#tw unhappy ending

[marvel-ous-m]

Thinking about Steve after the fight.

(When am I not) (please be mindful of the tags)

Steve who goes home alone after making sure that everyone else is taken care of.

Steve who falls face-first onto the couch in his living room. Doesn’t have the energy to make it up the stairs, doesn’t have the energy to tend to his wounds, doesn’t even have the energy to fucking cry.

Steve who wakes up twenty hours later with a nasty headache and his stomach burning like there’s no tomorrow.

Steve who knows he should call someone to help, but doesn’t want to burden anyone with his problems.

Steve, who doesn’t even know who he could call.

He’s been fine before, right?

Steve who strips off his clothes and takes a shower to clean off the Upside Down, barely able to hold himself up on shaking legs.

Steve who almost vomits at the sight of his wounds, wounds that stare back at him angry and bright red and painful.

Steve who blacks out in the middle of disinfecting a particularly deep gash, who wakes up on the floor and lets the tears flow freely.

Steve who finds himself alone in the aftermath.

Steve who knows he shouldn’t be alone, but doesn’t want to seek the help he needs, doesn’t want to admit to his weaknesses when his weakness was the reason Eddie died, the reason Max was on life support he’s supposed to be the strong one.

Steve who eventually passes out on the tiled floor of his bathroom, his wounds gaining some relief pressed against the cool porcelain underneath him.

Steve, who doesn’t want to wake up alone.

Steve, who’s not sure if he wants to wake up at all.

[writinggremlin]

So here it is! The final planned part of Bind... Gag... Kill. Thank you to everyone who's been enjoying reading this! It means a lot!

I don't have much else to say about this, so I hope you enjoy!!

Masterlist

CW (above cut): Mind Control

CW (under cut): Restraints, Blood, Stabbing, Hypnosis/Mind Control, Forced To Hurt, Torture, Lady Whump, Choking/Asphyxiation Mentions, Vomit, Fainting, Unhappy/Uncertain Ending

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Bind... Gag... Kill Harm. (Pt. 4)

The Answer

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Sunni and Mars erupted into various shouts and yells, which Jacky wasn't paying much attention to. Instead, her focus remained on Kage, on her heart loudly pounding in her chest, and on the pit of dread that was eating away at her insides.

She watched as he approached, his movements unnaturally smooth, his posture uncharacteristically straight. It was almost mechanical, as if he were on autopilot; his brain turned off while his body handled the rest.

It was almost as if he were just a puppet...

Just a toy to command and control.

She gulped when he stepped up, the man she usually saw as a friend now towering over her.

"Kage...?" She nearly whispered, "Are you--"

She blinked, and her head was turned to the right. A sharp pain crept across her cheek, and she felt something trickle down. She looked at Sunni, who was silent, eyes wide as she stared back.

Everything was now still. The room held it's breath. And this was the moment Jacky knew...

This wasn't Kage.

Or at least, not the Kage she knew.

The next few strikes were just as quick. The small blade sliced through fabric and flesh like butter. Jacky tried to grit her teeth and bear it...

But then he stabbed her.

Right in her stomach, Kage stabbed her.

The pain was sudden. Sharp. It tore a ragged scream from her throat.

...Then he moved on.

She didn't know what he was doing instead. She didn't care. Her vision swirled as she looked down at the knife handle protruding from her abdomen.

He stabbed her. The person she once saw as a helpless, scrawny, apologetic teen. He stabbed her without a second thought.

None of this felt real.

Her breath hitched, and a whine followed. Pain radiated from the throbbing wound, sweeping through her nervous system in drowning waves. Blood oozed from the fresh wounds and dripped off her chin. It darkened her brown apron, painting it a deep, inky red.

This was just some horrible nightmare... right?

She screwed her eyes shut and grunted as another wave of pain crashed over her. On the next inhale, she sniffed, and when she opened her eyes, she found her vision blurry. She felt something trickle down her uninjured cheek. Tears.

Jacky sniffed again, sending another horrible jolt through her body.

When did she start crying?

When did it become so difficult to breathe?

Her panted breath hitched again, pulling out another strained grunt. Her fingers tingled, and so did her lips. She needed to breathe.

In-out-in-out--

A muddled voice to her right caught her attention. She blinked through the tears and looked over.

"Jac-- ky. Jacky! Hey! Can you-- Can you hear me?!" It was Sunni, now gagged with the muzzle and struggling to speak around the bit in her mouth.

Jacky gave a small nod.

"Hey, look-- lookit me, ok? Breathe. Breathe. In, out. In. out. In... out..." her voice trembled as she guided Jacky's breath.

Another wave of pain hit, but this time it was different. Wrong.

A shout snapped her attention over to the left, where she saw Mars kneeling on the ground. Kage tied rope around his neck, wrists, and ankles. Mars' back arched as he tried to keep the rope around his neck loose enough to breathe.

Breathe. She couldn't breathe. Something was wrong.

Something was horribly wrong.

"Jacky! Hey! Don't look-- Don't look over there-- lookit me. Look, at me-- there you go. Breathe, Jacky. Focus on y-- hey! Nonono, don'-- don' worry abou' that right now." Sunni glanced over Jacky's shoulder, then drew in a shuddering breath as her focus returned, "Jus'-- Jus' focus on your breath, ok? Ok. In..."

Jacky tried her best to follow, breath jagged and stuttering. An attempt to shift in her seat spiked her pain once more, and the alarms blared louder in her head.

"Some--" even her voice sounded wrong, "Sunni-- fuck, I'm-- it's wrong, everything's--"

"Jacky. Shush. Quiet. Don' talk. I know, 's-- it's scary, I'm scared too, but jus'-- jus' focus on me, ok? Focus on-- my voice. Ya're not gonna-- You're not gonna die here. I won' let you. I won't FUCKING let you!" Emotion grew heavy on her voice, and she took a moment to breathe herself, "Jus'-- Jus' breathe, Jacky. Ok? Come on, in... and out."

Jacky did her best to try and follow, though it was a task the proved itself to be difficult. But Sunni was patient; she adjusted her speed to fit within Jacky's abilities at the moment. Eventually her panic did calm back down to something more manageable, but her breathing never did. In fact, it started growing a little shallow, the tingling only growing more intense the longer this went on.

Jacky didn't know how long it was until she felt a presence next to her. She couldn't ignore it. Looking up, she spotted Kage towering over her once more.

She heard Mars speak from the left, "Damn, you're seriously just-- you're just gonna leave me hanging like this?" She stole a quick glance over, and found that Mars had been hung from the ceiling by a rope around his waist, his bound arms and legs dangling beneath him. He seemed to struggle with keeping the rope around his neck from completely choking him, "C'mon man, what's-- what's wrong? Am I just-- Am I not, interesting enough for you? I promise I, won't bore you if you-- if you come back, over here!~ ...Please?"

Kage didn't even spare him a glance, instead reaching for the knife that was still lodged in Jacky's stomach. She looked up at him, lightheaded and dizzy. One more surge of pain and she felt as if she might pass out. Or vomit. Or both.

He grabbed the knife and yanked. A strangled scream was torn from her throat, which was then choked out by a retching heave. Then another. Then her partially digested lunch, splattered across her lap and the floor.

The only noise she had the strength left to summon was a faint whimper. He raised the knife to strike ag--

"Freeze," came August's voice from behind him. He went still, stuck in place like a statue, "Alright, mister, that's enough. Crow, come."

Jacky could barely raise her head enough to see Kage turn on his heel and walk away. She watched him through watery vision as he stopped in front of August.

"Kneel," she commanded.

Jacky heard a thump as he obediently fell to his knees.

August ran her fingers through his hair, "Good boy. You know, I always get so tempted to just keep you like this every single time. You're just so lovely... So obedient... So adorable..." She giggled, and Jacky saw him melt into the praise and lean against her touch, a euphoric grin spreading across his face.

Jacky felt her head bob. Her vision was refusing to focus, her eyelids threatening to flutter shut. She felt nothing short of horrible. The sirens sounded in her head once more, though faint this time.

Snap.

"Sleep."

