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isle-of-earle · 4 months

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the road not taken looks real good now

summary: you return to your hometown for the holidays pairing: wanda x reader words: ~4300 warnings: eh nothing really. Just a generally very sad overall vibe a/n: hello hello hello it's 1am where I am and I should be sleeping but it took me longer than expected to format this. Anyway, here's to you some holiday angst. I was fully tempted to end this on a sad note, but, well, I decided to be nice. Also some matchmaker vision thrown in there. Anyway, happy holidays, good night.

The snow is crunchy, Wanda muses as she walks, rather unnecessarily entertained by the thought. The pavement is clean — someone had painstakingly blown the snow off of it — albeit a little icy. But Wanda choses instead to walk on the grass, leaving her footprints in the snow. It is much more fun, anyway.

So fun, in fact, that she had to double back because she missed her turn. That is what she tells herself anyway. It’d happened enough times now that it probably isn't accidental anymore.

Wanda walks almost by instinct, no longer needing to count the rows and headstones. Someone else came by here, she realizes, head still turned to the ground, counting the footsteps of the previous visitor. She wishes that person would at least have someone to accompany them on this day. This oh-so-merry day.

She frowns. Pietro’s gravestone isn't empty. A small bouquet of flowers rests on the ground. The snow had been dusted off of it. And those mysterious footsteps stopped exactly where she stood now.

Wanda is so shocked for a moment that she’d almost forgotten why she was here, spinning around where she stands to try and find who the footsteps belonged to. But the cemetery was empty. As it always was.

A wind blows, hollow, and Wanda shivers, ducking her head to hide her lips, now numb, in her scarf. The paper of the bouquet makes a rustling sound. Wanda lowered the one she held (the one that the florist had prepared for her with a sad smile and then not-so-secretly gave her a discount on) onto the ground.

It is so cold my fingers are dropping off, the wind seems to say. Almost in bitter mockery of Pietro. Wanda wonders vaguely if she cries, would her tears freeze on her face. She doesn't particularly feel like testing out the theory so Wanda sniffs back her tears, feeling the frigid air in her lungs, before turning on her heels with a silent goodbye to her brother.

Wanda doesn't feel like going home, despite the allure of her newly-repaired heater, hot chocolate, and fluffy blankets. Her feet takes her left and right, leaving tracks of footprints in the snow.

The cafe is almost empty when she enters . She wipes the snow off her boots on the mat, taking the time to stare at the menu, not that she was really processing what the words said.

“The usual?” The barista, MJ, asks after a moment, recognizing Wanda immediately despite how bundled up she is.

Wanda pauses, pursing her lips as she scanned the menu once more.

“Nope, just a vin chaud.”

MJ squints her eyes at her, smiling curiously, “Adventurous today, are we?”

Wanda rolls her eyes playfully, pulling her wallet from where she’d shoved it deep within her pockets. It isn't hard to find a table– it is simply a matter of which view she preferred. She goes with the high stool, facing the streets outside, piling her jackets and scarf on the side. MJ makes the effort to deliver her drink to her, to which Wanda even has the courtesy to tag a happy holidays after her thanks despite her melancholic mood tainting the very air.

Seven people walks past where Wanda sits as her drink turned from hot to warm to cold. Thoughts fly past through her mind at lightning speed despite the tranquility. Or rather, Wanda forces herself to keep thinking. She invents a story for the vintage store opposite. Then she wonders what would happen if she ate snow. Or if she poured her vin chaud into the snow. Or if she put the snow into the cup instead. Or anything at all. Because if she stops thinking about something, then she will think about Pietro. Pietro, Pietro, or–

The cold shakes Wanda out of her head. Somehow she’d missed the eighth person to walk past her seat. The wind had thrown the door too wide, and with a chuckle and apology, had to be slammed shut.

They stare at the menu for a long time. A very long time. Well, it's more like a minute. Which is about 50 seconds too long for a regular. Wanda’s eyes track the customer as they make their way to the cashier, where MJ waits expectantly.

Wisps of a voice floats over, and Wanda’s heart jolts. It sounds familiar. Too familiar. No. It is her brain playing tricks on her. Perhaps she is drunk already from the vin chaud.

“Wanda?”

She hadn’t even realized she’d been staring. Now that it was directed at her, Wanda is certain.

“Y/N?”

A smile breaks across your face. A smile broke across your face.

Wanda can feel herself move. Can feel your arms around her. Tight. She can hear you, a muffled garbled version of your words. She nods dumbly, body moving on instinct to shift her jacket and scarf out of the way to make space for you.

“How’ve you been?”

“What?”

“How have you been?” You repeat, slow and amused.

“It’s been fine,” she replies automatically, plastering that same pleasing smile on her face.

You nod. And Wanda knows you know that she had not been fine. And she is all the more glad when you didn’t push, instead continuing to talk about something or the other.

Wanda is only half paying attention, and if you noticed it, you didn’t point it out. She is glad, you seemed to have a lot to talk about. What with a big city girl job and all.

Westview was the type of town where everybody knew everybody. People knew of Wanda. Knew of her existence enough to gossip why the little girl was never seen at the playgrounds or frolicking in the community pool. But hardly anybody knew her.

That was where you came in. Her best, and only, friend, movie extraordinaire and connoisseur, and future writer in the making. Your presence tided her through high school. She even went to homecoming because you were in charge of planning it. Wanda was so certain that the both of you were going to go to university together.

There was a dream there, somewhere. With her directing a screenplay you wrote, and the two of you would take Hollywood by storm. But those dreams came crashing down the week before prom, hiding from the rain under the bleachers.

“So? What about you?” You asked suddenly, jolting Wanda back into the conversation.

“What about me?” Wanda cocked her head in question.

“What have you been up to?”

“Oh…” She chuckled, finger-tracing the rim of her cup in nervousness. “Y’know, the usual. I got a job, a husband, and a house.”

“A husband?” You pressed, your curiosity piqued. You even lean forward, resting your chin in your hand as you wait, eyes wide in anticipation.

Wanda chews on her lip for a moment. “Vision.”

“Oh.”

Guilt rips through Wanda. Your name had been intentionally left out of the guest list. It’d been a selfish move, childish and immature. But she hadn’t regretted it until today. She’d decided it would be easier. Besides, you were probably too busy trying to build your career to travel across the country for someone you hadn’t seen in four years. In almost that same amount of time after the wedding, Wanda had almost forgotten that you didn’t know.

“Well,” You leaned back, clearing your throat, clearly in some level of discomfort, “You’ve been pining for each other for years before you even got together.”

Wanda can’t bear looking at you, so she turns her attention outside. “Yup,” she murmurs, popping the p.

The conversation lapses into painful silence. Wanda takes the opportunity to down the rest of her now-cold vin chaud.

“I– uh– I should get back.” She slides off her stool, picks up her scarf and begins to wrap it around her neck.

You stand up so quickly that your chair scraps across the floor. “Let me walk you.”

“That’s fine,” She declines hurriedly.

From the corner of her eye, Wanda notices your double take. You froze, quite literally, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights, mouth slightly ajar, whatever you’d wanted to say dissolving into a surprised oh.

“I mean–” she stutters, “I’m sure you’re busy– and stuff– I don’t want to bother you.”

“Oh,” you chuckle, running a nervous hand through your hair, “I mean, I’m on holiday– not exactly the busiest.”

“Okay.” Wanda nods, barely registering the smile that forces itself onto her expression. “Okay, sure.”

You lapse into small talk like you were made for it. Wanda takes her cues and responds in kind, nodding, gasping, and cooing at the appropriate moments. She wonders if this is a side of you that you'd created during your stay in Los Angeles. She hates it. She thinks she hates you right now.

She’s guilty for feeling relieved when she finally reaches her home.

“I’m sorry,” you say suddenly, “for not attending his funeral.”

Wanda frowns, trying to busy herself with finding the keys that she knows are in her jacket. “Why are you bringing this up?”

“It’s just—“ you shrug, trying to play it off, “we were on the same track team. He would’ve come if it had been me.”

Wanda bites back the bitterness in her throat. He wouldn't have left in the first place. “I didn’t even notice.” A lie.

There is a moment of silence. Then you give a shaky chuckle, dusting a bit of snow off of your jacket. “I went to visit his– him– just now.”

“That–” Wanda swallows back another retort, “So that was you.”

“I felt I should at least… y’know, pay my respects.” You forced a smile.

“Okay.” Wanda nods slowly, contemplatively, as she brings her keys out.

“Okay.” You sigh, your breath misting in front of you. “Bye.”

Wanda works the lock open. She presses her forehead to the door, closes her eyes for a second. “Do you want to come in?”

The bleachers were your favorite place. Well, under the bleachers. No one would find you there, not unless they were really looking. Beneath the moldy wooden benches held the secrets of your dreams, your futures, and your pasts. It held your love, even if you hadn’t known it until you were eight hours too late and halfway across the country.

It was raining that night.

“I– um– got into UCLA,” you admitted, eyes glancing away to watch your thumbs fiddle instead.

You didn’t have to be looking to know the way Wanda’s brows creased, tilting her head slightly as she tried to understand what you meant.

“UCLA?” She questioned, after a moment too long, “but that’s– that’s across the country.”

You dared to look up. Her nose was scrunched in that way you adored, a disbelieving confusion settled on her features.

“I’m sorry I had to try,” you argued, pleading at her to just understand. Westview was so small, too small for your dreams. You wanted to get out of here, get out onto the bigger stage. When you’d applied, a small part of you had wanted to be rejected. So that you could say you tried, you failed, and the bigger world just wasn't meant to be. But you’d gotten accepted, and now, you just hoped that Wanda would understand.

“Okay…” She said, nodding slowly, and you think maybe she does understand. “What about us?”

“What do you mean?”

“I thought we were supposed to go to college together.” She muttered.

“I– I didn’t think I was going to get in… I just wanted to try. Just to prove that I did.” You tried to explain, although it only felt like you were digging a deeper hole.

“And you didn’t tell me.”

You risk a glance up at her. Wanda’s face was painfully blank. Then, without another word, she ran off.

Her farewell had been… obligatory, you’d think. It wouldn’t be that far off to believe that her brother had dragged her out of her room to say goodbye. It had been ‘good luck’ without even a smile before you were pushed along so you wouldn’t miss your flight.

You hadn’t seen Wanda for almost seven years, which was several months after your graduation. But Wanda had seen you almost every other week for the past year. By some force of fate or the other, you’d shot to fame. And suddenly you were everywhere. On commercials, on billboards, on the posters Westview paraded on their ‘pride and joy’. She hated it.

Now, Wanda was whimpering in your ear. Little sounds breaking free as you scatter kisses across her chest. It sends shivers down your body and arousal pooling between your thighs.

Her shirt had been thrown off somewhere, and her pants tugged and kicked down her legs. Your hand was pushing her bra up when she gripped your wrist, inhaling sharply. You stop, lust-hazed eyes widening.

Wanda sees something pass through your eyes. Something like the past, a strange disconnect from what had happened and what will happen. Then you blink a few times and stared down at her.

After a moment, you pull away, almost as if you’d just realized the position you were in.

“Fuck, fuck– I’m sorry,” you mutter, scrambling off the bed quickly. Wanda wonders how many times you’d apologized today, and how many more would come. For a moment, you just stand there, watching her as your breath heaved.

You aren’t really sure how you had ended up in this position. Wanda had invited you in. There was probably a glass of water involved, and a kiss against the counter, her body holding you against the sharp edge of it. Obviously, you had reciprocated, and to some enthusiastic extent. Else the both of you wouldn't have kissed your way into her bedroom and into this situation.

You wrap your arms around yourself, suddenly conscious.

“No, I’m—” she shakes her head, swallowing nervously as she tries to find the words. “I'm supposed to be married.”

You nod. Nods again just to be sure. You pull your shirt over your head. You don’t think she’d been serious. Just spiteful.

“Do you love him?” You ask, playing with the hem of your pants you’d yet to put on.

“Yes.”

“More than me?” You don’t look at her as you ask.

Wanda nods. Then whispers a, “Yes.”

She doesn’t mean it, she knows it. She just thinks you’re selfish, and she wants to be too. Just this once, she wants to be the one to hurt you instead.

You nod, lips pursed. Perhaps to rid the taste of her on your skin. “Okay.”

Wanda watches as you slip your pants on slowly. Perhaps waiting for her to change her mind.

“I– um–” you point at the door with a painfully forced smile. “I’ll see myself out–”

“We could watch a movie,” Wanda suggests. A little too quickly. A little too hopeful.

Your eyes widen again, considering her words. “Sure,” you nod, “we could.”

The air is so thick Wanda can hardly breathe, can hardly force the words out of her mouth.

“I’ll–” You gulp, looking everywhere but at your half-naked childhood best friend in front of you, “I’ll let you get dressed.” You couldn’t have hurried out faster.

Wanda buries her head in her hands after you leave, jaw clenching as she takes several deep breaths. A string of curses leaves her lips as the situation she’s found herself in finally sinks in. She’d almost gone too far – if she hadn’t already – with you. In her marriage bed. What would Vision think if he found out? Oh, what would he do?

You were leaning against the kitchen counter, helping yourself to a glass of water that had earlier been abandoned when Wanda finally came down.

“Vision–” Wanda begins, then immediately stops.

“Look,” you say before she can continue, “I get it, it’s been seven years– you don’t have to explain anything, not to me– of all people. I messed up.”

“No,” Wanda sighs, chewing on her bottom lip for a moment. “We’re getting a divorce.”

That makes you pause. Your breath hitches in… excitement? Guilt. Then a profound sadness. “I– why?”

It’d only been seven years. Wanda is only twenty-five. But the way she shrugs and smiles at you sadly made her seem older. Wiser. Exhausted. “It just wasn’t working out. We both realized we’d settled a little too early and there was more we wanted to see.” Wanda pauses, letting her words sink in.

“I’m sorry.” You say after a moment, not quite sure what else was appropriate.

“It was mutual.” She shrugs again, as if it might lighten the load on her shoulders. Or in her heart.

“Is he… at work right now?” You ask.

Wanda nods.

You mirror her movements. It was little wonder she looked so sad earlier that day.

“What did you do? After I… left?”

“I tried college– film– but it wasn't working out so I dropped it. Went around tutoring the kids for a while. Vision– he proposed after he graduated.”

“What’re you going to do… after?"

“I picked up an editing job earlier this year, maybe I’ll continue with something in that area.”

“That's good,” you comment. “I– I struggled after college. Nobody wants to hire the small-town kid if they could get some A-Lister’s daughter.”

Wanda chuckles a little at that. You gulp down the rest of the water.

“Why didn't you ever come back?”

You sigh, lowering your head in something that resembles shame. “Because I knew, if I came back, I wouldn't leave. And I wanted to prove everyone wrong. I wanted– to prove you wrong.”

Wanda smiles a little, “And you did.”

You shrug. “I lost my best friend.” Tears sting your eyes, but you don't bother to blink it away.

Neither of you moves. Wanda stares at you with a sad look in her eye. She swallows. Something compels you forward, toward her. A soft kiss to her cheek, your lips barely grazing the skin. She tenses.

Then she’s taking your face in her hands and kissing you. Instinctively, you reciprocate. It’s soft and sweet and so unlike the previous one. Wanda’s fingers dig into the back of your neck, nails scratching across the skin. You think she means for it to hurt, but it only makes you press yourself further into her.

Wanda pulls away with a pant. You move to follow her lips with a whine and she chuckles at that, making you pull back in embarrassment.

“Don't you have someone?” Wanda asks softly, though her hands still cross behind your neck.

“I did.” You nod, delighting in the way she watches your lips distractedly. “A few, over the years.”

“What happened?”

“They weren’t you.”

Wanda’s eyes finally flicker up to you, a hint of shock within the green. “What?” She breathes.

“They weren’t you.” You repeat, squeezing the waist as you do.

She purses her lips. You lean down to kiss her again. The sigh she releases just as you press your lips against hers breathes you back to life.

“Stay the night.” She breathes against your lips when you part, eyes cast downward and away from your gaze. “Please.” She adds as an afterthought.

You know you should say no. Should turn her down before this leads anywhere you might regret. But vulnerability is written across Wanda’s face so plainly, that look of hope that was always in her eye when she looked at you replaced with sadness. A deeper melancholy that a woman her age shouldn’t be able to experience.

“Okay.” You nod slowly. You let a small smile cross your face, tongue darting out to lick your lips, if only to prolong the taste of her. “Okay.”

Wanda is crying. Trying her hardest to stifle her sobs, but you’re standing right outside her door, a hand on the knob. You hadn’t meant to intrude on her private moments, but you couldn’t sleep, and something told you Wanda couldn’t either. You sink to your knees outside her door, unable to bring yourself to open the door and look her in her teary eyes, or to just walk away.

It took you the better part of an hour before you mustered the courage to inch her door open. The sniffling stopped instantly. Something was happening in your heart. A strange tightening when you realized that Wanda didn’t want you to see her crying. Oh, how the tables had turned.

Wanda didn’t say anything as you lifted the covers on the empty side of the bed. The silence was heavy – so, so heavy – as you climbed in. Your jaw was aching from all the tension.

“I hate you.”

Your heart shatters. You try, desperately, to hold it together, feeding it memories and delusions and what-ifs. “I know.” You manage to croak out without your voice breaking. Somehow. She still hadn’t turned to look at you.

