#the tick-tock of the clock is painful

[piratefishmama]

Nest | Part 17

A Steddie A/B/O ficlet

It’d been a week.

An entire week since Steve had last seen Eddie. He’d holed up in his apartment, spent the majority of his forced holiday time curled up in bed, or camping out on the sofa watching reruns of bad television. Robin had told him mid-way through the week that they weren’t in trouble, Wayne Munson didn’t intend to press for any complaints or legal action, but she’d heard nothing from Eddie.

Steve wasn’t in trouble, Owens wasn’t in trouble, he already had his next shift lined up at the end of the following week, already a new patient on the books to be seen to although he swore to himself that he wouldn’t be remotely as hands on as he’d been with Eddie. He’d do the minimum just like everyone else, he’d be there when he was needed, would provide care as required, but that was it.

He’d already had two complaints from other tenants shoved under his door about the stench though. Depressed alpha wasn’t a good smell, for Steve, people compared it to mould spores. Like walking into a bakery after a month of it being closed, only nobody had taken the produce away leaving everything to rot.

And the smell spread.

It didn’t matter that the owner of the building had boasted proper padding and ventilation in the ‘Alpha Safe’ apartments before he’d moved in, the smell seeped into every single corner, settled into fabrics, snuck under the front door and out into the hallway. He wanted his Omega.

He didn’t even really know his omega, but he wanted him. He’d made promises, promises he couldn’t keep with Eddie so far away. Promises he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to keep and wasn’t that just a terrifying notion. Eddie was alone again. His heat would come again, he’d be alone for it, there was no way he’d be able to get a clinic trip for free again. Freebies happen once and only in dire situations, after that you have a month to sort yourself out an alpha to join you, or you’re on your own.

It didn’t matter if a week of that month was spent recovering from an unsuccessful heat, you had a month, and Steve was well aware of the ticking clock, he spent most of the time just, looking at it on the wall. Ticking away, precious minutes going by tick by tock. It was ridiculous, he’d barely thought about Eddie Munson for years until he walked into that clinic and all of a sudden he was all Steve could think about. He pined, he yearned, he ached to see him, to make sure he was okay, and yet he couldn’t make himself take that trip to the trailer park where he knew Eddie lived.

It was an invasion of privacy, he’d already broken most of the policies at Nest, he didn’t want to break the last one too, even if he didn’t get Eddie’s address from the database at the clinic, even if he already kind of knew where Eddie lived beforehand.

Eddie deserved his privacy, he deserved his space to heal, to figure out what’d happened on his own time, to get himself and his head clear, to—screw it.

Steve had waited an entire week, he was going to get himself up, get himself showered, dressed, apply patches to his scent glands, he was going to open his front door and— stop dead in place because stood there, with a hand raised, poised to knock, was one Eddie Munson, his big brown doe eyes wide in surprise. “Uhm…” Eddie dropped his hand “hey, Steve, can… can we talk?”

“Eddie…” he rocked forwards, hands flexing as if to reach out, only to catch himself at the last minute, releasing a pained little whine from his throat, he wanted to touch, wanted to hold, to bury his face into all that hair and just breathe he was so close, so, so very close and every inch of Steve’s very being screamed at him to pull Eddie closer, to hold him as tightly as possible and never let him go again, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t, he wasn’t allowed, he didn’t have permission, he didn’t—

“It’s okay, alpha… you can touch, it’s okay” the dam broke in an instant, the second those consenting words reached his ears, he was wrapping Eddie up in his arms and holding him as tightly as he could, face buried into the side of his neck, arms squeezing him tight, if he could get any closer, if they could merge into one being, he’d do it. “Christ, big boy” Eddie huffed into his shoulder, even as he curled his own arms around Steve, even as he buried his nose into the fabric of Steve’s sweater and breathed deeply, letting himself be held.

Steve whined, squeezing him to his chest, desperate to smell him, but unable to, the Omega had patches on, hiding his scent from the world. Fuck he hated those blasted little things. “How are you here?”

Eddie eased back, forcing Steve to loosen his grip just so Eddie could look at him face to face “Buckley came by the trailer… can… can we go inside?” Robin. You scheming, rule breaking, beautiful human being. “We can talk in the hallway if you want but I’d rather—”

“No! Yeah, uhm. Yes, come in, sorry.” He stepped aside, motioning with his hand to let Eddie in, if he could think about anything other than the fact that Eddie was there, maybe he’d have felt self-conscious, maybe he’d have worried about the mess that’d built from him just wallowing, but no, he was just glad Eddie was there. No longer drenched in the sweet smell of heat, but still everything Steve could ever want.

He was back to his old self, leather, ripped denim, his rings clunky on his fingers, he didn’t look like an omega and likely sure as hell didn’t act like one either.

He was still the most beautiful thing Steve had ever seen in his life. Maybe that was the rose tinted glasses, Steve didn’t care. Eddie was there, in his living room, making himself comfortable on the couch, seemingly uncaring about the smell.

“You can close the door, Steve, I’m okay.” Right, he’d been holding it open. He closed it, they were together. In the same room. Eddie had closed himself in with Steve voluntarily.

Honestly he could just cry. Eddie was there, he was safe. He was okay.

“Eddie I— I didn’t—”

“Didn’t hurt me, I know, Steve. I know you spent the whole night holding me while I slept, making sure I was okay. I know. I know you’re a good Alpha Stevie, I know.”

“You… you know?”

“Mmhm, Buckley. I mean… I kind of figured, once my head cleared up a little, nothing felt different and I wasn’t in any pain, which… I figured I probably would have been had you—y’know, but Robin came by with a tape from your boss. It just confirmed what I figured out myself. I’d have come sooner but… well, cramps. Can you sit down?” Steve startled into action, quickly sitting himself down in his arm chair, opposite where Eddie had sat on the couch to give him some space. “Look… I uh… I know… I know things were said at the clinic, and like… I get that you had a job to do, and that included making me feel better an all that shit, so—if—if you want, I can just—just forget that you said anything, y’know? Just… I don’t expect anything from you, I mean… You were just doing your job, an I was super inappropriate with you like, the whole time, the shit I said—I—I’m sorry dude, I—I wasn’t in my right mind an I know you were probably just bein nice an I appreciate that—”

“Eddie, what the hell are you talking about?”

“You said you wanted to spend my next heat with me, right? An uh… other stuff…” Stuff that’d made his knees weak when he’d remembered it. When the memories of Steve so close, his firm body pressed so tightly against his, when he’d remembered everything, when it’d all slammed back into his brain at breakneck pace leaving him horny and breathless, desperate for something thicker than his own fingers, endlessly frustrated that he didn’t have anything close to what he needed. “But I figured that was probably just to make me feel better or some shit, an I get it, I get that, I mean… there’s no hard feelings, I don’t expect anything from yo—”

“Eddie, do you want me?”

“What?” The poor Omega struck just a little stupid by the abrupt question.

“Simple question” Steve slipped from the arm chair, lowering himself down to his knees in front of his Omega, he reached both hands up to cup those perfectly soft cheeks, in awe of how beautiful Eddie was up close, the way those plush lips parted ever so slightly to breath a little heavier, the way his beautiful doe eyes widened, chocolate brown disappearing as black pupils blew wide, locked on Steve, the way his cheeks warmed under Steve’s palms. He only wished he could smell him. Wished Eddie hadn’t come out wearing those blasted patches. “Do you want me?”

“If… If I say yes will you finally kiss me?” There was only one way Steve could possibly answer that question, and that was by closing the gap between their lips, finally claiming the very first of many promised kisses still to come.

Part 19 (The End)

#PirateWrites #NestFiclet #Steddie #CW: A/B/O #No Upside Down AU #Omegaverse #Omega!Eddie Munson #Alpha!Steve Harrington

[harrysonlylover]

Karma Rules (Mechanic Harry Part 6)

Summary: A phone call from Niall and its aftermath changes your perspective. Can a fairytale be fixed?

Warnings: alcoholism, drunk harry, over drinking, unhealthy coping, miscommunication, angst, mentions of alcohol abuse, hangover.

Please do not read if these trigger you.

Wc: 8k

A/n: Please keep in mind that this is just fan-fiction and some bits about the hangover may not be 100% true, as every individual is different than the other and deals with it in an another way.

Rereading part 5 is good for refreshing your mind!

This is also the final part!

Part 5

When it came to receiving good and bad news, people generally preferred getting the bad news first so that the good ones would soothe them. You followed that preference as well, but you didn’t always have a choice.

Not when you moved away from home, not when your car broke down, not when you discovered the truth about your “job”.

And certainly not right now.

The phone was still pressed to your ear, Niall’s voice was coming out muffled and incoherent. Your heart was banging against your ribcage, and still, the blood barely reached your other organs. You couldn’t move, or put two and two together. Not even ask him what happened.

The room was suddenly dark despite the lit light bulbs in every corner, the clock necklace that you didn’t even get to thank Harry for was ticking around your neck. It was the only sound you could hear as if it was torturing you on purpose.

Tick tock.

A reminder that whatever happened to Harry was your fault. Maybe if you had stayed—

It wasn’t an ideal timing for your brain to taunt you and make you feel pathetic. Niall’s voice was calling for you, asking if you were listening but you were simply trying to pull yourself back to the present.

Your body fell against the sofa, and you dug your nails into the cushions. The clock was still piercing your ears because you could grab it right now and reverse it but you won’t go back in time to change whatever had happened.

What did he get himself into?

“Are you listening to me?” Niall’s panicked voice urged you to focus. You were obliged to ignore the nausea and the guilt your brain was throwing already. Because that’s how things went every time, you only needed a simple situation for your brain to torture you.

“Can you repeat what you said?” Your throat was as dry as the desert. You thought about standing up and getting a glass of water, but you’re not sure if your hands would be able to hold it.

“It’s Harry! He’s fucking drunk—way too drunk. He doesn’t drink Y/n, he hates alcohol.” His tone told you all you needed to know. It pained Niall to say it like he was on the verge of tears.

Was he talking about the same Harry that drank herbal teas and scolded your food choices? You were somewhat worried that he might have gotten into a car accident at a race, but he didn’t. So why does this feel worse?

“I—what?” It wasn’t the best you could say in a conversation like this, but it was better than the radio silence.

“Listen, he’s in a really bad state. He’s lucky that he’s a bit conscious.” He sighed, clearly worried about his friend.

It was nearly nine, not so late in the evening. For how long was he drinking to get to this state? You never saw him drink nor did he open the subject. Your legs moved before you processed what you were doing.

“I’m coming.” You spoke as you headed toward your bedroom.

“I didn’t want to stress you, and I know you’re wondering why I chose to call you but he’s been mumbling things about you.” You stopped in your tracks at his last sentence, your fingers placed at the light switch, too numb to move.

“What did he say?” You whispered in a shaky voice.

“I—don’t know, it was all weird and—“ His voice was cut off as his attention turned to Harry. He mentioned some things about drinking water and lying back. The last thing you expected was for Harry to speak.

“Did ya know that she smells like strawberries?” It took him longer to say the sentence than normal. It came out slurred with hiccups, and a small laugh.

“Shit—drink water H.” You could hear Niall pouring him a water cup.

“Sweeettt. Y/n is sweet.” Niall didn’t have to answer your previous question, you were witnessing it yourself.

It is said that a drunk mind speaks a sober heart, and that scared you more than it comforted you. Niall was trying to soothe Harry, and get him to have that cup of water but to no avail.

“I’m not nice. She deserves nice.” His words weren’t as coherent but you caught some stuff through the speaker as you put on a random jumper and sweatpants.

“I’m coming Niall.”

“You don’t have to—I’m here.” He moved away from Harry whose voice got distant but was still mumbling stuff.

“No, I’ll be there shortly.” You hung up before he could object.

It would take you around 15 minutes on your bike, normally you avoided going out when it was dark but you didn’t have any rational thoughts swimming in your head.

Your mind was consumed by him the entire road. Why would he do that? Just because you left? But again—you were no one to him. Just an employee. So why did he mention you and blurt out weird stuff?

He might have kissed you and let down his guard a couple of times but that didn’t mean anything, right?

It’s surely not a big deal, everyone probably knew that your hair smelled like strawberries, that you’re sweet, and deserved someone nice. Or did they not?

You had nothing in mind on what to expect, you didn’t even know what you were planning to do—but you weren’t going to sit around at home while he was in this state.

All the overthinking kept you busy until you reached his house. The little yellow home that reminded you of warmth, is now radiating coldness. You dreaded going inside, fearing what would be awaiting you.

Was it your fault? Did that mean that you mattered to him?

You got off your bike, grabbed your bag, and headed slowly towards the front door. Niall must have left the door slightly open for you, but before entering—something jumped at your legs.

You looked down to see an antsy Snowbun circling around your feet.

“What are you doing out here?” Per your knowledge, he should be asleep in his small bed by now. You picked him up and cradled him in your hands.

“Are you running away from Harry or Niall?” The latter was his sworn enemy. Snowy replied by twitching his ears, earning a smile from you.

“Let’s get inside, shall we?” You scratched the top of his head before turning the doorknob and entering.

The once vibrant house filled with music sounding from the record player, and the smell of home-cooked meals was now dull and cold. It could be the open windows allowing the night breeze to sneak in, or the absence of Harry’s energy.

Everything was a mess.

The living room was untidy, and there were broken shards of glass around the floor with the smell of whiskey lingering in the air.

It wasn’t necessarily dirty, but it somewhat reflected Harry’s state, as his house could mimic his inner feelings. Snow Bun jumped out of your hand and headed towards his bed in the corner.

For a hot minute, you thought that Niall left considering how empty the house felt, until you heard his voice coming from Harry’s room.

“Hey—just lay here.” Niall seemed like he was trying to convince Harry to rest. You sneaked a glance inside the room, only to find Harry attempting to get up and walk—towards you.

“Not dreaming.” He let out a small laugh upon seeing you.

Niall sent you a soft smile before directing his attention back to Harry.

You have never seen him in such a state. His face looked like he had aged a hundred years, his eyes were tired and hollow, and he was barely conscious.

You stood motionless, trying to process his situation, what he had done and most importantly why.

You wanted to step forward and assist Niall who was lifting him to the bed, but your body was stuck in its place. You have seen your fair share of situations and were always unaffected, but Harry had an unusual effect on you, and maybe—you did too.

“Shortcake.” He hiccuped again, accepting the cup of water this time. He took two sips only and rested his head against the headboard.

You were aware of his direct stares, but you didn’t speak or move. You bit your nails as Niall tucked him under the duvet. He was slowly dozing off by the minute, with less mumbling that you didn’t quite catch.

The room went silent except for the sound of crickets coming from the window. You stole a glance at Harry who sounded so relaxed while sleeping despite his disturbed state.

You let out a sigh of relief once you were sure that he slept, at least he would get some rest.

“How much did he drink?” You whispered to Niall with a scratchy voice.

“The whole fucking bottle.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and motioned for you to leave the room.

You closed the bedroom door and followed him into the living room. He began picking up the shards of glass, so you kneeled to help him.

“How did you know that he was drunk?” Niall was visibly upset with what went down, he was his close friend after all.

“I didn’t… I just happened to pass by. I haven’t heard from him in a while.” He shook his head in disbelief, so you assumed that whatever this was, it wasn’t common.

You picked up the remaining pieces and disposed of them in a bag. You arranged the rest of the living room silently with Niall, but the silence was just too loud.

“Niall?” He turned his head to you.

“Yeah?”

“Most people get drunk—like it’s not right but it happens. Why did you freak out?” Your curiosity was getting the best out of you. You weren’t dismissing Harry’s state—it just didn’t make sense.

Niall dropped the broom to the ground and took a seat on the couch.

“Harry has had a rough past y’know? It wasn’t ideal.” You sat down as well, giving him your attention.

“He had an abusive alcoholic father. It’s not my place to say much, but it left an impact on him.” He spoke as if Harry was his biological brother. It was clear that he cared for him deeply.

You swallowed down your throat upon Niall’s confession. He hated alcohol. It must have reminded him of darker days. He barely opened up about his childhood to you, but many things clicked for you.

“I’m sorry that I troubled you. I was just shocked because he never got drunk, let alone drank in the first place.” He clasped his hands together and spoke with sorrow.

“He was in the worst state ever. I couldn’t understand why he kept talking about you.” He swiped his hand through his hair and gulped down a cup of water.

“What did he say?” Your voice was timid and small like you were dreading to know the truth. It may deny or confirm something.

“Stuff about you being an angel, that he messed up?” He shook his head, trying to remember some details.

“Also that you were too delicate or something.” He scrunched his face at his lack of memory, unaware of your expression.

Is that what Harry thought of you? It was so overwhelming to find out all of this within a short time frame when his actions did not reflect what Niall was saying.

You didn’t doubt that Harry was a good man, not at all. But to hear these words so casually, as if they weren’t the sweetest things you have been told—

“Sorry—I didn’t know he had feelings for you.” Niall broke the silence.

“Feelings?” You questioned, attempting to control the tears that were threatening to fall.

“I mean—the way he spoke about you…it was emotional. I called you because I thought he’d need you.” He scratched the top of his head, rethinking what he had done.

“It might have been something destructive because he never drank—“ He didn’t complete his sentence, and stared at the wall instead.

He must have caught on to your cluelessness and took a step back. You were picking at your nails with your head lowered down. Everything hit you like a rollercoaster and you needed space.

“You don’t have to stay Niall. I can manage.” You assured him.

“I can stay, I don’t mind.”

“You’ve done a lot already. You’re a good friend.” You tipped him a smile and he understood the cue.

“If you need anything, just call me.” He stood up and walked towards the door, before giving you one last glance and leaving.

Conveniently, Snow Bun ran in your direction as soon as Niall was out of the door. The little bunny jumped on your lap and got himself all cozy.

You instinctively patted his head and cradled him. A few tears fell down your cheeks against your will. You pushed back everything you were thinking of and walked to the refrigerator.

“Are you hungry? Harry probably couldn’t feed you.” Just the thought itself made you incredibly sad for no reason. Perhaps, it’s the fact that underneath it all, Harry was just a guy who loved his privacy and spent time with his bunny.

The more you recalled nice gestures that he did, the more tears fell. You weren’t sobbing, but everything was hitting you all at once. Whatever you processed this evening was hard to consume, even in small doses.

Snow Bun immediately began nibbling at the strawberry you offered him. You couldn’t help but recall when Harry fed him in front of you, it was a happier night.

You’re glad that he feels safe to take food from you. Was he able to sense Harry’s mood?

You offered him another strawberry which he ate comfortably like a baby. You placed two more for him in his bowl and cleaned up around the house to pass the time.

There wasn’t much to do, a few dirty pans, messy pillows and blankets all over the place, and a bit of Snowy’s dry food that fell out of his plate.