As Kage crumpled to the ground, Jacky felt the last shreds of her consciousness bleed through her fingers like sand. Her eyes rolled back, her head nodded lower...

And her world went dark.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

The end...?

Tune in next time for...

Prev | Masterlist | ...Next?

(If you would like me to continue this, feel free to send in an ask!)

Taglist: @whumperofworlds, @3-2-whump, @steh-lar-uh-nuhs (:000!! A third person! Yippee!!!)

If anyone would like to be added or removed from the taglist, feel free to let me know!

[beauleifu]

Can you write full angst, with a bittersweet ending or almost no comfort ? If so, I would love a one shot with LBD, Mayor (In his war chief era), Macaque or any characters who you seem inspired to write for. A one shot that has a major argument between the s/o and the character, for only the reader to leave their lover behind after hearing hurtful words? At first the character doesn’t mind, but when they need their s/o helps weeks after, they refuse, telling the character they wish they’d never met. I’m sorry this is detailed lmao its alright if it’s too much

Ahhh yes, good old angst. I got you dearly anon, Macaque is gonna suffer big time in this here oneshot. Macaque, I apologize for any trauma this scenario might induce, I was held at gunpoint (JKJK ILY). We going full angst, my bois.

Anyways, hope you enjoy!

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

MACAQUE X READER PT 1

Lego Monkie Kid

Context: You're done. The King's Shadow has chosen, and he didn't choose you. Again, and again. It pains you deeply to accept the things he's told you; you loved him too much. You didn't care about anything he did to you. But the tide always changes, and you won't return this time.

CW: Language, breaking up, physical abuse (just pushing and hitting each other, not very often), hurtful words

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

"Oh. There you are."

Macaque doesn't turn at the sound of your voice.

He sits at the edge of a cliff overseeing a beautiful landscape. Mountains, rivers, the city of Megapolis further down. He's got one leg hanging over the cliff's edge and the other bent so he can prop an elbow on it. He hadn't moved from that spot for hours; it was a wonder you found him.

But he doesn't care for your visit.

"(Y/N)," he growls softly.

No response. The monkey was hoping you'd just ask if he's all right, he'd tell you he's fine, and you'd walk off. Not something you'd usually do, but here's hoping.

"Didn't I tell you I wanted to be alone," he continues, not caring to hide his frustration.

Your footsteps edge closer, voice soft. "I was worried about you."

He sneers to himself, eyes on the city. Claws curling into fists, the dark monkey imagines his significant other, the yin to his yang, out saving the world with the Monkie Kid.

Sun Wukong.

Even the thought seems to taste terrible.

"What are you thinking about?" His lover pipes up.

Even though you'd spoken it innocently and warmly, Macaque feels attacked. Like you want to weed out the answer and crush him with it.

"Nothing."

He hears your soft exhale. A sigh worthy of a thousand apologies, but he feels no guilt. He just wants to be alone.

To plan his next move.

But you decide to sit down next to him, kicking your feet out beyond the cliff's edge. It's slightly uncomfortable that he feels no fear at the thought of you slipping and falling off - he doesn't even spare you a glance. All he can think about is his next offensive maneuver. One that will surely make Monkey King feel the same pain he inflicted on Macaque. Then, the lord of the shadows will finally be at peace.

Maybe.

Your breathing suddenly fills his ears. He doesn't like it.

"(Y/N)? What are you . . . doing, here," he grunts, finally gracing you with a piercing look. "Can't you see I need some time?"

You blink, features once something that filled him with butterflies. Once, you were a lovely distraction from his kingly obsession, but now, he just finds you rather . . . annoying.

"Mac, if you're suffering . . . maybe I can help."

"Tch. I don't need your help."

Another sigh from you, and it makes Macaque scoff at your pettiness of it. Your eyes slide to the scenery, a soft frown on your face. "You just seem so miserable. If you're in pain, or if there's someone out there-"

Macaque glances sideways, and you reconsider. "There is, then. MK? Some old nemesis? The Monkey King?"

He stiffens reflexively at the name, eyes sharp.

You smile sadly. "So it's true, then."

"Oh?" A harsh laugh, yet his glare shackles you to the ground. "What's true?"

He's impatient for your reply, but you merely keep your gaze on the city below, watching the sun set a little ways beyond. At first, your demeanor was calm and collected, but Macaque noticed the way your hands clenched, the way your body was stiff and your breath was a forced calm.

Something is wrong.

"You're different, Macaque," you murmur, voice tight. "You don't smile anymore, you don't take me out to dinner. You refuse anytime I try.

"Now I realize . . . it's that Sun Wukong," you spit bitterly.

Macaque decides to stand up, finally done with your bullshit. He, pushing you away in favor of his nemesis? How dare you even accuse him of such a thing!

But you're suddenly on your feet, blocking his path. "He's ruining you! He's ruining us."

"You're wrong," Macaque snarls, lip curling.

He watches you look away, frown deep and fists curled.

He's smirking, suddenly. "Oh, darling. Are you jealous?" A mean laugh. "Don't be. He's way out of your league."

It's the final straw.

"Out of my league?!" You snap, launching forward and shoving him backwards. Your eyes are lit up with a fire Mac's never seen before. Like pain and anger, mixed into one burning flower of pent-up emotions. You don't relent, stalking forward. "How is that fair?! It's been days, Macaque, days! Since you've smiled at me. Since you've even been in the same fucking room for two minutes! You're always out there, always stalking and plotting and now I know why! You're obsessed! Fucking obsessed!"

Oh. Ho.

Now we're getting to the center of your rage. Macaque's cockiness vanishes, fists curling as he stands his ground. "You're wrong!"

"Lie to yourself all you want, Macaque, but you can't lie to me."

Your harsh words tear at something within Macaque, making him reach out as you turn away to grab your arm, preventing your leave. But his grip is anything but gentle, and you wince.

"You think I'm obsessed? Might I remind you that you're the one obsessing over me. How daft can you get? You'll only get yourself killed pulling a crap stunt like that, (Y/N). I'm only looking out for you and your sorry ass," Macaque finishes in one breath, tone lowered to reflect his frustration.

You're quick to rebut. "Is it so wrong to care about you? To wonder if you value something over me?"

"Is it wrong to value myself over you?"

"Of course not! I feel the same way!" You flash, trying to wrench your arm from him. It's hopeless, and you can see bruises in the future. "Your significant other should be your second, or even your third! But you act like Sun Wukong comes before all else. Before me."

"I don't!" Macaque spits.

He does.

He does.

He does.

Say it.

"Then why do you care about him so much?!"

He pulls you closer, breath hot on your face. He's pissed, remarkably so, at your accusations. He doesn't even notice when you gasp in pain when he grips your arm tighter.

"Shut the fuck up. You know nothing about me."

Sadness reflects in the cold sheen of your withering gaze.

He'd hit a sore spot.

"You're right, I don't," you grit out; "You never open up to me. Do you know how hard that is? To love someone without even knowing who they are??"

"Don't act like you're the victim here. You never tried."

A scoff is your reply. "I did try, Mac. But you never reciprocated."

Unjust.

He did, for a little while.

Say it.

SAY IT.

He laughs harshly. "Oh-ho, that's a little ungrateful of you, considering I took care of you and wasted my time to entertain your dull little human needs. You're just holding me back! You never let me take care of my problems, take care of the Monkey King! Had you let me, maybe we wouldn't be here!"

Your jaw drops at the accusation.

"Well if the Monkey King is sooo important to you, why do you burden yourself with me?"

Say it.

SAY IT, COWARD.

"YOU WERE A DISTRACTION!" Macaque blurts, eyes scorching through your own, which widen in shock.

In one quick movement, you wrestle your arm out of his grip.

"What?"

Macaque flashes you a wicked, rage-filled grin, the truth spilling from his lips like wine from a bottle. Poisoned wine. "You were a fucking distraction. Sun Wukong, golden savior who ruined my life, was all I could think about. I wanted - no, I needed - my revenge. But it was so fucking pointless and all I was hitting were dead ends-"

He pauses for a brief moment. "But then I met you."

He looks at you.

The human who'd fallen in love with him. Oh, how awful. "But then I met you," Macaque repeats, venom and spite lacing his tone.

