are in a dream your hand will be anything but normal, a finger in addition or something else and after that you know that you are in a dream what leads you to make a lucid dream and thus to be able to control more or less the continuation of your dream, it is besides often amusing but there your hand is completely normal even if you fix it for a long time.

 « Mmh, it's the first time a woman has ignored me like this. »

You quickly raise your head and open your eyes, and Pedr-Maxwell still looks at you, but this time his hands are in his pants pockets.

« Oh- I'm sorry I'm... I'm... in need of sugar! So- I almost fainted so uh... I'm slowly coming to my senses? So... I'm gonna go buy a sugary drink and... I'll feel better. » 

You're aware your voice shakes at times when you tell your half lie to the beautiful man in front of you, you almost fainted when you... landed here. But you weren't going to tell him that you were technically from the future, were you? But this world doesn't really exist because it's from a movie but... Yeah...?

   You probably had to convince him with your lost and panicked look and his brown eyes seem to soften slightly he looks at you from top to bottom - maybe lingering too much on your black top - then he looks on your phone that you still hold in your right hand, he looks at it curiously but he doesn't say anything and then his eyes go back to your face, it's really weird to see her in front of you after the fanfictions you read about him when you haven't even seen the movie Wonder Woman 1984, in fact the whole situation is weird, you always laughed and said to yourself that if you were in the world of one of the characters you love and you met him you might try to be enterprising and enjoy the moment but right now you're just completely lost and scared.

« Need sugar huh? My assistant was going to get me a coffee, » He takes his left hand out of his pocket and makes a lazy wave with his hand, the gold rings on his fingers shine with the sun's rays, barely he make his gesture a beautiful blonde woman with curves worthy of the muse of an expensive lingerie brand appear next to him.

« Yes Mr. Lord? »

 « Usual coffee and something with sugar. »

Her assistant seems slightly irritated when she looks in your direction but she picks herself up when she looks at her boss again.

« What kind of sweet thing Mr. Lord? »

Her tone leaves a kind of innuendo, and you can imagine that as in some fanfictions you read Maxwell must fuck his assistants out of ease, and this beautiful woman with perfect breasts must surely be one of them, Maxwell doesn't pick up the innuendo and doesn't even look at her.

« You bring it back to my office in 5 minutes. »

She stutters a little: "Yes Mr. Lord" while throwing you a murderous look as if it was your fault that her boss was like that, but you are not irritated or hurt by the look of this assistant you are just still in the fog, maybe you really have something sweet finally to clear your mind a bit.

You feel knuckles brushing against your cheek, Maxwell freezes when you look up at his face and his eyes darken for a split second and then he clears his throat and quickly removes the hand that just brushed against your face.

« Follow me, I wouldn't want a young woman to pass out in front of the Lord Industry building. »

You hadn't even paid attention to the building right behind you in your panic to try to get out of this situation but now you've drawn Maxwell Lord's attention and you don't know if it's a good thing in the supernatural situation you're in.

[sultrysweet]

Supercat - "Are you stupid or stupid?" (Pretty please?)

Are you stupid or stupid? x

Kara almost crash landed on her couch after her latest rescue with soot from the house fire smudged across her forehead, cheeks, and even a knuckle-sized swipe across her chin. Too drained to shower before she stretched out on the cushions, she at least had enough energy to speed change into her gray-sleeved baseball tee and pastel pink shorts that did little to cover much of anything. She opened the rarely used Postmates app on her phone a minute later when someone knocked on her door.

With a sigh, she stood up and tossed her phone on the couch. She trudged toward the unknown visitor and didn’t think to use her x-ray vision, or to even check the peephole, before she yanked the door wide open. 

Expecting anyone else, Kara rested her head against the doorframe and stared disinterestedly at the person in the hallway until her nose caught the scent of pizza. Her unfocused eyes looked down at the set of stacked boxes and widened. She noticed a familiar cross section ring with a green stone tip against the side of the warm boxes right when an even more familiar voice startled her into a more alert state of mind.

“Feel free to take them off my hands any time now.”

“Ms. Grant!” Kara pushed herself away from the door and stood at attention as though her former boss was a drill sergeant. Kara only added to that impression when she grabbed the pizza from Cat without having to be told, as soon as the older woman’s words finally registered. “You’re here! Why are you here?”

“Does it matter?” The former CEO cocked her hip and rested her ring-bearing hand on it while she gave Kara one of her infamous looks that some people might see as an open invitation to challenge the woman. Some people would be wrong.

Kara stared at Cat for a long enough moment of inactivity that it must have felt like a challenge all the same, if Cat rolling her eyes was any indication.

“Fine, someone sent a little birdie to me in D.C. and, now that I know the multiverse has collapsed into...whatever the hell this timeline is, I thought I’d thank you for saving the world. Again.” Cat breezed by her as she walked into the apartment without invitation. “Not to mention that fact that you won your first Pulitzer, which I sadly couldn’t see you receive in person, and I’m sure you haven’t had much of a chance to bask in the glory of that accomplishment.”

Kara stuttered as she turned and watched Cat stroll through her apartment like she owned the place. Knowing what Cat Grant was worth, even after selling CatCo, Kara didn’t dismiss the idea that the other woman could easily own the entire building.

“So, are you going to offer me anything to drink to go along with that pizza?” Cat settled in one of the bar stools at the kitchen island and then squinted at the refrigerator. “Do you even have anything to drink?”

Kara frowned. The usual judgment in Cat’s voice kickstarted higher brain function and led her to close the door and the space between them. “Yes, I have things to drink. And I don’t know what bird would have told you about...the multiverse…” She trailed off as she pieced together a possible, though still unlikely, situation that explained how Cat knew anything about the Vanishing Point. 

“Are you with me yet, Supergirl?”

Kara only stopped staring at the dimly lit kitchen backsplash when she felt the pizza slip out of her grasp. She jolted forward in an attempt to catch the boxes before she could drop any of the food only to nearly push the boxes out of Cat’s hands as the woman guided them onto the counter. “Sorry,” she muttered when she realized her mistake.

“That answers my question.”

“Sorry,” Kara said a little louder, and even managed to make eye contact with the other woman. “It’s been a long day.”

“The grime on your face suggested as much.”

“What?” Kara raised a hand to her cheek with the same urgency as though Cat had pointed out she’d shown up to work in her underwear. “Oh, there was a fire. Wait, go back to how exactly you know about the multiverse. Former multiverse.”

Cat sighed and popped open the top pizza box. “Agent Mulder paid me a visit two days ago and pulled a very E.B.E. move with a finger to my temple.”

“Uh, e-b-what?”

“Extraterrestrial biological entity. Have you never seen The X-Files?” The question came out like an accusation, another judgment, but Cat waved her hand and then pulled a slice of sausage and pepperoni pizza from the box. “Anyway, he zapped me with the knowledge of a world that no longer exists and I was faced with the new reality that Lex Luthor is worshipped instead of reviled, but that wasn’t even the most upsetting thing about all the new memories I gained, or that he unlocked. I’m still not entirely sure how that mind-meld thing works. Although, if you could get him to explain it to me—”

“What,” Kara interrupted with a sharper than intended tone and relaxed a little, “was the most upsetting part?”

“If you or your friend are worried that I’m only interested in knowing how or what he did just to write an expose on it, don’t forget that all my journalistic drive comes from  natural curiosity first and foremost.”

“Cat.”

Another sigh and then, “The most upsetting part was that I could have gone another handful months or even years wrongly believing everything about this new Earth because you were never going to tell me yourself.”

“What?” Kara gripped the edge of the counter and stared wide-eyed at Cat as she gave the woman her full attention. 

“And the only reason I can think that you’d do that is because you still weren’t ready to tell me who you are.”

“Who I…? What?” Kara shook her head as if to a clear dense fog in her brain that prevented her from understanding, or more accurately believing, Cat’s words.

“I know that it’s mostly my fault that you feel you can’t trust me. When I found out the first time, I gave you an impossible ultimatum. I had no right to force that kind of decision on you because it’s your life, your powers, and you will always have control over what you do with them. But I also never stopped to consider that just because you have these abilities doesn’t mean you wouldn’t need to feed, cloth, and house yourself like anyone else living in this world. Pushing you out of a job with me would have only left you to find a paying one somewhere else because I’m sure that government agency you work with doesn’t subsidize their alien associates.”

“Well, there is a great medical plan,” Kara said without thinking. She clapped a hand over her mouth less than a second later.

Cat grinned, never one to miss the opportunity to gloat. “I shouldn't have done that, but I still wish you’d at least told me before your friend hit me with his best shot.”

Kara resisted the urge to chuckle and said, “It’s not that I don’t trust you. I had way more reservations about telling Lena than I ever had about you, and it’s not like you’re going to pretend to still be my friend just to learn about any of my weaknesses to use against me later. Wait, you’re not going to do that. Are you?”

“No! Kar-” Cat sighed and slid off the stool. “I know I forced you to out yourself to me before, but I confronted you about it. I didn’t hide, I didn’t pretend, and I never once went public with anything I’d found; even before you pulled the Houdini act with your stunt double.”

“Um.” Kara did laugh that time and felt her cheeks warm ever so slightly. “That was J’onn. The man who gave you memories of the original timeline, that was him.”

“A shapeshifter. That’s...well.” Before Cat lost herself to critical thinking, she said, “My point is, why would you think I’d do something like that?”

Kara winced. “Because it’s what Lena did.”

Cat balked. “Lena as in Lena Luthor? The woman who tried to mass produce a device that identifies aliens and would coincide with the Alien Registry that’s basically a pre-imposed rap sheet on any non-human and perpetuates profiling? The woman who bought my company just to give it away to that sensationalist who prefers clickbait to actual journalism less than a year later?”

“Uh, yeah?”

Cat shook her head. She took a deep breath and her shoulders rose toward her ears with the movement. Her body remained tense, even when Cat unleashed her newfound anger. “Are you stupid or...stupid?”

Kara stepped back like Cat’s words had lanced her.

“Great.” Cat huffed. “Now that I’ve dumbed down my speech to what would pass as good grammar with your latest boss, I’d say this trip has been more frustrating than I thought.”

“I’m...sorry?”

“I can’t believe you told her of all people. Forgetting the fact that she carries the Luthor name, which I know doesn’t automatically make her like the rest of that family, she’s done nothing to prove herself worthy of your trust.”

“Nothing? She was my friend!”

“A friend with a skewed moral compass that never favors you.”

Kara scoffed. “At least she was here! She helped me figure out what I wanted to do with that open-ended promotion you gave me. And then, even as a lowly cub reporter, she still took my calls and scheduled meetings. But then she also sat with me, shared working dinners with me, and talked to me. She was my friend. And now she’s an adversary.”

Kara hadn’t felt the tears form or fall, but she felt Cat wipe them away and close the small gap between them. 

“Kara.” Cat breathed her name like a prayer. “I’m sorry for what you lost.”

Kara sucked in a deep, watery breath and fell into Cat. She wrapped her arms around the smaller woman while more tears streamed down her cheeks and dampened Cat’s hair where Kara buried her face in the Queen of All Media’s neck.

“Thank you,” Kara said, her words muffled against Cat. “You don’t even know the half of it, either.”

“What do you mean?” Cat pulled away but kept her hands on Kara’s biceps. She even squeezed a little when Kara ducked her head toward her chest.

“Lena isn’t the only person I lost. Another friend of mine sacrificed himself for this new Earth.”

“Oh, Kara.” Cat stroked her thumb over Kara’s cheekbone a few times, the back and forth motion enough to draw more tears before Kara sniffled and lifted her head.

“I just keep thinking it has to stop, that I won’t have to lose anyone else. Or that I can at least get them back. I can’t get Oliver back, but at least she’s here. Lena’s alive and in National City and I tried. I tried to get back what we had, but she might as well have found new waters to swim in. Like you.”

Cat slid her hand from Kara’s face to her neck and grazed Kara’s jawline with her thumb. “I’m not sure what her or her brother’s plans are, but I can tell you about mine.”

Kara fisted Cat’s shirt where she continued to hold the woman at her waist and held the form-fitting, black V-neck tightly enough to tug the woman closer. Their noses nearly touched and one of Cat’s heeled feet stepped on Kara’s bare toes.

“Kara, I can’t promise you things will get easier with me around. I might actually make it worse some days, but—”

“But you’re staying?”

“If I’m not then I made a huge mistake buying out Andrea Rojas for my company two hours ago.”

Kara sucked in a breath as her lips curled into an unbidden smile. In the next breath, she eliminated the barely-there space between them and crashed their lips together. She clawed desperately at Cat’s shirt until the material stretched loose and Kara needed to feel more within her grasp. 

Cat moaned as Kara gripped the woman’s hips a short distance from where she’d previously clung to Cat’s shirt. Cat arched into Kara and her hungry touches. After several heated kisses, the Queen of All Media slid one hand down Kara’s arm and placed it over Kara’s while she moved her other hand to Kara’s sternum. With a light shove, she urged Kara away and pulled back from the kiss.

“Much as I’d love to continue this and explore everything those thighs of steel can do,” Cat said with a lingering stare at Kara’s tanned, toned legs, “I’m sure you worked up an appetite earlier and that pizza’s getting cold.”

“Let it.” Kara licked her lips while her eyes wandered over Cat’s form. “I’d rather skip to dessert.”

[spaceskam]

our fainted thrill carries on (4/13)

another part of my season 2 fix it! warnings: referenced child abuse

ao3

“What does a girl have to do to get a drink around here?”

Alex and Kyle both gave their attention to the girl who strolled in with unmatched confidence, catching the sight of every woman in Planet 7 with ease. But how could you blame them? Jenna Cameron was a force to be reckoned with and it was impossible to hide. She sat between them.

“Looks like you don’t have to do anything,” Alex said as she sat beside them, handing her his drink with ease. She nodded his way in thanks. “What are you doing back here?”

Cameron let out a long sigh and looked at him like he already knew. Which, he guessed he did, because what bullshit didn’t lead right back to his fucking asshole of a father?