You opened more windows and lit a candle to allow the whiskey smell to fade. Thankfully, the broken glass was the first thing you and Niall cleaned up—but you were still skeptical about it.

You picked up the broom that Niall dropped earlier and cleaned under the couch to make sure that there was no glass left.

You felt a sharp pain in your chest upon wondering how it shattered. Did he lose his balance and drop it? Or did he do it out of frustration?

Your train of thought was interrupted when the broom collided with something. You could feel that it wasn’t glass, so you pulled it in your direction and reached your hand under the couch to grasp it.

It was a notebook.

It was already open, and your eyes landed on what was written. You flinched, feeling disrespectful for taking a glance despite not helping it. You wouldn’t want someone to look through your journal—but your eyes were glued to the words.

A few lines were scribbled at the top of the page including your name with Harry’s handwriting that you memorized so well. Yet, these lines were blurred out due to the scribbling—but you could make out the word ‘apricity’.

Underneath them were the clear unscratched lines that made you let out a silent gasp.

Starry haze, crystal ball

Somehow, you’ve become some paranoia

Just like a nepenthe

But your gift is wasted on me

You allowed your fingers to touch the paper, to make sure that this was real and that you weren’t hallucinating.

You quickly moved on to the lines under them and your knees nearly buckled.

I was thinking about who you are

Your delicate point of view, I

Was thinking about you

The last line ended on a whim and was more of a question than a sentence.

Just you?

You closed the notebook and threw it on the couch like it was poison. You were breathing heavily and your legs carried you straight to the refrigerator for the cup of water you’ve needed since Niall called.

You gulped down two cups frantically as if it would help you process or erase what you read.

Finding out that Harry most likely drank because of you, and might have had feelings for you was enough. But to see that he wrote lyrics about you?

Maybe it was scary because it was a concrete confirmation. It shut down the overthinking and the endless questions just with a glance at a piece of paper.

The suffocation was threatening to close up your chest, not caring about the soft night breeze and the lit candle that smelled like Harry.

It seemed as if his secrets were unfolding with any action that you took. There’s only so much you could handle in one night, so you laid down on the couch. You will sleep here, you won’t leave him alone.

You covered yourself with a blanket and were soon joined by Snow Bun who made himself comfortable next to you.

You contemplated grabbing a book from your bag but even that doesn’t seem to work anymore.

You wondered what could soothe a person if not books.

Still, there wasn’t much you could do. It was close to eleven and you would soon fall asleep—but until then your mind would get the chance to torment you.

What will you do when he wakes up? Will you have the courage to ask him about everything? Does he even want you around?

These questions and many more went through your head as you shifted on the couch. Though, that seemed to annoy Snowy who was trying to sleep, unaware of all the troubles.

Being a bunny is quite easy. ——————————————————

Harry struggled to open his eyes. His brain didn’t aid him and was not functioning properly, the same way car engines fail to roar. A tiny grunt left his lips, he was attempting to regain his consciousness, despite being overwhelmed.

A sharp pain stemmed from his head, the one people get from being beaten with a bat. He felt out of place as if he switched bodies with a completely different person who neglected themselves.

His bones and muscles didn’t ache—but the fatigue was embedded in all of his atoms.

Another grunt was elicited, followed by a hiss. The morning sun sneaked through the window, casting its light on his tired figure. It burned his eyes and worsened the pounding headache he felt.

His mouth was dry like a man who hadn’t taken a sip in days, he could feel it with every grunt as he swallowed down his throat in an attempt to hydrate his system.

“What the—“ He mumbled, forcing his eyes to open again as he collected the energy to raise his hand and shield his face from the sun.

The neurons in his brain worked hard to transmit signals. He needed just one memory to recall—a reason even to understand what led him to this state.

He buried his face in the pillow, relieving himself from the sting of the morning light. He groaned as the headache became unbearable.

What did he do last night?

The few cells that got to work urged him to connect things and conclude a reason—the headache, fatigue, and memory loss all pointed towards the unthinkable.

But no, he wouldn’t. Right?

He possessed great self-control, confided his sister in when he felt suffocated, and would never allow himself to resort to a destructive outlet.

No matter how torn he felt, how maimed and beaten his heart was—he prided himself in needing no one and repressing his sadness.

Right?

His muscles worked together to lift his body slowly. He supported himself on the mattress with his hands and observed his surroundings with squinted eyes.

Everything seemed normal, nothing was out of place. The bedroom was tidy and neat, the way he always maintained it.

Yet, his attire had him confused. He never went to sleep with his work clothes, he either slept shirtless or with a clean tank top.

He couldn’t help but bring his hand to his temple. The pain was unbearable, flashing like thunder and echoing in his skull.

Attempting to piece some bits of information together was a tough task, let alone when he couldn’t quite remember whatever went down the previous day.

His senses gave him a push until his brain connected some dots and realized what his mouth felt like besides dryness.

It was Whiskey.

“No—“ It would be a reasonable justification. His body warned him when he first opened his eyes, but he was in denial.

Fatigue, muscle aches, headache, thirst, and in his case— feeling like absolute shit.

“What did I do?” He groaned, in response to his pain and stupidness.

He’s had his fair share of atrocious headaches and fatigue, yet he was never subjected to immense emotional maim that led him to this state. Not even in his younger years. He vowed to never touch a bottle in his life. He had a few beers as a teenager, but that was the extent.

He never wished to become a spitting image of his sperm donor or inflict harm upon others using alcohol.

Something that he must have done.

Recalling the cause of his ache was effortless; not because of its intensity or his functioning memory. But because he simply could never push someone like you out of his mind, even when he was in a foggy state.

“Y/n.” He whispered under his breath.

He was in shambles upon reading your letter. He needed an outlet to empty his pain. A pain that he inflicted upon himself and you.

It was an internal battle; treating you like shit to push you away, when all he wanted was to hold you and kiss your soft lips.

How could he even dare to have you? The most delicate being he ever met. You were an angel that fell on earth accidentally. Maybe god was searching for you, but Harry wanted you selfishly to himself.

He didn’t deserve you, well no one did actually—but a boy could dream.

Your soft aura and charming personality would never fit in a million years with his dark heart and destructive thoughts. You were so delicate that he feared breaking you, and if that ever happened, he’d never forgive himself.

He was a weak man when it came to you. Your contagious smile, books, warm personality, and kind manners. Love was never on his agenda, he didn’t even have any vision for his future. Nothing but his career maybe, but of course, you’d tip his scales over.

You became his dream, someone that he wished he could have. He didn’t realize that his heart was betraying him, leading the tide against his rational thoughts.

In some way, he was a prisoner of your presence. You simply had to walk inside the room he was in, and all his problems would evaporate.

Even when he first met you, despite his cold tone and expression, he was deeply enamored by you. He never wanted to find out information about a person this bad, he needed to know who you were.

He didn’t consider himself a dedicated reader, sometimes a book here and there but—a philosophy he once read stuck with him.

The philosophy of Descartes, his dualism, and the notion of mind and body being distinct, yet intimately related. It was logical to him to a certain extent but as of late, Harry created his philosophy.

The mind and body were foes; often joining together to set up a scheme. This scheme was to torture Harry. His body belonged near you, but his heart kept him up at night. They were allies for once, simply to dismantle his sanity and imprint invisible bruises on his body.

And so they managed to trap him, render him a fool in front of you, and destroy any small chance he might have had.

He gathered all the energy left in his fatigued body and got up from his warm bed. The sun’s rays burned his eyes yet embraced his skin lovingly.

He wondered why Snow Bun wasn’t next to him, it was against his habit but maybe he was just roaming around the planted strawberries again.

The first thing up was brushing his teeth, getting rid of the awful smell was essential. He hoped he wouldn’t have to do this again.

The sight of his tired face in the mirror had him double checking. When did it get so unbearable?

For most people, this was barely an issue—but for Harry, it tipped his life upside down.

He doesn’t go well with emotions, communication or even figuring out what the other person wants.

“Shit.” He splashed cold water on his face before grabbing a clean cloth and drying it.

He would need a while to feel better again, to accept what had happened, and avoid leading himself to that state.

He had a quick cold shower to give himself the illusion of being clean, even when his system wasn’t. The fresh set of clothes and cologne elevated his mood, and the sting of the water helped with his headache.

He needed a nutritious meal despite the nausea bubbling in his stomach. Besides, where the hell was Snowy?

Harry reached for the doorknob as wet droplets from his hair fell on the ground. He barely advanced a few footsteps before stopping in his tracks.

He had an inkling that his feelings toward you, and the letter you left influenced his actions last night. But, seeing you asleep on his sofa with his bunny cuddled to your chest was not on his list.

He stood in the doorway with barely a few breaths coming in and out of his nose. As if a time traveler somehow arrived at this moment and froze his body.

Could he still be dreaming?

He wasn’t worthy of your presence, not even in his dreams.

He didn’t even deserve the wasted sun rays that hugged him earlier. They should’ve poured their focus on you, just like they were doing this instant. Your skin was covered with gold, somehow glistening more than any other human being. This is how an angel sleeps, he thought.

He was so jealous of the sun, envious even. It got to kiss every inch of your skin and keep you warm, unlike him.

The golden color stretched to your perfect hair, shut eyelids, and soft raspberry mouth. Your chest rose slowly, even your breathing was delicate.

He didn’t blame Snow Bun for liking you one bit, even a bunny knew how pure you were.

He didn’t mean to stare like a creep, but funnily enough, his pet blew his cover. Snowy awoke from his peaceful sleep and disrupted you in the process.

You peeled your eyes open and looked down at the moving bunny who had enough sleep. It seemed like you did too as your body felt satisfied with the hours you rested during.

The room was bathed in sunlight and warmth, and surprisingly to your right—was Harry standing motionless.

“Harry! You’re up.” Your legs moved before your brain processed anything. You were up on your feet in no time, facing a confused yet tired Harry.

“H—hi.” He swallowed down his throat.

“How are you feeling?” Your hair was all over the place and you couldn’t tell what your face looked like, but you had to check up on him.

The night went by quickly, and the next thing you knew, he was standing next to you, hopefully sober.

“Pretty shit.” He pressed his lips together, ignoring Snowy’s thumbing on the floor.

For an unknown reason, his response elicited a tiny giggle out of your lips. One that eased his headache.

“I—“

“Do you remember anything from last night?” You beat him, feeling way too curious.

You had a plethora of things to say and discuss, stuff you should’ve said long ago.

“Just a bit. Not the entire picture.” He bit on his tongue, feeling the blood drain from his body.

Standing in front of you, seeing you, and hearing a question that was brought up yesterday triggered a sudden flashback.

How Niall dragged him to bed as you stared at him with fear and worry.

So he fucked up again.

“I’m sorry.” He blurted out before you managed a response.

“What for? You barely remember what happened.” You shrugged.

“Everything.” He averted his gaze downward in shame.

It was out of a movie scene, two individuals facing each other in a sunlit room, way too stuck in their heads to see right what’s in front of them.

This moment was ageless. Your torn expression and his sorrowful face. Your sympathy and his regret. A powerful duo indeed.

Only in instants like these was silence positively uncomfortable. The silent eye contact back and forth, uncaring for the ticks of the clock, or what lies behind the eyes. The invitation to open your hearts broadly for one another, without shame or hesitation. Just two young beings diving into each other’s souls, passing control over to their bodies and hearts; even if they betrayed them.

He offered you an immense amount of vulnerability that he’s never given to anyone, simply by eye contact.

As if your souls had a secret language that they used.

“I—“

“Well—“

You spoke at the same time before stopping in shock.

“You speak first.”

“No. You talked first.”

He gestured for you to speak, and you swore you have never seen him this polite and held back.

“Hmm. I know this isn’t an ideal timing and that it’s quite rough for you right now. But how about breakfast and a mature conversation?” You asked with your bottom lip hidden between your teeth.

“I’d love that.” He nodded with a weak smile. The only one you managed to get from him for what felt like ages.

You refreshed in the bathroom while Harry prepared breakfast. It was similar to when he cooked you lunch. The same aroma drifted in the air with the sound of the oil sizzling and the same warmth that radiated from the house.

But this time, it was more awkward knowing that a conversation awaits. What were you supposed to say, and should you take the initiative of starting small talk?

You washed your face with water for the second time, dreading the return to the kitchen. You offered to cook since you knew he wasn’t feeling well, but he insisted saying ‘It’s the least he could do’.

Snowy managed to follow you to the bathroom (after he had his breakfast), and you smiled at his excited thumping.

“Let’s go.” You cradled him and returned to where Harry was using his chef skills.

He looked up the moment you walked in, offering you a gentle smile. Your heart ached at his gesture for no reason.

“Are you feeling okay now?” You cleared your throat as you sat on a stool near the counter.

“Somewhat…My headache is a bit better.” He scratched his head, avoiding eye contact.

You nodded, moving your attention to Snowy who was clueless and happy in your lap.

“I remembered some stuff.” He mumbled rather quickly as he flipped chocolate chip pancakes.

“Oh?” It was a good sign because you didn’t know how to tell him that he randomly mumbled stuff about you.

“Um, yeah…” He remained silent for a few seconds and checked in on the delicious scrambled eggs he was preparing.

“I’m sorry you had to see that last night.” His words reeked of shame and guilt. There was a sense of vulnerability in what went down, and for a man like him, it would be a hard pill to swallow. After all, someone else had seen his weakness.

“Harry, I—“

“No, just let me say a few things.” You hadn’t expected him to begin talking now. But, it seemed that you were too busy admiring his tired face to notice the plate he slid in front of you.

“Eat please.” He gestured to your plate with concern when he was the one who should be fuelling his body.

“You need it more.” You argued, with signs of worry flashing over your face.

Sweet sweet shortcake, Harry thought. Always putting others before you.

The look of determination on your face was evident. Besides, could he ever say no to you?

“Look, I’m eating.” He grabbed a pancake from his dish and took a bite.

You swallowed thickly and joined him in taking small bites of food. He felt more full just by watching you eat contently. He tried to ignore the whirling thoughts in his brain, whether or not you had dinner last night.

“I’m sorry again.” Harry gathered his courage and looked into your kind eyes.

“It wasn’t your responsibility to help me, nor Niall’s.” An undertone of pain was hidden in his voice.

“And it was all very immature of me.” You could tell that it was hard for him to maintain eye contact, you’d struggle too if you were in his place. So, you averted your gaze away to relieve him.

You didn’t interrupt him, it was clear that he had many things to say.

“I ruined your evening, made you worried, and had you sleep on an uncomfortable sofa.” He swallowed down his throat, with his fingers digging crescent marks on his palm.

“I’ve put you through so much just because I do not know how to communicate.” He shook his head in disappointment.

“We’re humans, we kind of designed to miscommunicate.” You shrugged.

“Not to this extent shortcake.” His eyes held the key to everything. You used to think of him as an enigma, or impossible puzzle. But now, he was like a flowing river that held all of his thoughts that had been pressing to come out.

“I—It’s not an excuse but I’m not a fan of alcohol and I’ve never been drunk.” He swiped his hand through his hair, finally caving into his anxiety and averting his gaze.

Going with the flow and confessing that you knew was not an option. You wanted him to open his heart out instead of making him feel like he was already exposed.

“And my father was an alcoholic—“ He took a deep breath and remained silent for a few moments.

“Harry, you don’t have to push yourself to talk.” You whispered despite being alone in the room.

The signs of tiredness on his face were somehow getting worse, and a single tear slid down his cheek. Your hand immediately reached out to wipe it, making him stare lovingly.

He didn’t reply verbally. Instead, he softly grabbed your hand and kissed your knuckles with his eyes shut as if he were pouring something into the kiss.

“Sweet shortcake.” He gave you a hint of a smile as he gazed into your eyes.

“A fly wouldn’t dare to hurt you, yet I did.”

“Stop blaming yourself.” You grabbed a strawberry from his plate and brought it to his mouth. He accepted it contently and went back to silence.

The staring was not unpleasant like you thought it’d be. It was a continuation of standing in front of each other in the living room. Just two souls speaking in a different language.

He caught you off guard by breaking the silence with a shocked yet joyful expression.

His hand reached out to your neck where the necklace was dangling beautifully. He ran his fingers over it, before turning it backward and smiling at the engraving.

“You wore it.”

“Of course, might be my favorite necklace so far.” His smile was so broad that he seemed as if he had forgotten all about life’s worries.

“It suits you.” He couldn’t take his eyes off it.

“Because it’s special. Uncle George gave it to me and told me all about it after I left your garage.” You unintentionally broke the joyful bubble by reminding Harry of the awful events that led to this moment.

His expression slowly fell until his hand retracted away from the necklace.

“Harry—about that letter, it was immature of me. I should have faced you—“

“It’s completely your right. I’ve been so fucking shitty. I didn’t even deserve an explanation.”

“Don’t say that—“

“I’m serious. You wasted your kindness on me.” His hands were under the counter, but you had an inkling that they were shaking.

“I have a lot to explain and—“ He continued to ramble vigorously.

“H, breathe.” You stepped off the stool and went to his side.

He was rushing to tell you everything, not giving his body or mind a chance to process because he needed to explain himself. He’d go on his knees if he had to. His anxious rants and fast train of thought were nothing but an outcome of fear.

Fear of losing you.

A small part of him still believed that no matter what he said or did, you would still leave. Even if he ripped his heart out and gave it to you as it leaked black blood on the kitchen floor.

So he fired with everything that made him vulnerable, just to keep you, or at least the thought of you if you allowed.

And you knew that, god you knew. It had you fighting back tears as you faced him.

“You’re still very tired. And we don’t have to talk about every single detail right this instant. You need to rest, we both do.” Your hand caressed his cheek softly, and his face unconsciously leaned in.

“We need time to think, feel, and process what happened. I’m not going anywhere, Harry. I just won’t work for you anymore.” You weren’t the best confronter, but judging by the look in his eyes, you weren’t doing so bad.

“And—when the time is right, we’ll talk about many things.” It was your turn to tear up now, and of course, he mimicked what you did earlier by wiping your tears away.

“Can I say one last thing?”

“Yes.”

“You have bewitched me, body and soul.” He took pride in saying it, his eyes raking all over your face to save your reaction in his memory.

The slow appearance of your dimples, the soft furrow of your eyebrows, the realization dawning on your face followed by the most adorable giggle he has ever heard.

“Did you just quote Mr.Darcy!” You covered your mouth with your hand.

“He’s my number one inspiration.” His dimples made an appearance and god you’ve missed them. They brought joy to his worn-out yet beautiful face.

There was a certain undertone to his statement that had you holding back another giddy smile. One of them indicated quite the resemblance between him and Mr.Darcy. How he was cold towards Lizzie at first when he was simply smitten all along.