A flinch is your only reaction.

"You helped me forget about my mission, if only for a brief while," the shadow lord continues, lip curling at you as he admits the truth. He is obsessed. A wicked chuckle rumbles in his throat. "But of course, nothing lasts forever."

The monkey stalks towards you, placing a hand on your chest.

You're suddenly shoved backwards, landing on your rear. Macaque towers over you as he speaks. "You failed me, (Y/N). You're the one at fault. Can't even do your job right."

"Love isn't a job!" You snap, but your voice trembles.

Macaque cares not.

"Love?"

He throws his head back, emitting a loud, harsh laugh that makes you inhale sharply. Then, he's looking at you, smugly pitying. "Oh, (Y/N). I never loved you. How could I? You're a human, a mortal, the Monkey King and I are destined to live for much longer than you."

His foolish lover bites their lip, tears welling in their eyes.

You shakily stand up. "I-I knew it. You're obsessed. Obsessed with someone you don't even want in your life anymore."

"I want him in my life to destroy him!" Mac roars.

Tears fly from your eyes as you whip your head up to glare at him, voice breaking. "And you're ignoring me in the process! You don't even trust me! The one person who actually fucking cares about you, who wants to see you smile and move on from that monkey bastard - but NO! You always choose him! To stew away in your own emotions and ignore me!"

"I never-"

Macaque's retort is cut off as you lash out with your hand. A sharp, painful slap echoes in the wind as your hand collides with Macaque's cheek.

He stumbles back, cupping the area with one hand.

Wide eyes stare at you. Glaring.

Your expression is contorted, cheeks wet and teeth gritted. Scorching eyes sear through the monkey's own, knowing that he'll never change.

That you were just a distraction.

"You did!" You gasp, choking on sobs. A hand is raised to deliver another smack, but when seeing Macaque's lip curl, you hesitate. "You ignored that I love you. What . . . how could you do that to me? Don't I mean anything to you?"

Macaque takes deep breaths in, forcing them out.

Slowly, his claws dig into his palm.

The scenery is no longer beautiful, no longer offering him a solitary place to think. You ruined it for him, just like you ruin everything. And, well.

That's what you do best.

Straightening, Macaque regards you coldly. "No. You're nothing to me, (Y/N). I don't need people who fail me."

You stiffen, eyes going wide with dismay.

The monkey stalks forward wordlessly. Step by step, his silent assault tearing your wall down. Yes, you know what he's capable of. Macaque relishes in your brief moment of fear.

Then, he stops in front of you, gaze contemptuous.

The human in front of him is a stranger.

He doesn't know you.

In one, sharp movement, he lashes you with the back of his paw, the force of it sending you stumbling back with a gasp of pain and shock. One of your hands flies north to cup the area, already red and raw. Your choked words go unheard by Macaque, who closes the distance, baring his fangs.

He feels no remorse, no guilt, for what he'd just done. It's justice, an eye for an eye.

"I'm sorry."

Macaque stops at your words, frowning with disinterest.

Those two words, laced with pain and white-hot anger echo in his ears. You don't bother to look at him when you take another deep breath, still on the ground.

"We're done, Mac."

He blinks.

Something in his chest gives rise to panic, yet he tamps it down. He glares, gesturing around. "You think I care? You don't think that's what I want? Good!"

You finally regard him sadly. "Fine. Goodbye, then."

"Fine," he hisses.

Shadows begin to morph underneath him.

He pauses, if not to capture this moment into his memory, to seal your expression of utter misery and pain into his mind. Of the true dismay behind your icy glare. He feels nothing, does nothing to ease the situation.