After a shitty night, Alex had woken up early to Michael still in his bed and sound asleep. He felt more hungover than tired which he knew was a result of him panicking the night before, but he’d pushed through and got ready for the day. He covered Michael up, left him a pot of coffee, and headed to the hospital. It took two long hours to get Jesse to wake up and, when he finally did, he was too incoherent to even question. It ended up being a total waste of time and it meant Alex had to get up the next morning on his only other day off and go through that shit again. 

“I drove all the way up to where Chief told me my sister was and guess what? Not there,” she said. Alex rolled his eyes.

“Figures.”

“I’m sorry,” Kyle told her. She shrugged. 

“I’m still looking for her though. Came down to talk to him, maybe get my job back. If he’s going to lie, might as well fuck him over with you two in the meantime,” she said, shooting them a wink as she tilted back Alex’s drink. He shook his head.

“And how’d you know we were gonna be here, exactly?” Alex asked. Cameron raised an eyebrow and gave a little smirk. 

“Well, Cap, your little sidekick,” she paused, taking a moment to kick Kyle’s leg beneath the table hard enough for him to jump, “Doesn’t know how to shut off his location.”

“What?” Alex demanded, glaring his way, “Have you lost your damn mind? Give me your phone.”

“Ow, why am I getting tortured?” Kyle asked, but he forked over his phone. Alex unlocked it far too easy which just earned him another disapproving headshake. He got to work at making sure it wasn’t trackable.

“But catch me up. What’ve I missed in the two weeks of the Max and Liz show?” Cameron asked, taking a longer swig.

Alex zoned in and out as Kyle filled her in. Max’s death, their plans to try and revive him, the strange resurrection of Rosa, and the wall they’d hit with much discovery from Project Shepard. They had files upon files, but that’s where it stopped. Their funding and their crew were damn near untraceable, all of them having aliases and scattered across the state in redacted locations. It was making it impossible to stop anything and that meant they had to wait until Jesse was coherent. 

“Well, fuck,” Cameron sighed as Alex slid Kyle’s phone back to him.

“Yeah,” Alex agreed, “You still want in?”

“I only want to help kick his ass more,” Cameron said, flagging one of the bartenders down. She ordered another round of drinks for them. He shook his head at how shamelessly she flirted with her. Alex envied her confidence sometimes even though he knew he had his own. Hers was just… palpable.

“That is something I can get behind,” Kyle said, tapping their beers together in solidarity before downing the rest of their bottles. Alex’s phone buzzed in his pocket before he could feel left out and their cheers to his father’s demise.

Michael: you good? You’re not home

Alex: went out for drinks with kyle

Michael: got it

Alex: take a shower before you get in my bed 

Michael: washing your sheets before i do

Alex: thanks

Michael: i can’t find finger guns emoji

Alex: i hate you

Michael: never

“Oh, that’s Alex thinking he’s subtle,” Kyle said, breaking Alex’s attention away from his phone. Their new set of beers had already arrived. “He’s texting a boy.”

“Shut the fuck up, no, I’m not,” Alex laughed, putting his phone away, “Well, it is a guy, but not that kind of guy. He’s just a friend.”

“I too stare at my friend’s texts like they’re the secrets to the universe,” Cameron said casually, that smirk never leaving her face as she took a sip of her drink. Alex just shook his head. “No worries. Your love life is not my priority.”

“Okay, well it is mine,” Kyle said, leaning forward, “Please be careful. I know you’re a little too willing to sacrifice yourself for Guerin, but this is bigger than him.”

“Oh, Guerin still? Fuck him,” Cameron butted in, “Literally and figuratively.”

“No,” Kyle jumped back in, “Not literally.” 

Alex shook his head and let out a little helpless laugh. It was funny that they thought either of those were options. While he wasn’t 100% sure of Michael’s feelings, he did know that neither of them had the time to work at a relationship. It was friendship and that was it.

“Relax,” Alex said, “He’s not going to distract me from what needs to be done. Besides, he wants this shit taken care of as much as we do. I promise.”

“Moving on from the topic of that side of the aliens, let’s move onto something worth talking about,” Cameron said and Alex wanted to thank her for it,  “Do we have a list of shit to ask Chief Manes about?”

They strategized for a few more hours until they came up with a solid plan for the next morning and how they were going to approach everything. That and it gave them a bit of time to sober up before driving. Alex took the time on the drive home to focus on unwinding, trying to make sure his mind would be clear enough to actually get a good night’s sleep for once. He wasn’t sure it actually worked, but he tried.

The inside of his cabin was dark already by the time he pulled up beside Michael’s truck, only the porch light being left on to illuminate the fact he was coming home to someone. A giddy feeling pulsed in his stomach, demolishing any lasting regret from the night before, and he walked inside. It looked the same, but it felt different. He locked the door behind him.

Alex went to his bedroom like always, but the door was already opened and a quick peek inside showed a shirtless Michael under the covers in bed already and scrolling through his phone. It was something so average, but it had Alex feeling like his mind was going to explode. In the years and years they’d been orbiting each other, never had he come home to someone waiting for him in his bed. Go figure that the only thing that got him that was fear and paranoia.

“Hey,” Michael said, dropping his phone once he saw him. Something stirred in Alex and he had to just walk in further and pretend he was fine. Because Kyle was right. This was bigger than him.

“Hey,” Alex said nonetheless, sitting on his side of the bed to take his shoes off. Michael didn’t come closer though part of Alex wished he had.

“How’d it go with your dad this morning?” he asked. Alex took a deep breath in and let out a heavy sigh. “That bad?”

“He wasn’t really coherent when we woke him up. He was too disoriented to actually get anything out of him, so we have to go back tomorrow and do that shit again,” Alex told him, pushing off the bed carefully.

“That sucks,” Michael said simply. Alex huffed a laugh.

“Yeah, it does.”

Alex grabbed a pair of boxers and t-shirt to change into before heading into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He tried not to think too much about anything as he got ready for bed quickly. He brushed his teeth and changed, deciding to take a shower in the morning. 

Michael was still staring his way when he came back out. Alex sat on the edge of the bed again and started to remove his prosthetic, ignoring the eyes on his back. They were friends who were dealing with some fucked up shit. That’s the only reason this wasn’t weird and it was the main reason it wouldn’t turn into anything else. Sleeping in the same bed helped everyone’s brains.

“How were you feeling today? Better?” Alex asked as he laid down. Michael shrugged, moving his hand beneath the pillow. It didn’t move fast enough and Alex saw that he still had the bandana tied around it. He decided not to comment. 

“I’m okay,” Michael answered, “How are you?” Alex gave him a small smile.

“I’m okay,” Alex repeated, taking a deep breath. He stared at him for a few more seconds before his eyes scanned the darkroom, making sure no one was there that shouldn’t be. Michael didn’t judge him for that either.

“Goodnight, Alex.”

Alex smiled in response, trying to relax into bed to get some form of rest before the morning came and reared its ugly fucking head.

-

Michael woke up the next morning to an empty bed and literally nothing to do.

Okay, perhaps not nothing, but he didn’t have to be at the lab for a few more hours. He was struggling to be there or anywhere near Max by himself still, the guilt was too high and he would start spiraling. He was doing good. Good as he could be.

He rolled over Alex’s side of the bed, the sheets gone cold which left him feeling a little more empty than it should’ve. Michael got to his feet nonetheless. He dragged himself to the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee, drinking it despite the fact that it was lukewarm at best. Alex didn’t have a microwave for some reason so he settled for mediocre coffee.

There was something very relaxing about being so welcome in Alex’s home. The front door was locked, including the complicated ones, as if Alex had made a point to lock them all-knowing Michael was still inside. He was allowed to be there, wanted there, kept safe there. That was something he wasn’t quite sure how to process. It was easier not to process and simply exist, take up the space and enjoy it.

He started wandering, looking at all the old pictures and books that had been there since before Jim Valenti had died. There was a picture on the mantle of little Alex and Kyle holding up dead deer, both of them smiling despite leaning as far away from it as possible. When he walked down the hall, there was another picture of the two of them, couldn’t be any older than seven, decked out in camo and holding rifles that were too big for them and grinning. Alex looked adorable, all happy and unburdened and missing a couple of teeth. Michael couldn’t help but smile.

There was another picture though, that felt weird and out of place. It was across from the hall closet and it was wallet-sized, but a closer look at it made it clear that it was indeed a young Jesse Manes and Jim Valenti. Both were smiling, showing off the wedding bands on their fingers. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve assumed they were a newlywed couple. Seeing Jesse Manes look so happy and free felt jarring, but here it was. They were grinning and proud and happy to be married to women they loved. Michael sipped his coffee as he tried to make sense of a world like that.

After he finished his coffee and got lost in an idealistic world where Alex’s father actually supported him, Michael decided that he should probably get dressed for the day. He bypassed the stack of his own clothing on the couch and instead went to Alex’s closet, far more eager to find something that was ill-fitting but distinctly Alex than his own clothing.

Alex’s closet (and entire cabin, honestly) was to a military-degree of organization. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but it always made Michael laugh a little when he looked at it. Everything was hung in a precise order and all his shoes were on a pristine rack and his underwear was folded and color-coded. How cute was that?

At the top of the closet, there was a backpack, a duffle bag, and a box. Curiosity got the better of him and he reached for the box, secretly hoping for more pictures of young Alex. As he was pulling it down, his arm brushed the backpack and it was unexpectedly hard. He furrowed his eyebrows as he stared at it, noticing the weird shape whatever was inside caused the bag to be. He knew that he shouldn’t look in it, it was Alex’s things, but… 

Before he could convince himself otherwise, he moved his attention to the bag and pulled it down. It wasn’t as heavy as he was anticipating, but it was still solid. He brought it over to the bed and debated on whether he should open it or not. It was Alex’s. However, if he hadn’t shown him, it probably wasn’t anything important. They’d agreed to share everything, right? And, if it was important, there was no way it’d just be at the top of his closet.

Surely, it was nothing. And yet, no matter how successful he was at convincing himself it was nothing, he couldn’t seem to convince himself not to look. Just… unzip and look.

So he did. Unzipped it and looked.

He wasn’t sure what he expected, but when he saw that shiny glass in a large piece that he’d ever seen, he forgot how to breathe. The bag dropped to the floor as he pulled it out, flipping it over in his hands as he tried to make sense of it. Alex had this and didn’t tell him? How long had he had it? How long had it been up there? Maybe he didn’t know. But that was bullshit because this was his bag. Why didn’t he tell him?

Michael stared at it for a few more seconds, marveling at the piece before he scrambled over to get his phone. He pulled up Alex’s contact and started typing out a message, started to ask him what the fuck this was doing in his closet. But he stopped himself. If Alex hadn’t told him, there had to be a reason. He just had to trust that it was a good one. And he trusted Alex.

Without too much more questioning, Michael erased the message and put the piece back in the bag and the bag back where he’d found it. His hands were shaky and his heart was thudding, but Alex must’ve had a reason. He had to. Because Alex said honesty.

He stole a pair of Alex’s jeans and grabbed a bottle of whiskey on his way out.

-

“Good morning, Dad.”

Alex managed a smile as he stood at the foot at his father’s hospital bed. Despite the fact that it was his day off, he wore his uniform and stood tall. It made things a bit easier. The uniform came with respect that even his father had to uphold.

Jesse Manes said nothing, gazing up in the direction of his son. Kyle stood in the doorway and played guardian angel, waiting to swoop in and save the day. Somewhere else, Jenna Cameron was sweet-talking Michelle Valenti in hopes that she’d have a reason to both stay and access to even more files. 

A cop, an Airman, and a doctor walk into a bar‒is there anything they can’t do?

“I think it’s time we have a little chat,” Alex said. Jesse’s eyes followed him as he went to stand by the side of his bed. Alex considered sitting at the foot of it, but decided it against it at the last minute. He could play that card a little later. “You see, I’ve been doing a lot of research.”

“You always have.”

“True,” Alex nodded, smiling, “But I do think I understand things a bit better now. That being said, it should be known that I’m no longer speaking to Michael Guerin. You were right about him.”

“I don’t want to hear about that.” Jesse eyed him, clutching the trigger of his morphine drip and yet never pushing it. Alex smiled and tilted his head back.

“I just thought you’d want to know. I may have gotten a little carried away, but his kind have shown their true colors.”

“Your manipulation isn’t going to work on me,” Jesse said, shifting just a little. His thumb grazed the trigger, but never quite pushed. Alex nodded.

“I know. Sadly, I wish it was manipulation. It took me far too many years to realize that my weakness was an embarrassment,” Alex sighed. That was honest enough that he didn’t even have to force a lie. Jesse clocked that which he seemed to find even more sketchy. Alex shook the statement off and rolled his shoulders back. “That being said, I’ve been trying to see what I can do to help the, well, the family business.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Yeah, I’m not having much luck which is why I came to you. I’m not trying to hide that, Dad,” Alex told him, “I’m on your side. As much as I can be, anyway.”

“And you really expect me to believe that?”

“You don’t have to, but it’s the truth. Honestly, I feel a little left out. I understand why I was left out, but the feeling still stands. You never even tried to recruit me and now that I want to help, I can’t,” Alex said. He stepped closer, sitting on the bed now. Jesse watched him in a whole new level of confusion. Alex felt successful. “I even tried to talk to Flint and he told me not to even bother. I re-enlisted after losing my leg, finally learned my place, and I’m still not good enough, Dad? Really?”

Alex stared at him and he stared back. It was a long stare and Alex truly didn’t mean for it to happen, but there was a moment where it started getting under his skin. No matter how hard he tried, he would always be less. He felt like a kid again, twelve and trying to figure out why his dad didn’t like him. He was no longer looking down at a weak man in a hospital bed, but looking up from the kitchen floor after being backhanded so hard he couldn’t stand, kneeling on rice with his nose to the wall after asking to have a male friend spend the night, crying into his pillows as quiet as he could so he wouldn’t hear, pleading to this man he looked up to why don’t you like me, and he had to look away.

