#BUT also can I not feel depressed and like an empty shell when it's not happening | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

oozedninjas · 2 months

Note

How do you think the 07 boys would react if the reader died? Like in an accident or killed by shredder or sm? just food for thoughts

They say there are five stages of grief...

Leonardo will blame himself for it no matter how you die. Did you get sick? He's a ninja. He should have noticed the symptoms as soon as they appeared! Did the Shredder kill you? God, that's his worst nightmare. Because it not only means he failed as a partner, but he also failed as the leader of the team you belonged to. He couldn't protect you, and he can never forgive himself for that.

Denial

There must be some way to rebound it. His mind flashes from here to there, and Leo considers possibilities that in a normal situation would seem delusional. Could Donatello build a time machine? There must be some way to reverse it. There must be. It can't be that you're just... gone.

2. Anger

It's a sheer tough situation because even though he would want to fight recklessly, with no regard for himself, Leo has to be strong for others and continue playing his role as leader and older brother. So he bottles up his feelings; buries them deep until they slowly rot inside him.

When he faces the Shredder again, he notices that there is something different, and for the first time in decades, Shredder fears he may not win. I think Leo would also become rougher with low-ranked criminals, hitting harder than necessary. The terrifying part? It's always perfectly calculated.

Also, his brothers resent his anger during training because he becomes tougher and more demanding. However, it's only because Leo can't afford to lose anyone else. He wouldn't be able to bear it.

3. Bargaining

He should at least be able to compensate your family. Friends. Anyone who loved you as much as he did. Thinking about doing things for people who were close to you brings him a kind of comfort that appeases his anger. It's a way of trying to regain a sense of control over the situation and find a way to cope with his pain.

4. Depression

He'll never again feel the tender caress of your fingertips over his shell, the warmth of your lips pressed against his own, or the sweet melody of your laughter echoing through the lair. The realization grips his heart with an ironclad vice, suffusing his spirit. It's a devastating blow that rends his very soul asunder.

5. Acceptance

But you wouldn't want him to be sad forever. No, in fact, Leo is sure you'd be insisting that he needs to move on. It was okay to feel, to be upset and cry along the way, but it was time to get up. Master Splinter plays a very important role in how Leo slowly recovers himself. One step at a time.

Donatello: It depends on how you die, but I believe what could drive him insane is if he loses you slowly due to an illness. That would be his personal hell because no matter how hard he tries to change things, researching new methods, creating medications, even biotechnology... nothing seems to yield results. Isn't he supposed to be a genius? What's the point of intellect if it can't use it to save you?!

Denial

"With this cryogenic capsule, I can keep her body intact a little longer," he tells your loved ones, who stare at him, paralyzed by the desperation in his eyes. "I can fix this. I can- I just need more time." But a person is not a machine, and your loved ones did not allow him to experiment.

A machine! That's it! Donatello made a copy of your memory and some parts of your consciousness before your departure; perhaps he could put that into a robot and somehow... maybe with enough effort and the right wires...

2. Anger

It worked, and yet it failed miserably. This thing in front of him looked like you, sounded like you, shared some memories, and yet, it felt utterly empty. How could he insult your memory out of his own desperation?

Donatello smashed his Bo staff into the control center, piercing it completely. He trembled a little as he continued to hold it, buried in the circuits. That night there was a blackout in the lair, and all that could be heard from the lab was the grinding of teeth.

3. Bargaining

It happened to you, but perhaps with all the research and testing, Donatello could prevent someone else from going through the same thing. So, he decided to sell his investigation, using a pseudonym and a couple of computer skills made it no problem to do it all from the lair. For him, it's like gradually adapting to the reality of his loss through these small actions.

4. Depression

To think that a robot could replace you. What the hell was he thinking? Your scent, the softness of your skin, the beautiful way you looked at him when discussing a new discovery, that could never be replicated. The lab, like his heart, felt terribly empty. It was a feeling as suffocating as it was overwhelming: knowing that you would never be there again, that he couldn't see or hear you anymore. Suddenly, he can't breathe.

Burying himself in his work keeps his mind occupied. He doesn't need sleep; he needs to progress with the research. Donatello escapes from every little space that could allow you to somehow appear in his mind.

5. Acceptance

April helped a lot in this part, as she was the one who started bringing you into the conversation with positive things, and Don has small spaces to feel shared nostalgia. April feels the same loss; she understands, and that is extremely comforting.

Over time, the feeling of emptiness left by your memory transitions to a bittersweet sensation, and gradually he allows himself to move forward, remembering you with a smile, with a fondness that embraces him from the bottom of his heart. Donatello learned that every minute counts, and for that reason, he now makes space to spend more time with the people he loves, and who love him in return.

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gleamingyu · 10 months

Text

hits different.

part I of the midnights series. inspired by taylor swift’s midnights. part II

pairing: music-producer!seungcheol x lawyer!fem!reader [exes-to-lovers]

genre: romance. slight angst. drama.

warnings: she/her pronouns for reader (but no specific physical characteristics). mentions of a pretty rough breakup. slight angst. some light cursing. mentions of death (jokingly though). terrible knowledge of law stuff (thank my brief interest in htgawm). yearning. loads of miscommunication. slow burn. cheol & reader are both stubborn. mentions of drinking. alternating povs. lower caps intended [if there’s anything i missed, please let me know!]

word count: 4.7k

notes: this is the first part of a new series i thought of! this is also my first time writing (or more like, finishing writing) something, so please be kind! any comments, reblogs or likes are welcome. and thank you to whoever decides to give this a chance :)

summary: still recovering from a not-so-fresh breakup, seungcheol leans on his friends to get back on his feet. it turns out to be much easier said than done, especially when his record label recruits the help of a law firm to deal with a recent scandal, which just so happens to be the same firm his ex works at. just his luck.

if anyone could see the scene in front of mingyu, they’d be severely concerned, much like he is at this very moment.

seungcheol is quite literally buried under a pile of blankets on his bed, the only visible part of his body a tuft of his dark brown hair. the floor of his bedroom is covered in clothes and empty food containers, and the air feels so stale and hot, it’s taking everything in mingyu not to gag. there is no light coming into the room except from the lightbulb shining in the hallway where mingyu is standing, and… is that… phoebe bridgers he can hear playing from somewhere?

mingyu glances down at his feet where kkuma, seungcheol’s devoted dog – and only girl who’s ever truly loved him, according to him – is sitting staring right back at him, a look on her fluffy face that mingyu swears looks just as depressed as her dad.

“this is way worse than i thought,” mingyu sighs, finally stepping into the bedroom. “okay, enough of this!”

mingyu grabs the blankets on the bed and pulls them away, revealing a very aggravated seungcheol. “what the hell are you doing?!”

“i’m not sure yet, because this,” mingyu gestures around the room, “is a lot. but it starts with you getting your ass out of bed and into the shower. immediately. this place smells like there’s a corpse somewhere in here.”

“yeah, it’s me. i’m the corpse. or i wish i was, because that would mean i’ve finally died,” seungcheol groans, turning away from mingyu and effectively shoving his face into the bed.

mingyu sighs, turning around to start collecting some of the dirty clothes on the floor. he finds himself regretting not calling jeonghan or joshua to come with him, because seungcheol might have been more easily persuaded to stop moping with them around. the reality is, they all thought seungcheol was doing better; he was back on his grind at work, finishing several albums he had been producing for, he was making progress in his jiu-jitsu classes, and he even joined the rest of the guys on their trip to australia last month, with minimal persuasion from his friends.

looking at the shell of a man laying on the bed in front of him, mingyu realizes he should’ve asked. he should’ve asked his friend how he was really doing, what he was feeling, what he could actually do to help him move past this.

better late than never.

“listen,” mingyu starts, going to sit on the edge of seungcheol’s bed but reconsidering. who knows when he last changed these. “i’m sorry if we haven’t really been there for you. i know a thing or two about breakups and heartbreak, so i guess i should’ve figured you weren’t alright, not like you said you were. you don’t have to keep all you’re feeling locked up. you can talk to us.”

seungcheol’s head moves slightly to the side, peeking at mingyu from the corner of his eye. he sighs, and turns on his back. mingyu tries not to cringe at seungcheol’s sullen face, his eyes red and still wet, as if he was still crying when mingyu arrived at his apartment.

“don’t beat yourself up, gyu. believe it or not, i was actually doing better. but a few days ago, i … i was cleaning around the closet by the entrance and …” he pauses, and mingyu thinks he might burst into tears. seungcheol breathes in however, closes his eyes, and continues. “i found one of her old hats. you know, the yellow crochet bucket hat she always used to wear in the summer? i bought it for her birthday when we had just started dating and … i don’t know, i just broke down. it hit me again that we’re over. like really.”

you and seungcheol broke up … four, five months ago? seungcheol shakes his head, he feels like time hasn’t passed the same since. days pass him by where he just goes over and over your last conversation – which was more of a fight, really – and he always ends up regretting everything he said that day. regrets resenting you for always working late, for never asking him to accompany you to firm events… regrets accusing you of some unspeakable things.

looking back, he can’t believe how big of an idiot he was. no wonder you left and didn’t even bother to come back to get your things. you left everything behind, all your clothes that still smelled of the lavender detergent you used to buy, your makeup haphazardly thrown into one of the bathroom drawers, the cooking books you always bought “for inspiration” but never, ever actually opened… and the yellow bucket hat you got from seungcheol for the first birthday you spent together. seungcheol had left everything where it was, a tiny part of him hoping you two would work this out somehow. but weeks went by with no word from you, and when he had tried reaching you, he came to the grave conclusion that you had blocked him on all platforms, cut him off from your life like a dead limb. back then he thought he deserved it. he still does.

“i’m sorry, hyung. i really am,” mingyu shakes seungcheol from his reverie, reaching a hand to pet his shoulder. a beat passes between them. “have you tried… calling her again since?”

“no. i don’t know what good it would do,” seungcheol sighs. “even if she answered, i doubt all the apologies i could offer would fix anything. i said some pretty fucked up shit.”

“yeah, i know. if you remember, i was there the next day ripping you a new one,” mingyu teases, desperately trying to cheer up his friend somehow. he swears he can see seungcheol’s lips twitch a bit. “but who knows… now that you both had some time to yourselves, you might actually be able to overcome this calmly. and if… if it doesn’t work out in the end, at least you’ll both have some closure.”

closure. that’s a funny word, because seungcheol wants the furthest thing from closure. he wants you back in his bed and your arms around him, he wants your indie artists he’s never heard of playing around the apartment in the morning, he wants your laugh echoing in the halls. he wants you.

he knows that the only way this ending could even be a possibility would be if he actually took mingyu’s advice and called you up, but another part of him is terrified of the other possibility: the one where you pick up and tell him to go to hell and fuck himself and never call you again or show his face around you. so for now, seungcheol opts for a third option: emotional limbo, with a side of trying-to-move-on.

he gets up from the bed and asks mingyu if he could help him straighten out the place. mingyu, bless his sweet heart, of course says yes and gets to work after sending seungcheol to clean himself up. just as he’s about to close the bathroom door, he hears mingyu’s exasperated voice.

“oh, for the love of god, where is that god-awful music coming from?!”

seungcheol can’t remember the last time he laughed so heartily.

the bar you find yourself in is bustling with people, laughter and cheerful conversations filling the space. you’re only half listening to whatever topic your two best friends, yunjin and chaeyoung, are discussing – something about “that bitch” in yunjin’s department at work that’s been giving her a hard time – instead reveling in the pleasant buzz of the champagne you’re nursing.

it had been a while since you were able to enjoy a nice evening with your girls. the past few months had been filled with endless meetings, client-induced headaches and sleepless nights, but thankfully, today you had managed to finally strike a deal for one of the firm’s most important clients (to be read as filthy rich), which you had been working towards all these months. naturally, upon hearing the news, chaeyoung and yunjin had begged you to join them at a bar in the city, “to celebrate your newfound freedom.”

you splurged on a bottle of champagne for the three of you and decided that tonight, you were going to have fun. you were going to relax, enjoy some drink, and catch up with your friends who you hadn’t seen in weeks.

and you will not, under any circumstances, bring up seungcheol.

you like to believe that in the last two months you had gotten better at shutting out any thought of your ex-boyfriend. in the days – more like weeks, if you were to ask chaeyoung and yunjin – following the ugly breakup, you were quite the literal mess. finding yourself alone and with nowhere to go, considering you had left the apartment you shared with seungcheol with nothing but your work stuff (how on-brand for you), it wasn’t surprising that your mental and emotional health had taken a massive hit. thankfully, at the insistence of yunjin, you agreed to crash at her place while you put yourself back together and took time off from work – something you had never done before.

to the surprise of your friends, it only took you two weeks to go back to work and start looking for your own place. two weeks after that, you were moving into a new apartment and claimed that you were feeling much better since the breakup. or at least starting to. chaeyoung and yunjin didn’t want to argue with you on this – even thought they 100% believed the front you were putting up was a load of crap – but in the end, they didn’t even have to, because the first time you went out with them again since the breakup, you had your first meltdown.

but was it really your fault that the man sitting two seats down the bar from you had ordered whiskey neat, just like seungcheol always used to? and was it really your fault that he was wearing a maroon leather jacket similar to the one seungcheol always used to wear in the fall, which you absolutely adored?

could they really blame you for bursting into tears right then and there and wailing about how much of a jerk seungcheol was for never understanding your dedication to your work? how much of a hypocrite he was for expecting you to just dip from the office when he suddenly had some free time, when he had never done so for you?

that night, chaeyoung and yunjin quite literally dragged you back to chaeyoung’s place and held you while you cried yourself to sleep, and in the morning, when you had embarrassingly admitted that “no, you weren’t really doing fine,” they held you again and offered soft-spoken words of support, opting to keep the classic we told you so in their thoughts.

four months passed since that incident and now, you could confidently say that you were truly feeling better. you weren’t quite over seungcheol per se; there were nights when you still thought about the smell of vanilla that filled the room whenever he was fresh out of a shower, the way he always got so giggly when you brought home a tray of cherries… yeah, you still found yourself missing him terribly sometimes. but the more time passed, you realized that seungcheol hadn’t tried reaching you at all in the months since the breakup, and so you thought he might be moving on as well.

it is true you had blocked him on all social platforms for weeks after you stormed out of your place. but on a particularly bad day, when all you did was cry and cry and cry after him, the thought of calling him up and asking him to go back to how things were crossed your mind, and you unblocked his number. unfortunately, your pride had set itself in your way, convincing you that it was seungcheol that needed to make the first step, considering he was the one who quite literally cornered you into a fight. so you didn’t call and instead prayed to whatever forces exist in the universe, that seungcheol would try your number again.

he never did.

“soooo, cheers to the lady of the hour! finally free from the clutches of corporate law!” yunjin cheered, clinking her glass against yours and knocking you out of your reverie.

damn it, seungcheol, i said i would not think of you tonight!

“yes, cheers!” chaeyoung joined in. “how do you feel? are you going to get a big ass bonus for the amount of time you put into this asshole?”

chaeyoung was probably right, you probably did deserve a huge ass bonus for the deal you pulled for the client you were handling. when you were in law school, you had never imagined yourself working for sleazy, corporate pigs who behaved like none of their actions would bite them in the ass eventually, and expecting others – like yourself – to clean up after them. but, as your boss grimly explained to you the day you had complained about your client, everybody has to start somewhere. “and junior partners don’t get to choose cases, sweetheart.”

life at the firm wasn’t always terrible. you were lucky enough to be part of an amazing team, and the firm worked with plenty of influential and big personalities, so you almost never had to worry about your income. but sometimes, some of the people you were asked to represent brought you to the brink of just quitting your job altogether.

“i just feel relieved,” you say. “if i had to hear the incessant whining and nagging of that idiot for one more day, i might have gone insane!”

“well, thank god you’re a stellar lawyer and managed to get rid of him,” yunjin teases, taking a sip of her drink. “do you already have anything else lined up?”

“god, no! i have a few days off just to take care of paperwork, maybe help out some of my colleagues around the office… but nothing big for now, thankfully.”

“oh, that’s amazing! which reminds me, this means you can actually join us on that weekend spa trip we were talking about last week,” chaeyoung happily suggests, as she’s already pulling up the website of the spa retreat.

“i guess a spa day would be nice,” you say, looking over at chaeyoung’s phone. you feel your body already going lax at the thought of a hot stone massage.