With that, he descends into the shadows.

~~~

Months.

It's been months since his grave, terrible mistake.

He lays awake in bed, bloodshot eyes glued to the ceiling. His tail twitches with anxiety and frustration.

Macaque replays the scene over and over, contemplating the various emotions he feels regarding it. And now that he's been burdened with a problem and needs your help, you're not around. And people never notice what they have until they lose it.

He lost you.

He wants you back.

God, did he really say you were a distraction? When really, you were his savior, up until his obsession took over again . . . Damnit, he has a stupid way of wording things. He really does did love you, to the point where it hurts.

But it's the middle of the night.

He can't just call you . . .

He has your number.

A paw instinctively goes to his phone, the one that you'd given him to help get accustomed to city life. Now that he thinks about it, you really did help him.

Slowly, he takes it out, anxiety tearing through him.

"You're nothing."

"Love? I never loved you."

His words echo in his mind, ghosts of the guilt rippling through his heart. His eyes narrow in frustration.

"They'll help me," he tells himself, huffing. "They're probably desperate to get back with me."

His ego thoroughly boosted, he dials your number and waits.

And waits . . .

Waits . . .

Beads of sweat form on his forehead. What if you-

Beep.

"Hello?" Your groggy voice fills his ears, and his poor little heart jumps with surprise. Stars, he didn't realize how much he missed hearing you until now. The brewing conversation afoot has his throat drying up, jaws opening and closing wordlessly.

But you're patient.

"(Y/N)?" Macaque attempts, tone nervous yet trying. "Um . . . hi. It's Macaque."

Your voice cracks over the phone. "Yeah. I recognized your number."

How awkward.

Tail tying in knots, Macaque clenches his paw around nothing and clears his throat. "Look. I-I know it's late. I know . . . you probably hate me-"

"I don't hate you," you say monotonously.

Words cutting short, Macaque blinks and sits up. "You don't??"

"No. I don't think I could ever hate you," you say, voice quieter the more you speak. Like the moonlight dancing off Macaque's bed, becoming fainter and fainter as it descends across the night sky. "Why did you call, Macaque?"

His name. It sounds so sweet on your tongue. But his own is dried and tied up. "I-I . . . I mean . . . I wanted to-to apologize."

Your voice is but a whisper. "What for?"

"For- for the things I said, last time we talked," Macaque says, stumbling blindly over words that seem to come naturally. Panic seeps into his chest. "I-I didn't mean them. You know I didn't. And I'm saying this now because it took me months to realize how much I need you, especially right now, I've got a-"

"Problem? You handle things alone, though," you say cooly.

Macaque winces at the inclination. "(Y/N) . . ."

"You're sorry?"

"Yes. Truly. Terribly. I admit it. Please, I want you back, I'd like to start over, try again," Mac whispers frantically. "Please give me another change."

A beat.

"You broke my heart."

Those four simple words chink away at Macaque's mental armor. He broke your heart.

"(Y/N)-"

"'You're nothing to me, (Y/N). I don't need people who fail me'," you quote, tone sad yet cutting. A deep, shuddering breath, as though you're reliving the pain those words put your through. His words. "Do you remember that? I do. I may not hate you, but I won't ever forgive you, nor forget the things you said to me."

Macaque inhales sharply, paws trembling with guilt.

"Yes, and I'm sorry, but if we can just-"

"No. I'm sorry." A sad smile seems to carry through the phone, tearing Macaque apart. "But it's for the best that we don't talk again. I hope you get what you want this time, without me there to hold you back."

Panic.

Macaque reaches out, as though to grasp what still remains of your love for him. But you're not here.

"Wait! Please. I-I'd turn back time if I could-"

"I wouldn't."

The monkey chokes on his words, eyes wide with fear. "What?"

"I'm glad you said those things," you say quietly, your voice soft and yet cold, hard blocks crush Macaque's heart and soul. "You showed me your heart that night. The real you, and the real you never loved me. You hate Sun Wukong too much for that. So really, I should be thanking you, Mac. For opening my eyes. Leaving you was the best thing you could've done for me," you finish, voice but a whisper.

Macaque's vision blurs. "(Y/N), don't-"

"Goodbye."

You pause, considering your last words carefully. ". . . Forever."

Beep.

The phone slips from his trembling hands.

You're gone. You're gone.

What has he done?

[guiltyscarlet]

@badthingshappenbingo

@febuwhump

DAY 4: obedience

Prompt : Incapable of Disobeying; Fandom : Merlin

"Cenred had it specifically commissioned. It had one purpose, and one purpose only. Instead of restricting a sorcerer’s magic, this very special collar made it impossible for the wearer to disobey him." or Merlin is put in a collar that renders him incapable of disobeying

Read it here on AO3 >>

btw, Ask box is still open for fic request

So far in my todo list I've got - Be careful what you wish for (Merthur) - Public execution (Morgana centric)

[jocollins]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale Additional Tags: Depression, Depressed Stiles Stilinski, References to Depression, going mad, losing the battle to depression, Trauma, Bad Ending, Heavy Angst, Angst and Feels, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Giving Up, Sad Ending, Unhappy Ending, Peace, turning dark, Idiots in Love, fighting to stay alive, Fighting Depression, Mental Health Issues, Stiles Stilinski Has Mental Health Issues, Falling In Love, Dark, Emotional Summary:

Stiles’ battle with depression.

[s1lkin]

originally created & published on: 20 june 2024 in ao3 [ no changes are made ]

ivantill from alien stage / mini angst story or oneshot

i wrote this for my wife (/p) originally but then published it to spread the pain internationally.

i have language development disorder + english isn't my first language. there are possible mistakes. i also wrote this when i was a brand new alnst fan so there might be some mistakes. ( such as ooc or parts of incorrect lore )

The warm feeling on his skin.

The feeling of hands against his neck, chin and cheek.

And the feeling of an embrace.

It all felt so comforting, so warm and cozy. Like sitting nearby a bonfire, although he hadn't experienced that before. It felt awfully similar to the feeling in his heart he held all those years towards Mizi, holding so much love to the point it could overflow.

All he could see was emptiness, black. He was somewhat conscious each time he passed out, but not enough to be aware of who was nearby or around himself, and not enough to be awake. But he could feel those touches every time. But when he finally gained his consciousness, the touch and warmth already had nearly left. Lingering, but not enough. He wanted to feel it again, to snuggle against the source.

But how could he if he never found out whose embrace and comfort it was?

He always yearned for it at times. He couldn't help it. It felt like it was a part of the cure he needed. A part that was so similar to the tenderness that was brought to his guts and heart whenever he saw Mizi singing, or laughing, or just doing anything in general.. That he craved for more. But it always appeared when he was practically unconscious, and he couldn't discover the source.

And when he finally did, he lost it again. The lingering feeling of Ivan's hands on his neck, it was like those from when he was unconscious. But he could not help but be dazed as he looked at the unmoving body on the floor. 3 shots, all bleeding onto the stage floor he stood on. The very shoes he finally wore were stained by it. He questioned everything.

What did I want?

What did I do to get to this point?

The sounds of footsteps coming close to drag away the corpse. Till looked at his hands, that held his neck, before looking at Ivan's. A bubbling feeling in his stomach, he felt like he was about to go insane.

He wanted to reach out, but it felt like time stopped him. The trail of blood left behind as the body was dragged away. The feeling of cold hands on his arms, resisting his movement as Till wanted to scream.

But he couldn't get one small voice out of his mouth. All he could hear now, were his thoughts that were suddenly so loud in his ears.

'Please..'

'Bring him back..'

'Don't take him away...'

'Let me feel your embrace for the last time,'

'please, Ivan.'

eughhh i hate my writing for some reason

i wrote this back then in like, what? 30 mins? pls don't expect too much from me i'm literally a 14yo barely surviving school..

[pain-is-my-game]

I'm so stupid for thinking that I deserved to be happy.

[vampiricgf]

people always look at me so funny when they wanna make weird backhanded comments on my body n I usually go oh well I decided to be happy :3 and you can see the visible confusion on their faces like well why wouldn't you wanna go back to literally killing yourself to look even slightly "good" isn't that what everyone wants? like maybe it's what you think you want but again I decided to be happy after my best friend died of a heart attack because she was abusing drugs and working out so much her heart literally just fucking quit. she was 20. like idk how to tell you what a wake up call that really was n gave me a very very big glimpse into what "health influencers" are actually doing to themselves to look the way they do. it's not good and it will kill you just like it killed her. I don't want it to kill me so yeah im gonna enjoy my meal and think about how much I wish she had the ability to enjoy it too

[cephalog0d]

Batfic - "Relative Velocity" (Whumptober Day 7 - Radio Silence)

Rating: Mature Category: Gen Characters/Relationships: Jason Todd, mentioned Bruce Wayne Additional Tag: Alternate Universe - Space Opera, Non-human Jason Todd, Hurt No Comfort, Isolation, Despair, Unhappy Ending, Suicidal Thoughts, Self-Harm

((More details on content warnings in story notes. Also some setting/character details for this AU over here.))

Summary:

According to the experts, there was no dreaming in stasis. Brain activity was too low, slowed to the absolute bare minimum to conserve energy. Side effects like grogginess and disorientation were rare (although not unheard of) when waking, but the time between going in and coming out passed in a subjective instant of dreamless sleep. The experts were full of shit, as far as Jay was concerned. He wished they were right, though. In the wake of an explosion, Jay is left in a lone escape pod, awaiting rescue. Luckily, it should be arriving any time. ...Right? Whumptober No. 7: “I paced around for hours on empty; I jumped at the slightest of sounds.” Alleyway | Radio Silence | “Can you hear me?”

At first, Jay had avoided using the stasis bunk. There was too much to do. Systems were alarming across the board, he was bleeding and bruised and burned, and Bruce would be looking for him amidst all the debris. He needed to stabilize the pod, stabilize himself, but first he needed to get a signal out.

