#under the cut cause its dealing with some heavy shit

[yourchemicallyimbalancedromance]

Comfort At It’s Finest

Prompt: Virgil has a special blanket that sits carefully folded in the closet and only comes out after really bad days, when he needs it the most. It’s the blanket for huddling up and hiding under the bed, it’s the blanket for taking an almost-involuntary nap after the third panic attack of the day, it’s the blanket for pretending the world is less than sixty-four cubic feet in its entirety and has borders of fabric. It’s the blanket for retreating from a dumpster fire to cry himself to sleep.

It’s a blanket he got from Thomas, before he was accepted.

(Credit to @sleepyvirgilprompts for this idea which you can find here<3)

Ship: none? Unless you count this as platonic Thomxiety but I’m not sure, I don’t really see it that way.

CW/TW: panic attacks, swearing, unsympathetic Roman, unsympathetic Janus, sympathetic Logan.

Summary: Virgil locks himself in his room after the sides start fighting again, something about how almost all of them were holding Thomas back? He didn’t know, he didn’t care, he just wanted to feel okay again.

(Halloween has brought up some…odd and negative feelings, to put it lightly, so this is my way of dealing with that<3)

———————————————————————

Virgil couldn’t take it anymore; The shouting, the insults. He slumped against his door and covered his ears, breathing as if he had just run a marathon, trying desperately to remember the breathing techniques Logan had taught him. What was it? In for four out for…five? Fuck. He couldn’t remember, nothing he was thinking made sense, nothing in general, made sense. Everything was so loud and he couldn’t stop trembling no matter how hard he tried. He held his legs down with his palms and they seemed to stop shaking until he let go, all the built up energy making his attack worse than before. It was no use.

This was the third time they’d fought this week.

It was Thursday.

His hands didn’t muffle all the sound, however; he heard every single thing the others were saying in the commons; it was as if a megaphone had been held up to his door.

“well maybe if you weren’t such an asshole I would have t-“ Roman was cut off by..Janus?

“I’m the asshole?! I’m not the one who’s so deeply insecure that they have to project their shit onto others” he screamed.

The house fell deadly silent apart from Virgil’s heavy breathing. He could hear his heart in his ears. He wanted to go home, he was home, but this didn’t feel like what you would call a home.

“Fuck you, Janus. There’s a reason Thomas didn’t accept you for years.” Roman finally said, from the sound of it, through gritted teeth.

He heard someone stomp a few feet near his room, open a door, and slam it. Virgil froze, the sudden noise sending shock waves through his body.

he wanted everything to stop; the loudness, the insults, the fights, the slamming of doors, the stomping, the yelling, the anxiety, he wanted to be held and told he was safe, he wanted to go home, he wanted-

His tearful eyes drifted over to his closet to see a weighted blanket neatly folded and shoved into the back where no one but him could find it.

His blanket.

He pushed himself up off of the ground, a hand against the wall so he wouldn’t fall due to tremors in his legs. He reached up and grabbed it, letting it fall onto him, nearly causing him to fall to the floor.

The blanket was soft; light, but heavy enough to weigh on you a little. It was checkered black and white with little ghosts on every other patch. He eased up just the smallest bit at the sight of it. Thomas had given him this after the ‘My NEGATIVE Thinking’ video.

He quickly fell on to his bed, holding the blanket to his chest. it smelled of cinnamon and honey. Virgil had forgotten how in the worst of moments, if he pulled out his blanket, it would immediately default to any scent of his choice; subconsciously, he had chosen cinnamon. It reminded him of better times, happier times. How he and Patton had baked cinnamon rolls a few months after he was accepted, the smell of sugary sweetness wafting through the air.

The slight hint of honey reminded him of his first panic attack in front of the light sides, how he had curled into himself on the couch, silent tears escaping his eyes, face hot and red, unable to breathe, to speak, to move. Logan had helped him through it.

“Breathe in for four seconds,” he had said, inhaling, crouched down in front of him. “Hold it for seven seconds” he paused and waited for Virgil to follow his lead, and once he did he continued, “out for eight seconds.” He exhaled.

Virgil was so embarrassed that Logan had seen him like that that he proceeded to apologize profusely. “God, that was— I’m so, so sorry, I don’t know what that was, well I do, I think? It’s never been that bad I just—“

“That was what is known as a severe panic attack, Virgil. I take it you’ve never had one to that extent before?” His eyes were kind, caring, behind his glasses.

Virgil just shook his head, he didn’t know what to say, he felt that if he tried to talk the only words he would be able to say would be “I’m sorry” over and over again.

“I see. Say, do you like honey? Maybe lemon?” He had asked

Virgil nodded, and before he could stop him, Logan had begun making Honey and Lemon tea. Something about how “it’s very calming and quite good as well” he had said.

Virgil hadn’t noticed his eyes drift closed but he didn’t feel the need to force them back open. The sharpness of the house felt dimmer, quieter; as if they were sizzling into a low hum, something waiting to pounce again. He was too fatigued to worry about it, even though something in his gut told him to stay alert, something was bound to happen again, he didn’t listen, just readjusted positions under the warmth of the blanket.

He needed to say thank you to Thomas later.

[peninkwrites]

How to Bury Your Brother:

A guide by Tommyinnit

crossposted to ao3

~

“You know, the guy known for writing the best instruction manuals on the fucking earth, eh?  The Tommyinnit!  Thought, well, might as well.  Something to do while I dig.  Bet I’m gonna be fucking genius at this shit too.  It’s not… it’s not written down, more like, an unofficial audiobook, ‘cause… cause I can’t write and dig at the same time, see?  Or it’s like a… an oral story that will be passed down for generations!  My wisdom will benefit siblings everywhere of all ages!  Ha.”  A long, heavy pause.  “So, uh.  How to bury your brother.  Well, first thing you gotta do, is, funny enough, dig him out.  He got buried in the rubble, see?  That’s not a fuckin’ universal, but it’s my deal here, so, fuck off.  Um.”

(It was a quiet thing.  For Tommy, things were rarely quiet, but earlier that day, at the start of it at least, he didn't want to make a sound.  As if afraid he was going to wake him.  On the morning of the 17th, early morning, dawn light only just cresting over the server, Tommy went to get him out.)

Tommy’s words are mumbled and accompanied by the scraping of a shovel on dirt.  “Ground is starting to freeze… it is November…”  A pause, he clears his throat.  “Anyway!  Getting ahead of m’self.  I’d get up early.  Early in the morning as you can stand and it helps if you didn’t really sleep the night before anyway, but hike on out there when the sun is just pokin’ its little head up over the trees and… and then you get him out.”

(Tommy was so desperate.  He’d reached the cliffside, realized he couldn’t see Wilbur, and started fighting the mountainside, railing against the rubble with a desperate panic he almost found shameful.  It was hard.  It would get harder.)

“So, you gotta dig him out.  You know he’s under there, but you got no idea what state he’s in, yeah?  And… and it could get ugly.  Uglier even than the fucked up city behind you, but you won’t know until you get in there, so.  Might have to gear yourself up for a bit, alright?  Have a… have a little cry out on the cliffside––not me, obviously.  I’m Tommyinnit, but you might have to––and then you get to digging.  A-And you might get stupid too, alright?  Again, not me, but you might get… might get stupid.  You might start clawin’ your hands all bloody, ‘cause you get it in your thick skull that he’s alive down there.  That he… that he might need you to save him again.”

(Tommy was almost struck by relief when he found him.  Wilbur’s body had not been crushed in the collapse, rather, sheltered.  By chance, an alcove made in the destruction.  Tommy unearthed him, and maybe he could have left him buried right here, right where Wilbur dug his own grave, but he couldn’t do that.  He promised he wouldn’t give up on him.)

Once more, the sharp clang of the shovel hitting dirt.  “Sorry, doing digging.  Distracted.  He’s not alive down there.  Trust me, he’s just not.  You… you saw it.  And you saw it on your comm later, so you know he’s gone, so don’t get yourself all worked up, it’ll be a fuckin’ let down when you see him like that–” Tommy gets choked up, forced to pause.  “ Fuck.  I’m not crying or nothing, I’m just distracted, a-and digging.  And fuck you anyway, nothing wrong with crying!  You gotta get your… your toxic masculinity checked or some shit!”

(Tommy knelt down beside him, and at first he couldn’t bring himself to touch him.  His breathing was shaky as he stared at the blood soaking his brother’s chest.  He buried it and instead fell silent while his gaze wandered up to Wilbur’s open eyes, and a vacant smile that looked so profoundly relieved.)

“Get yourself… get yourself ready, alright?  ‘Cause it’s gonna be fucked up.  He’s gonna be all bloody and his eyes–”  Tommy gets choked up again and cuts himself off.  He takes a shaky breath before making himself continue.  “They’re still gonna be open.  So, you close ‘em.  And… and you ignore the fact that the piece of shit is smiling.  You… you might just be imagining it.  ‘Cause why the fuck would he be smiling?!  No, seriously, what the fuck?  Why is he… why was he smiling?”   A trembling inhale.  “It’s gonna be hard to get him uncovered, and… and you might want to ask for help.  I didn’t, ‘cause I’m strong, you see?  Big man Tommyinnit didn’t need no help movin’ those rocks!  He just… he kept pushing even when it scared him, even when he thought he was gonna hurt ‘im but– I didn’t hurt him ‘cause he was dead.  It… it didn’t hurt him.”  A pause.  “It didn’t hurt him.”

(Tommy put one arm underneath Wilbur’s legs, and the other around his torso.  He'd thought he wouldn't be able to lift him, and it was an awful feeling when he stood and realized how light Wilbur had gotten.  Tommy knew he had lost weight in Pogtopia, but feeling it like that was worse.  He could feel Wilbur’s ribs.  He was stiff from rigor mortis, but Tommy was stiff too from the aches and pains of a battle.  Tommy stood so slowly, afraid of dropping him, and even as Wilbur is too thin in his arms, he was still heavy.  Tommy was slow and careful, even as he knew dropping Wilbur at that point wouldn’t have hurt him.)

“Right.  Right, then, you got ‘im uncovered, eyes closed and all that, next bit is getting him out of there.  Because you can’t bury him there.  You’re not gonna fucking leave him down there.  You’re not.”

(Tommy wasn't sure how he was going to get him out of there, but nonetheless, he slowly turned back the way he had come, and stepped out into the morning sun.  He could have waited and gotten help, he didn't want to.  It was hard.  It was so impossibly hard to step over the rubble and carry him, but he never let go.  He never fell, he just kept walking.  He couldn’t see his feet around Wilbur’s body, not that he tried to, he’d only looked straight ahead.  He’d instead felt his way over the rocks, he’d prayed not to fall and break his neck.  He’d known he wouldn’t be able to carry him far, but he’d made it at least out of the dark and the earth and up on top of the hill that remains intact above the ruins.  No one else was up yet.  Tommy had come early for a reason.)

“So, you’re gonna be careful, yeah?  He won’t weigh much, so you don’t got to worry about that.  Even though it’s probably gonna worry you, ‘cause why the fuck doesn’t he weigh nothing?!”  His rage is cut off by a shaky sigh.  He continues more steadily.  “He’s still a tall bitch, so it won’t be super easy, but you’re gonna make it.  Alright?  The both of you, you’re gonna drag him to the top of the hillside.  Somewhere… somewhere not too far, but somewhere pretty.”

(He made it to the top of the hill before he collapsed, Wilbur hitting the ground, Tommy falling with him, and freezing, stunned and horrified, as he dropped his brother’s body.  He couldn’t keep going anymore.  He just couldn’t.  Tommy didn't cry.  He doesn’t know why he didn’t cry, but he didn’t.  He had stared at Wilbur’s face.  For a moment, weary calm was replaced by sharp rage.  He shut Wilbur’s eyes.  He couldn’t stand the sight of them.)

“Somewhere pretty.”

(Tommy set him down so carefully, as delicately as he could.  He stood on aching knees and unsteady feet, and then he turned away from the body.  Then, he started to talk.)

“Right, once you put him down, all nice and gentle like, even though he won’t care anymore, then you can get on to the digging bit.  I know, feels funny to drag your brother out of the grave he made for one you made, but trust me, mine is loads better.  It’s… it’s gonna be loads better…”

Tommy has an iron shovel.  He started to dig.  It’s November.  The air is cold and the ground not quite frozen, but stiff and difficult to move; rigor mortis has set in for the year.  This is hard too.  Maybe even harder than carrying him.  Tommy digs.  He’s already tired.  He’s been tired for a long time.  Maybe he’ll rest, but not until this is finished.

He is careful and methodical.  He wants it to be perfect, so it is.  He is so unlike himself as he digs out a rectangle, over six feet in length, over three feet in width with such precision.  Then he starts to dig down.

“You’ll mark it out, see?  Make it like, a bit taller than him and a bit wider.  As for me, that makes it over six feet long and three feet wide.  Dunno about your brother.  Measure him, or whatever the fuck.”

His knuckles ache, his palms blister, and his chest feels very tight, but he doesn’t stop.  It’s a labor of love.  He steps down into the grave once it gets too hard to bend down and keeps going.  Once, he pauses.  He’s damp with sweat, the sun has finally broken through, and soon people will come to search the crater.

“It’s gonna… it’s gonna start to hurt.  Holy fuck is it hurtin’ right now, your hands are gonna hurt like a bitch and you’re gonna get all sore–– Which!  To be fair, is because you fought a war yesterday!  Or… Or I did.  Dunno about you.  I did.  We… we won–”  Once more, words broken by a buried sob.  “Did you know that?  We won the war, Wil!  We… oh fuck…”

Tommy cannot stop.  He keeps digging.  That is why it hurts so badly.  When he finally cries, it’s because of how much his hands hurt, his whole body aches, rather than his reason for doing this in the first place.  It’s cool in the grave, sweat cold on his back, the sun not doing enough.  It’s a labor of love.

He doesn’t know what more he can do.  He has run out of ways to save his brother, because there is nothing left to be saved.

There is quiet for a time, save for the sound of digging, and the occasional breathless, whimpering sob.

“You… you gotta dig for a long time, see?  Make it real deep.  Deep enough you can’t see out of it.  That’s when… that’s when you’ll probably get bored enough to write– to talk out a book, yeah?  Write a different instruction manual, though.  I’ve got this one covered.  Even if… even if no one is gonna fuckin’ hear it, it sure beats talking to your dead brother…”

Tommy can no longer see up over the grave.  So he stops.  He claws his way out and finds Wilbur exactly as he left him.  He didn’t expect anything different, but still, the sight of him comes as a disappointment.  He looks no less dead in the sun, skin a sickly white, eyes finally closed, there is no way for Tommy to ignore the blood soaking his chest.  Tommy stands slowly.  He stares, as if expecting Wilbur to move.  To sit up, to say something terrible or something kind, but of course he doesn’t move.  He’s dead.

Tommy wants to shout at his brother.  He wants to scold him for abandoning them, to ask him why? 

“Don’t… don’t bother talking to ‘im, alright?  However much you want to, there’s no point.  He’s… he can’t fucking hear you.  Not like he… not like he ever listened anyway…”

Tommy puts his weary body through one last torment.  He slowly picks up the body, struggling under the weight of it, and despite knowing Wilbur isn’t here, he still tries to be gentle.  He turns to the beautifully dug grave, and he stops.  His whole body hurts.  He doesn’t know how much longer he can bear the weight of it.  Tommy falls to his knees.  He still holds on.  He sits back and holds his dead brother close, hugging him tightly, even as he no longer settles right in Tommy’s arms.

“I don’t… I don’t want to let go… I don’t want to let him go… I don’t– oh, fuck, Wil, I don’t know how to do this!  Please!  Please, I don’t know how to fucking do this!”

There is no reply.

Holding him feels wrong.  He’s so stiff and he smells like gunpowder and dying and cigarettes, but not even 24 hours ago this had been his big brother.  This had been everything he had tried to save, just like that crater over the hillside.

Tommy needs to bury him.  He doesn’t want to wait for him to rot.

“I don’t… I don’t wanna bury him, though…”

Silence.  Perhaps for too long, but finally, Tommy speaks again.

“Right.  Okay, you… next thing you gotta do, is you gotta get up.  You don’t… you don’t fucking drop him in the grave, you put him down next to the grave.  And… and you hop down in it for him, got it?”

As always, he goes through the doorway first, as always, he beckons his brother through, impatient like only a little brother can be.  He pulls Wilbur into the grave with him, and places him gently on the ground.  Maybe he should have brought a blanket.  Or even a flag to cover him.  It’s too late for that now.  What’s done is done, and Tommy doesn’t think he can go back at this point.  If he walks away now, he won’t be able to return to finish the job.

“You… you put him down, real careful like.  A-And you put something with him.  If you can.  You give him a blanket or a flag or– or something important.”  Another heavy pause.  “If you… if you can…”

Tommy climbs out of the grave.  Wilbur does not follow.

“Oh, now we’re getting to the big stuff, lads!  That was just the… just the prep work.  Now we get to the actual burying bit!  Straight forward, really.  You do what you did with your shovel before, just in reverse.”  Tommy takes up his shovel again.  “A-And we don’t look down, got it?  We… we don’t look.”

He does not look down as he buries him.  He just keeps going until the earth is gone, and when he turns to look, it’s like he’s still expecting to see him.  He still thinks he should see his brother there, but there is only the earth.

“He’s buried.  You did it.  Well done,” he says weakly.  “But… but you’re not done yet,” he sniffs and wipes his eyes.  “Dunno about your brother, but my big brother doesn’t deserve an unmarked grave.”  Tommy gets out a large flat stone.  “Dunno what he deserves, but it’s not that…” He mumbles.

Tommy drags a large, flat stone over the freshly turned earth.  He hunches over it, a mess of mud and sweat and day old blood, and he scratches out his name.  That is as far as he gets.  Wilbur Soot.

“Put something nice on it.  Something special along with their name.”

Tommy doesn’t know what else to say.  Nothing would be fair, nor good enough, nor bad enough, for everything his brother is.  Was.