“You left me.” Wanda takes a slow, shaky breath in. “I was so… lost.” The last word comes out in a sob, and you feel the tears track silently down your face.

“I didn’t know I loved you.” You whisper.

Wanda releases another deep breath, letting the words linger in the air a moment longer. “Do you still?”

“Yes.” Your reply is instantaneous.

She sighs. Minutes pass and her breathing evens out. You think she’s fallen asleep already when you feel the bed shifting. Wanda turns and shuffles closer to you.

“Don’t leave me again,” Wanda says, almost begs, her arms wrapping around your waist. She pulls herself closer.

You nod, guilt ripping through you as you mutter, “I won’t, I promise.

“Vision?”

The man startles, motions freezing like a child caught with a cookie. “You're awake.” He says finally.

“You're home.”

“Yes, I got home last night.” He replies, spreading jam thinly over the bread. “But my bed was occupied.”

“I–”

“It’s not a worry,” he interrupts, “We haven’t been sleeping in the same bed for a while now.”

“Oh.”

“I want to apologize.” He continues.

You cock your head to one side, frowning in confusion. “What for?” You ask.

“Do you remember, before you left? I made a promise, to you, to take care of her.” Vision puts his toast down, resting both hands on the countertop as he contemplates his words. “I… I failed. I couldn't do it. And I think I made it worse for both of us by hanging on..”

You nod slowly, recalling the moment you’d pulled Vision aside during prom. You’d all but threatened him into swearing his eternal fealty to your best friend. “Do you love her?”

Vision furrows his brow. He takes a moment to think through his answer before nodding slowly. “I did love her, once.”

Your smile is sad. “Then you didn't fail me. If anything, I failed her. I shouldn't have left.”

“Now, I suppose it would be my turn to tell you that if you dare break Wanda’s heart, I will rain retribution down on you.” Vision chuckles.

You smile thinly at that, knowing that it’s the least of what you deserve.

“She loves you, you know that?” He asks.

You take a moment of quiet contemplation. “I don't understand why.”

“Love doesn't usually make sense.” He laughs wryly. “Like how it made her forget to invite you to our wedding.”

“But it doesn’t make you forget the hurt.”

Vision nods sagely at that. “It doesn’t.”

Wanda wakes to find the bed empty and her eyes dry from crying. She can’t be sure that those two aren’t related. But perhaps she’d only dreamed of you. Her morning routine is as monotonous as ever, and by the time she makes her way to her kitchen, she is already wishing she could sleep the week away.

Except.

“Morning, love.” Vision greets, gesturing to a cup of coffee he’d just put down on the table.

“Good morning,” Wanda returns, more of a question, as she eyes you standing next to Vision, awkwardly shuffling.

“We were just talking about you,” Vision extends a sandwich to her. “Revisiting old memories and stuff.”

Wanda and you chuckle awkwardly. This is a side to her husband that Wanda saw only when he was trying to coerce someone into doing something for him. At that moment, Wanda doesn’t think she likes being on the receiving end of it.

“That’s nice.” She mumbles, taking a bite of the proffered sandwich.

“I'm– uh– I'm going to head off,” you inch your way toward your coat still draped haphazardly over the couch.

“Oh.” You can't hear Wanda from where you stand, but you watch her mouth the words. “Okay.”

There you go, breaking the promise you made less than three hours ago.

“Bye, thanks for… everything.” You mumble, unable to look your friend in the eye.

Vision smiles grimly in your direction, though he looked deep in thought.

“Bye,” you whisper again, just below your breath, almost a finality, as you make your way to the door.

“Hold on,” Vision calls before you can open the door fully. He looks between you and Wanda before continuing. “I have a reservation for two at the Spanish restaurant later tonight. But I have a meeting that needs attending at that time. Would you mind attending on my behalf?”

Your eyes flicker to Wanda, who’s chewing on her bottom lip. “I’m okay if– if she’s okay.” You reply, gesturing to Wanda.

Wanda glances between you and Vision, looking more conflicted by the second. She chews on her lips, before they curl into a shy smile, “okay.”

Vision claps his hands together in excitement. “Oh, that’s great, I wouldn’t want my dear wife to be eating alone.” He cheers as he makes his way out of the kitchen, “I need to wash up now, I’m feeling quite gross from the flight.”

You watch Vision excuse himself, almost shaking your head at the audacity of the man. You turn back to Wanda to find her staring at you, eyes wide and fearful.

“I’ll see you tonight?” You ask, tone hopeful.

She nods. “Okay. See you.”

You flash her a smile before taking your leave and stepping back out into the winter cold. It'd snowed again the night before, and you brace yourself against the wind, warmed with thoughts of childhood and lost love. Maybe you could convince Wanda of coming back to Los Angeles with you. Maybe you could shift closer to home. Or maybe, you could start something here, in Westview, for yourself and a friendship you'd long forgotten. You'd have to ask Wanda about that though.

#fanfiction #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #marvel fanfiction #wanda fanfic #wanda x y/n #mcu wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff angst #angst with a happy ending #angst #so much angst

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magnoliasandarson · 3 months

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Voicemail

Jason isn't really sure why he does it. Dickhead had never really been his biggest fan, and maybe they had kinda been getting along recently, but that didn't erase all the bad. But Bruce had taken Robin away from Dick, and now he had taken it away from him, so he calls.

Unsurprisingly, it goes to voicemail. Jason swipes a hand over his sweaty forehead, Ethiopia is a lot warmer than Gotham. The phone beeps, and he pauses for a second before saying, "Hey, Dickface,"

For some reason, he tears up, but he takes a shuddering breath and says, "I just wanted to let you know that B kicked me out, so you can go back to the Manor or whatever. No more replacement," he swallows down the old rage and sadness that claws its way up his throat, "Sorry. It's just- whatever. I found a lead on my birth mom. I'm gonna find her. She's a good person, you'd probably like her,"

He kicks some dirt, trying to find a way to say what he needed to say, "Anyway, I called because," there had to be dust in his eyes, "because I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry. I wasn't a good Robin, I should've never worn the stupid suit. You were good. You- uh- you made me wanna be good. Whatever- I'm not gonna be hanging around anymore bothering you, but I wanted to tell you- I wanted to say that you were a good brother- the best. I wish I was better. It doesn't matter," he scrubs the tears off his face, "see you around, Dickhead."

--follow up is posted "One Missed Message"---

#jason todd #batman #batfam #bruce wayne #dc comics #dick grayson #dc universe #robin #nightwing #voicemail #ethiopia #angst #so much angst #wonder what happened next

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bonezjack · 4 months

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a little bit of dsaf3 angst because im feeling jolly

#art #digital art #fanart #dsaf #dayshift at freddy's #animation #dsaf jack #dsaf dave #dave miller #jack kennedy #davesport #im scared of dsaf3 #ANGST #so much angst #i hate dsaf so much (lying)#i hate gay people #i forgot how to tag things on tumblr

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http-paprika · 6 months

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what's lost / simon "ghost" riley

part one zombie-apocalypse!au / pairing simon "ghost" riley x female reader / wc 1103 / warnings brief mentions of gore and violence, minor swearing, attempted suicide.

summery during the escort to edinburgh, things don't go as ghost had planned, causing him to lose y/n

note when i saw this is just an angst filled shitshow, i mean it. like, bawled my eyes out a bit, had to write this over multiple days i was struggling.

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The air in his lungs was bitter, stale. His body was a shell of what it was, skin turning purple and yellow like a large bruising sore. It had been too long since Ghost had cried, what felt like a lifetime ago as tears blurred his vision, jagged sobs escaping his throat.

Ghost’s breathing harbors, slowing as the infection pulsed through his veins. In his final few moments of sanity, he thought of Y/N who he’d forced to run when a horde had overcome them on the outskirts of Edinburgh. The sound of her voice, the feeling of her lips against his mask warmed his heart as Ghost brought the gun up against his head. His jaw was slacked, broken in the fight, blood drooling from his lips. The words spewed out his mouth, a muddled mess as he closed his eyes and gripped the metal harshly. “I– I’m sorry.”

The gun clattered to the ground, he should’ve done it, but her face burned too painfully in his to pull the trigger. All consuming him along with the infected venom that had transformed him.

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Y/N’s laugh was like a sweet song as they continued, through the wild brush of an overgrown wheat field. Ghost couldn’t even remember what he’d said to make her laugh, but a smile tugged at his lips to hear it.

“If the outbreak hadn’t happened, what did you plan on doing with your life?” She asked him, obvious to the lump that clogs his throat.

“Didn’t exactly plan for a future.” Ghost admitted, watching her stop and frown at his response. His feet slowed to a stop, and he turned to look at her. “I’m not exactly the type who plans to settle down, have kids, and retire—nothing for me outside of the military. The outbreak didn’t really change that. Probably spend the rest of my days being worked to death by them if I’m not bitten first.”

“Oh.” It sounded so painfully bleak for him to tell her the truth, but she’d asked, and Y/N had heard worse.

“Don’t break your heart over it. You’ve still got a promising life ahead of you.” He walks back over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Gotta make a cure, have your name known across what’s left of the UK, maybe the world.”

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Y/N can still hear her heart beating like a drum through her entire body as they check it, ensuring it’s clean from infection bites. Her cheeks were tight and dry, the crying had stopped when she’d reached the QZ, not out of relief or happiness, but because of a numb dread that’d washed over her. It had been two, maybe three hours since she’d left Ghost, the infection had either spread and he’d turned into a walking corpse. Or— Y/N shuddered, hating the ugly images that bubbled in her mind. Either result was a knife to the chest and tears threatened to spill over again.

It had been her fault that he’d been bitten, at least that’s what she’d convinced herself. Had she been more aware, more capable, Ghost wouldn’t have had to become a flesh barrier between Y/N and the undead. She’d scowled and cursed at him, anger turning into blinding grief when the realization hit, a blood indent in his wrist from teeth. He’d been served a fate worse than death saving her. And the guilt of it sliced like a knife through her heart.

Ghost should’ve been there, with her safely in the QZ. Kissing her and reminding her that they were safe, safer than they’d been since they’d left London over a month before. But she was there, a hollow shell all alone as they escorted her through the secured area to the lab that would become a prison for her.

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The song of crickets filled Ghost’’s ears as they settled for the night, making a small camp in the deep black of a forest. He sat so that Y/N’s head rested on his lap, his hand absent-mindedly running through her hair. “You’re quiet tonight.”

��Almost wondering if she’d fallen asleep there, he looked down at her face and she quickly averted her gaze away from his. “Y/N? What’s wrong love?”

“What are you going to do when we get to Edinburgh?” She finally speaks, keeping her gaze focused on the small camping lantern they had, watching the few insects that flew to it, hoping for the warmer sun. “Or were you not planning on getting that far either?”

“Oh.” Ghost lets out a groan, running a hand over his face. So she was still thinking about their conversation from earlier, considering his words on a personal level, as if they’d been directed to her. He’d been backed into a wall with her question, the truth was pathetic and Ghost worried how she’d respond to it.

“So you didn’t think that far.” Y/N didn’t ask but stated firmly before sitting up and pushing away from Ghost. Taking her warmth away from him.

“Y/N, love–” He reached a hand out, placing it lightly on her arm and removing it after Ghost watched her flinch from his touch. “No, I didn’t think about what I’d do after. Was too focused on the mission of just getting you there safely. But I’ve thought about it, and if you’ll have me, I’d like to stay there for you.”

Whipping her head around, she stared at him surprised by his request, almost wondering if she’d heard him correctly. He was being vulnerable with her, it caused a lump to form in her throat.

“Stay… with me?”

“Yes.” Ghost nodded his head, taking her hand in his and bringing it close to his clothed mouth. “Please, Y/N? I’ll be your damn guard dog if that’s what it takes.” He finishes his plea, kissing the palm of her hand despite the fabric barrier between his lips and her skin. Stray tears in his eyes he blinked away, focusing on her, nothing else mattered but her.

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The afterlife was not what Ghost expected, his body and mind were infected, driving him with an everpresent thirst for flesh and blood. Like a street dog, wandering the expanse of Edinburgh fighting the wild hunger that’d taken over him and so many others. But there was a hollow feeling, some part of his past life still tethered to the shell of his body. Some haunting voice that still rang in his ears like a beautiful song that drew him away from corpses and rotting flesh. Someone whose side he should’ve never left.

tag-list @amazingori

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #call of duty mw2 #ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw22 #ghost mw2 #fanfic #y/n #call of duty zombies #zombie ghost #zombies!au #zombie apocalypse #so much angst

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honourablepranksinatra · 6 months

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Zuko in the beach episode

#so much angst #atla #gilmore girls #zuko #my thoughts

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unseededtoast · 7 months

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See How It Shines | Spencer Reid x F!Reader

Summary: You had left the Quantico office for what you thought was your dream job. However, you were quick to find out that you lost a lot more than you found. The love of your life walked away from you, but your love for him never waned. But you can't help but wonder if his soul yearns for you like yours does for him.

Cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3

Warnings: Angst, so much angst, pining. Poorly edited.

Word count: 8.2k

a/n: Howdy, this is the first time I've written for Spencer, and I can't guarantee that the quality is good. This is inspired by Hozier's song "Abstract". Here is my masterlist!

"So that's it then? You're just going to leave?" His voice cracks, and your heart shatters into a million pieces.

"Spencer." You whisper and reach out for his face to wipe the tears away, but he flinches from your touch. An overwhelming sensation of sorrow blossoms in you as you watch him shake his head and walk away.

A single tear drips from your face and lands on the floor. The love of your life walks away from you and you don't know if you'll ever see him again.

A steady stream of light rain surrounds you as you stare up at an all too familiar building, your nerves not allowing you to take another step closer just yet. Memories of the past float around in your mind as you contemplate turning around and finding some excuse of why you never showed up. But you know you can't just leave, you can't help yourself. With all the courage you can muster, you force yourself inside of the building, where the cold air hits your wet skin and leaves goosebumps all over.

Each step that you take towards the office, your heartbeat resounds in your ears and your stomach feels like it's been tied into numerous knots. This office used to be like your second home, but now it's like seeing a ghost, a place frozen in time, unchanged. You recall the first day you walked into this building, bright eyed and hopeful for the future which starkly contrasts the last time you left. That memory is tattooed in your mind, unable to forget despite giving it your best effort.

Your chest begins heaving with deep breaths as you find yourself just outside of the elevator and you have to find every last shred of strength within you to not get sick all over the floor. With a shaking hand, you press the button to call the elevator. You've been on this elevator ride more times than you can count, but that was back then, under different circumstances.

The doors close, leaving you alone in the elevator. In an attempt to soothe yourself, your clammy hands grasp the railing and you close your eyes, trying to calm your racing mind. Invasive thoughts crowd your head all at once, remembering who used to ride this elevator with you every morning and how you're going to have to face him once more after that last ride. Before you're ready, the doors open and you have no choice but to step out.

With each approaching step it feels like you're making your way through wet concrete, your feet feel like they're being tethered to the floor, not wanting to progress forward. Once you reach the office's door, it feels like every set of eyes is on you instantly. But perhaps that's just your paranoia.

Keeping your head held high in a faux display of confidence, you look around and see your old desk, still empty and unoccupied. And to your relief, his desk is unoccupied as well but you can tell there are files waiting for him. A clap on your shoulder breaks you from your mental downward spiral and you jump slightly from the contact.

"It's good to have you back, even if it is just for a few days." A familiar voice says from behind you, and you turn to see Derek Morgan with a wide smile on his face. A smile breaks out on your face as well and you embrace your old friend,

"It's good to be back." You say as he wraps his arms around your waist for a brief reunion. You step away from him and sigh, looking around for any other familiar faces, hoping to see all but one.

"He won't be here for another half hour." Morgan says as if he can read your mind. Without delving into that can of worms, you settle for nodding your head and changing the subject.

"Is Hotch here? He said he was going to give me the run down." You say, straightening your jacket to distract yourself from the intruding voice in your mind. Morgan nods his head and takes you to the briefing room, where you find two of your other ex-colleagues, both with smiles on their faces.

"It's good to see you guys." You force yourself to greet them first, taking note of the faltering smile on Emily's face. Knowing the reason for the fake smile, you turn to Hotch who extends his hand to you. Emily does nothing of the sort, and you can't blame her, you understand.

"Here's your file to look over. We'll be wheels up in an hour." Hotch hands you a brown file folder and you nod, opening the front of it to familiarize yourself with the case you'll be assisting them on. Out of the corner of your eye you notice Emily leaving the room, leaving you and Hotch alone.

You and Hotch had developed a close bond while you worked for the Quantico office and it seems that your departure did not interfere with his sentiments towards you. Closing the file, you meet his gaze and you can tell that there's a lot he wants to say, but you also know he won't go out of his way to gossip. Instead of making him suffer with the burden of professionalism, you break the ice first, trusting him more than the others to give you the truth.

"How bad is this going to be?" He knows your question isn't about the case, and he sighs.

"It'll be fine." His tone betrays the words coming out of his mouth, much to your dismay. He's trying to keep you on board with the idea, even if it means faking positivity.

"And you're sure I can't just stay here and help Garcia?" You try one last time to worm out of this assignment, knowing you didn't take it willingly. Hotch shakes his head,

"Sorry, no can do. Garcia is helping another unit and we need you there with us. You know it's easier to get immediate feedback." He strikes down your last attempt and you nod, knowing that he's completely right.

"Okay, see you on the jet." You defeatedly say and take your file folder with you out of the conference room. The uneasiness in your stomach only intensifies with each passing second, knowing that you're closer and closer to confronting your past.