It took way too fucking long. The explosion meant his initial velocity was far above the usual launch speed, and by the time he got critical systems like life support stable he was at the edge of the debris field and still didn’t have his beacon activated. Getting that set up took even longer. He was shaky from the adrenaline crash, every injury he had sustained making itself very loudly known, and managing the delicate work of dismantling and rewiring things was much harder when his blood smeared fingers kept slipping off the metal.

It was fine. It had to be fine. Escape pod beacons were designed to have the widest possible range for maximum chances for retrieval, and even as fast as he was moving there was no way he was too far for The Dark Knight to pick up on. The specialized booster he wired into the system, the one Bruce had absolutely insisted on sewing securely into Jay’s suit that would link directly back to the ship, cutting through any other noise, was just added insurance. Bruce was searching for him, he was broadcasting his location and trajectory loud and clear, and it would only be a matter of time before The Dark Knight caught up to him.

He repeated it to himself over and over as he got the rest of the systems online, as he used the limited first aid supplies to patch the worst of his injuries as best he could, as he double checked that he had wired everything up right and reran diagnostics.

He repeated it as minutes turned into hours and the comm remained silent, as he took stock of what supplies he had and how long they would last, as he constructed increasingly elaborate excuses for what was taking so long and why he had heard nothing, reasons why everything was fine and he was just overreacting.

He repeated it, without really believing it, when he finally gave in to pain and exhaustion and laid down to try and get some rest, burying his face in the flat, musty pillow of the bunk in an effort to block out the smell of pain and fear and blood and burning that permeated the tiny space.

He kept repeating it softly to himself until he finally drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

(Cont. on AO3)

[911ficrecs]

two beautiful flowers (that grew on the same stem) by hollyandvice (hiasobi_writes) - 7,752 words, mature

Summary: Buck is pregnant when he gets caught in the ladder truck bombing. The resulting fallout coupled with the fact that he didn't tell his team or the father is more devastating than anything Buck could have planned for or expected.

[3minsover]

AUgust Day 22:

the great gatsby au (tw: manslaughter + murder)

old money socialite edward munson had a passionate summer fling with a bright-eyed, hopeful, romantic young soldier named steven. he promised edward the world, if only he would wait for him to return from war.

steven never returned.

when professional polo player jason carver asks for edward’s hand in marriage, he says yes. his heart is still broken, will remain so, but pressure from his family to make an advantageous match is too powerful. years pass, and edward’s life is rose-colored. he drifts through dinners and sunrooms like a ghost, keeps his steps light so that others do not notice him, do not look too close and see the gaping hole in his chest where his heart once was, a heart that he gave away to a soldier with no prospects, no property or land to his name.

at night, when all is quiet, he looks out over the water that laps at the shore of his extravagant home and sees the distant glimmer and glint of lights, hears the muted thrum of music, and sees a grand mansion illuminated by luxury and excess.

he hears of parties, almost every night, that take place at this mansion, and wonders whether one day he might know the origin of such conviviality. however, trapped in his loveless marriage and bound by duty to remain a beautiful artefact in his husband’s collection, edward simply turns away, ignoring the siren call of an emerald green light that blooms on the end of the opposite dock.

when edward’s cousin robin moves into the groundskeeper’s cottage across the bay, she attempts to strike up the old friendship they had had as children, becoming instantly fascinated by edward’s dearest friend nancy.

one night, robin invites edward, and by extension, jason and nancy, to a party. a party at the house across the bay. she insists that they must meet the host, that he’s simply a marvel, and grudgingly, jason agrees.

the festivities are in full swing by the time they arrive, strangers streaming through every hallway, drinking from fountains of champagne, splashing in shallow pools and dancing to the yellow cocktail music that pours from every corner of every room. edward is overwhelmed, overcome by the eccentricity of it all, longs to return to where it’s quiet and calm, where he may disappear to the safety of his own imaginings, where a sweet soldier offers his hand and his heart without reservation.

edward slips away from the group with nancy’s help; she guides him to a small room in which there is only one man, standing with his back to the entrance. his suit is tailored neatly, his hair slicked back with careful precision, and when he turns, edward’s breath is stolen from his lungs.

“steve?” he gasps, feet carrying him closer, lest this be simply an overwrought imagination playing him for a fool.

“eddie. eddie, darling,” the man exclaims softly, meeting him stride for stride, until eddie’s hands can clutch at the lapels of his suit. “you came. you’re here. you saw- it doesn’t matter. you’re here.”

“you never came back for me,” eddie whispers, gaze fluttering over steve’s face, because it is steve. older, broader, fashioned into something gilded in gold and sculpted from ivory, but it is him.

“i know, my darling. i wanted to, god how i wanted to. but i’m here now. is that enough?” steve’s eyes are wide, imploring as he cups eddie’s cheeks as though he were the fragile, delicate thing he feels himself to be.

and it’s not enough, eddie will come to realize. too much time has passed, too many bridges crossed and set ablaze, too much mess to be cleared away, but for now, for tonight, they might pretend. under steve’s gentle touch, eddie wills himself to forget jason’s harsh one, at the sound of steve’s sweet voice, eddie pushes away that of poor chrissy, the girl who calls and calls their home asking to speak to jason. he allows himself to be swept by the tidal pull of his steve, here and alive and everything he needed him to be all those years ago. and for a while, it brings him joy. for weeks after that night, eddie steals across the bay with the help of nancy and robin, plays make believe in the life they might have had.

until a dinner in the city ends with smashed glass and jason’s stern glare and steve’s cries that ‘he doesn’t love you!’. until eddie begs for steve to come home with him, dragging him back to jason’s car and curling his fingers around the steering wheel until they flash white. until eddie’s flooring the gas and he can’t see for tears, and steve’s carefully imploring for him to slow down. until the screeching of tires and smashing of bones, a shock of strawberry blonde hair streaked with red.

until a gunshot rings through the bay, a widowed husband standing on the edge of a pool with a gun in his hand and chrissy’s name on his lips.

until steve harrington floats face down in the water, and eddie can’t bear to even look at the funeral invitation.

in the end it’s not enough, and it never was.

[midnight-gardener]

 I just wanted to share this masterpiece with all the dark Percy Jackson fans because this book is AMAZING 

[lemonmeringuefuckknuckle]

"Vacation"

!!Content Warning!!: this is a dark short story I wrote once upon a time to cope. Dni if you're not okay with that sort of thing or in the right headspace to read it. Self-care comes first.

“I don’t want to leave.” 

She mumbled to herself aloud as the words rushed through her head, stuck on repeat. Her body trembled as she climbed over the balcony railing. Waves crashed. Sand blew and crabs skittered across the ground below. It was dark, but carefree laughter floated seamlessly to the seventeenth story where her unsteady feet were planted. Red, blue, purple, yellow, white, orange lights illuminated the resort pools and hot tub beneath her. Children splashed, even at such a late hour. They weren’t too loud, just playing happily. 

The ceramic tiles below were covered in puddles made by excited vacationers. If she fell, her body may slide, but the firmness would break her bones sufficiently. Music danced in the air, heavily saturating the atmosphere. It was soft, pleasant and upbeat. A lovely melody to die to, she figured. From the ledge she breathed in the salty air. She could still feel the little schools of fish brushing against her legs as she waded in the ocean as far as her height would permit. Her family lay sleeping and soon she would follow. 

In a matter of minutes, she would be smiling and laughing and joyful like the crowd below her. They were beginning to retire. The group was thinning out. She wouldn’t have to wait long. As her eyes searched the sky for answers, counting each star, her heart began thrumming violently. From adrenaline, from excitement. Her family would hurt, but it was better this way. She had nobody to go home to. Not a single friend nor a special someone. Through love, she believed everyone found “their person.” Perhaps a soulmate, romantic or platonic, to share the world with. Somebody who you cannot go without and who would be nothing without you. Your special person. 

She had none and stood, in her final moments, alone. Dead since eleven years old and prepared to take her final breath. Feeling empty, remembering nothing, hating herself more than words could describe. It wasn’t worth it anymore. She was eighteen now and as friendless, hopeless and pathetic as she had been throughout highschool. The waves would never stop whispering in her ears. The cool sand crunched softly beneath her feet no matter what, rolling with the water. Baby turtles shuffling, crabs scuttling, insects flying about, jellyfish bobbing lazily, fish darting to and fro. 

“I don’t want to leave.” 

She repeated once more, without a tear in her eyes, knowing the life around her wouldn’t falter after she was gone. The last soul below her, a small baby girl, ran clumsily after her grandpa as he walked inside. Now she could let go. Without a second of hesitation, she took a single step and felt nothing but air beneath her. Cheerful laughter erupted from her tired form as the wind rushed past her. Then tears finally fell, pouring down her stinging cheeks for mere moments as her mind screamed: 

“You don’t deserve to stay.”

[graceful-starker]

They Were Right and I Was Wrong: Redo

New Years Resolution. Voted to Redo. Tada.

This was one of the fics that I had a draft for and it got deleted with my old blog. It’s been two years since the last chapter was posted and honestly I feel really bad about it. So here we are! Here is the ao3, and the rest of the re-do is there (Chapters 1-4 are redone, chapter 5 is a continuation).

Summary: After finding Tony in bed with someone else, Peter has to either find out how to cope or how to leave him. 

Warnings: cheating, insecurity, sadness, angst, suicidal thoughts, mentions of suicide, major character death, angst without a happy ending.