“M.V.C.”

“Sir?” Alex said, risking it all to turn his attention back to his father. He looked hesitant to speak, but maybe he was dulled by the morphine or maybe he bought into Alex’s truth-infused lies.

“M.V.C.”

“What does that mean?” Alex asked. Jesse sighed, shaking his head.

“You expect me to be proud of you? You expect me to believe you’ve never been caught with your little hacking if you haven’t come across something so simple? Find your priorities, son,” he lectured. Alex blinked and nodded easily.

“Yes, sir.”

“I need to sleep.”

“Yes, sir.”

Alex got to his feet and made his way to the door, schooling his features as best he could as he walked past Kyle. He needed to go look through everything again, needed to find out what he was talking about, needed to not feel like he was fucking chosen to be wrong. 

“Alex,” Kyle said as he followed him closely, “Are you gonna be okay?”

Alex kept walking, his mind focused on everything he’d ever read before. M.C.V. 

“Yes, sir.”

-

“So, the theory is, if I insert this into the pod, it could start regenerating his cells at a faster pace and then he’ll actually be making progress and we’ll have something to work with.”

“Will that age him?”

“Uh… I have no idea, guess we’ll find out.”

Michael put the goggles over his eyes again and Isobel and Liz stepped back, giving him space. He’d made more progress in that one day than he’d made in weeks. Turns out getting fucked up and trying to forget what Alex might be hiding meant he could do a lot of shit he hadn’t done otherwise.

“Okay, well, I hope not. Not really looking forward to having an elderly boyfriend,” Liz said.

“Oh, c’mon, I bet it has some perks,” Isobel chimed in.

“Not without money,” Michael told her, flashing a grin their way, “I would know.”

They both made disgusted looking faces and he snorted a laugh. His smile faded as he flicked on the torch, melding the last little piece together so he could hook it to the car battery. Try as he might, focusing on happiness was difficult to do. How long had Alex had that piece?

“Thank you, Michael, for helping. Seriously, we couldn’t have done this without you,” Liz told him as he checked over his work. He shrugged.

“No big deal,” he said, “It’s about time I actually help out for once.”

“Damn right,” Isobel scoffed, “Do you know how hard it’s been with you sulking?”

Michael didn’t answer, focusing back on the battery. He hooked the wires to it that’d be going into the pod and then started the motor, giving it one last check to make sure it would actually work. And it did, things started moving and he smiled at his work. Would Alex be proud of him?

They cheered a bit, clearly proud of him, and he tried to soak that up. He promised he would go by Max’s pod and set everything up and one of them could go check on him in the morning before work to make sure it was still working right. It felt like a solid agreement and it was a step forward. 

Isobel kissed him goodbye and headed to go practice more on her powers. That left Michael alone with Liz. Which usually wasn’t a problem, but she had that look in her eye that told him she was about to project all of her negative feelings straight onto him.

“So,” Liz said as they started loading it into his truck so he could bring it there, “You and Maria.”

“What about me and Maria?” he asked. She gave him a knowing look which was genuinely batshit because she didn’t know anything. There was no way she knew anything. If she got her information from Maria, then it was probably false because apparently everyone thought he was gay.

“Well, she told me you guys talked the other day and it didn’t go too well,” Liz said. Michael rolled his eyes. “I know you like her and I know she really likes you. I’m not sure what’s going on with you and Alex, but I think you should be honest with everyone about those feelings, okay? If you keep them inside, my friends are going to get hurt.”

Michael let out a deep breath, turning to face her. Alex preached honesty, right? 

“What exactly do you think is going on?” he asked. She looked at him pitifully. “No, honestly, I’m confused. What do you and Maria think about me? Genuinely.”

Liz crossed her arms over her chest and gave him that distinct adult look that he honestly didn’t think she should be able to give considering the batshit science she’d been doing the last couple weeks. And, yes, it was groundbreaking, but it was also insane.

“Well, we think you’re leading both of them on because you’re confused. And I think it might have something to do about losing Max and what happened at that prison,” Liz said. He stared at her for a moment and started trying to think of who he could call to get weed on a short notice. “You need to talk to someone.”

“I am talking to someone. Alex.”

Liz pursed her lips. “So you’re just okay with him thinking he has a chance by being there all the time?”

“You know I don’t technically owe you an explanation about my love life, right?” 

“I know, but I’m just saying. I think you’re hurting more than you’re helping,” Liz told him. He swallowed hard.

“Tell Maria that if she’s confused about something that she can talk to me in a way that isn’t just accusing me of being a piece of shit,” he told her, “Because if there’s one thing on this entire fucking planet that I’m not confused about, it’s my really pointless love life.”

“So you don’t want either of them?”

“Yes, Liz,” he said, opening the driver’s side door, “Right now, I don’t want either of them.”

“Tell them that, Michael,” Liz told him, “Because the last thing I need is a shitty fucking love triangle making you all useless.”

He slammed the door closed. He didn’t know how to tell her he thought he already had. Clearly, he wasn’t making any sense anymore.

“I’m going to go rig this up to Max,” Michael said, “I’ll see you when I see you.”

“Alex wants us to have a get together soon,” she said, grabbing ahold of the door, “To talk about his dad. So I’ll see you there and I would like it if you made it clear that you aren’t interested in either of them before then.”

“You say that like Maria will even be there.”

“Alex will be.”

How exactly did he tell her that Alex would also be right beside him in bed in a few hours' time, too?

“Right. See you then.”

He drove a little recklessly towards the cave where Max was, waiting until he was on the road alone before he dug under the seat to find the bottle of whiskey he’d stashed there before he got to the lab. He kept an eye on the road as he downed the rest of it. He threw the empty bottle in the back, shaking his head as he tried to make it settle in his bloodstream faster. Of course, that didn’t work, but a man could dream.

Michael walked into the cave with his mindset to get in and out as fast as he could. Staring at Max made him feel like he was going to fucking lose it all over again. Did that make him a bad person? He couldn’t even look at his brother without wanting to get the fuck out of there?

“You know what, you’re a lucky bastard,” Michael scoffed, starting to put the battery rig up, “If I could check out for a few weeks or months, I’d do that shit in a heartbeat.”

He turned to Max with the silver end in hand, sighing slowly. This was okay. This was fine.

“You know Alex has a piece of the ship and he didn’t tell me about it. Why do you think he’d do that? Because I can’t think of a reason why.”

Slowly, he pushed the end into the pod and made sure it was secure before turning back to the battery. He double-checked that everything was on right before he turned it on. A quick look to Max showed that it wasn’t doing anything bad on sight, so it felt like a win.

“I thought, uh, I thought maybe he was hiding it from me on purpose. Maybe he knows more about it than I do and it’ll make me, like, power-hungry and he’s protecting me. But that’s bullshit, huh?”

He put his hand on the pod, feeling that normal low vibration hum a bit stronger. He nodded and refused to let himself feel too prideful. 

“He’s not gonna protect me like that,” Michael said, “Right?”

It wasn’t long before Michael was sure it would hold and he decided to get back home. Alex was probably already there and then he could feel him out, see if he could decipher why on earth he’d be keeping that from him when he promised honesty. Was it selective honesty? Still, he told Max goodnight and got back to his truck.

He drained the rest of his acetone stash before he got to the cabin.

Michael let himself into the cabin, the strange mix of confusion and comfort filling him to the brim as he did so. He wanted Alex more than anything and the agreement to make that happen was unbridled honesty. So why was he hiding that piece?

He stumbled over his feet a little bit as he reached the bedroom, bracing himself in the doorway. Alex sat up in surprise, the bedroom light already on. It was a cold night, apparently, and Alex was wearing a long-sleeved shirt that was a little baggy on him and looked so comfy it hurt. Despite the secret-keeping, Michael smiled at him.

“You look cozy.”

“You look fucked,” Alex said, shaking his head in disappointment. Michael shrugged his shoulders and moved further into the room, trying his best not to stumble as he kicked off his shoes and took off his shirt at the same time. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Hmm, a fifth of whiskey, a couple of bottles of acetone, it’s all good,” he promised. Alex pressed his lips in a thin line.

“Why? What happened?”

“Oh, nothing,” Michael said, unbuckling his jeans. Alex really did look comfy, but that didn’t mean he could say anything. If Alex was keeping a secret, there was a reason for it. Liar, liar, world on fire. Or something. “Oh! Your dad. How’d that go?”

“Good,” Alex said hesitantly. He held out his hand out to Michael, ushering him closer. Michael couldn’t help but smile at that invitation, crawling onto the bed and straight on top of him. Alex wrapped his arm around his neck, pulling him down and keeping in the safe space against his bicep. So this was heaven. “Why’d you get so drunk?”

“People are annoying,” Michael grumbled, breathing in the scent of him as he nuzzled his nose in the crook of his armpit. Alex squirmed a bit, but didn’t push him away. 

“That’s it?”

“Went to talk to Liz and Isobel about what I could do to help. Isobel’s already getting really good at telekinesis,” Michael told him, “Is it bad if I’m kind of annoyed about it? Like, I’m happy for her, but I just feel like… I don’t know, I feel like I need to show her up or something. It’s stupid.”

“No, not stupid. That was your thing for so long and now someone else is good at it too. It’s normal to feel like that,” Alex assured him, voice soft as he went along with the subject change, “Just don’t act like a dick about it.”

“I’m trying. She broke a vase today and my first reaction was ‘oh yeah, I bet I could throw your car across the desert,” he grumbled. Alex huffed a laugh.

“Please tell me you didn’t.”

“No, but now I want to.” Alex shook his head. Michael nudged his nose deeper into his armpit which caused Alex to jump and laugh a little bit. Michael smiled and tried to navigate his arms to wrap around him.  “And… speaking of things I want…”

Things fell silent for a moment as Michael tried to articulate himself. It was a bit hard when his mind was still stuck on what aren’t you telling me. But, there was more than that.

“I want to learn more about my mom,” Michael said, keeping his face buried in his armpit. Not like he could get up if he wanted to. Alex’s bicep was a force to be reckoned with. “I know we talked about it and stuff, but I am feeling a little better now and so… If you wanna keep digging, I’d appreciate it a lot.”

“I never stopped digging. I have a file of the information I found on her and I’m still going through some of the other stuff, but I want to try to find out what happened to her in that year between the crash and her being captured,” Alex explained softly, “Maybe we should talk about this when you’re sober.”

“Maybe, um… Maybe I can look her up or something? At the library,” Micahel said instead of stopping. Alex nodded slowly, his fingers combing through his hair. It was the best thing he’d ever felt. Honestly, he could handle all the lies in the world if he got this. Drinking was good.

But then Alex went still.

“Holy shit, I just realized I never told you her name.”

Michael fought against his hold enough to lift his head, eyes wide. “They documented her name?”

“Yes,” Alex breathed, his hand smacking against his forehead, “I’m so fucking sorry, I just got so caught up in all the other bullshit that I totally forgot.”

“Well, what is it?” Michael asked, smiling slightly as that eagerness bubbled up to the surface. Drinking was definitely good.

“Nora Truman,” Alex said.

“Nora Truman,” he repeated. Alex grinned helplessly at the way the words fit in his mouth and it made his heart feel so full. “That’s so… normal.”

“I know. I don’t know if it was a human alias or… But that’s what she went by at least,” Alex told him, “But that’s your mom.”

Michael swallowed hard and stared at him, his eyes drifting to his lips in all of that excitement. They were right there. In perfect reach. Gravity pulled him down a little bit, hovering over him and wondering if he could. If he should. Before he could make a decision, though, Alex’s nose nudged his cheek to move him and efficiently knocked the thought out of his mind. He dropped his head back against his bicep and got comfortable.

“Nora Truman.”

“Yeah,” Alex said, “Nora Truman.”

It was easy to forget the lie when he had this and that one little truth.

-

“Excuse me?”

“Alex’s brothers are in town!”

“Where are you at? What are you doing? What the fuck, it’s three in the morning.”

Kyle ducked further behind the bush he’d found himself in. He was driving home from work when he’d spotted a car that just looked too familiar and he couldn’t help himself but follow. He was glad he did too.

Now, he was in the bush outside Alex’s childhood home and trying not to feel like a total creep as he looked through the window.

“We need to talk,” Kyle whispered to Cam, watching as Flint took his shirt off. He really was a creep. “Where are you staying?”

“Uh, I’ll text you the address,” she said hesitantly, “Please tell me you’re not doing anything illegal.”

“Text me the address and I’ll see you soon,” Kyle said, hanging up quickly and continuing to watch. He had a theory and he just needed it to be proved. 

And sure enough, when Flint removed his pants, that same symbol was tattooed on his hip.

Kyle was outside Cam’s motel in 10 minutes flat.

[trickkombowerskru]

Journal-Patrick Hockstetter Imagine

Request:Anonymous: Could you do one where Patrick finds the intimate diary of the boy who is fucking lately and reads a poem he wrote about Patrick saying things like "I was made to satisfy him", "I want to be his forever", "He makes me feel alive", "He is the God of sex"? Thankssss

A/N:Sorry this lowkey sucks anon I really tried to make a semi decent sounding poem, but I'm no Ben Hanscom lol

Warnings:Mentions of sex

You had been seeing Patrick for a few months now, well seeing isn't exactly the right word, but it was better than just saying fucking him. You wanted it to be more, but were do nervous to even ask you knew how Patrick did "relationships" and all, the strong of girls and guys he left behind him, but damn. 

There was something about him that drew you to him, like a weird magnetism thing you really couldn't explain,it was as if these past few months unlocked a sort of your brain you didn't even know existed. 

Every time he left you wanted him to come back, it was like he was a piece of your soul or something. And after a few weeks after he left you turned to your journal to vent. 

Just a few days ago even writing a poem about it. The poem talking about all your feelings and desires he made you feel. 

The poem he was never supposed to find, but ultimately did after you forgot to put your journal back in it's secret space. The poem he was now reading aloud, as you panicked and locked yourself in the bathroom because of.