“oh, that would be so nice!” yunjin pouts. “we haven’t gone on a girls trip in so long! i miss going away, just the three of us… do you guys remember that trip we took to croatia two years ago? that was the best one we ever did, i swear!”

while chaeyoung joins yunjin in reminiscing about all the trips the three of you took over the years, you feel your phone buzzing in the pocket of your dress paints. pulling it out, you see an email notification…

“oh, no…” your voice trails off, reading over the email you had just received.

“what? what’s the matter?” yunjin asks, her conversation with chaeyoung coming to a halt.

“my boss just emailed me. he wants me in the office tomorrow morning. some big case that just came in,” you explain, already feeling a headache coming in.

“but tomorrow’s saturday,” chaeyoung frowns.

“i know… i know.”

when monday rolls around, seungcheol really wished that he had died before mingyu had found him the week before.

the day started normal enough. he woke up at 5 a.m. and took kkuma for a walk in the park near his apartment building, just like every morning. by 8 a.m., he was already set up in his studio inside the PLEDIS building, ready to work on the tracks he was supposed to finish mixing by the end of the week. seungcheol liked the buzz of the label, people from all different departments running around trying to stay on their schedules; it motivated him to also do his part diligently, and reminded him that he was extremely lucky to be doing one of the things he loves most: music.

seungcheol should’ve guessed something was up today the moment the clock struck 11 and jihoon, the other in-house producer of PLEDIS, and one of his oldest friends, hadn’t come by his studio. he and jihoon had known each other since their college days, having met in an audio engineering class they apparently shared, and had been friends for 8 years now. during their last year of college, they were recruited by a record label that was just starting out (which became the PLEDIS of today), and despite all warnings from their families, they decided to take a leap of faith together and join the company. it all worked out for the better, it turned out, as PLEDIS only grew and soon became a household name in the music industry.

as the only producers that have stuck around PLEDIS since the beginning, they developed several… traditions, or rituals over the years, one of which was jihoon’s 11 a.m. coffee run, which they’d spend sharing ideas and notes over each other’s work, and, if jihoon was in a particularly good mood, engage in some office gossip (not that either of them would ever admit it). today, however, jihoon is a no-show and seungcheol can’t help but wonder what his friend is up to.

when he shoots jihoon a quick text, asking if he’s alright, his friend only replies with a “just busy,” and tells seungcheol not to wait up for him at lunch, as he’ll probably be stuck in the studio all day. this doesn’t surprise him that much, seeing as jihoon might be an even bigger workaholic than he is, but he still can’t shake the feeling that something must be up with his friend. he decides that instead of going out for lunch, he’s gonna pick up some takeout and join jihoon in his studio. he wouldn’t be able to rest easy knowing his friend will go a day without eating anything.

once lunch hours begin, seungcheol takes a quick walk two blocks down the street to the restaurant mingyu works in, who’s already waiting for him with the food seungcheol had requested for him and jihoon. on his way back to PLEDIS, he texts jihoon again, just to make sure he’s still in the studio, but there’s no answer, and now seungcheol is seriously starting to get worried. he jogs the rest of the way until he’s back inside the building, and takes the elevator to the 6th floor where jihoon’s studio is stationed.

walking up to the door that reads UNIVERSE FACTORY, he stops in his tracks when he hears more than one voice from the other side of the door. he easily recognizes jihoon’s voice, but the other voices – two other men and a woman – are harder to make out. except… except the woman’s voice is eerily familiar, and without a second thought, seungcheol grips the handle and swings the door open, four pairs of eyes whipping in his direction.

his eyes land on jihoon, who looks like he wishes he was anywhere else in that moment, and then scan the rest of room, recognizing mr. han, their CEO, and… you. it’s you.

seungcheol feels like he’s going to faint. mr. han does not look the least bit happy about seungcheol’s intrusion, and he really wishes the man would slap him just so he can know for sure if he’s dreaming. if you’re surprised to see seungcheol, your face shows no sign of it, and seungcheol can’t help but stare at you. you look so beautiful, so put together; your make-up is soft, almost unnoticeable, your hair pushed behind your ears, and you’re wearing a dark green suit… oh, how he loved you in green.

you were the picture of grace and professionalism and he was… not. he really wishes he hadn’t come to the studio in sweatpants right now.

“mr. choi, what a… surprise,” mr. han exclaims, standing up from his seat, you and the other man – who seungcheol has no idea who he is, but he knows he doesn’t like the way he’s standing so close to you – following suit. “i didn’t know mr. lee was expecting you,” mr. han continues, glancing towards jihoon, who turned red as a tomato.

“i wasn’t, actually,” jihoon squeaks, avoiding both seungcheol and mr. han’s gazes.

“i apologize, i was… i was just bringing jihoon some lunch. i didn’t know there was… a meeting happening,” seungcheol says, looking towards you, and he’s almost thrown back by the way you’re just… staring directly at him.

mr. han sighs, but remembering the situation, he quickly puts on a polite smile as he turns towards you and the other man. “mr. choi is one of our other in-house producers. mr. choi, this is mr. jeon and miss L/N. they’re helping us with some… legal matters.”

so that’s why you were here. and who the other guy was. but what legal matters? and why was jihoon involved? and why didn’t he tell seungcheol?!

before seungcheol can ask more questions, mr. han gestures towards the door he came through and says “now, if you don’t mind, you can come back in a few minutes, mr. choi. we’ll be done soon.”

soon. soon, his ass!

seungcheol had been pacing the hallway outside jihoon’s studio for the past 20 minutes (he checked, he wasn’t exaggerating!), trying very hard not to eavesdrop through the door, and thinking of every possible reason why jihoon would need legal help and why you would be here.

jihoon was definitely in some kind of trouble. for the CEO to be involved as well, it for sure must be something that could affect the whole label. seungcheol just can’t understand why jihoon wouldn’t tell him if he had any kind of problem. they were colleagues, but most importantly, they were friends. he would’ve dropped everything to come to his aid.

now, when it comes to you… seungcheol knows you’re a lawyer, obviously he does. he met you when you were halfway through law school, and he was there for every failed and aced exam, for your graduation (he was so proud of you that day, it was the first time you’d ever seen him cry), for every measly job you had before finally securing the one you currently held at one of the top firms in the city. he also knows you’re a damn good lawyer, seeing how hard you work and how dedicated you are. he supposes it’s not surprising you were chosen to represent jihoon in whatever mess he got himself in.

he feels bad now that he remembers how he held these things above your head during your last fight. how you were working late so often, how you never asked him to join you at office parties, despite how eager you always were to go out with your coworkers for drinks, how you always asked him to wait for you outside the office building, as if you didn’t want people to know you had a partner...

he knows that both of you were to blame for how things went down between you, but since he started the argument in the first place, he thinks he could’ve brought all this up in a better way, at a better time.

his thoughts are interrupted when the door to jihoon’s studio opens again, and he finds himself regretting waiting in the hallway because now he has to face you again and he’s not ready and he doesn’t know what to say and he still looks like a hobo and –

“mr. choi!”

he looks up to see who he imagines is your colleague – mr. jeon – step towards him, as you and mr. han step out after him, discussing something. you glance once towards seungcheol before turning back to the conversation, and seungcheol feels his heart clench.

“mr. jeon, i’m sorry once again for interrupting your meeting,” seungcheol says, extending his hand to shake mr. jeon’s.

“don’t worry, no harm done at all. i’m actually glad you stuck around, because i had something to ask you. seeing as you and mr. lee are close, would you be available for a short talk with us, sometime in the next days? we’ll have to build a strong case for mr. lee and, well, some insight from his colleagues would be very helpful,” mr. jeon explains, fixing the thin-rimmed glasses perched on his nose.

seungcheol is taken aback by the man’s soft tone. his sharp eyes and cold look on his face made him look pretty intimidating, but his voice is the complete opposite, putting seungcheol weirdly at ease.

“o-of course, anything for jihoon,” seungcheol quickly replies. “can i ask, though, what exactly does he need help with?”

“plagiarism.”

“PLAGIARISM?!”

“you’re being sued. for plagiarism.”

“yes.”

“and you just found out last friday.”

“yes.”

“last friday when we all went out for barbeque and you didn’t even think to mention it? not even once?!”

“will you stop pacing and sit down? you’re making me even more nervous than i already am,” jihoon sighs, dropping his head in his hands.

seungcheol sighs as well, muttering a sorry, and sits down on the couch opposite jihoon’s chair.

jihoon continues. “i didn’t mention anything because i didn’t want to piss on everyone’s good mood. it was joshua’s birthday… besides, i didn’t know all the details of the situation at that point. i thought it was another baseless accusation, you know? but they’re serious about it. they wanna take me to court.”

“what? that’s insane,” seungcheol says. “i feel weird even asking, but did you even plagiarize?”

“no! of course not! i don’t even know the people!” jihoon exclaims, flopping down on the couch next to seungcheol. he lets out a long groan. “this is just what i needed.”

seungcheol pats his friend’s back, thinking of some encouraging words. jihoon was the most talented and creative guy he knew. to think that someone would accuse him of using somebody else’s work was a concept seungcheol couldn’t even entertain.

“don’t worry. that jeon guy looks like he’s already got a game plan.”

“and Y/N,” jihoon says.

silence falls around the two of them, until jihoon stirs from the couch, sitting up to look at seungcheol.

“are we just not going to acknowledge her or what?”

“no! that’s not what i…” seungcheol sighs, hanging his head. “i just wasn’t expecting to see her. i don’t know how to feel.”

“that’s understandable. you guys haven’t seen each other in a while, right?”

seungcheol shakes his head. “did she… did she say anything to you?”

“oh, no. she was super professional, went straight to business. but…” jihoon trails off, debating whether he should say what he was thinking.

“but? but what?!” seungcheol grabs jihoon’s shoulders, shaking him a little.

“but i think she was just as rattled to see you as you were. her hand kept shaking while she was writing, after you left. i guess she was just better at hiding her surprise,” jihoon continues. “now let go of me, you animal!”

seungcheol sighs. could it be that you were just as much of a mess inside as he was? the hopeful part of him thinks you might have thought of him all these months, just as he thought of you. the other part of him thinks your hand might as well just have been shaking from anger.

“you know, this might be a good thing,” jihoon says, getting up and sitting back in front of his computer.

“what, you getting sued and her being around?”

“yeah. maybe this way you’ll finally grow some balls, put your pride aside, and actually fix things,” jihoon deadpans, and seungcheol knows the conversation is over.

yeah. easier said than done.

#📁 lexie.works #🌙 midnights #seventeen #choi seungcheol #choi seungcheol x reader #seungcheol x reader #seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagine #svt au #seventeen angst #seventeen fluff

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heartofwritiing · 9 months

Text

What am I supposed to do, if theres no you?

paring: wilbur soot x fem!reader

authors note: I was listening to soon you’ll get better by taylor swift. I couldn’t get the imagery of this song out of my head and I needed to write some sort of vent. also inspired by a fic that @starsyoubreaklikesugardust wrote called whats it like on the other side of us that utterly destroyed me and I needed a happier version... This is super self-indulgent as hell but I hope you guys like it!

warnings: angst, mentions of an illness, hospitals, heavy topics, mentions of death, reader doesn’t have a specific illness, fluff, hurt comfort, me not knowing about medical terms or hospitals so excuse me lol, unedited!

The hospital bed feels warmer when Wilbur lies beside you, the only sound in the small room is the beeping of the machine monitoring your vitals.

On most days, everything is fine. However, when he's around, it's easy to forget the inevitable fate that awaits.

When he has to leave, he goes home to sleep in an empty bed and never does sleep. In those moments of solitude, he cries until he can't anymore. He tries to distract himself by painting the kitchen yellow, fixing up the garden, going to the studio to record, and hanging out with friends. But he feels guilty he’s not beside you.

The next time you see him he looks horrible. Like he got hit by a bus and you’re wondering if you should be the one in here or him. Wilbur Voice horse, circles under his eyes and red you know is from his tears. That’s when you pull him by the arm so he can curl up next to you so he can finally get some rest.

Stoking your fingers through his hair as he snores softly into your collarbone. You think about how Wilbur would ever function without you. How is he gonna take care of himself -when-if you are gone one day. That pit is building in your stomach along with the small lump in your throat. The burning of your eyes as you silently cry while you hold him close to your body.

Because that was what your life was full of, what ifs, whens, uncertainty, and dread. He didn’t deserve that. The arguments you used to get into when you first got sick. Begging him to leave you because you knew, in the long run, this wouldn’t work out. You could spend the rest of your life in and out of hospitals while he wasted away with you.

Wilbur swore repeatedly up and down that he would never leave you. No matter how much you tried to drive him away or how hard matters got.

Wilbur was constantly worried about your well-being, but he held onto hope that you would recover. This was especially true after the first time he brought you home.

You were happy to leave the uncomfortable hospital bed and small room reeking of antiseptic. You slow danced with him in the living room to Elton John playing from his phone speaker, listened to him write new songs, and slept in because you missed waking up in your shared bed. You felt like your old self again and he loved seeing you that way.

When things got worse again, the bright light in your eyes would soon fade, like water extinguishing a flame, as you had to leave your home and return to that sterile, white-washed room.

When you are back in that hospital bed, with the scratchy sheets and the fluorescent lights that hurt your eyes you’re back to being a shell of a human. The depression hits you harder and Wilbur does all he can to help. make you as comfterble as possible despite the weight of the situation.

You know he’s only trying to provide solstice. The small room fills with his soft voice as he reads your favorite stories. Telling you bad jokes he’s heard from Tommy that get you to at least crack a smile. He feels proud he was the one to grant you some form of happiness.

His hand holds your shaking, cold one as the IV pumps treatment into your veins. He leans over in his chair to be closer to you, lips against your knuckles. Your eyes meet in a longing stare that says 'I'm here, I'm not going anywhere.' You gently squeeze his hand.

“Wil?” You asked hoarsely.

“Yes, darling?” His voice is intimate, making you feel like there are people around even though it's just the two of you. The nickname always makes your tummy flutter with delight.

You want to capture the way he looks at you in a picture. He tentatively waits for your next words, his doe eyes filled with concern. You clear your throat and exhale softly.

“I was thinking... maybe we should find a house in the country,” you say. Wilbur remains silent. "Somewhere quiet, with big fields where we can see the sky, and watch the sunset on the porch."

You've mentioned how you'd love to live out in the country. A cottage large enough for you both to have separate areas. A streaming room for him, and a bedroom and den for you to store all your books and painting supplies.

A place where you can finally be free from confinement. Despite Wilbur's jokes about you being an old soul, you were in touch with life through knitting, painting, reading, and walks. That's what he wanted to give you again.

Your voice is quieter now, creating a moment just for you. The heaviness in your voice made your eyes well up. You could feel his thumb caressing your knuckles. Like a silent ‘take your time’. Your throat closes up as you keep talking. Your breath is shaking, primarily due to the cold temperature of the room and the medicine making you feel woozy. But you and Wilbur knew it was the emotional weight you tried to carry with your words.

Somewhere we can grow old together.

The sentence sits heavily in your mind. You'd like to say it to him. You wanted to share it with him so badly, but it felt painful to have cross your mind.

Wilbur already knows by the look in your eyes. He leans over you, lovingly presses a kiss to your forehead, and wipes away a single tear before it can roll down your cheek. Slowly he moves down, then presses another kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Whatever you want, my love.” he squeezes your hand back.

Wilbur spent weeks searching through countless home-selling websites for your dream house, but none were to his liking or within your budget. A month later, while sitting uncomfortably in a hospital chair with his long legs curled up to his chest, he scrolled through his phone and stumbled upon a house that seemed too good to be true.

He scheduled numerous appointments to see the house, ensuring everything was in order before making a final decision. Moving his belongings with the help of friends and bandmates was hectic.

He spent weeks preparing for your homecoming, buying new furniture, and arranging your books to your liking, making everything perfect only then he would finally surprise you.

He's there to take you to his car the day you leave the hospital. He takes care of you in the passenger seat, buckling you in and ensuring you're ready to leave before setting off.

As Wilbur drives past your shared apartment, soft indie tunes play through the car's speakers, and you lean back against the headrest, watching the scenery pass by. You realize you passed the turn to your house and Wilbur's hand takes yours.

Wilbur turns to you with a mischievous glint in his eyes and says, "We're not going home just yet." A faint smile is on his lips as if he's hiding something from you. He then drives in a different direction, and you can't help but feel excited about what he has planned.

"Where are we going?" you ask. As you speak, he can hear your worry.

"If I told you that, it would ruin the surprise," he says.

He knows you're antsy in your seat but it'll be worth it. After driving through winding roads and trees, he pulls up to a house with an arched doorway and slanted roof, almost like the one you dreamed of growing up.