Instead of staying out in the open office space, you find somewhere to hide for the next forty five minutes, like a coward. You find a quiet corner in the breakroom and sit at the table, spreading the contents of the folder out in front of you. Maybe if you fully immerse yourself in the case then this assignment won't be that bad, or at least that's what you're trying to convince yourself of.

The papers in front of you detail the unsub the team is going after. Being familiar with this unit, your brain automatically disregards the information that isn't pertinent to your job. You're not a behavioral profiler like the rest of them, and so the information about picking apart the unsub's actions isn't as important to your job. Instead, you focus on the details regarding the unsub's internet use and who has been targeted. In a way, you're profiling the unsub, you just do it differently than the rest of the team.

As an intelligence analyst, you're more concerned with known usernames, websites frequented, how the unsub uses social media, that sort of thing. You're more interested in establishing a pattern of online behavior that can give insight to an unsub's activity that might not be apparent from the crime scenes left behind. During your time at the Quantico office, this type of analysis has been helpful in over forty cases.

As you read on and mark specific details to help you, your mind reverts to what it knows best; the job. Your thoughts are no longer concerned with facing your past, and all you can think of is how to use the information provided to aid your search. Your dedication to the job is also what landed you in this predicament in the first place, but you try not to dig into what that might mean.

"Hey, there you are, we've been looking for you all over. Wheels up in five." Morgan says and you nod, quickly shoving the papers back into the file and clipping the pen over the front cover. You must've lost track of time, too engrossed in searching for the smallest of details.

Taking the familiar path to the unit's private jet is almost nostalgic, and you kind of miss being able to do this. The Cleveland office never deploys agents like Quantico does, but they offered the position of a lifetime, and you couldn't turn it down. But sometimes, most times, you wish you had. You found that you lost far more than you gained.

The rest of the team is on the jet by the time you and Morgan arrive, and you rush in, mumbling out an apology as you take a seat in the back, where you'll hopefully be left alone for the duration of the flight. As you take your seat and prepare for takeoff, you can feel everyone's eyes burning into you and your heart rate increases, knowing that the one person you'd wanted to avoid is definitely here. His presence is overwhelming and you haven't even looked at him yet. Your heartstrings tug with remorse and pain, remembering the last time you two were on the jet, when things were good.

Knowing you've already gathered all the information you can from the file, you open it again anyways and act like you're deep in thought. Though the profilers can probably see right through this, none of them say anything.

It's a demanding task to keep your eyes trained on the file for the majority of the flight, but after a while your neck starts aching from poor posture. You quietly place the file on your lap and stretch out your muscles, massaging the side to find some temporary relief. You notice that almost everyone has elected to take a nap until the plane lands, but unfortunately, one person opted to stay awake.

Your eyes meet his and it's like the entire world caves in.

His hazel eyes hold your own and you can't stop the racing images in your mind, they're all so vivid. You remember the first time you met him, how you two became so quickly entangled in one another without even noticing. Your feelings for him had encroached on you so subtly, that you didn't even realize how deeply and richly you loved him until you said goodbye.

You'll never be able to erase that moment from your mind. The day you told him you accepted the Intelligence Director job in Cleveland, and that you were transferring. Tears had been running down his cheeks, and you tried to console and comfort him, but there was nothing you could do, the damage had been done. And not a day has gone by that you didn't think of him.

Now that you're face to face with him again, it's like the poorly-repaired crack in your heart has been reopened. You want nothing more than to reach out and feel his soft skin under your fingertips one more time. Though you were the one who broke things off, you mourned the lost relationship with him. Things with him just fell into place, the two of you brought out the best in each other.

But now, looking into his eyes, you notice the spark behind them is gone and only a dull light remains. Your mouth falls open like you're going to say something, but he looks away before your mind can come up with anything to say. Not that he has to listen to anything you say, you understand if he wants nothing to do with you this entire trip.

Truthfully, you were surprised Morgan had welcomed you back so warmly. You knew that by leaving Quantico, and also the love of your life, that you had hurt the team. The team is so intimately woven together, that your departure had left a bad taste in their mouths. Of course some were more understanding, but there were also those who took it more personally. And you can't blame them, after all you broke the heart of the most caring, tender soul in the world.

Realizing you're staring at the side of his face, you tear your gaze away from him and your mind forces you to relive one of your most regrettable moments.

-----

"I took the job in Cleveland. I leave in two days." The words tumble out of your mouth as the elevator door dings and opens to the main lobby. You had tried to find the right time to tell him, but the clock was ticking and time was running out. The hand intertwined with yours drops as the two of you step out into the lobby.

"What?" He says with clear exasperation and disbelief. You had mentioned four months ago that you were interested in the job, and he had encouraged you to at least apply. But that was before you two had become so deeply involved in one another.

"They called me the other night and said they would love to have me as soon as possible. I applied months ago and I didn't think they'd actually consider me for the position." You try to explain to him that you didn't do this after you had grown close. He shakes his head, and you see wetness gather in his lash line.

"So that's it then? You're just going to leave?" His voice cracks, and your heart shatters into a million pieces.

A single tear drips from your face and lands on the floor. The love of your life walks away from you and you don't know if you'll ever see him again.

-----

The plane lands and everyone grabs their belongings before filing out. You intentionally take a longer time to gather the few belongings you had brought along, and you're careful to make sure he's out of the plane before you leave.

You hang back from the team while they all get ready to head to the hotel to check in before going to the crime scene. They're all discussing their theories about the unsub and you listen in, but make no move to interject like you used to. Instead, you silently get into the SUV and keep your gaze focused on the moving landscape.

Once everyone is at the hotel and checked into their rooms, you let yourself drop the façade. The door behind you shuts and you slide down until you're sitting on the floor, the ache in your chest making it feel as if you can't catch your breath. You knew this was going to be hard, but you never thought it would feel this suffocating. It seems that while the world and the team had moved on, you remain stuck in the memory of what used to be. And you're not sure if you'll ever be able to truly move on. You're not sure if you want to move on.

A knock on your door forces you to stand back on your feet, and you hurriedly throw your things on the bed before returning and answering the door. Morgan stands on the other side, leaning against the doorframe. He smiles softly as he meets your eye and you're quick to put your front back up with a smile.

"Are we ready?" You ask and he nods. You follow him without another word, tucking the keycard into the pocket of your jacket.

"You know you don't have to act like an outsider, it's just us." He tries to soothe your obvious discomfort.

"It feels like I'm an outsider." You admit to him and he stops walking as he continues the conversation.

"None of us blame you for taking the job, it was good for your career. And whatever happened between you and Reid, it was two years ago." He says like the time makes things easier to handle, when in fact, the time just made your heart grow heavy with loss. You avert your eyes from him and nod, starting to walk back down the hall to avoid continuing this conversation.

Once you all had arrived to the scene, you hung around the back. You weren't really needed here, but the team likes to have you here so that you can be up to date with all the information they have. Once their assessment of the scene is complete, that's when you'll go back to the police station where you'll set up your work space for the remainder of the case.

The team and the local police discuss what's been found so far. There was a young male found deceased, gun in his hand with an apparent self-inflicted gunshot. However, there were a few details that suggested that this was not a suicide. The angle at which the bullet entered the victim's head was inconsistent with suicide, and the gun wasn't laying in the manner it should have given the bullet's trajectory. The victim's phone had gone missing in this area as well, but nobody's been able to recover it yet; maybe the unsub took it with them.

The behavioral analysts comb over the scene with intense precision, and you begin looking at things from a different perspective. Your mind begins constructing several theories about where the gun came from, what significance this place has, and where the victim's phone is. As your mind races, your hand scribbles messy notes so you don't lose your train of thought.

Feeling as if someone's looking at you, your gaze turns from your sloppy notes to look around. From the other side of the crime scene, those familiar hazel eyes look into your own, as if they can see into your soul. As soon as your eyes meet, he's turning away and back to the scene, where he points something out to Hotch and then goes on a tangent about the history of something.

You try your best to listen in, needing to hear his honeyed voice. In the two years you had been gone, your mind had failed you and forgot how sweet he sounds. From the distance between you, your ears only pick up bits and pieces and nothing quite makes sense because you miss so much information. But you were never listening for the content anyways.

You finish your evaluation quicker than the rest and so you take out your phone and try to do some preliminary searches. Within a minute you find the victim's social medias and begin combing through them in search of people regularly interacted with, patterns of life, and anything else that might stand out. With your notepad balanced unevenly on a tree trunk, you try to scribble down names to follow up on when a voice from behind you startles you from concentration.

"The rest of us are going to stay here for a while, but you and some others can head to the police station and get started." Hotch dismisses you from the scene and you nod, heading towards the car while still jotting down notes, not bothering to see who else is joining you.

Once your mind starts going on a case it's hard for it to stop, which is both a strength and a flaw. By the time you join the local law enforcement in their car, you're on a mental fast track. The notes you write are indecipherable to everyone but yourself but it all makes sense to you, and that's all that matters.

"So what all do you need?" The local police officer asks from the drivers seat. Your gaze shifts from the paper to the rearview mirror, where the older man is looking back at you with curiosity in his eyes.

"Not a lot. I'll need a computer, access to records, and some warrant forms to get started." Your answer is almost automated from having to answer it time and time again over the years. However, as you go to finish your notes, you notice someone in the passenger seat and your breath catches in your throat. How had you not noticed he was sitting less than two feet away?

The rest of your notes don't get finished. Instead, you're transfixed on the man in front of you. His familiar smell is almost enough to bring you to tears, he still smells like home. You remember spending nights in his apartment in the fall time, huddled under blankets that smelled like him. A comforting scent that let you know that you were safe, you were exactly where you were meant to be.

The police are quick to accommodate your needs and you thank them politely, but your mind is anywhere but where it should be. Instead of uncovering important intelligence for the case, your mind is preoccupied with the man in front of you. As the police set up a temporary workspace for you, Spencer stands right in front of you, but facing away, scanning over images from the crime scene. You know he's got the images committed to memory by now, he's just doing that to avoid you, and so you take the hint.

"Here you are ma'am." The officers show you to your workspace, and you fight back the urge to protest their use of "ma'am". It always made you feel old.

"It's Director, actually." Spencer corrects the officer, and your lips part slightly. Before you can say anything to him, he's already turned back around to study the photos.

"My apologies, here's your workstation, Director. Let me know if there's anything else I can do to assist." The officer then excuses himself. The tension between you and your former lover is thick, but you know that you're not likely to get him alone like this again, and so you force yourself to take advantage of the situation.

"Thank you." Your voice is soft and you bite the skin on your lower lip, a bad nervous habit he once told you. He places the photos on the desk and turns to face you.

"Of course." Is all he says before getting started on his duties. You should've known he was going to be here like this, it's how most cases with the team went. You worry that your preoccupation is going to hinder your investigation, but at the same time you're just thankful to see him again, even if he never says another word to you.

-----

Later in the day, the rest of the team joins you two in the police department to catch everyone up on the information uncovered. The behavioral analysts have deduced that the unsub might be a woman, and you make note of that. Truthfully, your preliminary searches have not been as fruitful as they typically are, and you know everyone notices.

"I'm going to keep going though. I know there's something out there." You say as you admit to them you don't have any solid leads yet, a first for you. You don't miss the pitiful smiles people throw your way, and you bite your tongue to make sure you don't say anything out of line.

The rest of the day you search tirelessly for leads and before you know it, it's dark outside and everyone is gone. Without prying eyes, your shoulders slouch and you cradle your head in your hands. Your eyes burn from staring at the screen, and your list of leads is still too small for your liking. There's still a lot of work to be done.

The frustration with yourself grows and you almost resent your superior for sending you back here. He said that you were requested by name, and that there was no reason for you not to come. Though you could give him a reason, you're sure he would've just told you to grow up. On your way here you convinced yourself that you could do this job quickly but now that you're here, it's apparent that your distraction is going to be an obstacle to overcome. When lives are on the line, it's dangerous to have an obstacle that impairs your work.

But once the quietness of the police station settles in your mind, you find the will to keep working. Maybe without him being here you can actually get some work done. So that's exactly what you do, you work through the night and are thankfully able to come up with some solid bits of information that you think will be beneficial for the behavioral analysts to know.

Information is meticulously placed in an easy to read briefing document, which you print out and staple for everyone, just like you used to. Perhaps if you conduct this just like your other jobs, you'll start to feel more at home and comfortable.

-----

A hand on your shoulder startles you awake, and your eyes blink wildly to try and acclimate yourself with the bright light that's now infiltrating the station windows.

"Did you stay here all night?" Hotch's voice causes your head to swivel to the front door of the station and you rub your eyes, realizing that you did in fact end up staying here all night. You try to downplay this and dodge his question, gathering the briefing documents you had put together and passing them out to the team.

"This is what I found out, there are still more leads to follow, but I think I'm onto some good things here. One person of interest stands out, and that's a girl he recently started interacting with. From what I can tell without getting into his profiles, they started interacting about a month ago, and it appears they were very in love with each other. But she's got some literal skeletons in her closet. Three years ago one of her boyfriends was found dead in an apparent suicide." You conclude your briefing with the most pertinent information. They can read through the rest themselves. You cover your mouth as you yawn, and stretch out the tense muscles in your neck. The agents read over everything and while they read, you turn the computer back on and prepare to do some more investigating.

"Take a break, you were here all night." Morgan speaks up this time, causing almost everyone's eyes to land on you. Every time you blink your eyes feel like they're being scrubbed with sandpaper, but you can't afford to take a break.

"I'll be fine." You offer him a smile, but it doesn't take a professional profiler to see right through it. Nobody says anything else, so you start going down more rabbit holes to uncover more leads about who the unsub might be.

As the agents go to interview people, it's just you and Spencer left at the station. He's taking care of the geographical profile for this case, like he usually does. The two of you work quietly, but you notice that you can't help but look over at him every few minutes with longing and fondness thick in your heart.

Today he's wearing a button up pushed to his elbows with a simple tie, and it shouldn't make you feel any sort of way, but it brings you back to your first day at the BAU. You remember in great detail seeing him for the first time, he was wearing something similar and you had convinced yourself that he despised you because he would never directly interact with you. After a while you had figured out that he was just unsure of how to approach you, he said that he felt flustered around you. But being paired together on cases helped break the ice, and without even realizing it, you had fallen head over heels in love with him. And you had never fallen out of love, not for one second.

Your eyes travel from his shirt to his hair, his chocolate curls still as soft as you remember them. Flashes of late weekend nights pop into your mind and you remember how he'd fall asleep with his head in your lap as you raked your fingers through his hair, lulling him to sleep. Then there were the mornings where his hair would be sticking up in random places from how restless he was the night before, and how you fought hard to tame the curls, but were never completely successful.

The coffee cup on the desk next to him catches your eye and you wish you had a strong cup right about now. When the two of you used to work together, you would take turns bringing the coffee. He always liked his with enough sugar to put anyone into a diabetic coma and he always perfectly made your latte every time. He had it down to a science. It's the simple things you miss the most about him, about your time shared with him.

No matter how much time or distance that was put between the two of you, you know that you have no choice but to love him. You love him still, with just as much passion as you did two years ago when you left, and you know there's not a single thing on this Earth that you wouldn't still do for him.

You're not sure if it's the exhaustion finally getting to you or what, but you find that you can't be in the same room as him any longer, suffocating from bittersweet memories. Abruptly, you stand from your seat and make your way to the station's bathroom, catching a glimpse of him as you pass and you feel the sob bubbling up in your throat.

As soon as the bathroom door is closed, the tears you had worked away from the plane, from the hotel, and from the crime scene come sliding down your face. Memories you thought were just painful are now harmful, evident by the deep ache that's taken residence in your chest. You tightly grip the sink in the bathroom and try to get a hold of yourself.

You make eye contact with yourself in the mirror and see dark circles under your bloodshot eyes. Tears gently fall from your lashes down your cheeks, but you make no move to wipe them away. As you stare down your reflection, you're forced to reckon with yourself, to confront what you've been running from for two years.

This is just the physical manifestation of how you've felt inside since you stepped off that elevator a couple years ago. Broken, in disrepair, suffering.

A knock on the door interrupts your meltdown and you clear your throat before wiping away the tears. Before you walk out you try your best to conceal that you've been crying, but you already know it's a lost cause. You're just thankful the rest of the team is out working the case so they can't be witness to just how pathetic you've become.

"Director, are you okay?" The officer from yesterday is waiting for you on the other side of the door. With a final breath, you open the door and plaster a smile on your face, seeing the look of concern he's giving you.

"I'm just fine, thank you." The crack in your voice contradicts your words and you keep your head down as you return to your desk and prepare to bury yourself in work for the remainder of the day. As you walk by, you can just barely see Spencer's head turn to watch you walk by, but you can't bring yourself to look back.

-----

Hours later, the agents are returning from their field work and you've prepared more information for them. You took a deep dive into the girl of interest, the one you highlighted in the briefing, and found that she has had several relationships in the past few months. All of which ended badly, according to social media posts.

"One post in particular claims that she showed up at a previous boyfriend's house with a gun because she was convinced he had another girl over. I've been able to establish a pattern of erratic behavior from her, backed up by a few restraining orders." You yawn as you finish explaining the newly found information. The lack of sleep is most definitely catching up to you but you know you're so close to finishing this case; why stop working now?