“That’s… that’s all it takes.  You bury him.  Only thing left to do is…” Tommy stares down at his grave.  He cannot say it.  Only thing left to do is leave.

Nonetheless, he does not stay.  He stands, leaning on his shovel, so weighted with exhaustion.  But he still goes back down the hill, to where Tubbo so many others have started to piece the world back together again.  He leaves Wilbur behind and joins them.

[flatstarcarcosa]

[gun slide noise]

ME!AU RAPID FIRE:

*abarahm resident over powered biotic. vanguard. heavy reliance on barrier+charge plus has done some incredibly illegal mods to his service shotgun. concussion rounds+experimental incendiary that blows you open and burns you out from the inside. you're better off getting slammed. the van brunts are also like, the closest thing to royalty the alliance has which means he's even more arrogant and egoistical than regular canon because he has never, at any point, had to deal with the fallout of anything he's ever done.

*i cannot stress to you enough this man's response to ichabod saying "abraham we can't do that, it's a war crime" is "only if there's batarians left alive to tell anyone". he doesn't even have a good reason to dislike batarians outside of alliance propaganda and like. blatant racism, if i'm honest. man is not remotely empathetic enough to actually CARE what any of them have done he just Craves Violence.

*and speaking of, ichabod. infiltrator, squishy as fuck counterpart for abe's tank but it's fine because he's in, done with the mission, and out before anyone knows. (if he's....yknow. not with abraham. that is.) he's also, for some reason, basically the only person that can stand to be around abraham for any length of time, likely because they ended up in basic together and just kinda clicked despite differing personalities.

cutting bc there's a lot, rapid fire or not-

*one of the things i put a lot of effort into back when this was a thing i did on the RP blog was making abraham and shepard's stories mirror each other, if not entirely, in a lot of ways. abraham was the original poster boy, and he was actually the first line draft pick for human spectre.

*it doesn't come to pass when a mission goes tits up, and he nearly dies. family name and money catches the attention of cerberus, who slide in with promises they can fix him, like, totally, we prommy. he does get fixed, he gets top of the line cybernetic implants and in the end it's nothing some PT can't fix.

*except oops! mommy and daddy van brunt stupidly trusted the known terrorist organization because they were more interested in making sure The Family Legacy went the way it was supposed to! and now their already OP son is infested with fucking reaper tech no one knows about!

*the injuries abe sustains when he almost dies includes a TBI. the TBI has the fun little side effect of actually interfering with the indoctrination from the reaper tech. lots of notes in abe's recovery with him commenting about buzzing/humming noises no one else seems to hear and "i swear to god my teeth itch".

*abe's first mission once cleared for duty ALSO goes tits up because harbinger tries to awaken what's supposed to be the best little sleeper agent Its ever Had only to find out the fucking sleeper agent is defective. it begins an ongoing battle where harbinger is constantly trying to outright control abraham entirely, but it doesn't always work.

*he officially gets listed as MIA--POSSIBLY AWOL

*ichabod and abraham's plots revolve around everyone lamenting that the alliance golden boy just cracked under the pressure and couldn't cut it, with ichabod sincerely believing that's not the whole story. "abraham is an arrogant ass, he's not an unhinged coward" is repeated quite a lot.

*abe and harbinger's back and forth for control means sometimes he loses. sometimes harbinger is able to make the indoctrination work and operate him like a fucking meat puppet from dark space, and that fun little TBI that causes the back and forth also means he's completely aware the whole time it's happening.

*eventually he notices a pattern in that getting his shit rocked (ie more brain trauma) tends to shake harbinger loose, which results in one encounter with ichabod and abe where he tells ichabod 'the next time you find me trying to kill you, aim for my head'

*basically a lot of it is the concept of like. Worst Guy You've Ever Known Finally Faces Consequences except. it's also one of those stories where at a certain point you're no longer thrilled by these turn of events, you're kind of uncomfortable. it seems less like comeuppance and more like watching someone slowly get fed into a meat grinder for no reason.

*which. remember the early concepts for saren and tim where the reaper tech was slowly eroding any organic parts of them? yeah. yeah he's not having a good time.

*abe also ends up targeting cerberus when he's controlling his own mind, particularly when he finds out they were only able to save shepard because of what they did to him. feels a lot like being the test run.

*which leads me back to shepard and abe having mirroring stories. in the end the reaper war ends and they're both dead, but only one of them is remembered.

*abe's death takes place during me3. i never got as far as plotting the details but it was always meant to be a last ditch "fuck you/ i'm not what you made me" type thing. there's also a smidge of suicide by sacrifice to it, because again, he was already dying because of the reaper tech and just. was so goddamn tired. it's shades of vega as well in like, what he does is very big and very good and saves a lot of lives (ichabod's included) but it's. just that shepard was already elsewhere, doing bigger things.

*after ichabod gets cleared after abe dies, he basically gets a "tyfys here's your next posting" and asks what about abraham which is met with "what about him?"

*ichabod then starts demanding abe's status get changed from MIA--POSSIBLY AWOL to killed in the line of duty along with a posthumous commendation of valor. i'm thinking he gets a call from hackett about joining the crucible project and agrees, but on one condition, mostly because the idea of ichabod yelling hackett down is kinda BDE if i'm honest.

*also of importance: abraham being a whole ass home of sexual whose also big brained enough to be like "actually asari aren't women so yes i can fuck them despite being gay"

*and finally if he ever found out aria t'loak fucked mordin and not him he'd blow up afterlife and everyone in it

[alexandraisyes]

🤯😈🤡🍆🍦💖

Thanks for the ask! Turbo's answers under the cut! Here's where you can find the emojis for the ask game!

🤯 What's a genre you struggle with as a writer (ex. romance, action, etc.)?

Probably romance. I'm not a very romantic person but that's to be expected considering my, uh, psychological standing (sweats in ASPD). I've been told that the romantic and soft and family shit I write is really nice and feels real, but I'm just making shit up man, haha. I do a lot of self-projecting when I write sweet shit because I wanna give my characters what I can't have. ❤️Thankfully Turbo is here to make me brainrot and think about all of the sweet shit. Otherwise, the fics would be a lot darker than they already are.

😈 Has there been a point in a story where you did something just to be playfully mean to your readers?

Like kill Sun's cats? OH YOU SAID PLAYFULLY-

🤡 What's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh?

Any time Killcode acts like a feral cat I get a good laugh. He's just an oversized cat who acts like one too his lovers as well. Including play fighting them (much to Flare's dismay as he gets pulled away from tasks).

🍆 Do you write the spicy stuffs? If so, what's your most popular nsfw fic?

I do haha. My most popular nsfw fic is The Deal because that's the only one uploaded so far. TMiB is just the sequel to The Deal so it doesn't count.

🍦 What's the sweetest fic you've created so far?

Oooh that's tricky. I would say The Deal except that's got uh. . . death. lol. Probably Erros in Resentment just because it's me projecting on Eclipse like all fuck and he gets the happy ending that I think he deserves. Without more suffering. It's kind of my love letter to my disorder (ASPD) since Eclipse and Ruin both have it. There's something beautiful in the absolute devotion a sociopath can have to someone, the unwavering loyalty, and that's often taken for granted because we don't love in the traditional sense of the word. It's meant to show that people with ASPD can still be happy, and change, and grow and improve and live meaningful lives without causing harm to people around them. Not even just ASPD, but all Cluster B disorders. That someone who is aromantic by nature can still find happiness with someone else, even if it's not a romantic companionship, but rather just a sense of belonging. Like I said, it's me self-projecting on Eclipse, and Ruin also having ASPD? That was just the cherry on top for me. I can't promise when it'll get updated, though.

💖 What made you start writing?

I've always been writing! I just normally kept it to myself or roleplays. I've been writing short stories since I knew how to write, though.

Turbo's turn!

🤯 What's a genre you struggle with as a writer (ex. romance, action, etc.)?

serious conversations? probably some heavy- really heavy shit i think

😈 Has there been a point in a story where you did something just to be playfully mean to your readers?

that one time me and alex hinted at a solar x lunar shit. But it was one sided

🤡 What's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh?

Any scene where bloodmoon swore in the deal. it just hits different because he dosent swear so much in my ehes

🍆 Do you write the spicy stuffs? If so, what's your most popular nsfw fic?

THE DEAL LMAO

🍦 What's the sweetest fic you've created so far?

A little snippet called "bloodmoon, eclipse, lunar, and burgers" 🥺 (its not found anywhere but on a discord server lel im too shy)

💖 What made you start writing?

DUNGEONS AND DRAGONS NGL AND MY LOVE FOR STORIES

[kayleydreams]

Chapter 9: Explosive Alliances

Cherri Bomb squinted at the bright screen of her phone, her eye adjusting to the sudden intrusion of light. She let out a low groan, shifting under the warmth of her blanket as she begrudgingly reached for her phone. The constant beeping had managed to cut through the remnants of her peaceful slumber. As she unlocked her phone, a series of urgent messages from Angel Dust filled the screen. Cherri raised her eyebrow, half-expecting some wild tales of his escapades, especially considering his involvement with Husk the previous night.

Cherri Bomb hastily dialed Angel's number back, realizing that this was real. She gets out of bed and gets ready as she talked to Angie. "Angie dear. Spill it. What's the emergency?" Cherri Bomb inquired her tone a mix of concern and readiness. "Tomorrow, the extermination got moved up. Shit is goin' down, and guess who's the star of the show? Our beloved Hazbin Hotel." "Wait, why? The Extermination? Are you pullin' my leg?" Cherri questioned, a hint of disbelief in her voice. "I wish, babe. The Heaven fucker's got some big, bad plans, and we're on the hit list. Things are about to get messy, and I don't mean my kinda messy." Cherri Bomb's eye narrowed. "Alright, Angie. I'm in. You know I'm always down as long as I get to have you on my team." "It's the real deal. Pack your explosives. We're gonna show 'em a fireworks display they won't forget!" Angel Dust asserted confidently. Cherry hung up, a mix of concern and determination etched on her face. The Hazbin Hotel was in for a wild ride, and she was ready to bring the fire.

Cherry sighed, her plans for a swift departure thwarted by the ominous arrival of an all-too-familiar steampunk airship casting its shadow over her.

Bloody hell, not now. She quickly grabbed a nearby box already filled with explosives, slinging it over her shoulder. As she made her way outside, the airship descended, revealing Sir Pentious and his eccentric ensemble. "Ssssalutations, Cherry Bomb! I'm here to bring you and your handy explosives back to the hotel," Sir Pentious announced, attempting to sound confident but failing to hide the nervous excitement in his voice. Cherry Bomb rolled her eye at the over-the-top greeting. "Alright, edge lord." She shoved the box into him, causing him to double over momentarily before grasping the heavy box and regaining his composure. He huffed and set it into the airship. Cherri Bomb easily took three boxes at a time, stacked on top of each other, showing her formidable strength. The Egg Boiz tried to help, bumbling into each other. They filled the airship with weapons and bombs from Cherri's formidable arsenal. "Ssso Cherri! Have you happened to have had a bite to eat yet? I made a little serpent-inspired feast back at the hotel," he hissed, trying to sound confident but failing to hide the nervous excitement in his voice. "Let's just get back to the hotel, ya?" Cherri Bomb responded her tone a mix of amusement and impatience. As the airship lifted off the ground, the gears and pistons clanked and whirred, filling the air with mechanical noises. Sir Pentious, now in a more military-styled outfit, worked with the controls at the helm. The airship journey continued with Sir Pentious awkwardly attempting small talk, occasionally stumbling over his words. Cherri Bomb, on the other hand, focused on organizing the arsenal, occasionally glancing at him with a mix of amusement and curiosity. The airship touched down at the Hazbin Hotel, and Sir Pentious, still determined, led Cherri Bomb towards the dining room. The table, adorned with a variety of dishes inspired by serpent imagery, awaited them. Cherri had never really been this far into the hotel but it wasn't as shabby as she remembered. Already at the table were Husk, Angel Dust, and Niffty.

"Cherri Bomb, my savior, you just turned this chaos into a party. Get ready for a wild ride," Angel Dust exclaimed, smiling widely at seeing her. "Angie, did you send Snakey here to pick me up?" Cherri Bomb asked, her tone laced with playful skepticism. "Seriously, babe, what was the master plan here? Hauling all those boom-booms through the city solo? You gotta admit, my way adds a bit more glam," Angel Dust added, a mischievous glint in his eye. Cherry rolled her eye. "Sssit, sssit, Cherri! Allow me to prove my culinary prowess," Sir Pentious gestured towards the table with a theatrical flair, a wide smile on his face. Cherri Bomb couldn't help but smirk, amused by the effort he had put into this peculiar setup. She took a seat, eyeing the serpent-shaped pastries and peculiar concoctions on the table. "Alright, Pentious, impress me," she challenged, her tone daring. Sir Pentious practically beamed with pride. Cherri Bomb decided to try the most harmless-looking food on the table, a cinnamon roll made to resemble a cobra. It surprised her - it was actually good. "Not bad, Pentious," she admitted, giving him a smirk. "So what's the plan?" Cherri Bomb asked, her tone shifting to a more serious note as they shared breakfast.   As if ordained Vaggie and Charlie arrived with a hoard of angelic weapons and an army of canables.  "So Angelic weapons can hurt them Pentious can you work with this?" Vaggie speaks with intention and gestures toward a large number of weapons. "Of courssse" He responds a eager grin crossing his face. 

Cherri Bomb observed from a distance, her eyes narrowing with both skepticism and intrigue. The melding of demonic ingenuity and celestial might promised a formidable combination against the impending threat. The air hummed with anticipation as Sir Pentious set to work, fusing his building expertise with the divine steel of the angelic weapons. It was an unholy alliance, a dance between opposites, and the outcome would determine the fate of their infernal battleground.

Sir Pentious, with delicate precision, began disassembling some of the angelic weapons. Cherri Bomb, still skeptical but unable to resist the allure of potential power, approached him with a raised eyebrow. "What are you playing at?" Sir Pentious chuckled, a metallic glint in his eye. "Oh, you'll love thisss. I'm extracting the essence from these heavenly trinkets to create shrapnel for your bombs. A little touch of the divine to spice up your usual chaosss." Cherri Bomb's skepticism deepened, but a smirk played on her lips. "Divine shrapnel, huh? Well, color me intrigued. But make sure it doesn't mess with my explosions. I want more bang for my buck, not some celestial light show."

Sir Pentious nodded, his focus returning to the delicate work at hand. He carefully collected the refined shrapnel, each piece glimmering with a faint celestial glow. Cherri Bomb worked alongside him adding shrapnel into a few of her bombs for testing.  Cherri Bomb smirked, nodding in approval. "Snakey, I gotta admit, Making chaos together is almost as fun as causing it." Sir Pentious laughed, the sound echoing through the makeshift workshop. 

The unlikely duo shared a moment of camaraderie, bound by their shared love for chaos and the artistry of destruction. The day continued with Cherri sparing practicing fighting with Angie and testing her bombs. Before adding shrapnel to the rest of her bombs. Before long it was the night before their stand that would take place in the morning.  The unlikely residents of the hotel and Cherri gather for drinks at the bar. The clinking of glasses resonated with the underlying current of hope that permeated the room. There was a collective understanding that they were facing a common enemy, and for this brief moment, they set aside their individual differences. As the shots flowed, so did the tales of their past, and hopes. 

Cherri Bomb saw this as an opportunity to get closer to Angel's crush. "Well, well, if it ain't the grumpiest cat in Hell. Mind if I join you, Husky?" "Long as you don't start screechin' like a banshee." Cherri Bomb chuckled, her voice carrying the carefree energy of a troublemaker. "No promises. You know, you're not as scary as you try to be." Husk shot her a skeptical glance, his feline features expressing a mix of annoyance and curiosity. "And you're not as subtle as you think." Cherri Bomb leaned in, a mischievous glint in her eye. "So, about you and Angel, I like it." Husk scowled, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. "He's a pain in the ass, but... he's my pain in the ass." Cherri Bomb teased, her tone playful. "Oh, we're gettin' sentimental now, huh?" Husk sighed, unsure if he should continue. "You know, I don't appreciate how loud and obnoxious you are. Drugs, alcohol, and explosions everywhere." Cherri Bomb smirked, her expression unapologetic. "Guilty as charged." Husk grumbled, a reluctant smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "But I respect you. You were there for Angel when I couldn't be." Cherri Bomb leaned back against the bar, her posture exuding confidence. "What's that supposed to mean?" Husk sighed, choosing his words carefully. "He was in a dark place. You pulled him out, made him laugh, gave him a reason to keep goin'." Cherri Bomb raised an eyebrow, acknowledging the weight of his words. "Look, whiskers, we all got our strengths. You might not be the life of the party, but you're a damn good friend. Angel knows that, and so do I." Husk grumbled in response but couldn't hide a small smirk at the unexpected compliment. "Don't call me Whiskers." Cherri Bomb grinned, unbothered by his gruff demeanor. "Fair enough. But you can't deny I know how to make things interesting." She raised her glass, the clink echoing through the bar. "Here's to chaos, Husk. May it keep us entertained and Hell keep burnin'." Husk clinked his glass against hers, a begrudging nod accompanying the gesture. "To chaos."

As Cherri Bomb and Husk shared a moment at the bar, Angel Dust strolled in with his characteristic swagger. Cherri couldn't resist the opportunity to add a bit more chaos to the mix. Cherri Bomb Grins "Well, well, look who decided to grace us with their fabulous presence. Angel Dust, the man, the myth, the drama queen." Angel Dust smirks "Oh, come on, Cherri. You know you missed all this fabulousness." "Missed it like a toothache." She teases back.  Husk was bored already "You two done with the circus act?" Angel Dust Leans against the bar "Aw, come on, Husky. You love the circus. Just admit it."

The night wore on, and the camaraderie among the eclectic group deepened. Cherri Bomb, with her usual fiery spirit, found herself laughing alongside Angel Dust, trading witty remarks with Husk. The pulsating energy in the air was not just from the drinks but from the unity they discovered in the face of a common threat.