Wilbur turns off the ignition, rushes to your side, opens the car door, and with a grin offers his hand to help you out. Wilbur leads you to the front door, unlocks it with a small key, and picks you up to carry you over the threshold.

"Welcome home darling," he says.

You are led through the house, to the hallway to the cozy living room. taking everything in slowly.

The soft pillows on the sofa, your paintings on the walls, your books on the shelf, and Wilbur's record player and vinyl set up. His acoustic guitar set against the wall caused your eyes to well up.

"Wilbur," you began, but tears rolled down your face as the emotions overwhelmed you. Why was he going through all this trouble for a silly dream?

Wilbur frowned as he tried to place you on the recliner, but you clung to him, so he sat down with you in his lap. Speaking softly into your ear with tender words to calm you.

You drew away from him, noticing the worry in his gaze as you locked eyes with Wilbur, he searched your expression frantically, attempting to figure out the cause of your distressed state.

"Are you okay?" he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "I know it's a lot to take all at once, but I wanted to surprise you. I'm sorry for being secretive."

You shake your head, in slight remorse for making him assume he upset you or pushed things too far.

"I'm just so happy." you beamed tearily.

Ease washed over him, and a sigh escapes his lips. Tears well in his eyes. He gently takes the back of your head and brings you to meet him for a kiss. His lips are soft and warm as they enveloped yours passionately. You reciprocated his kiss, bringing your hands to thread in his hair. Your noses brushed as you pulled away to catch your breath.

While holding each other, you remained in that position. Your breathing was slow and unsteady, and tears streamed down your face as you cried onto Wilbur's shoulder. Everything, for the first time in a long time, felt perfect.

Everything you had ever wanted was with Wilbur, and you were never going to want anything else.

Wilbur knew in his heart, soon you would get bette, because you just had to.

End.

tagging: @merakiwi @trashcanduck @addxms @ax-y10

#wilbur soot x fem!reader #wilbur soot x reader #neither c! nor cc! wilbur but my own character of him.#fanfiction #x reader #hospital tw #cc!wilbur soot x fem!reader #c!wilbur x reader #cc!wilbur x reader #wilbur x reader #fluff #myct #wilbur soot

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bucky-barnes-diaries · 9 months

Text

The Light In My Darkness

Pairing || TFATWS!Bucky x Female!Reader

Summary || The darkness has it’s hold on you. It’s tightness suffocating. It’s darkness numbing. You search the endless depths for salvation, yet you find yourself alone. But there will soon come a moment when a beacon of light shines it’s way for you to resurface from the pitch black depth.

Word Count || 1501

Contents & Warnings || Angst, light Fluff — mature content/language, depression, mental health, mention of suicide.

Authors Note || It’s been a few months since I last posted. I fell into a pretty dark depression that really fucked me up for months. I’m slowly starting to recover from it, and I’m excited to write and post again and also feel more like myself . Sorry to come back with such an angsty story. This is the only story that I wrote over those months, and I have put some real stuff that went through my head during those months. It felt good to put some of those thoughts into writing and combine them with one of my comforts which is Bucky. So please be advised that this story does contain some depression stuff and mention of suicide.

Disclaimer || English is not my first language so I apologise for any mistakes or misunderstandings!

TFATWS!Bucky Masterlist

The weight of emptiness pulls you deeper each day that passes, its grip on you tightening as it drags you toward the depths of its darkness. And you are so aware that its power will consume you entirely, eat you from the inside, leaving you weak and vulnerable to its insatiable hunger. The darkness so treacherous that escape will seem almost impossible.

You feel entirely shattered and numb. The once vibrant life you had, such as your job, responsibilities, friends, and most importantly, Bucky and Alpine, now feels almost lifeless. The once passion you had for your beautiful life is now reduced to nothing. All that remains is the desire to crawl into a deep, dark hole and disappear, hoping that the suffocating darkness will claim you quickly.

Despite the emptiness within, you still try to maintain a brave and normal facade for those around you. But your boyfriend, the one closest to your heart, senses and sees the cracks in the facade you’ve put up. He sees the destruction of your former self, reduced to nothing more than an empty shell.

Bucky, with his caring and tender nature for you, wants to help. But you push him away, scared that you may drag him down as well. You don’t want to darken his light with your darkness.

However, there comes a time when everyone breaks down into pieces, and it’s left up to the loved ones to pick up the fragile fragments and mend them with tender and loving care.

---

As you drag yourself up the steps to your front door, the mask of a fake smile and false happiness you wore for work fades away. Instead replaced by the overwhelming despair that haunts your soul. You can no longer keep it up, and you know that Bucky will shower you with his love in an attempt to ease your pain.

“Hey, doll. Welcome home,” Bucky greets you with a tender kiss on the forehead. His hands linger on your waist, gently squeezing as a sign of affection and protection. Alpine purrs in delight and welcomes you home by weaving and rubbing against your legs.

Bucky’s warm touch and a tender kiss would once have your heart flutter into a billion butterflies, making you jump him in excitement, and a cuddle session on the couch would ensure with loving kisses shared between one another as you recovered from your workday. But now, with the darkness holding its tight grip on you, you can’t fully enjoy and appreciate his gorgeous self, which fills you with guilt. Deep down, you know that you love Bucky with all your being. He’s the perfect individual, the kind anyone would be lucky to have. But you struggle to feel the love he so generously pours upon you now. The realization of this causes tears to well up, along with a profound sense of shame.

“How was work, baby?” Bucky’s eyes, once melting and soft, fixates on your empty and dim ones. His now somber ones scan you from head to toe, sensing you are far from your former self. He knows you are having difficulties, that you are tired, but he’s unaware of the full extent of it and doesn’t know how deep it goes. He does his best to help and reassure you daily, but you cannot sense his efforts. The darkness has buried your emotions so deep within.

“It was fine, babe. Just exhausting,” you respond, attempting to reassure him with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. He can tell that you are withholding the whole truth.

“Doll, what’s wrong? You haven’t been yourself recently. I’m here for you, baby. I want to help,” his voice rasps as he cups your cheeks, stroking your skin. His brows furrow, his gaze piercing deep into your soul, hoping to uncover the cause of your recent changes.

The love and care he has for you are so evident, making your heart skip a beat and you so long to throw yourself into his arms, allowing him to shower you with his affection and reassurance that everything will be alright. But the darkness is keeping you on a tight leash.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you lie, and he can so easily see through it.” “I-I’m just tired. I think I’ll take a nap.”

As you lie in the darkness of your bedroom, staring at the ceiling, your mind is empty of thoughts. You feel cold and empty, much like the air surrounding you. One terrifying thought, a whisper that lurks in your darkness, tries to surface: I don’t want to live anymore.

During the day, you try your best to suppress that thought, forcefully pushing it deep down. But with each passing day, it grows stronger. And now, in the confines of your dark and cold bedroom, it solidifies into a haunting possibility—an escape from the torment. I don’t want to live anymore. “… but I don’t want to die,” you whisper, turning to your side with a heavy sigh. It’s all so overwhelming and exhausting, and you have never felt so trapped and helpless before. How can I possibly recover from this? Will I ever recover from this? Am I doomed to this darkness forever until it eventually consumes me?

Sometime later, a knock on the bedroom door pierces the silence, and a sliver of light illuminates the room's darkness as Bucky enters, the chime of Alpine’s collar following close behind. Neither of you utters a word. He closes the door gently, ensuring the light doesn’t disturb you. In the room's dimness, you hear him navigate through it, going to the shared bed and settling in behind you. His warm, sturdy frame presses against your back while his arms envelop you, and his face nestles into the nape of your neck, inhaling deeply, savoring your scent before placing a tender kiss on your skin. Alpine joins the comfort, snuggling at your feet with a soft purr.

Even with these two beings, who love you unconditionally, nestled close to you, it barely dulls and heals the emptiness inside, but it makes your heart skip a beat again. A moment of silence ensues, the only sounds being your synchronized breathing and the gentle purring from Alpine.

“Doll,” Bucky murmurs, his voice soft and delicate, squeezing you ever so slightly tighter to convey the depth of his love for you. “Please, tell me what’s wrong. Let me inside your pain. Don’t slip away from me. I’m here to help. I’ll be by your side every step of the way.”

The desperation, sadness, and defeat in his voice finally shatter you, breaking down your defenses, making you finally release all that pain and sorrow, erupting into tears and sobs.

“I’m so fucking tired, Bucky,” you sob violently into the pillow. “I’m so fucking done with everything. I feel so empty, so lost. I can’t do this anymore. The darkness has such a tight hold on me, and I feel myself suffocating more and more each day that follows.” Your cries intensify, your body shaking in his embrace. “I don’t have the will to live anymore, but I don’t want to die either. Please help me. I’m so lost, Bucky.” You continue to weep and sob into the sheets while Bucky holds you tighter, tears streaming down his face as well, wetting your neck.

You don’t know how long you cry, releasing all that has built up over the past few weeks. Five minutes? Ten? Fifteen? Twenty? Eventually, exhaustion takes hold of you. Your throat feels dry and hoarse, your eyes burn, and your body feels heavy and weak.

Throughout it all, Bucky remains silent, cradling and comforting you. The weight of your dark confession impacting him deeply, evident in his strained voice—a testament that he’s been crying alongside you.

“I wish I could take all your emptiness and pain away, doll.” His voice laced with vulnerability and determination. “I wish we lived in a fairytale where my words could magically heal your soul and restore your happiness. But this is reality, and I know my words alone will not heal and destroy that darkness. But I want you to know I’m here, baby, and I’ll always be here. I will fight for you, fight beside you. I’ll forever be the light that shines in your darkest moments. I promise I will help you. I promise we will get you professional help. I love you so much, my doll.”

Bucky’s words feel like the salvation you’ve yearned for—the help you desperately need. It’s the promise that gives you hope. Your hand, which has been searching in the darkness for so long, has finally found a lifeline—a beacon of light that shines bright in your darkness.

Thank you for reading 🖤 Feedback through a comment is highly appreciated! Or let me know through an anonymous ask if that feels more comfortable. As well as a reblog to share my work with other people!

Follow @bucky-barnes-diaries-library and turn on notifications to never miss out on my writing!

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romanoffsbish · 2 years

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I Can’t Breathe…

Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff

WandaNat x Fem!Reader (“Platonic”)

Warnings‼️: Suicidal ideation / attempt, Depression, descriptions of drowning both physically/emotionally, Disassociation, and misguided anger. | 1,836 Words

Drowning… You’d always heard it was a peaceful way to go, that once your body’s natural panic is overrun by the all consuming body of water that it’s just like going to sleep. It’s definitely not like the movies, there’s no grand fight to survive, you don’t flail about for hours on end screaming for someone to help, no, it’s a much more daunting experience. Silence all but surrounds you as you try just to keep your head above water, when the exhaustion in your limbs starts to win out, and the panic seeps in it’s likely you’ll gasp or hyperventilate before you finally submerge to the darkness threatening to pull you in.

————

From a personal standpoint you reason it also can’t be that bad when it already feels like you’re drowning above ground to begin with. You watch on, the physical being that houses you walks around lifelessly, and you watch from beneath the surface to see the wreckage.

It’s like you’re not even a person anymore, to exist within the four walls of the compound is nothing short of dreadful, for you and all those who are stuck living around you.

The way everyone looks to you now like you’re no more than a disappointment, as if their life would improve if you were gone, and as the days blend together, and Steve yells at you for the millionth time this year, you begin to think it’s a rather proper assumption.

“Y/L/N! For Christ’s sake what has gotten into you?! Are you so careless that you can’t follow a simple order from your superiors?,” you say nothing, eyes focused in on the star on his suit., “Ignoring me are we? God, you’ve really lost touch with reality haven’t you?,” he releases a bitter chuckle as he moves to level with you., “Put all of us in danger today when you unfroze reality before we were even ready! Now Bucky’s in the infirmary, and not a soul here in is unharmed besides you. You’re a disaster!”

“Jesus Steve, lay off the kid!,” Tony tries to defend you, and if you had the energy to you’d tell him to stop, to drop it because Steve was right, you’re far off from reality, but instead you remain just as silent as when the soldier was directly speaking to you. As the men began to bicker you find your feet move of their own accord, removing you from the dissension; aimlessly you walk the halls of the compound with nothing but the peaceful sounds of waves crashing over you in your mind.

Natasha and Wanda share a panicked look when you walked out of the conference room with that newfound empty expression of yours, those eyes of yours no longer holding all that they’ve grown to love about you. You’re just a hollowed out shell of what they all once knew, long ago are the days where you would smile, and it’s breaking them to see you so torn up. You’ve completely shut them out, it’s been months since they even got to talk to you, but Wanda reasons that as long as she can feel you it’ll be okay, that they’ll give you this space.

—

“Wands, I’m not sure space is the answer.” Natasha sighs while taking up her space in their shared bed., “She has to hit rock bottom Natty, until then nothing we do will help her.,” Wanda reasons, but a massive part of her wonders if she’s on the right track anymore., “Wanda, I think this is her rock bottom.”

Wanda shuts the light off, and slips into a restless sleep alongside her tormented lover, both of them praying you’ll be there when they awake, but both well aware of the chance that you could very well not be.

—

You’re not sure when you slipped into the tub with all your clothes on, but the little bit of cognition you’re holding onto says it’s been at least two hours. Your body shivers violently as the waters lost all its warmth, but instead of getting out, you slip under the surface, and just as you felt yourself ready to give up you shot up, lungs naturally having you gasp for air. Deeply you wished that you were in favor of living, that you did that for you, but the only reason you stopped the inevitable was them.

Natasha and Wanda deserved better than to find your lifeless body in the tub, to see that you’d pitifully given up, and left them behind to pick up the pieces of your fractured life. Passing on your pain isn’t your intention, and so you step out of the tub, loud squelching noises follow you as your soaked clothes move with you into your connected bedroom.

After changing your clothes you creep into the darkened hallways, the likelihood of anyone being awake right now is low, and even then Tony’s likely in his lab with no mind paid to you and your whereabouts. As quietly as you can you cross the hall and enter the room of the women who’ve owned your heart for the better part of the last five years.

“I’m sorry.,” you choked out, your voice even shocking you since it’d been months since you last muttered a word to anyone, you settled a soft kiss to each of their foreheads, and wiped away your fallen tears from their calm brows., “I love you, please don’t hate me…,”

They couldn’t hear you, or feel you of course; seeing as how you’d frozen time in their tiny space, but you simply couldn’t follow through with your plans without a proper goodbye.

With a wave of your hand you’d teleported out of their bedroom, time resuming for the both of them, and as soon as it did Wanda shot up in a panic. She did in fact feel and hear you, but she couldn’t fucking move, she couldn’t scream out to you, it was a terrifying situation for the witch who’d never been bested like this before.

“Natasha! Get up, Y/N’s about to do something stupid, fuck…,” she shrieked, and the assassin jumped to her feet., “Wanda, what happened?,” she asked while slipping her shoes on, anxiety crawling up her spine when she could smell you, your natural scent having lingered., “She’s trying to end her pain Tasha…,” she says over a choked back sob, her body already halfway out the window., “Go, I’ll be right behind you.”

Wanda flew right off, she knew where you were going—they both did, it was the one place you’d always found a sense of calm in this world.

—

It was a beautiful sight, the sunrising over the ocean while your feet dangled over the cliffside, you appreciated the beautiful farewell hues. Memories of all the good flashed across your mind, just like they say it does when one’s about to lose it all, but the oddity here was you’d done nothing to yourself yet. The sound of leaves crunching woke you up from your memory spiral, and it was then you recognized the red hues touching the corner of your mind.

Wanda was stood before you in a mess of tears as you jumped to your feet, pushing her right out of your mind, and you froze the tendrils that sought to bind you in place., “Go home.,” you cooly instructed her, but she just shot more of her magic your way to keep you from your perceived destiny., “Wanda, I’m serious!,” you shouted this time, your patience wasn’t what it used to be, it even hurt to see her flinch, but that just couldn’t compare to your daily misery.

“Y/N, please, you have to know this isn’t the answer!,” you scoffed., “Wanda, this is the only answer that has made sense to me all year.,”

Wanda wasn’t going to stop, you knew that much, so you did the only thing you could do. Wanda pleaded with you to stop, but your hands were up before she could even finish her ‘I love you.,’ hearing it would’ve hurt too much. It wasn’t true anyways, she loved Y/N Y/L/N, and at this point you’re not sure she exists anymore., “I’m sorry Wands, you’ll be okay.”