‘He’s my number one inspiration’

Was your story similar to theirs? Was he your Mr.Darcy? Bitter yet soft when faced with the possibility of losing you?

Another suggestion that knocked the breath out of your lungs was the sentence that would follow.

‘You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, love you.’

He didn’t utter it, but the idea of him even quoting your favorite book ever sparked goosebumps all over your skin.

“How did you even know what he said?” His eyes were glued to your smiling face, and if he ever lost his memory, he begged any existing divine being to only keep this sight of you.

“I read it.” He confessed proudly as if he were an Emperor flaunting his possessions.

The bluebirds have arrived and made themselves comfortable near the window. They would soon begin their orchestra as scheduled.

“You read Pride & Prejudice?!” You gasped unintentionally, causing a faint blush to creep up his cheeks.

He hummed with a grin threatening to break on his face and chewed on some eggs as you admired him.

You ached to ask him why he read this specific book. A part of you knew, but the other part craved to hear it.

Harry read your favorite book.

“Actually… speaking of reading.” You swallowed down your throat and readied yourself for your confession.

He turned his attention to you, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

“You read a new book?”

“No—I’m in a reading slump honestly. My first one.” Your face fell, something that he immediately noticed.

“Oh—“

“It’s fine.” You shrugged, dismissing the issue. It did pain you but that wasn’t your current focus.

“What I wanted to say is that—I was cleaning some broken glass yesterday…” His jaw clenched at the mention of the glass. He didn’t think about the mess he caused, and bringing it up brought the guilt back.

“And I found something.” You were still trying to articulate proper words, but his facial expression saddened you.

Harry couldn’t decide if his brain wanted to pour its attention on blaming him for the broken glass or think about the ‘thing’ that you found.

“Yeah?”

“I did not mean to look—actually that’s a pathetic excuse.” You covered your face with your hands and let out a small groan.

“My eyes landed on some written stuff and I couldn’t stop reading your notebook.” You blurted it out as fast as possible, with an antsy body language.

“Shortcake—“

“I’m really sorry…that was rude of me, but I—“

“Calm down.” It was ironic how he managed to soothe you with two simple words.

“It’s all good, m’kay? Besides, the poem is about you shortcake.” Another proud confession left his lips as if what he said wasn’t so destructively beautiful.

You were always the reader, and never the writer. But Harry canceled both possibilities and made you the muse.

“I meant every word, and I always will.” He whispered as if the bluebirds would hear him and steal his sacred poem.

You could feel your eyes swelling with tears, your left knee was shaking and you couldn’t maintain eye contact with him.

“I’m sorry this is a lot to take in.” You covered your face from embarrassment.

“No pressure, shortcake.” He assured you with a thousand knives going through his heart.

Snow Bun broke the tension by thumping repeatedly until Harry kneeled, and picked him up.

“Someone wants attention…” Harry chuckled before Snowy jumped out of his lap, straight to his plate on the counter, and helped himself to strawberries.

“…or my strawberries.” He shook his head in disappointment for falling into Snowy’s trap.

Your laughter echoed in the room, overshadowing the birds’ songs. A laughter that healed Harry, and reflected his happiness.

“Do you want more food? Are you full?” He gestured to your empty plate.

“Thank you H, I’m all good. I think I’ll head home now.” You got off the stool and grabbed your bag from the sofa.

“Yeah—Okay. Let me dress up quickly to drive you.” He was heading towards his bedroom before you stopped him.

“No, it’s okay. I have my bike.”

“I insist, it’s the least I could do—“

“H, stop saying that. I promise I’ll be fine on my own.” He studied your facial expression to try and figure out if you genuinely do not need the ride.

“Besides, I don’t want you driving immediately after yesterday night, you should rest and I need some fresh air.” You tipped him an honest smile that had his heart pumping.

“Sure, whatever you like.” His hands were in his pockets as he stood facing you.

‘I don’t want you driving immediately after yesterday night’ had him frozen in his place.

It toyed with his heart and messed with his blood pressure. You said it so casually as if it didn’t indicate that someone cared about him—and not just anyone, it was you.

His shortcake, his delicate girl.

You walked towards the front door as Harry watched with intent eyes. After a few steps, you stopped and turned around in his direction.

He was taken aback by your action and straightened his posture.

“I’m really glad that you’re safe.” You blurted out, as you looked into his emerald eyes. He didn’t get the chance to form a response before you engulfed his body in a tight hug.

His hands immediately wrapped around your body, savoring what you offered. You warmed him up in a few moments more than the sun that woke him up.

A whiff of your strawberry shampoo was stuck in his nose and that was all he needed to feel better.

Somehow, his hands were perfectly molded for your waist, and your height was perfect for him to lower his head and lay it against yours.

Despite his wishes and dreams, you pulled away from the hug with a soft smile painted across your face.

“Bye, H.”

“Bye, shortcake.”

It was an easy departure, not filled with heavy weight on your chest or guilt. The complete opposite of your arrival last night.

You weren’t trying to avoid Harry when you said that it would need time, but you knew that some space would do good for both parties. Pondering and reflecting was a necessity, especially for Harry.

The yearning to hear Harry’s explanations remained nestled deep inside you. Your patience would undergo a practice with a small hint of knowing what was coming.

For once in your life, you didn’t jump to conclusions stemming from your anxiety. What you felt, heard, and saw was enough.

You didn’t want Harry to rush everything because you could feel how the sentence was on the tip of his tongue, along with quoting Mr.Darcy.

He had feelings for you, and it was mutual.

You allowed yourself to feel the giddiness and rush while simultaneously acknowledging past events.

What led you to write the letter, Harry’s coldness and ignorance but also his sudden moments of warmth and kindness.

Denial wasn’t an option for you. You felt attracted to him since day one, and rightfully so. As for his feelings, you’re yet to delve deep into that topic.

Time does not heal, but it’s more of a breather. Last night was emotionally charged, but it somehow changed your life upside down.

He didn’t specifically confess his feelings, and nor did you. But you kept going back to those moments of silence when your souls had a quiet chat against your knowledge. Perhaps they confessed then because you really know.

If you were to think deeply about it, Harry did the one thing he vowed to never do just because he thought that he lost you for good.

It pained you to even consider it, but that indicated how much you meant to him.

Drinking to punish himself, his poem, his apologetic sweet face, his urge to spit out every single excuse his heart held, and his body that held you as if he was shielding you from the world.

He was the man you read about in your books, with all of his good and bad traits. In fact, he was better than them because he was real with a beating heart that you listened to when you hugged him.

The past would not be forgotten, it would be vaguely memorized to learn from your mistakes as human beings who were designed and destined to commit mistakes.

The next best thing after sunshine, books, strawberries, bunnies, and poems was second chances and fresh beginnings.

Even with the knowledge that many mature conversations await you, there was something comforting about this morning that carried a whiff of warmth in the air.

Harry liked you, and you liked Harry.

Taglist: @matildasatellite @xxrosebunny @novasblogofstuff @gem1712 @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @miasdelicatepov @jessitpwk @tiaamberxx @peacheskiwi @tenaciousperfectionunknown @tbsloneely @20031990s @prettythingsworld-blog @st-ev-ie @slut4marvelmenn @missmielyhoran @a-strange-familiar @wandas-lawyer @cherrycokeslay @blepskies @that-daydream-look @hslt-2809 @ivegotparticulartaste @epidxte @kiwilikesmeow @sagggy @harryssideboob @malwtilda @harrysficreblog @hsonlyangelxo @adachhi @tpwkkkkk @kiwilikesmeow @sagggy @epidxte @indierockgirrl @annesauriol @leenameh @scottisantman @hrryberry @summertime-pills @lhhrryismyhome @marzhshaim @harrystylessslut @nysworld @keepdrivingkisses @rideeonstyles @rueluvsharry @lomlhstyles @infinatetatie @igglepiggle22 @namelesssav

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[avoxrising]

The Feral One • Ch 24

Finnick x Y/N

Series Masterlist Link

The moment y’all have been waiting for…

Content Warnings - Very descriptive gore, death, injury, lizard mutts

Your body is full of aches and chills as you trudge your way through the capital sewers. You definitely have a fever but there’s not much the squad can do at this point. They’re determined to get to Snow’s mansion.

Luckily, one of the cameramen knows the underground routes of the capital so the group isn’t at risk of getting lost. Every inch of you protests as you walk deeper underground but with no way to contact the rebels, you’re stuck with your squad for the time being.

The group finally decides to take a break and enters a small room that’s out of the water. You slouch down in the corner away from everyone else. Finnick comes to sit near you but you growl at him.

“Get away from me!” you snap, causing the group to look at you. Finnick sits near you anyways but doesn’t make any move to touch you.

“Are you feeling any better?” he asks. You shake your head no and the movement sends pain up your neck.

“My neck,” you groan. Finnick makes you tilt your head up so he can look.

“It’s spreading,” he sighs. He calls Jackson over to your corner.

“Is there anyway we can get her to medical?” he asks the woman. “It’s up to her neck now.”

“I’m sorry but communications are still down,” she shakes her head.

“I’m getting Katniss,” Finnick tells you. You want to protest but your eyes are really heavy as sleep tugs at you.

“She says it started with the headache,” he tells Katniss as she crouches down to look at the veins on your neck. “It was just on her arm but it’s been spreading. It’s not from a pod.”

“If it was something in the bloodstream it would be spreading faster,” she observes. “I’m thinking whatever it is, it’s not a poison from an external source. I’ve never seen this before.”

“Get away from me!” you sleepily snap at her. She moves and you quickly fall into a fitful sleep.

Tick Tock

Tick Tock

Katnissss

Tick! Tock!

Tick! Tock!

Katnisssssss

You jolt awake to Finnick shaking your shoulder.

“Mutts,” he tells you. “We have to move now!”

Suddenly full of adrenaline, you bolt through the murky depths of the sewers as the hissing gets louder. The veins seem to be spreading faster now, crawling their way up your neck to your jaw. Your squad mates panic at the sight of you but they all have bigger things to worry about right now.

You find yourself crawling through a small hole in the wall behind Finnick. You both stare as Jackson goes to enter the hole but she’s suddenly attacked by the mutts. At the sight of them, the black veins pulse upwards and start to rapidly spread.

“Come on!” Finnick yells at you. He doesn’t want to touch you but he will if it means pulling you to safety.

The two of you quickly catch up to the rest of the group. Katniss and Gale shoot arrows at the mutts, taking them down in clumps. Finnick makes you stay behind him as he spears the monsters with his trident. He had tried to give you a weapon but you refused it as your hands were in too much pain from the substance spreading inside of you.

The group progresses forward but the mutts don’t stop coming. Finally, someone sees a way out. Pollux motions for the group to climb a ladder but your vision is getting hazy and the sound of a clock pounding in your head blocks out everything around you.

Finnick watches in horror as your bright eyes fill with an inky black substance. You let out a low growl before lunging at one of the mutts and ripping its head off with your bare hands.

You quickly make work of the mutts in the room, ripping off limbs and gouging out eyes. Your squad continues to climb the ladder, leaving only you, Finnick, and Gale left at the bottom. You can’t see them though, you can only focus on your deep primal instinct to kill anything that comes at you.

One of the mutts catches you off guard, hitting you in the head. You cough up blackened blood before sinking your fingers into the creature and ripping out its tongue. It’s teeth graze your hand but you can’t feel anything but the urge to kill.

Finnick has to stop Gale from trying to pull you up the ladder.

“Don’t touch her!” Finnick warns. “She’ll kill you. She can’t recognize any of us.”

Gale quickly backs off and proceeds up the ladder. Finnick, though, had a predicament. How was he supposed to get you out of there without touching you? At this point even him being near you may set you off. He can’t just leave you here.

“Katniss!” he calls up, still fighting off mutts with his trident. “Sedative on an arrow. Now!”

Katniss understands exactly what Finnick wants her to do. She dips the tip of an arrow in sedative and shoots it into your shoulder. Not fatal, but hopefully it would knock you out.

The arrow to your shoulder further fueled your rage. You turn towards the ladder and grin, black foam spilling from your lips like a rabid animal. You go to make a leap towards your assailant when a mutt jumps onto your back, dragging you into the water.

The group watching can’t tell who’s blood is in the water, but there’s a lot of it. Scale covered flesh floats to the surface along with black blood. Finnick wants to help but he can’t see where the mutt is and he doesn’t want to stab you.

What feels like an eternity later, you emerge from the water, holding the spinal cord of the lizard mutt, the rest of its body in pieces around you. The remaining mutts recoil at the sight and slowly back away, fearing your presence.

You let out a deep growl, blood spilling from your mouth as the sound reverberates off the walls. At this, the mutts slither back down the tunnels, leaving you and Finnick alone.

As the adrenaline leaves your body, you begin to feel the excruciating pain of your wounds. Finnick is calling your name but everything is fuzzy. The inky substance flows from your eyes and ears as the soft tick of a clock pulls you under.

Ok but the urge to kill Gale was real lol

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#hunger games #finnick odair #hunger games fic #the hunger games #finnick odair x reader #finnick x reader #finnick odair angst #finnick angst #finnick #thg finnick #mockingjay #mockingjay part 2 #lizard mutts #the feral one #Gale should have died #avoxrising

[itsvaleriesucka]

the devil inside me

pairing: demon!joel miller x fem!reader

rating: explicit 18+ (minors dni)

word count: 5.5k 

summary: you’ve been struggling on maintaining your medication regimen lately. have no fear, the devil is here to help and make you feel better. 

warnings: indications of prescription medication and mental health, brief stabbing, light blood, slight tears, rough sex, unprotected p in v, f!masturbating, fingering (fem self/receiving), creampie, dirty talk, praise kink, breath play, spanking, hair pulling, age gap (50s/20s), dom joel (obvi), sub reader, no use of y/n, no outbreak

a/n: hi everyone! it has been a while since i’ve written stories. i had fun writing this so i hope you enjoy and if there are any mistakes or warnings i’ve missed out on, let me know so i can add/fix it. please do not read if you’re sensitive to any of these topics. you have been warned. 

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The only sound you were able to pay attention to. It muffles out the sound of your lovely therapist who’s trying to engage in a conversation with you. Your tunnel vision takes its toll, blocking out her volume and blocking the other objects that surround the quaint office.

You blankly stare at the large clock mounted against your therapist’s wall. Does it need to be ridiculously large like that? Your eyes followed the second hand, the way it raced along the numbers to approach the number twelve for each given minute to pass for when this session could be over. 

“Pay attention.”

The voice in your head hissed. It causes you to jump away from your own thoughts. Your eyes readjusting themselves back into reality. You straighten your posture and lean yourself forward to reach for your glass of water that was offered to you before the start of your session. All of a sudden you were thirsty because you wanted to forget you were in a deep trance. You noticed your therapist had a frown upon her face. She removed her glasses and settled her notebook and pen upon the glass table that was in front, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Have you been listening to anything at all?”

You swallow the remaining liquid down your throat and place the glass right on top of a coaster that adorned nicely with the table. 

“I was listening.” You murmured and leaned back against the soft cushion of the leather couch to try and relax your body. Lord knows how many individuals sit where you are sitting. You stared right at her disappointed gesture.

“Liar.” There’s that voice again.

Your therapist knew you were here for the main course of obvious reasons and she wanted to help. A decline in your mental health took a massive toll within you these past couple of months. More so your moods which tend to shift from extreme erratic highs and depressive lows. You rarely get the desired sleep you’ve been longing since nightmares tend to creep up on you. You’ve been hearing a certain voice for the longest time. Dating back to when you were a young girl actually.

During your childhood your parents were concerned when they found out you’ve been talking by yourself. At first they both thought it was normal and that having an imaginary friend you’ve envisioned from the top of your head was also normal. Most children tend to do so at a certain age. 

What wasn’t normal is when they found certain drawings marked with crayons and markers of yourself with a demonic being in every single one of your drawings you’ve created on an old sketchbook. Oh yeah. Completely normal.

“Have you been following your medication regimen your psychiatrist prescribed you?” You nod in response to the question and smile.

“Of course.”

Your smile begins to slowly fade away when you suddenly see him. 

He is sitting right beside your therapist. His eyes, cold and lifeless, scan the look that’s expressed upon your pretty face. His smile is so despicable – so wicked. He taunts by shaking the bright orange bottle that rattles within the room. It’s an indication that it’s full. It’s a painful reminder that you have not been taking your medication.

Your therapist noticed your eyes weren’t directly at her but at something else. She turned her head to the side to see what exactly were you staring at. From her point of view, there was just an empty seat.

“What do you keep staring at?” Your eyes dart back at your therapist. You exhaled the tension you held right through your nostrils. Your eyes, again, dart at the spot where he was sitting. 

He was gone. 

----------

Surging winds whistled and droplets of water trickled down the window of your bedroom. A crack of  thunder was heard miles away. The sky was angry as you liked to call it. 

You had your eyes closed shut. Too shut. A feeling almost as if you were trying to prevent your eyeballs being gouged out from both your eye sockets. You twist and turn, feeling the fabrics of your sheets against your bare skin with each sprightly friction that was being made. 

Beads of sweat raced down alongside your temples and forehead. Your own sweat dampened the cotton fabric of your sleepwear which caused it to stick against your skin. Your body temperature was warm on the inside but you felt cold as ice on the outside. The blankets weren’t doing you much justice. You squirmed and released a low whimper.

Your heart races and pounds against your aching chest. With each pound your breathing hitches and hitches.

You are having a dark dream — a nightmare. 

Why is it that every time you are trying to run in your dreams, you feel sluggish? You always somehow forget to run as fast as you can. You can’t keep up with your pace. Damn. What is the matter with you? 

The nightmare comes to an end when you feel a sharp blade pierce your lower abdomen. He caught you. 

His menacing laughter echoed within the trapped dark void you’re currently in. The pain halts your tracks. Your mouth gaping wide open at the sudden stinging sensation. Screaming and crying was the only option here. He draws you close by reeling you towards him with the handle on his blade. The silver metal still stuck deep within you. Your eyes meet his. You couldn’t see clearly enough with the amount of excess tears forming from the corners of your eyes. Everything in a matter of seconds was a blur.

You were too focused on trying to maintain your vision upon his glares. His movements. His features. Too damn focused to even care to notice your own blood pooling down his hand that grasps the handle of the knife, your legs, and down towards the ground. His tongue glides slowly against the side of your reddened cheek to taste the salty liquid. You couldn’t respond. You want to speak up but you’re struggling to find the words. Your lower lip quivering is the only response you can give.

He proceeds to remove the sharp knife with a swift pull and lick your blood clean off the blade with one swipe, releasing a satisfactory hum from tasting your own blood.

“Wake up.”

You’re wide awake. 