"Missss Bomb? Cherri?" The hiss in Sir Pentious's voice cut through the air, carrying a mix of nervousness and sincerity. "Yeah?" Cherri Bomb glanced over, a quizzical expression playing on her face as she continued sipping on her drink. "I want to tell you that I...I love...I'd love to wish you good luck in the battle ahead." Sir Pentious's words stumbled out, his usual bravado replaced by an awkward sincerity. "Okay." Cherri raised her eyebrow, unsure of how to respond to the unexpected sentiment. "You are...have always have been a worthy opponent. With the most...brilliant explosive contraptions I've ever seen." The words seemed to catch in Sir Pentious's throat, as if he were grappling with the unfamiliar territory of expressing genuine admiration. "Uh...thanks?" Cherri Bomb responded, a perplexed look on her face, as if she were trying to decipher the unusual behavior. "Anyway, I guess...please don't die tomorrow. Okay, bye!" Sir Pentious hastily retreated, his departure marked by a hurried ascent up the stairs to his room. In the aftermath of the peculiar encounter, Angel Dust sidled up to Cherri, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he handed her a shot. "You know, you could totally tap that." Cherri rolled her eyes, dismissing Angel's comment. "Tss, don't be gross." "Cuz, you know, I hear he's got 2 dicks." Angel smirked, fully aware that such a detail might catch Cherri's attention. "Huh." Cherri's gaze drifted towards the stairs where Sir Pentious had hastily fled, a mixture of confusion and intrigue on her face.

As they eventually dispersed to their respective quarters, a renewed sense of purpose lingered. Cherri took up residence in an empty room next to Angel's. As they retired for the night, each carrying the warmth of camaraderie and the hope that their combined efforts would withstand the angelic onslaught. In the quiet moments before sleep claimed them, Cherri Bomb found herself staring at the pouch of remaining celestial shrapnel. The air was thick with possibilities, a blend of chaos and hope that hung to the Hotel, promising excitement tomorrow.

[idv-thespians]

so i decided to make roleswap available permanently so here’s some info!

Under the cut due to death mentions

Shiloh Monroe, the Actor

Cause of death: Heavy blood loss due to being stabbed to death

i decided his title was ominous enough that it didn’t need a change, its also kinda to signify he’s still kinda the same lol

Asshole got stabbed to death by Liam!! Deserved!!

I THIINK I HAVE SKILLS FOR HIM BUT IDK WHERE GR

He’s even worse than before, and would absolutely kill for fun. Brendan get yo ass here

Liam Hubert, the Star

If you thought Liam was pathetic there’s always this guy

He has a copying ability and has a shit gate opening speed thats all i recall atm

hes still tall as fuck

also an alcoholic as fuck

Eva Hubert, the Martyr

Cause of death: Heavy blood loss due to self-inflicted neck wound

She never got to change her name, so she still goes by Eva Hubert instead of Elaine Schreiber

She’s nice out of matches I swear

I have a skillset for her buuuut im too lazy to show it lol

She was hurt with the intent of letting her bleed out in a forest, but she didn’t want to deal with the pain and just slit her throat

As a result she often has problems talking due to her injuries

Quinn Stewart, the Vigilante

Cause of death: Arsenic poisoning

Shiloh, as Quinn dies: L moment bruh.

I feel like the title fits him because… he’s kinda seeking justice through violence lol

I don’t have a fixed skillset for him but i know he’s a strong chase hunter i know it

Very brash before, even brasher now. I promise you can get on his good side but he’s just. generally hostile to strangers

Hugo Drakenburg, the Sorrowful Scripwriter

Cause of death: Hung by a noose in a suicide attempt

fuck synonyms all my homies hate synonyms /j

He’s a very sad guy… he felt super guilty because he basically condemned Liam to his death

The terror and guilt got to his head, and he even began to hallucinate and have vivid nightmares of the incident

he was getting help for it then Elaine and Quinn decided to revisit the case!! Trauma x1000 and he got so overwhelmed by the thought that Liam could be haunting him sort of pushed him over the edge

He has. no skillsets as of now rip

[unhingedselfships]

🛩: Where would the two of you go on your honeymoon?

🌌: What was your first date like?

🌟: Who’s the tease in the relationship?

You get three mwuhahahaha

You didn't specify so Imma be an extra ass bitch and answer them for everyone ;p Under the cut cause yeah XD

🛩: Where would the two of you go on your honeymoon?

Daigo and I didn't really get a honeymoon 🤣 If we got to eventually though, hmm. Somewhere away from everyone and everything. A nice place up in the mountains maybe. One of those private rentals instead of anywhere with other people.

With Majima, I feel like he'd be torn between wanting an expirience, and wanting to just. Comepletely veg for a week. Probably go somewhere tropical, find a nice resort. Somewhere with like, diving and jetskis but also just really nice rooms we can refuse to leave.

Akiyama could take us literally anywhere and I'm like 90% sure he'd leave it entirely up to me. If he did give me blanket permission to do whatever I want, we're going to Italy. I wanna go to Tuscany so bad.

By the time Kir and I get together, the man has like a dozen kids. Our "honeymoon" is me dragging all of us off to like. Some themepark resort, letting the man decide if he wants to crash in the room or tag along, and me and the kids going absolutely insane. Its a blast.

🌌: What was your first date like?

The first actual "date" or the first "totally a date but we're both idiots"? lmao. The first not-date was a cafe. I felt like shit and Dai knows I have a massive sweet tooth so. Pastries and tea.

Our first "date-date" was... that exact same cafe. It was cute. We've made something of a tradition of it.

With Majima, it depends on the timeline. I have 2 main ones.

The 80s timeline, we'd known each other for years before we got together. The first date is kinda awkward actually. We were both dealing with a lot of really heavy difficult emotions. We went somewhere quiet to just... be.

In the modern timeline, a very befuddled but amused Majima gets drug to lunch as thanks for something he did (that he didn't really mean to, it just happened). It didn't start as a date until someone said something snarky about Majima, myself, and appearances. That whole "oh poor girl" type bull. I went tf off, and at the end of it Majima is like "You think I'm hot?" and "Wait this is a date?" and it wasn't originally but I couldn't back down then so I was like "it is now" lmfao

Me and Akiyama went on study dates that ended up being just dates because I cannot pay attention to math to save my life. We went to grab food and just. Stayed there instead. Had a ton of fun, and then were like "weren't we supposed to be doing something?"

Kiryu. Huh. I'm not sure what the first proper date was? I just kinda inserted myself into their lives and refused to leave.

🌟: Who’s the tease in the relationship?

Kimi is an accidental/opportunistic tease. I am very rarely smooth enough on purpose to set things up, but very good at grabbing a moment when it opens. Otherwise I'll say and do things without fully thinking them through and then BAM! Oops, tease. XD

Daigo is a soft tease. He knows all my buttons, and just how to leave me flustered. He keeps things light, and never gets too mean. Except when I deserve it.

Majima is a more in-your-face blatant tease. He can get outright vulgar at times. (He also has a habit of flustering/embarrassing himself though, which is beyond adorable)

Kiryu is also an accidental tease. He can be purposeful, but its very rare and more likely that he'll miss his chance.

Akiyama. Aki is a completely shameless shit. I love him.

[kingsleyshacklebolt]

🍩 + kingsleyshacklebolt :')

oooo she threw it back AT ME ok ok i see u

[ suicide mention ]

well firstly, a bitch is still here!!!!! idk how i’m still alive, deadass thought i was gonna die like THREE TIMES this year. not the most amount of times but idk?? i deadass saw the light comin like three times, but a BITCH IS STILL HERE. i haven’t had a pain free day, my pain got so bad i didn’t sleep for three days, i went to the hospital and they shot me up with so many drugs i finally fell asleep but i was in withdrawal from the drugs FOR DAYS i was shaking so bad i couldn’t even??? type on my phone or talk??? like i truly believe that there has to be a reason i’m still fucking alive because i really should’ve died and this year really has tested my perseverance to the point of … even when i’m deeply suicidal or having some sort of chronic illness episode … there’s this survival instinct and intrisic mental wall of belief that i’m still alive for a reason and that me dying is just not gonna happen even when i spend weeks in bed because of pain. idk how but i know i have to still be alive for a reason????

[ sexual assault, abuse, mention ]

over the past few years, i’ve gone through shit where it’s made me feel a lot more cowardly? if that makes sense? whether it’s being beaten down by doctors, dealing with abuse, etc, i’ve run away from and avoided a lot. in august i confronted the person ( who is my cousin ) who sexually assaulted me. i stoof up for myself because he’s been harassing me for 6 years, spreading rumors about me to my family that i hate black people because i won’t respond to him. telling all my family members and i mean ALL that i won’t talk to him. literally …. like … he wouldn’t stop. i had family members messaging me about it. i publicly stood up to him, told him i would tell EVERYONE in the family what he did and he backed off after trying to lie and act like he didn’t know. after that confrontation, i could feel myself get this voice i’ve always had back? i used to be much more refined in the way i spoke and communicated, and i’m getting that back too, but even though currently my voice is a little jagged and still?? idk?? finding itself again, i have it back. the week i did that was a really horrible week in general ( i had to face a judge who was obviously racist and fatphobic ), i had to end a relationship/friendship because the person just was not treating me well at all, they were my best friend someone i considered a soulmate of mine ( bc u can have a lot of soulmates lbr ), and it was causing me such mental distress that all my mental illnesses just got WORSE. so, idk, that week was a lot of changes and just hard but i got through it and i found my voice of courage again. 

[ TRIGGERS OVER ]

i’ve tried my hardest. i’ve been treated really badly by a lot of people this year, mostly my doctors, but i’ve really TRIED. i’ve tried to identify who and who isn’t worth my time, i’ve tried to do everything my doctors have asked me to do and have. i’ve done EVERYTHING in my power to try to feel better. i’ve accepted that w/ having the brain disease i have and with the chronic pain i have, that it won’t be perfect, that i have limitations but as long as i TRY, it’s not my fault that any of this has happened. it’s really hard knowing that some of my mental illness symptoms are caused by something i have no control over, but i’m so lucky that i don’t ever try to justify anything shitty i do bc of it? because theyre still my actions.  ive been able to identify my limits and feel less guilty about being open and honest about them. i also have some fantastic friends so i must be doing something right as a person to be able to have kept them? 

throughout everything i’ve gone through, i’ve stayed an overly understanding person. i don’t consider it bad or a weakness, bc i’m also very persnickety ( it’s part of my ocd and anxiety, i can become a real particular ASSHOLE ), so when i’m grounded and in the Right Place, it balances out and i’m just really understanding. i don’t like saying shit like this, but through being sick the last 7 years, if i’ve gained anything, it’s greater understanding and being even more understanding than i’ve ever been in my life. 

[wkemeup]

Sunrise (4)

summary: After an explosion takes his arm and his only sense of belonging, Bucky is content to live out the rest of his days in the hollow comfort of the dark. This is, until Sam drags him down to the local VA and he meets you. (Modern AU) pairings: bucky x reader chapter word count: 5.2k warnings: symptoms of depression, PTSD, anxiety, some really sweet moments to balance it out, more book recs 🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

“You’re staring at the doors again, sweetie.”

Chin resting on your hands, arms folded out on the countertop of the library’s front desk, you tore your eyes away from the entrance to find Mrs. Jefferson peering over at you from over the bridge of her glasses. She smirked as she returned to her book, knowing she’d caught you in the act.  

“Have patience,” she said simply.

“Book club is tomorrow and—” you sighed, a heaviness returning to your body as you slumped back against the counter, stare drifting back to the doors at the entrance. The sun was beaming outside, reflecting in beautiful rays as it illuminated the walkway and touched over old oak and the colorful bindings of novels. 

You frowned. “I really thought he was going to come.”

“This James Barnes... he’s a soldier, yes? Like my boy?”  

You nodded, disappointment burning like a lump in your throat, though you swallowed it back. “A Sergeant. Sam said he came home a little under a year ago.”  

“Then he’ll come,” Mrs. Jefferson pressed confidently, sliding her glasses up her nose, the chain of purple beads clicking against the gem stones on her sweater. “Boys like that don’t break their word. Even if he is a bit of a hesitant one.”

You knew what she meant by that. Hesitant.  

No one liked to talk about the dangers of a soldier post-war. It was uncomfortable; the idea that they could still be fighting a battle long beyond the absence of a weapon in their hands and the threat of present danger. Heroes weren’t supposed to have chinks in their armor. They weren’t supposed to crumble and break under the weight of what happened beyond borders and the guilt they carried.  

They were supposed to be strong; a symbol of a great country and a willing tribute to place upon a pedestal. It was unacceptable to be a burden, unacceptable to do anything other than seamlessly integrate back into a society that they never really knew to begin with.  

It was all a farce; a rigged game set to line the pockets of the rich and exploit everyone else in its path – sent off to fight for a cause no one really understood or believed in. It left behind good men and women to the rubble; Bucky Barnes among them.  

Sam hadn’t told you much about Bucky before you met him, but you knew enough to tell that it was a struggle to get him to leave the apartment. He was isolated and quiet and hardly recognizable from the man you’d seen in photos. Only, it wasn’t the lack of his left arm that drew your attention when you first saw him, but the lingering sadness in his eyes.  

Sam had a picture hanging in the office that often pulled you in. Bucky stood on his left side, smiling so wide it left lines on his face. He was bright, light as a feather, only weighed down by Steve’s arm slung around his shoulders. You wondered if the man in the photo would have flirted shamelessly with you, if he’d have corny pickup lines or offer to take you dancing. He looked like the sort of man who had girls chasing his tail, a line of heartbreak in his wake. He was beautiful.  

It was strange to see him like that, comparing him to the man he was today. Now, it was like a cloud lingered over his head, draining the color from his skin and chipping away at his soul until it dimmed and crumbled and faded away.  

But you’d seen glimpses of the man in the photo. He was still beautiful; a little hurt and dragging his feet, but beautiful. His smile wasn’t quite as wide and the cloud was still present, but there was a peak of sunshine peering through. A single ray puncturing over stormy skies, but it was something. He’d laughed and teased and it was more than Sam had known him to do in months. You were determined to see the sun touch his skin again. If only he’d let you guide him there.  

“I’m going to go restock on the second level,” you conceded, pushing yourself up from the counter and sauntering over to the cart lined heavy with books.  

“Alright sweetie. I’ll be sure to page you when your Sergeant shows up.”

You felt a heat burning in your face at the very idea of ‘your Sergeant’. Mrs. Jefferson chuckled to herself, eyes still down on her book. She waved you off, not giving you a chance to object, even if you could string together a coherent sentence.  

***

Bucky couldn’t get out of bed.  

He’d been in this predicament hundreds of times before; staring up at the ceiling, wasting the days away as the curtains blocked the light and shielded him from the reminder of another sun daring to rise beyond his window. His energy would be drained and his willingness to so much as brush his teeth was obsolete. He’d known what it felt like to not be able to get out of bed.  

This was different.  

He had somewhere to be. He actually wanted to get up. He really fucking wanted to.

But the pain in his arm had flared to one of the worst episodes he’d had in months and it rendered him useless; the arm that was both there and not there. He could feel his left hand curl to a fist, could feel the itch on his palm, but when he tried to scratch it, he was only met with thin air, his right hand sinking to the mattress in search of the sensation that didn’t exist.  

It was infuriating.  

The nerve endings in his shoulder were going haywire. It felt like his arm was being ripped from his body and it took nearly all the energy he had not to let it consume him. He’d even gone as far to bite off a piece of his cheek in an effort to suppress the lump in his throat.  

Sam would have frowned at that, spewed him some bullshit about how crying can be therapeutic and Steve would nod his head annoyingly in agreement, but Bucky was tougher than that. He had to be tougher than that. If he allowed himself to unlatch that gate, it would consume him whole. He’d drown.  

Hinges squeaked at the front entrance as the door swung open and a pair of heavy footsteps came rushing into the apartment.  

“I’m coming, buddy! Hold on!” Sam called, the plastic swish of the grocery bag handing off his arms dropping to the floor. Bucky tried to concentrate on the sound of running water, the bottle of pills shaking in the small orange bottle, and not on the pain threatening to tear him in half.  

The door to his bedroom flung open and Sam rushed in with a glass of water and his fist closed around two red capsules. He paused in the frame, a frown pushing down at his mouth, and Bucky could only imagine what he looked like; disheveled, sweating, laying in day old clothes and muddled sheets. His right hand was shaking.  

“Alright, help me out, Barnes,” Sam said, setting the glass down on the bedside table. He placed a steady hand on Bucky’s back to help push himself upright. Bucky swung his legs off the side of the bed, finding his balance before Sam placed the pills in his hand.  

Bucky threw them back into his mouth, holding his hand out for the glass of water that would come next. It landed in his grip and he gulped down the medication. There was no instant relief with pain like this, but the knowledge it would soon wear off to something manageable was enough.  

“Thanks,” he mumbled out, voice tense as he struggled to find it.  

“Insurance companies are assholes,” Sam scoffed, shaking his head, though he patted Bucky on the knee. “Cutting off coverage for a fucking vet with no warning like that? Can’t believe you’ve been without this stuff for almost a week. It’s messed up.”  

Bucky had come to expect it. He knew something had to go wrong eventually with how things were starting to turn around. He’d actually been looking forward to seeing you at the library and almost went that next day if it wasn’t for the sudden attack on his own body. He'd tried to deal with it on his own, thinking he might sleep it off, but then it became unbearable. Insurance wouldn’t budge and he didn’t have the energy to argue on the phone with them all day. Thankfully, Sam did.  

Except now it was a day before the next book club meeting and Bucky didn’t know how he was supposed to face you. Part of him wondered if you'd be disappointed, if maybe you’d steal a glance over the doors and hope that it was him walking through, only to be let down as each day passed by. The other half wondered if you’d care at all.  

But he’d seen the way you’d smiled at him, how you’d lit up at the idea of him stopping by.  

You’d care.  

He wasn’t sure if that hurt worse, seeing as he never showed up.  

“You could still go.”

Bucky sighed at Sam’s suggestion. He wasn’t teasing him, wasn’t wearing that shit-eating grin. He was being serious. It was the kind of look that reminded Bucky that under it all, Sam was one of his closest friends, one of the few that stuck around when everything went to shit.