~~~~~

Peter drops the weights on the floor with a loud clink, panting with exhaustion. He checks his watch, cursing softly to himself. Tony gets out of meetings in half an hour.

He starting working with Pepper a few months ago, after his performance at SI started to decline worryingly. She had set up a meeting to ask what was up, and Peter had, after a lot of probing, admitted that he was having trouble concentrating because he was so depressed about Tony’s cheating. 

After turning down her offer to physically beat good sense into Tony, they came to a better agreement: Pepper would keep an assistant on Tony’s ass at all times, so when he's at work, he’s always being watched. Pepper is to be notified immediately if Tony tries to get rid of said assistant, and so whenever Tony is working he’s accounted for. Peter doesn’t have to worry about Tony while they’re at work. 

Meanwhile, Peter is working out more to be less of a ‘Twink’ as Tony had so elegantly put it, and is trying to tire the older man out enough he doesn’t have the energy to cheat when Tony is not at work. Unfortunately for Peter, his body doesn’t want to get any buffer. He’ll only ever be half the man Steve is. 

But he has started to top Tony every day after their work day. At least, he offers it. Sometimes Tony is too tired, or he just doesn’t want to, but Peter makes sure that at least he and Tony are in the same room until Tony passes out, and until they start their work days at SI. 

It’s exhausting, and Peter hasn’t felt this drained in...ever, actually. Not even during MIT finals. Peter’s day consists of waking up with Tony, showering and getting dressed with Tony, driving to work with Tony, working all day while a poor unpaid intern follows Tony around, working out for the few hours when Tony still has work and Peter doesn't, goes home with Tony, fucks Tony or at least stalks Tony, until they go to bed. Then the cycle repeats. 

Peter has never been this depressed. He doesn’t want to do this anymore. He isn’t happy, he can’t trust his boyfriend, he has no time to see his friends or family. He doesn’t feel loved like he wants to. He feels like an unwanted burden. 

Peter speeds through the shower before rushing upstairs to meet Tony. He runs into the assistant--Peter thinks his name is Andrew but he isn’t sure about that--and smiles at him tiredly. “Hey man, how’s it going?”

Andrew looks up, smiling back. ‘Hey Mr. Parker! Today was good, but I really happy when Mr. Stark got the day off. I’ve never felt so relaxed!”

Peter feels his blood run cold, and his smile drops. “What?”

Andrew nods, looking back at his phone. “Yeah, he texted me this morning and said Miss Potts gave him the day off so he wasn’t coming in. Didn’t you know? You guys usually show up together.”

Peter swallows thickly, forcing a fake smile. “No, right, I just forgot what day it was. Well, see you tomorrow.”

Andrew waves before walking off, immersed in his phone. 

Peter feels like a weight has been dropped into his stomach. He races home as fast as he can, using his webs instead of the car. He gets home a half hour before Tony would have expected him. 

He walks out of the elevator onto Tony’s floor and physically feels the other shoe drop.

Clothes on the floor. Clothes that don’t belong to Peter or to Tony. And there’s Tony’s clothes, a little further down the hallway. He follows them to their bedroom, and opens the door with extreme hesitation. 

But there Tony is, hovering above a very pretty boy, freezing when he sees Peter in the door. 

Tony pulls away from the boy, which makes the ranger whine in protest. But they see too notices Peter, and blushes red and covers himself with the sheets. “Peter,” Tony greets, sighing in annoyance. “You’re home early.”

Peter stares for a few more seconds, before he surprises them all.

He breaks down into hysteric sobs, feeling the exhaustion hit him at once. Not only is Tony cheating on him again, he’s cheating with someone who looks like Peter. Someone small, someone who bottoms, someone who isn’t what Tony would say is a ‘real man’. 

Peter’s been wasting his time trying to get better, trying to get closer to Steve. Tony didn’t even really want that. Peter has been topping for no reason, has been working out for no reason, has been stressing out over his body for no fucking reason. 

“Peter?” Tony whispers, and when did he get there? When did the stranger leave? When did Tony get dressed? “Peter baby, please-”

Peter shoves Tony too hard, way too hard for how string Peter is. Tony slams into the wall opposite them, and Tony groans in pain. 

“God, Peter, what the hell-”

“What’s-” Peter hiccups, sobbing brokenly. ‘What’s your excuse this time?”

Tony manages to look embarrassed, at least. “It’s just...it’s been so long since you let me top, it’s been months Pete, I just-”

Peter starts to laugh hysterically, folding in on himself and falling backwards, pulling his knees to his chest. He’s half sobbing and half laughing, and he feels like he’s gone crazy. “I never even wanted to fucking top in the first place, and now-” he cuts himself off with hysterical laughter. “Now you’re cheating because I top too much. First it was because I wasn’t a real man, and now I’m too-too manly, right?” He throws his head back with laughter, feeling the tears pour down his face. 

Tony shifts uncomfortably, put on edge by the hysteria. “Peter, calm down baby, you’re freaking me out.”

Peter starts to laugh harder, sobs interrupting his laughter every once in a while. “What’s the point? What’s the point of starving myself? What’s the point of working out for five hours a day? What’s the point of hiring an intern to stalk you all day every day? What’s the point of having sex when and how I don’t want to? What’s the fucking point of being here, of being alive anymore? No one will ever want me or love me or treasure me! I’ll never-I’ll never be good enough! I’ll never...” Peter finally stops laughing, and he stares at nothing as his voice gets quieter and quieter. Silent tears stream down his face.  “I’ll never make you happy. No matter how hard I try, no matter what I do, no matter how I change myself. It only took me three years to get it, but I got it now.”

“Peter, don’t-don’t say things like that. You’re scaring me.” Tony inches towards the door, and Peter notes that he isn’t trying to comfort Peter. 

“But why. That’s the question I can’t answer, after all this time. Why did you do this to me? Why did you break me? Why did you say you love me if you don’t? Why did you agree to date me if you didn’t want me? Why did you do this to mw, what did I do to deserve this? What did I do?”

Peter hides his face in his knees, crying and mumbling his questions. 

“Peter? Oh, Darlin’...” Peter stiffens before looking up finally. He doesn’t know how much time has passed, but the sun is down and Tony is gone and Bucky is there. 

“Tony left me?” Peter asks, and he sounds so pathetic even to himself that Peter hates himself even more.

“Oh, no, doll, he’s in the living room. He just texted me for back up is all. Can you tell me what happened? Tony only said you were crying and...and that you hit ‘im pretty hard.”

Peter feels like the skin under his eyes is so raw it might rub off, but he can’t stop the tears from escaping again. “I hit him?” Peter asks brokenly, holding his legs more tightly. 

“Nah, I looked him over. I don’t see any marks. I think he exaggerated to make me come; I don’t exactly owe him any favors...” Bucky sits next to Peter, wrapping a soothing arm over his shoulders. 

Peter’s lower lip wobbles, and he starts to sob again. “He’s going to leave me. I tried so hard, Bucky, I swear I did. I did everything he wanted, I became what he wanted, and I still...he still...”

Bucky makes a sad noise, pulling Peter closer. “He cheated again?”

Peter nods, choking on a sob. “I don’t want to live like this anymore. I can’t do this anymore Bucky, I give up. He doesn’t want me. I’ll never be as good as Steve, I’ll never be good enough at all. I’ll-”

“Stop,” Bucky breathes, but it makes Peter’s jaw click shut. He moves himself to be in front of Peter, forcing the younger to look at him. “You don’t believe that. Please, tell me you don’t believe that.”

Peter’s lower lip wobbles and he looks away from Bucky, wiping at his face. It’s useless, though, because new tears just replace them immediately. “You should go.”

“Peter-”

“Get out,” Peter says, pushing away the arms he wants more than anything to be around him. “Steve will be pissed you came to see me, you should really-”

“Steve can deal with it darlin’ I’m not going anywhere. Not when you’re this upset. C’mon, you have to let me-”

“I don’t have to let you do anything!” Peter yells, standing up abruptly and shaking his head. “You did the same thing to me! You led me on, you made me feel like I could be worth it, like I could be loved by someone, and you cast me aside!” Peter faces away from Bucky, shoulders shaking with the power of his sobs. 

Bucky stands as well, swallowing a lump in his throat. “Peter that...was a mistake. I shouldn’t have taken Steve back, I shouldn’t have slept with you, I shouldn’t have done a lot of things. But it was never because I didn’t like you, or I thought you weren’t worth it, or-”

“But you did. You did do those things, and I took Tony back because of those things, and now I just want you to go.” Peter’s shoulders slump, and he chokes on a sob. “Just go away, please.” 

Bucky is silent, taking in the words. They’re sharp as a knife, butting Bucky’s heart into a million pieces. Peter blames Bucky as much as he blames Tony, and honestly, he isn’t wrong to. “I'm so sorry, Peter. I...I’ll go. I’m sorry, I didn’t ever want to hurt you.” Peter doesn’t respond, so Bucky simply leaves, hiding his own hurt for now.

Peter makes a wounded noise, pulling at his hair. He feels like he’s about to have another panic attack, like he’s drowning, like nothing will ever be good again.

Until suddenly, it all stops. 