You scream and lunge forward, sitting upright and pressing your lower abdomen tightly. A strike of lighting illuminates your room, causing a loud crack to startle you almost half to death to the point you could’ve fallen off your bed. Your breathing is completely unsteady. You looked down to where the blade originally pierced you and thankfully, no holes, no blood, no blade. 

No him. 

You reach over towards your nightstand and turn your lamp on. The light illuminates your room, revealing the usual furnishings and decorative accessories adorned. You cautiously scan your room to see if you weren’t alone. It took a moment for you to realize you were the only person in your own bedroom, thankfully. You can feel your own heartbeat returning at its own peaceful sync and your breathing maintaining its rhythm again.

You reminded yourself that it was only a nightmare, you weren’t stabbed, you aren’t dead. You’re safe. 

From such a nightmare you had and having to know how sticky and wet you feel from sweating, this calls for a shower. There’s nothing more peaceful to know how the water will run and touch your skin. How your loofah will gently scratch and rub away all those disturbed sensations you felt. The aroma of calming lavender from your favorite body wash filling your nostrils.

You wasted no time hopping out from your bed, grabbing a clean pair of pajamas from your drawer and leaving your bedroom to head straight to your bathroom. 

----------

The steam fills the air of your bathroom after your peaceful shower. That was so needed. You had a towel wrapped around your body tightly. You grabbed your phone to take a look at the time, swiping away the steam that covered the screen. Only half past one. You sighed and figured it will take a while for you to go back to sleep. You’ll probably read or maybe watch a movie to catch that melancholic drift again. 

You opened the cabinet that was positioned right in front of you and above the sink. You grabbed your toothbrush and toothpaste that was stored inside. You paused for a moment to stare directly at the orange bottle. It adorned neatly just waiting to be grabbed and open to drink. These pills are only here to help you feel better. You’ve been struggling to keep up with your regimen because of how impatient you become when you don’t feel or see the results you’ve been wanting. There’s always been trial and error to the point you’ve given up due to the side effects. It’s normal you think. It’s a new prescription, a new dosage. It really wouldn’t hurt to actively try. 

Without another hesitation, you popped the top open and tossed a white pill inside your mouth. You cupped your hand underneath the faucet to allow the water to fill within your palm. You take a sip to help swallow the pill down. 

You placed the orange bottle back into its rightful place and closed the cabinet. Your reflection was nothing but a blur, again, due to the steam from the shower you just took. You gently positioned the palm of your hand against the glass to swipe the steam clean. 

“Pathetic.” 

The voice was loud inside your head. Your entire body took a sudden screenshot. Your heart felt like it was going to come right out of your mouth along with the pill you just took. You glanced back and he wasn’t standing behind you. There was nothing and nobody. You stared at the reflection of the person that stared back in return. You began to back away but almost slipped due to a small spot of puddle from your shower when you stepped out. Your back pressed against something solid yet soft, something that was definitely not the wall of your bathroom. It was definitely not your head or back against the ground either. You felt arms underneath your own arms holding you tight to ensure you don’t fall.

He helps you regain your balance and you probably pull away faster than your own beating heart. You turn around and tilt your head up, eyes finally meet again. You feel like you’re reliving your nightmare. Only this time, it was real and you know it. 

“Did I scare you?” He reminded you with a sly grin that paints across his face.  

The fact that he had the audacity to show up after messing with you in your own dreamland was far too much. You rolled your eyes, ignoring him, and walked around to grab the handle of your bathroom door and opened it. The moment you did he was suddenly standing outside. His arm over his head with his elbow resting on the wooden frame of your door. Staring down at you. 

“That wasn’t funny, Joel.” You remarked.

Joel was his name. At least that’s what you have always called him when you were young. You see, he’s always been around you. Ever since you and your parents moved into that old home back in Austin, that’s when he began to appear around you. You thought he was your dad’s best friend or a neighbor who came by to visit. Only to learn that Joel never exists. Your parents never knew anyone by that name. You’ve come to learn that he was just a figment of your own imagination. 

At least you thought…

“You know you don’t want to take them.” Joel teased. He followed behind you. Here we go. He is, again, painfully reminding you of how reckless you are and you’ve been in denial about your medication. You don’t want to be reminded by your reckless actions. You don’t need this conversation right now. 

“It’s late. I want to be left alone.” You continued to walk towards your bedroom and slam the door shut in hopes that’ll make him disappear but it absolutely doesn’t. You should know better by now. You’re too exhausted to process your thoughts. He’s appeared sitting right on the edge of your bed. Eyes all over you. 

“You think those pills will make you feel better?” 

If there is anything that Joel enjoyed doing besides teasing you is he loved to have you on your last nerve. He knows you’ve never enjoyed the sound of truth. 

“I want to get better. That’s all I want.” You defended. It’s true, you did want to get better. But you weren’t completely telling the truth all the way and he knows it.

“Don’t lie. You want to get rid of me.” 

You paused right on your tracks. Your back is only facing him. The only sound filling the room is the rumbling sound of thunder and tiny droplets of water that pours from the sky down to your window and to the ground. Those words he mentioned hits you right in your own stomach. You can almost feel your stomach completely flip. 

“Oops, did I say too much?” Joel released a low, devious, chuckle. A chuckle that caused you to shiver right where you stand. It was an eerie sound. You turned around to look at him.

“You know you can’t get rid of me.” Joel coos, almost mockingly. 

He knew pushing every button you had and tormenting you amuses him to the core. It gained him power and control. It’s just the satisfaction he absolutely needed.

“You know how pathetic you look when you lie. Have you forgotten who I am? Nothin’ but a silly “ol’ imaginary pal” as you like to call me.” 

“Stop it right now Joel…” 

“No matter the amount of pills you take,” 

“Please…shut up…” 

“I will always be around you to remind you how weak you are.”

That’s where you felt a certain tick inside your head. A bomb. An explosive atomic bomb that seemed to spread all across your room. 

“Leave me the fuck alone! Get the fuck out!” You snapped. All that anger you released caused you to form tears from the corner of your eyes. You felt the streams on each reddened cheek racing down. Your heartbeat briskly picks up its unsteady pace. You covered your eyes to refrain your tears from slipping out. You didn’t want to cry in front of him, you at least try not to but you just can’t help yourself. 

You think he’s going to calm you down and apologize? You thought wrong. 

You felt a sudden grip on both your wrists. He uncovers your wet eyes to stare directly into them. 

“Watch your fucking tone with me!” You can feel his anger through gritted teeth. He growled. The way you felt his presence is rather dark and eerie. Another crack of lightning was heard. You felt the ground and walls almost shake from the loud sound. The light from the bolt illuminated your room yet again. Only this time it revealed his own shadow behind him that depicted a terrifying figure. A figure with large stretched wings and sharp horns. 

He is the devil. A demon who managed to latch onto you this entire time. A demon who likes to stay and torment you because he knows how very fragile your mind is.

“You’re hurting me! Let go!” You tried to pull yourself away but he’s stronger than you. He kept his grip firm until you began to lose blood circulation. His hand clenched around both your tiny sensitive writs. You were starting to think he might’ve burst a vein by now. Your mouth gapes open in response to the uncomfortable pain. 

“Hurting you?” He shushes you, his tone cold as ice. He releases his grip on your wrists that were now red and bruised. He caresses your damp cheeks. Wiping every tear drop you’ve released out of your own frustration with his thumbs. Oh, he missed a spot. It didn’t take him a second to hesitate by licking your last tear, tasting the salty liquid. 

From the way his tongue lounged languidly alongside your cheek, your eyes widened in response to the sudden sensation. You lightly panicked and managed to step away since it reminded you of your nightmare. Shit. Was he going to stab you now?

“Don’t…” from anger to pleading was a sight for sore eyes. With every step you took backwards, Joel stepped forward. Not going to lie, you were a bit petrified by his known demeanor. His imposing appearance was indeed breathtaking. It was merely a disguise. His stoic expression gets you every time and has you rethinking about your own self worth. There wasn’t much space left when you felt your lower back pressed against the desk of your vanity, clutching your towel that miraculously still wrapped around your body. You focused on trying to maintain steady breaths all while your chest heaved. You knew there was nowhere to go anymore. You knew you can’t run away forever.

“I aint gonna hurt you…” to your surprise, Joel forced you to turn around. You can feel his grip against your arms, restraining them both behind your back. He had you right where he wanted you to be. You can only see what was going on through the reflection of your mirror, “I wanna make you feel good…” 

The way he talks. That southern accent drawl sounded pure as honey can be. You knew damn well what he meant by feeling good. Your mind was telling you no but something else was oddly telling you yes.

“Not only are you pathetic but you’re beautiful when you’re scared…” 

Joel pressed hungry kisses behind your left ear, following down towards your soft neck, and against your collarbone. 

“Let me ease your tension away.” Your eyes fluttered shut in response to his slick gesture. Goosebumps rising to the surface of your skin. It felt good to feel his lips brush along your skin. A soft whine escapes past your lips when you feel his teeth scrape against your flesh where your pulse is located, leaving a lovely fresh purple-red mark. 

Without a fair warning, Joel swiftly removes the towel away from your body, allowing the towel to drop to the floor. The cold air that touches your, now, bare skin causes a shiver to run down your spine and goosebumps to appear. You began to feel your own blood circulating to your cheeks. You felt embarrassed because he has never seen you this way. At least from what you can remember. You felt your own cunt lightly clench at the way he continued marking you, his territory. He left love marks against the empty spots of your sweet neck down to your shoulder. Your core was already starting a fire. He can sense it. 

“Look at you, already eager and I barely touched you.” Soft chuckles escaped past Joel’s lips. He hums approvingly at just the sight of how fluttered you’re feeling. You open your eyes and stare at the way his eyes just scan and travel up and down your bare body. Hungry hands gripped and squeezed each side of your waist. You watched how his hands motion their way up towards your breasts. You earned yourself a firm squeeze. His index finger and thumb pinches and tugs your left pierced nipple. He found the silver jewelry that adorned your hard nipple quite attractive. 

“I want you to touch yourself.” He commands in a tone that was awfully iniquitous. You blinked your eyes a few times, snapping back into reality from the alluring fantasy you were just in. You wanted to make sure you heard him correctly. 

“E-Excuse me?” “You heard me.”

Touch yourself? You’ve only done so within the privacy of your own room. Never in front of someone, never ever in front of Joel. You began doubting yourself at this point. What if he’s actually seen every move you’ve made in bed? He is the devil after all. They’re nothing but sneaky tricksters. If he has seen you naked lying in bed, touching yourself with your toys, he would’ve made a move. What difference would it actually make to do so right in front of him? It’s too late to back down now. You were in a lust trance, you knew you could do this.

Before you can mention anything else, he beats you to it by grabbing your delicate hand with his free hand to slide it down towards your cunt. He positioned the tip of your index finger upon your sensitive nub. You felt like nothing but his toy puppet at this point. You didn’t pull away, you didn’t scream. You were curious – you were wanting to see where this goes. 

Without his help you slowly began to rub small circles against your clit that was beginning to swell from the friction of your own finger. Your breathing was picking up through your nostrils, chest slowly heaving. The sensitive sensation of your own touch was starting to feel good. 

“Good girl…” The way he praised you caused your cunt to once more clench in response. His hands grabbed your hips to thrust yourself back towards him. You felt his hard cock that was strained against the fabric of his pants press hard against your ass. 

Your own precum glistened your delicate cunt. You slide two fingers across your folds to lubricate them to allow your clit to become wet and easy to rub. You daringly slip your index and middle finger inside your wet hole, pushing your fingers inwards and out at a steady pace. Your head fell back against Joel’s shoulder while your eyes remained shut to concentrate at only the way your fingers rubbed the insides of your walls. You started to release soft moans that vibrated against your throat. 

You felt Joel’s hand caress your inner thigh and without any warning you felt another finger slide into you. A sudden gasp escaped past your lips. You released another moan. This time, that moan was loud. He hums from your reaction, “Yeah, that’s it.” Joel forced you to remove your own fingers and guide your hand towards his mouth. His tongue licks every bit of your remaining juices from your two soaked fingers, savoring your taste. 

The way his finger slides inwards and outwards easily was elating. When it comes to this aspect of intimacy, you’ve never had anyone touch you the way the devil is. Something about his own touch hitting your own g-spot has got you thrusting your hips to the rhythm and pace of his finger. You were filled with anticipation of wanting more than just his own finger. 

“Oh fuck!” You mewled. Joel held you tight in place by wrapping his other arm around your lower abdomen. He didn’t think twice about slipping his middle finger inside. He bites down against the flesh of your shoulder, hard enough to draw blood. You were too aroused at this point to even deter the bleeding pain. Joel curled his fingers to ensure he’s hitting every sweet spot inside of you. Squelching, wet, sounds explicitly filled your room. 

“J-Joel I’m gonna cum!” You regret even mentioning you were about to climax because the moment you did, Joel abruptly stopped. 

You opened your eyes at the sudden pause. You were dazed and confused. You tried to catch your breath to speak but you were too weary to find the right words. Only mumbles slip past your lips. Your brows furrowed at the hot sensation subsiding. You wanted to reach your orgasm. You were absolutely needy. 

“Don’t stop…why’d you—“ To your surprise, Joel grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled your head back for you to come face to face with him. You whined at the sudden painful gesture. 

“Open.” He commands and you obliged. You should be embarrassed by the way you opened your own mouth so goddamn fast. It’s a slight shame but you didn’t care at this point. Joel slides in his two fingers that are soaked with your warm lubricant juices into your mouth. You closed your mouth and released a satisfactory hum. You sucked your own juices right off his fingers languidly. You maintained eye contact the entire time.  

“Atta girl…” his wicked smile wide across his face. He removes his fingers from your mouth the moment you finish. Joel caresses the side of your face, almost petting you. Without warning he walked over towards your bed, his hand still maintaining a firm grip on your hair. He released his grip and pushed you against the mattress of your bed. 

You landed right on your abdomen, the air escaping straight from your lungs at the sudden motion. You turned around and positioned yourself on your back, elbows resting on the firm mattress on each side of your body. Your eyes stared right at his thick hungry cock. Shit. From the way his cock felt pressed against your rear, there was no doubt about it he'd be that huge. Your mind quickly shifted thoughts as you noticed his clothes managed to disappear all of a sudden. 

“How did you remove your clothes so fast?” You couldn’t help but release a snarky smirk. You wanted to giggle. Joel couldn’t help but crease his brows together, a look of disappointment showcasing his face. It suddenly became the usual stoic glare he’s always expressed. You know damn well he can reappear and disappear at any given moment. What a poor question to even ask. 

To silence you and without any warning, he turned you around. Your back arched while your ass perks up. He spreads both your cheeks to reveal your needy holes. You felt your cheeks becoming hot again against your face. You weren’t going to lie to yourself, you felt rather embarrassed to be in such a position to the devil. Someone who has been by your side ever since gets to see your most valued parts. Kudos to that.

“Shit! W-Wait! Joel I don’t think—” Joel silenced you with a strong slap across your ass cheek with his hand. The stinging sensation caused you to shriek. Eyes slightly form tears from the crude reaction. 

“Fuck!” You squeaked. Another hard slap across the same spot upon your sensitive skin. 

“You just can’t seem to shut up, can’t you?” Joel was tournamenting you. It finally occurred to you that he wanted you to stay silent. He wanted you to be a good girl for him. You pressed your lips together firmly at the last rough slap he made in contact upon your now reddened skin. You muffled out your scream from the intense pain. A teardrop managed to escape from one of the corners of your eye, staining your bedsheet. 

“That’s better.” Joel assures you. He didn’t bother rubbing the pain away. Instead, he propped each cheek, spreading them apart again in order to lubricate your holes with his own saliva. You felt the dribble of his warm liquid making contact. You felt the way his saliva slid past your gaping hole and towards your aroused entrance. A whispered hum was released within you. You managed to wiggle your rear slightly and positioned yourself farther back. 

“Such a needy little slut, are we?” He teased and grabbed his throbbing cock that was already begging to slip inside of you. He gave a few swift pumps to help ease his tension. 

“Please fuck me…” You did not hesitate to refrain yourself from pleading. You kept your back arched, waiting for his next move. “You’re being nice now, hm?” He positioned the tip of his cock right towards your cunt. With one last tease, you felt the way his tip brushed against your wet hole, feeling his precum mixing together with yours. Without a warning, the inside of your walls began to stretch open. You released a sensual moan with your face planted and resting against your mattress. You clenched the fabrics of your sheets while he’s balls deep inside.

The lewd sound of skin slapping against skin echoed all around your room. With every thrust Joel caused left you breathless and groaning. The stinging pain subsided and formed into a warmer sensation. There was nothing left on your mind but arousal. All your current problems you had going inside of your mind are gone. Any responsibilities you had to attend to, also gone. You felt his strong arm wrap around your stomach to pull you up and away from your mattress. Your back pressed firmly against his broad chest. Joel kept his grip to hold you tightly in place. His other free hand squeezed your neck firmly. You barely breathed. You began to see stars from how strong he kept his grip tightly against your neck. Hell, he’s definitely going to be leaving you sore the moment you wake up.

“You’re such a fucking good girl,” with every thrust, your breath punched away from your lungs and you moaned. You felt the tip of his cock forcefully hitting your cervix all too well. “My fucking good girl…you belong to me.” Joel reminded you and released his grunts and hot breaths right against your ear. The way he grunts has your head spinning like crazy. Both skin felt tacky from sweat forming.

“You’re never getting rid of me…you’re mine.” Even with his hand firmly against your throat, you managed to miraculously speak with a soft straining tone all while he’s fucking you senseless. “I’m yours…mmm…your cock feels… s’good…” All you can do is just whine and cry. The sensation you felt happening inside of you was too much to bear. You were starting to feel overstimulated. You wanted to pull away to rest and catch your breath but he didn’t stop. The devil wasn’t going to let go of you. No man had ever managed to fuck you this rough. You were beginning to discover a new kink of your own that was hidden all this time. 

“Being fucked by the devil feels good doesn’t it…?” Joel released his grip and grabbed both your arms to position them right behind you again. He leaned you forward to better position himself to hit nothing but your cervix and your g-spot. His pace is rougher than before. Your sore pussy clench and squeeze around his throbbing length, milking his cock exceptionally. You felt your climax about to rise and hit you any second now.