“She’ll want to see you,” Sam continued, nudging Bucky’s side with a soft smile, but Bucky shook his head, unconvinced.

“What am I supposed to say to her, Sam?” Bucky groaned, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “’Sorry I stood you up, but I felt like my hand was being sawed off on an arm I don’t even fucking have?’”

“Why not?” Sam shrugged, earning a glare in response he let roll off his shoulders with ease. “She’d understand, Buck. She knows what comes with the territory here. She’s a lot more familiar with this stuff than you think.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, a pang of jealousy burning hot in his chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Maybe you should ask her why she got involved with the VA in the first place.”

Bucky pressed his lips to a thin line, a silence coming over them. That was an immensely personal question; one akin to someone asking him how he’d lost his arm. He wasn’t sure that was an answer you’d be willing to share.  

Sam exhaled a heavy breath, patting Bucky three times on the knee before he stood up. “Let the meds kick in, but promise you’ll try to go, alright?”

Bucky stared up at Sam for a moment before he conceded with a short nod. The pain in his shoulder was starting to lessen, at least. It didn’t feel like his arm was being torn from his body or a knife was plunging into a part of him that didn’t exist anymore. It would likely get back to a place he could deal with within the hour.

“I promise,” Bucky said. “I’ll go.”

***

A brush of warm air filtered in through the vents as Bucky stepped inside the library. It was bigger than he remembered with large stain glass windows on the outer walls, filtering in a colorful sunlight onto the aisles upon aisles of books. At the center, just ahead of the entrance, was a reception desk. Bucky exhaled a tense breath in an attempt to rid himself from the nerves rattling in his veins and made his way to the woman sitting behind the counter.  

She was reading quietly in her seat, a pair of glasses on a beaded chain perched at the very tip of her nose. She didn’t look up in his direction until he stood at the edge of the desk, and only then, she caught glance of him over the top of her glasses before a smile rose on her lips.  

“Can I help you, young man?”  

Bucky cleared his throat. “I’m supposed to meet someone. She, uh, works here. Y/n.”

The woman nodded. She wore the kind of smile on her face Bucky was familiar with. He’d seen it in Sam about a dozen times in the last week; the kind of smile that said ‘I was right.’

“You must be Sergeant Barnes,” she said as she picked up the radio from the desk.  

Bucky nodded quickly, glancing over his shoulder. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he felt jittery. He tried not to let the fact that you’d clearly talked to this woman about him throw him completely off his game. If he even had game to begin with…  

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky replied with an even tone. She smirked.  

“Y/n,” she called into the radio, “you have a guest at the front desk.”

The woman held up a finger to him though it trembled with age, signaling for him to wait a moment. Bucky nodded, tucking his hand into his pocket as he silently made his way over to the series of chairs lined along the wall.  

He gripped his fist tight inside his pocket, trying to ignore the pulsing in his shoulder. It had lessened considerably since Sam brought him his meds, but it hadn’t gone away completely. Showering had taken longer than usual and it took him nearly four minutes just to pull a shirt over his head. His army jacket hung over his shoulders, wrapped in a protective layer, loose sleeve at his side. 

“If you’re pulling my chain, Mrs. Jefferson…”  

Bucky perked up at the sound of your voice. You were crossing the main entrance from the staircase, half jogging to the counter where the woman, Mrs. Jefferson, was grinning to herself from behind her book.  

You draped over the counter, toes barely keeping hold on the tile floors as you attempted to reach for her book, but she snatched it from your grasp just in time. You huffed, sinking back down the floor.  

“It’s not funny!” you whined and Bucky almost felt a little guilty for not making his presence known yet, but you were just so cute the way you slumped your shoulders and glanced back at the entrance.  

Mrs. Jefferson pointed over to where Bucky had slowly begun to make his way towards you, but you folded your arms over your chest. Bucky cleared his throat when he stood a few paces off your shoulder, but you didn’t seem to hear him.  

Mrs. Jefferson caught Bucky’s eye before she turned her attention back to you. “Sweetie, he’s—”

“He’s not coming, okay?” you groaned and Bucky felt a stone drop into his stomach. “I—I thought he would but… I was wrong.”

Bucky parted his lips to speak but suddenly his throat was dry. Mrs. Jefferson’s smile started to fade. Clearly, Bucky wasn’t the only one who heard the disappointment in your voice, the sliver of heartbreak, too. He tried to speak, to call your name, to say something, but he was marbled stone.  

“I’m going back to work.”

There wasn’t time to pull his words together before you slammed head first into Bucky’s chest. He stumbled back a few paces, surprised, and you gasped, hands flying to your mouth.  

“Oh God, I’m so sorry! I didn’t—” You stilled, taking in who was standing in front of you. “Bucky?”

He pressed out a smile, though his ears were burning red. “Sorry I’m late.”

“No! N-no, you’re totally fine! I didn’t—I didn’t think you were—” You blinked a few times before your eyes darted back at Mrs. Jefferson who only smirked from behind her book, adjusting the glasses on the tip of her nose. You turned back to Bucky, brushing out the hem of your skirt and wrapping the thick layer of a lavender colored cardigan tightly around your waist, almost like a blanket.  

You exhaled a nervous breath, a nervous smile lifting into your cheeks. “I’m happy you came.”

“It would have been sooner, I swear,” Bucky replied quickly, watching helplessly as your smile brightened into a laugh. “But, um, my uh—”  

He chewed on the edge of his lip. Was he really going to tell you what kept him held up in his room for days on end? Would it bitter the sweet way you looked at him to know that he was a mess under a poorly constructed surface, tied together with string and scotch tape? But you were looking at him so fondly, he wondered if there was anything he could say that could take that away.

“My arm,” he admitted, waiting for a flash of disgust on your face that never came. You softened a bit, but your eyes never left his. He cleared his throat. “It, um… It was just acting up. I ran out of meds and the pain it—it got bad. The kinda pain that sorta makes me wish I had the arm just so I could saw it off myself.”

Shit. He hadn’t mean to say that much but there was just something about the way you looked at him that made him feel like he couldn’t say a damn wrong thing. You pursed your lips, nodding in as much understanding as you could offer. You gestured to the staircase and Bucky followed you without question.  

“I would have been here last week,” Bucky finished because he needed you to know. He couldn’t stand the idea of you being upset, of that sliver of disappointment in your voice when you’d accepted he wasn’t going to show. He needed you to know he’d tried.  

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” you said simply, though he could tell you appreciated it nonetheless. You offered him a smile, one that washed away any feelings of doubt that crept up to the surface. The pain in his shoulder was long forgotten when you looked at him like that.  

“I just wanted you to know.”

I just wanted you to know I’m trying.

He had something to look forward to now, a reason to get out of his bed and open the curtains and look at the fucking sun for once. He had reason to shower and go outside and shove away all the thoughts of self-doubt and paranoia because there was something incredible waiting for him beyond the door.  

I just wanted you to know you’re the reason I’m trying.

“Come on,” you grinned, leading him to the staircase. “I have a few books in mind you might like.”  

Your hand extended in his direction, but you caught yourself when you realized what you were doing. It was seamless enough that you easily played it off as you tugged your sweater tight around your body, but he noticed. It was an intimate gesture, a closeness he hadn’t known in years.  

He hadn’t remembered what it felt like to crave something like that.

***

It didn’t take long for Bucky to settle on The Martian by Andy Weir. It was the first book you pulled from the shelves, one amongst a series of alternatives you had ready in the event this one didn’t appeal to him. All it took was a single glance over the back cover, a slight incline in his brow, and he was sold.

“I trust you,” was all Bucky had said; so simply, as if it didn’t take the breath straight from your chest.   

Bucky didn’t have a library card you realized as you brought him back to the front desk. He’d sheepishly asked to check it out on your account, but you were determined to see more of him and you hoped that by getting him his own card, he might be more inclined to come back. Not that you explained it that way per say, but he didn’t object at least.

It had taken a lot less time than either of you anticipated and you found yourself following him to the exit, both of you dragging your feet.

“So, um…” he started, a nervous chuckle in his voice. “That was easy.”

“Yeah,” you scratched at the back of your neck, glancing to the clock hanging high on the eastern wall. “I hope you like it after all this trust you’re putting in my judgement.”

“I’m sure I will.”

A short silence swept over. Neither of you moving to leave. A couple swerved around you in an effort to get to the doors. The silence wasn’t awkward, but there was a nervous energy in it, like you were both waiting for the other to make the first move. Only, you both did it at once.  

“Would you want to—”

“I’m off at four—”

You bit down on your lips, suppressing a laugh. You gestured for him to go first. His looked so sweet with the pink in his cheeks. A man who had been once rendered as a weapon and he wore a blush in his cheeks. Your stomach held butterflies in its cage.  

“There’s a coffeeshop nearby,” he continued nervously. “I was thinking I could replace that coffee of yours I spilled last week…”

Your cheeks were starting to ache from how wide you were smiling. “Give me five minutes? I just need to wrap things up with Mrs. Jefferson and then I’m yours.”

Bucky’s eyes widened for a second, a flash of something unreadable on his face. He shook it off quickly and nodded, telling you he’d wait by the chairs along the wall until you were ready. It wasn’t until you were halfway to the desk that you’d realized what you’d said.  

I’m yours.

A harmless saying; one people used every day in passing. Still, you felt that same surge of energy at the thought. From the twists in your stomach and the stammer in your heart, you knew that if he’d asked, it would be true.  

***

Bucky watched as you scurried back to the main desk, a few quick glances back over your shoulder in his direction like you were making sure he was still there. You were smiling so wide, he wondered if it ached in your cheeks. He’d never known anyone to smile as much as you did, like you had this limitless supply of joy eager to be tapped into. He couldn’t help but feel a twist in his stomach, knowing he had been able to syphon some of that joy and bring it to the surface. It was him you were smiling at. It felt like a dream.

He glanced down at the book nestled into the sleeve of his bag; a stunning ombre in shades of orange to red to black, a lone astronaut in the center – like he was floating adrift. You’d told him it was a story of survival, of the intricacies of humanity and human connection. It was funny at times and filled with science beyond your pay grade, but it was mesmerizing.  

There was an unspoken hope he could read in your eyes that he might connect to the main character, Mark Watney in his search for connection, in his desperate hope to free himself from the isolation, in his resilience. You’d said Mark was an exceptional character, one with courage and determination to be admired.  

Bucky wasn’t sure he could stand up to the likes of Mark Watney, but he would certainly try.  

The glimmer in your eye as you spoke about the book, almost as if it were an old friend, was enough to convince him. For the first time in years, he felt the urge to read when he got home, just so he could see the look on your face in book club when you realized he’d already started it. He wanted to make you proud, wanted to see more of your smile. It was his new drive.  

A few minutes later, you came jogging back up to him. Your purse hung over your shoulders, a few new books of your own tucked under your arm. You’d done more than finish your shift at the desk though, he realized, because his eyes flickered to a reflective shine on your lips, one that hadn’t been there before. You’d put on lip gloss.

His heart flipped.  

“Ready?” you asked, gesturing to the doors. All bright eyes and sunshine as you looked at him.  

“There’s a café called Luciana’s not too far from here. I’ve heard good things about it. Might be quiet,” Bucky offered and a flash of something unreadable crossed your features. “Do you know it?”

“I go there every Sunday before book club! It’s my favorite,” you replied, nearly skipping in your steps. “Replacing my coffee and getting it right down to the same shop? I’m impressed, Bucky.”

He chuckled, hanging his head as he followed you down the descending staircase and into the heavy flow of pedestrian traffic. He’d forgotten how busy the sidewalks could get at rush hour and the smile quickly drained from his face, though he wouldn’t let you see.  

Bucky tried to focus on you as the strangers circled in around him, how you were laughing at the coincidence of it all, starting on a tangent of your favorite donuts at the shop. Your voice was like a beacon and he did his best use it as a guide.  

But he could feel the quicken pace of his heart inside his chest, how it thumped through his ribs and pulsed into his head the closer strangers got to him. He swerved out of the way of a tourist who was too busy looking down at his phone to notice Bucky in his path. He kept his head down, hand clenched tightly in his jacket pocket, eyes staring at the concrete.  

Teenagers were whispering behind him, snickering under their breath, and Bucky could hear the harsh ‘shhh’ of a father at wit’s end. His lungs felt tight, certain that the boys were mocking the loose sleeve hanging down by his side. He could have taken it if here were on his own. His ears would flush red and a wash of shame and embarrassment would flood his senses, but he could have taken it.  

Not with you by his side. Not when you could be privy to the harsh stares and the cruel voices, the validation to a fear he’d known to be true long before he met you – that he was a broken mess of who he used to be and he would never find that sense of normalcy again. He was kidding himself into thinking that you could ever want someone like—

“Bucky?”

When he looked up at you, your smile had fallen away, replaced with concern. It must not have been the first time you called his name. He didn’t know what to say. He felt small, like a child, embarrassed that even on a good day the influx of people still rendered him to a state of panic.  

“Come on,” you said quietly, glancing around to an alley off your shoulder. “Let’s take the scenic route.”  

He followed gratefully, staring at your shoulder blades as you led him away from the busy hustle of the crowd and along empty side streets and residential neighborhoods. It would take longer this way, but you didn’t seem to mind. You were too busy admiring the architecture of the brownstones and the beautiful array of plants and flowers hanging along the windows. In the open space, you skipped a few paces ahead, arms out wide and twirled around, simply because you could. You laughed and it echoed up along the buildings.  

Bucky could have handed you his heart right then. He could have pulled it straight from his chest and set it into your palms. He wondered if you would handle it with the tender sort of care he hoped you would. His heart was fraying and damaged, after all. It required a gentle touch.  

You fell back in line with him easily and you checked to make sure the next block wasn’t too busy before you led him down another side street. He tried to ignore the voices telling him he was a burden, that his baggage was dragging heavy at your feet, but it crept to the surface no matter how many times you smiled at him.  

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled out, willing his voice to be stronger than it felt. “I don’t know why this is such an issue for me. I was fine on the way over.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Bucky,” you said gently, slowing your pace until you came to a stop.  

Bucky dragged his feet, stopping along a bush of pink hydrangeas planted outside a stunning brick townhome. From the corner of his eye, he watched as your hand reached out to him instinctively, almost in slow motion, and you only paused as you realized what you were doing and pulled back. You cleared your throat.

“I’m not ever someone you have to apologize to about this stuff, okay?” you continued with a kind of sincerity in your voice, Bucky didn’t have a choice but to believe you. The way you looked at him nearly pulled him to pieces. “It comes and goes. Waxes and wanes. There’s no fault. No blame. Just tell me if something’s wrong, so I can help. That’s all I ask.”

Were you speaking from experience? Did you know someone who had been as shattered as he was? Was it the reason Sam wanted him to ask about why you were involved with the VA to begin with?  

It was quiet on the side street; the only sound the distant footsteps from traffic up ahead and the low rumble of car engines in the distance. A bird chirped from a low handing branch above.  

You shoved your hands into your pockets in an effort to keep yourself from reaching for his. He was surprised at the twist in his stomach when he wished you would have tried just one more time. Maybe he could have had some courage to take it.  

“Okay,” Bucky agreed, feeling a weight lift from his chest. When you smiled again it was small— a little heavy— but it touched your eyes. There was a relief in it, maybe an appreciation, too. It swept away some of the anxiety from his veins.  

“Okay.” Your smile widened as you continued to walk down the sidewalk. Bucky found himself feeling a little lighter as he followed behind.  

When the two of you approached the main street again along the block Luciana’s was tucked away in, Bucky didn’t feel as though he was suffocating anymore. He could sense his reflexes picking up, a subtle increase in his heart rate, but he walked a little closer to you, your hip bumping against his every so often and he found that it grounded him. It kept him firm on the surface when he felt like he was floating up into a distant unknown. He wondered if you knew the extent to which you affected him.  

Luciana’s was quiet inside as Bucky jutted out ahead of you to reach for the door. A soft strum of an acoustic guitar and a Spanish speaking singer’s intricate melody hummed over the speakers. He felt a solid breath of air fill his lungs, tasting of coffee beans and fresh pastries.  

“Welcome to—” a voice called from behind the counter before she paused, eyes falling on you. “Y/n!”  

A woman ran out from behind the counter, dressed in a stained apron and a long, bright pink dress, and held her arms out to you. You laughed as she enveloped you to her chest.  

“My darling! It is not Sunday, you know. You’re getting your days mixed up!” she exclaimed, wagging her finger at you. She didn’t even give you time to explain before she turned to Bucky, who suddenly felt a burn of heat on his face. “Ah! You finally brought me one of your boys!”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, turning to you quickly. His stomach dropped.  

“She means at the VA,” you explained, a little embarrassed at her implication as you shuffled your feet, eyes darting at the floor. Bucky raised an eyebrow in realization, eyes flickering back to the woman – who he assumed to be Luciana herself – as she scurried back around the counter. He noticed then that she was wearing slippers on her feet.  

“Come, come!” She called eagerly, waiting with a tapping toe at the register.  

You and Bucky exchanged a glance, a breath of a laugh escaping before you stepped up to the counter. You didn’t hesitate in your order, though you took some extra time in looking over the pastries and donuts after Bucky told you to pick something out for him. You put so much thought into it, it was really quite sweet. He waited until you reached down for your purse to slip his card over the counter to Luciana.  

She wore that same smile he’d seen on Mrs. Jefferson at the library. That smirk. Like they knew something he didn’t.  

You heard the ring of the cash registered and looked up at him, agape. You swatted his arm without thinking twice about it and there was a comfort in that. He laughed, taking his coffee and settling in at a table by the windows as you followed behind.  

As he watched you across the table, your eyes glancing out to the pedestrians as they walked back, nursing the steaming mug of coffee between your hands, that morning suddenly felt like it was a life time ago.  

Had he really been paralyzed with pain, unable to move from his bed, just a few hours earlier? It felt like a century had passed in between. In a rare indulgence, Bucky let himself wonder what it would feel like to spend all his time with you; if maybe time moved so fast it swept him off his feet or if it moved slow enough to allow him to catch every second.  