It was now or never you realized, it was only a matter of time before the other half arrived. Taking a steadying breath you began to run for the cliffs edge, but Natasha’s bike slid across the rocky terrain and she jumped off to tackle you, and to your complete shock it worked. You’d had many skills, but being a better fighter than The Black Widow wasn’t one of them, she always overpowered you when your powers were off limits., “Natasha, get off!”

“Are you fucking stupid? Absolutely not!,” she growled, her face now hovering above yours., “Natalia, I’m not fucking playing, get off of me, and let me put us all out of our misery!,” you struggled against her hold, but it was no use.

Natasha could quite literally hold you in place with her toned thighs alone, and with hands you might as well resolve to letting her carry you home now., “This is beneath you Natasha, saving a screw up like me isn’t your job.” She chuckled humorlessly., “You are beneath me, that is one thing you have correct here Y/L/N.”

Her play on words only pissed you off, as if taunting you was fair at all., “I’m not going back with you two, so give up already!,” she scoffed., “You don’t have a fucking choice.”

You began to thrash beneath her, even if you couldn’t get her off you could definitely upset her peace., “Let me die! It’s my fucking choice, not yours, not hers, mine!,” Wanda was now by you since Natasha cuffed your hands, using her lap she shielded your head from the rocks you were violently bashing against., “I don’t want to do this anymore! I’m so fucking exhausted, I’ve never had a choice, and I finally do now so let me make it, and just fuck right off.”

“Let me go!,” you sobbed repeatedly, and the women watched you, helpless as you broke down beneath them., “I don’t want to live.,” you continued to cry out, your body shook with inconsolable sobs., “Please…,” but the strength you once had faded the longer you laid there.

“Shh, detka, we’ve got you.,” Wanda coo’d, her strong arms lifting your now pliant body up and into her hold, and Natasha scooted in to sandwich you in between them., “We’re not going anywhere dorogoy, you’re not alone.,” she added, laying a kiss to your sweaty temple, and allowing her own tears to finally fall as you heartbreakingly whimpered in Wanda’s arms.

Wanda and Natasha shared a knowing look, this was your rock bottom, and they were glad they got to ensure it stayed metaphorical, and they knew without a shadow of a doubt that they’d do anything to ensure it stayed as such.

————————————————————

#natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #gxg #wandanat #wanda x you x nat #wanda x natasha x reader #wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff #wanda x nat x reader #wandanat imagine #wandanat angst #wandanat x female reader #wandanat x reader #wandanat x reader blurb #wandanat x you #wandanat x y/n #wandanat oneshot #wandanat pov

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cosmicstarlatte · 1 year

Text

Avatar of Guilt (Obey Me!)

━━━━━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━━━━━

It's no secret that Lucifer felt guilt after the fall.

Seeing his brothers deal with their newly acquired sins, well, it was intense and unsettling.

»Tags:⚠️❗Mentioned Dubcon (Asmo), Depression, Heavy Dark Angst, Hurt, One Shot (640 word count)

»Note: Again, proceed with caution!

Lucifer wasn't sure he had much of a soul anymore, but it felt like whatever was left kept tearing away every time his brothers begged him for help.

Mammon, having a meltdown every other day, begging Lucifer to make it stop. He couldn't control his greed. He was taking, taking and taking. Even from his own brothers. Lucifer knew he felt guilty that he wanted so much. "Lucifer how can I obtain everything? I want everything. I need it. I can't even sleep. It's like...a hole inside me..." Lucifer could only hold him as he sobbed, eventually giving Mammon his card that would rack up years of debt.

He worried about Levi. He's never seen the brother so...low. He use to be so much more full of life and now he was just an empty shell. He would try to visit him in his room but would get kicked out promptly. Lucifer only knew he was breathing and kicking through the muffled ramblings that came from his room. "Why him first!? It should've been me!" "All of this was a mistake!" "No...no! NO! Get out of my head! Lucifer is great and I'm just...disgusting...no one would ever follow me..."

Satan...who even was he? He somehow had to deal with a new body who lashed out at everyone and every little thing. Could he trust him or would he hurt the others? Lucifer knew that he was a part of him. In some way, he knew he was like a son. He was responsible, he couldn't just let him loose in their new home realm. The Devildom was all they had.

Asmo...poor Asmo. Yes he remembered that uncontrollable lust in the beginning. An angel once so pure, resorted to filthy actions. It angered him and he could only listen as Asmo sobbed and begged for him to help. A way that he would never. "Lucifer...I feel so filthy...this isn't me...why? Why can't I stop? I want to and I don't want to..."

Lucifer could only turn the other way every time Asmo brought someone home. He could only pretend to not hear his sobs after.

Beel was difficult too. His brother sobbed to him from the kitchen floor. "Why isn't it enough? Why isn't it ever enough Lucifer? I'm so hungry it's painful." If it weren't for having to look after the others, Lucifer might have offered himself to satiate him, even if it only meant for a few minutes.

Belphie was the worst. He was corpse-like. Lucifer freaked out and had to check on him multiple times for weeks. Trying to get him up was agony when he looked so very dead. Every time he tried, he was afraid Belphie wouldn't wake up. Whether it was his overworking sin or depression, he couldn't tell. Maybe both? All he knew is he couldn't bear to lose another one. He did his best to be there for him. "Lucifer...it should've been me," Belphie whispered before falling unconscious once more, laying his head on his older brother. He felt so cold.

And then there was himself. Even seeing his brothers in pain...he couldn't ask Diavolo again for help. He just couldn't. It should've been easy but he refused.

He only made that step when, for the briefest moment, his brothers' angel forms seemed to flash before his eyes only to go back to see them in their miserable chaos once again.

He had to remember that they followed him and he owed it to them. He finally went ahead and swallowed his pride. He begrudgingly requested help yet again. Diavolo and Barbatos helped them manage their new feelings and guided them. That was centuries ago.

All was better now.

But sometimes, every once in a while, he catches their angelic reflection. They always look disappointingly at him.

The guilt might never go away.

⬦You might also like: Always (Lucifer)

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me nightbringer #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me angst #obey me oneshot #obey me drabble #obey me headcanons #crossposted on ao3 #obey me fic #obey me nb #◇˖・ﾟ— › cosmic obey me . ⊹

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melpomene-writes · 8 months

Text

sleeper

minatozaki sana x gn! reader // angst (slight mention of blood)

your nails are bright pink, short-clipped, glinting in the dim light as you draw a line over sana’s bare stomach.

“what are you thinking about?” you ask.

“you,” sana says. her eyes are on your hands as they drift, slow and almost lazy, sketching swirls across her summer-darkened skin. around you both, the room is quiet except for cicadas screaming outside, the humming of the old lamp above your heads. it’s just the two of you — backlit, you’re sitting on sana’s hips and falling into her headfirst. sana’s eyelashes flutter. “always.”

you smile faintly, drag a finger down her side, from rib to hip.

“and you?”

“you,” you agree, almost sadly. “always.”

///

unfortunately, this is a dream.

///

one of the dreams you like, of course.

real life, not so much. real life is not so forgiving. real life goes like this: you wake up every day from dreams like these, and you are so in love with sana it hurts, and you are never going to say a god damn thing about it.

there’s also starting to be something knotted and heavy in your chest. a hopeless, uncomfortable ache. like the one they always describe in depression pamphlets.

it’s fine, you think. you are still, mostly, able to smile. so, you ignore it.

///

in ninth grade, your whole life starts to look like this blurry, vaguely sana-shaped shell.

“what did you dream about last night?”

you look up, startled.

“you look exhausted,” sana adds, pouting in sympathy. she’s stretched out across your couch, one foot hanging off the side and swinging absently, eyebrows raised in concern. it takes you a long time to bring her face into focus. “you had a bad dream?”

“yeah,” you say, meaning no, “it was pretty bad,” meaning god, i wish real life was more like that, meaning: you loved me back, and god damn, sana, everything was just perfect. “lots of spiders.” meaning so many people came to our wedding. “i couldn’t leave.” meaning: everyone saw it coming.

“oh.” sana sits up. concern is in her eyes, and she laces your fingers together slowly, deliberately, full of the kind of love you don’t need. in the afternoon light she seems vaguely made up. “i’m sorry.”

you look down at your hands.

“it’s fine,” you say, smiling faintly, swallowing. meaning it’s just not.

///

on a monday night, you get upgraded to nightmares.

there’s a dog across the patio. you’re in greece, probably, in a vacation house. it looks like a building from santorini: huge and white, all curved, and you and the dog are on the roof, sort of — a square space, brick-floored, ten yards above the ground. a breeze murmurs across the property, just barely. the sky is bright blue and cloudless where you can see it through the branches of an overgrown spruce tree on the right; there’s an s-shaped pool in the yard below, rippling slightly, surrounded by perfectly manicured grass and a fence of palm trees. you realize you’re sitting on a lawn chair, near the edge of the patio, and that you’re dripping something thin and golden off every inch of your skin, something that puddles around your bare feet and in the cracks of the floor, glimmering slightly when the sun hits it.

the dog tilts its head. it’s brindled, pretty big, with dark brown eyes and slobbery jowls like a st. bernard. much sleeker than that, but still well-muscled. sinew piled up like a mountain scape under its dark skin. the house is deathly quiet. you get the very distinct feeling that this whole town is empty.

the wind ceases.

the dog growls, tongue lolling out of its mouth in a pant, and you can smell its breath from across the patio.

“just kill me already,” you say, annoyed, “and i can wake up. okay?”

it regards you for a second, as if considering. saliva drips down around its feet from its open mouth.

then it turns and disappears around a corner.

you spring up after it. you go flying down a set of open-air stairs to the glimmering pool and the dead grass, the steps flanked by poinsettias, the sun so bright you have to wave it out of your face like a bug. the dog’s claws make a clicking sound even in the dirt. you follow it around the edge of the pool, wondering how it leaves footprints in such dry soil, and it finally draws to a pause after the two of you make a full loop. when you look up, sana and taehyung are standing in front of you.

“what are you doing here?” sana blinks at you, silent. her hair is curled down to her waist and dripping wet, her eyes dark even in the sunlight, her face completely blank. momo is wearing the same indeterminable expression.

the dog is circling around their feet, placid.

“hello?”

sana turns to look at taehyung, lightning fast, and whispers something in her ear. taehyung does nothing, but the dog reacts instantly, its gaze sharpening, ears perking, eyes zeroing in on you. it pauses at sana’s feet, calculating. then moves forward.

“what are you doing?”

the dog snarls.

“what did you say to it?” you back up, and it follows, slow and steady. ripping up the grass with its claws. vibrating all over.

“sana—” the growling crescendos to a bark, and fear strikes your heart — your feet catch on the edge of the pool, and you stumble, feeling the water splash up over your ankle, you’re hauntingly aware of sana’s eyes watching your every move. “sana, i—”

“sorry,” the dog says, in a human voice — in sana’s voice, almost. and it pauses for half a second, giving you time to cry out, before it leaps forward with an impossible strength, apologizing again in sana’s voice, and pushes you into the water, claws snagged in your shirt, its whole body thrashing with a snarl that pulls all the breath out of your lungs, and you wake up and you’re never a dog person again.

///

“y/n, are you okay?”

“yeah,” you answer, absent. “i haven’t been sleeping well.”

you woke up this morning with circles so dark they looked like black holes. your excuse is an understatement.

“you’re not yourself.” sana’s lips are set in a frown. “what’s wrong?”

“i’m tired.”

“besides that.”

“nothing.”

“don’t lie to me, y/n.”

“you wouldn’t understand.”

“try me.”

that long pause, fragile, tenuous.

“i’m so tired,” you say, softly. tears brim in your eyes. “sana, i’m exhausted.”

sana’s features fall into place — concern, sympathy, sadness. she holds out both arms. “come here.”

her offer hurts more than it helps, but you take it.

///

you fall into your dream, the one with the dog again. right next to you this time. staring out at the pool as you face the other way.

“hey, you,” you say. it doesn’t move. under its black-and-brown fur you can see its lungs inhaling, exhaling, slowly, its expression calm and body perfectly still. you lean over and rest your forehead on its shoulder. the sun beating down on the back of your neck, its fur smelling warm and strangely real.

“we’re done being enemies now, huh? i don’t really know what you tried to teach me last time.”

the dog does nothing. you sigh.

“i am so ready to die,” you say. the words sharp in your chest. “and you’re not going to help me out, are you?”

it starts to pant, looking down at the pool. you squint: at the bottom of the six-foot end is a vaguely human-shaped hole, dark and glimmering, cut out to your size.

the dog looks at it, at you. then says in sana’s voice, “you dug it yourself.”

oh.

you are exhausted to the bone.

“i get it,” you say, climbing to your feet. the sun is still shining, and the grave is pulling you in like a magnet. “i don’t need your help anyway.”

///

“depression,” the doctor announces, scribbling something on her clipboard. “could be seasonal affective. but manic, more likely.”

you snap to attention.

“it’s winter?” she asks, surprised.

sana looks like she’s about to cry.

“is she grieving?”

“no,” sana says. her face is bright with anger, body stiff, hands curled into fists at her side. “i don’t think so. she won’t tell me.”

“it’s a possibility. i’ll give you the number of a few therapists, see what they can do, if they think medication, is a good idea.”

“thank you,” your mother says. you try to look at her, but your vision is swimming. you reach out, to grab sana’s hand — and for this one brief second, your heart starts to work again. but then sana’s phone lights up with taehyung’s number, vibrating, a heart next to her name, and you drop it, and the whole thing starts all fucking over again.

///

you’re flat on your back. the dog is sitting on your chest, heavier than it looks, paws resting against your neck. looking down at you, as impenetrable as ever.

“i hate you,” you say, feeling strangely peaceful. the dog blinks. above you, its head eclipses part of the sun, outlined in pouring gold, backlit. you stroke a hand down its chest. the fur is soft, and its breathing measured. blood is oozing, slowly, slowly, out of the puncture wounds in your chest. claw marks. but accidental.

“i know i’m stupid,” you continue. “but you’re not making it any easier.”

you tilt your head backward, off the edge of the patio. birds chirping. the hole in the pool, tantalizingly empty.

///

“i keep having these dreams about you.”

sana stares at you, stunned. she’s been over for hours, and these are the first words you’ve said: hoarse, calm, detached.

“you’re a dog,” you continue. “brindle. i’ve had it three times and it gets closer every time it happens. it talks in your voice. it killed me the first time. and after that i just kept killing myself. don’t worry,” you add, seeing the stricken look on sana’s face.

“i love you,” sana says softly.

“sana, i am so far gone,” you say, your voice breaking, and sana’s hands are shaking when she leans over and pulls you into a hug so tight and so urgent it hurts. her whole body is radiating a feverish warmth, and you suffocate in her hair as sana sobs into your shoulder, saying “i love you, saying “me too”, saying — when she pulls away, jaw set and face flushed, “we can come together.”

you swallow: “i don’t know if i can,” you respond, helpless, and sana just says, “do it for me.”

so of course, you do.

///

it takes so long. god, it takes so long.

but you do it.

for sana. with sana. six months later, a song comes on in your car that you used to love, and you start to sing along like you haven’t in forever, and it’s just such a moment that sana bursts out laughing, practically exploding with happiness, so hard that the two of you have to pull the truck over. it’s always hard. it always will be. but something is working again that didn’t used to.

at least, it does for a while.

on a friday in eleventh grade, sana gets drunk and kisses you, and for a moment, you feel the flight of hope in your chest — but sana leans back, laughs it off, and says she got a head start on the phase that’s supposed to happen in college.

and that’s all she says.

and oh, man. that fucking burns.

you leave. instantly. sana is crossfaded and whines as you crawl out the window, but you pay no attention. you leave and leave and leave. it feels like something coming out of a crawlspace coming out of a crawlspace, coming out of you, blowing out the door. your vision is swimming with so many tears you trip three times on the way home. sana calls you and calls you and you don’t pick up.

fucking unbelievable. your apartment is empty. it’s ninth grade all over again. it hurts worse this time, you think, slamming the door shut behind you, because it was so much closer.

sana said “i love you” the way out. high as shit but really meaning it. you could see it in her eyes.

so maybe tomorrow will be better. maybe. if you get one.