“Oh yes, yes, yes! It feels so f-fucking good!” Your eyes rolled towards the back of your head when you flickered them both shut at the inevitable sensation that exploded within you. A tingling sensation showered all across your body down to your core. A slow wave crashed over you to cause your legs to tremble. Your breathing was heavy. You tried to gain consciousness. Joel groaned and felt the way your cunt pulsates against his cock. He continued to thrust vigorously. The squelching sounds of both your juices dripped upon your fabric bedding. With one last harsh thrust, Joel buried his cock deep inside, almost piercing your cervix to release his cum. His strained grunts filled the air with your moans. You felt his hot seed paint and fill inside your sweet walls. “Mmm…fuuuck…” You giggled at the sudden high all while your vision was slightly impaired. Joel removed himself away from you, cum dripping down the back of your legs onto your mattress. He lies besides you, directly on his back, to catch and steady his breath. You slowly regained your consciousness and lied down beside him. You also focused on trying to also steady your breath alongside him. 

Joel pinched the sides of both your cheeks to purposely have your face towards his. Your eyes slightly widen at the unexpected rude gesture. “Don't underestimate or lie to me next time.” He shoves your face away and straightens himself up. He moved away from your mattress. You lift yourself up and turn around to take a look at him. Your eyes dart and scan upwards and downwards at his clothing attire that suddenly appeared. A sly grin revealed itself from the corner of your lips. You tried so hard to abstain yourself from teasing him. “How did you put your clothes on so fast?” There was just silence and judgment filling the room. The only sound to interrupt the silence was just the roar of thunder. The sky is still angry and pouring down hard. Joel shamelessly shook his face, almost questioning your odd demeanor.  Without another word he vanished, leaving you all alone naked, wet, and dirty. You sighed in return. This calls for another shower. Not only did Joel leave you alone, he left you lingering when your next devilish encounter will be.

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[envysparkler]

Jason tucked himself deeper into his hoodie and tried not to shiver.  His fingers were numb around the tire iron, more from panic than the chill in the air, and he felt like he was being turned to ice, inch by painful inch.

He could still see the cold look on Johnny Six-Fingers’ face, the reek of tobacco, the ultimatum ringing through the air and echoing inside his head.

Jason had a debt to pay, and Six-Fingers had gotten tired of waiting.  Jason had one night to scrounge up two grand in cash, or he’d have to pay it off the usual way.  By standing on street corners.

Six-Fingers didn’t care that Jason was only twelve and didn’t have any way to get a real job.  He didn’t care that the money had all been funneled into the black hole of Jason’s mother’s hospital expenses.  He didn’t care that the money hadn’t even worked, that Jason’s mom had died, wasting away with every breath, and Jason was left with no parents, no home, and a debt to one of Crime Alley’s most infamous money-lenders and pimps.

He didn’t care that there was no way Jason could scramble together two grand in cash in one fucking night.

The wind was biting on his cheeks and Jason took a few deep breaths as his eyes prickled.  No.  No.  There—there had to be a way.  Jason wasn’t going to become a whore.  He’d find the two grand—he’d steal it if he had to, he wouldn’t become one of the empty-eyed men and women standing on the streets, lighting up to detach themselves from reality.

But it was late.  Very late.  No one was out on the streets this late at night, not when the Batman lurked.  Most people in Gotham had better sense than to get in the way of a prowling nightmare of darkness and claws, lest they end up as another bloody body in a gutter.

Jason unfortunately had to sacrifice sense for speed.  The one skill he was very good at was jacking tires, and they didn’t sell for much, but if he found a really good score, he could maybe bargain with Tony at the shop to get the two grand.  He’d owe Tony then, but the mechanic would let him pay it off by working at the shop.

It was a horrible plan.  It relied on Jason basically stumbling upon a pot of gold, and avoiding Gotham’s most infamous murderer while he was at it.  Jason was usually careful to jack tires during the day—if Batman ever caught him, Jason would be seeing his own insides.

At the moment, it was a risk he was willing to take.

It was going to be fine.  Everything was going to be fine.  He was going to find some tires, sell them, get Six-Fingers his money, and then maybe his mom would come back to life and tuck him into bed.  Jason exhaled harshly and tightened his fingers on the tire iron.

He needed to get the cash.

Crime Alley was quiet.  The pubs had closed an hour ago, which left no one on the streets.  There weren’t many cars here, and none of them had tires that would sell for more than a hundred bucks.  Jason was consciously aware of his heart pounding in his ears, like a ticking clock counting down his fate.

Tick tock.

He had to find something.

Tick tock.

He wouldn’t become a whore.  He wouldn’t.

Tick tock.

Please—he had to find something, please—

Tick tock.

He wanted his mom.  He wanted his dad.  He wanted someone, anyone, to tell him it was going to be okay.

Tick tock.

He wanted to find a car that was gleaming and dark and all tricked-up, with massive tires and novelty rims, and—oh shit, that was the Batmobile.

Fuck.  Everyone knew of Batman’s tank of a car, how easily he evaded police and gangs and everyone, blasting through Gotham like he owned the goddamn city.  And given that no one had been able to stop him even once in the last decade, he probably did.

Jason had already turned to flee before his mind caught up to his legs and reminded him that he hadn’t done anything illegal.  Yet.  Running would be suspicious.

He let himself casually ogle the car as he took inching steps backwards, his heart pounding so loud he was surprised it wasn’t echoing in the alley.  Every fraction of his attention was focused on listening for a whisper of a cape, or perhaps the hiss of claws scything through air, his tire iron clutched firmly to his chest.  He was going to get out of the alley calmly and carefully, and—and if Batman was prowling around Crime Alley, Jason’s chances of getting that two grand had just vanished, and he didn’t want to go back to Six Fingers, and—

Those…were nice tires.  Fancy tires.  The kind of tires that would totally be worth two grand.  No sane person would want anything to do with Batman’s tires, but Tony did work for the Families too, and some of them could be interested in trophies.

If Jason actually managed to get the tires off without being murdered or having a heart attack.

He didn’t want to.  He desperately didn’t want to.  But the choice was between Batman and Six-Fingers, and Batman wasn’t here.

“You can do this,” he whispered to himself, his fingers twisting on the tire iron.  Steady and careful.  Silent and quick.  “You have to do this.”

Jason checked one last time for shining claws and white eyes in the darkness, and got to work.

~#~

The combination of fear, dread, and panic helped Jason work faster than he ever had in his life.  He unscrewed the bolts, kicked the tires off, and rolled them to the next alley to hide them below a stack of cardboard.  It was going to be tricky to get them all the way to Tony’s shop, but first Jason had to get them off.  The minutes ticked by, agonizingly slow, as his fingers grew clammier and his breaths grew shorter.

The world had narrowed down to his numb fingers, the bolts, the tires, and his distressingly loud heartbeat.

Jason, working away at the third tire, didn’t realize he had company until he heard the low growl, right behind him—“What are you doing?”

Nerves strained to the breaking point, Jason reacted on instinct.  He jerked away from the tire, yanking the tire iron back with him, and shifted his grip as he spun and swung with the movement.

The tire iron crashed into a nightmare.

The nightmare staggered back with a grunt.

Jason allowed himself a split second to feel—oh no oh fuck oh no—before booking it.

There was a time to fight and a time to flee the fucking country, oh fuck, he attacked Batman, he was going to die, he didn’t want to die and the pulsing sound of his heartbeat was overridden by the too-loud sound of his shoes smacking against loose asphalt.  He didn’t hear Batman, but he hadn’t heard the monster before he spoke up, and there was no fucking way Jason was looking back to check what’d happened.

Run, screamed every cell in his body, run and hide, adrenaline coursing through him and narrowing his focus on the desperate effort to get away.

If Jason had been slightly less panicked, he might’ve remembered that this alley was a dead-end before he nearly brained himself smacking against the brick wall.

Run, everything inside him insisted, and Jason clawed at the wall in an attempt to climb it, but there were no handholds, nowhere he could jam his fingers and hoist himself up.  The chill down his spine grew to a sharp, vicious ache as the weight of silent regard grew heavier and heavier.

Jason stared blankly at the brick wall and felt his face begin to prickle.

He was going to die.  It wasn’t a theoretical.  Batman murdered criminals, everyone knew it, and no one could stop him.  Certainly no one would care if he murdered Jason.  Jason was dead, and every breath he took could be his last.

His face was wet, and he was trembling all over.  He felt curiously detached from his body, like he was in a dream, and when he blinked, the world went dark for a stretching moment.  He didn’t want to die.  He didn’t want it to hurt.  He desperately didn’t want to feel pain.

A footstep echoed right behind him.

“Please,” Jason’s voice said hollowly, the words spilling from his mouth without permission.  Everything was blurry.  “Make it quick.”

One punch of the claws through his back, and Batman could rip his heart out.  It would be done.  He couldn’t hear Batman move, but the presence behind him intensified, and the world retreated a little bit more when a gauntleted, clawed hand settled on his shoulder

A slash of razor-sharp metal through his throat would be equally fast.  Jason let himself be maneuvered, let the threatening grip turn him around, let cold and bloody claws tip his chin up to look at Death.

It was terrifying.  This was the last thing many people saw before they died.  A hulking outline of shadows looming above them, a full-face mask with pointed ears and glowing white eyes, red glinting ever so darkly against the black armor.

“What’s your name?” the growl ground out, distorted and echoey.  It sounded like what monsters in the closet were made of.

“Jason,” he forced out through trembling lips.  Dead boys had no need of names.  A fresh wave of prickling crawled across his face, and everything went blurry again.

“Where are your parents, Jason?”  Oh, Batman was really pissed.  Luckily, Jason had no family for the monster to take it out on.

“Dead.”

Something changed in Batman’s posture, a tightening that some instinctive part of Jason recognized as anger.  There was nowhere to hide though, no kitchen table to crawl under with a dog to wait out the rage, and Jason just cowered against the brick wall.

“Who do you live with?”

“N-no one,” Jason stuttered.  Batman was determined to vent his fury.  Well, a little voice spoke up in his head, you did steal his tires.  What did you expect?

Batman was silent for a stretching moment, studying him.  Jason waited for his verdict, shivering despite his hoodie, cold with more than just the wind.  When Batman spoke, it was worse than all the horrible things Jason was imagining.

“I will take you to a social worker,” intoned the low growl, and Jason felt a new kind of terror rush through his veins.

“No,” he said automatically, his mind screaming in horror—at least with Six-Fingers he would just be a whore, he wouldn’t be a pet, he wouldn’t be owned—“Please—please don’t—”

“Jason—”

Jason was aware that he was interrupting, aware that this was Batman he was arguing with, but Jason was dead anyway, what more did he have to lose?  “Please,” he begged, dropping to his knees to plead for any mercy this nightmare possessed, “Please, just—just kill me, please, don’t—don’t give me to the traffickers, please, I’ll do anything.”  Jason had to break off to shudder through a sob, but before he could resume begging, Batman was moving.

The Terror of Gotham knelt in front of him to look Jason in the eyes.  The shock was enough to startle Jason into silence.

“Jason, I’m not going to kill you,” the growling voice said, “And I’m certainly not going to give you to traffickers.”

Jason…couldn’t tell which one of those was the lie.

“I know of a trusted foster parent that would give you a safe place to stay while I look into these traffickers,” Batman’s voice rang out firmly, “Would you like to stay with him?”

No, Jason would very much not like to stay with a buddy of Batman’s.  It was a trap, that much was obvious, but Jason had no choice but to walk straight into it.  This was Batman.

Jason nodded meekly, and took Batman’s proffered claw-tipped hand—slick with drying blood—to be pulled up to his feet.  “You can wait in the car while I put the tires back on,” Batman said, opening the door to reveal the darkened interior.

Jason wanted to protest, wanted to take his chances to run at the opposite end of the alley, wanted to wheedle his way into getting the tires himself so he could escape, but those glowing white eyes had transfixed him, and Jason’s fingers were sticky with someone’s blood, and he didn’t feel up to arguing.

He silently got in the car.  The tears didn’t stop.

#my snippets #jason&bruce #jason steals the tires au #in a world where batman kills

[knapptapp]

Without Me You'd Just Disappear

Yan!Ghost x Reader

Word Count: 1,970

Part 2 of Your Nothing Without Me

Part one Here!

Sometimes he comes in and sits on the corner of the bed. He really doesn't do anything but stare at you. A silent stare with cold dead eyes. Much to your surprise he never makes any move to touch you or close the distance you have created by flattening yourself against the headboard.

You don't dare allow yourself to look away, afraid when you look back he’ll be closer.

When he’s not there you allow yourself to look around the room. It's rather small, not much to look out for. There's one clock on the wall across from you but it's permanently stuck at 2:30. But you swear, out of your peripheral view you can see the hands click by.

And when you close your eyes and try to get some much-needed sleep you can hear it.

Tick Tock TIck Tock Tick Tock

You know time is passing. Because that's how reality works. You can count the seconds passing but only for a short while before the numbers meld together and you can't remember what comes after what.

You think you are going insane.

Every time you look back at the clock it's still stuck. Maybe time isn't passing. You must have slipped and hit your head on your way home. Bled out on the sidewalk before anyone could find you.

And now you are in hell. Or maybe purgatory. God was punishing you for your sins. He must be. What sins, you do not know. You try to rack your brain. Running through every decision you've ever made. But you keep coming up blank. Were your sins so bad your mortal mind can't even comprehend them?

At least it keeps your mind off of numbers.

You start to prefer the days where he sits on the end of your the bed. At least then fear takes over your mind and all you can think about is your heart ramming in your chest.

He didn't have a face under his mask. It was easier to think of it like that. Imagine him as anything but human The fear of the unknown and the imaginary monster your mind created was less tortuous than the knowledge that he was a real person

You know he’s trying to scare you because why else would he be wearing that horrifying mask? A skull. When you first saw it you thought it was made from a real skull, and that your own bones would soon join the college of horror. Now, you feel stupid. The more you start at it the more it becomes slightly less grotesque. There were no cracks or lines where pieces of bones would have been glued together. The material looks rough and dry.

If you ran your fingers over it you bet it would have the texture of chalk, leaving white dusty residue over the pads of your fingers. The only thing human about him, the one piece your mind can't twist, are his eyes. They are entirely human.

“Are you hungry?”

His voice catches you so off guard you think the clock has started talking to you. It seems like the more logical option. It takes a few seconds for your mind to process his words.

Are you hungry

You narrow your eyes at him. You keep your mouth shut, lips clamped tightly together. You are hungry. And your body is ever so self-centered, protesting loudly against your silence. One of his eyes widened with what must be the raise of an eyebrow. He stares at you unblinking, waiting for you to call your own bluff.

“It's been three days and you must be hungry.”

Three.Three.Three.

Three days of full purgatory and at the same time. Only three.

“Thirsty too I bet,” He says. Your mouth is a savanna desert but you don't say that. How long can humans go without water again? Five days? Four days?

“Just say the words and I'll bring you some food and water.”

Three days. Humans can survive without water for three days.

“Please.” You don't ever realize your speaking until the words echo back to you. Cracked and wheezy.

He stands up and leaves and you have a dreadful feeling he isn't coming back.

You close your eyes for only a moment and open them to the sound of clinking metal.. And a searing pain encompasses your wrist. Automatically you yank it towards you realizing too late it's your handcuffed hand. But the pain of metal cutting into skin never comes.

Instead, your hand hits your chest. You shoot up as soon as you realize you're free, cradle your burning wrist in your other hand. The skin is red and blisters, some of the skin has been cut through or rubbed off from your constant pulling.

“Don't think about trying anything. We both know you won't win.” He’s standing right next to you, handcuffs in hand. And he’s right. He's huge at 6'4 and 200-something lbs. Compared to him you're tiny.

The skull mask has been replaced with a plain black balaclava. It's the first time you've seen him without his skull mask and it just further breaks down the small amount of comfort you've created.

“I’ll treat your wrist after you eat.” He gestures to the bedside table beside him. On it is a tray with two plates of food and a glass of water alongside an old army med kit.

He walks over to the farthest wall where his chair had been placed and pulls it back to the bedside table. He places it down, mere inches away from the bed. The old chair creaks as he sits down.

Of course, he was staying. You half expected him to leave. But that's stupid. You are uncuffed with full access to the room and the door. You are being held against your will after all.

As silently as you can you scoot a few inches away. He stares at you, fingers twitching by his side with the urge to yank you back to him. But he doesn't, instead, he reaches over, picks a plate off the tray, and hands it to you.

The smell of food hits you and you rush forward to take it. It’s just some rice and vegetables but your mouth waters at it. Stomach loudly protesting once again.

He reached out to hand you something else. A fork the plastic kind. Doesn't want to risk you trying to stab him with a metal one. In all honesty, you hadn't even thought about it. Stabbing him or a fork. You would eat with your hands. Would probably get the food into you quicker.

Still, you take the fork, not sparing him a glance before you start eating.

You hear the clinking of plates and look up. Instead of the black mask you're expecting to see you are met with pale skin. He has his mask pushed up over his nose.

You could see his features. His nose, lips, and chin The expansion of freckles along the tiny bit of his cheeks you can see. For once he’s not staring at you, but instead at the plate he has balanced in one hand.

It's the same thing you have. With his other hand, he stabs a piece of broccoli with his metal fork and brings it to his lips. He’s eating with you. Like this is a normal fucking situation. Like you too are a couple eating dinner together and not a kidnapper and kidnapper.

You shovel as much food as you can into your mouth. Some weird part of you is glad he's no longer staring at you and seeing you eat like a rabid animal. Got to keep some of your dignity, right?

As much as your body demands and needs food, It is not happy receiving it. The first few bites make your stomach burn and when you swallow it sends you gagging which in turn, gives you a headache.

It doesn't really taste like anything and it's hard to eat with your constantly dry mouth but you keep going. You need food. You're just about to stab a piece of broccoli when a gloved hand takes hold of the plate and pulls it away from you.

You quickly swallow the food in your mouth and choke down a gag threatening to force it all back up again. You're too tired to try and get the plate back so you let him take it, hands falling to your lap, still clutching your plastic fork.

He places it back on the try, where he has already placed his own. It's close enough you could grab it back if you really wanted to But all you want to do right now is sleep. And water You desperately want water Your vision is starting to get blurry around the edges. You close your eyes to try and blink away the blurriness but your eyelids seem too heavy to lift again. There's a vague warmness on your shoulder and then a slight shaking sensation. It's the first time he's ever really touched you and frankly, you can't find it in you to care

Through the haze you can feel yourself being pulled forward, head tilted back with what feels like a hand supporting your skull. Something pulls your lips apart leaving briefly only to be replaced by something else within seconds. Something cold slowly pours down your throat.

A stream from god it must be. It immediately soothes your sore throat and gives your mouth some much-needed wetness. Liquid gold it must be. Something so precious and reviving. It trickles down until it's gone.

He moves you so you are laying back down, the warmth of a blanket covering you. There's the clinking of plates and then the sound of a door opening and closing.

You wake up periodically, always groggy and confused, only to fall back asleep almost immediately. He’s always there when you wake up. Sometimes on his chair, at the edge of the bed, standing ominously in the corner.