All he knew was that he wanted more.

[catzula]

tell me where you are, honey

So, I should tell you that that this is not my fiction, its heavily based on real life. If you want to check it out, the mentioned band is a Turkish band called 'Duman'.

Genre and warnings: hey guys? This is pure angst. Just angst. Heavy heavy angst. First of all, major character death (not Suna), tw: mentions of suicide, tw: mentions of death, tw: mentions of depression and anxiety, mentions of alcohol, if there's anything else please tell me!

Suna closes his eyes as he sings the words, trying to forget the uneasy feeling stirring in his chest. 

He feels the sweat drip from the sides of his face, making him glisten under the blueish lights of the bar. 

A chilly wind makes his overheated body shiver. Your face comes before his eyes, and Suna can't help the bitter smile finding its way on his lips. He stopped taking song requests a long time ago, so instead, he leans to the mic and asks how's the night going with a broken but charming smile that makes the crowd excited.

It has been a while. Suna shouldn't feel a lump in his throat, a stinging in his eyes. But he does. He can't help it when a fan calls out to him, asking for the song. 

Reminding the rest of his fans of the song, they start chanting the name of it like it's a prayer, holding a rhythm and hoping for him to sing it.

The song he hasn't sang in a long, long time.

The choking feeling is instant, the heaviness pressuring his chest, making it impossible for him to breathe in the foggy room. Atsumu interjects, telling the fans to cut it out, that they are well aware Suna won't, can't sing it.

Osamu sends a glimpse at the lead singer's direction, not surprised to see his fox-like, almost lifeless-looking eyes already damp. Suna runs a hand through his hair frustratedly, Osamu can't tell what he's thinking, but it appears hard on him. 

Atsumu cocks his head when Suna backs away from the mic. "It's okay," he grits his teeth, he looks like he's in pain. "I think- I think I can sing it this once."

The truth is, Suna missed you this song. Suna missed the song he knew that you loved so much. So he sends a smile to the crowd, picking the mic and biting his lip. It was a song he promised he would never sing again, never again after that last time.

But here he is, hoping you could hear it.

"Darling, you are my honey," Suna sings, and it comes out as choked and strained, but the fans are just surprised he actually did sing it.

It's the first familiar chords that cause him to choke on his breath. Suna's already crying, and if the fans looked closely, they could see the others are, too.

Suna's mind wanders off to the last time he sang the song, the last time he spoke those words. 

It's the first big concert his band was going to do. Suna had been trying to make it happen for months now, and if it went well, it would be a big turn point in their careers. 

"Can't you- can't you come a little earlier today?"

"Rin, where are you?" He heard you say from the other side of the line, making him sigh in annoyance. "I've been texting you all day!" Suna pinched the bridge of his nose. He was already aware you were texting him every five fucking minutes, and that was the very reason he hadn't opened one of them. "I'll be home in a few hours." He grumbled, almost inaudible, but you managed to hear him.

He didn't think much about the few seconds of silence that followed his answer.

Your voice was a mere whisper, and you sounded so sad, almost desperate, and Suna closed his eyes. "We have a fucking concert today. We're doing the last cheks." He sighed when you stay silent. "I'll try to come a little earlier."

"Okay, I love you, Rin." He heard you smile, and it made the weight on his chest feel a little lighter. "Love ya too, honey."

Honey. 

It wasn't a word anyone would expect Suna to speak, but it was what he always called you. He always said it with so much emotion, so much thought and love, and it never failed to make your heart skip a beat.

"You taste like honey." He once told you when you asked him, leaning in with a smile and stealing a kiss.

It was your favorite song.

"My soul is already addicted to your taste," Suna sighs the words. The fans are surprisingly silent, watching their favorite singer shake with wtiholded sobs at the lyrics and the love he lost. It's obvious he's out of it, lost in the memories, holding the mic so tight that his knuckles turn white. 

Your love story was one of the most famous ones at the time, more than Suna himself, and was known by almost everyone.

But lately, you had started to feel like it was dying. 

It wasn't, of course. Suna loved you more than he did anything else, and you loved him more than life itself. It wasn't anything in particular that made you feel that way, too. Many little things combined, the depression you were falling into, the stress he was under, the more than often fights happening lately.

Your relationship wasn't the best lately, that, you admitted. Suna was rarely at home. You only saw him a few minutes each day, and that if you were lucky. Even when he was at home, all you ever did was to fight. Not even about anything worth fighting, but they always caused broken hearts on both sides. 

Despite all the stress building over him, Suna was trying to make it better, too. Making compromises of himself, agreeing with you in fights despite your nonsense arguments, not saying anything about you blowing up on the smallest things. 

"Where are you...love..." He cries. He should've thought more, cared more. Suna was guilty of not thinking why you were acting like this instead of how to stop it. He was busy with the upcoming concerts, their band was about to turn the corner, but that couldn't be an excuse.

Suna had gone home after his band practice that day. The apartment was dark, so silent, it scared him until he opened the lights and found you lying on the couch. 

You weren't sleeping, he thought it was because you wanted to see him, but it was because of the anxious thoughts roaming in your mind. Suna should've seen the trembling of your hands, how cold you felt, how limp and numb you seemed. 

"You stink." Those were the first words you told him, your face souring when you took note of the alcohol and cigarettes clinging on him like a second skin. "Did you drink?" You sounded suspicious.

"No, I already told you we were practicing."

"Then why do you smell like this?" Suna gritted his teeth when yiur voice raised, resembling a shout.

"Because we work at a fucking bar? You know all this, why the fuck are you acting like this?" Suna sneered, it was only for a second he had lost control, but it was enough for your face to contort with hurt. 

You felt guilty when he sighed, seemingly admitting defeat. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? But I'm already stressed enough for the concert, and I can't deal with this shit right now." You watched your boyfriend run his fingers through his hair, his words hurting you more than they should. You were acting nonsensible, you knew, but you couldn't stop.

"This shit? You mean me?" Your voice was now a little higher, making him flinch. "Y/N, for fucks sake! You know I didn't mean that!"

"Tell me where are you, honey,"  There were things you were dealing with, shit he didn't know, you hadn't told. He couldn't have known, he couldn't have known, but he should've. If he had, Suna would never have told you all those that day. He wouldn't have made you cry, sob in the room, dark and by yourself. 

He would've stayed with you, told you he was there, that he loved you, everything would be fine. Honey, he would call you. But he hadn't. Instead, he chose to act selfishly.

"Stop being so fucking pushy." He had told you when you asked where they practiced, who else was there but the Miya's, who was that girl you saw in a picture with him, which was taken months ago, why were they standing so close? It was an argument you had gone over five times already, he had told you it was Atsumu's friend and nothing else, but you kept bringing it up.

"Just give me some space, goddammit! You're suffocating me!" Suna shouted. It was rare to see Suna raise his voice, and it made you freeze in your place. You looked in his slitted eyes, only seeing hate, disgust swimming in those greens. 

You didn't say it, but Suna noticed something was wrong, and you were crying too hard, so hard he feared you were going to pass out. "Hey, hey- I'm sorry." He muttered, acting quickly to wrap his arms around your shaking body like he was the only thing holding you together.

You were wrong, and all Suna was feeling was distress, and he could never look at you with anything but love, but your anxiety told you otherwise.

Do you hate me? The question is on the tip of your tongue. It feels like everyone, everything hates you lately, hell, you yourself do, too. You only need an answer, yes or no, since you can't tell by the foggy depression blurring your thoughts.

Do you? Do you hate me? Please don't hate me, I'm sorry, please don't look at me like that.

(he was)

It felt like hours as you cried between his arms, and Suna pressed an occasional kiss to your hair. Neither of you talked, the heaviness of the fight still lingering in the air, and Suna decided to talk about it after the concert. So you just stood there between each other's arms. Maybe you would've told him you felt broken, and you couldn't take it anymore, you didn't-

It was on the tip of your tongue as he pulled back from you, pressing one last kiss on your hair. "I have to go, honey." He told you, checking the time on his phone. "I'm going to be late for the concert."

Suna didn't notice how you flinched when he pulled back, how tears gathered in your eyes, how you couldn't look him in the eyes. "Okay." He heard you whisper. Watching you smile at him, he smiled back when you leaned in to press a kiss on his lips. 

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pressed your body closer to him, surprising and making him chuckle. It was a kiss that screamed goodbye, but he was too nervous to notice. 

"A good luck kiss, I presume?" He laughed when you pulled back. "I'll see you there, yeah? Let's talk about this after."

"You are with me from now on, honey," Suna should've noticed your lack of response. If he had, maybe he wouldn't be sobbing on the stage now. He feels Atsumu pat his back, Suna's holding on his mic like it's the one thing holding him alive, sobs breaking his words, making him shake.

His fans watch him as he wipes the tears off his face with the back of his hand, the rings adorning his fingers sparkling under the dim light. 

"Tell me where you are, honey,

All the members are crying, not just him. They all loved you, and you were a part of their lives, such a lively, kind person. At the very least, you had managed to tie Suna down.

Its impossible not to cry as people who had heard his cries echoing out of your apartment that night.

You are with me from now on, honey," 

Something was different with Suna's performance that day, and all the others had noticed it. The tired-looking and feeling boy was pumped up that day. He sounded energetic, and Suna gave the best performance he ever had before.

It was all for you, Suna thought. He was singing just for you that day, something he hadn't done in a while. Picking all the songs he ever wrote for you, the ones you liked, just for you, hoping you would feel a little less angry when the concert ended. 

He was smiling the whole time he was singing, but his smile was dropping each time he gazed at the crowd and couldn't find your face, smiling back at him. Were you sitting in the back? Were you that angry with him?

The night proceeded, and the whole band knew it was a success. 

A few songs time left, Suna was frowning since he still couldn't have spotted you. There was no way you hadn't come, but you might have been hiding still. 

Deciding to pull out the big guns, Suna gave the sign to Osamu. They could tell what he had in mind, and Suna smiled with the first hearing of chords. He sang it, sang with a bitter smile, looking at the crowd to finally spot you. 

"You are my soul from now on,

You are my only part that remains alive," 

The concert came to a halt. You weren't in the crowd, and Suna was already in the middle of the song. "Suna- Suna, stop!" Osamu and Atsumu stopped playing, Suna sang the last word alone.

"What the-" He was about to shout at them for making him stop so abruptly, but the terrified look on Osamu's face made him stop. All the blood had left both their faces, and both the twins were shaking, but why were they crying?

It was hard to tell him what happened, and it might've been a mistake, too. 

Wrong time. 

You can't tell a man the love of his life died, she took her own life, right in the middle of the song dedicated just to her.  

What happened after that was a blur. 

Atsumu and Osamu tried to stop Suna from rushing back to the apartment, but he was quick. Suna had no idea how he drove back home, but he was standing in front of the door of your apartment, knocking on the door like a madman, praying you would open it for him. he would see your smiling face, greeting him, or maybe angry with him, crying, screaming- whatever. All he wanted to do was to- to-

He was punching, kicking the door, shouting and crying, crying and crying, and as more seconds that pass, Suna thought he could go crazy. 

It's a miracle when the door opened, and for a split second, Suna thought it was a lie, a cruel joke, a misunderstanding. You were here, you opened the door for him-

It wasn't you. 

You weren't the one who opened the door, but your sister. Her face was damp with tears, and Suna's eyes locked on the figure that stood behind her. 

It was the hardest thing to try and make Suna let go of you, try and calm him, stop him from pulling you back to between his arms, and never let go. 

Osamu arrived right after him. 

He arrived at a scene he would never be able to forget.

His best friend was on the floor, your body limp between his arms. Osamu couldn't hold back his cries when he heard Suna's loud cries, begging and begging for you to wake up, holding your hand, trying to warm you, he was shouting, the pain so raw in his voice, people around him feel tears pricking in their eyes.

"Please, honey, please-" He sobbed brokenly, his body was shaking like a leaf.

He sat there, sobbing in his hands, his agonizing screams audible even from the outside, sending chills down everyone nearby. They think they never in their lives heard pure pain like this in someone's voice.

Osamu and Atsumu were crying with Suna as he finally let you go. He couldn't watch as they took you away, out of the room. 

But they don't hear him crying out your name, instead, it's a sweet pet name they hear. It makes the twins shake with more cries.

honey honey honey

He figured too late, how you were battling with severe depression, how your personal life was a mess, how you needed him to be there for you. He was too late. 

Suna hadn't left the apartment for 15 days straight after that day. He didn't want to speak or see anyone, barely ate and drank. 

He refused to see his family, the twins visiting him.

No one knew what happened in those 15 days, but when he came back out, they could tell by a look he had changed. Not only physically (even though he looked like he was starving and sick), but also mentally.

It was his fault. If he had been more attentive, more at home to see you, ask you if anything was wrong, "honey, are you okay?" maybe it would've been fine. It was his fault.

Even after he left the apartment, even after he started smiling, it was evident Suna was never the same. How could he be? He had lost a part of him, no, he had lost all of him. And all that left was the shell that merely resembled him. 

Suna had tried to sing it more than he could count, but the moment he heard the first chord, he broke down crying. This was the one day he succeeded, and even though it was barely audible, it sounded like agonizing cries instead, he was singing it. 

For you. 

Can you hear me, honey?

honey, honey, honey.

[shorkbrian]

heyyy, i wanted to tell you that i love your writings and that you encouraged me to start writing myself. so thank you💕💕💕 I wanted to ask if you could write something about bakugou being your upper classman and eventhough hes mean to others he is nice to you, being all possessive and protective of you? you think its nice, calling him senpai and always looking up to him. hes your idol, you trust him with your life. so of course youll let him stay the night over. he pressures you into (1/3)

glad you’re writing! Writing is so fun, and even if you think it’s bad, you’ve still created something, be proud!!

Warnings - degradation, NSFW, dub con, abuse of trust & power. Manipulation, uhm Bakugou being a jerk.... what's new lol.

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“Katsu... ‘m tired, wanna sleep.” You mumble, eyes fluttering shut again.

“No, no sleeping until I say. Don’t you want to make me happy? C’mon, I fucking know you do.”

He’s pushing at your body, jostling your shoulder while you lay on your side, eyelids heavy. You had agreed to let your senpai spend the night - Bakugou had said something about wanting to get out of his house for a bit, and you’d eagerly volunteered your own place.

The original plan was to let him have the bed, and you could sleep on the couch. You’d do anything for Bakugou, for the fiery blonde that hurled insults and spit curse words more than he breathed. 

Those harsh words were never directed at you though, not since he’d found you crying on the first day of school because some dumb freshman had flipped your skirt up in the cafeteria.

You’d burst into tears at the jeering laughs, scrambling to pull your skirt down to cover yourself before darting out of the cafeteria, tears rushing down your cheeks. Bakugou had found you curled in the corner at the bottom of the stairwell, sobbing your heart out in embarrassment and humiliation.

At first he’d sneered at you, opting to ignore the pathetic little girl that had gotten her panties exposed, but something made him pause as he strode by you.

Maybe it was the way your breath hitched on each quiet sob, or maybe it was the memory of your cheeks loosing color before bursting into a brilliant red. Perhaps it was the thought of how your ass had looked, the brief glimpse he had caught of your panties before you’d pushed your skirt back into place.

Whatever the reason, Bakugou had stopped, retraced his steps, sighing as he crouched down in front of you.

“Stop fucking crying, it’s annoying. That piece of shit just wanted a reaction from you.”

You had glared up at him, scrubbing at your eyes with your fists. 

Bakugou felt a bit taken aback when he locked eyes with you, your eyes clear and watery, the color of your iris vibrant and defined against your red, teary face.

“If it’ll make you stop crying, I’ll go beat his ass. Make the dumb fuck cry like a little baby.”

“Like how I’m crying?” You snorted derisively.

The blonde huffed, surprised that you weren’t shy of admitting your pathetic state. “Yeah, exactly like that.”

A tiny smile graced your lips, and Bakugou rose to his feet, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Now get up, go get to class. You’re gonna be late and you’ll get detention or some shit.”

Later that day, after the last bell had rung and all the students were filing out of their classrooms, a scuffle had broken out.

Bakugou had the freshman that had embarrassed you caught in a headlock, one hand reaching into his pants to give the poor kid a wedgie. The kid was swearing, yelping, trying to hit at the upper classman but failing. There was a group of kids surrounding the pair, some jeering, some looking on in disdain, others rushing off to find the principal.

When you came upon the scene, Bakugou’s eyes found your own, and he smirked, snapping the waistband of the freshman’s underwear against his skin, the sound making you flinch. That had to have hurt.

The blonde roughed him up a bit more, before letting him go, shoving him to the ground with a cackle before shouldering his own backpack, vacating the area before the principal arrived.

He was your hero.

Always watching out for you, scaring away bullies, making sure you remembered to “do your shitty homework”.

So if he wanted to come over for a bit? You let him. If he wanted someone to bring him cold water during football practice? You were there. Did Bakugou want an extra dessert after lunch? He could have yours, you didn’t mind.

“Wake up-” The words growled in your ear had your eyes fluttering open as you yawned.

“It’s lateeee-” You whined, reluctantly sitting up to face Katsuki.

The blonde had refused your offer of allowing him your bed and you sleeping on the couch, instead insisting that the two of you share your bed.

Currently, he was sitting up against the headboard, shirtless, bronzed skin on display. You kept your eyes averted, although you knew what you’d see if you looked.

Solid muscles hiding under smooth skin, indicative of hard work and dedication. Bakugou was proud of his body, and didn’t mind showing off.

“C’mon, I wanna fool around. Take off your shirt and come touch me.” His command was low, muttered, as if the blonde was tired too. The overeager hands pulling at the hem of your shirt betrayed his true feelings.

“No, Bakugo-”

“Call me Katsu, don’t make me ask again.”

You stumbled over your words as the blonde pushed up your shirt, ignoring how your hands were trying to tug the fabric back down. “Katsu, stop it please, I don’t want to do that with you.”

That made the blonde pause, a frown on his face. “Why not? Am I not fucking good enough for you? What the fuck.”