"When he leaves I just want more, I want to beg him to stay, but my mind gets in the way. With just one look he can control my every whim, it's crazy how one guy can hold this much power over me. When he comes I call and when he makes me wait I wait. As the anticipation grows inside, he makes me feel like I'm alive. The way he touches me fast and kisses me sweet leaves my body in agony of it never wanting to end, in that moment I want to be his forever. I know it's a dangerous game, but he is worth it and worth all of the pain. The longer it goes on the deeper I fall, the pit seeming to never look up. Like all the answers are in his greenish blue eyes that sparkle with a hint of darkness behind them. The more we do the more it feels like he truly is the God of sex and I was made to satisfy him. Whether as one of loyal subjects or someone to be his equal, only time will tell if his eyes will ever see it or I'll just remain invisible."

And when he finishes it's now Patrick's turn to panic, you knew his role as a God so did it mean you were real? If he ever made a God or Goddess part of their role would be to satisfy him the way you said you were made to would it not? 

Even if it wasn't really love, the fact you made him grow an attachment to you as fast as you did had to count for something.He could see it clearly what you wanted and deep down he knew he wanted it too.

Very few people could keep up with him in the bedroom and the fact you could take his lust and match it, well it was definitely a sign. He walked to the bathroom door knocking it since he heard the lock and didn't feel like lock picking at the moment."

Baby Boy open up,we gotta talk about this."

"I already know you're gonna tell me to fuck off Patrick I've seen your relationship track record I know how you work. So just go ahead and make fun of me for getting attached through the door."

"That's not it."

"It's not?"

"No, now open the damn door."

You sigh and open it waiting for the impact of his words.

"You really feel this shit?"

"Yeah that's kinda why I wrote it, I know it's slightly mushy or whatever, but you really do make me feel this way Patrick. Ever since we met I felt this weird connection to you I could never explain."

"Is that so?"

"It is and I didn't wanna tell you because like I said I know how you do relationships and I-"

He cuts you off with a kiss.

"I feel it. That connection you're talking about, maybe you just might my God after all."

You give a look not exactly sure what he means, but you had a feeling you knew where this was going to lead.

"So are we-"

"We're whatever the hell you want."

"So boyfriends?"

"If you wanna call us that sure Sweetheart."

You kiss him again and because Patrick is Patrick things quickly escalate to a round 2. Except this time once you're finished he doesn't leave he stays and lazily drapes an arm over your waist. 

For as embarrassing as you thought him finding the poem would be, it sure as hell ended up bringing you luck. 

You drift off, snuggling closer to him, to try and get in his chest with a smile on your face mow that you finally had the guy you've been dreaming of for so long.

[writingsbymo-mo]

how about this!!! Tomura suffers an accident (please, not in canon) and forgets everything but reader.. but he doesn't remember they broke up some time ago

Sorry this took so long anon, but I finally finished it!!! I hope you like it!  I hope what you mean by canon is not in the current timeline…if it was for an alternate universe where quirks didn’t exist, I’m sorry anon.

Who Am I?

Tomura x Reader

SFW

Note: gender-neutral reader, mentions of blood, head injury, mending wounds, some angst.

It’s also a lot longer than I thought it’d be.

__________________________________________

It was cold and damp in the dim lit alleyway. Shigaraki lay face first into the gritty, wet pavement, unconscious. A bit of blood seeped from the back of his head and onto his black, long-sleeved v-neck shirt.

He awoke, head throbbing, body aching all over. Shigaraki’s eyes darted towards his surroundings. His voice wavered, a bit dry as he spoke, “w-where…am I?” He lifted an arm and placed his hand on the pavement as it started to crumble. Noticing, he quickly removed his hand, giving it a questioning look, “the hell?” He tried it with his other hand, same thing happened. “Why…is this happening…? Just…who am I?”

With his elbows, he managed to sit upright, “ugh, my head…,” he groaned, gripping the source of the pain. ‘Did I hit my head?’ He rested for a few minutes, trying to figure out why his head is injured, what he’s doing there, and exactly who he is. One thing came to mind, his eyes lit up. “(Y/n)! I…I know them. They…they’re my player 2! I need to find them!”

He bolted up, still gripping his head as he limped out of the alleyway and into the open street.

People gave him disgusted or concerned looks as he passed by them. Shigaraki was looking for a map of sorts. He knew where you lived so this made it much easier to find you.

He stumbled upon a train station to view the map of the stops. The name of the ward you lived in was on the map as well as his location. ‘Yes, almost there! Maybe (y/n) can help me!’ He grinned at the thought of you always being so kind to him. It was only a matter of time now. With the location being so close, he walked, limping on his right leg, ignoring the pain the whole way.

The surroundings looked oddly familiar to him now as he stumbled upon your apartment complex. Stairs on either side of the building went up to each level. You happened to be on the fourth floor.

Shigaraki’s eyes widened as a smile crept up his bruised face. He ran to the base of the stairs, climbing his way up as he made it to your door at the end of the balcony. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

You had just gotten ready for bed, wearing a pair of (f/c) pajama pants with a matching short-sleeved top when you heard the knocking. “Coming!” You yelled, making your way to the door.

With your right hand, you unlocked the door and opened it freezing in your tracks as the color left your face. Shigaraki happened to be the one knocking on your door, your ex-boyfriend. Your eyes narrowed as you clench your fists, “what…are you doing here…Shigaraki?” You snapped.

Shigaraki flinched at the harsh tone though he figured his name is Shigaraki, “I…I wanted to see you…,” he cried.

“See me!! Y-you want to see me….a-after everything you’ve done? Shigaraki, you broke up me months ago!” You shouted, tears forming at the corners of your eyes.

“Broke up? W-w-we broke up?” His voice wavered as his eyes became glossy. A stabbing pain spread throughout his head causing him to fall to his knees, clutching his head, moaning in agony.

Seeing him like this, hearing his wails of painful cries, you clasp your hands over your mouth. The anger you had dissipated. That’s when you noticed the blood crusted on the back of his head. “Oh god, Shiggy…what…happened?” You immediately dropped to your knees to try find the source. “I’m sorry, I…you can come in. I-I’ll get you cleaned up.”

Shigaraki’s pain splitting headache slowly dissipated and made his way inside the apartment with your help. You brought him to the warm-lit bathroom, hoping to get some of the blood out to get a better look at the wound. “Let’s get your shirt off Shigaraki. Don’t want it to get wet.”

He grips his shirt with five fingers as it falls to pieces on the floor, growling in frustration, “shit…why is this happening…?”

“It’s your quirk Shigaraki. When you touch anything with all of your fingers, it disintegrates.” You grab a wash cloth off the shelf and turn the faucet in the tub. “You…don’t remember you have a quirk?”

“Quirk…so that’s what this is,” he said, examining his hands. The sound of running, splashing water filled the room, echoing from inside the tub.

This confirmed he probably had some sort of brain damage causing him to not remember certain things. “Yeah, you held things so daintily because of it. I…thought it was cute…when you did that…” You felt your body grow warm at the thought before shaking your head, getting the washcloth wet with warm water. “Can you come closer to the tub Shigaraki? I might have to have you bend over the tub to wash the blood and dirt out.”

He nods, crawling over on his knees to the tub, leaning over it. You tried not to stare at his shirtless form as he made his way towards you, but it was hard not to stare. With the washcloth in hand, you pat at the dried blood earning hisses and curses from Shigaraki’s mouth. Yeah, the washcloth wasn’t going to work. You needed to run his hair under water. You turn on the shower head on the lowest pressure setting, leaving it feeling like a gentle stream. Shigaraki went ahead and bent forward closer to you. “This might sting a bit okay?”

Blood ran down the drain as you rotated the shower head in your hand over Shigaraki’s head, the hissing and gripes of pain continued as you tried reassuring him. Soon, enough of the blood and grime was washed away for you to see a gash at the back of his head. ‘What happened to you Shig? Did a villain do this to you?’ You thought. You knew he kept a lot of secrets about his life, which made you curious as to what he was up to when you weren’t around.

Shigaraki took in a sharp inhale, “(y/n), you almost done?”

“Yeah, there’s just a little more dirt in there. Just hold on a little longer okay?” You smiled, hoping this gash wasn’t too deep. If it was, he’d need to get stitches and his head examined. ‘Maybe I should���ve taken him there in the first place, but before when he came over injured, he always had me tend to his wounds…even ones that would need hospitalization…so…a hospital is out of the question then?’ You let out a breath, a bit frazzled in thought as you grab some gentle soap to clean the wound.

The sound of running water stopped when you turned off the faucet as soon as the suds were rinsed out. Water droplets dripped from Shigaraki’s hair, into the tub while you put the shower head back in place. You decided to ask him something, “Shig, do you know who you are?”

He lifted and turned his head to face you, “well, I guess my name is Shigaraki…,” he trailed off.

“I guess that means you don’t know. Just so you know, your name is Tomura Shigaraki,” you spoke in a calm voice.

Shigaraki hissed in pain and gripped his forehead as he leaned against the tub, “Tomura…Shigaraki…yeah…that sounds familiar…yeah, that’s my name!” His eyes grew wide, a toothy grin appeared on his face.

You smiled, a bit relieved that he was able to remember something. Shifting to sit on the side of the tub, you examine the gash, moving some strands of his silvery-blue hair away carefully. “Hmm, it looks a bit deep…it probably needs stitches…”

“It’s really that bad huh?” Shigaraki asked. You let him know he could sit up so you could dry him off. He watched you grab a towel and brought it towards his head. It pleased him how careful you were of his wound. Something inside him wanted him to leave, though he didn’t understand why. He enjoyed being with you, so why did he feel this way?

The moment you were finished drying his hair, the soft towel brushed against his sensitive neck, a chill ran down Shigaraki’s spine as he took in a breath.

You had a pink tinge to your face as you rubbed the towel against Shigaraki’s back. It was littered with scars. Some were quite long and deep while others were small, almost like scratches. There was a noticeable one on his right shoulder. You traced the outline of it, half dazed as Shigaraki let out a shuddered gasp making you realize what you were doing. “Uh, sorry…I’ll go get the first aide kit. Just wait here.”

He noticed you were gone before he could say anything, but he found the touch surprisingly soothing and…a bit agitating? “Ugh, why did we break up?” He groaned in frustration, body going a bit slack. It was strange how he only remembered you and nothing else. He didn’t even remember his own name until he heard your soothing voice. It made him feel warm inside, with underlying levels of guilt. He felt a weight in his chest grow, he longed for answers.

What he did remember, was how you always gave him the brightest of smiles whenever you saw him. The way your eyes would sparkle at the slightest of touches. He wanted to see more of these memories. His focus shifted as he heard footsteps increasing in volume.

“Shigaraki, I’m back! I’ll see what I can do with to fix that up.” You set the first aide kit on the counter next to the sink, opening it with a click. You took out some gauze bandages, medical tape, scissors, medical stitches, topical anesthetic spray, and gauze wrap, placing them on the countertop. Shigaraki watches as you take everything out. ‘Oh, right. I’m probably going to have to shave part of his head near the wound…’ Opening the top drawer just below the counter, you dug around, picking up the surgical clippers. With the number of times he showed up in the past with deep cuts, you decided to buy a pair.

Grabbing the items, you traipse towards him, taking a seat on the edge of the tub. “Can you turn around and look down for me?”

Shigaraki nods, shifting his body to face the door as his head points to the floor. You run your hands around the gash, moving his hair out of the way to get a better look. “I’m sorry, I’m going to have to shave some of your hair…,” you sighed, hoping he wouldn’t complain. “If you know it will heal better, then it’s fine. Do what you need to,” Shigaraki answered.

You picked up the clippers, turning it on and shaved enough hair away from the wound. Next came the topical anesthetic spray. Spritzing some on him, he hisses for a moment and suddenly stops. “Can you feel this?” You ask, poking his pale skin.

“No, can’t feel a thing.”

With that, you knew it was time for the stitches. “I’m sorry if it hurts…if it does, let me know.” You took the needle and medical stitches and threaded it through, cutting it off and tying it before repeating the process. Shigaraki was very still as the thread pulled at his skin, gently closing off the wound. You managed to give him twenty-four stitches total. “Okay Shigaraki, I just need to place the gauze over it and I’ll be done,” you announced.  He didn’t move, staring at the palms of his hands as he waited for you to finish.

You placed the gauze bandage over his wound, taping it to the back of his head before wrapping some gauze wrap around it, some around his neck and across the bridge of his nose. You went ahead and taped some areas to keep it from falling. “It’s done. You can lift your head now.”

Shigaraki was lost in thought. It occurred to him that you might have done something like this before. He bolted his head up, gasping for a moment, “(y/n)….how many times…have you done this…to me?”

“Dressed your wounds?” You guessed. Shigaraki responds with a nod. “Well…it happened quite a lot…now that I think about it. I’d say, about four times a month while we were still dating.”

“A-and…how long were we…dating?” He faltered. Shigaraki wouldn’t lie to himself, he wanted to know all the details he missed…even if it hurt him.

You grip your right arm, peering at the linoleum flooring. “We dated for about a year…it’s been almost six months since then…”

“Six months…,” he fretted. ‘It’s been….that long?’ He pursed his lips and started scratching at his neck, letting out a frustrated growl, “why…just why can’t I remember?!”

He felt a sensation on his shoulder and jolted, staring directly into your (e/c) eyes. He noticed your worried expression with the glass-like shine of your eyes and how you were biting your bottom lip. “D-do you…want some help trying to remember?” You know you aren’t qualified for any of this, but you wanted to do something.

He gripped your shirt with two fingers, knowing what you said about his quirk, pleading. “Please…please help me…(y/n)…,” he croaked. “What…do you know…about me?”

You sat down next to him against the cold bathtub and sighed. “This will be a long story.”