The mission-driven part of your brain makes you sit back down to find more evidence of the girl's psychotic behavior, but before you can resume a hand reaches over and shuts the computer off.

"No. You've done more than enough. Go to the hotel." Hotch orders you with a warning look that tells you not to fight him on this. If your eyes didn't feel like a desert, you might have argued back but the thought of fresh hotel sheets, a warm shower, and a moment of rest is too appealing. Perhaps you had overworked yourself.

Relenting, you nod and gather your things while the rest of the team continues discussing the case. You're sure if there are any major developments that they'll contact you, so you don't worry about missing anything major. After all, the case seems like it's coming to a quick close. Which is odd, this case has been strangely easy and straightforward. Why would they call in an intelligence director for this?

The question floats around your head as you catch a taxi back to the hotel. As you shower, you try to come up with anything that makes sense. There are tons of FBI intelligence analysts in Quantico, but your supervisor said that you had been requested by name. This case wasn't particularly daunting, so why didn't they give the assignment to a junior analyst? Why would they specifically ask for you? It just doesn't make sense, there's no logic to it; and you don't like things that aren't logical.

After your shower, you flop onto the crisp hotel sheets with a huff. Your mind is still reeling with the question of why as you drift off into a restless sleep.

-----

"Would you like to come over and watch the movie? I rented it because I just finished the book. And I know the books are always better but I can't help it, I'm curious." You stop yourself from rambling too much, and look up at your coworker with butterflies in your tummy and stars in your eyes. His hazel eyes look back down at you, crinkling in the corners as he smiles.

"You're probably right, the books are always better. But, um, yeah, sure I'd love to watch it with you." Faint redness brushes his cheeks as he stumbles over his words, which you've noticed he only does when he's nervous. It's endearing, you think.

"Great, um, come over at 6?" You ask him, nervously biting at the skin on your bottom lip.

"You know chewing on your lips like that is a bad habit, in severe cases it can lead to the development of fibromas. And yes, I'll be there at six. Is there anything I should bring?" As he finishes his sentence you immediately stop biting at the sensitive skin, making a mental promise to try and break the habit. With a shake of your head, you smile back at him,

"Just bring yourself, that's more than enough." The blush on his cheeks grows redder and you turn on your heel, leaving the office for the evening, giddy with excitement of finally gaining the courage to ask Spencer to hang out after work. You had wanted to get to know him better outside of work, but you had never felt comfortable enough to do it until now.

Later that night, he knocks on your door at six sharp. You practically trip over your own feet as you go to the door, in a frenzy to make sure your clothes are straightened out and your hair is in place. Before you greet him, you take a second to gain your composure.

Spencer is standing on the other side, with a bag of M&Ms in his hand. A sheepish smile adorns his perfectly structured face and you let him in.

"I know you said not to bring anything, but I know these are your favorite." He hands the bag to you and you thank him. A man had never taken enough interest in you to get to know what you like and don't like. But Spencer is different, and you knew that from the moment you met.

"Thank you." A wave of confidence comes over you, and you lean up and place a soft kiss on his cheek.

-----

You awake with a heavy, raw feeling in your stomach and you reach for your phone to check the time. It's eleven at night, and nobody from the team had tried to reach you since you left the station earlier in the morning. Setting the phone beside you, you get out of the bed and decide to talk a walk. There's no chance that you're getting back to sleep after that dream. The dreams about Spencer had stopped about a year ago, and it made life manageable; but now that they're back, and he's right here, just out of reach, it's like you forgot how to function.

Tucking the keycard into your pocket, you step out of the room and quietly shut the door. You're not sure where you're even headed, but anywhere but inside that small room is good enough. As you make your way into the elevator, you rub the grogginess from your eyes. They're still sensitive from the improper rest and tears, but it's the least painful thing you're dealing with.

The elevator doors open at the lobby and you can hear that the hotel's bar is alive with energy. What better way to drown your sorrows? Your feet carry you to the bar and you take a seat at the end, ordering something strong from the bartender. With an unsteady hand, you swirl the liquid around in the glass as someone takes a seat next to you.

"Didn't think I'd see you here." Derek's voice is smooth as usual. Looking up from your coping mechanism, you give him the best smile you can produce. His eyes dart from your face to your hand and he frowns.

"Any developments?" You change the topic of conversation immediately, taking a large swig. He nods his head,

"We got her. The information you found was enough to secure the warrant." He says and for the first time working this case, you feel happy. Catching an unsub before they can hurt anyone else always brought you great satisfaction.

"Good. That's great, glad I could help." You say and finish off your drink, gesturing to the bartender for another.

"The rest of us are over there, come join us. It'll be like old times." He leans up against the bar with a bottle in his hand. The bartender hands you another and you consider it.

"We both know it won't be like old times." Your voice trails off and you stare back into your glass, wanting to look anywhere but at Derek. His plants his hand on your arm, strong enough to pull your attention back to him and behind him you can see the rest of the team taking their seats. You spot Spencer taking a seat next to Emily, remembering how it used to be you that he sat by.

"Stop making excuses. After this who know when we'll see you again? Come on, we've all missed you." Derek has always had a way of getting to your soft spot, and it's almost impossible to say no. Your teeth find their way to the damaged skin on your lip and you look between him and the crowd of your former team, celebrating the arrest.

"Fine. But only if you answer something for me." You make a deal and take another drink.

"Sure." He agrees.

"Who requested me to be assigned to this case?" The question still hadn't left your mind. Derek's expression is unreadable, and he looks over to his colleagues.

"It was Hotch." It's not the answer you were hoping for, but you nod. Deep down you know you wished it was Spencer who had recommended you.

"Why? There are so many good analysts in Quantico." You take another drink, waiting for his reasoning.

"There are good analysts, but none of them are you. Look, Hotch misses you a lot. We haven't been able to fill your position since you left, because none of them can live up to you. The team hasn't been the same without you." His words sting, and you feel even more remorse about your decision. You should've never taken the job. Your shoulder sag in defeat.

"I wish I never left." You confide in him, trusting him enough to open up. He puts a comforting hand on your shoulder and gives a reassuring squeeze.

"Well, you didn't hear it from me, but I think Hotch wants to talk to you before you go back to Cleveland." His words ignite a spark of hope inside you. For the first time since you started the case, you perk up.

"Are you serious?" You can barely believe his words. After everything that happened, you were sure they'd never want you back permanently. You were keenly aware of how protective everyone was over Spencer, and when you broke his heart, you were sure that was the last straw. But maybe things can be salvaged, just maybe.

"Okay I gave you an answer, now come on." He drops the conversation and smiles, leading you over to the table, trying your absolute best to appear happy and not like every single emotion is running through your mind all at once.

"There she is! Our wonder girl!" Hotch's voice greets you as he pulls you in for a hug. You can't help but to smile, his embrace and nickname feeling familiar and comforting. Hotch had taken you under his wing from day one, and you're forever grateful for him.

"Is there an empty seat?" You ask and he nods, gesturing towards the one on the other side of Spencer. The smile on your face falters, but you don't want to make things weird for the whole team, so instead of making a deal out of it you decide to suffer in silence and take the seat.

Maybe a little part of you will enjoy being so close to him. Maybe you can find just a shred of comfort from his proximity. You don't miss the way his shoulders tense as you jump up into the tall stool and you take another drink quickly. The team goes on and on about the case and how the girl was insisting she was innocent while you spin your glass around on the table, mulling over Derek's words.

"This round's on me." Spencer's voice breaks you out of your trance and you look over at him, seeing his wallet opening. Your heart drops to your stomach when you see a polaroid still tucked inside the opening meant for a driver's license. You suck in a sharp breath as if it had just slapped you across the face.

You had almost forgotten about the photo, a moment frozen in time. The two of you smile widely, squinting from the flash. Your arms wrapped around his neck and one of his arms circling your waist as he took the picture. It was the first, and only, Christmas you had spent with each other, neither of you having families to spend the holiday with. The two of you had made it a point to make the other feel special. You had gotten him a new series of books he had mentioned and he got you a pair of rose quartz earrings. It didn't take you long to realize why he had chosen rose quartz.

Hearing your breath, he looks over and sees your eyes trained on the photo. You tear your eyes from the photo up to him, your heartbeat echoing in your ears. How can he be so close, yet so far? Your lips fall open as your brain tries to find the right words, but you come up short. While the others go to get another round of drinks, the two are you are stuck staring at each other, transfixed.

"Spencer." You finally breathe out, eyes scanning his face for any indication of how he's feeling. Butterflies erupt in your tummy. His eyes look deep into yours and you wonder if he can see it, the way your eyes shine with only the deepest love for him. You feel tears well in your lash line, and you don't even care, all you want to do is reach out for him, to feel his arms around you, to have him back.

In that moment, you know you would get down on your knees in the hotel bar and publicly beg for his forgiveness if that's what it took to have him back. To lament about how you wish you had never left him. Confess how every single day you've longed for his touch, his love, and how you know you're undeserving of him. That no matter how many minutes have passed, your heart belongs to him and only him until the end of time.

"Why don't we take a walk?" He finally answers and you nod your head immediately. You jump down from the stool and follow behind him outside the hotel where a light drizzle of rain had started.

He walks a few paces ahead of you, hands tucked into the pockets of his pants until he reaches a lone light post that's illuminating the raindrops. He turns to face you, the golden light reflecting off his smooth skin and you can see how his eyes dance over your face. It feels like hours pass before he says anything.

"How's Cleveland treating you?" It's not at all what you're expecting and it takes you a few moments to process the question.

"Cleveland is...well, truthfully, I hate it there." You decide to completely come clean to him. The raindrops begin clinging to the ends of his hair, magnifying the rich warm hues.

"Sounds like you're doing some pretty good things up there. Hotch has been keeping us updated." He says, kicking around loose pebbles on the sidewalk as he speaks. The tension is reminiscent of your first few interactions with him, and you kick yourself for ever letting him go.

"I'm just doing my job. But I hear Quantico needs a lead analyst." I bring up the topic, just to see his reaction. If he gives any indication that he doesn't want me to come back, I'll turn Hotch down without a second thought. Spencer lifts his gaze back up to you and nods.

"We've been looking for one for a while." A gust of wind makes you shiver from the wetness of your skin.

"Derek told me Hotch is going to ask me to come back." You blurt out, not wanting to beat around the bush any longer.

"They told me." He answers, looking away from you once more. You lick your lips and ask the question that will determine your decision.

"Do you want me back?" The question is loaded, and he knows that too. He stops kicking around the pebbles and just stares down at the sidewalk. When he lifts his head, your wide eyes meet his.

"Do you want to come back?" He answers your question with another.

"More than anything. I've wanted to come back since the first day I left." You confess to him, taking a step forward. Before he can say anything else, you force yourself to say everything you've been feeling over the past few days, knowing that if you don't do it now that you might regret never saying it.

"I should have never left. That job was never worth giving up what we had. I was stupid, I was a damn fool for letting you go. You're all I've thought about every single day, my heart and soul are fractured without you. But I don't expect you to forgive me, I'm not worthy of your forgiveness. And if you don't want me back I'll tell Hotch that I can't take the position." The rain had picked up as you poured your heart out to the man you love.

You watch as he takes his hands out of his pockets and takes a step towards you.

"I've hoped that you would come back every day. I waited for you to walk through the office doors day after day. And I'm sorry for just walking away, I didn't know what to do, the thought of you not being here anymore was too much. I shouldn't have just walked away." You hear his voice start to tremble, and you can't help but to close the distance between the two of you.

You wrap your arms around his neck and his arms wrap around your waist, holding you tight against his body. Tears fall from your eyes onto his shirt, and after what feels like an eternity, he pushes you back slightly, tipping your chin up so that you're forced to look into his eyes. His lips are parted, and he leans in and presses a sweet, tender kiss to yours.

Your hands grasp the sides of his face, as if he would suddenly disappear if you let go. He clutches you with just as much passion, the two of you pressed together as you express everything you have felt over the last two years without one another. The pain, the longing, the love. Spencer breaks the kiss and leans his forehead against yours.

In the soft amber glow of the streetlamp you can see it clearly, just how your love shines for one another.

#spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #angst #so much angst #pining #hurt/comfort #Spotify

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sleepershell · 6 months

Text

truth or dare

synopsis y/n convinces the Skittles to play truth or dare. It's all fun and games until Reggie doesn't like your answers. He storms out and, when you go to confront him, he's forced to admit how he feels.

Word count 1309

note loosely based on a prompt I saw @sufferingstarlight write from.

warnings a little sad, angst, mention of death eaters/the dark mark, some swearing

pairing Regulus Black x reader (no pronouns I think? Although I was writing it thinking f! Reader)

I couldn’t believe I’d convinced all these pureblood wizards to play a muggle game. But there they were, all my friends, sitting around me and playing a game of truth or dare. Evan charmed a Hufflepuff girl into giving us some weed for free, and we’d smoked it outside before running giggling back to the Slytherin common room. The seventh years all left at the first sight of us. They probably knew we were in the mood to start some trouble.

It was never hard to sneak Dora in anymore, although that probably had something to do with Regulus’ clout among our housemates for being a Black. Or maybe our housemates’ fear of him being a Death Eater. Either way, it worked out well for us. Dora was leaning against Reg, her long legs splayed in front of her. I was in a similar position, my top half leaning on Cas so she could play with my hair. It was the most euphoric feeling in the world to have her hands in my hair, especially when I was high. Evan was between Cas and Reg, while Barty sat between Dora’s and my feet. It was a good position, since I could give him a good kick whenever he said something stupid. With all that brain of his, one would expect him to say less dumb shit.

I was just recovering from a fit of laughter at Evan’s last confession when Cas asked “y/n, truth or dare?”

“Hm,” I pretended to think. Normally I would love a good dare but, knowing Cas, she’d try to give me something she knew I’d struggle with. No one quite knew how to push my buttons like my best friend. “Truth this time.” I cracked my knuckles for effect.

“Alrighttt.” I could feel the vibrations in her chest as she spoke. “If you could kiss any of the boys at school, who would it be?”

My stomach dropped. Of course, she still had found a way to torture me. Oh, that girl was going to get jinxed later. She’d never be able to sleep safely in our room again. There was no way I could tell the truth. It would be painfully embarrassing to admit who I really, really wanted to kiss in this group. I wouldn’t live it down. Barty was wagging his eyebrows at me, and Evan looked equally interested in my answer. I was always so careful to keep who I liked close to my chest, though I suspected everyone already knew. I had to think of something before the length of time got way too suspicious. I let a glance fly over at Reg. Like always, he just stared at me, eyes blank, a slight furrow in his brow. I should say Sirius. Then maybe he’d actually react to me for once. Then maybe I’d know how he felt. Saying Potter might hurt him even more… But I couldn’t do something like that to him.

“Uh, Remus, I guess.” I shrugged.

Barty wrinkled his nose at that. “That boring friend of Sirius’?”

“He’s not boring,” I protested, “he’s… nice.”

A scoff from Regulus.

I sat up straight, ready for a fight. “Is there something you want to say?”

“Nope.” Cocky asshole.

“Fine.” I crossed my arms. “Reggie: truth or dare?”

“Truth.” His dark eyes were still blank but I could see tension in his lips.

“Who in school would you kiss?”

He shook his head with a small laugh. “This muggle game is ridiculous.”

All at once he was standing and stalking out of the common room with the haughty grace typical of all the Blacks. Pandora looked shocked when he disappeared from beside her and nearly fell over. Other than she and I, everyone gave a collective shrug. It wasn’t out of character for Reg to leave so abruptly, to get rumpled over nothing. But this time I hopped up from my spot as well. He couldn’t just leave like that.

“Where are you going?” Evan asked.

“I’m going to find that fucker.” I called back over my shoulder.

“Oh boy.” I could hear them all break out into laughter as I slammed the door behind me.

Regulus wasn’t hard to find. When I didn’t see him in the dungeons I knew where else to look. It was late in an October evening, and I had to wrap my arms around myself as I followed the edge of the Black Lake. There was no moon above, the only reflections cast on the water from the monolith of a castle behind me. So many days we’d spent out on the bank of the lake, on the side closest to the Forbidden Forest. There was nowhere else he’d go.

And there was Reg, pacing back and forth, his hands held out in front of him grasping the cold air. Strong hands. Piano hands. Writing hands. Hands I’d almost reached out for so, so many times. He appeared suspended in an argument with nothing.

I held my tongue until I was near, but had to speak when my presence wasn’t acknowledged. That close, I could finallyI see emotion on his face. Twisted up and white as a sheet.

“Reg, tell me what’s going on.” My voice was soft, barely more than a rasp.

“Nothing.” Still not a glance at me, though he’d stopped pacing. His chest was heaving as if he’d been yelling. “Go back inside, y/n.”

He loved to give orders. As if anyone had any reason to obey him.

“I’m not going anywhere.” The words flew out of me with a bite, and he looked up as if he’d been slapped. Maybe my tone was too close to his dreadful mother’s for comfort. But I couldn’t worry about that. We’d been playing pretend for too long. “Do you have a problem with Remus or do you have a problem with me?”

He scoffed again, his eyes up to the moonless sky. “You have no idea what I’ve got going on.” He always had to play superior. Always had to play prince.

“Salazar, Regulus, I’m not a bloody idiot! Do you think that little of me?”

He glared down at me, his eyes glistening. I took a step closer. The gap between us was so small I could feel his breath.

“Either you’re jealous and you want me or you don’t and you’re the blood purity asshole Black family heir you want everyone to think you are. Just say which.”