“No! No Katsu-” You scrambled now, trying desperately to appease him. “That’s not what I meant!”

“Good, cause this is happening. C’mere-” He was pulling you into his lap, his warm hands finally succeeding in pulling off your shirt, tugging it insistently over your head.

“Wait, don’t look! Give me my shirt back!” You whined, hands flying to cover your body from Bakugou’s heated gaze.

The blonde raised an eyebrow, before flinging your shirt across the room with a smirk. “Nah, don’t be shy. Fuck, look at those tits.” His eyes were on your chest now, as were his hands, batting yours away like an annoying mosquito so he could grope your soft flesh.

“Fuuuuuuck.”

You were bright red, squirming on his lap. What was he doing? “Um, Katsu, I don’t think we should..... I mean, this isn’t..... um..... um....”

You trailed off as he massaged your chest, rolling your nipples underneath his fingers, watching the dusky buds flatten and pop back up when he pressed on them. 

A little pinch to one of them has you squealing, Katsuki immediately slapping a hand over your mouth, his eyes dark and serious. “Shut the fuck up, you wanna wake up your parents? Dumb bitch, keep quiet.”

The words stung, made tears prickle in your eyes. Why was your senpai being so mean? Did you do something wrong?

Content that you had got the message, he took his hand away, trailing down to squeeze at your breast before dropping his hand further, to the hem of your sleep pants.

“Katsu-Katsu, wait, I don’t think I’m ready for this! I just want to go to sleep, let’s sleep.” You pleaded, shivering as his other hand still caressed your chest, roughly palming over your mounds and tweaking your nipples.

“Shut it, just stay still.”

You continued to squirm, pushing his hands away, trying to wiggle out of his lap, only for the blonde to finally snap.

He growled low in his throat, and then you were on your back beneath him, head hitting your pillow with a soft sound, Bakugou grabbing your hands.

“Are you fucking kidding me? I just wanna fool around and feel good and you’re being an uppity little bitch. Cut that shit out. This isn’t that big of a deal, stop being a baby about it and let’s have some fucking fun.”

The words held a bit of malice, a hint of a threat. But, what he was saying was true, wasn’t it? People your age did this kind of stuff all the time, it wasn’t a big deal. There wasn’t an issue with it.

Sighing, you tried to relax, slumping your shoulder dejectedly before Bakugou let go of your hands, his own moving to the waistband of your sleep pants. 

“There, see? It’s not that fucking hard.”

The thing brushing against your thigh was hard, warm and solid as it prodded you insistently.

Your pants came off, and so did Katsuki’s, leaving you both in nothing but underwear. His skin-tight briefs were tented, the length inside leaking against the fabric. It looked almost painful.

“Touch me.” The male commanded, grabbing one of your hands and guiding it to his clothed dick. You cringed when you made contact, the length twitching underneath your hand, but Katsuki wouldn’t let you pull back.

“I said to fucking touch me.” the blonde snapped, pushing his hips further into your hand.

Reluctantly, you started to massage his length, working it with your hand in rhythmic motions. The blonde groaned, and when you looked at his face his cheeks were flushed.

“Feels fucking good, keep doing that shit.”

One of his hands was unceremoniously shoved into your panties, immediately petting over your slit with quick, fast strokes. It wasn’t long before a finger prodded into your entrance, slowly pushing it’s way inside as you arched and winced against the intrusion. 

“Fucking relax and be good for your senpai. I’m doing this for you, be grateful.” Bakugou snapped, narrowing his eyes at you.

“Katsu-oh, feels-feels weird...” You mumbled, hips twitching underneath him. You tried to keep touching him, but your attention was quickly being ripped away and focused on the sensations between your legs.

The finger inside you thrusted slowly, gently, and you bucked your hips at the odd sensation, mewling when Bakugou’s thumb rubbed at your clit. It felt... weird, but in a good way.

But Bakugou was impatient.

“And you can’t even fucking touch me at the same time, you’re worthless as shit.” He spat, cruelly shoving a second finger inside of you. 

It hurt a bit, and you gasped, but before you could say anything the blonde was kissing you, lips crashing into your own.

“Mmph!” You squeaked, hands flying to anchor yourself by gripping onto his shoulders, trying to slow him down from attacking you with such fervor.

You couldn’t stop him though, he was determined to feel you.

“Oh fuck, you taste like mint-” He gasped, pulling away from your mouth to gasp for air. You felt dazed, like this was some sort of bleak dream-turned nightmare. Your toothpaste had mint in it, was that what he had been tasting?

The fingers inside of you were thrusting hard now, scissoring, stroking your walls, calloused skin being warmed by your insides. HIs thumb was still patting at your clit, rubbing broad circles around and on the bud, making you shake.

But then his fingers were gone, and Bakugou was pulling down his boxers, shuffling down the bed so he could slot himself between your thighs.

“Look at that tight little pussy, you’re so goddamn wet. You need a cock filling you up, huh?”

You laid there in a daze, barely registering what the blonde was saying. You missed the pleasant friction against your clit.

And then there was pressure, a tight stretch, burning.

Your legs kicked out and you inhaled, ready to cry out, but Bakugou clamped a hand tight against your mouth again, leaning down as he seated himself all the way inside.

“You make a noise, and I’ll just fuck this slutty little body harder, got it?”

Stilling, you shivered involuntarily, the feeling of the thick intrusion messing up your insides painful yet delicious. 

“Give me a goddamn answer you stupid bitch.” Katsuki spat, eyes blazing. 

Only then did you actually register what he had said previously, and you immediately nodded your head, looking up at your senpai with wide eyes. You didn’t want him to hurt you.

Satisfied, Bakugou grinned, although he didn’t remove his hand. He pulled his hips back just a tad, before grinding into you hard, relishing the way your tight walls sucked him in.

He repeated the motion, quickly building up a rhythm of short, heavy grinding thrusts, barely pulling out before grinding his cock in deep. 

“Fuck, fuck, you’re a treat.” The small bit of praise made you feel better, warmth spreading in your chest.

But then he started fucking you in earnest. 

It hurt, how rough he was being with your body, and you whined behind his hand, grabbing at his wrist. You needed air, and you couldn’t take in enough through your nose. 

Bakugou just gave you a disdainful glance, before hammering his hips against you, sweat beginning to bead on his brow.

The sharp burn had simmered down into a dull afterthought, the more pressing feeling being that of spiking pleasure each time Bakugou’s thick cock drilled into your insides. It felt good, you were almost writhing on your sheets, legs shaking and kicking out, hands scratching at Bakugou’s wrist, eyes rolling back into your head.

“Stay fucking still-!” The blonde growled, yanking you closer to his body before your careless wiggling could make his dick slip out of your tight entrance.  You moaned behind his hand, and Bakugou grinned, before taking his hand away, patting your cheeks roughly.

“What was that? Hm? Speak up little bitch, what’d you say?”

“Oh, oh please-! Katsu, feels-feels.....hnn, feels-!” You couldn’t finish your sentence, too overwhelmed with sensation to speak, hands circulating between gripping your hair, the sheets, and your chest, unsure how to handle the onslaught of pleasurable experience.

Bakugou huffed, quickly pulling out to maneuver you into a different position. 

The slight reprieve allowed you to catch your breath, but it was soon punched out of you again when Bakugo slammed home, your body laid out on top of his, your back to his chest, your head resting against his shoulder.

His hips flexed as he thrusted up into you, one hand holding your hip, the other using four fingers to rub wildly at your clit.

It felt so good.

Your hips kept jumping, legs shaking on each exquisite rub, each delectable thrust filling you up so nicely. 

“Mmh! Katsu, Katsu, please, oh-oh-oohhh-” The moan left you, and Bakugou sped up his hips, now uncaring of the noises that you made.

He just wanted to cum.

“Oh god, oh no, it’s feels good, it feels good-ugh, Katsu!” You cried, and the man grinned, bitting at the shell of your ear. 

“Fucking take it, gonna make you fucking cum.”

And you did, crying and moaning and shaking on his cock, walls convulsing and milking him dry, his balls clenching and twitching as he unloaded his seed inside you.

It was sticky, and hot, and it felt gross, but you were too fucked out to care, sweaty and exhausted and confused.

The only sound in the room was that of heavy breathing, both you and Bakugou worn out.

When you finally did move, it was because Bakugou was pushing you to the side, grimacing as his cock slipped free of your gummy insides. Cum dripped down your thighs, gloopy texture making you gag as it slowly seeped from your hole.

“I’ll... I’ll clean you up tomorrow.” Bakugou mumbled, throwing an arm around your waist to drag you close to him.

The thoughts swirling inside of you were so confusing. Right now, it was easier to melt into Bakugou’s chest than to think, to try and sort out what had just occurred. It was fine, it was normal. 

You just wanted to be good for your senpai.

[duckugou]

the blood on our hands

bakugou x gn!reader

aged up!

cw: a n g s t as hell. comfort. cursing, mentions of drinking, smoking, etc. alluding to depression and anxiety. dealing with trauma of missions and losing people. a ton of mentions of blood

this is a heavy topic in the hero universe i imagine- and generally in the mental health world of it all.

lyrics are from purple flowers by ande estrella which hold a very important meaning that has nothing to do with this- they just worked with the story. But fr go listen to it bc its so good.

come to my asks to be a part of my taglist! just let me know what kinds of fics/ what fandom/ what characters/ etc you want to be tagged in! Requests are open!!

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reality is heavy and loud

Spacing out was more than being distracted to Y/n. Being a young hero meant stressful situations, overbearing management, tight spaces, stuffy meetings, and so much... blood. It takes a toll on a young person. Of course they wanted to be a hero- wouldn't chose anything else. They grin and bear this shit for a reason- to save and help people.

But god, who saves the heros?

but white has the privilege of washing machines to wash out the stains from their comfortable jeans

Some nights, after wrap-up meetings, everything was a bit too heavy. The usual group of friends and young heroes would choose someone's house to go to in order to destress.

For some, that was smoking. For some, it was drinking, video games, napping, venting, sitting outside alone yet with company. And for some it was merely listening to everyone else.

Not having to make a decision. Not having to be responsible. That's what y/n picked every time.

Bakugou would always notice them alone in the corner of the room. They were the one to come up with destress gatherings after hard missions. Bakugou knew it was so they wouldn't be alone with their thoughts. That's why he would always step in at times like as get them to talk, so those thoughts dont stay trapped in their head.

"Hey." Bakugou muttered, sitting on the floor next to y/n in Denkis apartment.

"Hey."

"You good, dude?" Bakugou asked with genuine concern.

He was always a bit nicer to Y/n. Nobody knew why, yet everyone knew why. They both were fragile and chose to hide it during the day, being strong around others to not raise red flags.

"I'm okay...just. That one was bad. I almost lost that kid. Like she almost fucking- died in my arms." Y/n choked out.

"Hey hey hey, its okay. You got her to the ambulance in time. You did that shit. You always do. You're the best in the game at comforting little twerps." Bakugou attempted to comfort them- somewhat succeeding and holding their head against his chest.

One time, Y/n mentioned that they held kids against their chest during rescues to calm their heartbeat. "If you listen to a calmer heartbeat, you're more likely to try to match it and slow your own down." Of course you wouldn't think Y/n would be able to have a calm heartbeat during a rescue, but they are very talented at controlling their nerves. Part of being a hero.

wiping the blood off their hands to their thighs, wearing the blood of the people who've died

Y/n subconsciously calmed down a bit, Bakugou's ability to remember every word that drips off of Y/n's lips paying off.

"I know. I just can't stop...thinking about everyone I've- we've lost. Its so unfair."

"I know. Hey, you have- uh. Lets go to the bathroom." Bakugou noticed a smudge of blood on Y/n's face and a bit on their hands. Cleaning up was the last thing on their mind earlier on.

"Ok."

Taking each other's hands, they walked into the bathroom. Bakugou sat Y/n on the counter, turning on the sink and grabbing a cloth.

"O-oh god. Thats fucking blood. I thought I washed my h-hands." Y/n began panicking, causing Bakugou to put their hands under the water with soap, washing it all off for them.

Tears mixed with the water from the sink and Bakugou stayed silent. Wiping their face, Bakugou looked into Y/n's eyes. These two have just always known.

They know what people can hide. What secret messages the body language of a person can hold. And he let them grip onto the back of his shirt as he held them in his arms, Y/n not being able to cry anymore and just breathing in his scent from his shoulder.

but dont let the purple flowers fool you

"Listen. We're going to get through this one. I know its hard on you- all of the families involved. But you- we saved them. We're all here for each other right? I'm here for you." Bakugou pulls Y/n back a little to look into their eyes. "You are the strongest one here. I know it fucking hurts. I know it is so...scary-" He sniffles a little, letting his own emotions take over. Something only he did when they were alone together. "- but we're heroes. And human. We are allowed to feel pain and sadness and disappointment- but we're heroes for a reason, right? We can handle this shit."

"I know we can. We always have. Just... promise you'll never leave me?"

"Youre so stupid. I've been more careful lately." He scoffs, wiping tears from his face. He of course knew that Y/n was referring to a few weeks ago when Bakugou got too caught up in the mission and was almost crushed by debris. He was pulled away in time by a fellow hero but it still opened his eyes, as well as Y/n, to how fragile they are, even if they are the heroes.

"I know Kats, but please. You're my rock in here. You're my person." Y/n says looking into his eyes.

"And you're my person. I can't leave you behind. You wouldn't know what to do without me here." Bakugou chuckles, earning a shove from Y/n.

"Katsuki." Y/n starts, holding his hands in their own.

"Yeah." He sighs.

"I don't speak lightly of feelings, you know that right?"

"Of course I know that. You don't talk much about those to anyone-"

"Except you." They interrupt Bakugou, reminding him of the importance of their unspoken bond and making his heart race.

"Yeah."

"Then you'll know how hard it is for me to say this. But- Katsuki I think I love you. I know we aren't super affectionate outside of being alone but- I've never felt what I feel with you before. I understand if you don't feel the same way and if this was all just because you felt bad but I needed to tell you that because you're really important and this is very import-"

Bakugou, in the most cliche turn of events, cuts Y/n off with a kiss to shut them up.

Pulling away, Bakugou rests his forehead on Y/n's .

"I love you too. I thought that was obvious when I never stopped you from saying my first name, idiot." He chuckles lightly.

"I kinda figured you at least liked me-"

"I'm going to keep you safe forever. That means physically and emotionally. No more hiding any feelings from me just because there are people around. Pull me aside. Hold me if you need or want to- I dont care if the whole world sees that. But just- fuck Y/n. I know you feel fragile. I know what it's like to be scared and hide it. I'm your diary now, ok? Always."

"Thank you...Katsuki. Fuck. You're everything I've ever needed. Plus youre kinda cute too I suppose." Y/n giggles.

"Oi fuck off." Bakugou kisses them again, relieved that he can finally be himself with Y/n, that he has them finally.

"I'm your diary too them, okay? I mean it. Anything, any time, say the word." Y/n says lightly, squeezing Bakugou's hand.

"Fuck. I love you."

"I love you too. I love how that sounds coming from you by the way."

"Me the fuck too-" Bakugou was interrupted by a loud yelling-

"I GOTTA PISSSSSS" followed by banging on the door.

"MAYBE YOU SHOULDN'T DRINK SO FAST THEN LIGHT WEIGHT!" Bakugou responds, recognizing the voice of Denki.

"DONT MAKE FUN OF MEEEE I'LL LAUGH AND PEE MYSELF" Denki whined.

"Let's go, angel." Bakugou whispers into Y/n's hair, kissing them on the head and helping them off of the counter.

[hewwocopter]

Irony

Monkey King was always awful at keeping secrets.

Posted on Ao3 as well! (1395 words)

MK caught Monkey King rubbing his left eye. He frowned at the sight of it; it had been itching a lot lately, by what Monkey King had said when MK first questioned him about it.

“It’s no big deal, bud. It’s just healing.”

Healing from what? His mentor had never explained what had caused him to return so late, covered in scratches and minor injuries nonetheless.

What concerned MK the most was that while the simain’s injuries were healing steadily, the nick above his left eye was not. The cut eyebrow refused to grow back, and the line began to form into the beginnings of… a scar.

Now Monkey King was constantly scratching at the eye, rubbing at it in every spare moment he was on the ship.

He wasn’t the only one who had noticed of course, MK had shared a glance with Tang after a particular instance that Monkey King was sweeping the deck of the ship (he was given the job as to not overexert himself, much to his dismay). He had paused and cursed under his breath, and upon the observant looks of Tang and MK, he remarked he had gotten some dust in his eyes.

Yeah, MK snorted in disbelief as the king turned away. For the fourteenth time that day. Tang didn’t look as though he had believed him either, but he chose not to comment. Monkey King was awful at keeping secrets, it would seem.

MK had decided he was finally going to get to the bottom of this, once and for all. By confronting his mentor about the problem at hand.

Before he could do that, however, Monkey King yelled and jumped away from his sweeping spot. The broom clattered to the floor, and in its place a puff of purple smoke erupted.

“It’s Macaque, everyone get back-“ Monkey King started, before he was cut off by snickering.

“Aww, Peaches. You ruined the surprise.” A blurry visage could be seen in the smoke, before Monkey King cleared it with a brush of his hand. “Come on. A little element of mystery never hurt anyone.”

MK couldn’t believe his eyes. Macaque was here on the ship! But how?

Macaque turned over to the boy, ignoring Monkey King. The others began to emerge from different parts of the ship from the noise.

“Uhhh who the heck is that?” Pigsy questioned. “You said Macaque? Who the heck is-“ He was cut off by Mei.

Mei’s priorities lay somewhere else. “Evil Monkey King?”

Tang and Sandy both remained silent, opting to observe the situation.

“Good to see you’re still alive, kid.” The shadow smirked.

“Excuse me.” Monkey King cleared his throat, making himself known. “I’m giving you five seconds to get the hell off this ship before I throw you off of it.”

Macaque finally faced Monkey King, looked him up and down, and guffawed. His lighter counterpart looked rightly offended at the disrespect that the other was showing and snarled.