When you finally fully wake up, he’s staring down at you. Wide brown eyes unblinking. It startles you awake, and your brain is finally at full working capacity. You completely freeze, unsure of what to do. He squints down at you.

“Are you awake?”

Obviously.

You nod, ever so slightly, and he moves from your field of vision. You can hear shuffling next to you, but you don't turn to look. Instead, you choose to focus completely on the ceiling above you.

He’s pulling your arm, hand gripping just below the dried blood on your wrist. It's almost gentle. Almost.

Time ticks by. Or at least you think. You can't see the clock from your position. You wonder what it says.

There's some wetness on your wrist and it stings. Automatically your arm twitches. You turn to look at him.

He has some sort of wet wipe in his hand and is slowly working the dried blood away in a surprisingly soft manner. The med kit is open next to him, bandages, gauze, and other medical supplies spilling out.

You can tell your crying, just barely through your haze. Your cheeks are starting to get wet

Once he works the blood off he wraps your wrist with gauze and presses the lower half of his face against your inner wrist. You think he’s kissing you but you can't really tell with the mask.

He pulls it up and presses a proper little kiss to the bandaging before rising again to look up at you.

He leans in. You brace yourself for what's about to come, squeezing your eyes shut as tight as you can. His tongue makes contact with the bottom of your jaw. He licks a long strip up your cheek, licking up your tears.

#cod x gn!reader #cod x reader #cod x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley x you #simon riley imagine #yandere ghost #yandere cod

[toournextadventure]

everyone but her pt.20

Summary: Grief comes in many different forms and stages. You're stuck on anger, and Wednesday accompanies you to the funeral. But she says something wrong, with the best of intentions, and you end up doing something that will change your family dynamic for the worse.

Word Count: 7.7k Warnings: grief, child abuse, self neglect (not eating, recklessness, not taking care of self, excessive drinking), extreme anger, flashbacks (mentions of car accident, injuries, illusions to criminal activity), swearing, violence, smoking Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (everyone but her Masterlist) Taglist: @extinctspino @basichextechml @cfvgbhndun-new-blog @jinxscatbomb @awolfcsworld @suzhiman @gengen64 @eclipsesmoonshine14 @alexkolax @thenextdawn @cacciatricediartemide @cozwaenot @the-night-owl-blr @natashasapphic @parkersmyth @alilbitlesbian @irish-piece-of-trash @rainbow-love4ever @audigay @bakugounuggets @myfturn @rockwyn @bigbadsofty07 @andsoigotabutterfly @captainbeat @smromanoff

Everyone says grief comes in five stages; denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. But you disagree. It’s not five stages, it’s one. Only one stage that washes over you like a wave and holds you under until you’re drowning. You’re drowning and watching everyone on the surface live their lives as if you aren’t just right underneath them, choking on the salty sea water as you scream for help.

It’s only one stage; agony.

The house was bigger than you remembered when you got home far too early in the morning. The barristers were cleaner, the kitchen was far more pristine, and it was quiet. It was far too quiet, and your hands started to go clammy at the revelation. There wasn’t even any comfort in the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer. Tick-tocks burned themselves into your brain until it was stabbing into your head like a knife.

You started humming a tuneless song. It eased the pain slightly.

"Don't hum, dear," your mother said as she took her gloves off and handed them to your maid and previous nanny, Mabel. "It's childish."

Your humming died off and the silence came back.

"Mabel will show you to your room,” your father said, resting his hand on your shoulder and giving it a comforting squeeze. For a moment, things almost seemed okay. “We will mourn tomorrow, then start the preparations.”

And just like that everything came crashing down once again. Paired perfectly with the migraine that still refused to settle.

“Oh, Y/N,” your father called out before you managed to get more than three steps up.

You turned around slowly, each joint still aching from the fall earlier in the night. Was it that same night? It felt so long ago. Nothing felt like you had been on a carnival date earlier in the night, that you had been having fun with Wednesday and the gang less than eight hours ago. Or was it longer than that? Did it even matter anymore?

“Your principal wanted you to have your phone back,” he continued when you stayed silent. He smiled softly down at the phone in his hands before looking up and handing it back. “Your conversations are a bit concerning,” he said when your fingers brushed his to take it back. “I installed a program to track your activity.” You blinked once. “For your well-being.”

For my well-being. Right. Of course.

“You have a few unread messages,” your father called after you as you turned to walk back up the stairs. “You should let them know everything is alright.”

Be angry, a voice in the back of your head growled when Mabel continued to guide you through the now-unfamiliar corridors. It was a familiar voice, one that hadn’t reared its head in months, but you couldn’t quite place it. He went through your phone, so you need to get angry. No. No, you wouldn’t get angry. Why not? Your jaw clenched painfully. Nicky wouldn’t have gotten angry.

“Y/N.”

You stopped in the doorway of the room - your room - and looked sideways at Mabel. She looked older, more worn. Maybe it was just from working for your parents for so long. How was her son? Had he graduated college yet? He had wanted to be an engineer, if you remembered right. Why did she look so sad?

“I am truly sorry,” she said softly. “I cannot imagine your grief.”

No. No, she couldn’t imagine your grief. She couldn’t imagine what it was like to see him not even a week earlier, alive, and not knowing it would be the last time you saw him. She couldn’t fucking imagine what it was like and no one could fucking imagine what it was like.

The migraine throbbed again and you squeezed your eyes shut to try and ease it.

“The headaches will stop in time,” she said. Your eyes flew open. “They always have.”

“What?”

Mabel tilted her head and a crinkle formed between her eyes.

“Your headaches,” she said, her finger lifting to tap lightly against your left temple. “They always got worse when Nicky stopped suppressing.”

“Suppressing?”

Her sorrowful smile slipped into a frown.

"Yes," she said softly, "don't you remember?"

No.

"Well, I suppose that would defeat the point," she chuckled lightly. "He could suppress memories," she explained softly, gently, agonisingly. "He always chose the bad ones, of course." 

No. 

"I myself got a slight headache when he passed."

No.

"It's how I knew he was truly gone."

No!

"Y/N?"

You shoved past Mabel, forcing her back into the hall. The stairs passed under you four at a time until you were on the ground floor.

"Darling?-"

"-Where are you going?-"

"-It's 4 in the morning-"

"-Get back in the house."

Your parents' calls fell on deaf ears as you threw the front door open and stormed outside. Your feet picked up speed as you walked down the endless driveway. The moment they hit the pavement you broke out into a jog, then a sprint. Your shoes hit the pavement of the road in a steady rhythm.

"You really wanna know?" Nicky asked after taking another one of your chess pieces.

"You promised you would tell me," you said with a frown.

"How about I make it your graduation present," he teased. "Give you something to look forward to."

"Deal," you said with a smile. He knocked your king off the board.

The excessively large houses blurred as you ran down the street. Motion lights turned on and guard dogs barked when you passed by.

"That was the year they left us to fend for ourselves for the week," Nicky laughed with Yoko.

"I don't remember that," you said with a slight frown.

"You were, uh, too young," Nicky said with a smile and a pat on your back. "Not worth remembering anyway."

The houses thinned and were quickly replaced with trees. Your feet stumbled as pavement turned into dirt. Icy air froze your tired lungs, leaving a sensation of needles in your chest.

You pushed your feet faster.

"Nicky, I'm tired," you whined after tripping over your own feet again.

"Just a few more hours," he said. His shirt had finally dried and looked stiff. “Then we’ll be back at Nevermore.”

"You said that a few hours ago," you complained. "My skin is itchy."

"We'll wash it off later," he said. He wasn't even looking at you.

"Are they gonna find us?" You asked as you did a little jog to catch up to him and hold his hand.

"No," he said without hesitation. The dried blood was starting to flake off his forehead. The cut on his nose looked angry.

"Is this gonna give me bad dreams?" You asked in a small voice. He stopped in his tracks and picked you up, letting you crawl onto his back.

"Of course not," he said softly. "You won't even remember it."

The forest flew by. Each twig and branch that whipped across your face made you feel more and more alive. It was a feeling, and you needed a feeling. Anything, everything, whatever you could get.

Everything hurt. Oh god, it hurt so bad and you couldn’t scream.

“Hang on, kid, we’ve gotta get the door.”

“Where’s Nicky?” You asked. Your tongue felt heavy, like lead.

“Gotta get you first,” a man’s voice said. “Stay still.”

“Nicky?” You slurred; the words tasted of copper.

Your eyes fell to the top of the car that was now underneath you. It was covered in something shiny. Something red.

Your lungs couldn’t take it anymore. They couldn’t take the cold, couldn’t take the exertion, the stress, none of it. And it felt. You could feel them. The more you ran, the more it hurt and soon you could focus on the pain in your side instead of the pain in your head.

Memory suppression.

There was no thought about stopping, your feet just slowed their movements until you collapsed to your knees on the cold, damp forest floor. You felt the end of a stick dig into your hand, splitting the skin. The blood was warm; it was comforting. Each gasping breath felt like you were inhaling shards of glass, each one more painful than the last.

And it felt.

“I feel angry,” you said as you sat at the top of the wall and watched Nicky continue to climb.

“You always feel angry,” he grunted. He was stuck. As usual.

“I don’t know why,” you sighed. “I can’t think of anything that would make me angry.”

“It’ll go away,” he said as his face finally pulled up and you could look him in the eyes. “Good kids don’t stay angry.”

“Am I a good kid?” You asked softly. He smiled.

“The best.”

You let out the most feral, unhinged, excruciating scream you could possibly produce. It hurt your throat and left it feeling raw.

But it felt.

The sun had started to rise before you could get up from your position on the ground. Your knees were stiff and soaked to the bone and the stick in your hand had broken off. It would leave a splinter that would need to be dug out. There was a lingering ache in your throat and lungs and that migraine still wouldn’t go away. And when you started walking mindlessly back to the house, you could feel blisters on your feet and heels; a few of them even popped.

But at least it felt.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?-”

“-We were about to call the police-”

“-You look like a stray dog-”

“-We just cleaned the entry-”

“-Where do you think you’re going?”

You couldn’t recall getting home. But you continued walking through the house as your parents called after you, practically dragging yourself up the stairs until you made it into your room. The door fell shut and the lock clicked into place and all you could do was fall back to your knees.

The cold wooden floor didn’t feel so bad. At least it felt.

—---

You wished you were numb again.

The day of mourning came and went, each second testing your patience and wearing you thin. You hadn’t slept, hadn’t showered, hadn’t even gotten up from your spot on the floor. You could hear your phone vibrating on the wood, almost loud enough to wake the dead. Maybe it would wake Nicky, you thought before finally checking it to make it stop.

Not even noon and you had 17 missed calls, 72 texts, and a plethora of messages from the vast array of other social media outlets. A large number were from Yoko, then Ajax, the rest of the group, and your family back home. Two or three calls from Momma Weems and your family. But your eyes started to sting when you saw the name for two messages.

Nicky.

You clicked on them immediately, desperately hoping to see what he had said. Something in the back of your head was screaming at you not to open them, not to get your hopes up. Your eyes trailed over the messages, reading them once, twice, three times before it finally clicked.

It wasn’t Nicky.

You had given Wednesday his phone.

You hadn’t ever changed the name.

Nicky: Thing wishes to know if you’ve made it back safe.

Nicky: I wish to know as well.

Fuck. Now you were making Wednesday feel things too? Why would she even care anyway.  It wasn’t like she loved you anyway, wasn’t like she even really cared. You knew she didn’t do love, she had said it to her mother time and time again. Why would she care if you were safe.

Didn’t she know Nicky was the one who needed the attention?

You growled at nothing in particular before throwing your phone across the room, hearing the screen shatter when it hit the wall. The sound made you flinch and you instantly felt that guilty feeling deep in the pit of your stomach. It vibrated again.

You didn’t check it.

—---

“You need to eat something before you go,” Mabel urged you once again as you finished buttoning up your shirt.

“‘m not hungry,” you mumbled. Your fingers faltered on the buttons; it wasn’t fitting like it was supposed to.

“You haven’t eaten in five days,” she said in a far softer voice. It was humiliating.

“Too busy planning,” you said, finally deciding to give up and instead throwing a jacket over the crooked, too-big shirt. “I’ll eat when I’m dead.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I’m not laughing.”

You moved past Mabel and went down the stairs to meet up with your parents. It was the day to finalise plans; something that you knew was going to cause argument after argument. There had already been too many screaming matches the past few days, none of which ever came to a definitive conclusion.

Maybe today would be different.

“That jacket is unprofessional,” your mother said with a slight frown.

“The shirt doesn’t fit,” you said without looking up at her. Your fingers toyed with the shattered phone in your pocket.

“We will have it tailored,” your mother sighed, “again.”

“We will discuss it later,” your father said as he ushered everyone to the car. “We need to get going so we won’t be late.”

You sat in the back with the both of them while Jenkins started the drive to the funeral home. With a thunk, your head hit the window and you looked out at the houses passing by. The harness was pulled painfully tight and your wings were already stiff, but you didn’t care. At least it felt, right?

The phone in your pocket vibrated, and you pulled it out slowly to look at the two new messages.

Yoko: You don’t have to answer me, but answer Wednesday. She’s losing her mind

Ash: just saw your pop in town. told me about nicky. im so sorry

You exhaled through your nose and slid the phone back into your pocket without answering. There was no time to answer anyone anyway, you had planning to do. Although you shouldn’t be, he was still the source of the migraine that refused to go away.

Memory suppression. Just the thought made you sick and your mouth feel like you had swallowed cotton. How could he do that? How could he just hide your memories from you? Your own memories. He had no fucking right, those were your memories, not his.

“We’re here.”

You pulled your head back from the window and blinked a few times, doing your best to hide the anger. As you uncurled your fists, you could feel your nails pulling out of the skin; you had left four perfect crescent shaped cuts on your palms. Thankfully your pants were black, and you wiped the slightest bit of blood off on the legs.

The next thing you remember is sitting in one of the chairs across from the funeral director. You couldn’t recall getting out of the car, or introducing yourself. Hopefully you had done well or you would get an earful once you left.

“Today you will select the casket and can order the headstone,” the funeral director said as he slid over a bunch of paper.

“Casket?” You asked, turning your head to look at your parents. “We never agreed on burial.”

“Your mother and I have made the executive decision,” your father said with a smile.

“Then make a different one,” you said with a slightly raised voice.

“I’ll give you three a moment,” the funeral director said with a professional smile. Everyone stayed silent as he grabbed a few things and left, shutting the door behind him.

“Do not question our decisions in front of strangers,” your father said, his polite smile falling immediately.

“He didn’t want to be buried,” you said. Your chest felt tight, like it was caught in vice grips.

“He shall be buried with the other Smiths,” your mother said while you chuckled humourlessly. You pushed your chair back and stood up, walking to the other side of the table and pacing.

“He said he didn’t want to be buried,” you argued; the migraine was back. “Said it creeped him out and he would rather be cremated.”

“We never heard him say such a thing,” your mother said with a sigh.

“Maybe because you were never there,” you scoffed before freezing in your tracks.

Instantly the atmosphere in the room changed from uneasiness to aggression. You could feel the hair on the back of your neck and arms stand up and your breath caught in your throat as you squeezed your eyes shut.

“I beg your pardon?”

Fuck.

“I’m sorry-”

“-We were never there?” Your father asked, louder this time. 

You could hear the chair scrape against the floor and you turned your body to face him. He looked furious and the migraine came back stronger than before. Almost like someone was pushing glass into each individual fold of your brain. You could feel your palms getting sweaty.

Fight back, the voice in your head said. He abandoned us. Fight. Back.

“You weren’t there,” you said with a shaky voice. Be confident. “You left us and didn’t come back.”

“Did you ever stop to ask yourself why we would even consider doing such a thing?” Your father asked.

“Let’s focus on the burial,” your mother cut in, “we can talk about this later.”

“It’s because you produced two freak kids,” you said, your voice stronger, more confident. Your father walked around the table to come closer. Keep fighting. “Could you imagine if that got out?” He looked furious. “If anyone discovered that the high and mighty Smith family had two Outcast kids that they hid away-”

-your head jerked to the right as the slap echoed in the otherwise silent room. Keep it together, you thought as your lower lip started to quiver. You held back the stinging in your eyes as you stood up taller and turned back around to face him. It was times like this where you wished you were smaller so you couldn’t look him in the eye.

“You will never say such a thing again,” he said as he jabbed a finger into your chest. “Do I make myself clear?”

Hit him back.

“Crystal,” you whispered through clenched teeth.

“He will be buried,” your father said with another jab. “That’s final.”

You could feel the persistent stinging of your cheek as you all sat down and the funeral director came back in. He didn’t comment. You didn’t prompt him to.

—---

Mabel had worked for the Smith family for 23 years, she knew when to hold her tongue. But when you all came back from the funeral home and she saw the new blooming bruise on your cheek, she felt a mix of anger and pity. She wouldn’t pretend you were the best at holding your tongue; you never had been. But your father also allowed you to push his buttons until he snapped.

She didn’t have to ask to know that was exactly what happened.

The days leading up to the funeral reminded her an awful lot of when you were younger, with the obvious differences. You were still reckless, almost even careless. Accidentally breaking things, roaming around the house without direction, doing anything and everything your heart desired without seeking permission or forgiveness.

There were times when she would be cleaning and would hear the sound of the grand piano lingering in the air, and she would sneak around the corner to watch you. Back ramrod straight, slender fingers poised perfectly over the keys, face completely neutral as you read the music on the stand. It was beautiful to hear you play again, and the occasional jazz tune that would sound when you were certain your mother wasn’t around was all the more enjoyable because of the slightest smile on your face.

Other times Mabel would catch you leaving the house without warning, not coming back until late in the night with dazed eyes and dried tear tracks on your cheeks. Those were the nights she would gently take you by the shoulders and guide you back up to your room. You did nothing to assist her as she cleaned you up and dressed you in something comfortable so she could put you to bed.

She did her best to ignore each and every new bruise or scratch or scar.

It was impossible to get you to eat. You dropped weight faster than she could keep track of, and no matter how many meals she left in your room, they always went untouched. She tried to keep small snacks like protein bars in your room in the hopes that you would eat them, but she had no way to tell if you did or not.

On evenings where guests would come over and you would be “encouraged” to socialise, she took note of the amount of drinks you would have each evening. It was always far too many, and she and Jenkins would end up carrying you back up to your bed before everyone had left for the night. You would always accept your scolding with a grimace and two Tylenol the next morning and go about your day.

You would pick fights with your parents. Never over anything important, always little things and they were starting to pick up on that as well. At first they had fought back, getting into screaming matches with you and sending you off to your room. But then you tried to start fights over the silverware, or the way your shoes fit, or even how bright the lights were in the room. It didn’t take long for your parents to stop arguing back and just ignore you.