///

three sleeping pills but it’s only dusk. even though it was 1 am when you came home. somehow, this dream is clearer than all the others, even though the medicine that’s supposed to blunt your nightmares.

the greek house, sunset, colder than last time, all the white walls cut with dark shadows and fading yellow light. the wind existing, but barely. your hair is wet and starchy when you run a hand through it, and everything is the same as it was two years ago, the drying grass, the pool, the brick floors. the same shivering sequoia on the right. no dog.

you get up and pad down the stairs, barefoot, the poinsettias still in bloom. in the yard, there’s still no dog. the whole world is silent. there are no other houses, you realize, outside your vine-draped fence.

unperturbed, you open the sliding door for the first time. inside is a long dining table, couches lined with swirls of patterned blankets, a tv that won’t turn on. the floorboards creak no matter where you step. you continue through an empty kitchen and three doors to the hallway, where there’s a spiral staircase and a glass-walled garden. there are bedrooms and bathrooms on the right, too many to count, but you’re not really interested.

instead, you open the front door. outside: a dirty driveway, a swatch of grass, the chain-link fence. it’s getting colder by the second.

the dog is waiting for you. sitting still. its mouth closed for once. eyes glinting.

you step toward it, run your fingers along the top of its head, but it darts away toward the opening on the driveway, and you follow.

on the other side of the fence: sana and taehyung, hand in hand.

there is no gate.

you look at the dog, and something in your chest snaps into place.

“i fucking knew it,” you say.

it shrugs. sana looks over at her, confused, concerned, then at taehyung, who has the same perplexed expression. you drop to your knees and stare the dog right in the face, an uncontrollable anger vibrating in your fingertips.

“i knew it,” you repeat, giggling hysterically, and then the dog tilts its head and apologizes, in that strange, sad voice that you only now realize is your own, before it lunges, and you let it.

///

afterwards, there is no waking up.

#kpop x reader #kpop imagines #twice x reader #twice imagines #twice sana x reader #twice sana imagines #minatozaki sana x reader #minatozaki sana imagines #sana x reader #sana imagines #girl group imagines #gxg imagines #kpop #twice #twice sana #minatozaki sana #sana #girl group #gxg

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valiantstarlights · 8 months

Note

Your showXcomic swap AU is so deliciously unhinged and sweetly dark

Now I have the saddest imagining that Comic Dream lost his Hob because he chose Death a few years after 1989, unable to live in a world where his Stranger "forgot" about him. The Stranger he loved for close to 600 years.

But I do hope that Comic Dream finds a Hob to love and cuddle and stockholm syndrome into loving him.

Thank you! 🥰 I worked hard on the sweetly dark part, in the hopes that it would make the fic less unhinged. 😊 *glances at Dream* I think I failed, but that's okay! 😂

(putting everything else under the cut because fic spoilers 👀 CW: comic spoilers, dark!Dream, depression, dubious consent)

In this AU's multiverse, what you're imagining is definitely possible. 😔 There are Hobs who chose to take Death's hand after Dream didn't show up in 1989, Hobs who did it during one of the World Wars out of overwhelming grief, heartbroken Hobs in 1889, etc.

In The Truth Can't Hurt You, It's Just Like the Dark, I imagined that Dream lost his Hob in 1689, and his realm has been deteriorating ever since. And the state of the Dreaming is so bad that, after Dream escapes from his fishbowl, there is absolutely nothing left in the Dreaming except for ruins.

"But where are all the dreams and nightmares who have escaped to the Waking World?" you may ask.

As this is a dark AU, I'm gonna say that Dream ate them. 👀

He escapes and devours the first dreams and nightmares he finds in the Waking World without conscious thought. Just full on starving man at a feast mode. Because while he is Endless, he has also been starving for centuries, and the fishbowl made him feral enough to not care about anything except getting sustenance.

His arcanas give him more of a fight, though they do so with reluctance. Dream looks so gaunt, and they remember being lovingly crafted by him once upon a time. Surely they could help him, just a little, without losing themselves in the process?

But no. This Dream is too empty, too hungry, and has lost too much to hear their cries of mercy, and their pleas of no more, my lord, please, I still want to live!

I think Dream intentionally finds Corinthian last, and I think he relished each and every bite of him.

Does Desire go through with their dream vortex plan, knowing that their brother is already a shell of his former, haughty self? Probably not.

And anyway, I don't think Dream would talk to his siblings after 1689 at all. But especially not to Death. Even during their family dinners, and even with Destruction trying to get him to talk, Delirium trying to cheer him up, and Death apologizing endlessly because it was Hob's choice--

He doesn't say anything, doesn't eat anything, and just stares at the tablecloth until it's time to leave.

Desire senses no desire from him. Despair feels all his despair, but even that is too much for her. She chokes when she tries to bait him, while Desire feels like their lungs are collapsing because it's hard to breathe around him. It only takes one or two family dinners for the twins to ignore him completely. They both sit as far away as they can from him. They do not want to even look at him. (They still plot to get him captured though, but in this universe, it's because they hope that he becomes so weak that he would be forced to end his being Morpheus and become a new Dream of the Endless.)

On the bright(?) side, yes, this Dream will absolutely find a show!Hob who would love him and all his red flags. 👀 I think the Hob he'll find is very compassionate, and would see the state of him and his realm, and immediately be like, 'This Dream needs me, unlike my Dream whose funeral I just went to. 🥺 I cannot possibly abandon him.'

This Dream needs an entire realm's worth of new dreams and nightmares? Hob can help with that! Just tell him how, and he'll get to work. 😊

Rejuvenated by Hob's presence, Dream recovers his ability to create new dreams and nightmares from dreamsand. But Hob looks so eager to help, and Dream can't possibly let him down and say he can make new dreams and nightmares on his own.

So he tells Hob that they absolutely have to fuck, and Hob has to get pregnant and give birth to all of Dream's children. Because that's how dreams and nightmares are made.

Hob is intimidated because he has never even thought about being pregnant before. But if it's with Dream... 🥺👉👈

And a Dream who has been so kind to him ever since he arrived, never leaving his side and telling him that he loves no one else but him? A Dream who literally ripped the fabric of reality apart for him?

"Of course I'll help," Hob says shyly. "It might be a frightening experience, but as long as you're with me, I'm not going to be afraid. 🥰"

(Cue Dream immediately teleporting them both to the comfiest spot in the currently work-in-progress Dreaming and fucking Hob until his seed takes, because why does Hob know exactly how to make Dream insane about him? 🔥 Is that a skill that all show!Hobs have or something?)

And then of course Hob discovers that he absolutely loves being pregnant, because Dream dotes on him even more. So even when Dream confesses that he lied about the process of making dreams and nightmares, Hob just laughs and kisses him, and tells him to abandon his old way of creating on the beach, because Hob definitely prefers this method.

Needless to say, Dream is absolutely head-over-heels in love with his new Hob. He makes his castle--and basically the entire Dreaming, to Hob's liking. Hob would like to have more bright courtyards filled with flowering trees and picnic spots? Done. Hob would like for all their children to be able to have their own homes (so he and Dream can fuck wherever they want in the castle without getting interrupted)? A stellar idea. Dream helps Lucienne 2.0 build her house that's full of books, Gilbert 2.0 with his botanical gardens, and even Corinthian 2.0 with his sarlacc pit.

As a result, the new Dreaming is a cheerier and brighter place. The new dreams and nightmares love their parents very much, and they do not find it strange that both Dream and Hob always smell like sex, with their moddy always happily pregnant, and their father always smug and possessive.

Dream learns to delegate most of his tasks to his many children, so he and Hob could work on making more dreams and nightmares to repopulate the entire Dreaming. It's Hob's idea that he delegates so they can fuck more, and Dream thinks that his lovely husband has all the best ideas and can do no wrong.

And in this universe, all the new dreams and nightmares agree. Having Hob in the new Dreaming is a blessing. Absolutely the best thing that has ever happened ever. And the entire realm will go to war with anyone who would try to take him away from them.

#showXcomic swap AU #ask and you shall receive #dreamling #the sandman #my writing #(side-eyes myself)#girl this is a dark AU stop making them happy

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theshyspy · 2 years

Text

chiquitita - h.s

summary: your best friend figures out you’re not doing to well and and does something sweet to cheer you up. Friends to lovers???? I’m not sure but that’s what I picture lol

warning: not directly, but mentions depression and a teeny panic attack. Also, tumblr deletes random paragraphs and I don’t even know which anymore so if something feels like it’s missing,,,, its probably that

a/n: I wrote this when I was feeling kinda low and didn’t know who to turn to. It comforted me, and maybe it can comfort you a little too. If you need someone to talk to, please don’t hesitate to reach out and we’ll be there for each other💕,

(please reblog and interact with this fic and me if you enjoy it, i can't express how much it means and helps me keep writing and making fics!!!!)

Check out my masterlist!✨

You were tired.

At least that was the answer slipping off you tongue whenever you were asked. The longer version consisted of loneliness and all-consuming dread crippling through you. Like a shadow, it creeped after you everywhere, refusing to leave your side.

Unable to grasp how much longer you could keep going, a part of you longed for someone to pick up on the subtle signs that something was off. To see through the rehearsed smile plastered on your face as your cheeks tinted with red and soft mascara stains rested underneath your exhausted eyes.

But it left you feeling smaller, so insignificant as no one uttered a slight concern.

Shutting the door behind you, a sigh fled your lips as your frame moved further into the hallway. I need to clean, you muttered, glancing at the pile of shoes scattred in front of the entryway.

you couldn’t help how pathetic you felt as your heart sank in your chest. Frustrated over your inability to let the flat look decent, you scoffed mockingly as your head flung backwards. The last time you made your bed was nothing but a faint memory, and you despised what you were turning into. A lazy, unmotivated shell of yourself fighting breakdowns like it was the only thing you knew how to do.

With a heavy heart and a knot tied in your stomach, you moved through the dirty living-room and threw yourself down on the couch. Turning your gaze away from the coffee-table in front of you, you let out a shaky breath. Take-out boxes were scattered around, used mugs decorating the few empty spaces around them. you couldn’t bear to look at it, the mess eating at the itty bits of self-respect left in you.

The silence echoing through the apartment rang in your ears, forcing you to turn around in search for the TV remote. Finding it, you let the first program playing on the screen be the night's background noise.

Sucking in a shaky breath, your cold palms pressed against your burning eyelids. Nerves were creeping up your spine, worsening the throbbing in your chest and the sickening feeling resting in your stomach. you bit the inside of your cheek, anything to keep the trembling of your lips in check.

You dug your fingertips into your skull, letting out a harsh whimper as the impact stung. Only to continue.

Every muscle in your jaw was clenched, brows furrowed as you tried to soothe the burning sensation crawling up your throat.

It was ridiculous really. you could so easily move into the kitchen and get the trash-can, throw away the litter covering the flat surfaces and one of the problems would be gone. It demanded ten minutes at most.

But you didn’t.

You just rolled over in agony, trying to calm the heaving of your chest and ease the lump burning in your throat.

It was spiralling, and you knew that if your focus weren’t changed soon, you’d end up bawling and heaving on the floor.

Turning around again, you pressed your hot cheek into the throw-pillow underneath you and forced your eyes to the cartoon playing on the tv.

There wasn't a clue in your mind as to how long you laid like that as the empty feeling returned to your chest. No matter how much you disliked that feeling, you hated the other one more.

Pushing yourself to an upright position, you let your weight rest on one arm as you gazed out the window. The sun that casted light over your furniture had set, replaced with the soft glow of moonlight.

Your eyes widened in surprise as a soft knock echoed through the apartment. But instead of getting up and opening, you sat quietly plastered in the same spot and let your leg bounce hastily.

Hating the idea of anyone seeing the state you was in, you ignored the second, harder knock and took a deep breath.

“Sweetie, I know you’re home,” the voice, recognised as Harry, said. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

A small knot tied in your stomach as you pressed your palms against the hood of your eyes.

Recently, every plan you’d made was cancelled. Your excuses short and consisting of promises that you’d do it later– which you never did. Of course it had nothing to do with him. He was your safe place, magically easing your mind whenever around.

You just couldn’t bring yourself to do anything. The whole “dealing with mental-illness” situation was rather embarrassing, you thought. Everyone else had their shit together, and there was nothing more humiliating than seeing your peers reach the goals you sat for yourself as every step you took led you the wrong direction.

You were well aware he’d see right through the fake smiles plastered on your face, and you just couldn't deal with it. Not right now.

“Please.” His tone was gentle, almost coating the concern laced through the words of the soft plea.

The rawness in his voice was easy to detect, even through the door and you couldn’t help how it tugged at your heart.

“… I even brought those cinnamon rolls you like so much,” he tempted.

Conscience eating at you, you forced yourself up from the seat. The overwhelming mixture of feelings running wild inside your chest introduced itself as a heavy lump in your throat.

“I’m sorry, H. I’m just not well right now,” you voiced carefully, hoping the white lie would convince him to come back later.

“I can deal with a little flu.”

You were almost surprised over how bad your walls and door were at blocking out noise.

“No, I think I might have covid or something.” For credibility you let out a few coughs, praying it would be enough for him to buy it.

The silence swept over you again, and for a second your heart sank. As much as you wanted to be by yourself and deal with the mess of your home alone, you really didn’t want to be left alone. And the simple thought of him believing your lie and leaving (with the cinnamon-rolls, if you might add), wasn’t as soothing as you presumed.

“You know I love you, but that was the worst fake-cough I’ve ever heard.”

You couldn't stop the laugh slipping off your lips. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

He turned quiet again, as if just listening to your laugh before he spoke again. “I’m not gonna stay long if you don’t want me to, I promise, I just need to see you.”

Biting your lip, you let out a shaky breath and placed your hand on the handle. Unlocking, you pushed the crack open enough for your head to stick out.

The soft glow above him casted shadows down his frame, but you could still tell how he relaxed under your gaze. His muscles unflexing as he quirked his lips upwards in relife.

“Honestly, did you open for me or the cinnamon rolls?”

Chortling, you rolled your eyes and answered. “How could you even ask that? The cinnamon rolls, obviously.”

“Of course, stupid question.”

He couldn’t help but notice how tired you looked as he drank in your appearance. Dark bags resting under your eyes, hair greasy and nails bitten down. It was a stark contrast to his rested, sun kissed frame.

Getting self-conscious under the weight of his eyes, you bit your lip and played with the hem of your top.

“I’d invite you in, but everything's a mess.” you said, a tight smile resting on your lips as the lump in your throat grew.

There was no one in the world you was more comfortable around than him, but having even him seeing space was nothing but humiliating. You were supposed to be able to throw away used napkins and put your plates in the dishwayour. To fold your dry laundry within a week of it being done.

But you wasn’t, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it and it only made you feel worse.

“I’ll help you clean.”

Glancing back up at him, he smiled sympathetically as his free hand brushed away the loose strands on his forehead.

“I can’t let you do that.”

“Yes you can,” he argued, folding his arms and letting them rest over his chest.

“I’m not gonna let you keep shutting me out.” His voice was so gentle, silky in your ears as you felt it tug at your heart.

Looking away, you bit the insides of your cheek in a desperate attempt to ease the stinging behind your eyes. You couldn’t grasp how badly you’d craved the softness of his words until he spoke them. It was nothing like how your own words had sounded recently.

“Okay?”

Nodding, you glanced up at him through glossy eyes.

In no time, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you. One hand gently pressing your head against his chest, his chin resting on top of your hair as the other hand stroked your back.

You screwed your eyes shut, the loving touch forcing out a strangled sob. The soft fabric of his shirt rubbed against your skin, and the hot tears streaming down your cheeks damped it.

“It’s okay, you’ll be okay.”

His words were careful, yet fell off his lips so effortlessly. Sounding like a promise he was determined to keep no matter what.

Softly, he pressed his lips against the top of your head as he let his hand stroke your hair. The simple motion was soothing, calming your hyper breathing.

“Let’s get you inside, eh?”

“Mhm,” you muttered reluctantly. Still not fond of the idea, but rather having that than her neighbours watch your breakdown.

Gently pushing yourself out of his hold, you lifted a shaky hand and dried the tears on your cheeks.

You were the first to move inside to the small hallway. Standing hesitantly, and watching as he took off his shoes and hung his coat.

The hall looked okay. What didn’t look okay however, was the rest of the space.

You could feel how your hands started shaking, slight movement that was barely noticeable as the nerves crawled up your throat again. Your stomach turned and you almost got nauseous just by predicting his reaction.

You followed reluctantly as he led the way. You didn’t know which was worse, not being able to see his reaction or actually seeing it. Either way, his broad shoulders tensed as he let the sight of your living room sink in.

Embarrassment bubbled over, and it was an automatic response as apologies and self-deprecating comments spewed out of you.

He turned around, a gentle expression painted across his features as he interrupted you. “I know how much you feel like you need to apologise for this, but I promise you you don’t. No matter how much you want to, I’m never gonna let you apologise for not being okay.”

You looked away and crossed your arms over your chest, feeling small under his gaze.

He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around your shoulders once again. His scent familiar and calming as you breathed him in, resting against him.