“Oh, this is rich!” Macaque hugged himself and doubled over in laughter, while the others looked on in confusion. Monkey King only glared. “You seriously think you can take me on right now? Like that? Come on!”

While MK was still a little peeved at his mentor for leaving him on ‘vacation’, he wasn’t angry at him and therefore felt a right to defend him. “Hey! He can kick your a-“ A sharp look from Pigsy cut him right off. “euh- butt- any day of the week!”

Macaque wiped a tear off his face. “Doubt that, kiddo.” He straightened himself, addressing the crew. “Well, not right now at least. I’m surprised he still has enough power to hold up that glamour.”

Monkey King froze.

“What glamour?” Tang questioned.

MK slowly turned to face towards the monkey in question, who in turn slowly began to avoid his gaze.

“Uhhhh…”

Macaque decided to pour more salt onto the wound. “I guess it is sort of… eye-ronic. But also kind of a waste? I mean… you could be saving your powers for something more useful.”

Oh. Oh shit.

Sandy’s brows furrowed. “Monkey King, what is he talking about?”

“I don’t know, big guy.” Monkey King laughed nervously. “I don’t know if you’ve met this guy, probably not, but he’s a trickster. A liar. I wouldn’t trust him if I were you.”

“Oh ho ho, you wound me.” Macaque pretended to swoon, placing a paw over his heart. But his grin remained razor sharp. “Just like your eye. Who did that to you?”

MK’s heart dropped.

His suspicions were confirmed.

All eyes went on Wukong.

“You son of a bitch.” Monkey King growled out. “Nothing happened. Drop it.”

“Can you just give it up already?” Macaque sighed, shrugging. “We already know the jig is up. Gods, you were always horrible at keeping secrets.”

The king didn’t move, insisting on standing in place glaring at the other. The macaque stared back.

“Monkey King.” MK started, causing the older to startle and look over at him with wide eyes. “Please.”

They remained like that for a few moments, before the king finally relented. He sighed, air leaving him as well as a few wisps of magic.

MK knew what was coming, but he couldn’t hold back the gasp at what he saw. He wasn’t the only one either, as Mei dropped her phone and Sandy nearly lost his grip on Mo.

A milky white eye stared back at him. It wasn’t as intense as what Macaque’s had been by any means, but it still sent him reeling. It had healed mostly fine, with only a few blemishes in the skin here and there.

“I didn’t want you to see.”

“What?” MK found that the words tumbled out of him before he could stop them.

Monkey King’s gaze hardened. Even with that one eye out of commission, it held so much emotion. “You’d be discouraged. Right? The amazing Monkey King. Great Sage Equal to Heaven. Half blind. Partially deaf.”

MK’s eyes widened. “Wait, you’re-“

The monkey continued, wiggling his finger. “Can’t use my shapeshifting powers anymore. So, you know, that’s probably a good sign.” He heaved a heavy, self deprecating sigh. “You know when that started?”

Everyone was silent.

“After I gave you my powers.”

What.

Wait, then that would mean...

The simian cut that line of thinking off right away. “I want to tell you this now. This was never your fault, MK. I chose you as my successor for a reason.” Monkey King walked over to the boy and took a hold of the boy’s hand. “This was how it was meant to be.”

“What do you mean?!” MK sputtered out. “You mean that Lady Bone Demon-“

“Well, no! Not her, no! I was supposed to take on anything that you couldn’t handle, I was supposed to be at your side.”

“Holy shit.” Pigsy muttered. “It’s happening. Actual communication.”

Tang hushed him.

Macaque snorted.

Monkey King ignored the three. “But Spider Queen happened. Lady Bone Demon happened. It was a lot more than I thought you could handle, and while I was right, I should have never kept you in the dark about it. I know I’ve been a shitty mentor, but I’m learning as much as you are right now.”

MK nodded in agreement to his words. “So, are you going to teach me more?”

Monkey King smiled. “Of course, bud. Especially more of the fighting stuff. While we can’t really use our powers at the moment… there are other methods we can use.”

“So, like…” MK turned to Macaque, who smirked.

“That’s right, kid. You can never have too many teachers. Right?”

Monkey King started to reply, before Mei cut him off with an inquiry. “Yeah, so uh, who are you? Like a hot version of Monkey King?”

“A hot version of m- excuse me?!” Monkey King squawked in indignation. “I am too hot!”

“I’m not so sure about that Peaches…” Macaque drawled.

Monkey King whirled on the macaque. “You used to date me, so you definitely thought I was hot! So shut up!”

You what?!” MK screeched.

That was the breaking point for the crew. They all broke out in noise, all firing questions at the two.

“Look what you’ve done.” The simian groaned. “I should have thrown you off the ship when I first saw you.”

“Aww, you love me.”

[rextasywrites]

Showers - Leon S. Kennedy x reader

Some super self indulgent stuff because i am sad and want Leon to hug me. please enjoy <3

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff

Drowning your problems in alcohol was an easier way to deal with your demons than to face...once again. Leon faced his enemies so many times, yet each time he cut one head off, three grew back in its place. He was growing tired of the running and shooting and killing the bad guy of the week, cause there would be another bad guy trying to take over the world in mere days again. For him, it felt like he was running in circles, never coming away from the horrors.

“What are you doing?”, she asked as she found Leon going through his closet, clearly searching for something. Leon jumped at her sudden words, and hadn't heard her approaching. For a special agent, his hearing was incredibly bad. Maybe because of the last explosion he had to trigger to kill Enemy #2344 ?

“Ahm...nothing?”, Leon scratched the back of his head. Man, what a bad liar he was.

“If you are searching for the alcohol you hid in the closet, bad luck right there Kennedy. I threw it away last week.”, she crossed her arms as she sighed, disappointed but not surprised. Especially after heavy missions, his drinking became worse for a short while before falling into ‘bad’ territory again. “Leon, you cannot keep on doing this.”

“Ah? Who are you to tell me what the fuck I am supposed to do and not?”

“I am your loving and worried girlfriend, dumbass.”

“My point still stands.”

“And you reek of alcohol and...fuck, when did you last take a shower? Come on, you need to wash your crusty ass, Kennedy.”

“My ass isn’t crusty…”

“Shut up and come with me.”

A few minutes later, the shower was running and the bathroom was slowly heating up. Leon and her had dropped their clothes, and he was eyeing her from head to toe. “No, we are not gonna have shower sex.”, and a frustrated groan came from his side. He might be a depressed fuck, but he would never turn down her hot ass. “I am gonna wash your hair and you just...chill. Okay?” “Okay.”

One of Leon’s secrets was that he absolutely adored all kinds of shampoos targeted for women. Like shit, he was a hardcore monster slayer who eats assholes like Albert Wesker for breakfast, but a motherfucker should smell good too. Not too long ago, one of his teammates asked him why he smelt like a ‘pussy’, to which Leon replied that he bathes in pussy.

She grabbed his favourite shampoo (strawberry smell with a hint of freshly chopped wood) and after making his hair wet with the shower head, she started to gently massage the shampoo into his hair. His hair was so full and there was so much of it - perks of being a blond. Leon hummed under her touch as if it was the first time he was ever touched in a gentle way, savouring this moment for the lonely nights he would have to deal with soon enough. If he could, he would upload his whole memory to a hard dive just to watch all these moments over and over again. Their first hug, their first kiss, the first time they told each other how much they are in love with one another.

Those moments kept Leon going. His love for her was never ending, he’d fight heaven and hell just to make sure he could make it back home to her. No stone would be left unturned in case something happened to her.

“Leon, you still here with me?”, she suddenly asked, ripping Leon out of his train of thoughts. He replied with a grunt, closing his eyes once more.

“Do you remember the first time we went on a date?”, Leon asked with a chuckle, loved to remember that particular memory. Not because it was cute or wholesome…

“Where we went for a bike ride on your Ducati and got caught by a fucking hail storm? The old lady that let us dry in her living room? How could I ever forget that day?”, she laughed at the memory. It was the truth. Leon showed up at her home, dressed like a rocker boy who just got his motorcycle license and of course had to impress the girl he liked. Too bad he was too busy impressing her that he didn’t care for the weather and before they knew it, it was pouring and they were in the middle of buttfuck nowhere. Before the hail started to pound down, they rang at a stranger’s doorbell, asking her if they could wait out the storm there. The old lady let them in and even made them tea.

“It was hilarious.”

“You are dumbass.”

“But so are you cause you decided to date me.”, Leon replied with a smirk, earning a splash of water into his face.

“Come on Leon. Rinse out your hair and join me in the bedroom, will you? Master Detective Pikachu is finally on Netflix and you’ve been dying to watch it, hu?”

“This movie is the only reason why I didn’t leave myself to die in the last mission.”

[deepseavibez]

Blindspot || KTH

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-> Picture Source - Pinterest

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Blindspot [Taehyung x Reader]

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Genre - Best Friend; Fear of the Future; Nighttime Memories; Mixed Feelings;

Summary - She believed in more. In better. In bigger. That life was out there waiting to be grabbed with both hands. He's made it his sole purpose to remind her that simple moments were beautiful and meant to be enjoyed... and maybe, she would realize he was one of them.

Warning - (Slight) Angst; Anxiety; Unsure feelings; Fear of the Future; Fluff; Comfort;

Word Count - 4.7k

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🎶 - I'm Fine - BTS

TAE

‘Tae.’

‘Y/n?’ He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the time, ‘it’s 3am babe.’

‘... I'm sorry for waking you. Sorry. Go back to sleep, it's okay.’

‘Hey, no, no, I'm awake.’ Sitting up, he switched the phone to his other hand and rubbed at his eyes, ‘What's going on.’

‘It’s not important, I swear,’ he could hear her trying to mask her shakiness over the phone. ‘You can go back to sleep.’

He wouldn’t call her out on lying. He knew better than anyone when y/n was in a bad way. Once he asked her, specifically him, what was wrong, she would crumble and he wasn’t there to catch her right now. ‘Y/n. Come on, talk to me.’

‘I can't sleep.’

‘Yeah, no shit,’ he yawned back.

‘I'm so sorry for waking you.’ He could hear the trepidation in her voice.

‘You know better than to apologize for something like that, ‘ he chastised. ‘Babe, tell me about it. Was it a bad dream? Something keeping you up?’

----------

Y/N

You could hear shuffling over the phone as you searched for an answer. It was hard to put certain emotions into words. You only knew you needed to phone Tae, regretting it too late, when he actually answered. ‘I'm not sure,’ you started awkwardly, ‘I guess. I just don't know where I'm going.’

‘Do you plan on leaving me anytime soon?’ Already pulling your leg, he got you to roll your eyes.

‘No, of course not. I just mean, like, metaphorically.’

Things were a bit...confusing right now.

It had been a long time since you last had to deal with emotions this strong. The voices, getting harder to ignore. You had enough outside negativity to deal with, like family and some friends, all having this certain expectation from you.

It was new for you to rebel, to be who you wanted to be and feel how you wanted to feel without consequences. Choosing a life you solely strived toward, negating the tiny voice in your head saying you were wasting time and you were running out of time and you were not enough.

‘I don't know what I want to do, Tae!’ You burst out, the build up too long, the burden too heavy. ‘I don't have plans. I have a great job, I do. But I don't want to be a PA for the rest of my life and I don't know where to start, where to look, how to choose what I want to do.

I don’t have it figured out, it hasn’t fallen onto my lap, and when I look, I feel like I’m going to waste even more time looking.’

‘Y/n, you know you have a lot more figured out than you give yourself credit for.’ The huskiness of his sleep-leaden voice, comforted you. ‘You have money, a routine stable job, you've worked you way through university and graduated with honors.’ Taehyung did it without effort and he knew you would hear his gruff tone above all others, in a crowd, in a panic, as a voice of reason.

‘I know, and I keep trying to remind myself of that, but it’s just become unbearable. I am running out of time.’ Struggling to remain composed you spoke into the phone as if he was right here, ‘What if I'm still here in ten years, Tae? What if I don't ever figure out my purpose? What if I'm meant to just work and then die? I haven't lived! I haven’t seen the world. I’ve made everyone proud and now I’m the black sheep. I prefer it, It's just-,’

The sound of keys jangling cut you off.

‘Tae,’ you asked tentatively, confusion evident.

‘Hmm.’

‘What are you doing?’ You asked when he provided no further explanation.

‘Are you in pj's right now?’

‘Uh,’ you looked down at your white vest and underwear, just to make sure, ‘yeah, why?’

‘Miss y/n, I didn't know you slept in the nude.’

The protests left you immediately at his teasing, slithering heat under your skin at the very notion. ‘Tae! I am not sleeping in the nude, I have underwear on.’

‘Uh huh, what color are they?’ Your cheeks flamed in embarrassment. You could imagine his smirk, that dumb cocky, arrogant smirk.

He laughed, the sound gruff, infuriating you more, and causing you to giggle back. Because you were the butt of the joke, and you liked his laugh too much. Trying to be mad at him, even when play-fighting or harmless bantering, Taehyung, not a chance.

‘Listen,’ a seriousness settling between you, ‘get dressed, just sweatpants, and a shirt.’

‘Wait, what, why,’

‘Baby, listen for once. Just get dressed and give me five minutes.’

You looked at the blank screen, stunned. Your brain stuck at the word baby, and the effect it had. Your insides were mush, anxiety mollified, despite not knowing what he was about to do next.

‘Babe’, you knew, ‘babe’, you understood, that was normal, routine, best friend. But Baby?

You mulled over it as you discarded your vest, and threw on a loose Celine shirt. Pulling on your black sweats, a pair of socks and air force ones because who knows what this boy was up to, you stopped. You sniffed, once, twice, yep, that was Taehyung’s body wash, but what - oh, you tugged the loose collar toward your nose, yep, this was Tae’s shirt.

You composed yourself, almost deadpan at the small realization. When had he even stripped in your room and why weren’t you there.

Wrapping your messy hair into a bun, you restrained your mind from wandering further.

Your phone beeped from the bed and the screen lit up, a message popping up. ‘Look out your window.’

Peeping out you saw his black Jeep in your driveway. He popped his head out of the driver’s side window and did a two finger salute.

Shaking your head with a smile, you grabbed your phone and made your way downstairs through the house and out the front door.

‘What are you doing here,’ you asked as soon as he came into view. He looked good, white tee, black sweatpants, you matched, except for his leather jacket and red bandana.

He opened the passenger door on your side and leaned back, giving you a once over. His lips twitched as he rested his eyes on the shirt you wore. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he wanted you in his shirt. You raised your eyebrow playfully, refusing to give life to something like butterflies and heart-eyes when your best friend stood in front of you. Life was complicated enough.

‘You needed me to show up.’ He said it a matter-of-factly, but you knew he wanted to be there for you and you couldn’t, not feel grateful, and a little warm, that he would get into his car drive to you, all because you needed him to.

Not waiting for you to reply, he threw a jersey at you. ‘Its cold,’ his tone left no room for protest and he cocked his head toward the jeep, a sign to get in.

You wrapped it around you silently, not moving, not yet.

‘Well,’ his thumb curled around the top of the steering wheel as the rest of his fingers straightened out, his freehand rising to follow his question, ’Come on, get in.’

‘Where are we going?’ You would have gotten in, you would probably end up wherever he was going to take you anyway, but where was the fun in doing everything obediently. Even puppies had wild streaks.

He raised his eyebrow this time, a smirk teasing his cheek, 'You're brave every night, y/n. But not tonight, not while you're with me, come, trust me, wherever we go I'll keep you safe.'

You turned to close and lock the front door, breathing out slowly, as slow and low as you could, doing your best to work on the constriction around your heart; his words too wiry, too strong, too genuine to forget, too deep to ignore. It made you so... agreeable.

Getting into the Jeep, you felt different as you sat here now, in a seat you had been in too many times to count. It was probably the time and the circumstances. Yeah, some shifts were just because of the time, and the air and because it was silent and the dead of night.

You said nothing more, even though a few minutes earlier you spoke into the phone like you would explode if you couldn’t get the words out fast enough, you would be alone in your head, if you weren’t able to make him understand.

You jumped slightly, as you felt his hand close over yours, and pull it toward him to brush his lips along your knuckles. It was an absent action, maybe, because he stared straight ahead, didn’t spare a glance at you as you stared at the side of his head, making it look like he wasn’t even aware he was doing what he was doing.

Swallowing against the pounding of your heart, you chalked this up too. Night time was vulnerable, everyone was just a little more sensitive, you didn’t have to make it more than it needed to be.

Looking out the window you noted the lights and dark windows, empty parks and streets, doing your best to ignore the heat against your hand, the breath against your knuckles, lips not very far away, that were capable of a lot more.

With some effort, you faded out the intensity of his actions, and as your eyes adjusted you saw familiar figures, and buildings you had driven past numerous times. You knew where you were going.

He pulled up in the parking lot of his safe haven. In retrospect, your safe place should be entirely different, but you were safe with Tae, that said, his peace was where you found yours.

Jumping out of the Jeep, you noted how dark and looming the two story building looked. A huge sign reading 'Blindspot' the only posh part about this place, black metal roller doors, spray painted names across the walls, some of the neon colors standing luminescent against the moonless night.

One would think it was graffiti, but the community knew better, the ones that came and went, some that stopped and never left, knew having your name on the wall was a privilege.

He jumped out too, after grabbing something from the back. Carrying it toward you, you noted his knapsack, and a box of some sort.

Handing it over to you to hold, you took hold of them silently, as he pulled out the keys to open the locks and deadbolt.

You watched him, his actions purposeful but he was at home, knowing which way the locks turned, the catch on the bolt needing to be kicked out a certain way before opening fully; he'd done this a thousand times before.

Lifting up the shutters, the noise too loud for the silent night, he opened the door and guided you in, making you all too aware of his palm in the small of your back. Taking the stuff from your hand and throwing it onto the edge of the ring and he lifted up to close the shutters behind you.

You took notice of the extra shirt that falls out of the pile on the ring, one of your favorites of his actually, grey with black spots, sort of like a giant cookies and cream oreo mix.