Shigaraki listened intently. You informed him that he kept a lot of secrets from you, but you figured he was a vigilante or something though you left that part out. He took note how he usually was always grouchy or complaining about society and how the two of you met. It felt familiar to him, what you were saying. He also had friends who you thought sounded quite interesting since he complained about them sometimes too. He thought it was a bit strange he never let you meet them, but then something clicked. ‘Those friends…are my party members…’

He gripped his head and hissed in pain again, furrowing his brows and clenching his jaw. ‘I never let (y/n) meet them because…because they’re…villains…just like myself…did I ever tell you that about me? No, I-I didn’t…’ Shigaraki scratches at his neck, in annoyance and distress. That’s when he decided to ask, “(y/n), just…what do you think of me as a person?”

You thought back to everything he’s ever done. “Well, I can tell you’re secretive, easily annoyed, smart, sarcastic, and care a lot about the people you’re close to….I enjoyed being with you for the whole year we were together no matter how distressed I was when you came in covered in wounds. But…but one d-day y-you…” You started sobbing, burying your face in your hands as your stomach churned.

“The day we…I broke up with you…?”

You nodded. “You showed up at my house, the day of your birthday…I-I was so happy to see you, but something was wrong. Your eyes were dull and lifeless…it was unusual…I was about to welcome you inside, when you told me…that you h-hated me and didn’t want to s-see me again…”

Shigaraki internally grimaced at himself, hearing you sobbing because of him. ‘You really care about me…but…did I care about you? I care about you now…is it something to do with my line of work?’

You continued through your chokes and sobs, “I couldn’t stop thinking about it…about what you said…you used to tell me how much you meant to me…and then you tell me that…I-I don’t know what I did wrong–“ Your sobs halted when Shigaraki grabbed your shoulder with three fingers, burying your tear stained face into his bare chest, making you stiffen and let out a gasp as he wraps his arms around you.

“I’m sorry….I’m so sorry (y/n)…” He stammered, tightening the embrace. A sharp pain unfurled inside his head once more. It was that day…that very day…

It was a quiet morning in the bar. Kurogiri was cleaning glasses as Shigaraki trugged his way into the bar and sat on a stool.

Kurogiri slid a glass of amber-colored alcohol in front of Shigaraki. “Tomura Shigaraki, you can’t be around (y/n) any longer. They’re a hindrance to your future,” he advised.

“Tch, why do you care Kurogiri? (Y/n) is a valuable asset to me,” Shigaraki snapped, glaring at him. He grabbed the glass and downed the burning liquid.

“Yes, they’re a great medic but you’ve become too attached. What will you do if something were to happen to them because of you or if they find out WHO you are?”

Shigaraki stopped, glass shattering as it turned to ash as the rest of the alcohol dripped from his fingers and onto the floor. He appeared downcast knowing full well what could happen if you knew he is the leader of the League of Villains. It frustrated him how right Kurogiri was about this. He lifted his arms to his neck, digging into the flesh. “Damn it…I hate this! And I had just found the perfect healer…” He growled. ‘I hate it when you’re right Kurogiri…’

He thought for a moment. He did care about you, maybe a bit too much. You were just so kind to him, making him melt into your arms each time he saw you. He knew he couldn’t stay like this forever, with you. It was too risky keeping you around himself. He stopped raking his hands against his neck and stepped out of his chair heading towards the door.

“Where are you going Tomura Shigaraki?” Kurogiri prodded.

“None of your business!” Shigaraki snaps, slamming the door behind him. He enters his room and throws on his hoodie before heading out into the cool, spring air. “Tch, some birthday this is turning out to be…” He hung his head, hands in his hoodie pocket as he strolled through the streets to your apartment.

Each step was weighed down by a brick the closer he got to his destination. It filled him with dread what he was about to do. He wasn’t going to lie, he knew the risks of getting close to you. Kurogiri didn’t know the two of you were going out though Shigaraki knew it was only a matter of time before he caught on. Sometimes he really wanted you to know what he does for a living. It ate away at him every day. ‘I wish you were a villain (y/n), but you have your own life already…one I can’t give you no matter how much you want it.’ He resisted the itch clawing at his neck with each thought he had. Soon before he knew it, he arrived at your apartment.

He knocked on the door, part of him hoping you weren’t there so he wouldn’t go through with this. However, fate wasn’t kind to him. You opened the door with that bright smile on your face.

“Tomu!!! You’re here! I wasn’t expecting you to show up suddenly like this,” you beamed, motioning him to come in. “Oh, happy birthday!” You pecked his cheek.

The soft lips on his cheek made him forget why he was there for a moment, but it was short lived. He looked at your face, studying every feature as he took in slow, deep breaths.

Your face contorted to concern. “Tomu…are you alright? What’s wrong?”

He grips your shoulder with three fingers, his form shaking as he applies more pressure. It pained him what he was about to do…he hated himself for this…but he had to do this for your safety.

“Owww! Tomura, you’re hurting me!” You cry.

Shigaraki looks into your (e/c) eyes. “Heh….look at yourself (y/n). Did you really think this would last?”

“W-what are you saying Tomu…?” You stuttered, shrinking back as you try to get him to release his grip on your shoulder.

He leans in to whisper in your ear, “you’re just a waste of my time. I hate you the most. Never ever come see me again. I don’t exist in your life and you don’t exist in mine.” He releases your shoulder with a harsh shove, making you stumble to the floor as he internally grimaced. He peered down at you, his eyes dull and lifeless, “goodbye, (y/n).”

Shigaraki was brought back to his senses as the dull pain resided. He looked down at your red, puffy face buried in his chest, still sniffling. He hated himself…this is what he did to you. “(Y/n), I…I know why,” he mumbled.

“Hmm, what’s that?” You rasped, lifting your swollen face to look into his crestfallen one.

“Why I broke up with you…I-I’m sorry…I never wanted to…but it was too dangerous.”

You shifted onto his lap a bit confused, “what do you mean Shiggy?”

His breath shook as he spoke, “if I tell you…you must never tell anyone. Swear on your life you won’t. You might hate me for this, but…it’s best if I tell you. It’ll explain everything.” He frowned as he looked at you, scanning your face.

Your features soften, noticing how nervous and scared he sounds. “I swear, I won’t say a word.”

“Have you ever heard of the League of Villains?” He asked.

You nod with a curious expression, “yes, do you have something to do with them?”

Shigaraki sighs and nods, “yes…I’m…their leader.”

“THE LEADER??!! So that’s why you never wanted to go to the hospital! That does explain everything!” You yelled in excitement, eyes wide as your hands trailed through your hair. “All those secrets…and I’m guessing those friends of yours are also a part of the league?”

Shigaraki was a bit shocked by your response. It didn’t appear you were mad at him. “So, you’re not okay with this? You sure you won’t go revealing me to the police or the heroes?” He questioned.

“Of course not! So wait, why exactly did you break up with me? Is it because you’re the leader or something?”

“My second in command noticed I was getting too close to you and suggested it…but…it made me realize the danger I could put you in if I stayed with you,” he replied, eyes downcast in guilt. He felt your soft hand graze against his left cheek and turned his head towards yours.

“You wanted to protect me?” Your glossy eyes stared at him as you bit your lip. He nodded as you clasp a hand over your mouth and begin to cry again. “I wish you would’ve told me then…I would’ve wanted to join you…”

“What?!! You…would’ve wanted to join?” His voice raised in shock.

“Well, yeah…if it meant I could be with you more…,” you confessed, rubbing your tears away with your arm.

Shigaraki covers his face with a hand. “Well…this would’ve saved me that hassle I guess…though I wasn’t sure how you’d respond back then…I’m sorry I put you through all this (y/n)…”

You hummed, “well, I don’t blame you. It’s not an everyday thing to be dating the leader to a gang of criminals.”

He sat in silence for a moment as he wrapped his arms around you and sighed in content. “Do you want to join then? I’ll still have to inform the group about my amnesia problem…”

You sniffle a little before giggling, “of course I join you, that is, if we continue where we left six months ago.” You give him a playful smile, leaning closer to his face, feeling his hot breath fan across it.

“If that is what you want. Besides, I still want my medic back…and maybe you can help me recover more of my lost memories,” he offered.

“I’ll do what I can, Tomu!” You smiled, giving him a peck on the lips.

Shigaraki smiled at you, lifting an arm to trace circles on your cheek. Of course Kurogiri wouldn’t be happy about this predicament but he was just happy to have you back in his life. Now it’s just a matter of remembering everything he’s ever done in the League of Villains and his childhood…if he ever will…but one question that weighed on his mind was how this whole thing happened. He hoped he’d get some intel from the rest or the League once he returned.

[monaisme]

Day 11: hallucinations

Day 11: hallucinations

Tony paced.

He’d screwed the pooch... hard.

The look on the kid’s face as he’d disappeared into the night after the whole ferry thing? That had been rough.

But this?

Coney Island was the game changer.

How, in the name of all that is holy, did he think that this kid would step back?—Just because Tony Stark told him to? Tony knew his origin story—KNEW that Peter Parker was a boy seeking redemption for another man’s crime.

And so Tony made the decision, one he should’ve made from the start.  He’d commit to training him, tutoring him... Tony would unlock the world for him.

Thank goodness the kid was smart!

There were so many directions they could go in!

Maybe they could build another suit together? Then he wondered if Pepper would do up some paperwork and maybe they could give the kid an actual internship?! Yeah! He’d seen that kid’s desk and all those scavenged components from who knew what. If he could make those web shooters out of nothing, Tony imagined what he could do with a fully outfitted lab—Geez- Tony hadn’t done a lab binge with anyone since Bruce had, well... But the idea of watching the kid build something incredible with nothing but his own hands, like Tony kept trying and trying and trying to do.

Tony paused that train of thought for a second.

Nope. There was too much potential for deep shit happening there, and so he stopped it right there.

He definitely had to make a plan.

First, he’d need Happy. Midtown was just far enough that he’d need to collect him after school. He was sure Happy wouldn’t mind. He could get to know the kid, and then no one would have to worry about a replay of that damned beach.

Tony shuddered as he remembered the beach.

But no! That wouldn’t happen again, because the kid would be there on Tuesdays and... Fridays! Yeah, that would work. Maybe? Well, maybe every second Friday so Pepper wouldn’t get upset about his availability for those awful fundraisers and galas. They’d just need to be flexible, right? And then Pepper would be fine.

His brain was on fire with so many thoughts and ideas—“FRIDAY!” He called out. “Jot this stuff down, and when we’re done, Cc it to Pepper and Happy for me, okay?”

“Of course, Boss.” The AI replied.

Tony moved over to the bar cart tucked into the corner of the lab and poured himself a few fingers of whiskey. “Title the list, S.P.A.A.M.” He snorted as he said it and then took a mouthful of his drink. “He’ll get a kick out of it. Yeah. ‘Supply Peter An Awesome Mentor!”

Tony listed off his ideas aloud, detailing items to be created and for purchase; like the new refrigerator he’d need for drink pouches, cheese strings and whatever other nasty stuff teenagers snacked on. This lab was going to be a geek’s paradise.  

Tony couldn’t wait.

“Boss,” FRIDAY spoke, unprompted, “If I may, there are some tasks that require mentioning as you plan your list.”

He gulped down the last swallow of his drink and walked back to the cart. “Fire away, Baby Girl!” he called out. “I’m nothing, if not a collaborator!” His hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle.

“Sir, while limited, there are existing studies that show a direct correlation between lab accidents and substance use—which in all case studies, included: alcohol, marijuana, illegally procured and/or incorrectly used prescription medications, cocaine, heroin, metha—“

“Got it! Stop!” He put the bottle down with a clank. “Seriously? You got anything else you wanna throw at me, FRI?”

“Yes, Boss, in a 2018 Global status report commissioned by the WHO, studies showed that excessive consumption of alcohol in the presence of minors—“

“WHOA! WHOA! WHOA! We were doing so well! First, what do you mean by excessive?! And second—where in the ever living hell is this coming from?!”

“Boss, over the course of the last several months, I have observed a greater than average consumption of alcoholic beverages during times when the consumption itself is not considered socially acceptable.”

“But—“

FRIDAY continued over her creator, “This information, along with the concerns voiced by Ms. Potts, Mr. Hogan, and Colonel Rhodes over the course of several conversations, and the addition of a minor child to the lab environment, has led me to surmise that there is a need for adjustments to your S.P.A.A.M. protocol.”    

Forgetting about the whiskey for a minute, Tony walked over to his lab table and dropped onto the stool. “What kind of conversations are we talking about, FRI? And why haven’t I heard about them before now?”

“All referenced conversations were done with your wellbeing in mind, Boss. As I have only been programmed to report malicious intent, there was no need to make you aware.” FRIDAY paused. “I believe that Colonel Rhodes’ exclamation of “I could kill him!” was not an actual declaration of intent as neither Ms. Potts or Mr. Hogan reacted in an alarmed fashion, but if I am mistaken and need to adjust any subroutines, please advise.”

Tony was suddenly exhausted. “No, no. You’re fine, FRI. I’m just... huh.”

He sat in silence for a few minutes, thinking.

“They’re worried?”

“They are, Boss.”

“Huh.”

He sat silent for a few minutes more, and then finally, “FRI? What are the suggested task additions for the list?”

“Mr. Stark, removal of all alcohol from the lab would be the first and easiest suggestion.”

Tony didn’t disagree. “And the second?”

“Mr. Stark, it would be advisable that you participate in an alcohol detoxification program while under medical supervision before implementing any aspect of S.P.A.A.M. that includes Mr. Parker in a lab setting.”

“Huh.”

It was barely a beat before Tony jumped up, decision made.

The kid was going to be the best of them, and Tony would do whatever it took to make sure of it.

“FRIDAY, please locate all alcohol in the lab and on the private floors. We’ve apparently got some cleaning to do!”

It took longer than he thought it would but eventually every drop of alcohol had been dumped—with the exception of a bottle of scotch Howard had gifted Tony when he was eighteen years old—ironic, Tony thought, but whatever. He wasn’t too concerned about it though. All he needed to do was let Rhodey know about it and he’d be set.

And then he was done. “All right now, my dear AI, that was enough distraction. Let’s get back to the list.”

“Boss,” FRIDAY interrupted him again, “before we continue, might I suggest that you gather some essentials in the event of a medical emergency?”