Peter’s breath evens, and his face steels into blankness, and he suddenly sees a light at the end of the tunnel. He suddenly sees a way out. 

~~~

Bucky is shaking with rage, a fire burning so hot inside of him he’s afraid it will consume him and burn him alive. He feels like a supernova waiting to happen, a black hole in the making. 

Steve puts a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, face somber and full of regret and remorse. “We have to go, Buck. Unless you want to skip-”

“We aren’t skipping his god damn funeral. We’re the reasons he’s fucking going into the ground in the first place.” Bucky pushes Steve’s hand off, stomping over to the mirror and adjusting his tie himself instead of letting Steve do it. 

Steve makes a wounded noise, and it only fans the flames inside of Bucky. “It isn’t your fault-”

“I’m the last person he spoke to,” Bucky growls. “He didn’t say another word to Stark. I was the last person he spoke to. And other than telling me to leave, his last words-” Bucky’s voice breaks on ‘last’, and he clears his throat. “His last words were to let me know he blames...he blamed me for the way he felt. It is my fault, and it’s your fault for making me hurt him, and it’s Stark’s fault for breaking him. It’s all our fault.”

Steve hangs his head in shame, his red-rimmed eyes filling with tears yet again. “Then it’s mine and Stark’s fault. You didn’t do anything-”

“I took you back,” Bucky spits the words, laced with venom and aimed for the kill. “The worst mistake of my life.” He pushes past Steve, leaving the blond standing there broken and guilty. Just like how Bucky feels on the inside. 

~

The funeral was harder than Bucky was expecting it to be, which is saying something since he already thought it would be the hardest thing he’d ever go through. Torture via Hydra was less painful than hearing the scream of agony May emitted when they closed Peter’s coffin. It reminded Bucky of when she got to the hospital. 

“Where is he? Where is he, where is my Peter?!”

“May...” Happy’s voice was broken, empty sounding. “May, I don’t think you should see this.”

“See what?!” May had screamed, sounding as hysterical as Bucky had felt. “Where is he, where is my baby?!”

“May...” Happy hadn’t put up that much a fight in the end, and she had pushed her way into Peter’s room. 

Bucky had been by his bedside, red eyes sore from all the crying. Peter looked so small. He was so pale, and the bags under his eyes were so dark, and he...

They didn’t even try to get him back. By the time Tony had realized Peter had been in the bathroom too long, he had already lost too much blood.

Sometimes, in the books Bucky reads, they describe a dead person as if they looked like they were sleeping. Peter didn’t look like that. He looked broken, and drained, and so not-alive. 

“Peter?” May had whispered. Bucky had gotten up, to give her room. She immediately went to Peter’s bedside, taking his too-cold hand in her own. “Peter, baby, wake up.” May’s voice had broken, and with it Bucky’s heart. “Baby, it’s okay. It’s okay. You’re okay. Wake up honey, you're okay. I’m right here. I’m here baby, I’m-Peter. Peter!”

May was shaking him, and it was so terrible to look at. His body gave no resistance, it just moved with May’s frantic shoving. 

“Peter!” May had screamed. “Peter, you’re okay! You’re okay Peter, you’re-”

Happy had come in, and put a gentle hand on May’s elbow. “May...Come on, let’s get you a seat, let’s-”

“Peter!” she had screamed, a wounded noise. “No!” She had struggled against Happy, not daring to accept what was in front of her. “No! Peter get up, get up! You’re okay, you have to be okay! Peter please, please don’t leave me baby please, I can’t lose you too-no-no get off of me! He’s okay, he’s right there! I can’t be alone don’t leave me alone Peter wake up!”

“He’s dead, May. He’s dead,” Happy had said, but had let her go.

The scream May had released was inhuman. It was broken, it was a scream of her own death. She had flung herself onto Peter’s chest, fisting the shirt he was in and sobbing into it. She had no words anymore, no pleas, hope. Just the broken sounds of a woman who’s lost everything.

Pepper Potts had to pull May away from the grave, whispering words of apologies and empty promises that she’ll be okay. It’s all lies--how could May ever be okay? How could she even ever reach a point where she isn’t dead inside? She buried her nephew. She’ll never be okay again. 

Bucky will never be okay again. And when he turns to look at Steve, he knows Steve will never be okay again either. He’s probably replaying the fight he had with Peter almost a year ago, the fight where he single-handedly told Peter all the things he needed to hear to start his self-destructive cycle. The things Peter repeated in the last conversation the boy ever had. The things that pushed him over the edge. 

Tony didn’t even have the decency to show up of his own will. Happy Hogan physically dragged him here, and anyone who has a nose knows the man is drunk enough to be concerned about liver failure. 

Secretly, Bucky hopes Tony’s liver does fail. He doesn’t deserve to live, after what he’s done to Peter. 

Steve attempts to hold Bucky’s hand, but Bucky yanks it away. Instead, he follows the sounds of May’s wailing, making sure to push Tony as he goes by so the drunk falls on his ass. 

By the time he catches up to the girls, Pepper has May sitting down and sipping on water in between her sobs. Bucky takes a seat beside her, and his presence seems to bring May to the present. 

“You were there,” she accuses, and Bucky’s heart sinks. “At the hospital. You were there.”

Bucky eventually nods, still unable to look directly at her. “I knew Peter.”

May is quiet for a moment, before she takes Bucky’s hand in her own. This time, he doesn’t try to escape the comfort. “I’m glad to know he had people who cared about him with him, in the end. Thank you for caring about him.” She gets up after that, and Pepper follows her with more words of comfort. 

And Bucky sits, staring off into the distance, wishing he had cared just a tiny bit more. He can’t help but believe that if he had, if he had just stayed with Peter after Peter pushed him away, if he had ignored his own hurt at Peter’s blame, if he had just grown a pair and been there...

Bucky will never know. 

[yandere-writer-momo]

Thinking about a Yandere Demon Lord. This is Part 1.

Yandere Head Canons:

Defying Destiny

Yandere Demon Lord x Isekai Saintess Reader x Yandere Hero

TW: Voyeurism, stalking, Somniaphilia, dacryphillia, dark content, etc

Part 2

You were surprised to be alive after your cold fiancé pushed you into oncoming traffic when you got into an argument with him… all you had wanted was for him to show you that he loved you, but instead he killed you. Yet your life didn’t end… no. Far from it.

Rather than waking up in the supposed after life, you woke up in the Rerenth Kingdom. A fantasy kingdom in a magical world plagued with problems written in fiction novels. And the emperor explained to you, no, demanded that you to take on your role as Saintess to save them from the Demon King.

The demon king was now your enemy. Defeating him was the only way for you to go home… but did you even want to do that? In your last life and in this one, you were merely another unhappy pawn. The silk robes and dazzling abilities did nothing to shield you from the harsh reality of what your life has become once more… would you ever truly be free? Would you ever truly be happy?

The servants often spoke of the monstrous Demon King who controlled the forces of darkness that sought to destroy the light. A demonic entity none of the people in this kingdom had ever truly seen with their own eyes, but they believed him to be out there… how else were they to explain the supernatural happenings that plagued their kingdom? This entire ordeal made little sense to you since you hadn’t seen many disputes between humans and demons unless they were over territory. Vast majority of the time, it was humans that ventured into the demonic lands anyways. Was this perhaps some propaganda tactic? You didn’t know and you didn’t question it, you simply wanted to retire to a peaceful life.

It took a few weeks for you to be able to control your new holy power, but you were able to now harness it for barriers and for healing. Abilities that would be useless without a hero… a fact that the citizens soon realized so they began to devise another plan. To summon a hero!

Another few weeks passed by and they successfully summoned a valiant hero by the name of Reinhardt. His chiseled face was constantly covered by the taxidermied lion mask that adorned his face. The man was massive and intimidating, yet you couldn’t help but feel there was something familiar about him. You couldn’t place a finger on who he could possibly be since you didn’t know anyone else with an imposing stature like his but that gut feeling never left you.

Reinhardt would often glance you up and down when he thought you weren’t looking. His green eyes would bore into yours until you felt as if you’d be set ablaze. He was terrifying to you. Especially now that you were on a journey with him to defeat the demon king… along with a fox beastwoman fighter and an elven mage who had joined your party due to the emperor’s order. The Emperor didn’t see you to be enough aid to the hero on this important quest.

Both adventurers were quite rude to you at first since you had no offensive abilities. They often fawned over the hero who blatantly ignored their affections to instead watch over you like a hawk. A fact the two women didn’t really enjoy, but they accepted it as the weeks melted into months. And you still didn’t know their names since they never told you (and Reinhardt never spoke).