Mabel noticed that almost made you more angry.

Other times, your parents would nit pick at you as well. Over your hair, or the style of clothing you wore. If you had worn the same shirt twice or tracked mud into the house. Your speech quickly became more "professional" and you selected your words carefully in an effort to retaliate. It was far less outwardly destructive, but Mabel could still see the damage it inflicted reflect in your eyes.

But through all of your anger and self destruction and attempts to grab anyone’s attention, you always treated her and Jenkins with the utmost kindness and respect. That was what reminded her of when you were young. It was in the gentle “thank yous” or the soft smiles when she would hand you something. The questions about her son, or about Jenkins’ wife and cats, or any of the neighbours.

She knew you were a good kid. She knew, and Jenkins knew, and that was probably what hurt them the most through it all. You were a good kid with no one to truly lean on and no one to help guide you through this loss. And they knew it was just going to build and build and build inside you until it exploded.

The day before the funeral was the day you would see Nicky for the last time, and Mabel could see the fear and anger in your eyes. She and Jenkins had fully prepared themselves for your mental state when you got back, but even they couldn’t have prepared themselves fully.

You came into the house dazed, not hearing a single thing your parents were saying. But then it was like a switch had been flipped and you clenched your jaw before making a snide remark back to your mother. It didn’t take long to turn into a screaming match, and Mabel and Jenkins watched in horror as you balled up your fist and swung at your father.

The fear in his own eyes was evident even though your fist connected with the brick wall beside him; whether on purpose or not, you had missed him completely. Tears fell from your eyes and you screamed again as your father pulled you into a hug. Mabel watched helplessly as you tried to push him away before finally giving in and crying into his shoulder.

You held onto him like your life depended on it as your blood dripped down the pristine, white walls of the house.

“Your tie is crooked,” Mabel told you on the morning of the funeral. You had been struggling to get ready for over an hour, and no amount of makeup could hide the bags under your eyes or the lingering bruise on your cheek.

“So are these fucking buttons,” you mumbled as you ripped your dress shirt open to start over. She could feel you getting angry again. It was probably from the lack of sleep.

Or lack of food.

Or lack of help in general.

“Stay still,” Mabel huffed, setting the laundry basket down on your bed and standing in front of you.

You sighed, but remained still as she got to work on your shirt. It had been tailored only a few days before and still seemed a bit big again; it broke her heart. But she did her best to ignore it and focused on buttoning up your shirt properly. Your violent treatment had loosened two or three buttons, but she certainly wasn’t going to bring that up to you.

“How have your school ties survived this long if you can’t do them yourself?” She asked, her eyes darting up to meet yours. She almost thought you smiled.

“Wednesday always fixes them for me,” you said. You didn’t look down, but that was alright, she was focused on your tie anyway.

“You like this girl?” She asked softly. If your parents heard, they would have started screaming.

“A lot,” you answered just as softly. “I think I love her.”

“That’s a big emotion for you,” she said not unkindly.

“I hope I don’t fuck it up,” you whispered.

“You won’t,” she said with a smile as she patted your tie down. “You’re all set.”

You turned to look up at the mirror, eyes squinting and your jaw clenching before you relaxed. Mabel kept her smile to herself; she didn’t want to unintentionally encourage you to fight the reflection. You stood up straight and pressed your tie flat once again before slipping the suit jacket on.

“Thank you, Mabel,” you said softly, and you quickly leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. Your lips were chapped, but it was expected.

“I’ll see you when you get home,” she said with a smile. You smiled back once, halfheartedly, before walking out of the room.

She really hoped your anger wouldn’t explode at the funeral.

—---

The whole car ride made Wednesday feel sick to her stomach. It had been a short flight down to D.C. and now she, Thing, Yoko, and Weems were finishing the trip with the short drive to the funeral. The rest of the gang had opted to stay at Nevermore for the time being; they didn't want to overwhelm you. The funeral was supposed to be outside, or so your mother had said, but it looked like rain. Usually perfect for such an occasion.

Just not this one.

She checked the phone again, hoping you had finally answered. It was a foolish hope, she knew that much, but it still resided in her chest. No one had heard anything from you since you had left the harvest festival, not even Yoko or your family. She shouldn’t have expected you to answer her of all people.

But she hoped you would have.

“We shall give her space,” Weems said once she pulled the car through the gates to the cemetery. It was connected to the reception hall, where everyone would go after the service.

It reminded Wednesday an awful lot of the cemetery back home.

“Except you, Addams,” Yoko said, drawing Wednesday out of her thoughts.

“Why me?” She asked.

“You give her peace,” Weems answered.

Well, that was comforting; surprising, Wednesday knew. To know that everyone else could see her effect on you; had they seen your effect on her? They probably had. Enid certainly had, and that was more than enough torture. But if they said she gave you peace, then who was she to argue.

Once the car was parked, everyone got out. Thing climbed onto her shoulder as she unfolded the umbrella. She waited patiently as Weems and Yoko got out as well, each holding their own umbrellas, before they started the short walk to the grave.

It seemed the rain had ruined the original funeral plans, seeing how no one was sitting anymore and the chairs were in the process of being removed. Wednesday and the small group stood off to the side and waited. They hadn’t exactly been invited, but who was going to stop them? Especially at a funeral.

You were one of the lead pallbearers, the one on the front left. Wednesday felt her heart drop into her stomach at the sight of you; dark eyes, clothes hanging off your smaller frame, your wings invisible beneath your suit jacket. But the worst part was you didn’t seem sad. No, you looked angry.

After lowering the casket back to the ground, you hesitated, your fingers running across the wood before you walked to stand near your parents. They tried to offer you an umbrella but you ignored them. You simply stood in the rain, looking down at Nicky’s casket as an old, unsteady man started talking.

Wednesday simply watched you the whole time. Watched the difference in your posture, your back straight and head up. She took note of the way you clasped your hands in front of you even though she could see the scabbed over skin pulled taut across your knuckles. She watched the muscles in your jaw tighten and relax, over and over and over as you blinked too many times to keep the tears at bay.

You were upset, rightfully so, but Wednesday couldn’t have found you more beautiful. Not because you were suffering, not because you were struggling, but because you were. You were handling everything so well, at least on the outside, and she couldn’t help but admire the way the rain fell down your face, caressing the skin in comfort.

Your family, you included, looked impeccable standing there together. Wednesday could only imagine how powerful all of you would have looked if the four of you had been together; you, Nicky, and your parents. Standing there in perfectly tailored suits, manicured to perfection, neutral expressions on your faces. Is that how you would have looked if you had stayed with them? Would she have had the same pull toward you?

She waited until the funeral itself was over before making her way to your side. Everyone else - including Thing - had gone inside to escape the rain and start the reception, but you didn’t move a muscle. Her shoulder brushed against your arm when she got close enough, and for a moment your shoulders fell and your jaw unclenched.

“I’m tired, Wends,” you said in such a quiet voice that Wednesday almost couldn’t hear you over the rain. “And I feel alone.”

Time to use the comfort teachings everyone had been helping her with for the past two weeks. They had drilled it into her head time and time again, through all hours of the day and night until she could recite it properly. It was robotic sounding, she knew that much, but it was a start. She hoped it would work.

“It’s okay to feel sad,” Wednesday said. You stiffened beside her. “But you are not alone.”

“Did Yoko teach you that?” You asked, immediately catching on. She should have known better.

“I-,” don’t lie, “-yes,” she admitted. “I’m not particularly adept at comfort.”

“I don’t want comfort,” you said, turning to look at her. The rain had finally started washing off the makeup from your face and she thought she could see something on your cheek. “I don’t want pity. I want you to be real with me.”

“Real?” Wednesday inquired with furrowed brows.

“Yes, Wednesday, real,” you huffed. “Be real with me and tell me what you’re thinking.”

Now that you had put her on the spot, she wasn’t sure what she was thinking. She was thinking of the now-obvious bruise on your cheek and where it had possibly come from. She was thinking of the bags under your eyes if you had been getting enough sleep, which clearly you hadn’t.

Part of her was thinking of her own parents, as unusual as it would be. How they had fallen in love at a funeral and had confessed their undying devotion to each other. Funerals had always been a romantic event for the Addams family, and she was aware this was for your brother, but she couldn’t deny she knew what her parents had meant every time they reminisced.

Oh. That’s what she was thinking.

“I am thinking…,” she paused, blinking at you twice, three times and looking away. You wanted real. She looked back up at you to meet your probing gaze. “I love you.”

Your brows knit together as you looked away from her for a moment.

“What?” You asked quietly.

“You asked what I was thinking,” Wednesday clarified slowly. “I was simply thinking that I-”

“-Don’t say it again,” you interrupted.

And right there, right then, Wednesday felt her cold dead heart break in her chest.

“You did not just say that,” you said with a huff. “Did you really just confess?”

“Yes,” Wednesday said indignantly. “It’s what I was thinking at the moment.”

“We’re at my brother’s funeral, Wednesday,” you said, far louder this time. “Do you really think this is the time?”

“You asked,” she said again. “Why would you ask if you didn’t want to know?”

“I can’t,” you said as you held your hands up and started backing up. “I just- I can’t do this right now.”

Wednesday let her umbrella fall as she watched you walk off toward the reception hall with hands on your head, covering your ears. She could feel the rain slowly seeping through her coat, but all she could really focus on was you. Only you, and how her father had been right.

Love was agony.

—---

You were going to be sick. You could feel it in your chest, your lungs, your stomach. Your mouth wouldn’t stop salivating and you were going to be sick. How could she say that? How could she tell you that now? Your palms were sweaty when you dragged them down your face, ignoring the makeup that you wiped off with it.

It should have been exciting to hear Wednesday say such a thing. She was capable of love, a genuine love, and had even felt so strongly as to verbally tell you as such. And it had been ruined because they had killed Nicky and now you couldn’t even enjoy the single fucking good thing in your life.

You felt sick.

Your parents were standing in the middle of the room, talking and laughing with some lawyer or congressman or senator or whoever the fuck else could put up with them long enough to talk. It was like they weren’t even upset, they weren’t even devastated that their son, their first born, was currently being buried six feet under. Didn’t they care?

You felt sick.

Weems, Yoko, and Thing were off to the side, talking with each other. They looked up, almost as if sensing your staring, and gave you sad smiles. They pity you, the voice in your head spat in disgust. You frowned at the thought and turned around, looking for someone, anyone to talk to. Hell, at that point you would’ve taken the old man off to the side that was giving you a look that made you rather uncomfortable.

Your eyes fell on a couple standing next to the fireplace, talking quietly with each other. Something about them seemed familiar, but you couldn’t quite place from where. But you stopped caring when you saw the subtle cloud of smoke fall from the taller one’s lips and you quickly made your way over.

“Mind if I steal a hit?” You asked when you got nearby. The taller one smiled sadly.

“Sure,” they said as they handed the vape over.

You grabbed it and brought it to your lips, inhaling deeply. It scalded your throat and stung your lungs as you held it in for far too long before slowly exhaling. You watched the smoke as it evaporated into the air, leaving nothing but a sickeningly sweet smell in its place.

“That’s disgusting,” you mumbled as you handed it back to them. The shorter one still hadn’t looked up from the hole they were staring into the ground.

“It’s marshmallow,” they chuckled.

“Like I said,” you said, “disgusting.”

“You’re Nicky’s sister,” they said with a half smile, avoiding your gaze by looking out at the crowd again.

“You’re a couple of strangers,” you said.

“I’m Casey,” they chuckled lightly, “and this is Devon.”

Devon finally looked up and eyed you up and down before looking back to the crowd with the slightest hint of a sneer. If you hadn’t spent so much time with Wednesday, you would’ve missed it. What could they possibly be sneering at you for? It was your brother’s funeral. You felt the muscles in your jaw tighten.

“He talked about you a lot,” Casey said softly.

“How would you know?” You asked way more harshly than necessary. Part of you didn’t care. Okay, none of you cared. “He hasn’t exactly done much talking recently.”

“The three of us were… close,” they said with a distracted nod.

“He was in a coma for four years,” you scoffed, “how close could you be.” You reached over and took the vape from their hand and brought it to your mouth for another hit.

“We were his partners.”

You choked on the smoke, leaving your throat raw and scratchy. Your head spun to look at Casey and Devon, eying them to see any sort of discrepancies in their body language. If Wednesday had taught you one thing, it was how to tell if someone was lying. Avoiding eye contact, licking their lips, anything.

There wasn’t a single sign.

He hadn’t told you he was dating anyone. Why hadn’t he told you? Surely he would have, you two told each other everything. He was your big brother, for fuck sake, he would have told you. Right?

Right?

“We loved him too,” Casey said softly; they still weren’t looking at you.

He lied. He fucking lied.

You looked out at the crowd and took another hit of the vape. Then another. And another. And a fourth one for good measure. It felt like your lungs were going to burn themselves to embers, but you didn’t care. At least it felt. After a fifth hit, you slipped it back into Casey’s hand and continued looking out at the crowd.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, your voice now hoarse and deeper than usual.

“We’ll get through it,” they said. “He’ll get his justice.”

They know he deserves justice too, the voice in the back of your head said. You couldn’t argue with it. But what else could you say? It was too much and you had too many questions. Where had they met? How long had they known Nicky? How long had it been going on?

You felt sick.

You didn’t bother saying anything else to them before walking off, walking through a haze until you ended up with the group your parents were talking to. A few of them tried talking to you, giving their most insincere condolences before going back to their conversations.

It was disgusting. Watching them laugh and talk as if you weren’t standing at a funeral reception. As if you hadn’t been standing at Nicky’s literal graveside less than an hour ago. Heartless, the voice said, they killed him and are using it as an excuse to socialise. 

“I can’t recall what caused his condition,” one of the men said when there was a lull in the conversation.

“A car wreck,” your father said with a few mindless nods of his head.

“That’s tragic,” a woman said. “Drunk driver?”

“An Outcast, actually,” your father answered.

Wait.

“What did you say?” You asked, drawing everyone’s attention.

You felt something tug on your pants, and your eyes darted down for just long enough to see Thing. He was wearing a little black bowtie around one of his fingers. But you weren’t focusing on him; you were too busy thinking about what your father had said.

“I said an Outcast caused the wreck that killed my son,” your father continued. His back straightened as he kept eye contact with you.

“Abominations, the lot of them,” a man huffed before taking another drink of the wine in his glass.

Thing pulled at your pants leg again. You kicked him away, listened to the subtle sound of him scuttling across the floor. Thankfully no one else had noticed him.

“An Outcast didn’t kill him,” you bit back. “You two were the ones that pulled his life support.”

The group around you fell silent, now beyond interested in the conversation. Any chance to get a good helping of gossip, of course. That was how all socialites worked, especially when another socialite was involved. In this case it was your parents; they were going to be the talk of the town for a year.

“No son of mine should have to exist as a vegetable simply because we couldn’t be merciful,” your mother said. “Especially because of some sinful abomination.”

“Stop calling them abominations,” you growled through clenched teeth.

Your fingers were starting to ache as they curled into fists at your side. Your pulse was rushing in your ear and for a moment, you felt your chest was going to explode. That your heart would beat faster and faster, harder and harder until it finally broke free.

You took a single step closer.

“If it were up to me, I’d have them all euthanised,” your father said as he smiled at you with his “show everyone we’re perfect” smile. You took another step forward until you were almost directly in front of him. “The world would be a much better place.”

The sounds of the world muffled in your ears, and all you could hear was the sound of your own breathing. Erratic, shallow, rushed. Something dripped down your neck and your jaw felt like it was going to crack under the pressure. That migraine came roaring back as you stared into your father’s eyes.

Do it.

Your fist connected with his nose before you could even comprehend what was happening. The people around you gasped and stepped back as your father fell to the ground. One of his hands attempted to stop the flow of blood while he held the other out in front of him.

But you saw red.

You knelt down on top of him, only one thing on your mind as you grabbed his shirt collar. He almost looked remorseful for a moment. But only for a moment. Again. You tightened your grip on his collar as you swung again. And again. And again.

Harder.

You could hear Nicky in the back of your head, screaming and pounding against the inside of your skull. Telling you to stop, begging you to let your father go. Each time Nicky pounded against your skull, you threw another punch. And another. Something wet slid down your cheeks and you couldn’t stop.

Something wrapped around your waist and yanked you back. Hard. The wind flew out of your lungs and you instantly grabbed onto the arms around you. You tried to pull them off but your hands were slick and you couldn’t get a good hold. You were stuck.

“Y/N, stop,” the voice said into your ear. Weems?

“Say it again,” you shouted at your father who was frozen on the ground, bruised eyes focused on you. “Say it again, you fucking coward.”

“Breathe,” another voice said before someone stepped in front of you. Yoko?

“You're defending the group that killed your brother,” your mother said as she knelt down to look at your father’s injuries. He was wheezing and covered in blood. "You should do this to them instead."

You tried to lunge forward again, and the arms around your waist almost gave out. You threw a leg out, hoping to kick him while he was down. Just one more. But the arms around your waist tightened again, and Yoko grabbed your flailing feet until you were being carried out of the room.

“Don’t you fucking touch them,” you shouted as you continued attempting to fight and Weems and Yoko struggled to carry you. “I’ll fucking kill you next time.”

You felt sick.

The cold air and rain hit you like a brick wall when you were finally outside. The arms and hands holding you back let go and you fell onto the ground as you stared at the now-closed doors of the reception hall. Your frantic breathing was the only thing you could hear.

“Breathe.”

Another face came into view, and almost instantly your breath caught in your throat. Wednesday’s eyes were wide and focused on your face. They were bloodshot; why were they bloodshot? Her hands were poised to touch you, to check you for injuries, but the moment you felt her hand on your arm you flinched.

You saw red. Only red. You wanted to hurt something. Someone. You didn’t give a fuck who it was, you just wanted to make someone else hurt the way you were hurting. To swing at whoever was closest.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you said as you crawled back across the ground. Wednesday immediately let go.

I don’t want to hurt you, you thought as you pushed yourself up to your feet until you could start stumbling away. Shaky fingers unbuttoned your jacket and ripped the buttons off your shirt until you could reach the harness. They were calling after you; you didn’t know what they were saying. The harness hit the ground and the moment your wings unfurled, you jumped into the air.

You had nearly hurt Wednesday.

You felt sick.

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday imagine #everyone but her au

[whalesforhands]

purge your turmoil pt.8 (satosugu x reader)

previous masterlist next

warnings: yandere behaviors and tendencies, my experimental tone shifts, not really creepy unless u find obsessive behaviors and patterns horrifying, gore mentions

Surrounded by debris of the dilapidated, abandoned hospital, you hold onto a raggedy stuffed doll left behind.