“Update the first aid kits! Good call, FRI! Add that to the list!”

“Addition noted, sir, but I was referring to the need to manage symptoms of your imminent alcohol withdrawal if you choose to ignore the medical supervision aspect of the suggestion.”

The “Denial Tony” that Pepper, Rhodey and Happy all knew and despised, emerged in that moment. “It’s gonna be fine, Baby Girl. I’m not that bad. I promise.” And Tony moved to a corner of the lab, intent on organizing it for his future intern.

Of course, Tony chose to disregard the headache, after all, it was just a headache and he’d only gotten in a few hours of actual work. It wasn’t his first, and it most certainly would not be his last—so he worked on.

The hands shaking started soon after that and he realized that he hadn’t really had much to drink since earlier in the day—and if he was getting up, he may as well grab some Tylenol, too.

The nausea kicked in within minutes of the water washing down the painkillers and Tony cursed himself for drinking all of that water too fast and taking the painkillers on an empty stomach.

What an idiot move on his part.

And then he cursed himself more as he lunged for the garbage can to empty the contents of his stomach.

Tony groaned.

“Mr. Stark, would you like me to contact the medical floor and ask for assistance?”

“no,” he grunted out. “m’fine,” and then continued to heave up every single thing he’d ever consumed in the entirety of his whole damned life.

“Mr. Stark, please be advised that in the event you refuse medical intervention during an extended period of compromised health, a subroutine installed by Colonel Rhodes will be initiated. This will allow me to override your directive and contact one of your personal emergency contacts. I am allowed to ask for a preference, but in this case, Happy Hogan is currently on-site. Because you are still conscious and not actively bleeding, you have fifteen minutes to exhibit signs of improvement.”

Tony spit into the garbage can, breathing heavy, then glared at the ceiling. “I keep forgetting the asshole went to MIT. shit.”

Being left with no choice, Tony stood up from the floor where he’d curled around the can. He only staggered a little as he made his way toward his nap couch, then sat. “What happens if I decide to take a nap?” He called out. “Are you still gonna narc on me?”

FRIDAY responded, “I will continue to monitor, Boss, and will make that determination as your vitals dictate.”

“Awesome,” he groaned and swung his legs up onto the couch before settling his head down on the throw pillow. “Let me know how it works out, FRI!”

Tony closed his eyes.

He didn’t know how long it was before he woke from his dose. Something must have been malfunctioning, though, ‘cuz he couldn’t take the unbearable heat anymore. “FRIDAY! You gotta lower the heat,” he called out. “I’s like a sauna in here.” He pulled off the hoodie he’d been sporting all day, hoping he’d cool off.

“Mr. Stark, it is currently 68F with humidity resting steady at 43%. Are you certain you would like me to adjust settings?”

Even in his muddled state, the scientist in Tony knew that those conditions were optimal. Any major fluctuations could mess with the sensitive equipment he used for his suits. “Never mind,” he replied, and decided to try and get back to sleep.

Tony wasn’t sure if it was his heart racing or FRIDAY’s announcement that Happy Hogan had been notified of Tony’s condition per Rhodey’s protocol and was on his way that woke him up this time, but he was up—

And he felt like death.

But it was okay. He was fine.

It was just that his heart hadn’t beat like this since Tennessee but then he and Pepper had gotten back together and everything was fine. He was fine.

He vomited again, this time on the floor.

He felt disgusting.

He was disgusting.

“Of course you are! Look at you!” Of course. Howard was always around to rub it in whenever Tony wasn’t peak Stark.

“Please don’t, Dad. I can’t deal with you right now.” Tony pulled the throw cushion over his face to block him out.

“Of course you’re gonna try to hide! Pure Tony! Always running away from the consequences of your actions. Well, maybe you’ll listen to your mother!”

“Howard, hush. Can’t you see that he’s not feeling well?”

Tony sat right up, “Mom?”

She smiled at him, looking as beautiful as always. “Sweetheart, why aren’t you in bed? I know how much you need your sleep when you’re sick.”

“I’m... I...” Tony couldn’t find the words.

A hand pressed to his forehead.

“Speak up, boy! I—I- just spit it out! For fuck’s sake! Stark men are made of iron! You know this!” Howard looked down at him, “You’re no Stark at all, are you?”

Tony tried to stand, but a hand on his shoulder kept him in place, so he continued, “Dad, I’m trying so hard! There’s a kid—he’s...”

“Of course there’s a kid.” Howard spit out in disgust. “ Perfect. Some bastard floating around out there, demanding power and prestige just because you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants.” Howard stepped forward, intimidating. “MIT was supposed to make you into a man, but you and your progeny are nothing.”

Visions of Peter on the ferry while pulling together tonnes of steel overlapped with burning sand and vulture wings. “No! Pete’s... Pete’s a good kid. I’m gonna... I’m...”

“Yeah, Boss, he is a good kid and you’re gonna do great by him. I know it.” Happy finished his thought as he kneeled on the floor in front of him.

Tony blinked back into reality. “Happy?” He looked around the lab, feeling more and more frantic as the minutes passed. “Mom? Mom?! Happy?” He grasped at Happy’s suit jacket. “Where is she?!”

“Hey, hey! Tony, you’re okay!” Happy called him back into the moment. “I’ll go looking for her in a minute, okay?”

“Happy! She was right here and...”

“I know, Tony. It’s okay. Shh-sh-sh-“ Happy cleaned his face with a damp cloth. “We’re gonna get you somewhere safe and then I’ll go look for her for you, alright?”

Tony was confused. She’d been right there—and Howard? But he trusted Happy and so, “Yeah, okay. Safe.”

Happy hauled him to the elevator. Literally. “suppos’d be made o’iron...” he kept mumbling, but then the elevator doors opened, revealing his mother once more.

Tony beamed. “Mom! You’re back!”

And she spoke, “You know, you may be a Stark, but you have Carbonell blood running through your veins, too, Anthony—and trust me, they weren’t made of iron.

“Not iron?”

She smiled at him so lovingly, “No, son. They were made of earth and wind and heat. They lived for muddy fingers and grape stained toes.”

“Fingers and toes?”

“Yes, son, fingers and toes. They were joy and sunshine and laughter... no iron in them at all. Just joy.”

He looked at her, feeling maybe hopeful, “So ‘m a Carbonell.”

A hand touched his cheek.

“Yes, son, you are my joy.”

And Tony began to weep.

Happy increased his speed after gathering up his friend in his arms. “FRIDAY, make sure Cho is ready to receive. I know you tracked his day, too. Make sure she’s got a timeline.”

“All information has been relayed.”

Happy shifted the man as he waited for the elevator to reach the med bay floor. “Tony,” he whispered to him, “You son of a bitch. You gotta tell the people who love you about shit like this so we can take care of you.” The doors opened and Happy rushed down the hall. “You’ll get through this buddy. We’ve got you.”

* * * * * *

It wasn’t the next Tuesday, or even the Tuesday after that. It was the third Tuesday after that fateful day at the beach when Peter finally arrived at the tower for his first official internship day.

Tony was waiting in the front lobby, looking pale and a little thinner than the last time Peter had seen him, but feeling more present than he had in a long time.

“Mr. Stark! Oh, m’gosh! I cannot believe I’ve got an actual internship! When I told Ned that I’d actually be in your labs he almost died! This is gonna be so awesome!” Peter bounded up to him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“It is going to be incredible, kid! Wait until you see what I’ve done to the lab! And you have to take pictures of the fridge to send to Ted when we get there. Did you have any idea how many different types of drink pouches there are? I know I’m a billionaire, but we’re gonna have to whittle that selection down a little.”

Peter laughed as Tony led him to the private elevator. “Mr. Stark, you have no idea—this is like, on the top of my bucket list, having any sort of anything at Stark Industries! Like, if I died right now, I’d be the happiest person to have ever died—not that I want to die, it’s just...” Peter seemed lost for words. “Just,” Peter made some primal sound that Tony figured spoke volumes more than everything else the boy could manage to articulate. “This was right above going to Italy with May—but don’t tell May that it was above, ‘cuz she’ll try to make me some pasta or something to convince me I was wrong and then I’ll really be dead.”

Tony’s heart warmed and he threw his arm around Peter’s shoulder. “Hey, speaking of Italy! I have recently been reminded that my family has a vineyard there...”

 @febuwhump

[nemo1230]

About dying stars and wasted chances

Richie takes a deep breath. He could do this. He could. He wasn't a pussy. Well, actually that’s debatable. But anyway.

Just a few steps forward and he’ll see him. It's no big deal. It's only him. Him.

The surroundings are blurred, the sound muffled, like he’s underwater, barely able to grasp reality. He steps forward but it doesn’t feel real, nothing does. His eyes scan the room and of fucking course they lock with his immediately.

------

Richie tilted his head back and looked at the setting sun above them. Richie and Eddie, being the stupid, reckless teenagers that they are, had decided to sit on the rooftop of Richie's house.

Well, they did have the decency to come up with an excuse as to why they were doing that, that excuse being studying, but both knew that’s not going to happen. They have never been good with paying attention to anything else whenever they were together. This definitely was a thought that has occurred to Richie more than once at late nights when he couldn't sleep, burning a hole in the ceiling from all the staring, as if by looking long enough at it, it would give some kind of answer.

They had settled quite close to the edge, the whole street stretching in front of them. They have been here for quite the while yet unsurprisingly hadn't gotten any work done; their school books lay forgotten beside them. The sun was casting pink and orange shadows that were shining down on them, painting everything in a soft, warm light. At some point Richie had quickly ran back into his house and found a bottle of wine, which Eddie hadn't been opposed to, this time even without the convincing that usually had to be done in order to have Eddie and alcohol in the same proximity. He has been getting progressively more rebellious against his mother's controlling nature and Richie couldn't be more proud.

His biggest step towards saying a huge fuck you to his mother probably was when he, with the help of Bev, had gotten a nose piercing. Richie had almost passed out when he saw it for the first time, - a small metal ring looping around his left nose wing. As if he wasn't hot enough already. Richie was positive he had done that to make him hot under the collar as much as to piss Sonia off.

Eddie had showed up to his house later that day, grinning, his eyes shining with pure excitement, a result of showing Sonia yet again that he was his own person, and could no longer be locked away from the world, controlled, manipulated. Of course, there were days when things got hard again, Eddie was struggling, and the sweet words of his mother would lure him back in, but for that Richie and the rest of the losers were ready and always rushed to remind him of how far he'd gotten.

And Richie fell. He fell hard for this boy, that he most certainly didn’t have a chance with and who was currently holding the bottle of wine with one hand, perched up on his knee, resting his chin against the neck of the bottle. He was looking past the edge of the roof, at the sunset, and appeared to be deep in thought, brows furrowed and biting his lip. His nose ring glistened from the setting sun and his hair was moving slightly with the gentle, warm wind that was passing by.

"A penny for your thoughts, spaghetti man?" Richie asked, deciding to break the silence, forever the trashmouth, never being able to be quiet for long.

"Don't call me that, dickface. You know I hate it," Eddie replied, however, he hadn't moved his eyes from where they were focused on something far away. His voice didn't hold the same intensity that it usually did. Everything he did was like that, full with burning passion, determined and fierce. Nothing about him was insubstantial or uncertain. He was pure fire, warming those he loved and burning those who he didn’t.  Well, if that didn't make Richie weak in the knees.

But now he sounded far away, his voice thin like paper, see-through almost. Something was clearly bothering him.

"Fine, whatever you say, Eddie-bear." He specifically chose that nickname, knowing that it usually riled Eddie up to no end.

Eddie’s gaze seemed to unlock from the spot where it had been focused on in order to roll his eyes yet he still didn’t look at Richie. "Ugh fuck you, that’s worse, you sound like my mother.”

"Eddie-teddy-bear then?"

"No, no fucking way."

"Spaghetti-bear?"

"Dude just shut the fuck up before I push you off this roof.” He shook his head, but kept avoiding Richie’s eyes.

Richie frowned. He could keep this up all day, and so did Eddie probably, but it was clear that something was still bothering him. Well, here goes nothing then. "But seriously, what's up dude, what were you thinking about just now? You seemed deep in thought."

Eddie signed deeply. He looked tired, like a heavy weight was put on his shoulders, dragging him down. "Dunno. Just.. I hate it at home. I hate it so much. All this?" he gestured at his nose, " and this," he lifted the wine bottle from his knee, the liquid inside shaking slightly, "is all good and fine, I finally don't need to be my mom's little puppet, but then again it feels like a fake façade that putting up because when I go home and she's there and keeps saying those things, it all crumbles down. Everything I've done seems insignificant because she says something like, see, Eddie-bear, you're going crazy without me. That is a disease, and I can help you get better, because you're sick. And I try to tune it out and I try to not let it go to my head. But.. It's hard," he rushed out, voice cracking at the end.

He still hasn't looked at Richie, admitting his true feelings still being a struggle. Richie's no stranger to that. His heart swelled uncomfortably at Eddie's words, it hurts him to no end to hear Eddie sill to this day being affected by his mother's words. Richie has never hated Sonia more. Despite the inappropriate sex jokes and all.

"Eds, please look at me," Richie whispered, trying to sound firm but even he heard the desperate tone his voice was in. However, still Eddie took a deep breath as he tilted his head back before turning it in Richie's direction, locking his eyes with his.

"Eddie, Eds, I've said this to you a million times and I will say it a million times more if I need to. You are not your mom’s puppet, and this," he made the same hand gestures Eddie did before, "does mean something. It means hell of a lot; it means you have gone a long ass way already. Few years back you wouldn't have even dared to make a fucking piercing. And look at you now. Eds, a fucking piercing! But that's not even the most important part. The most important part is that you have started to say no to your mom and that's not a façade, Eds. It's real and it does reflect in your actions. Hell, dude, you're getting hammered with me on a fucking rooftop. Whatever she says to you, it's bullshit. And I know deep down you know that too." 