“It's nothing to be embarrassed or ashamed about, okay?”

You simply nodded against him as he kissed the side of your head.

“I could fall asleep like this,” you muttered quietly against him, feeling more relaxed than you had in awhile. The motion of his fingers tracing circles on your shoulder blades, slowing your breath.

He squeezed you harder before speaking jokingly. “Oh, really?”

“Mhm.”

“Why don’t you go to your room then, you look like you could use the rest.”

“Gee, thanks Harry you sure know how to make someone feel special.”

He vibrated against you as his chuckle played through your ears. Letting the sound register, you started realising how much you’d missed the sound of his voice.

“But I am serious though, have you gotten enough sleep?”

“Perhaps not the ideal amount, but I’m fine and manage.”

“Right, that’s a no then.”

In a swift motion, you were thrown over his shoulder as he made the way over to your bedroom. The squirming to get out of his hold, having no effect on him.

Laughter was playing through the flat as he threw you down on the unmade bed. Your expression mirrored as he looked down at you with a smile resting on his lips.

“Will you at least keep me company till I fall asleep?”

“Thought you would never ask,” he said, throwing himself down at the empty space next to you.

Your back clung to his torso as his fingers ran across the bare skin on your arms. Goosebumps travelled up your spine, a natural reaction to his warm breath fanning the back of your neck.

You didn’t know how long it took, but as soft humming played through your ears you drifted to a long needed, peaceful sleep.

- - - -

“Nice of you to join me.” He greeted, a grin on his lips as he watched your wide-eyed reaction.

“You did all of this?” Your voice faltered as you gestured aimlessly at the room, letting your surroundings sink in. The floor was spotless underneath him and the table previously littered with take-out boxes, was only filled with the simple decorations you’d placed there.

“I don’t know what to say.”

From what you could see of the kitchen behind him, the countertops were shining and the dishwayour let out steam from a fresh wash.

“It’s too much, Harry.” you lifted your hand and held it in front of your agape mouth.

“Too much? It feels like too little-” he shook his head, “-you’ve been going through so much and I haven’t even been there for you.”

You stepped forward, arms wrapped around his torso as you looked up at him. His eyes wouldn’t meet yours, and you couldn’t help how your conscience weighed in your chest.

“Please don’t say that.” The desperation in your voice was clear as you hated the way your actions had affected him. “I was the one who shut you out.”

“I just feel like I should’ve tried harder.”

“But you’re here now and you’ve done so much-” you glanced out in the room again. “-I don’t even know how to thank you.”

You lifted your face, looking back up at him.

“I’m never gonna let you shut me out again.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He pulled you closer, a warm smile on his lips. The content sensation in your chest telling you he’d keep that promise.

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mochees · 13 hours

Text

— two tortured souls

dazai osamu x chuuya nakahara | wc: 3k | crossposted to ao3

TAGS: drabble, angst, depression, post-corruption ability use, soft/comfort, generally low mental health mentions, chuuya has a BATH, use of petnames for teasing.

A/N: hihi!!! long time no write!!! remember when i dropped the most depraved, disgusting, self indulgent eremin fic ever and then dropped off the face of the earth with empty promises? me neither, moving on! anyway. been wanting to get back into writing lately but yknow..... the undergrad life........ but i find myself with too much time now that the semester is over so have a drabble thing i wrote a year ago and then just never posted lmfao. it was supposed to be longer but i just couldn't get the ending right so i left it kind of open i guess? anyway skk is real to me

Willingly sacrificing your autonomy is so much more than physically exhausting. Corruption leaves Chuuya feeling truly empty and insignificant. It makes him feel as though he really is just a vessel for something else. An empty, fleshy shell that doesn’t even belong to him. Unlike the physical exhaustion, however, the feeling lingers. It hangs around like a morning fog, obscuring everything as far as he can see. It’s disorienting and restrictive. Most of all, it’s loud. The voices that dwell in the fog are so loud, much louder than anything Chuuya has ever heard, and they echo. They echo, bouncing off of each other and amplifying every emotion, every word, every moment of despair.

Chuuya can’t remember how many days have passed since he used corruption. At least two, maybe even three. The fog is so thick that days eventually just blur together, and time turns into molasses. Resigning himself to a night or two in darkness, he tucks his knees against his chest and covers his ears with his arms, attempting to block out as much of the noise as possible.

But you can’t silence your own guilt.

It was pitch black in the house by the time Dazai arrived, which was unusual, but he figured that Chuuya was either tucked in and fast asleep already or strewn across some surface with a movie.

“Chuuya ~,” he sang. “I’m back ~!” Concern grew on Dazai’s face when the routine groan of usually completely false annoyance didn’t sound. He counted all the hats in the closet as he tucked his own clothing away and muttered to no one in particular, “he’s definitely here…”

The detective took a few steps before he sounded again, “Chuuya? Where are you?” The absence of an answer worried him further. No matter how tired, angry, or drunk Chuuya was, he always made a point of greeting his partner as unenthusiastically as he could.

Dazai made his way through the house, checking a few rooms before he found Chuuya. Scrunched up in the far corner of the bedroom, his faint form was desperately trying to be swallowed by darkness. Even for someone who consistently allowed themselves to actually be swallowed by the darkness, seeing Chuuya in such distress and anguish was deeply unsettling for Dazai. Chuuya always surrounded himself with people, and for him to look so alone–

Dazai shook off his thoughts and made his way over to the man, crouching low a few feet away.

“…uuya? Chuuya?” When he didn’t respond, Dazai raised his volume a fraction.

“Are you alright?” Chuuya jumped a little, unaware that someone had crossed into his world of anguish.

Dazai chuckled. He couldn’t help but find it a little humourous; it’s not often he was able to get the jump on him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“Dazai?” Chuuya’s voice was hoarse and distant, and Dazai immediately steeled himself.

“Are you– what happened?”

The executive didn’t answer. He just stared—not through Dazai or at anything; he just looked ahead with no purpose. Chuuya could hear something but could not decipher the sounds for the life of him. He only realized they were words when he noticed Dazai’s mouth moving.

There was nothing about Chuuya's demeanour that told Dazai he was conscious. But he also wasn't unconscious. God knows Dazai is all too familiar with Chuuya's unconscious mind, and this wasn't it. There was no light in his eyes, but they weren't lifeless. It was as if Chuuya had trapped himself in his own body, caught between two states of being. He didn't know if Chuuya could even process what he was saying in this state, but he also didn't want to stop. Perhaps Dazai believed in a silly idea that the sound waves might reach him, that they would guide him through whatever limbo he was in.

Once he finished, Dazai rose from his place on the floor and made his way to the bedroom door. Chuuya could see him leaving, but he couldn’t hear his footsteps. All he could focus on was the voices getting louder again, and the second that Dazai was out that door they started to echo again. Unwilling to fight them, Chuuya lowered his head back down and let the pressure build in his chest and ache his muscles.

Physically, the pain was no different from a hard day's work, but emotionally, it was excruciating. Every breath was hell. Each inhale wound a cord up tightly, but breathing out did nothing to release it. All of the fibres in Chuuya's body felt like they would snap and finally grant him a moment's release, maybe even exhaust him enough to sleep, but they didn't. Instead, they grew tighter and tighter, digging into every strand until it inevitably cut him into a million little pieces.

When Dazai returned, he was greeted with a sight more devastating than before. Tension was emanating from Chuuya like heat from a grill, and he looked positively hopeless.

“Chuuya,” Dazai’s voice was uncharacteristically soft—unfitting, really—but he hoped it might help Chuuya focus. “Will you come with me?” He waited a few moments, giving the redhead extra time to process.

To Chuuya, the sounds outside his head would die before they could fully reach him. The echo was good at drowning everything out like that.

But luckily, Dazai always did have a talent for evading death.

“You don’t have to do anything, I promise. I’ll–” He hesitated. How can you promise to take care of someone else when you’ve never been able to care for yourself?

“–I’ll help you. Please, Chuuya. If you stay here, it’s not going to get any better.”

Chuuya Nakahara knows that he is right. Of anyone, Osamu Dazai would know, wouldn’t he? It takes him a little while, but with a few shaky breaths and silent tears, he lifts his head and places his hand in the one outstretched before him. This won't fix him, but he has to admit that when Dazai rubs his thumb along his skin, it releases some of the tension in his shoulders. Dazai leans forward and slowly reaches for Chuuya’s other hand, stiff from how tight he was grasping onto his other arm.

“Okay, up we go.” Wasting no time to get Chuuya out of the isolation he'd built for himself, Dazai does his best to support as much of his weight as he can while holding his hands. He doesn’t know how long Chuuya had been sitting there, but he reckons his legs have probably gone numb. As if on cue, Chuuya almost falls right back down before Dazai has a hand on his waist.

“Careful.”

Chuuya's eyes are red and puffy, and his agony has left trails down his cheeks. Chuuya has always been beautiful to Dazai, stealing heartfelt glances when the former isn't looking. But seeing him like this is, in a way, even more breathtaking to Dazai. It means that after all these years of being so sick of each other's mere existence that Chuuya, his rival, his partner, trusts Dazai enough to shatter before him completely. Bringing Chuuya's hand up to his mouth, he lets his lips linger for a few moments as they wait for Chuuya's legs to regain feeling.

Once Chuuya is stable, he lets go of the shorter man’s waist and leads him with one hand, still petting his thumb across the freezing expanse of his hand.

Chuuya doesn’t know what his partner has been doing, or maybe he does. He can’t remember right now; he doesn’t want to. Wherever Dazai is taking him, it takes no longer than twenty seconds, but he feels like a stranger in his own home, wading through the thickest pool of molasses. He can see a straight hallway ahead of him, but it seems like an endless maze of twists and turns. One foot in front of the other, he tries to tell himself, but it’s hard to tell your feet what to do when you feel like a stranger in your own body to. He can feel his face growing wetter as they arrive at their destination. However, in a brief moment of relief, he realizes that they're not tears but steam.

For the time that he had disappeared past the threshold, Dazai had run Chuuya a hot bath and made him something simple to eat. Knowing all too well what feeling this way does to one’s motivation and desire. But honestly, the last thing Chuuya wants to do right now is to bathe. It’s far too much work, and he’d rather be back in the dark in the corner or under a blanket. Even if it meant he’d be alone with his stupid fucking thoughts.

“I know it seems like a chore, but it will help, Chuuya.” Dazai’s familiarity with the muddied waters of one’s own psyche was currently vastly irritating. Chuuya knows that he’s right. He does, but even then, it’s still too much for him to handle right now.

Dazai takes Chuuya’s other hand back in his own. “Do you want me to stay?”

“I– I don’t know.” His voice sounded better to Dazai, the steam probably settling in his throat.

“It’s okay not to know, but I can’t stay here with you if you don’t know.”

Chuuya snaps his head a little at that, shooting his partner an exhausted expression. Dazai gives a slight smile at the motion and gives the others' hands, still in his own, a reassuring squeeze. Perhaps it’s a little morally wrong given the circumstances, but he thinks that he could have a little, tiny bit of fun with this.

“Would you like my help?” He asks again, and Chuuya nods his head before practically collapsing into his arms.

Oh, it is absolutely morally wrong, but he can’t help himself, so he softly teases the man. “Such a gentleman! Flirting with me before we spend the night in each other's company!”

That earns a tired groan from Chuuya who is not willing to put up with Dazai’s usual jeering, but also not unexpected of the brunette to choose the completely wrong time to make his jokes.

“I’m sorry, my darling.” He uses the pet name, knowing he’ll be able to get away with it tonight since Chuuya is too tired to fight him. He runs his fingers through red strands, waiting for Chuuya’s breathing to even out in his hold before moving his hands down to the hem of his shirt. Deft fingers slip underneath and rub small circles into the skin there.

“Is this okay?” He whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

Upon receiving a satisfied hum of approval, he lifts Chuuya’s shirt over his head and drops it onto the counter. Staying out of your head is hard when you’re alone. Knowing Chuuya has already surmised his partners' intentions of distracting him, gently, Dazai pulls him back into his chest and runs his nails down his back. Chuuya’s skin was already freezing before, so he can’t tell if his goosebumps are from chills, or from him. He hopes it’s the latter. After a few seconds, his movements shift into steady pressure trying to work out the tension that Chuuya had cultivated. When he feels Chuuya fall further into him, Dazai is pleased with his work already.

“Chuuya,” he presses harder when he finds a particularly knotty spot at the base of Chuuya’s neck. “Unless you want to get in with your pants on, you’ll have to take them off.”

This earns Dazai a particularly unimpressed look when Chuuya pushes off his chest.

“What?”

Chuuya continues to stare.

“Did you want me to do it for you?”

Well, Chuuya supposes that Dazai can’t help the fact that he is an idiot. After all, he did promise to help. He rolls his eyes and lets out a particularly rumbly sigh, and drops his pants himself, kicking them to the side.

“So forward of you~” teases Dazai.

Turning towards the tub, Chuuya grumbles. “I hate you.”

Dazai grins again. Even if he still feels worse than shit, he’s glad to see Chuuya with a little bit of his fire again. “I know you do. Here, let me help.”

Holding onto Chuuya’s forearm, Dazai helps him settle into the bath. Chuuya resumes his form from earlier in the night, but much more open. His arms are propped on top of his knees, hands hanging down, and fingers just dipping into the water. Dropping his head in between his shoulders as the heat surrounds his aching body, blue eyes fall shut. Then, he releases a deep breath he didn’t even realize he was holding in. Dazai has his arm across the edge of the tub, resting his head with eyes full of admiration. With Chuuya completely bare in front of him, he traces the flow of his body with his eyes. Stopping often to archive all the little things he loves. Soft red hair that he can't help but play with. Shoulders that he's cried on. The gentleness of his otherwise blood-soaked hands. Even the scars littered across his skin, Dazai loves. They look much better on Chuuya than on him. He reaches out and just barely grazes the sides of Chuuya’s fingers above the water.

“What are you so happy about?”

Dazai hums in response, and Chuuya blows a ripple on the water. They spend a while like this—still, just next to each other, the only sound being an occasional jittery breath.

Dazai interrupts the silence by dipping his fingers into the water and letting the droplets roll off onto Chuuya’s shoulder.

“Feeling better?”

Chuuya wiggles his fingers in the water, trying to find an answer below the surface.

“C’mere, and turn around.”

Chuuya turns his head, resting it along his arm and staring the man down.Dazai can read it in his eyes: For what.

“You’re still tense. So come here.” He presses his finger on the edge of the tub. “I didn’t get to finish getting all the knots out.”

Dazai is not as good at hiding his intentions from Chuuya as he thinks he can be. “You just want to play with my hair.”

Dazai knows this. He feigns being insulted anyway, throwing his hands into the air. “And so what if I do? Is that a crime? Is it wrong of me to want t–”

“You’re real insufferable, y’know.” Chuuya turns his back to the side of the bathtub.

Dazai smiles sweetly. He likes that so much of their relationship can be left unsaid. Sure, sometimes it probably shouldn’t be unsaid, but it’s fine. Dazai is happy. “It’s why we work so well together.”

He gets to work on dissipating the rest of the fear and anger in Chuuya’s bones, occasionally and very intentionally, getting sidetracked and twirling a lock of hair around his fingers. At the mercy of Dazai's frighteningly deft hands, a particular spot just above Chuuya's shoulder blade earns Dazai a groan—one he oh so graciously accepts. Working lithe fingers around it, Chuuya leans his head back onto Dazai as the little ball of stress is pulled apart, strand by strand.

Chuuya's neck is deliciously bared, and Dazai is an opportunistic man. He trails kisses up to just below red lashes, slow and endearing. He continues massaging throughout, placing a final one on fluttering eyes before dragging his lips back down to Chuuya’s ear.

“The water’s getting cool, my love. You should really get out soon.” Dazai is very pleased with himself when Chuuya shudders. (He is an opportunistic man, after all, and it truly is such a wonderful opportunity to be the most annoying man on the planet.) He lets his mouth fall down to Chuuya’s shoulder, resting for a moment and trying very hard to hold back the biggest, dopiest grin. Of course, Chuuya can tell. He can sense the smallest shifts in Dazai's behaviour. Although, this time he could tell by just feeling Dazai's facial muscles straining against his shoulder. But Dazai doesn't need to know that.

"...Shut up. Get me a towel." Chuuya does a very bad job of hiding the blush on his cheeks.

Dazai just smiles at his partner, he can't see, but it's a smile full of fondness. One with admiration, love, and as much as he'd rather die than admit it, respect too. Letting someone see you have a complete breakdown, watching as the industrial strength glue you've used to keep yourself from falling apart rapidly starts to degrade, and still trusting that they won't think any differently of or diminish you, takes so much courage. It takes so much trust to rely on someone, even someone you love, to help you set the pieces back together.