“Stop.” He shook his head at me.

“I’m already in. You can’t scare me away.”

“Please stop.” Head still shaking.

“I am in love with you, Regulus. I won’t take it back because it’s true and you can’t ignore it anymore.” I could see the water welling in his lower lids. It was in mine, too.

“We can’t,” he breathed.

My hand, out of reflex more than anything else, lifted to his chin. I brushed my thumb along his bottom lip. He didn’t shy away from my touch like he had so many times before.

“Please walk away.” There was so much desperation in those eyes. “Please.”

“Why?”

He grasped his sleeve and wrenched it up. I didn’t have to look; I already knew.

“If I have to take the mark myself, I will. Anything. Anything.”

“Fuck,” he sobbed, the tears finally falling. He let himself fall forward with them, our foreheads bumping against one another.

“You love me.” I didn’t ask, but it was a question. A desperate question I’d asked myself about him a million times before. Does Regulus Black love me like I love him?

A nod that shook my own head with it. His red-rimmed eyes bore into me. “I love you.”

I moved my hands to cup his face on either side. “You never told me your answer.”

And then I felt the softness of his lips on mine.

#regulus black #regulus arcturus black #oneshot #fanfic #fanfiction #marauders #harry potter #regulus black x reader #regulus x reader #angst #so much angst #self insert #jealousy #slytherin #love #💤🦪#🐍#friends to lovers #star crossed lovers

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murciafire · 7 months

Text

Not My Hero

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn! reader

Summary: You were always so self-sacrificial, and Jason finally had enough of it

Warnings: sexual assault; abuse (if you squint)

Words: ~2.2k

Notes: well, if this ain’t me with my own insecurities. Hopefully, someone out there gets it. But oh man, the angst in this was crazy, made me take a few minutes to pause and just suffer in the most heart wrenching words I just wrote. I’m not entirely happy with the outcome but live, laugh, love.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:

“Why didn’t you let me save you?”

Jason’s strained voice cut through the deafening silence that was threatening to suffocate you. His face was stricken with pain as his eyes, wild and bright, searched yours desperately. His hair, you noticed as you urgently looked elsewhere, was a mess as he had clawed through it trying to keep his temper under control. You wanted to reach out, run your fingers though his hair and tell him that everything was going to be okay, but it wasn’t going to be. Because you fucked up—again. Because it always came down to you, didn’t it?

“Jason, it would’ve put you at risk,” you rationalized, looking at the floor. You had gone out with your friends to the club, unbeknownst to you that it was the same club that Jason had business with—well, more like forcefully extracting information from a criminal as the club was a front for illegal affairs.

Jason couldn’t help but raise his voice at your response, he was just as angry with himself as he was with you. “Put me at risk? You were the one who was in danger! Not me!” he replied aggressively, pacing back and forth in the living room.

Your cheeks heated up in embarrassment, perhaps with shame too, at the fact that he was right. You had been sexually assaulted by a man at the club, and not wanting to distract him from his mission you had decided to endure it because if you were being honest with yourself, you could. Whatever happened, you would survive it—and you had become really good at surviving. You didn’t know how to ask for help, didn’t know what it was like to not carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, didn’t know how to accept an outstretched hand.

“You would’ve been in danger,” you continued to push. “If you had saved me, it would’ve taken you off course of your mission. It would have jeopardized you—compromised you.”

Jason whirled to look at you, his eyes cutting to you sharply. “Mission? Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Jason asked in total disbelief and annoyance. He felt the ground sway beneath him as he was still reeling from what you said.

“Do you really think I care about a mission at that time when the woman I love was being threatened right in front of me?” He continued angrily. “If it was you or taking down a mafia boss, I would’ve chosen you every single day of my life.”

“But you didn’t,” you said, voice so small it almost came out as a whisper. “And it’s okay.”

Jason looked at you, expressions flitting across his face as he felt a surge of emotions overwhelm him. He was so angry at you, but mostly with himself. It was not okay; how could it be? He had failed you and you were saying it was okay? Jason felt his chest tightening around his heart that was becoming heavy.

“We both made a choice tonight,” you said quietly. “And we’re both still alive so let’s just go to bed.”

Jason opened his mouth to argue some more, but as he looked at you, he clamped his mouth shut. He exhaled through his nose, trying to grasp onto reality, anything to center himself and his eyes landed on yours. You looked exhausted, tired from the events of this evening and tired of the emotional turmoil you were going through. Jason knew you were looking out for him and that you weren’t looking out for yourself. He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair.

“Fine,” he gave in reluctantly, crossing his arms.

You stood up, the air around the both of you still thick with tension as you walked to where he stood to give him a hug, but his eyes hardened with every step you took.

“Let me look at those,” Jason commanded. Your eyes travelled down to where Jason kept his eyes trained, seeing the bruises that the man had given you begin to bloom more apparently through your sheer shirt.

“They’re just small bruises,” you brushed off, which made Jason flinch.

“Let me see your bruises, y/n,” he ordered.

Knowing that he wouldn’t stop until he saw them, you crossed the gap between you two and he gently—with the utmost tenderness, pulled up your shirt, his fingers grazing the bruises on your hips lightly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he pressed, irritation dripping into his voice. “You were hurt, and your first thought was to protect me? Instead of taking care of the wounds on your body?”

“I didn’t think there was much to say,” you mumbled out.

His eyes filled with cold rage. “Are you listening to yourself right now? Why the hell did you let him hurt you? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“My friend and I figured it out,” you argued, trying to keep your voice steady but failing.

“You can’t tell me you didn’t need me,” Jason spat, his voice filled with hurt and malice. “You got hurt, your body was injured, and you chose to hide it from me? You really think I would have been fine with it? You know this is exactly why I get frustrated with you? This right here?”

He gestured to you, and you flinched, your voice breaking. “Of course, I needed you.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” he asked angrily. She always kept things from him that he needed to know, and he was getting sick of it.

“It was already a tough night for both of us,” you offered weakly. “I didn’t want you to be more worried than you already were.”

Jason took a step back as if he had just gotten slapped. You really thought your selflessness was a virtue, and the more that Jason thought about it, the less impressed he was becoming with your behaviour. You were hurt, assaulted, and bruised and your first thought wasn’t about yourself. It wasn’t even seeking comfort or help. It was to protect him—and if Jason was going to be honest with himself, it was getting old.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“Don’t be sorry,” Jason snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was annoyed at your apology, but he was even more annoyed at the wall you had built up—that you had always pushed him away.

An unsettling silence fell between the both of you and you had felt that the way things had turned out was your fault—it always was. “I’m sorry,” you said again. “I’ll just go.”

You began to walk away from him, but he grabbed your arm. “You’re not going anywhere. I need to know why you’re doing this.”

“Doing what?” you asked, furrowing your brows.

“Why you’re always thinking about me,” Jason said exasperatedly, pain tinging his voice.

“Why wouldn’t I?” you asked, utterly confused.

Jason stood still, completely silent. Were you really this blind to reality? You were hurt and you still made a point to think about him and not yourself.

“Do you realize just how much it hurts me when you do that?” Jason asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “When you hurt yourself for my sake?”

Jason continued to glare at you, even as the realization began to set in. He couldn’t believe that you were now just starting to understand what he had been trying to tell you for so long.

“You think your selflessness is helping me?” he said bitterly, his voice rising with every word. “Don’t you think it hurts me seeing you hurt? Not only physically but emotionally?”

“I-I d-didn’t know,” you stumbled over your words, feeling so lost at the realization.

“Are you kidding me? Do you understand just how much it hurts me seeing you put your needs aside? Seeing you get hurt?” Jason asked, his eyes starting to well with tears. “What’s so wrong with me that you have to do that?”

His voice cracked as he talked, his eyes desperately searching your face. “What am I doing to make you behave like this?”

“Nothing!” you exclaimed around the lump that burned your throat. How could you tell him that it wasn’t his fault, that it was entirely yours? That you didn’t know how to open up, or how to share the weight of your own trauma. How you were terrified of being a burden to another person, and so you kept it all to yourself. “Nothing is wrong with you, Jay!”

“By always putting my needs before yours, it’s only hurting me more,” Jason said, his head hanging low, defeated.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Jason,” you said, voice breaking. That was the last thing you ever wanted—you had bottled everything in so you wouldn’t, so why does this hurt so much more?

“I know you didn’t,” he said quietly. “But I’m so tired of seeing you hurt.”

There was a lot that you had decided for yourself that night: you had decided to not tell Jason, you had decided what his safety was. Jason was hurt, angry, and confused. He wanted to tell you how much he hated you, but even more so he wanted to tell you that he loved you too.

“I know that you did your best tonight—that you tried to protect me,” Jason said, his voice cracking. “But you’re not my hero. So, stop trying so damn hard to help me.”

You stepped back from him, feeling so overwhelmed, drowning in your own self-deprecation. “What if I don’t become the person you need?” you cried, your tears burning your face.

“What if I need you as you are?” he fought back. “Just because you may not be what I expected right now, doesn’t mean that you still haven’t exceeded my every expectation.”

“It’s not fair that you can be so nice to me even when you’re angry,” you sobbed, voice cracking.

Jason pulled you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you protectively. “Shhh, shhh. It’s okay. Just because you’re not perfect—no, just because you think you’re not—it doesn’t mean that I can’t be patient with you. That I can’t love you. And that I can’t stay by your side—because I can. Yes, you’ve made me angry. You’ve hurt me. You’ve shut me out. Yet I’m still here. I don’t need you to be perfect. I just need you. You are so perfect to me right now, I can’t even put it into words. You’re hurt right now, and I can see it. And it’s killing me to see you like this. Y/n, I don’t need you to be perfect. You can be messy. You can be angry. You can hurt me. Because I’ll always love you.”

You sobbed against his chest, your body wracking with so much guilt, and hurt, and brokenness, because you were such a fuckup. How could he love you?

“You don’t deserve that, Jason,” you cried. “I shouldn’t be hurting you. I shouldn’t even be with you!”

Jason pulled back, his eyes ablaze as he looked at your face desperately. “Why? Why shouldn’t you be with me? Y/n, why do you keep beating yourself over this? Why do you keep pushing me away? Why can’t you accept that I love you? Why can’t you accept that you can be loved? Why can’t you just let yourself be happy?”

You looked away from him, hiding your face in your hands. “I don’t know,” you mumbled.

“You don’t know?” he sighed. He placed his hands on your gently, pulling them away from your face. “Look at me. Look at me.”

You looked up, your eyes glistening with tears as Jason tried to look at your face.

“We’re not doing this,” Jason said, his voice stern. “You’re not leaving me because you think you’re not worth it. You’re not leaving me because you don’t think you can be loved.”

You looked at him so vulnerably—nervous, fear, and insecurity written across your face.

“Y/n,” Jason said gently. “Listen to me. Just listen. You are worth it. You are perfect. You are everything that I could ever want. Do you understand? I don’t care that you’re not perfect. That you mess up. I don’t care that you push me away because I love you. You’re not leaving me, got it?”

You shook your head, wracking over sobs. Jason pulled you into his arms once more, caressing your head.

“Say it, y/n. Say that you’re not leaving me, and that you understand that I need you right now.”

You tried to steady your breath enough to say the next words: “I’m not leaving you. I understand that you need me right now.”

You broke off, crying again and Jason gently caressed your face. “Shh, shh, it’s okay. It’s just you and me now. We’ll always figure it out.”

217 notes · View notes

resident-gay-bitch · 2 months

Text

Regulus’ heart breaks as he stands there, just behind the willow tree, watching James and Sirius roll around on the grass, play fighting in their own little world.

Of course he left him. Of course James would pick Sirius over Regulus, wouldn’t everyone? Regulus has never been picked first. Not once.

Not by his parents, who ignored him throughout his entire childhood to focus on framing Sirius as the perfect son and heir.

Not by Sirius, who ran away, picking James to be his brother and not bothering to ask Regulus to tag along.

Not in team games, where students would pick through the class one by one, and Regulus would be one of the last few standing.

Not by his friends, who all would chose their partners, or the other people in the group first. He joined last, it’s only fair.

Not even by the lizard who inhabits his dorm room, who picks the three other boys to crawl over to first, every time.

And certainly not by James.

He thought, for once, the cycle might be broken. He thought, for once, someone would pick him first. He’d get chosen over someone else, just once.

He should have known better.

He should have known that the moment Sirius found out about he and James sneaking around in dark corridors and whispering sweet words to each other, James would have to pick.

He was foolish to think James would pick him over Sirius. He was foolish to think that James would pick him over anyone.

And as Lily, with her fiery red hair pulled back into braids, comes marching over to the boys, snatching James up by his collar and earning herself a cheek kiss, Regulus realises he should have seen that coming too.

Not even two weeks has passed since Regulus placed second to his brother, as he does in fucking everything, and James has already moved on.

Regulus would never be anyone’s first choice, he should have known better.

He knows better now.

It’s not until three months later that Regulus finally shatters from it. The crushing weight of never being enough, never being someone’s first choice.

It’s Slytherin against Ravenclaw for the quidditch cup, and there in the crowd, he spots his brother and James.

They’re decked out in silver and blue, and they don’t look at Regulus, not even once.

Barty finds him in the showers, once the entire teams cleared out. He’s dressed in a confusing mix of blue and green, for his own house and his friends.

Hes crying. Regulus doesn’t think he’s ever cried this hard before. The water is pouring down over his head, and he’s still fully dressed in his uniform.

Slytherin lost. He lost them the match, because he was more focused on trying to catch James or Sirius looking his way just once than getting the snitch. They didn’t, and he lost.

Barty clearly doesn’t know how to handle this. The lowest he’s ever seen Regulus would have been prior to an exam he stressed himself out about. Besides, Barty has always been a little awkward when handling emotions.

Regulus tries to tell him to leave him be, he really does. But his words get all chocked up in his throat and he can’t get out much more than a wail or a sob. It fucking hurts.

“What’s the matter, Black?” Barty asks, switching the water off before crouching down in front of him, “What’s got your knickers in a twist, hey?”

“I-I’ll never be… good enough.” Regulus confesses. He’s never said it out loud before. He’s not a vulnerable person, he doesn’t do this. He knows better than to let out his sob story to someone, they can hold it over him one day. But he can’t help himself, he finds. He needs to get it off his chest before it rips him open, “I’ll never… b-be enough.”

Barty’s silent for a while, clearly unsure of what to say. It only makes Regulus sob more. He pulls his knees up to his chest and hides his head in his hand, and he fucking cries. He’s sure if anyone’s still out side, they’d hear it, but Barty locked the door when he came in. At least that’s something.

“I can never be enough.” Regulus sobs again, and this time Barty kicks into action.

He’s still awkward about it, Regulus can tell, he probably has better things to do than listen to Regulus cry as well, which only makes this worse. He pushes Regulus’ sopping hair out of his face and pats his face dry with the end of his Slytherin scarf before hauling them both to their feet.

“Who told ya that?” Barty asks, pulling his wand out to try his hand at a drying spell. It mostly works, so Regulus can’t complain.

“I don’t have to be told something to know it, Barty.” Regulus sniffles, wiping his eyes. They sting, and he knows he looks terrible, but there’s no use in worrying about that now.

“Well… I think, if you haven’t been told, it can’t be true.” Barty shrugs, tucking his wand back in his pocket.

“Fine.” Regulus nods, “My entire fucking family has told me then, on several occasions.”

“Oh.” Barty stills, and he has a look on his face of utter confusion.

Regulus shakes his head and goes to walk for the door, but he winces when he puts pressure on his ankle. He fell on it weirdly, midway through the match when he was knocked off his broom. It didn’t bother him before, but it does now.

“You hurt?” Barty asks, and Regulus nods.

Silently, Barty reaches out and wraps his arm around Regulus’ waist. He flinches at first, startled by the slightly intimate touch, but then Barty pulls Regulus to shift his weight, and he relaxes into it a little. Together, they walk back across the field, Barty carrying Regulus’ broom, and half of Regulus’ weight, and make their way back to the castle.

It’s oddly silent.

It’s always quiet, between them. Regulus isn’t much of a talker, and when Barty runs out of stupid things to say he goes quiet and people watches. He usually watches Regulus, since they’re always together, something that took a while to get used to. Barty really likes to watch Regulus read, it makes him a little self conscious of any strange expressions he might be making.

But it’s a strange sort of quiet now. It’s silent. Regulus isn’t talking, not because he doesn’t want to, but because he feels ashamed for breaking down like that. He doesn’t just break down. Men don’t fucking break down. Especially not in front of people like that. He feels embarrassed that Barty found him.

Well, he’s grateful it was Barty over anyone else, seeing as though they’re supposed to be close friends, Merlin forbid Sirius found him. But it’s still uncomfortable.

The only friend any of them have that likes to talk about feelings is Pandora. Regulus assumed this was because she was a girl, at first, however, Dorcas doesn’t like talking about them either. Pandoras just strange like that, she cares about people in odd ways. Sometimes it’s nice, but mostly it’s terrifying.

Barty looks like he wants to talk. He also looks like he wants to watch Regulus, but every time he turns his head to do so he probably sees the red rimming of Regulus’ eyes and finds something much uglier than usual. It only makes Regulus feel all the more ashamed.

Barty starts whistling. It’s not his regular noise filling whistles either, it’s his uncomfortable whistling. He doesn’t want to be here, Regulus can tell. Merlin, he needs to get away.

“Going back to your dorm?” Barty asks as they round a corridor in the castle.