It looked like the light within Eddie had started to return. Not that everything was fixed magically, which it probably won’t be ever, but at least the weight seemed to be a bit easier to carry. Eddie smiled a small smile at Richie. "Fuck, Rich. I don't even know what to say. Thank you for that, I really needed that."

Richie couldn’t help but return the smile. "Any time, Eds."

At that Eddie groaned and rolled his eyes yet again. "Okay, now would be a good time to stop calling me that.”

Richie’s smile grew into a smirk. "Not a chance, Eds!" He exclaimed, dragging out the words slowly for emphasis.

"Okay, shut the fuck up, Tozier. Do you have another one of these?" He shook the almost empty wine bottle, "Cause I want to get shit-faced.”

Richie did indeed have another one of these, or rather his parents did, but well. Sometimes you have to make certain sacrifices.

An hour, or more, nobody wasn’t counting anymore, later, both of them were pretty drunk, laughing a bit too loudly about Richie doesn't even remember what, because Eddie's laugh is the best thing in the whole god damn universe and makes him forget pretty much everything else.

They had lied down on the rooftop, shoulder to shoulder, staring up at the sky. It was clear, no clouds in sight, the stars were glistening brightly in the deep darkness that had settled around them.

Eddie went quiet for a moment, then said, "You know what's funny?"

"Your face?"

"Fuck off. No, that there are stars that like..don’t exist anymore. Or something. Like, they’ve exploded, died or whatever, but it’s still possible to see them. Because of the.. The way the light travels or something. It takes the light like hundreds, thousands or millions of light years to get here. And in that time it’s already dead. But the chances of us actually seeing that is like.. Fuck I don’t remember, but they’re like, very low. It’s weird, man. Dying stars." Eddie slurred, the alcohol clearly taking its toll on him, yet also making him all philosophical.

Apparently Richie’s drunken brain did not want to comprehend topics like that so he giggled instead and pointed his finger and him, "Damn Eds, didn't know you were a scientist."

Eddie, intending to swat the finger away, missed by long shot, instead slapping Richie’s cheek. "I'm not, I just actually pay attention in most classes unlike somebody."

"I'm like.. still better than you at al- "he hiccupped, "algebra."

Eddie let out a snort at that. "Well that's because you're a fucking nerd."

"I’m the nerd" Richie sounded outraged, "Who was just explaining me..What were we talking about? The secrets of the universe?" 

"Not really the secrets of the universe. Just weird things."

"You’re weird," Richie giggled again, shakily perching himself on his elbow.  

"Who’s to fucking speak," Eddie said, giggling himself. He lightly pushed Richie, making him almost fall flat on his back.  

"Hey!"

"You deserved it, dickface!"

"Oh, it’s on Kaspbrak!"

And how they ended up with Richie actually flat on his back and Eddie leaning over him from the side, holding him down by holding him by the wrists, they did not know nor they wanted to. They were still laughing openly until there was a sudden change in the air, making them quiet down and actually take in the sudden closeness of their bodies, as much as their drunken minds allowed.

Richie let out a shaky breath, looking down at the hem of Eddies t-shirt, suddenly afraid of what he might see upon looking up, at Eddie. Who was gently moving his thumb over Richie’s wrist.

He felt Eddie's breath next to his face and with great difficulty he lifted his eyes to look into his. Which turned out to be looking directly onto his lips. Without thinking he run his tongue over them, Eddie followed the movement and then finally lifted his gaze as well. His eyes were dark and hooded.

Richie's whole brain short-circuited right then and there, all kinds of different alarms going off in his heard at once, his heart beating out his chest. He felt like he maybe needed to say something, maybe confess right here and now, but his thoughts were all over the place and he was unable to get a grip on a single word.

And then Eddie was already moving closer and closer, getting rid of the last distance between them and placing his lips onto Richie's. And who was Richie and his drunken mind to stop that.

It was desperate and a little uncoordinated, but damn, it was the best god damn thing Riche’s ever felt. They kissed like they were starving and each other’s lips were the only thing that could save them. Like Eddie did everything, he kissed Richie with the very same burning passion, not holding back in the slightest. Richie felt his hand in his hair, pulling it not so gently, so he couldn’t help but to arch his back to get closer to Eddie, always closer. They kissed until they lost their breaths, already intoxicated brains getting even dizzier than before.  His own hand found home on Eddies jaw, and it was perfect, it was so fucking perfect, so of course it couldn’t last.

Eddie pulled away at last, leaving Richie to chase his lips and lose his balance in the process. Eddie chuckled at that, his breath ghosting over Richie's kiss swollen lips and steadied him by putting his hand on his shoulder.

Richie looked at Eddie, who was looking back at him fiercely, and then frowned. No, he had to say something, he was positive that after all this, it was a good confirmation as any that Eddie did in fact like him back, but he still needed to be sure. He still needed to hear it.

He managed to grip onto some kind of sense, trying to string together words that could possibly explain everything that he's felt for so long.  Eddie was still looking at him deeply when he finally spoke, "Eds, I-"

But Eddie cut him off, "You don’t have to worry, it's just for tonight, Rich. It doesn't have to mean anything. It's just for tonight." He sounded a bit choked up, like it hurt saying that, but that was probably from the drinking, Richie thought.

"Just for tonight.." Richie mirrored, feeling this perfect bliss falling to pieces. Eddie clearly didn’t feel the same way, if he needed to reassure that it was only one time thing. Somewhere deep in him, he may or may not have heard his heart breaking.

"Yeah.." Eddie whispered, already moving in again.

Richie had half a mind to stop this, since it clearly wasn’t what he really wanted. One night was not enough by long shot. But then again, his feeling be damned, if Eddie was kissing him here and now, then he will take his chances, because they might never come again. Yes, he might want more than one night, yes he might want a 'forever' with him or whatever, but fuck it. Sometimes in life you had to make difficult choices. And Richie made his. He met Eddie halfway, leaning up and letting his heart get more broken with each swipe of Eddies lips against his own.

Who cared about forever anyway? His forever was here and now, right on Eddie's lips that were pushing against his, in his teeth that were biting his lip, on his hands that were roaming over his body, pulling his hair, slipping under his shirt, it was in the wine that he could smell on both of their breaths, taste in Eddie’s mouth. Forever was the last rays of the dying sun, it was the stars that had probably long died; forever was this one night and this one night only. A forever hidden somewhere between 'always' and 'never'. He will hold and cherish this here and now and always and never like the stars that had already died, but still visible because of the impossible ways that the universe worked. That's how Richie will remember this moment, for however long will it go, forever. His dying star. And that's what kept him going. Okay and maybe also the wine was playing its part, liquid courage as they call it or whatever.

And that's how they stayed, Richie wasn't sure for how long. After all, time was nonexistent tonight. All he knew that the wine bottles were empty, he felt dizzy as hell and at some point they had gotten off of the rooftop, both stumbling and giggling.

Richie for sure knew that there had been a warm body next to his when he fell asleep, but when he awoke, the bed was cold and empty. "Only one night" he whispered to himself as he tried to ignore the deep ache in his heart that was making its presence known, wiping away one betraying tear that had slipped out against his will, "Only one night."

Not that he expected anything when next seeing Eddie at school, but somehow it still stung that Eddie didn't seem to acknowledge anything of that night. Not that he did either, but well. First moves weren’t his strong suit.

Time went by, and yes, Richie knew it was foolish to wait, to hope, to dare to dream. They went on with their lives, to being friends, but somehow Eddie seemed far, far away, now that he had tasted the possibility of him being close.

At some point he even started questioning whether the night was even real or he had just dreamt it all. The star had died and the light was slowly going out too.

Oh, those drunken thoughts about dying stars, - only foolish, foolish excuses for a broken heart. 

-----------

The memory hits Richie like a fucking brick in the face. 27 years had passed of absolutely nothing and of course this is the first full memory he remembers of Eddie Kaspbrak. And then comes the rest. The longing. So many years of it.

He blinks and registers that his eyes are still locked with Eddie’s, so he quickly looks away. He wants to say something but has no idea what. It feels like he has come out of the water, the world no longer muffled, but instead now it’s too loud, too intense, too much, the reality of the situation hitting him hard.  

The night went on and Richie felt himself falling right back in love with Eddie. Maybe the stars hadn’t gone out after all, despite the long years spent separate and all.

(())

this is dedicated to @neutralbi cuz of the  spaghetti-bear part.

[keeroo92]