That's something Dazai has never been able to do. He can't let go of that vulnerability, and he cannot have it used against him. Of course, deep down, Dazai knows that Chuuya would never do that to him, but it's hard to turn off those thoughts. It's hard to think of yourself as worth loving and caring for when you have never loved or cared for yourself.

"Hey, are you okay?" The smile on Dazai's face is forlorn. Realizing that Chuuya is reading him like a book Dazai masterfully shifts his expression, changing the atmosphere around him. This is not about him, and he shouldn't be making it so.

"I'm just peachy, Chibi!” Chuuya doesn't press any further.

Dazai wraps the towel around him, pulling at the ends to bring his partner closer. Taking a second to look over Chuuya, he notes that his eyes are no longer red and puffy, and his skin has a sheen from the moisture in the air. He truly is the most breathtaking person Dazai has ever had the displeasure of meeting.

With Chuuya at his chest, he leans down and kisses the man. It's needy, in a way. Soft and tender, but full of so much want, so much need. Like if he couldn't be close to Chuuya anymore, he would simply explode. Dazai doesn't know how to express it though. How he would articulate these thoughts in a way that feels right, so he settles for something simple. Maybe it's not as meaningful, but he trusts that Chuuya understands anyway.

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #dazai x chuuya #chuuya nakahara #dazai osamu #chuuya x dazai #bsd dazai #bsd chuuya #❀.writing #❀.drabbles

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thatruerealmwalker · 1 month

Text

Crawls out of a hole in your wall

GET MAGICAL GIRL'ED MOTHER FUCKER!

"Despite it all, This Empty Shell still Remains." -Pre Acceptance Quote

"Within this Hollow Heart, Love Still Remains!" -Post Acceptance Quote

This is Claire Taker, a new OC I've made! And let me tell you- the origins of the OC is fucking weird.

This tainwreck of a Lady came about because I was reading @zoeywinterrose's smiling critter fanfic on A03 (which you can check out HERE), started letting THE VOICES speak through me, eventually pulled out the original story I have and made the Caretaker seen there into a fully realized character in my story (get it? Claire Taker?), told them so, found each other on tumblr, because friends(?), and they maybe sort of said yes when I said I was gonna draw the character and make and AU of their AU (in some order there, the progression of events may be off a bit)... I DON'T KNOW HOW I GOT TO THIS POINT.

So yeah, I'm gonna be both explaining this character, my own story, and having all that be loosely connected to Poppy Playtime (Again how did I get here?) So the tags are gonna be silly because of that.

Claire Taker is, as said before, a Magical Girl by the name of Heart Hollow (well Technically Magical Woman, she is pretty old but I prefer saying magical girl)... well the term for in my Canon is a "Blessed" or "Actor"... but those are the official terms, she and the others still use Magical Girl and Magical Boy (because that IS what they are)

And yes! There are both Magical Boys and Girls in this World!

Claire Fights with her Fists and Legs, being a close range brawler, as well as fights with her threads. She uses them in a variety of ways, from creating points to jump, pulling things to her or pulling herself to them, wrapping up targets, or even sometimes using them a whips.

Her Threads are also capable of Stitching people back together and healing them! Apparently the world thinks this means she should be one of the few to get constantly injured, needing to reattach her limbs in the middle of fights sometimes! (or it could be seen as caused by her low self worth as well). I mean look at all of those scars! And those are just the ones she couldn't fully heal for different reasons, she gets hurt alot! ("Better then letting one the kids take the hit" she would say)

Her mental health isn't the best, but it gets really bad when she is alone- Luckily, she's gained the trust of the Parents of the three kid members of Her group to look after them while their at work- as well as fostering the teens when they need somewhere private to hand out. (Her home is like one of 2 unofficial team bases)

At this point, almost everyone who isn't an adult (and two who are like 18-19) calls her Auntie- which she is still getting used too.

After finally getting into a far more okay mindset, she takes to jogging and exercise in her free time. She even helps the younger of the team practice fighting forms and working out when they train at all.

She actually owns a good few properties thanks to her parents- and after her depression weakened she put them up for rent. After a while (and learning how to duplicate cash with Starlight from the group's resident self appointed "Chaotic Gremlin") she was able to start getting a good amount of cash saved up for when the group needs a break or wants to go somewhere fun- (The cost is usually split between her and the other full Adult in the group most of the time).

She still has episodes where her is very not okay (like panic attacks or just bad thoughts)- but it never gets to the point where she feels like hurting herself at all anymore. It helps that one of the kids, the team's unofficial mascot, lets himself be her comfort animal when she has these episodes (and while he hates to admit it, he does enjoy her hugs)

That's all for now! If your interest in more of this original story, let me know!.. Though it probably won't be tagged under Smiling critters next... unless I make William apart of this then it will!

A full view of her plot is down below if your interested in that as well- Anyways thanks for reading this and maybe what lies below, and I hoped this sparked your interest/was a fun read all the same! I think I got an AU to write now!

Claire Taker's Story:

(Content Warning! This gets a bit dark!)

Claire Taker used to be a Person of Joy, living life as Happy as any other- even had Children she cherished most dearly... however one day- in a series of events, Claire loses her kids, be it an Accident or something far worse. Believing herself to be solely at fault, she shut down, remaining within her home and rarely leaving. At first those closest to them attempt to help, as it does, even if She rarely talked or interacted. Just being with others helped to keep her afloat...

But she was abandoned- left alone... and that is what sealed her fate. For a long time- years, close to Ten even, she drowned. She lost her smile, her kindness, her emotions, her Love. She tried, and try she did to get better... but she still drowned all the same.

She made many half attempts on her life- and the one time she fully went through with it- she only lived because she forgot to turn off the Safety on the Gun. This attempt was on the day, when she was so close to pulling herself back together that she was reminded of her kids- undoing all the work she did to get better at a single moment (one the prolonged her deep depression for a few more years-)

Eventually, upon one better day Claire spent shopping with a local mall for much needed supplies for her bare home, a Star fell from the Sky and landed nearby. From it formed a Matrix, and Starlight Leaked into the world. The pure, unfiltered and uncontrolled Starlight, the Blood of Creation, tainted the area in its presence, and Claire. The Building Creaked and Groaned as Starlight lashed into the populace surrounding. Many ran as the structure began to collapse around them...

And Yet Claire stepped forward, Drawn in by the Star.

Even while her body warped, as fur sprouted from her skin and monstrous claws ripped out from between her fingers. As her bones cracked and shattered before being reformed. As the demented whispers that long accompanied her gained form, breaking out from Claire's back and ripping into her flesh-

She reached the center, Where the Fallen Star has landed and with her last bit of strength before she became tainted under Starlight, reached out and touched the Glowing Star within the Epicenter-

And Starlight gathered and condensed, leaving her body, the surrounding air, and returning herself from the Monstrous form it was trying to become- And within her hands laid her Matrix, a Softly glowing heart floating between her palms.

A Stranger came to her one day, and promised her he would grant her most wanted wish "To return your children to you" in exchange for gathering as much Starlight she could.

She, like many other Actors, believed his word, and walked forward with a long lost flame in her eyes, ready to do Anything to get her children back.

Even after learning there was others like her (most of them teenagers or young adults), even after learning that many of the monsters she is fighting against and killed to gather Starlight (the Tainted or Cursed) were once people, even after she learned that should she actually get her wish- she would have to kill the other Blessed and steal their Starlight- She continued on.

It was only when the Three Children amongst the Blessed stood against her to protect their older peers then she questioned if what she was doing was worth it- if ignoring the signs that something was wrong was worth it- if her once beloved children would accept being brought back through the blood of others- if she could really kill these three if it was required of her.

It was from there, after giving up and fleeing that she changed from an antagonist to a protector akin to Tuxedo Mask for the Blessed- more so the Three kids that fought in this battle than the other Blessed.

It was here that Claire was taught how to tell if a Cursed was made from a person, animal, or object/fully made from Starlight as well as how to defeat the Tainted without killing the Person or Creature within. She learned that gathering Starlight is unneeded, and should she continue to gather Starlight like she has- she would only overwhelm her Matrix and become a Cursed herself. She learned how to truly use Starlight, how to prevent herself from Tainting someone on accident, and how to dispose of unneeded Starlight safely.

She was slowly pulled into the Group, being one of the Few Actors to listen and stop the senseless fighting between them. Even when she fell and broke, these Bright Souls dragged Claire along, taking her on their group adventures away from the Magic within their lives. Exploring the town, eating at an Café, enjoying the park. Slowly but surely, she became apart of this group, of the team who fought against the darkness that surrounded them.

The rest of the Blessed, especially the younger of them, started to call Claire 'Auntie'.

However, there was one final truth all of them avoided telling Claire, the final Lie told to Claire about the situation, even if in the depths of her heart she knew the answer herself yet feared to speak it aloud in vain hope for it not to be true.

That there was no Wish- That it was the ploy of The Man who Thought Himself God to either gather followers and resources or spark war between those who could threaten his goals and attempt to turn them into monsters- a Truth that they all knew could break Claire, steal her reason for continuing to live, to stand up tall.

They were going to, right after they handled this newest Tainted... but The Man who Thought Himself God appeared near the battles end... and with a smile, knowing Claire's history of mental health, and the reasons for it, held her by the throat while floating in the air, while Claire thrashed and fought with all of her might, while her allies called out in fear and rushed to save her, whispered in her Ear- "I lied~ There is no Wish, no reversing your most heinous Sin. Your children will never come back- for you killed them. They are gone and you killed them."

Claire SHATTERED then and there. Once again all of the work she put into getting better, doing better shattered- and as The Man who Thought Himself God threw her from high above towards the ground- Starlight, once Shining, became fully black- And the Blessed became Cursed under the weight of Despair-

Mother Gospel: The Harbinger of Mourning was born- as so her fellow Blessed fought, and after a long an almost lethal fight, where the extent of Claire's grief and broken heart was bared to the world, the ones who claimed her as their own, with all they had, ripped Claire out of her Depression made Manifest, and saved her from her fate.

Amongst the broken building, Claire laid as her Heart, once healing, was now torn apart once more as she cried tears of sorrow... and then she was hugged by the most youngest of them... then the other children joined in, all crying and making sure their Auntie was okay. The older kids of the Group joined in as well, despite two having to be dragged within. And even the young adults sat nearby and showed their love for Claire-

And that was what it was- Claire was LOVED, and she could Love in return. She was not Alone anymore, and so the dam burst within her and she cried and screamed and hugged back as sadness and joy danced within her. Her Hollow Heart had become not so Hollow anymore.

It took time, but somewhat soon Claire stood, still in mourning of her lost children, still not fully okay, but she could finally move on, she could finally live with those who saved her from that Sea that engulfed her and gave her warmth and belonging.

And so she fought, and even now fights, against those that would bring about the horrors she went through upon to others with the family formed under the Light of the Stars.

#poppy playtime #smiling critters #OC #My OC #Magical Girl #We who are Blessed under Starlight #Original work #Again the tags are weird here #I'm very happy with how this came out #And happy I get to share this as well!#Maybe William would look good- fuck I've already done it haven't I #He's an Orphan!#I have! I've already technically made apart of this already #AHHHHHHHHHHHH-

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semi-imaginary-place · 1 year

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Houseki no Kuni chapter 99 "Beginnings"

"The chapter was great. I was having some AoT flashbacks but the direction 99 went was so cathartically depressing and peacefully sad at the same time. love how Rock-kun is the perfect embodiment of tranquility and peace with life; unlike Phos, who was constantly changing and chaotic. Rock-kun and Phos' conversation over contentment and regret in existence was wonderful. A measly pebble and a literal god finding common ground with one another is poignant as fuck; topple that with the final panel of having yet another beautiful scenery in such an empty time for the story... it hit me in the feels. The remaining mystery that needs to be answered is how Kongou's creator spoke to Phos, no? I'm expecting some flashback chapter right after this." (Wakivuu_)

"Personally I think 98 fits well thematically so I wasn’t that worried, I knew Phos would eventually pray for them as they attain enlightenment (much like Bodhissatva who prays for all sentient beings to “end their sufferings and pain of life” which in this case the Lunarians). And I really love that rock! Frizzle frizzle. I love his song. Also, the fact that Phos sleeping in the black panels was in a complete parallel to chapter 1’s Morga waking them up, only this time it’s Rock, and it’s been eons that has passed enough for the star to evolve into a white dwarf. Really amazed how Ichikawa can bring so much detail every chapter, I get too overwhelmed with the insufferable agony every chapter that I tend to miss out on parallels, I think I need another reread tbh. Loved this chapter, also hoping for a flashback!" (wallnosekyla)

ch1 and ch99 parallels. In both Phos lays down for a nap in the grass, at this point in his life he is purposeless and unfulfilled, existing to pass the time. In the first chapter he is called awake by Morga into a society that does not value him for the inherent characteristics of his body. Gem society is static, gems are generally content with the way thing are, and things only start getting shaken up when Phos pushes for something different and the others follow in his wake which leads to the eventual destruction of gem society and all of humanity. In the second set of panels there is no one left to wake Phos so he sleeps until enough time has passes that the sun has become a white dwarf, long enough for rocks to gain sentience.

The first gem red diamond wanted to be more like Adamant so Adamant molded the gems in the shape of humans, made them eyes, and covered them in powder. Phos in turn tries to give the rock all the things humans had like sight and mobility. However the rock is not dissatisfied with its existence, the rock does not want to become human. This is in contrast with all of the human descendants we meet who one way or another become dissatisfied with their existences; from the Moon People who are dissatisfied with existence and wish to cease existing, to the gems who through contact with the Moon People become dissatisfied with their gem bodies and wish to become beings of pure spirit like the Moon People, to the Admirabilis who struggle to maintain their populations and sentience.

Phos has become the only true human combining spiritual (moon pearl), mineral (phosphophyllite, lapis lazuli), and flesh (fossilized shell), as well as the last creation of humans (adamant eye), and a god or artificial bodhisattva, and this simple rock is more satisfied than Phos. (there's also probably some discussion to be made that humanity's final hope, the praying machine Adamant broke and it's only after humanity's descendants made another one out of their own that the souls of humans are allows to cease but I lack the relevant PhDs to analyze that so I'll leave it to someone else)

(in Shinto, everything has a spirit)

#hnk #houseki no kuni #land of the lustrous #hnk 99 #phosphophyllite

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nyx22-blogs · 1 year

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A Broken Kind Of Love

Warnings: Abuse, therapy, swearing

Masterlist

A/N: sorry I haven't posted in a while, been working on a new fic and I've just been busy in general. Here's lots of angst with a nice Bucky to make it better. ❤️

Lifeless, depressed, numb and broken. Those were normal feelings for you now. What once used to be happy, energetic, funny and full of love was now empty.

All because of him

Everyone thought that after he left, after he broke you, you'd bounce back eventually. But you didn't. The things that happened..the things he said- the things he did. You'd never recover from the hell you'd gone through.

Abuse, whether it be physically or verbally always ends in the same way. A broken heart and a darkness slowly seeping through you. Salt on the wound, as they would say.

You were an idiot, you'd been so naive..so happy. You thought he'd love you so we'll. And he did. He listened to every word, he held every part of you, he loved every part of you-

Lies

They were all lies, he started to get angrier every day. Colder every night. The man that you thought loved you never truly did. Then he started with the words...the cold, ugly, hurtful words.

And then came the physical fights. He'd start grabbing you firmly in the middle of an argument, leaving bruises all over you. Then the times when he'd lay his hands on you.

Oh but he was so sweet afterwards

He'd cuddle you in your bed, tell you he was so sorry. He'd kiss every little bruise and mark caused by him and massage them until they went away.

Then he'd make new ones

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Then he'd forbid you from meeting up with friends or family. Everyone noticed, but they didn't dare say a word. The only person who truly tried to save you was your little sister Kate. She'd come back from London to your hometown to visit. She was the one who barged into your house one day and witnessed that monster of a man slam your head against the wall.

She was the one who threatened to kill him herself if she ever found him near you again. She was the one who held you close at night while you sobbed into the sleeves of her dresses. She was the one who saw what you became, a shell of yourself, someone who was no longer capable of feeling anything but hurt. She was the one who decided to take you to therapy, much to your dismay.

"Kate I don't want to go.."

"Oh, y/n sweetheart please? For me? It'll help you I swear! And well- if not then I promise I'll watch those godforsaken die hard movies with you." She said, her British accent rolling of the tongue as she walked you into the room.