Regulus nods, “Is Evan-“

“He’s there.” Barty says, “Cas too… dunno about Dora, she’s always off with the fairies. If she’s not hugging Dorcas about their loss then I dunno where she is.”

Regulus goes tense, “I don’t want them to see me.”

Barty stops and swallows, “Okay… how about my dorm then? My roommates are all down by the lake. They snagged some firewhisky.”

“Okay.” Regulus agrees, because he has no where else to go.

Once settled in Barty’s dorm, Regulus changes into more comfortable clothes. Plaid pyjama pants and a green knitted sweater he knows is his own that went “missing” last year. He doesn’t question it, Barty’s strange like that. He likes to collect things, and especially Regulus’ things.

They’re both sitting on his bed, Regulus tucked up under the covers and Barty sitting on the other end. He’s flipping through one of his dorm mates magazines and whistling to himself, his regular whistling again. It calms Regulus a bit.

Lying there, stuck with his own thoughts, he can’t hide from the images that pop into his mind every time he closes his eyes. All of Sirius and James, all of them examples where Regulus placed last.

There’s so many it’s hard to filter out which ones are new and which ones are old.

They all hurt just the same.

“Whatcha crying about now?” Barty asks, looking over at Regulus. He didn’t even realise he was crying again, but he is. “Did I do something wrong? I’ll fix it, whatever. Get ya whatever you need, promise.”

“You didn’t do anything.” Regulus sniffles, rolling onto his back to look up at the ceiling. Barty’s stuck posters up there, muggle ones of girls on motorcycles and punk bands, just to piss off his dad. “I’m just…”

“Go on.” Barty asks, sitting up now, cross legged and attentive. “There’s no one here, just me. Promise I’ll never tell.”

Regulus sighs and fiddles with his fingers, “I don’t need your pity, Barty. I’ve survived this long, I can survive some more.”

“Yeah, but you’re crying.” He says, and Regulus glares at him. “What? I ain’t seen you cry before, it’s weird. I know it’s really gotta be botherin ya if you’re crying like this. What would Dora say?”

“She’d probably try to hug me and make me cry more.” Regulus offers.

“Do you want… me to- uhm, hug you?”

“No.” Regulus glares at him. “I don’t want your pity, I said.”

“It’s not my pity, Regulus!” Barty splutters, “It’s a bloody hug. Dora says there really good for ya! I love her hugs, you know. Get ‘em all the time. I- I know I’m no Pandora but… I mean, I can offer ya a real bony one.”

Regulus snickers and looks back up at the roof, “No thanks. That’s weird.”

“Is it?” Barty asks, “Cause… cause I’ve been listening to what she’s sayin and… I think it would be nice.”

“If I hugged you right now?” Regulus raised an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah… and other times.” Barty shrugged, “I dunno, might be dumb but… we’re supposed to be friends, ya know? Friends hug. Cas hates ‘em, unless they’re from Dora, but Evan and I hug sometimes.”

“You’re being weird.”

“I’m not trying to.” Barty frowned, “I just… I care about you, I suppose.”

Regulus swallowed. The only person who’s said that before has been Pandora, but she cares about everyone.

Barty… well, he doesn’t care about much at all. He cares about so little, that Regulus thought the only thing he probably cared about was pissing off his dad and Pandora herself. But apparently that’s not true.

Regulus doesn’t want to believe it. He doesn’t want to hurt himself by believing that he could be one of the very few things Barty has come to care about.

But they’re friends, and Barty watches him a lot, and collects Regulus’ things, and helps him when he cries, and offers to hug him.

Now Regulus is crying for a whole other reason.

“One hug?” Barty offers, sticking out his arms, “I’ll make it so quick and if you hate it we don’t ever have to do it again.”

Regulus contemplates it. He doesn’t remember the last time he was hugged.

He knows the last good one was Pandora, maybe last year, when they were leaving for summer. Quick and carefree. The last bad one, that was James. Not that it was bad at the time, but it hurts to think about now. It was false stability and ended in heartbreak. The last time he was hugged to be soothed though? His mind takes him back to Sirius, when they were still little.

“Fine.” Regulus mutters, sitting up under the covers, “But make it quick.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Barty nods and moves in, “Sorry if I’m uncomfortable.”

Regulus nods and sits very still as Barty wraps himself around Regulus’ shoulders. It’s awkward, to say the least. They’ve never done this before, and they’re going about it very strangely.

“Reg… you gotta relax a bit.”

“How am I supposed to relax when I have a boney man attached to me?”

Barty scoffs and squeezes him a little tighter, “Just put your head on my shoulder, orrite. Relax, just for a second.”

Regulus huffs but does it anyway. He leans his head over to rest on Barty’ shoulder and drops his own, and… oh, it’s nice. It’s actually really, really nice. Barty’s soothing his back, and twisting his finger around the end of Regulus’ hair. And it’s nice.

He can’t even feel Barty’s ribs poking him or anything. It’s really, really cosy.

Regulus pushes him away, wiping his tears.

Barty gives him a guilty smile, “Terrible?”

“No.” Regulus sniffles, “It was actually grossly nice.”

Barty snickers and nods his head, “Well, if you ever need another hug, I’ll give ya as many as ya kneed.”

“Thanks.”

“No problems, Black.”

Regulus fiddles with the ends of his sleeve, refusing to look up at Barty, who he knows is sitting there and staring. He’s so quiet, when he stares. It’s as if any noise Barty makes would ruin his ability to set his full attention solely on Regulus.

It’s so strange. He’s so strange.

“You can’t tell anyone.” Regulus mumbles.

“What, that we hugged?” Barty laughs.

“No.” He scoffs, “What I said before, wanker. In the showers.”

“Oh.” Barty nods, “Well, I wasn’t gonna anyway. Course not, Reg. I know you. I know you hate people knowing your business.”

Regulus nods, “You really wouldn’t have told anyone? Not even Dora?”

“Cross my heart.” Barty smiles, doing just that, “I know she’s my best friend, but you are too. It means something, you know?”

“Oh.” Regulus mumbles.

Barty can only laugh at him, and Regulus turns a little pink.

“Can I… no, don’t worry about it.”

“No, go on.” Barty offers, “It’s just you and me.”

Regulus sighs, “I just… I’m tired of not being good enough, Barty.”

“I dunno what you mean, Black. You’re bloody brilliant.” Barty says, flopping down on his back like a starfish, “You shoulda been in Ravenclaw with your smarts, and not to mention your skills as a seeker. You’re top of the class, Reggie, course you’re good enough.”

Regulus thinks Barty will never understand how much that singular sentence fucking means to him, even if he tries to explain it. It stings, how good it feels to hear it. He never has. Not once.

“Not just in school, Barty. Everywhere else.” Regulus mumbles, wiping his teary eyes. They’re stinging again, and he really doesn’t want to cry, but he knows he will. It’s so stupid. “Everything else. I’m just…”

Barty rolls onto his side, propping his head up on his elbow to look at Regulus, “Like, with your family?”

Regulus nods, chewing on a hangnail.

“Yeah, I get that.” Barty sighs, “Is this about… those who must not be named?”

Regulus closes his eyes to compose himself, and nods again.

“Right.” Barty says, “Did Sirius do something? You know he barked at me the other day, like a fucking dog. So I’ll go hex him, happily, if you want?”

“No, Barty. Don’t.” Regulus shook his head, “He didn’t… I… they both just…”

“Go on.” Barty said softly, softer than Regulus has ever heard him speak before as he slowly sits up to get level with him.

“I’ll always be second best.” Regulus mutters, and then he starts crying again. Hot tears down his cheeks, redness in his eyes, stuttering over himself as he shakes.

“Oh, Reg…”

“He- he just picked James, over his own blood brother. Every time it’s James and… and I… and James just… I loved him. I loved him Barty, I was in love with him. I think part of me still is, but… he, he picked Sirius too. He picked Sirius, and Lily, because she’s just… she’s so pretty, and smart, and she’s got everything that I’ve got but, she’s just… she’s just so much better.” Regulus heaved, pressing a hand to his chest, “Everywhere, I see it everywhere. Not just with them, but mostly, I- I’ll never… I’ve never been someone’s first choice, Barty. Ever. And I don’t think I ever will be. No one picks me just because they can.”

His shoulders shake as he cries, his breath short and stuttered. When Barty reaches out in offer for another hug, Regulus falls forward into his arms, head pressed against his friends chest.

It feels so safe there, to be cradled in Barty’s arms, it’s warm. He cries a puddle through his sweater, but Barty doesn’t seem to mind.

“Shh, Reggie.” Barry sooths, lightly scratching his nails over Regulus’ back and sifting his fingers through his hair. “Just breathe, love. Just breathe.”

Regulus follows his command, taking deep breaths and timing them with the rise and fall of Barty’s chest beneath his head. He relaxes there, letting his eyes fall shut, and Barty continues to rub his back and play with his hair.

“I’m so tired.” Regulus mumbles through the last of his tears, “I’m going to fall asleep if you keep doing that.”

“That’s okay.” Barty laughs softly, “How about we lie down?”

“Isn’t that weird?” Regulus asks.

“Isn’t everything I do weird?”

Regulus shrugs and follows when Barty pulls him down to lay against the pillows. Barty slips under the covers with him, and pulls Regulus’ head against his chest again. Bartys heart is beating faster than it should be, but Regulus ignores it and wiggles around until he’s comfortable.

Once again, Barty strokes his back and scratches his scalp, and folds himself into Regulus a little.

He presses a little kiss to the top of Regulus’ head, and his heartbeat speeds up rapidly.

Regulus tenses, “Why is your heart beating like that, Barty? Are you okay? Did I make you uncomfortable?” He questions, already coming up with a million terrible reasons for it. He’s been so stupidly selfish about his own problems he didn’t even notice how uncomfortable he’s made his supposed best friend.

“No…” Barty half follows as Regulus sits up, leaning back on his elbows, “No, Reg. Obviously not.”

Regulus’ shoulders relax a little, “Well, then what is it?”

Barty looks away, “Come on, don’t tease, Reggie. I’m not in the mood.”

“I’m not teasing.” He shakes his head, “What’s the problem?”

“There’s no problem, obviously.” Barty snickers, “Come on, we can just… we can forget about it by tomorrow if it’s weird.

“What’s weird, Crouch?” Regulus pressed, “I don’t understand.”

Barty looked at him for a moment, eyebrows drawn together in the middle, and his mouth slowly fell open, “You don’t know?”

“Know what?” Regulus asked.

“About me…”

“About you… what?” Regulus shook his head.

“About…” Barty sighed, shaking his head in delirium. He laughed, at himself, mostly, which only confused Regulus more, “Everyone said it was obvious. I just thought we both… I thought we had an understanding. That we’d both ignore it and go on with our lives.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Barty?” Regulus asked, shoving at his chest.

“Oi!” Barty snickered, “That I… well… I thought you knew you’d be my first choice for everything.”

Regulus froze, scowling at him for a moment, “Don’t tease-“

“Not teasing, Reggie.” Barty looked away, taking a short breath. “Look, if it’s… if it’s too weird, I get it. But, I’m okay pretending, if you want.”

“P-pretending?” Regulus whispered.

“Yeah.” He shrugged, sitting up and loosely hugging his knees, “Pretending I’m not in love with you.”

Regulus didn’t have an answer for that. He was truely wound speechless. Barty… loves him?

“I meant it… I’d pick- I’d pick you over everything else in this world. I really mean it, Reggie. I promise.” Barty mumbled, “You’re my first pick, always have been.”

Regulus’ heart stops in his chest for a moment. His throat hurts and his eyes sting again. Regulus doesn’t think he’s cried as much as he has today through his entire life, including when he was a baby.

He can’t help it, crying again. Because Regulus believes him. Barty’s always been devastatingly honest, even at the worst of times. So why would he lie about this? And he looks so earnest, sounds it too. He sounds like he really, truely means it.

No ones ever picked Regulus first, besides Barty Crouch Jr, who has a collection of Regulus’ things, and who stares at him unashamedly, and consoles Regulus when he cries even if it makes him uncomfortable.

And Regulus has been too self centred to ever notice.

But Barty is in love with him, and by the sounds of it he has been for a while. Apparently everyone knows it.

He thinks about it for a moment, while he sobs and cries and heaves. Barty does all that he can to soothe him, reaching out to wipe away tears, and hold him, and rub his arms and back.

Regulus doesn’t think he’s ever felt as safe as he doesn’t when he’s around Barty. Which is an odd thing to realise, because Barty is kind of a loose cannon. He’s violent, and angry, and snarky and rude. But with Regulus he’s always… well, he’s funny, and he can still be a little rude sometimes, but he’s also kind and generous and a little odd.

Regulus now realises all that oddness he’s noticed is just things Barty does that signals he’s in love with him. But Regulus has never noticed, he’s never looked to see how Barty doesn’t do all these very things with other people.

He’s Barty’s first choice.

And now that he thinks of it, Barty might just be his.

He’s the only person Regulus trusts to see him like this. Not even Pandora could, as much as he loves her. Regulus just hates being vulnerable. But he supposed it’s a little different with Barty, because he’s always been a little vulnerable with Regulus.

It’s comforting, to say the least, to have confirmation that he’s wanted. That he’s cared for. That he’s somebodies first choice.

And Barty loves him, which is strange. He’s never looked at Barty in that way before. And sure, Barty makes plenty of jokes about finding Regulus fit and wanting to snog him and so on and so forth, but he’s never thought too deeply about it.

He does that with other people, doesn’t he?

Now that Regulus thinks about it, he definitely doesn’t do it as much as he does it to Regulus.

Barty pulls away, rubbing up and down Regulus’ biceps, as he gives a nervous smile. It’s crooked, like most of Barty’s smiles, but this time Regulus really notices it.

“I’m sorry if it’s weird, I dunno what to do, Reggie.” Barty tries, “How do I stop you crying?”

Regulus sniffled and blinked his tears away slowly, refusing to cry anymore. His cheeks are all wet and sticky, and his eyes fucking ache, as well as his throat, but he’s not thinking about that.

“Do you really mean that?” Regulus sniffles, and he blinks away a few more tears, “Me being your first choice?”

“Of course, why would I lie about that, Reg. It clearly means a lot to you- I just… I thought you knew.”

Regulus scrunches up his nose, “Well, why would I cry about how I’m no one’s first choice if I knew I was yours?”

Barty’s quiet for a moment. He retracts his hands and ducks his head to mumble, “I just thought… well I thought I didn’t really matter, at the end of it all.” He shrugged, “I’d do anything for you- I already have, you know, and… I just… I thought you knew. And I thought it didn’t matter to you because… well, I’m the same, I suppose. I don’t think anyone’s picked me first either.”

“You still… even thinking that I just- I just didn’t care about you, or your feelings or… or anything at all, you still…” Regulus scrunched up his nose, ducking his head to catch Barty’s eye, “You still would have picked me first?”

Barty nodded, “Done anything for you.”

“Oh.” Regulus whispered, shaking his head, “Barty…”

“Yeah?” Barty asked, swallowing a large lump in his throat.

Regulus kisses him. No thoughts, no warnings, no nothing at all. He just leans forward and kisses him right on the mouth.

Barty pulls away first, almost immediately, wide eyed and startled, “What the fuck did you do that for?”

“I don’t know.” Regulus muttered, touching his lips, “You just… I… you love me, and… fuck, Barty. You’re my best friend.”

“Yeah.” Barty nodded, there’s water in his eyes now, and Regulus can tell he’s trying to hold it back, “And you just kissed me. Please don’t- don’t do that. I’m… I can’t handle that, Reg. I can handle us being friends, even though it’s driving me mad, but… I just- I can’t-“

“Well, don’t you want to be more?”

“Fucking hell, Regulus.” Barty leers back.

“What?” Regulus scoffs.

“You can’t just fucking… don’t say that.” He shakes his head, taking a moment to compose himself, “Don’t be stupid, orrite. I can’t fucking… I love you, Reggie. I can’t handle… possibilities because I’m just… I’m gonna drive myself crazy thinking about them. And that’s not good.”

“I’ve never had someone love me before, Barty.” Regulus whispers, “I’ve never had someone… I want- I want to chose you too. You’re my best friend, and I already do choose you. But I want to do it more. I want to… please?”

“I don’t understand, Reg.” Barty whispered back.

Regulus took his hand, smoothing his fingers over Barty’s rigid knuckles. They’re rough and scarred, just as they always are. Just as Regulus knows them to be.

“I don’t really either, Barty.” He admits, “I never knew you felt that way, and I’ve never thought about it- you- us. I’ve never thought about us like that before, but I… I can picture it.”

Barty closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

“I’m not trying to hurt you, Barty. I don’t want to lead you on. I want to try. Don’t you want to try?”

Barty keeps his eyes sealed shut and he shakes his head no, “What happens when you get bored of me? What- what happens when Potter comes crawling back to you? What happens when you realise I’m fucking… more insane than you thought? I’d- don’t tempt me, Regulus, because I meant what I said, I’d do anything for you.” Barty’s breath trembles, “I’d kill him, I’d kill them both. I’d kill all of them, just to make you happy. So you never feel like a second choice to them ever again- I- I mean it, Regulus.”

“I know.” Regulus breaths, and it scares him, what Barty’s saying, because he does know. It’s not just words. But those words aren’t the part that scare him, it’s the fact that he likes it that does. It makes him want. “I know, Barty. And I know that if I hurt you, truly, truly hurt you like this, you’d make my life a living hell. I know.”