The three of them often fought and killed monsters and demons while you protected the supplies and healed their injuries. It upset you that your party ambushed them since the enemies usually were unarmed. Majority of the time, it was a one-sided slaughter. An endless bloodbath that you had no power to stop.

You often lied to your peers about monsters hiding, unaware that your small act of kindness would lead to a snowball effect in the future. You had now caught the eye of an entity much stronger than you and the hero’s party… all because you were merciful. You were kind and sweet. A true saintess.

Your softness had made your peers joke about you being a cry baby. The elven mage and beastwoman often jabbed their elbows into your side to joke about the tears you’d cry because they thought you were scared. The dense women never realized your tears were for the innocent monsters they slaughtered on a day to day basis too. You were never scared of the demons or monsters, you were scared of them.

Yet Reinhardt nipped the subtle bullying in the bud by shoving the other two adventures away from you with his strong arms. He always made sure you were safe before he offered his body for healing… which he’d just make gesture at you with his hands rather than speak. It seemed he was fond of you, a fondness you didn’t understand since he never spoke to you.

Reinhardt would often pick you up without asking you and tuck you into the crook of his large arm. It bothered you that he never took off his mask, but he had quite an attractive jawline with the slightest bit of stubble. There was not a doubt in your mind that Reinhardt was likely an attractive man, but that didn’t matter. Since he was creepy.

Reinhardt never uttered a word to you but would always dutifully stand by your side (or carry you like some sort of damsel). He often reminded you of your ex fiancé with his stoic demeanor and his bewitching green eyes. And the staring. You swore you felt bare under his gaze even if you had multiple layers on.

And it wasn’t just his eyes you felt on you, you swore there was someone else watching you in the shadows and the possibility of you having another stalker made your skin crawl. Had you finally gone insane from having Reinhardt be around you 24/7? Or was there something sinister amiss?

Maybe that’s why Reinhardt so dutifully clung to you? Whether his protection was out of obligation or simply because he lusted for you, his presence did little to ease the extra set of eyes. In fact, he made it worse.

Wherever you were, Reinhardt was never far. He was with you when you bathed to stand guard. He was carrying you if you couldn’t keep up with him and the rest of the hero’s party. Reinhardt even began to stay in your tent with you…

He didn’t utter a word when he watched over you whenever you had nightmares. Reinhardt never woke you up from the horrific dreams of the man with pitch black hair and sharp talons pulling you into his lap and having his way with you. No, Reinhardt instead dragged his tongue down your tear stricken face in delight.

Reinhardt knew his actions were wrong, but he couldn’t help but fawn over your helpless form. You were so weak without his protection… you were a lamb sent to a slaughter that luckily had a herding dog with you. You should be grateful Reinhardt had such an intense interest in you, otherwise you could have perished earlier on at the goblin camps. Or those other two party members would have likely broken a few of your bones from rough housing. You were a frail bird that needed to be locked up at all times and Reinhardt was willing to be the one to do that! He would keep you safe, even if it took you years to understand even an ounce of his magnitude of feelings for you. He was a patient man!

It wasn’t uncommon for you to wake up in your tent with Reindhart’s imposing form standing over you ominously. You’d cry every single time, but he’d make no move to comfort you. Only stare.

Over the last four weeks, you begin to receive little trinkets in your tent on the daily. Delicacies that Reinhardt would immediately pitch once he saw them, but it filled you with anxiety that he was not the one slipping you those gifts… who on earth could be gifting you such pretty rocks and wild flowers?

You were flattered, just the tiniest bit, by the small, temporary gifts. They were much more welcomed than the iron grip of Reinhardt’s arms. Even though the sender made you anxious, it was nice to know that someone took you into consideration. It was a small action that filled you with hope. Perhaps you would be saved from this fate?

Shame you didn’t understand just how much those tiny gifts upset the hero. Your eyes should only be on him. Your entire purpose should revolve around him. Reinhardt wanted to find the individual who sent you these gifts so he could rip them limb from limb. You belonged to him and he would show you that you had no way of escaping him. You were going to be his bride! Whether you liked it or not, the hero had chosen you as his destined one!

Recently, you’d wake up to him laying beside you in your tent with his large arms wrapped around you. His Roman nose buried into the crook of your neck. This was far worse than him lingering in your tent since he had become so physical.

And your peers did nothing about his harassment of you. To them, it was cute that the hero was so ‘enamored’ with the Saintess! You’ve even heard whispers of how the emperor will no doubt arrange a marriage between the two of you once the four of you eliminated the demon king. It terrified you even more because you knew you’d have little say in the matter… your life was spiraling out of your own control once more. This time, into the arms of some brute with attachment issues. You didn’t want to marry another emotionally constipated man! You wanted to have freedom!

You often cried yourself to sleep which only made Reinhardt even more overbearing. He now would press kisses to your cheeks and cuddle his body into yours. Even in your dreams, you couldn’t escape this massive man. If only you could be saved…

And when you drifted off into an unnaturally heavy sleep, your barriers deactivated. An action that allowed the Demon King to finally slip into your party’s camp and take what he wanted. You.

[freecardboardsigns]

My Love's Lost - T

// Abusive Relationship TW , Alcohol TW

It started innocently enough.

It was cold outside, basically winter, as he nursed his cigarette. A few coworkers were hanging out to the side of us, dipping in and out of our conversation as their speech started to slur.

It started as a fun night out with friends. You know how it is. We were young adults out after work, trying to get rid of the stress, bitching about our minimum-wage jobs and crappy bosses over a few drinks. We'd been throwing back cocktails, and the night was getting hazy. A few drinks down the line, and as the daylight had gotten darker, arms were slipping around waists, and kisses snuck onto necks.

Jokes started getting a bit more risque as I pushed myself off the bench I was leaning on, giggling as I grasped onto the lapel of his worn winter coat, daringly pulling him in for a chaste, teasing kiss on the side of his mouth.

He smiled as he looked down at me. His slightly imperfect teeth peaked through, a single front tooth chipped, all the crookedness I adored. I smiled back, but it faltered as he gripped my jaw in his hand and shook my face, muttering under his breath and calling me his "good girl" as his eyes darkened and the side of his lips dropped into a smirk.

Something didn't feel right.

Eyebrow quirking slightly, my eyes darted to the other smoking and drinking patrons next to us, our coworkers, and random strangers, all lost in their conversations. A man barked out a laugh a few feet away from us. I don't know why I expected anyone to take notice of your average bit of PDA and dirty talk.

He took a drag. His firm, callused hand traced my jaw as my breath hitched and my mind tumbled. It felt like a switch had been flicked as a shiver went up my spine. I tried to find clarity and reason. Why do I feel so unsure about this? Why is this happening here? I must just be getting turned on or something.

It felt like an unspoken line had been crossed. This 'relationship' was always behind closed doors, always out of sight. Never in front of coworkers, it had caught me off guard. My stomach twisted in the form of a warning.

Lips met mine, feeling familiar and a split second, comforting. His thick tongue forced itself into my mouth, tried focusing on the strong taste of tobacco as the short hairs of his unkempt five-o-clock shadow scratched at my face. I recoiled, his hand reaching around, fist tightly gripping a hand full of hair, pulling me deeper into him.

My stomach flipped as I began to seek air, and my lungs were thanking the gods as he pulled away, shoulders shaking as I let out an uneasy laugh. He flicked the stub of cigarette away. ‘Easy tiger, don’t forget we’re in publi-’

Smack

My eyes met those of a coworker sitting with others 10 feet away. 

They were lost in their drunk banter as my cheek began to sting. He had his arm draped around a girl's shoulder that seemed to tighten protectively as my eye started to slightly close and water. A man he had only been introduced to earlier this night called for his attentiveness, looking away, seeming to forget me instantly.

White noise crept into my ear, trying to grasp the distant chatter around us, the distorted music coming through the speakers of the beer garden.

I turn my head, attention on the man standing close to me. Through the ringing, I hear him laugh.