You sighed and walked in the waiting room, as Kate spoke to the receptionist. Their conversation ended quickly and she came back to you.

"Right then uhm- I'll come pick you up after your session! Apparently missus grump over there has an issue with family accompanying newcomers. Something about adjusting on your own. But if anything happens I'll come right away! Ok? So don't hesitate if you need anything or if your hungry or if-"

"Kate. It's fine you can go. Thanks." You said, trying to put on your best I'm not a depressed bitch smile. You loved your sister, she was the only one who tried to help you after everything. She was a treasure, but she was also someone who never stopped worrying. You hated always being worried about. Always being helpless.

"Well then uhm, I- I love you. You'll do great!" She said as she kissed you on your forehead and walked out of the building.

"Love you too.." you mumbled.

You waited for the receptionist to call your name, wondering how the hell everything got like this. You heard the hell at the door ring and you turned to see who came through the door.

Oh, some guy. He looked kinda... familiar

He was tall, brunette and looked hella mad. Like, really really mad. Maybe he didn't want to be here either. He was talking to the receptionist and you couldn't help but overhear what they were saying. If you had to be hear might as well know who the hell you're with.

"James Buchanan Barnes, I'm here for Dr. Raynor."

"Oh yes, well she's not here today."

"But I had a-"

"Yes sir I know that you had a session Dr. Raynor but she isn't here today.

"I know that but I have to be here and I need a session with-"

"Sir I know but-"

"No you don't know it's court ordered and I need to get the session!"

You heard the lady sigh as she answered him again.

"Alright..I can see if we can do a double booking."

"What's that?"

"You'll do a double therapy, with another person."

"I-"

"No no, you wanted a therapy session so I'm giving a therapy session. Now please sit down sir, thank you."

He ran his hand through his hair and walked over to where you were. He was going to sit down in a chair one place down from you but some ass took it before he could. He sorta just stood there awkwardly for a few seconds and looked nervous to sit down.

Shit did you really look that angry?

"You can sit." You said

"I- thanks.." he said quietly and sat down

~~~~~~

This continued on for a few days..him waiting for an invitation to sit down and he'd occasionally look at you..as of wanting to say something. But of course he'd close his mouth and look away.

As for the therapy, it was good. It helped a lot more than you'd admit.

As you walked out of the building, purse in hand, you felt a hand on your shoulder. You turned around quickly and was greeted with bright blue eyes staring back at you.

"Oh- Bucky. Hey..you scared me."

"Sorry..uhm I- you know what I'm just gonna say it. I don't know what your situation is, what the hell happened to you or why you're here. But uhm- I'd like to.. I'd like to take you out sometime if that'd be ok." He said, a light pink dusting his cheeks.

Whoa

"I'd love that..."

You smiled to yourself..how ironic the situation was. Two somewhat messed up people liking each other. A broken kind of love..

#bucky #bucky imagine #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x female reader #Bucky x angst #bucky angst #bucky x reader angst

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chaos-of-the-abyss · 7 months

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What kind of ending do you want berserk to have?

anon shall i direct you to my 13k+ word fic of how berserk can cement its status in history as the most toxic and doomed of all toxic and doomed yaoi? shall i?? shall i???

in all seriousness lol, i don't think i have a specific ending in mind that must happen otherwise i'll be immensely disappointed by anything else. it's more like... a vague checklist in my head of which the more boxes are ticked off of it, the more satisfied i'd be. of course, griffguts. homoeroticism, again of course, probably in the form of violent bloody battles bc it's these two and they have never chilled for a single second in their entire lives. (they both believe they have, at certain points in their life, chilled, but this is in fact incorrect). also some form of emotional catharsis and closure wherein it's made very clear to the readers how much they both mean to each other. i'd like for them to either die at each other's hand in a mutual kill, or at least in very close relation to each other, but i'd also be happy with an ending of one killing the other and living on as an empty shell. (not literally, just, like, in abject depression and futility lol.) between the two i'd prefer this be griffith just because emotional repression, isolation, and loneliness are, in my opinion, themes that are more involved in his arc than guts'. to me his current state in the manga - and his state since the eclipse, period - has been one of suppressing his lingering emotions and denying that they still exist through the convenient excuse of his incarnated vessel being guts and casca's child, so for him to realize that his emotions about guts were never actually cut away, and for that realization to come when it's truly too late to ever remedy their relationship... that is like crack to me. (i would also like at least some clarification on how he feels about casca too, but griffith has done so much awful shit to her after the sacrifice that i can't make myself believe the writers care enough about what remains between them to address it in depth. casca's handling by the story is just abysmal.)

overall, i think i'd come away satisfied enough as long as the ending expresses how big a part guts and griffith played in each others' lives, and that, no matter what their history is and no matter what they do to try to get away from each other, they'll inevitably come back together. i'm a sucker for character dynamics that are like, "whatever happened between them was horrible and it's toxic for both of them to continue thinking of it and continue thinking of each other, but they're so tightly intertwined that asking them not to do so would be pointless and impossible."

#this was a sort of rambly answer sorry anon #also my first berserk ask <3 #asks #anonymous #berserk #berserk tag #guts x griffith #griffguts #berserk guts #guts berserk #griffith berserk #berserk griffith

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shirohige-pirates · 5 months

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Birds of a Feather

CisFem Reader x Marco

CW: Violence, blood, language, adult themes and scenes. 18+ only

Summary: Life has not been kind to you. After a string of bad relationships, you're a little jaded and a little depressed in all honestly. The worst day of your life seems to be the turning point, but the roller coaster ride that follows could either throw you soaring free, or have you caged forever?

Tag List: @clumsyraccoon

Chapter 25: Family

Marco returned after a series of apologetic texts explaining that his brothers weren’t letting him leave until he answered some of their questions. Once he walked in the door he set a suitcase and backpack down, took off his shoes and scooped you up into his arms, hugging you close and breathing deep before saying anything.

“Welcome home,” you say quietly, giving him a few soft kisses before he finally set you back down.

“Home, eh?”

“For the foreseeable.” You grin. “You want some tea? From your texts it sounded like your brothers were interrogating you.”

“Tea sounds wonderful, yoi.” He admits, walking into the kitchen with you, and sitting on the breakfast bar. “Ace was the worst of the lot, and he was feeding the others.” He grins and sighs. “I had to promise to visit at least one Saturday a month just to reach my closet.”

“Well, you have your promise for October in the bag.” You point out with a smile. “Since that’s when the party is.”

“I am expecting to hear ‘that doesn’t count’, from someone.” He admits with a grin.

You hand him a cup of tea, stepping back and leaning against the counter top, taking a sip of your own cup. “Any other concessions?”

“They haven’t even met you yet, and I’ve been requested not to horde you all to myself.” He says with a grunt. “I pointed out that you had a say in that, that they couldn’t control, yoi. But also,” he begins taking another sip. “I warned that if they crashed too many dates you might get your fill of them.”

You laugh. “Well, that’s one way to solve that concern.”

“Have you alked to Ivan yet?” He questions, looking over at you before taking another sip.

You shake your head. “I’m going to Monday. Figure I can just let all three of them know at once and then use my work commitments to cut the whole thing short.” You explain with a smile. “I mean, no one’s going to say anything bad, they know better.”

“I feel like ‘willful child’ was something used to describe you.” Marco muses, affection in his voice.

You grin, setting down your cup of tea. “Repeatedly, I’m sure.” You lift yourself up onto the counter to sit and let out a heavy breath. “Less so, before I ran away.”

You pause for a moment, looking around the room before looking back at Marco. “I don’t know the name of the island I was born on, but I know it’s in the New World somewhere. My family were… broken. They were broken. Three brothers, a sister, my mom and dad, all just empty shells going through the motions of living.”

You press your lips together and put your face in your hands for a second, pulling your feet up onto the counter, practically hiding behind your knees.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Marco says softly, staying where he is.

“No, I do. I do,” you admit putting your hands down and doing your best to look at him. “Because it would be cruel to feel this way, and to be this close, and then not say anything." Sorrow, deep and powerful crosses your face, despite your efforts in trying to maintain some level of neutrality.

You knew how the world felt about-

“- My family were nobles.” You say flatly. “Disgraced nobles, as far as the story goes, living in squalor after being removed from the lists.” You look away a little, eyes unfocused on anything in the here and now. “But that life was all I knew. I was born after their fall. I knew nothing else but that house, and it was a little larger than this place. It was hardly squalor, hardly poverty. It was comfortable. Dry and warm when it was cold outside and dry and cool when it was hot outside.

“We had to make our own meals, and clean our own things, but even removed from the lists, there were concessions provided to us. There was a certain image and importance to maintain, as though disgraced nobles were still worthy of more than common folk.”

Licking your lips a little, a bitter sweet smile slips along your features. Your shoulders droop and you sigh. “I was, for a time, happy. Even surrounded in the misery of a family who did little more than lament all they had lost, I wanted for nothing. I ate, cleaned, and played outside. No one paid much mind to me, within the house or without. I had a couple friends in a neighboring town, people who didn’t know who I was, unlike the townsfolk near our home.”

“What worked in my favor was that I didn’t have any of the recessive traits most of the nobles on the island had.” You sigh, quiet for a long moment. Marco didn’t move, even to drink any of his tea, and sat silently until you were ready to continue. “Which eventually did not work in my favor.”

“Lets go sit on the couch.” Marco prompts, getting up from his spot and walking over to you with his arms open. “If you were worried about your lineage scaring me off, yoi, it won’t.”

After a few hitched breaths, you wipe your eyes, scattering the errant tears, before reaching out toward him in return. He lifts you up easily, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, and your legs around his waist. There is comfort in the embrace, and the position, and it’s nice to just lean into him for a moment as he makes his way to the living room.

“Am I setting you down, or just sitting down?”

“Just sitting, please.” You reply quietly, moving your legs so you could comfortably lean against him while he sat back on the couch.

“You’re… really okay with it?” You question, voice still quiet. You know how the world views nobles. You know how nobles treat and view the world.

You wouldn’t be able to blame anyone for seeing you differently.

“I’ve seen who you are with my own eyes.” He assures you, holding you tight, nuzzling against the side of your face gently. “Blood’s never mattered to me.”

“… They were going to marry me back in.” You admit after a moment. Keeping your head on his shoulder you just sit there for a little longer. “Someone… someone thought I’d make good, healthy, heirs.”

Your fingers tighten, bunching up the fabric of his shirt. Even now the whole situation still turned your stomach.

“They sent a gift. Something considered priceless. I didn’t even know the concept of devil fruits before then.” The words become easier and easier to say, and so you just let them come out. “I didn’t want anything to do with it. I was barely old enough to understand it all. To understand that they were basically selling me to get their names returned to the lists.

“I ran off. I ran off a dozen times, dragged back each time, but I didn’t stop trying, and they could only do so much. Shackles are for commoners. You can’t beat a bride to be and risk injuries before the wedding. Can’t break my legs, you need me to walk, and so I ran.”

Marco’s arms seem to engulf you, as though he’s trying to consume the pain that comes from your words, or shield you from the anger bubbling up in him. You aren’t sure which. Maybe both. You just know the action is comforting. Protective. Kind.

“I gave it away, the fruit, to a kid on the street, but he was smart, or scared, and wouldn’t eat it. Thought it was poisoned. So I took a bite first.” You’re quiet for a moment, letting the memory play in your mind again after so long. “It was sweet. Rich and full of honey. I know now that devil fruits usually taste awful, but this was delicious. He loved it so much he helped me leave the island.

“He couldn’t have been eight. I was barely twelve. We never used names, swore we’d never meet again. I think we both understood on some level, how dangerous it was. I stowed away, on some ship, and ended up here.”

“… You remember anything about the ship?” He prompts.

“It was huge…” you lean back so you can look at him. “It was one of the reasons we picked it. Figured I’d have less chance being caught on a really big ship.”

“Huge doesn’t narrow things down for me.” He says with a grin.

“… Oh right! You and your family sailed.. I guess this was about twenty years ago now.” You lean back, sitting on his thighs, thinking for a few long moments, trying to make sure you remembered the details correctly. “The front was white, rounder than other ships in the front. It had so many sails too, and I think it had blue down the sides, and, I don’t know, yellow or gold trim.”

“… Did it… look like a whale at all?” He questions hesitantly, eyes focused on you. “The front part, I mean.”

You tilt your head, and smile. “Yeah it did, kind of like a white version of a big blue whale.”

Marco purses his lips and furrows his brow, blush running across his face.

You’re confused for a moment before realization dawns. “You… know the ship?”

Marco nods.

“… Do I owe Shanks an apology?”

Marco’s face flinches a little, and he shakes his head slowly.

You can feel the blood drain from your face. Not out of fear, but the dread of true understanding.

“I… owe… you, an apology.” You say slowly, and catch just the briefest nod from Marco. You look away and cover your mouth with your hand, thinking about your date at Thatch’s restaurant. “I thought that sauce tasted familiar.”

“Thatch practically started an inquisition!” Marco teases, grip tightening on you when you try to leave his lap. “We had locks on the refrigerator and pantry for five years after we got here!” He’s laughing as he pulls you against him entirely, kissing and nipping where he can. The light actions are ticklish on purpose and you can’t help your own laughter.

“I barely ate anything!” You insist, half-heartedly trying to escape. Marco grabs you suddenly, and firmly. Holding your head and body in place, eyes focused on your lips for a second as your laughter dies down.

The first kiss is soft and persistent, his body on edge as though he’s waiting to see how you’ll react. The next kiss is deeper, more insistent and needy, tongue pushing into your mouth and bringing soft moans up to your throat.

“He thought we had rats at first.” Marco says, still holding your face, not letting you back away too far.

You nod a little, eyes shifting from his reddening lips to his eyes. “I thought he spaced them out for his own foot size, and it was easy to step over them.”

“Did you trip a few on purpose?” He questions, and you nod.

“He was using such good cheese.” You admit, laughter bubbling up in you again.

Marco tries to keep a straight face and fails, the two of you falling into giggling laughter again. It takes a couple minutes to calm down and you set your head on his shoulder.

“I can’t believe it.” You murmur, fingers tangling into his.

“We left from that island, and stayed here.” Marco says. “That was the last trip we ever took.”

“Ivankov caught me.” You explain. “I thought I’d cleared the docks and was free and he picked me up like some stray cat.”

“I always wondered what secret she had.” Marco grins, changing his grip and capturing your hands behind your back, freeing up one of his. “Kept your secret all this time.”

“M-Marco,” you gasp, squirming a little as he pulls your collar aside, leaving kisses against your throat.

“Stowing away on a pirate ship is dangerous.” He says, voice low and heavy against your skin.

“You… you were Whitebeard pirates.” You state it and Marco pauses for a brief second before nipping at your ear.

“When’d you know, pretty bird?”

Your breath leaves you shakily. You aren’t worried about him hurting you, not now, maybe not even from the beginning, but the tone of his voice caresses your bones. From his tone alone you were at his mercy.

“A week, or so.” You admit. “The tattoo looked familiar, and then everything else just… added to it.”

“You weren’t scared?”

“Of you?” You can’t help the disbelief that slips into your voice.

“Most people are afraid of pirates, yoi. Even if they haven’t been pirates for years.”

“Most people think the marines actually protect them.” You retort, feeling Marco’s lips pull into a smile against your skin.

“I’m glad we never caught you.” He says quietly.

You laugh softly, sighing. “It would’ve been awkward to have been an honorary little sister or something and then end up here.”

“Little bit.” He agrees, letting go of your hands and pulling you into another kiss. “I’m pretty sure I would’ve lost either way, yoi.”

“Less bothered by the lost yesteryears, yeah?” You prompt, watching his cheeks turn red.

“Only a little.” There’s a pout in his tone, and another kiss follows it. “Gonna make up for all the lost time anyway.”

His hands tug at your shirt, and you lift your arms, letting him pull it off, breaking off the kiss for just long enough to let the article pass and get tossed aside. Leaning into the next kiss you tug at his shirt, and he leans forward, breaking the kiss and helping you pull it off.

No other conversation is had that night, nothing beyond quiet words of acquiescence and desire, peppered by the occasional sweet words of love and need. Tender kisses and desperate fingers trail over sweat speckled skin.

Pleasure is chased and caught, again and again, until limbs tremble simply from existing.

The clock chimes the name of a new day before dinner is consumed. The soft shuffle of sheets afterward, the brief moments of sleep, and the delicious scent of coffee to rally the morning.

And so began Monday.

#Birds of a Feather #Marco x reader #x reader #reader insert #marco the phoenix #marco the pinepple #modern au

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