“What about Potter?” Barty asks, trying to mask tears of his own, “Don’t you love him?”

“Maybe.” Regulus admits, regretfully so, “But I don’t want to. He’d never… he could never love me the way you could anyway. The way that I need.”

“And how do you need it?”

“To be your first choice.” Regulus whispered, “How do you need it, Barty?”

Barty took a deep breath, thinking about it for a moment. He looked up at Regulus with a pout and hopeful eyes, “I just want to be good enough for love before anything else.”

Regulus smiles, “You are.”

Barty shakes his head.

“You are.” Regulus confirms, “To me, you are.”

Barty sniffles, “Do you love me… like that?”

Regulus sighs, “N… no.” He scolds himself for the truth, because it seems to shatter Barty’s heart to pieces. “But I want to, Barty… I want to love you the way you do me. And I think I will. You just have to let me.”

“Really?” Barty sobs.

Regulus nods, “Will you let me?”

Barty nods and leans back in, and Regulus kisses him again. They both had wet cheeks, and headaches, and heartaches from crying, but they kiss anyway. And Regulus cries again, for hopefully the last time, because Barty kisses like he never wants to stop.

Regulus has never been kissed like that before.

Regulus has never been loved before.

He thinks with Barty, he might just be enough.

★ ★ ★

Bartylus shippers unite.

This one’s so angsty I’m sorry but I can’t help it and yerr Reggie kinda has misogynistic views which is gross but it’s the fucking 70’s and look at his parents. I USUALLY write them all to be better than that and not arseholes but I wanted to make this one hurt.

Also I don’t think I’ve written from Reggie’s pov before sooooo that was interesting.

Idk I liked this. Let me know your thoughts :)

Read here on ao3

If you want to read more of my stuff you can find it all here :))

Tagging everyone that expressed interest in the angsty bartylus one shot lmao: @lapassemirroir @mayflywrites @garlicbread4ever @moonyluv-s @managingmischeif @stxr-bxy @the-lionsheart @crimsonlovebartylus

#bartylus #regulus black #barty crouch jr #using Jegulus as a plot point for bartylus 😬🤭👀🤷#Reggie has so many big feelings but he’s never got to express them before the poor baby #it’s okay. Barty’s here to save the day #also Barty is a Ravenclaw. and so skinny it’s concerning. he’s trying to defy his dad by being the opposite of the big man he wants him 2 b #Barty is also awkward. not good at emotions but feels them so violently anyway. Barty is also a loose fucking cannon.#barty thinks he doesn’t matter when he actually matters to regulus most of all. they both just didn’t know it yet #and then they kiss and get married and have lots of babies #pandora my beloved and lily both get honerable mentions of being wonderful wonderful women. even though Reggie hates Lily he still thinks #she’s amazing #marauders #slytherin skittles #prev Jegulus #barty x regulus #fluff at the end #angst #kinda Jegulus slander #fluff if you squint #so much angst #dead gay wizards #dead gay wizards from the 70s #RAB #Barty jr #Reggie

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shannonallaround · 2 years

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@punkinspice and I got talking after the trailer dropped today and we shared ideas and it totally got me in a drawing mood...

Frontiers-inspired drawings

#shannon's art #so much angst #because yes #also I'm obsessed with the koko #sonic frontiers #sonic the hedgehog #sonic fanart #amy rose #koko #koko sonic frontiers

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mermaidgirl30 · 3 months

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My Heart I Surrender

This was a writing challenge by @iamasaddie and it was soooo much fun to partake in! I got a really angsty moodboard, so I apologize for the tears you might spill 😭 I LOVED doing this and hope to do more very soon! I just jotted all this out this afternoon, so I hope you enjoy 🥰 This is also in Joel’s POV!

Pairing: Joel x fem! reader

Word count: 2.5k

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only MDNI)

Tags: Angst, feelings, angsty Joel, smut, confessing feelings, more angst

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The rustic, spinning clock ticks over the soft patters of rain against the fogged up living room window. It’s like a competition, the vibrating sounds colliding together in a deafening noise that reverberates around your mind. Tick, tick, patter, patter. It’s too much, too loud for you to handle.

You hold your head in between your hands and cover your ears, trying to drown out the suffocating noise in your mind. You close your eyes tightly and try to forget. Forget the sounds of her walking out of the room, forget the way she slammed the door and ran out. But you can’t forget. It’s too fresh, too paralyzing.

Tick, tick. You gnash your teeth together and crush your head between your knees, desperate to escape the haunted ticks that keep coming. Louder, louder. It’s enough to drive a mad man crazy.

Tick, tick. That’s it. The final straw to make you lose control again. You push yourself out of the leather recliner and throw the empty whiskey glass at the clock. It immediately crashes to the floor, glass and broken pieces go everywhere against the dark wooden floors. The ticking abruptly stops and so does your pounding headache.

You run a rough hand through your messy curls, slicking it back into place. You sigh haggardly and slowly turn in the direction of the worn out couch, freezing at the mere sight of it. Your jaw clenches up as soon as you see it. Right in the center of the rose colored couch is the imprint of her. You run your calloused fingers slowly over the velvety material, feeling exactly where she laid. It’s almost like she’s still here. Almost. It’s still damp, still dripping with her arousal. You can smell her. The aroma of vanilla and cinnamon lingering in the air, just like the memory of her.

You pull your hand back and bite your tongue as you feel blood run straight down your throat. It’s the taste of loss, the taste of resentment. You did this to yourself. You. You throw yourself over the cushiony material, splaying your hands all over the damp material. Come back, come back. But she’s gone. She’s gone.

You remember her sitting in this spot not even an hour ago, with your head in between her creamy thighs. The way her breathy moans sounded as you tasted her. Your wet tongue sliding up her folds as you circled her clit nice and slow, sucking her into your mouth as she moaned your name and tangled her fingers through your mess of wild hair. She tasted so good. Just like a fresh sip of lemonade on a warm summer day that quenched your thirst. And God, the taste of her slick as she came in your mouth again and again. That warm salty and sweet taste mixing together that formed like hot cider on your taste buds. It was addicting. You couldn’t get enough, could never get enough.

You dig your fingers into the soaked material, trying to claw your way back to her. Come back, come back. You rest the edge of your face right where she sat, feeling your rugged scruff blend in with the smell of her. Too much, this is too much.

You remember how it felt being inside her as you thrusted yourself into her again and again, can still hear her ragged moans against your ear as she wrapped her legs around you and dug her nails into your back, slowly scraping red lines against your skin. She clung to you, ripping into your plaid shirt as she squeezed you tight, not ready to let go. And you fucked her like it was the last night you’d ever have with her. You made it passionate, slow, rough, exotic. And you made her cum three different times, but it wasn’t enough. It still wasn’t enough.

But it was the last night. Just like she told you when you saw her at Tipsy Bison earlier. One more time, she said. This is the last time. It was a love letter that ended with you. No more, this was the last straw. She was saying goodbye. It was a goodbye. But goddamn it, you didn’t want it to be. You never wanted it to be. This can’t be over. It won’t be over. Not if you can help it.

You pick yourself off the floor, crawl your way to the door as you grab a single cigarette that sits in the pocket of your denim jeans. You stopped smoking, she killed your bad habit as she always grabbed them out of your hand and threw them in the trash. You don’t need them. They’re bad for you, she’d say. She was always good about that, killing your bad habits. But she wasn’t here to tell you no. And God, you needed something to numb the pain. Anything.

As you stand up and walk to the white wooden door, you caress your fingers on the brass knob and close your eyes, remembering exactly how she left. You could still feel her hot skin, feel the echoes of loss and torture swirl around the room as you remember the way she left. Her eyes were filled with tears. Those sparkling, gorgeous eyes that took your breath away every time you set your sights on her. But this time she was broken, a torn fragment of your imagination now. She was so sad, so distraught in the worst way. And the way she looked at you before she walked out… God, it nearly kills you to think about.

Please, don’t go, you called after her. Desperate to keep her here with you, to stay one more night. If it meant you got to hold her one more time. One final time.

I can’t stay. Please, don’t make this harder than it has to be.

I….. You almost told her you loved her, almost broke down when you saw her opening the door. But almost wasn’t enough, it was never enough.

I have to go, she said. And then she walked out that door, leaving you hollow and broken inside, just like your now empty, vacant house.

You ran after her, calling her name, yelling her name. Please, please. Don’t go, you pleaded. Your voice a scratchy, hurling mess.

She turned so slowly, bloodshot with red eyes and tears spilling down her crimson cheeks. She shook her head no, digging her hands inside her violet jacket. She was right on the verge of collapsing, so close to barreling over in agony. And she said the words, those frozen, utterly dreadful words. I can’t… And then she fled, running back to her house, away from you. For good.

You stood there watching her, fisting your unruly curls with your fists and trying not to break down. But you had already broken down the moment she walked through your door, the moment she walked out into the rain and left you standing there, broken and beaten. A bottled up case of whiskey blues.

You punch the door, your knuckles hitting like jagged scars across the wood. Your knuckles turn red and start bleeding, just like your black heart. You step out on the vacant porch, the wood squeaking beneath you as the pounding rain hits against the edge of the wooden porch. You light up the cigarette, sticking it in your mouth and inhaling a puff of nicotine, desperate for some kind of relief. Any relief. It shoots through your lungs, numbing the pain just a tad as it takes the edge off. You blow out the smoke as it curls around the drizzle, mixing in with the whispers of the howling wind. She’s gone.

You inhale the smoke like it’s oxygen to your lungs, fighting every feeling in you to numb that empty space in your heart. The space where she’s missing. Your petal made from roses. Your sweet, intoxicating rosebud. But she’s not yours anymore. She’s not yours.

You finish the cigarette and stomp it out with your leather, worn boot, pushing it to the side so you don’t have to be reminded of the bad habits you said you’d stop. You did stop, but she’s gone so why does it matter anymore?

As you look out at the foggy, rainy night, you can almost see her. See the ghost of what once was an hour ago. Can see the way her long hair clung to her shoulders as the rain dripped off onto her back. Can see the look on her eyes before she ran off. She was torn, eaten up with hurt as she walked away. Her figure was only a mere memory now.

God, you couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t stand the mere thought of losing her. Not after you held her in your arms night after night. Not after you entwined yourself in her and lost yourself in her body over and over again. Not after her lips had marked yours, singeing her scent all over you as the cinnamon flavor swirled through your mouth. She was what brought you peace. Her. But you fucked it up. Fucked it up with every pointless fight you started because you were so fucking angry with the world, and you didn’t know how to control yourself. But she helped to calm you, helped to part the seas of your chaotic crashing hurricane. She was like a gentle spring day, a bed full of soft roses where you could lay your head when it got too much. But now it was just cloudy thunderstorm days without her. It was pure torture, no more spring days to mask your pain.

A wave of nausea pulls at your insides as you stumble forward, anxiety coursing through you like a hard metal bullet. You feel like you can’t breathe, your chest so tight that it hollows in on itself and leaves you bleeding inside. It’s like a sharp knife slicing you in two, tearing open your insides as you bleed to death. You hold your chest as you step into the rain, trying to calm your racing thoughts as you claw at the wooden railing on the edge of the porch.

The rain comes down hard on you, covering you in a sea of regret and longing. It dawns on you now that you can’t lose her. You can’t say goodbye. You won’t say goodbye. So without thinking, you run as fast as you can, dodging mud puddles and holes in the ground as you run like lightning. You have to stop her, you have to apologize. You have to get her back. You can’t lose her too. No, you just can’t.

You’re wheezing, coughing your lungs out as you run faster and faster, getting closer to her house. God, you wish you wouldn’t have smoked that cigarette, but it was too late. And now all you care about is finding her before it’s too late.

You make it to her front porch and pound on the rusty door, desperately clawing your way back into her life. You have to try, you have to try. After two more sharp pounds to the door, she opens it swiftly as shock registers on her face.

“Joel, what are you…”

You cut her off, too desperate to wait any longer. You come back crawling to her like a starving dog that’s lost its owner, pleading for her to take you back. You say her name anguished, your eyes tearing up and filling with puddles as you feel a teardrop trickle down your cheek like the soft droplets of rain that encase your cold body.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. For always starting fights, for blowing up in your face from things that weren’t your fault. For breaking your heart over and over. I just… I’m so sorry. Forgive me. Forgive me, please. Because if you don’t then I can never forgive myself for ruining what we have because it’s the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me. I need you, baby. I need you,” you desperately plead as more tears fall down your face, blurring your vision from the beauty that stands in front of you.

“Hey, stop. It’s okay. I’m right here. See?” She asks as she grazes her warm hand over your scruff, catching a falling tear with the tip of her thumb as her eyes glaze over yours, regret filling her face. “Joel, why did you come?” she asks as she looks into your eyes eagerly, looking for an answer in your blurring eyes.

“To apologize. To tell you I can’t live without you. I…I…” you struggle with the words, getting caught in your throat as you choke them out. But you say it, you have to say it. “I love you…” you whisper as your voice fills the void, your heart bleeding out on the dirt that you stand on, screaming her name as you try to claw your way from the hollow ground.

“You love me…?” She asks with softness flowing off her voice.

“Yes. So much. Please, baby. I love you so goddamn much it hurts.”

Her hand brushes your jawline, narrowly tracing your beard as her eyes start to water. You slowly graze your fingers against her cheek as you catch a falling teardrop and wipe it away shakily.

“I…I love you too. I always have. I always will,” she chokes out.

You close your arms around her and bring her into your chest, crushing her against the wet plaid material as more tears spill down your face, landing in her damp hair as you run your fingers through it, feeling that velvety touch that you missed so goddamn much. “I’m not letting you go again, baby. Never ever,” you breathe out, clinging to her like your life depends on it.

“I’m sorry for walking out. I didn’t want to, I really didn’t. I just…I…”

You tilt her head up and crush your lips to hers, feeling that soft, velvety skin that you longed to taste again. She folds into you, wrapping her hands around your shirt and pulling at the buttons, desperate to get near you again. You slide your tongue in her mouth and encase her flavor all over your tongue, basking in her warmth as you melt into her. She pulls you into the house and slams the door closed, still connected by her touch.

She pulls apart from you and stares up at you with longing eyes. Loving eyes. “Don’t go back tonight, Joel. Stay with me,” she says in a desperate, needy tone.

You draw a line with your thumb down her jawline, memorizing every perfect feature on her face. “I’ll stay. For however long you want me to,” you promise, your words filling up your chest with warmth as another tear slips down your face.

“Forever?” she asks with hope filling her eyes.

“Forever.”

You spend the rest of the night just holding her, both of you in wet tears as you lay all your emotions on the table. It’s exactly what you should’ve done all along. This is what you needed. You needed to feel your feelings, not bottle them up. But this felt good, it felt…natural. And so you stay like that the rest of the night, wrapped up in each other and losing yourself in one another. But this is where you belong, where you need to be. You’re home. With her, with your love. Your glowing, beautiful rose petal. Your forever and always.

Tags: @iamasaddie

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kawaiikenna · 2 years

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Inspired by this post by @stealingyourbones . No one is safe from the angst. ÒwÓ TW: buried alive.

For those who want to be tagged for continuation; here’s the link to the fic posted on ao3. Subscribe there to guarantee a notification just in case I forget to tag someone. ^w^ Under the Earth; Far from Home

Part 2 for y’all. :3

Danny didn’t know how long he had been in there for. His breathing has become slow and shallow. The last he counted was eight breaths per minute. Lower than his usual resting rate but not too alarming. Now though, he was down to four breaths. His heartbeat had always been much slower than a regular living person at fifty-five beats per minute. It was now hitting at thirty-seven. Worryingly low, even for him.

He groggily cracked his eyes open and was greeted by the same sight he had been staring at for who knows how long now. Silver metal with green cybertronic designs inlaid. A small viewing window directly above him. It was closed though, and could only be opened from the outside. He stared at his reflection in the plexiglass and metal. His face no longer held any kind of muscle or fat. His cheeks had hollowed and eyes had sunken to a damn near skeletal level. When he wriggled his hand up to cautiously touch his face, it was in the same state. Fingers gaunt and skeletal. He could see every single bone in his hand as well as his wrist.

Betrayal panged through his chest at the thought of how he came to be in this situation. His heart had stopped while Danny had been napping on the couch. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence but this time his mom had found him. She had silently freaked out before being his dad in. Together they came to the conclusion that Danny had died. A very logical conclusion for any other normal person. But Danny was anything but normal. The next time he awoke was to his parents shutting the lid on what had seemed to be a coffin. Danny had yelled and shouted until his voice broke and his throat felt raw. He flailed about in his tiny prison, trying to find a way, any way, of getting out. He was rewarded with multiple shocks every time he even so much as brushed the metal sides. When Danny had tried to go ghost he was shocked so badly that he passed out from the pain.

The next time he awoke was to the thudding sounds of something being thrown onto the lid. Panic had welled up in his mind. Gripping his throat and constricting his chest. He was being buried alive. His parents were BURYING HIM ALIVE. Danny cried and screamed again. Begging them to not do this. To let him out. Telling them that he was still alive, that he was still their son and not a ghost.

They didn’t stop. Instead, Danny was left there. Panting and heaving through the worst panic attack he had ever experienced. He was stuck and there was no getting out.