Be My Nightmare Chapter 13

Behind the Masks

Warnings for gore and murder, but there’s a bit of fluff at the end for once :3

Word count - 4,121

~~~~Previous Chapter~~~~

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

---V---

He woke to the sound of cursing. Bright light shone through his closed lids and a faint aroma he vaguely recognized teased at his nostrils. Comforting warmth enveloped him, the product of a bulky knitted blanket. He was horizontal, how did that happen?

More importantly, where am I?

More cursing. Heavy steps, someone pacing. That voice, he knew that voice…

“What the fuck, what the fuck, I’m gonna go to jail. What the fuck?!”

Dark lashes parted, painfully slowly to give his pupils time to adjust. Plain beige walls greeted him, tasteful art placed in strategic positions throughout the space. Modern furniture dotted the room, arranged to make it seem more spacious than it was. He was lying on a couch, black leather and minimalistic. To his right, a modest TV hung upon the wall beside a small desk with a laptop resting on it. The accursed beanie rested on a coffee table nearby.

“Shit, what the fuck, I’ve lost my mind! What was I thinking?”

The artist sat up and tugged the offensively itchy fabric back into place on his scalp, struggling to organize his thoughts. This must be your home, but how did he get here? The last thing he remembered was the museum, and then…

He licked his lips. What a sweet memory. After such a display, it wouldn’t be much longer before he filled you with more than his fingers.

“V! Finally!” 

His smirk turned to a frown as your quick footsteps brought your worried face into his line of sight. “What do you mean, finally?”

“You’ve been unresponsive for three hours. How do you feel? Let me check your vitals,” you began, already pulling a small flashlight from your pocket to shine in his eyes. 

The artist flinched away, batting at your arm with an annoyed huff. “I’m fine, there’s no need.”

It was sweet of you to fret, but the only lingering effect he noticed was a slight fatigue, and perhaps an irritating itch of deja vu. Nothing alarming, and nothing worth showing weakness, even to you. 

She forgets her place. 

He hummed as you sat back, attentive eyes watching his every move. Vergil was wrong, you didn’t forget your place at all. In fact, he might even say you were where you belonged for the first time.

At his side.

Lithe fingers lifted to dance across your cheekbone, stealing a quiet sigh from your lips. So responsive, so lovely and delicious. His hand drifted lower, his thumb curling to wrap around your slim neck and pull you closer. Your pulse fluttered under his touch even as you instinctively resisted, like any prey facing its predator.

His mind went deliciously blank as your lips met his. Your small hands pressed against his chest as if to fend him off, but with each shift of his mouth, your attempts weakened. Leather squeaked as he leaned closer, shifting his body to curve over you. Another way to assert his dominance.

Yet you still rebelled against his will, stubbornly refusing to lower yourself to lie beneath him properly. True, you would be his equal if he had his way, but for now…

He tightened his grip on your neck until you succumbed. It was a delicate balance to cut off the blood supply to your brain yet to leave your airway unencumbered, and his fingers itched to clamp down and claim his prize. 

How exquisite you’d be, flaying your first victim and carving your way to the truth. Splashes of scarlet on your smooth skin, glimmering silver in your palm and a smile on your face. Oh, how delightful it would be to bury himself in you in the aftermath, when you were still drunk on discovery. 

He pressed his hips into your thigh, letting you feel the ache you woke with a soft groan. The same hands that once pushed him away now danced under his shirt, feather soft touches caressing his skin. Heavenly.

The fires of lust in his cock turned to ice as a sharp knock rang from the wooden front door. Surely you hadn’t betrayed him? Jade eyes searched your expression, digging beneath the panic and confusion to find any hint of disloyalty hidden beneath, yet he saw only more of the same. No, you clearly didn’t expect company.

A second knock, more insistent than the first. Whoever it was, they lacked patience.

“Shit, uhh… fuck,” you mumbled, extricating yourself from his grasp. “It might be my dad… fuck.”

He didn’t like the look on your face, not one bit. “Would you like me to remove him?”

“What?! Have you lost your- no, I do not want you to ‘remove’ my father!”

Yeesh, it was just a question!

He didn’t quite understand. It was a simple offer, you didn’t need to make a fuss. Besides, if the man’s existence brought such an expression, he clearly needed to be dealt with. Perhaps you’d change your mind?

“Look, just… I’ll handle it, you go upstairs and keep quiet,” you said. “Fuck!”

The artist frowned but did as you asked, climbing the narrow staircase to crouch behind a conveniently placed shelf. Blood pounded in his ears, a clammy film coating his palms. If ever you would betray him, now was the moment. When no blade waited in his hand for an offering, when he had no chance of escape. His fate rested in the choices you made over the next few minutes.

The door opened to reveal two figures, though the angle was poor and he couldn’t discern any details. It didn’t particularly matter who they were; none could know he was here.

“Oh! Officer Redgrave, Officer Goldstein, what can I do for you?”

Officers? They’re cops?! You gotta get outta here!

Yet he ignored the avian voice. Why bother telling him to hide if you were turning him in? It didn’t make sense, something else was going on. More information was required before selecting a response.

A low voice replied, though the words were a mystery. You widened the opening and gestured for the strangers to enter, shooting a surreptitious glance his way. The artist ducked lower, just in time as the two figures entered.

“Sorry, it’s a bit of a mess.”

“Aw, this ain’t nothin’. You should see my place!”

The wooden chairs surrounding your dining table creaked as the strangers made themselves at home. As the duo exchanged pleasantries with you, the artist couldn’t resist peeking around the edge to get a glimpse, now that he might be able to spot a useful detail. He needed to assess the threat and possible outcomes, as if he had any control.

Of course, his eyes went straight to your face to find a stony expression, far too frozen to be natural.

The other two didn’t seem to notice. Fools. How could they ever hope to catch him, when they didn’t even notice he was in the same apartment? It would've made him laugh outright if not for the need for silence.

“So, we got the paperwork finished. You are officially a police consultant, doc. Congrats.”

“Just in time for the next body to drop, too. We’re headed to the scene now, wanna come?”

The artist grinned. Surely you wouldn’t miss the meaning behind his work if you saw it in person? How perfect, he couldn’t have planned it better. 

“Yeah, uh… okay, I’ll just need a few minutes. Can I meet you downstairs?”

The two cops exchanged a look but stood, the female stretching her arms as if she’d been sitting for hours instead of minutes. 

“Sure, just be quick. Every minute counts!”

He ducked back to hide as you escorted the two to the door. The moment the lock slid into place, a deep sigh slipped from your lips. 

Huh, look at that. She didn’t rat you out.

“As if there was any reason to doubt,” he replied quietly. 

I can think of a few!

He rolled his eyes and stood, descending the stairs to find you frantically gathering your things.

“Stay here, okay? I don’t- I don’t know how long I’ll be but you need to stay put, got it?”

He scratched his scalp and nodded, mind already focused elsewhere. It was difficult to focus with so many new things to examine and so much to learn, here in the place you called home. Didn’t most people have photos of loved ones? Where did you keep yours, if not on the walls?

“I’m serious, V. God, this is unbelievable… what am I doing?”

The artist hummed, lips curling in amusement. Watching your metamorphosis was such a delight, what a perfect companion you’d become. 

“You’re doing what you want to, instead of what others expect.”

Your lips pursed, a sharp glare lacking any true weight glittering in your eyes. “Stay. Here.”

---Reader---

Outside, Nico and Tony waited by a standard police sedan. Surely they’d let you drive yourself; they wouldn’t make you sit in the back like some kind of criminal, right?

Even though I’m aiding and abetting one…

But this wasn’t the time to think about the murderer currently lounging on your couch. You needed to focus, keep up the appearance of normalcy. Just a little longer, you’d figure this out. All you needed was time. 

“You wanna hop in the back or follow us?” Tony asked.

A nervous laugh spilled from your lips. “I’ll follow, thanks.”

Nico grinned and held out her palm to her partner. “Told ya. Pay up, old man.”

He groaned and slapped her hand back, mumbling curses under his breath as he hopped into the patrol car’s drivers seat. 

Nico paused, watching as you turned to unlock your car. 

“You drive that thing? Are you sure it ain’t gonna explode on the way?” she commented, her eyes wide and locked on your rickety beast. You hadn’t even turned it on yet, no doubt she’d have more to say once she heard it. Better have the music nice and loud, then. 

“Hasn’t failed me yet,” you replied.

The look she gave you made you want to scream. Disdain or pity, maybe a hint of condescension. As if driving a car like yours made you inferior. If only she knew the murderer she was hunting currently occupied your apartment.

He’d better still be there when I get back…

---------

Tony was easy to follow, even with the anxious fluttering stealing your focus.What would you find at the latest scene? What monstrosity had V created now? And how were you going to manage to balance looking like you knew your stuff and covering his tracks?

You sighed. 

As much as you wanted to unravel the mysterious artist, he’d rapidly made a total mess of your life. It felt like being trapped in a spider’s web, watching and waiting as your doom crept closer to consume you. Like you were a fly, desperately flapping your tiny wings as if there was any hope of escape. 

You shoved the thought aside as Tony slowed, pulling into an empty spot in front of a small home currently lit in red and blue from the swirling police lights. Yellow tape cordoned off the small yard, a few stern looking officers milling about to dissuade the neighbors from getting too nosy. 

It was a nice area, if cramped. Colorful homes stood mere feet apart. Shrubs and small trees filled the front yards, adding a layer of refinement absent in most of the city. V chose his location well. A murder in such a luxurious neighborhood would set the entire upper class into chaos.

Not even your fancy security gates can keep you safe from him…

Back in high school, kids from these types of homes were the bane of your existence. A little fear might do them well. At the very least, it might distract them from bullying others for a while.

You turned down the volume to a respectful level as you pulled into an empty spot on the curb, cringing as the engine loudly rattled. Maybe you should’ve ridden in the back, just to hide how crappy your car was…

Oh well. Too late now.

Tony and Nico waited by the driveway, chatting with another officer as you approached. You couldn't put your finger on it, but the woman’s uniform seemed different somehow. 

“Lieutenant, this is Dr. Waras, the consultant I told you about,” Tony said, gesturing towards you.

Her angular features and rigid posture reminded you of a stereotypical drill sergeant, but at the introduction her face relaxed into a grim smile and a hand extended to shake yours. 

“Good to have you, doctor. CSI’s already finished, but try not to disturb anything just in case. Booties are by the door.”

---------

Scarlet droplets marked the artist’s path from the front walkway inside. Small yellow tags sat by each fallen drip, each with a number etched in black. The colors contrasted with the shiny oak floor and you couldn’t help but be amused by it, that all the wealth and status of this home did nothing to protect it from V’s creation.

Nothing can protect you from the horror of reality.

You stepped carefully around a few yellow markers, past the elaborate kitchen and polished granite countertops to follow Tony further inside. Smiling family photos dotted the walls and one of those fancy voice-activated devices sat on a hall table. By all appearances, a young and happy family lived here.

Tony led you to the master bedroom and paused at the door. “I’d recommend you breathe through your mouth. You haven’t eaten recently, have you?”

You rolled your eyes. After seeing Ken’s melted arms and smelling death from the orderly he’d murdered, you weren’t worried. Besides, scent was easy to ignore most of the time. It was a matter of will power.

Beyond the door was a tableau of mutilated meat. Spread out amongst the sturdy furniture and tasteful decorations, the artist had arranged sections of what could only be human flesh. A muscle here, a tendon there… There was blood, of course, but the scene wasn’t as drenched as you would’ve expected from the artist. 

Tony stayed in the doorway and watched as you wandered through the room. It was clear in his eyes that he wanted to vomit or shoot someone, but you ignored him. Far more interesting was the strange display.

Which muscle was that? How did all these pieces fit together to make a person? Humans really were just meat, when you came down to it. Hunks of steak with the rare ability to create and imagine. 

But why had V done this? He always had a reason, he said so himself. Why go through the trouble of carving up some poor soul and hauling their carcas here to arrange this way? 

You stared at the scene for what felt like hours, searching for meaning in the macabre. There had to be something, there just had to be. All you had to do was find it.

It wasn’t until you tilted your head that the design became clear. From most angles, the spread of tissue lacked any rhyme or reason, but now?

Now all the tendrils of tendons and filets of flesh came together to form a single letter.

V.

Yet there were still pieces that didn’t fit the pattern. Outliers, strewn about like so much garbage. 

“We managed to ID the fucker. Name’s Michael DuPonte. Known rapist that we never managed to charge with anything. Guess it’s a moot point, now,” Tony explained from the hall. 

He deserved this, then. 

Who knew how many women he’d made his victims? Even one was too many. You’d worked with sexual assault victims for a while in school, part of your thesis on criminal behavior. Their stories hadn’t been easy to hear.

Mostly because they kept using all the tissues you brought, but one or two told tales that hit too close to home. If it wouldn’t contaminate the scene, you’d have enjoyed spitting on his cock. Or dancing on it, perhaps. Maybe both.

Stay focused, come on! It still doesn’t make sense. Maybe another angle?

With careful steps, you navigated the room and examined the gruesome display at every angle imaginable. At last, you found it - the viewpoint that brought it all home. 

Again, the remains created a single letter, but it was a different one. 

W.

This, this was his point. Not a single nugget was left out, the perfect reformation of a person. Nothing wasted, all to build a message meant for the world.

But why W?

It seemed arrogant to assume it was a reference to your name, but you couldn’t think of another option that made sense. Winter, warrior, wendigo, watershed…

No. It stood for Waras.

The realization sent a shockwave through you. There was no denying the madman had a disturbing fixation on you, especially after the incident in the museum. But to see it laid out for all to see, if only they were clever enough to look, forced you to face it head on. No more hiding. This went way beyond professional curiosity now.

What am I going to do?

Your heart pounded, goosebumps prickling your skin. Blood rushed in your ears and the urge to laugh almost broke free. Of all the people in the world to have interested in you, you got the serial killer. 

Shit, and what about me? Am I interested in him?

Despite his flaws, it was comforting to know someone truly cared. Loneliness was a constant undercurrent in your life and you’d long ago accepted that. You were a freak, incapable of connecting on a deep level like everyone else did so easily. Others couldn’t be trusted, and if they saw beneath your facade they’d surely run away screaming.

But he wouldn’t. The artist already saw past your mask and he was still here. That fact alone brought a smile to your lips and warmth to your heart. Not to mention he was clearly more fucked up than you. For him to run would be the height of hypocrisy. Maybe this was your chance to have it all. Maybe he could finally ease the isolation.

Maybe you didn’t have to be alone anymore.

---V---

To his credit, he tried to be respectful. He really did. It seemed immoral to abuse the trust you placed in him, by leaving him alone in your home. Not that there’d been much choice, but that wasn’t the point.

Yet inevitably, his curiosity overpowered his reason. There was so much he might learn about you, who knew what secrets he’d uncover?

First, he pawed through the kitchen drawers. Nothing of particular interest; only the usual collection of kitchen utensils met his wandering hands. 

Next to draw his attention was the hall closet, where he found cleaning supplies and coats. A few pairs of boots and stylish heels, a box fan and a crate of basic crafting supplies rounded out the packed shelves.

C’mon, there’s gotta be something interesting here!

I’d prefer something useful…

He had to admit, he was disappointed by the mundanity of your home. He’d imagined it to be a more truthful reflection of your personality, but instead it was simply another layer of falsehood to peel through before he could expose your true value. So many masks, why did you bother with them all? It must be exhausting. 

On to the bedroom. Maybe he’d discover a secret hoard of filthy novels or a box of buckles and straps. He certainly hoped so.

But no, even your bedroom lacked any glimpse beneath the surface. It was infuriating, to imagine the circumstances which led you to hide your true self even in your most private of spaces. He would shred whomever built your cage, tear them to pieces as slowly as possible. Drawing out the process wasn’t something familiar to him, but surely it couldn’t be that difficult to keep someone alive and in excruciating agony.

It was in your bedside table that he found it - a stack of photos showing you and several recurring faces. There you were, graduating college. And there, a birthday. Another showed you planting a kiss on an older man’s cheek. Was that your father? You had the same nose. Perhaps the meaning behind your earlier expression hid in the image. 

He took a seat on the bed and examined every pixel of the photo. A drink sat by the man’s hand, a haze of drunkenness evident even in a simple snapshot. Sheets of paper kept the half-full glass company, some kind of form if he had to guess. 

And you… though your lips pressed against the man’s cheek in an unmistakable gesture of love, your eyes remained on whomever took the photo. Worry tainted your lovely eyes and your body angled away from the man, as if you craved an escape. The dark artist wondered why you kept this photo when it was so clear you didn’t want to be in it. 

The man must have forced you. Reprehensible; he’d never hold you back. 

He would set you free.

You should do something nice for her, Van Gogh. Show your good side for once!

The artist frowned and flipped to the next photo, where you played with a dog. A retriever?

“What would you suggest? I can’t exactly go out and buy her flowers.”

Right… maybe… uhh…

V rolled his eyes and looked at the final photo, where a childish version of you stood in a large group of children. A class photo? 

Oh, for heaven's sake! Cook something!

Ugh, cooking… he hated cooking. Some compared it to art, but why bother creating something if it will only be consumed moments later? Food lacked the lasting impact his paintings held.

It might still make a nice gesture, though..

He sighed and carefully set the stack of pictures back in your drawer. What would he even cook? Did you have ingredients? If only he had the freedom to visit a grocery store himself, but it wasn’t worth the risk. 

In the end, he found some pasta and vegetables. A pair of chicken breasts and a jar of sauce rounded out the meal. Simple, but enough to deliver the message. Truthfully, he was a bit excited to see your reaction. This might be the most normal thing the two of you ever shared; at the very least, it was so far.

He set the table and lowered the heat of the stovetop, keeping the meal warm until you returned. 

Now what?

There wasn’t time to figure it out, as the click of a key in the door signaled your arrival. The artist grinned and stirred the pasta, sending waves of savory scent wafting through the air. He hadn’t been this excited for something other than art for years.

“What the…” you murmured, stepping through the doorway with a weary look, shoulders drooping. 

“Welcome back,” V replied.

“You… did you cook?”

He smiled and nodded, gesturing at the spot he set for you. “A token of my gratitude, for all you’ve done for me.”

The corner of your lips twitched, a sound he couldn’t translate slipping through. He’d never seen your face with this expression, what were you thinking? Did you find his message? Perhaps he hadn’t been clear enough, but he could try again soon enough. 

“Alright. I give up, this is too much.”

You kicked your shoes off and dropped your bag, striding toward the table and taking the indicated seat. Perplexed, the artist didn’t move. 

“You give up?”

“Yup. This can’t possibly be my life.”

That… is not the reaction I hoped for.

Chuckles bubbled from your throat as you stared at him, intensifying with each heartbeat. The artist’s heart warmed; he’d never heard you laugh like this before. Choking, holding your stomach and tears forming on your eyelashes. You’d never looked so lovely.

He smiled and took his own seat, the pasta forgotten on the stove. It didn’t matter, he’d rather enjoy your face right now. 

At long last, you managed to calm down, though an occasional snicker still broke through. Slim fingers wiped away the moisture leaking from your eyes, lips still twitching. “It’s insane, hehe, the hands responsible for what I saw tonight also made me dinner. It’s hehe, it’s goddamn surreal.”

With that, you broke down in giggles once again. Something about the sound of your laughter and the wide grin on your lips summoned snickers from V as well, and within moments his own chuckles mixed with yours. When was the last time he laughed, truly laughed?

He didn’t know. He didn’t care. Right now, all that mattered was the flickering joy in his heart.

~~~~Next Chapter~~~~