The empty gym in front of you was a contrast to the busy days it had. There was a weight section, the bags lined up against the far wall hanging still, having no impact thrown at it to sway the dead weight, and the machines had their own floor upstairs, treadmills overlooking the balustrades to the floor below, by the ring where you stood.

The pool area, directly below you, in the basements where the changing rooms and showers could be found.

It looked small on the outside, but inside there were stories to be told, motivation, encouragement, brotherhood, friendships solidified in stone and a fair share of violent memories with broken bones, broken bonds and broken hearts.

Walls were packed with quotes, anatomy teachings and pictures, schedules, a dedicated to growing trophy case with medals and newspaper clippings, and pictures of staff, members, and the boss, with his best friend.

What Tae didn't continue, was the stereotype of the grunge masculine look that came with gyms. Outside may be black as night, but inside there was color everywhere - a world within.

The punching bags were each a different shade, green, red, yellow and blue. The ring bottom was black, neon orange ropes running along the sides in three consecutive lines, and your personal favorite, a giant pride flag hung on a hook outside his office door.

Toxic masculinity wasn't allowed in Taehyung's gym. You could be yourself, make your own lifestyle choices and still be a good fighter or just work-out. He took it upon himself to punch the teeth out of anyone that thought otherwise. This was what he'd always wanted to do and he made it more than just a place to get healthy.

There were four hours, two for the morning, two for the afternoon, catered only to women. Tae understood that men will be men, no matter how much you tried to change it. And comfort mattered.

Working out and exercising, as much as it seemed, like a chore, it could be enjoyable. It could be a social setting, helping people to open up, and cope, providing the best way for them to be themselves.

You helped him find a premises, helped him choose color schemes, and sat in on interviews. For legal purposes you were an advisor and owned a small share percentage. You didn't want it, but Tae insisted, you were especially grateful when the gym grew into more than you both had expected it to become.

'Y/n,' he waved his hand in front of your face, the action snapping you out of your thoughts.

'Huh, sorry, did you say something?'

He smiled comfortingly, 'Take the jacket off and your shoes.'

Scrunching your eyebrows, you finally asked, 'Tae, what are we doing here?'

'We are,' he started explaining as he ripped open a box in his hand, 'doing something I feel you need.'

Looking at you pointedly, he motioned his eyes to the jacket.

Shucking it off, you took off your shoes and redid your bun for good measure.

'It's strange isn't it,' you voiced out loud. He perked up at your food for thought, fingers fiddling with white tape. 'It's strange, that I know every corner of this place, but I haven't ever put a pair of gloves on.'

He raised his hand absently, a student raising his hand to give an answer, his gaze focused on yours as he did. 'That's because you've never had the need to, I'm here to protect you.'

Turning away, you caught yourself, before you let your heart show in your eyes. You've known Tae for so long, been his best friend for years, why now, why this feeling, this tightness in your chest.

You played it off, and walked over to him, socked feet padding against the wooden floor boards.

Taehyung clicking his tongue startled you out of your effort to feel normal; you found him staring at your socks.

'Y/n, I've told the guys this numerous times, you can't spar in the boxing section with socks. It's a slipping hazard.' No trace of the out of the blue romantic words, he bent down easily removing them from your feet one after the other.

It would be weird, if you weren't already so used to his skinship, his cuddling when he slept over, his hand straying over your shoulder on the couch, or brushing against your waist when he passed you. Yet, his thumb, on your ankle, his hand as he circled and held it, even for just the moment that he laid your foot down after taking off the sock, you felt… taken.

You wanted to snort, the wording completely off, I mean, he had a right over you, always had but-

He came into focus, looking up at you from where he sat, and asked lightly,' Do you wash these.'

Your mouth dropped open, as you watched him hold your purple socks in between two fingers, like it would bite him, or the smell would.

Your knee nudged at the side of his face playfully as you reached to pull him up. He took your socks, holding them properly now and put them in his bag, picking up the white tape he was fidgeting with earlier.

'So, will I be sparring with you today?' You were excited now. You had watched people vent and let themselves be free as they learned technique, let themselves be violent without consequences, the satisfaction on their faces after their sessions.

When he finally reaches you again he finds the catch and opens it out. White athletic tape, used to make arms and wrists stiffer, and to provide better grip, even with sweat and slick.

'No, not today. Let's focus on getting you worked up and tired. If you enjoy it, I'll gladly let you go toe to toe with me.' His eyes held a challenge, an underlying meaning evident.

Offering your hands up freely, he taped your wrists and fingers, you've seen him do it many times, just never on your wrists. Experimentally you shook out your fingers and bent and scrunched your wrist to allow for the right amount of tightness.

'Cocky, aren't you, Mr. Kim,' you side-eyed him.

He leaned into you, his breath teasing yours, 'I am the Coach here, y/n.' You blinked at the nervous fluttering in your chest, his intimidation, usually not directed so closely to you, doing something you couldn't explain, couldn't quite grasp.

Somehow, you should be scared, but it was, hot.

Leaning into him, breath for breath, you matched up, 'Then teach me.'

A slow smile broke out over his lips, playful Tae was back, it let you navigate things easier, you knew what to expect.

'So, I'm boxing the bag,' you deduced. 'I don't see why I need to tire myself out. I don't know how to do this.'

His palms closed over your cheeks, puffing your face up, emphasizing your pout. 'You are frustrated. You can't do anything about any of your emotions tomorrow, y/n. You have to be patient. You have to remind yourself it's a day at a time that gets you to your future. It will always be about patience.'

'Unfortunately, patience is overrated at something to 4am,’ you complained as he let go of your face and bent down to produce a new set of gloves from under the ring. Opening the zip of the bag, he pushed one toward you.

Shaking his head at your antics, not even phased, he strapped the gloves to both your hands and walked toward a bag. 'Come on, try it.'

'Color?'

'The yellow one.' He made to stand behind the bag you chose, and held either side of it, knees bent slightly in a defensive stance.

Feeling slightly out of place, and awkward, you huffed and punched the bag just to humor him.

You stared at it. The fucking thing didn't even move.

He burst out laughing at the comical look on your face.

'Okay, wait no,' he composed himself and came around you. His breath fanned your neck, giving you goosebumps, as he held your wrists and showed you how to punch. 'So straighten your elbow, like this, and pull it back in and see how the gloves are shaped, your forefingers curl above your thumb, so inside your glove your thumb shouldn't be in the fist.'

Nodding as you took in the new information, you did your best not to get distracted as he continued, all too comfortable in his element.

'When your wrist hits the bag don't curl it, let it face the impact head on. See, this is how you do it, so you don't break your wrist.' He made you punch the bag and showed you where your wrist was bending and how to keep it tight.

'Alright, baby,' that word, that goddamn word, 'you good to try again?'

Closing your eyes and swallowing hard, you nodded in answer and shook your head out of the Tae trance.

'Start with a simple combo this time, Jab, Jab, Uppercut, Hook.' You knew the names and their directions. Jab was straight forward, twice fast on the submissive hand as a set-up, the uppercut from downward into the abdomen or chin, depending, and the hook, from the dominant hand rounding off on the face.

'Think of it all y/n,' he encouraged, as he walked to his original position, 'the people, the words, the expectations, the beating up of yourself you do on a daily basis, and just go for it.'

Spreading your legs in a stance, aiming at the bag on his command, you clenched your fists and focused.

'Go'

----

'And breathe.'

Breathing heavily you fell flat to the floor, and stared up at the ceiling.

Sweat was in your eyes and your hair, but despite being in dire need of a shower, you felt oddly at ease. Tiny zings of exertion shot through your body as your lungs begged for air and you heard your blood rushing.

The roof was really pretty you thought, the wood positioned in long blocks to form and hold up the gable, grabbing your attention for the first time ever.

You blinked as Tae's face came into view, his hands resting on his knees.

He smirked cutely as he brushed your sweat slicked hair out of your eyes and off your face before reaching down to pick you up off the floor.

Handing you a water bottle, you let him manhandle you as he lifted your form to sit on the edge of the ring, launching himself up to sit next to, a second later.

'How do you feel?' He was proud of himself no doubt, after all, his plan did succeed.

You made a face at him, anyway.

'Hey,' he put both his hands up in mock surrender. 'It worked, didn't it.'

You cut him some slack, this time. 'Yeah, I feel icky, but definitely less worked up.'

---------

🎶 - Black Swan - BTS

TAE

Taking a swig of the water you had opened in your hand, he looks at the top of your head as he closes it and puts it away.

'Hey.'

She looks up at him, eyes hooded in exhaustion.

He smiles at her. Despite how much he loved her spitfire, she's adorable when she's not talking back.

He knew of the thoughts that crawled up her spine on a daily basis. He knew she had no plan, and it made her hyper that she didn't have one, but she couldn't make one because, what if she chose wrong.

He wanted to take care of her. He wanted to tell her that she could be whatever she wanted to be, and he would fly her across the ocean if she really wanted it; that she didn't need to worry about life so much because he would always take care of her.

'You're too sad.'

She scrunched her eyebrows at him.

'You have the whole weight of the world on your shoulders and you can't do anything about it.' He chose his next words carefully. 'I wish you could take a breather, and let a thought be a thought instead of picking it apart.'

He held up his hand to her when she made to protest.

'You know, things may not feel okay right now, with work, or at home, and in your head. But I've never seen someone adapt like you have. You bounce back, despite how much grit it takes.'

He took the gloves off her hand and carefully unwinded the tape on her fingers.

'I don't have answers y/n. But I do know you have me for a long time and I'm going to be here as you do your thing.'

Placing pressure on each finger he massaged the tightness out of it and flexed it for her.

'I don't know where you're supposed to go, if you were meant to leave and give me a round-the-world heartbreak, I'm not sure who you're supposed to be, I don't even know if you have a higher purpose, it wouldn't surprise me if you did, but you, y/n,' he heaved a sigh as he faced her, his gaze meeting hers, his next words the most important thing she'd need to remember,' you're a good you.'

As he met her eyes, her breath hitched. He heard it. He could see the flush in her face. He knew he was being honest. He knew he meant every word.

A half smile, a heavy acceptance, hands that were so easy to hold, eyes that were never anything but honest, a bond that all but forced a person to keep swimming. That was Taehyung to y/n. And that was y/n to Taehyung.

'You're a really, good you,' he reinforced. 'Right now, it works. I have a feeling it will work for a very long time.'

'I'm scared.' He could hear it in her voice. He heard it back when she was in her room too.

'Nothing is really set in stone, babe. And even though it does feel like you're running out of time, it's something you can't help. It's not what you want to hear but it's true.'

'How do I stop being sad?'

She was deflecting. But he had said it before, it wouldn't be gone tomorrow. Her anxiety and her fears, they will probably never go away.

She had the right way to go about it though. You get through it. Somehow. Some days it's a good cry, some days it's with a punching bag, and some days, it was with a best friend.

'See, now that's why you have me.' He answered confidently, as he put his chest out, his need to have her be okay, her smile, her laugh, his only intentions, his favorite thing these days.

'Oh really, you, why, because you're a clown.'

He feigned offense at the statement. 'Excuse me, I am not a clown, ask anyone that comes in for the 5am rush.'

She looked up at the clock in shock, it was really going half-four. She turned back to him sadly, 'I kept you up all night.'

'It was a fun night,' he replied, the teasing of many other ways to keep him up on the tip of this tongue, deciding against it, he looked away from her. 'You needed me, no amount of sleep is worth that.'

He didn't explain himself, he really didn't mind the lack of sleep. He could easily catch a nap in his office, or head home after half a day. But this, this moment with his best friend, that he wanted to be more, he knew he wouldn't choose to be anywhere else. He knew he'd do it over again too.

Pushing off the ring he grabbed the knapsack and handed her his shirt. 'Change out of that shirt, and use this one, you'll catch a cold, because of the sweat. And let's get you home, you need a hot shower, and sleep. I'll drop by for dinner after work too.'

Finally turning to her, he found she hadn't moved an inch, unshed tears in her eyes. Before he knew what he was doing, he pulled her toward him, sweat and all, and held her in his arms. 'You're first y/n, you'll always be first.'

A tender kiss on her head, his words rendering her speechless, and he knew uncharted waters were on the horizon.

This night, things that he'd said, the ways in which she responded, it was going to shift things for them.

But silence was comfortable for them. And she drank his share of coffee while he ate her share of pineapple, because he couldn't stand coffee and she hated pineapple. And he could hold her in his arms and she'd use his shirt while they slept.

It would start small, but he'd show her, the future was bright, she was deserving of more than she understood, she would be protected from her family and expectations and she would learn to remember, purpose or no purpose she wasn't alone, she never would be again.

[lioncunt]

any way the wind blows review!!!

gonna put it under a cut but tl;dr i really really loved it and even the things that i was on the fence about i’ve decided i love as well lmfao

so i kind of knew going into both this and wayward son that the plot wouldn’t really EVER be as narratively satisfying as carry on’s. it would definitely be interesting and have a lot of cool thematic elements, but in terms of being a grand deconstruction of the “chosen one” genre, it couldn’t ever get better than carry on. and i’m so happy rainbow didn’t try to MAKE it that. she didn’t pull a supernatural and up the stakes to impossible, outlandish degrees. both wayward son and awtwb had realistic, fascinating plots that served as a metaphor for the internal struggles of the characters.

the reason i’m beginning this review by talking about the plot is because it’s what i’ve seen the most criticism directed towards. and like i DO get it, i also was taken aback at first at how the actual plot is kind of background noise for the first couple hundred pages. but like...i think it WORKS. again, this whole trilogy is a deconstruction. that’s its PURPOSE. obviously it’s doing other things as well, but it started by taking this well-worn and well-loved trope and completely turning it on its head, giving us permission to acknowledge all the damage it causes and how our love of this type of story is honestly kind of harmful. we turn off that part of our brains when we read harry potter or something else with traumatized child protagonists, in order for us to actually enjoy it, but the simon snow trilogy has always said, “hey, this is kind of fucked up, huh? you’re allowed to think that.”

anyway, the way that translates to the plot here is that there’s not always some huge mystical big bad, or obviously evil antagonist. the horror can be going on in the world around you, in the background of your day-to-day life dealing with your own shit, creeping up on you until suddenly your loved ones are spouting off nonsense that is an absolutely CHILLING allegory for eugenics, by the way, which i’ve seen NOBODY talk about. the clear political parallels were so well done, but not heavy-handed, and they worked wonderfully as an ending to this story. simon at the end being a target for an angry mob, who are victims of intense ableism themselves (the metaphor of being a weak mage = having a disability), how these religious extremists will point at what they deem abnormal and use them as a scapegoat, the disgusting “survival of the fittest” mentality leading to “i can make this society great again” - it was all just incredibly well written, in my opinion. and the fact that it happened so slowly, in the background, made it all the better. you don’t really notice how bad it’s getting until it’s BAD.

it also, again, works so well as a manifestation of the characters’ inner strife. others have put it better than me already, so i won’t talk about it too much, but the fact that the book is saying you don’t need to be like everyone else in order to accomplish great things and have a good life, you don't need to have magic, you don’t need to be human, you don’t need to be neurotypical or able-bodied or straight or white or ANYTHING these people will have you believe in order to make you obedient to them and hateful to others -- it’s fantastic. 

this kind of segues into the other big criticism i’m seeing, which is simon and baz’s one-day breakup. again, this has already been analyzed well, so i won't ramble about it, but wayward son was their breakup. metaphorically speaking. and i’m glad that it didn’t take some big, grand moment for them to get back together, even though it would have been narratively cathartic. that’s not how life works - it was so much better and realistic to have simon face the harsh difficulties of TRYING than dragging out a separation plot line that would have added NOTHING to his character. or baz’s. the only thing about their entire relationship that i would have done a bit differently is shorten the timeline, because a year and a half is a very long and honestly unrealistic time to go in a relationship without talking about sexual history or going on dates, even if there’s a lot of baggage. but that’s not that big a deal and i’m easily able to look past it.

(as a side note I'm getting annoyed at seeing all these takes that there’s too much sexual content. like i get it because the first two books are solidly YA and this is being marketed as YA even though it’s definitely NA, but like....sex is important. sex scenes and sexual content are an extremely important part of depicting the human experience. and lack of sex as well!! every single intimate scene between them was NOT super graphic and had such incredibly important significance narratively and character-wise - and yeah that includes any kinks that were brought up, like jesus they’re in their 20s and have been in a non-sexual relationship for a year and a half i think it’s pretty fucking relevant that there are intimate scenes!!! anyway moving on.)

i really loved penny and shepard’s plot - their relationship was so wonderful and charming and excellent for their characters, and i only wish we could have gotten their demon plot threaded into the larger picture, because after shepard was cured it felt like they were just standing there. that’s one of my very few complaints about the book. but they’re such good characters and i love them SO MUCH.

AND THANK GOD FOR AGATHA AND NIAMH. like i cannot put into words how fucking happy i was when i realized where that was headed. the cinematic nature of agatha and niamh helping the goat give birth while simon’s flying in the chapel and being targeted by a mob was just. so cool like i can’t even describe it it was so coooooool and then agatha and niamh KISSING and agatha found her PLACE and I'm so happy for her.

just in general the characters and relationships were fucking exquisite. i can’t help but love the way RR writes, especially her dialogue. it’s so real and three dimensional and her characters truly come alive and i care about them and love them so much. i’m so happy they’re happy, i wouldn’t have been able to stand it if they weren’t.

and everything got wrapped up so well in my opinion!! i don’t know what the hell people are talking about when they say they still have questions, like girl what about??? simon found his family, simon got a sword that isn’t tied to trauma, baz found out that he’ll get to grow old with simon, all their families are okay, penny and shepard are in love, agatha’s herding goats and a lesbian, there will probably be new threats and antagonists but they'll be able to handle them, life will continue to be difficult but they’ll get through it like WHAT do you not understand what’s not clicking i genuinely want to know. 

ok actually i have ONE single question and that’s. did baz pick up the sword at the end. because the way it’s written it sounds like he did and i like do not understand that at all. someone answer please.

anyway that’s my review 10/10 would recommend