Danny sighed. He knew that he didn’t have much time left. His energy had nearly completely depleted. He was so weak that he couldn’t physically fight his way out. So with the last bit of strength that he could muster, he sent out an emotional distress signal. He didn’t expect a response. One had never come before. So he closed his eyes again, submitting to his fate.

And then it came.

A tiny whisper, but a response all the same. Danny’s eyes snapped open, renewed vigor forcing him to press his hands against the lid of the coffin he had been buried in. The shocks rocking through his incredibly weak body but it didn’t stop him. Instead he sent out another emotional beacon.

Help, help, buried, not dead, alive, alive, ALIVE.

The answering reply;

Alive, help, coming, safe?

No, no, hurt, alive, hurt.

Danny cried for the first time in what felt like eons. Green streaked tears flooding from his eyes to fall down through his hair and to the pitifully thin pillow below his head. This other presence caressed his mind with projections of safety and help. And he continued to cry out for help. The emotional and mental anguish finally breaking through and breaking him down. He could feel himself slipping. His consciousness fading into black. But just before he slipped entirely into the welcoming blackness that was trying to overcome him, the viewing window slid open.

On the other side was a man with mostly black hair save a lock of pure white that was stuck to his forehead by the sweat pouring off of him. His blue eyes kept flickering to a shade of ectoplasm green before returning back to blue. He wore a white tank top that was now grass stained and streaked with dirt. His hands and arms covered in a thick layer of mud. Had he dug through the dirt by hand? Why?

While Danny had been lost in thought, a sound he had never thought he would hear again rang in his ears. The coffin lid hissed as the hydraulic hinges lifted it. And Danny took his first breath of fresh, non-recycled air in heaven knows how long. The sobs that rended themselves from his throat were those that told of a broken and afraid teen. One that had been abandoned by his parents, possibly even his sister and best friends. Someone that had been alone for so long that even sitting in a stranger’s embrace in the muddy rain was euphoric.

Danny didn’t know when the man had picked him up and held him closely. But it was definitely not unwelcome. If anything, Danny tried to press further into the stranger’s chest. Further away from the damned coffin that had been his prison for so long. The darkness of unconsciousness was beckoning again. Even sweeter this time in the wake of his rescue.

So he closed his eyes and Danny fell asleep to the deep cadence of the man’s voice telling him he was safe.

#danny phantom #dp x dc #danny fenton #dc #batman #dp #jason todd #dc x dp #dc comics #batfam #dpxdc #dp x dc prompt #red hood #buried alive #tw: buried alive #have some angst #so much angst #no one is spared

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werewolves-and-winchesters · 3 months

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Itafushi Fic Rec

Oh my god, I'm absolutely feral over this fic.

Status: 10/13 Chapters posted

Canon divergence where Yuji doesn't consume Sukuna's finger and isn't introduced to the jujutsu world but he and Megumi still meet. Told from Megumi's long suffering POV as he falls in love with sunshine incarnate and still has to deal with all the normal bullshit of the jujutsu world.

There's also significant Gojo-as-Megumi's-parent interactions that absolutely have me rolling on the floor in tears (both with laughter and in pain). The parallels that ThroneofMist draws between Gojo and Megumi are insanely heartbreaking and they manage to portray their struggles together in a way that honours canon while still giving us the interactions we crave from dad!Gojo.

Why are you still here, GO READ IT NOW!

“I’m not your friend or your fucking son and I’m barely even your student, considering you’re never even here to do your goddamn job! I don’t need you to protect me, alright? I don’t actually need you to fucking do anything for me anymore. Because you just make everything worse. Everything you touch turns to fucking ruin!” He spits this vitriol out last because he knows it’ll make Gojo bleed. He knows the older man so innately that he knows exactly what to say to hurt him. He knows all about Geto Suguru and that Gojo thinks, deep down and silently, that Geto’s defection was his fault. He knows it eats Gojo up that he hasn’t figured out how to wake up Tsumiki yet. Knows that Gojo must love him, on some kind of level. Just thinks that Gojo does a pretty shit job of showing it. Thinks that Megumi does too, because he is an awful, awful mix of the two men that did a piss poor job at raising him. He does make everything worse; he knows he does, but he has no idea how to fix that. How to fix himself. He knows he was already ruined before Gojo found him. He’d just really hoped Gojo might be the one to maybe try and make it all better.

The angst. The ANGST. God, it's so good.

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dialsforshutup · 1 year

Note

Please post part 2 of the larissa fic!!!

your wish is my command <3

Oh, Hello. Pt 2

Larissa Weems X Fem!Addams!Reader

(Slight) frenemies to lovers

2/4. Not proofread, English isn’t my first language, and some parts of the canon changed

formatting might look weird on some devices

Very long chapter, I apologize in advance

There's some trouble in paradise, but don't fret! I promise lots of comfort and fluff in the next part

Thanks, darlings for all the love on the first part! 💕 mwahhh 💋

Part 3 - Part 4

...(Y/N) responded, laying her bag at her feet and saying, "You could never say no to me."

Those seven words caused Larissa to tap her nails onto her desk, that familiar phrase got the two of them into so much trouble when they were students - she couldn't help but allow a wicked grin to start forming on her face. "No, I suppose not. We were quite the pair back then," she said to the woman sitting in front of her desk, who replied with an uncertain, "Yes, we were weren't we?" They were in a difficult situation because neither of the women ever imagined meeting the other again. However, after so many years, here they were, face to face. Larissa had the power to decide what would happen to them. She could simply reject (Y/N)'s application and send her on her way, ignoring the old, unresolved problems she wanted to stay away from. Alternatively, she could accept the application and gain a friend on the staff in whom she could confide after they cut the BS and discussed what had happened. The choice was challenging, to put it mildly. "So..." (Y/N) said, breaking the awkward silence between them, "Should we go ahead with the interview?" The million-dollar smile returned to Larissa's face as she nodded. She decided that any unresolved issues between them could wait for now. She straightened her position on the chair and cleared her throat, slinking her manicured hands onto her computer and turning it on- opening the mail app to find (Y/N)'s qualifications that should have been sent to her beforehand. Larissa continued, maintaining the interview's formality, "Okay Professor Addams, let's get started."

They had reached the halfway point of the interview, and (Y/N) had expertly and accurately responded to each question, from classifying claw-litative data to the history of sociopathy. This only made Larissa's predicament worse. Surely, as a principal, she had a duty to hire someone with (Y/N)'s level of qualifications. "Well, it's clear that you have a wide range of skills and are very qualified... Welcome to the Nevermore team," Larissa said, quickly closing her laptop as she focused all of her attention on the woman in front of her, her eyes sweeping her from head to toe. (Y/N) noticed the principal’s wandering eyes, and sent a friendly wink once their eyes met once again- even if Larissa was her boss now, they still had a history. “Great,” she said, after winking, a smile creeping onto her face at the principal's flustered face, “Where will I be stationed?”. (Y/N) was ecstatic to begin her new job and have the opportunity to mould the minds of future generations of outcasts, but she was also ecstatic to be around the staff, the majority of whom were her old friends. Clearly aware of (Y/N)'s excitement, Larissa stood back up and moved closer to the new professor. Even though they pretended they didn't want to see each other again, the two women briefly shared a warm smile. The person who broke the shared expression was Larissa, who stood directly in front of (Y/N) while she was seated. Larissa was so tall over the woman's sitting position that (Y/N) had to tilt her head up to face Larissa. The principal simply knelt down slightly, which caused the new professor's breath to falter- almost as if she were out of breath. But when Larissa picked up the bag off the ground and firmly held it in her right hand, her excitement began to fade. “I’ll escort you to the quarters, I’m afraid we don’t have any single rooms open. So you’ll have to stay with me for now,” Larissa said with grace as she began to walk to the door regardless of the other woman’s response. (Y/N) hurriedly walked in the direction of Larissa, trying to keep up with the woman who was moving much more quickly than she was. “I’m not complaining.” She said in a hurried tone, as the two of them left the office and walked through the hallways side by side. (Y/N) found herself once more staring at the pictures of the alumni that were displayed in glass frames throughout the dimly lit, soggy hallways and immortalised for all time, leaving legacies of hundreds on the walls. When she saw a picture of herself and Larissa posing proudly and beaming for the Nevermore book club picture, she chuckled. “What made you so joyful?” Larissa questioned inquisitively: Surely (Y/N) wasn't that thrilled to be back? But when she followed the other woman's line of reasoning, she found the solution. “Oh.” She spoke softly while grinning as she recalled how they had founded the club. Despite being the only two people there, they always had a blast. But during their final meeting, they got into a rambling argument that caused (Y/N)'s disappearance after graduation. “We’re going to lose time dawdling over the past.” More firmly than she meant to, Larissa spoke. “oh, sorry.” Was all that (Y/N) could muster, hurt over Weems' abrupt rejection of their photo, suggesting that perhaps their relationship had changed for the worse. Larissa didn't say anything, just nodded and motioned for the professor to follow. They walked on in silence, with only the murmur of giggling students as background noise. Many of them gave (Y/N) curious looks, while others gave the pair a smug grin as they whispered among themselves. Larissa simply continued to the teachers' dorms, her heels clicking loudly on the stone floors beneath her, amplified by (Y/N)'s heeled boots. It appeared that she had learned to tune out the students' whispers, probably as a result of her many years serving as the academy's principal. She abruptly stopped moving and spun around to face the woman following her.

As a result of her abrupt stop, (Y/N) almost crashed into the tall woman in front of her. Instead, she simply looked at her with an awkward smile, her clumsiness made Larissa chuckle. “We’ve reached.” She said with an opening of the dark brown door behind her. The room itself was fairly large and fully wooden- not practical for a fire emergency. Larissa seemed to have settled down in the leftmost side of the room, as it was decorated with various light colours of cream and the occasional red. (Y/N) smiled to herself and made her way to the rightmost side of the room, and began to softly skim her hands over the soft blanket placed on the bed. The threads of yarn made a soft scratching noise as her long nails floated overtop them. She'd hum to herself as they got caught in between the threads, slightly jumping when the loud thud of her bag hitting the mattress of the bed next to her emerged. She was so caught up in the atmosphere that she hadn't realised that Larissa made her way over to her. "Prepare yourself." the taller woman said, not looking directly at the woman in front of her, "Your first class is in half an hour. When you're finished, make your way to the library, the staff is finalizing the plans for the next Rave'N which is in two days' time. Including today." and with this she forced a smile and left the room, allowing the new professor to unpack and prepare herself. (Y/N) looked uneasy, everything that went wrong between Larissa and herself was because of the Rave'N that took place during their school years. It was not something she was looking forward to at the very least, but it was something she expected- just not so soon. There was no use debating it, she simply sighed and grabbed her bag. Unbuckling the clamps and moving it over to the mahogany closet on the side of her living quarter; just by a hazy glassed window. She began digging through the array of clothes, the bag itself wasn't too large from the outside, but the inside was enchanted to fit a multitude of things; an old family heirloom. (Y/N) had packed every single clothing item she owned, this was her home now, for the time being anyways. "Cet air qui m'obsède jour et nuit...Cet air n'est pas né d'aujourd'hui" she began to mumble to herself, singing along to the marvelous tunes of édith Piaf, her hips slightly swaying to the make-believe music. She eventually prepared everything though, and changed into a different pencil skirt and blazer; this time it was muted pink, to symbolize her new journey. All the equipment she needed for her lesson was already in the classroom, all she needed to bring was herself. Her personal life could wait, her students awaited her, and off she went to make her way to the classroom for the very first time. Larissa didn't know why she got so worked up over the reminder of what happened during her years' Rave'N. She told herself countless times again and again that she got over the fact that the person she wanted to ask showed up with another person; even if they knew she was going to ask them. Here she was, sitting in her office after leaving the dormatory- in her hand was her old yearbook. (Y/N) must be in the middle of her lesson by now she thought to herself, humming a melancholy tune, maybe she should see if her teaching is any good. Maybe she'll do it in a few minutes, she wanted to stare at the old yearbook photograph in front of her, her manicured nails skimming over the person's face. It was quite a tragedy, what had happened to her, she felt betrayed. There's nothing worse than the hurt of rejection, especially when it's from someone she loves- erm.. loved. "Tsk" she muttered, clicking her tongue, "Goddammit Addams...". and she meant it. She still remembers how she was a nervous mess in the hallways; telling her friends how she'd ask Addams to the Rave'N. In fact, she was overheard by the person she was going to ask, which only cut her deeper when they showed up with someone else. Was her past love unrequited? The thought of it made Larissa furrow her brows and close the yearbook.

Yet, it wasn’t Gomez Addams she was referencing, oh no, it was (Y/N) Addams. Eventually, she decided that there was no use thinking about this anymore, and threw the yearbook aside, standing up from her previous seat to make her way to the door. the hallways were quieter than they were earlier today, most of the students were either in class or participating in various clubs. At least she wouldn’t have to deal with the giggling and gossiping right now, she had more pressing matter at hand. Her destination was the library, where all the teachers had agreed to meet to finalize some finishing touches for the Rave’N. Larissa certainly didn’t want to have the mood dampened, so she would need to stop avoiding the elephant in the room and confront it, which meant dealing with the issues between herself and (Y/N). The staff needed to be harmonious to ensure the utmost safety for the students after all, no other reasons. The library doors towered over Larissa, which was a rare sight to behold, they were dark oak wood and engraved with stories and tales from Edgar Allan Poe’s writings. Her hand grazed over an engraved drawing of a raven right above the handle, the embossed wood making a soft scratching noise as she did so. It would not be easy to deal with her problems, so she sighed and gently pushed the door open to find everybody waiting there for her. Surely she hadn’t been that late for the meeting? But she apparently was, as disgruntled staff members sat together on one of the library tables, their discussions coming to a hushed tone as Larissa walked in and cleared her throat. “Apologies for being late, I had some things I had to deal with. Student records and such” she said, the lie easily escaping from her mouth with a smile. She had a reputation to uphold after all. “No worries,” said another staff member, Ms. Thornhill, who was sitting at the head of the table, “We already went through most of the things..” she explained. Larissa couldn’t argue, she was late after all, “Perfe-“ she said as she scanned the table, noticing an empty seat. The seat she was supposed to sit in, “Where is Professor Addams?” She questioned, almost automatically. “Oh- uh” Thornhill stuttered, not expecting the principal to have a sudden interest in the new professors whereabouts, this was certainly interesting to say the very least. The confused faces that graced the rest of the staff definitely showed that they felt the same way. “She didn’t attend, said something along the lines of ‘I cant bear to relive it’” The red boot-wearing woman explained, “I have no idea what she meant”

Larissa scoffed, shaking her head, “Never mind then. Let’s just focus on finishing this work” and with that she wasn’t questioned any further by the rest of the staff. As they continued throughout their planning and discussion, Larissa couldn’t stop thinking about (Y/N)- the woman burnt into the principals mind like a paper on an open flame. The flame in Larissa’s mind grew larger the more she thought about the woman, about her stupid smile, and her idiotic ignorance in going with someone else to the Rave’N back then. She was supposed to go with her, she was supposed to be smiling stupidly at her. Not with some half-assed random person! Larissa was the one that was supposed to be slow dancing with her, smelling that gorgeous flowery perfume that she loves so much.. and the feeling of the other woman’s lips against he…. Wait.. was she still in love with her??? There was no way, Larissa thought, no, she had gotten over her years go. She just wanted their friendship back, yeah… yeah. And so she would attempt to salvage it, by confronting (Y/N) about her disappearance, hopefully they would learn to understand each other.

(Y/N) hadn’t bothered to go to the meeting. Instead, here she sat, on her bed- engulfed in the blanket she was examining earlier that day. She didn’t want to increase the awkward tension between Larissa and herself by attending a meeting discussing the very same event that drew them apart. But she didn’t understand why it did, why was Larissa so upset to see her with someone else? Wasn’t Larissa planning to ask her cousin to the dance? So confusing. Of course, (Y/N) had considered the fact that since Larissa and herself were sharing a dormitory, that surely the other woman would confront her about it sooner or later. But she wasn’t prepared, the topic of their separation was the sun to her Icarus- she yearned to get it over with yet she knew that she would burn up if she drew to close. She didn’t want to be on bad terms with Larissa, she truly didn’t. Yet the woman wouldn’t leave her thoughts, from the assertive way she stood when she spoke, to the small smiles she used to give (Y/N) when their eyes would meet across a room. Over time (Y/N) developed feelings for the taller woman, her heart was completely shattered when she heard that Larissa was going to ask Addams to the dance- yet (Y/N) never considered that the Addams Larissa was referencing was actually her. The overwhelming return of these feelings and memories caused (Y/N) to start tearing up, she hadn’t even noticed it. Her heart skipped a beat when she heard the knocking on the door, and her fears were confirmed when Larissa walked in, looking assertive, with a furrowed brow. She softly clicked the door shut behind her and walked over to where (Y/N) was huddled up, crossing her arms as she roughly shut her eyes, “We need to talk, and sort this-“ her words were cut off when she opened her eyes to find (Y/N)‘s tear- stained face, her expression immediately softened. She couldn’t never stay mad at her, no matter what she did- her empathy and love for the other woman overpowered any negative connotations she had with her, she hated it, but she loved it too. And with this, Larissa sat down on the bed in-front of the professor and softly said,

“Are you okay?”

————

I hope you liked it!!! 💕 More to come very soon, I promise lots of comfort and fluff in the next one :,)

All of these years of hurt just because of a silly misunderstanding from both ends!!🥲🥲

And a special gift; a playlist!

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