 It’s soft and colourful. Or, it once was. Her dress stained and riddled with blood and dirt, her cotton body having been slashed through the middle, soft cotton falling out as you hold her.

 A child’s final comfort in their last moments. It’s hard to breathe thinking about it. 

Your thumb gently caresses the doll’s smiling face, clearing off dust and remnants of dirt as best you could. 

“Will this,” Your words tremble. “Ever end?” 

Suguru stands beside you,  hands clenching when he catches the look of quiet despair on your face.

“I think… It’s not something to hope for.” He wishes he could offer more than just this.

“It’s,” You suck in a harsh breath, not realizing you’ve been holding your breath. “Been hard.” Your eyes flutter close as you try to ignore the haunting memories of blood on your hands, of cries for help, of massacred bodies of unfortunate victims. Over and over and over and over-

“And here you are, despite how hard it’s been.” He’s beside you now, kneeling down on one knee next to you as he tenderly grips a dirtied, matching ribbon found within the rubble back around the doll’s neck, tenderly patting its head when he finishes. 

It’s whole once again. You gently prop it against the crumbled pillar.

You hope that in another life, that doll and her owner are reunited.

——

The ticking of a clock sounds out somewhere around you, quiet and constant, each tock giving your eyelids the strength to finally lift, only to be met with the endless darkness ahead of you.

You don’t know if you’re still alive.

You’ve been floating around in here for… God knows how long. It’s lonely. Everyone. What’s happening? Where are they? You miss Shoko. You miss Satoru. You miss Suguru. You miss Yaga. You miss that little boy.

“You look like someone I know.”

You gently smile at him, eyes closed in amused bliss as you continue to stroke his hair, his head in your lap as he stares up at you with a furrowed brow of scrutinization.

“That so? I don’t think my features are very distinguishable from others, I suppose.” You giggle out, happy to have the young boy so comforted in your embrace as you softly pat his head.

(He’s so soft and squishy. You want to pull and stretch those mochi-like cheeks of his. You refrain, afraid of another barking remark that ultimately held no bite.)

“That’s not what I meant.” He pulls a sulky, irritated expression, brows still downturned into one of dissatisfaction, as if he can’t put his finger on where the sense of familiarity was coming from.

“You look like the pictures in the-“

You miss everyone. When was the last time you talked to them? You think and think, churning your brain, eyes squeezing close as you’re hit by a wave of bitter pain, your spine straightening out as you clutch your head.

“I think…” You begin to trail off, eyes stuck to the glowing blue glass of the aquarium as you watch a whale shark swim past your vicinity within the enclosure.

It’s tranquil. You squeeze the warm hands you held as you watched the sight before you with a smile.

“If I could choose… I’d like a life where I could grow old with all of you.”

You’re smiling as you think about it. Maybe you could rent a little apartment near wherever the 3 of them are staying, a quaint, quiet neighbourhood…

(…marriage? Maybe. That promise still makes you blush.)

Riko would give up on her little Star Plasma spiel. Live the way she truly wanted to, a way where she can finally find happiness, experience the joys she’s yet to feel.

Everyone… Would just be happy. Just like they deserve, just like they should.

But… You can’t possibly witness that if you’re dead, right? Your fingers claw at your face as you feel the bewildering pain of your thoughts. Are you really dead? No— Please, there’s still so much left to do. Your pitiful life should’ve had a reason for your living, and yet—

You can’t hear them. Can’t hear anything. You’re dead. Dead. What’s happening out there? Move. Move. Move.

The silence is deafening as your body squirms and you block out your ears.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tickticktickticktick-

Nobody is answering you. You’re missing the physical connection you once had to your body. How long has it been? How long have you been stuck like this? Time doesn’t even feel like it exists while you’re here.

The incessant ticking comes to a stop.

——

You learned to recognize this place in your time here. Your cursed void. One where no one but you could enter, and no one but you could leave.

The problem was… You couldn’t leave. You’ve tried. Walked and walked for endless miles, clawed at the abyssal darkness that never had an end, screamed into the void for hours just to never have an answer.

You… Can’t really be in here forever, can you?

It’s lonely in here.

“Gojo-sama, who is (last name)-san…?”

The tall man grins micheviously, looking down at the tiny hand he held within his palms as he squeezes lightly, before bending down to be eye level with his child.

“A special someone you’ll meet soon enough.”

——

“Nanako… We shouldn’t be in here…”

“It’s fine, Mimi! Papa and Daddy didn’t say we can’t visit! We just want to put the fresh flowers in for her! Plus…” She pauses, turning her head left and right, scouring the area.

“Megumi and Tsumiki aren’t here to stop us!”

The last sentence was dropped to a whisper, as if the blonde just realized her voice could attract attention.

Suguru kisses your hair, hands trailing to interlock your fingers with his own as he breathes in the very feel of you.

“Look, kids.” Geto pulls away, touch still lingering on your skin that had long gone cold years ago. He flashes a smile towards his awaiting children, showing you off for them to see.

“Isn’t she beautiful?”

You startle from your curled up position, hearing two faint sets of feet patter into the room. Slow, trying their best to tiptoe before a certain pair gives up, breaking into a sprint towards you.

A tiny crack forms within your domain as your ears keen to listen.

“See! It’s perfectly fine!”

You hear tapping, the fumbling of paper and plastic.

“Papa said it’s okay to give her flowers. I wanna be first cause today’s her…” She furrows her brows as she tries to mouth out the word. “Anniv- Ersaury?”

Mimiko frowns at her twin. “We should wait till everyone gets here…” She’s unsure, hugging her plush to her chest as she nervously looks around, more afraid of getting in trouble with her beloved parents more than anything.

The crack grows larger, making its way towards you.

“But last time we only got to spend like 10 seconds with her before Papa and Daddy chased us out!” Nanako huffed, a hand on her hip as she gripped a large bouquet of white lilies and osmanthus flowers, Mimiko holding onto the incense sticks.

“Anyway!” Nanako turns back to face you, settling the flowers down as she moves to kneel before you, hurrying Mimiko to start placing the incense.

“Let’s just start!”

You swiftly move towards it, ignoring the shards of glass digging into the soles of your feet, eyes burning from the shimmers of light shining through the holes as you chase it down, wanting, yearning for this escape.

The anxious twin lets out a deep sigh, lighting the incense sticks with a nearby candle as she hands a few to her awaiting sister, who settles down comfortably on her knees atop the prayer pillow.

“I wish for you to get better soon!” She holds the incense sticks up with her hands as she prays, eyes closed in deep concentration.

“Mhm…” Her twin follows suit, surrounding the room in a deep silence as they are joined by the flickers of the flame, the slow dripping of dewdrops from their fresh flowers chorusing with their heartfelt pleas.

Your surroundings begin to shatter, glass like formations raining down upon you as a shining bright light envelops your sight, a bubble immediately blowing up and swallowing you in its embrace as you begin to glow, the twins jumping off and Nanako standing protectively before her sister as she gets pushed back by your cursed technique.

“I- I think we broke it…” Mimiko’s voice is starting to crack as her tears begin to well up in her eyes, her hand dragging Nanako further back from you.

“Shh! What if Daddy hears us?”

“But he’s gone to pick up Gumi and big sister Tsumiki…”

Your eyelashes flutter as you slowly blink open your eyes, sensations of touch and your feel of the atmosphere slowly return to you. Your dried up flesh slowly plumping up, blood beginning to flow throughout your body, face instantaneously flushing with colour once more as you gasp out, taking lungfuls of air, irises rolling back to the front to view the space before you.

“Nanako… Is that…?”

You’re met with the darkness of what seems to be a bedroom. You slowly move to get up, bones creaking and your fingers slowly twitching to really get the feel of your body back, brushing against the various lilies and osmanthus flowers surrounding you, seemingly fresh in nature as dewdrops slowly dripped off the petals and onto your fingertips.

You look around you, disoriented and feeling fatigued, slowly sitting up against the plush area you were lying upon. It felt like you had just awoken from the dead.

“H…ello?” Your eyes flicker over to the 2 little girls standing before you, voice hoarse, broken. Vocal cords tangled together from years of underuse as you feel your organs literally start to pump to life, eyesight slowly coming back as your vision gets restored by the bubble.

It pops.

They scream, rushing towards you as they lunge towards your form.

“We did it Mimi! We cured Mama!”

Mama…? Did you- Oh my god. You’re blushing up a storm at the thought of it.

“Wha-What…?” Their smiles grow ever bigger, hugs growing startlingly tight for their small forms.

“Mhm! Along with Gumi and our big sister Tsumiki! But they’re at school now and Daddy is gonna pick them up and buy us lunch, then, then! We’re gonna eat dinner together cause Papa’s coming back today, then we’re gonna tell them we woke you up!”

“B-but we have to apologise to Papa and Daddy first for going inside the room, Nanako…”

You hear Nanako audibly gulp. “O-okay, but what if-“

Your eyes are starting to gloss over. You didn’t think that you’d be having 4 kids after being in that void for so long…

“W-wait—“ You’re trying to get used to your voicebox, trying to get used to the feeling of being alive once more. “Y-Your par—“

“Ahh, I’m so hungry!” The blonde one is curling herself into your chest as she whimpers from her hunger, a loud growl coming from her supposed sister next to her as she hugs your arm to her chest alongside her plushie.

You look down at the girls who are still upon your lap, staring up at you in expectant want. Oh— You suppose your question can wait for later.

…everything happens for a reason, right?

(Where is everyone?)

——

“Is the fridge always this empty?” You’re standing shakily on your feet, almost akin to a newborn whilst trying your best to not lose balance.

“No, Papa is just out of town on his job right now!” Nanako puts her hands on her hips as Mimiko signals you to come down with a frantic come hither motion of her hand, you kneel to her level, nearly falling over had it not been for the second twin flanking onto your other side and pushing you up with all her body’s strength, whilst Mimiko cups a hand around her mouth, whispering into your right ear.

“Daddy can’t cook, so he always buys takeout when Papa isn’t around…”

Nanako tugs at your sleeve on your left, signalling for you to come towards her.

“Don’t tell Papa but,” Her voice gains an excited tremor. “Sometimes Daddy lets us eat ice cream and cake for dinner!” She pauses once again.

“And he forgets to remind us to brush our teeth!” The girls giggle together in unison.

“Then sometimes, when Daddy is called on for a sudden mission…”

“He brings us all along and lets us watch him beat up the bad guys right in front of us! Gumi likes it the most!” The girls start zooming around you, throwing punches into the air and pretending to hit each other as Nanako feigns hurt when she takes a ‘direct’ hit from Mimiko’s plush.

“Ahhh! I’ve been hit by Red! KABOOSH!!” She falls dramatically to the ground, imitating a explosion with waves of her little arms before splaying herself by your feet and clutching your calf.

“Like that!”

…

…

You’re sweating with stress as you listen, patting their heads as they smile angelically at you. You need to talk to their parents about this before you get a heart attack.

(Missions… Red… Are their parents jujutsu sorcerers?)

“Girls.” You stand back up, your hands placed on both of their heads as you began to pat them gently as they nuzzle up into your warm touch. Nanako holds your hand in place when she feels you try to pull away, whilst Mimiko begins to intertwine her fingers with your own, trying to trap you.

“Why don’t we go buy something?”

——

You’re silently panicking as the two girls drag you towards the old crepe shop, tugging you by the hand as you’re slightly hunched over to allow them easier access to you.

You forgot the most crucial thing.

Money.

“Papa and Daddy always lets us follow them to the school! Then, then-!”

“Then we buy chocolate milk because Papa and Daddy really like it!”

“But Daddy never finishes his, so we get extra cause he gives it to us!”

“Then we play with Uncle Yaga who gives us new dolls every month! Then Uncle Yu, he’s super, super fun! Auntie Shoko gives us sweets when Papa isn’t looking!”

(Yaga, Yu— Shoko…!)

Mimiko pipes in. “Uncle Kento sometimes plays with us when he’s not busy eating his big sandwiches… Then Megumi and Miki comes back from school and then-!”

(Kento… Megumi? Miki? Does this mean— Could it be?)

“We eat dinner together!”

“You’re gonna lovvvveeee them!”

Your hands pat their hands, feeling them nuzzle into your warm touch.

“I’m sure I will.” You’re suddenly before the crepe stand as the two girls drool over their options. “But first, um… Do you girls happen to have any allowance?”

(“Oh! Yea!” Mimiko unzips the back of her plushie, pulling out a singular 10000 yen bill as your eyes nearly bulge out of your head.

“Daddy gave it to us before he left so that we could use it if we wanted!”

Your jaw is still hanging low in shock to process her words.)

——

“Uncle Yaga!” The girls pounce into his arms, causing him to stumble before he firmly plants his feet onto the ground.

“Children…! What are you doing here?” His voice had lost their usual rough tone, turning softer as he smiles down at the familiar kids. Still… They shouldn’t be here. Is Gojo nearby—

He senses it.

He feels the pulse of a familiar energy, hurriedly pushing the kids behind him as his sunglasses scan the area, spotting your tired form slumped over against a tree, trying to catch your breath.

“Kids…” You’re huffing as you try to get your bearings back. “Please don’t run…!”

No. It couldn’t be— There’s absolutely no way—! His hands ready themselves, calling for his cursed corpses to the scene before you-!

“Ahh! Yaga-sensei…!” You’re still panting as you reach him, sweat on your brow and your legs jellylike as the twins continue to cling onto him, wondering what’s going on.

“I’m so glad you weren’t so far away!” You’re sweating, smiling through your tiredness as you try to regain your bearings.

“I have so much to ask you!”

…

“Let’s talk in my office.”

——

There’s a hurried stampede of feet before the door is quite literally ripped off its hinges.

Her unlit cigarette collapses to the floor from her grip as she stares at the sight before her, felt the surrounding cursed energy as her body freezes in place.

She takes a step back, legs trembling when she places a hand over her mouth in shock, her eyes widened in horror and distress as she met your form.

Suguru’s distraught as he looks into your eyes. Eyes that never should’ve opened ever again. Eyes that he thought he would never see again. Eyes that he missed seeing with every fiber of his being, every speck of his soul.

You.

How are you here? Why were you out of that room specifically made to contain you?

Why are you alive?

“Yaga.” His eyes have narrowed into dangerous slits, fingernails digging painfully into the calloused flesh of his palms as the snarl he has on his face grows turbulent and murderous.

His curses are immediately summoned, one delegated to swallowing Shoko and tucking her away in its belly as it brings her devastated form to safety.

It’s tense. The words are stuck in your throat as you try to make yourself heard.

The mere presence of his cursed energy is causing you to freeze up from the overwhelming fear.

His cursed spirits were on their haunches, ready to pounce and stab and claw through the flesh of anyone who dares to stir the rage, the trembling anger of their master.

Your eyes widen as you witness the familiar worm spirit appear by his shoulder, hurling out a long set of nunchucks from its disgusting mouth. Your hands tremble as your spine straightens, his gaze deadset on you as you see the flashes of a million emotions running through him.

You’re breathless in his presence.

“You have 5 seconds,” Yaga feels the dreadfully cold voice of the special grade shaman, the aura emanating sending chills down his very spine as the lightbulb bursts, darkness swallowing the room as the air suddenly fills with putrid, thick smoke that crept into his lungs, skin prickling with goosebumps.

The suffocating presence of Geto Suguru.

“To tell me why my wife’s corpse is in front of us.”

previous masterlist next

Notes:

Through abuse of his power as the revered Six Eyes and Limitless technique inheritor of the renowned Gojo clan, Gojo was able to get possession over your body.

Geto and Ieiri were the ones who made a special coffin in efforts to preserve your body utilizing cursed energy.

Yaga was about to attack you after sensing your cursed energy. But the sight before him— Made him realise you can’t exactly be a threat.

Geto thinks you’re a curse. How devastating, to think that a mere curse dares to imitate your presence, dares to imitate you on your death anniversary. He wants to hurl, to vomit. The feeling in his mouth more disgusting, more vile than any curse he’s ever swallowed.

And yet, his heart yearns to feel you in his arms once more.

nvy’s aftertalk:

who wants to guess wtf is happening hahahahah

that praying scene is inspired partially by the way i do it when i go to the temple to pray haha

#jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #whalewrites #dyf au #gojo x reader #geto x reader #satosugu x reader #geto suguru x reader

[chronicowboy]

all that we intend is scrawled in sand (and slips right through our hands) | 7k

"Buck," he tries, his voice nothing more than a breathy groan. Several of his ribs are definitely broken, something might be pinning his left hand too, but he doesn't care about the agony on every inhale when Buck is laying still and motionless and just out of reach. "Buck," he tries again, this time a wheezed out sound. "Buck."

Eddie reaches out blindly with his right hand, fingers scrabbling over sharp debris and choking dust. Eddie reaches out desperately, gritting his teeth through the pain because the only thing worse than dying alone is living long enough to watch Buck die again. Eddie reaches out with all his strength, fingertips just barely brushing Buck's turnout coat.

"Buck," he chokes out again. "Buck!" A little louder this time, broken off at the end when the concrete shifts on top of him. "Buck!"

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, tick—

A shift. A pained moan. A huffed breath.

"Eddie?" Buck slurs. Eddie drops his head back against the stone and laughs in relief despite the pain it causes him, tears springing to his eyes.

"Yeah, Buck. I'm here," he grits out. Buck rolls onto his back, and Eddie grimaces at the movement. "Careful. Slow, Buck. We fell."

"Shit." Buck scrambles upright, heavy breathing blending with the ticking clock, a click and the space is illuminated with a sharp shaft of light. Buck swings the flashlight around until it lands on Eddie who turns away from it with a wince. "Shit, Eddie," Buck breathes out. Eddie squints up at him just in time to see the blinding fear seep into Buck's expression.

"Buck, look at me," he pleads, already seeing the way Buck's mind begins to tick over in time with the clock trapped inside Eddie's chest. His frantic eyes land back on Eddie's face, mouth twisted into something ugly that Eddie would still kiss if given the chance. "I can't reach my radio. So, you need to see if Bobby can hear us before you try anything, okay?"

"Radios," Buck murmurs to himself. "Yeah, yeah, okay." He fumbles around his turnouts until his hand lands on the radio strapped to his chest and he holds the button down. "Bobby, do you copy?"

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, tick—

"Buck?" Bobby's voice has them both breathing deeply. Buck smiles down at him, and Eddie smiles right back, wondering if its too late for him to ever taste the sunshine of that grin. "I saw you and Eddie fall. You guys okay?"

"I..." Buck's eyes drift down from Eddie's face to his chest hidden under the concrete. "I'm okay, but Eddie's pinned by a chunk of the bridge. Its settled on his chest. He's responsive, but his breathing doesn't sound good."

"Okay." Bobby is silent for a moment, and Eddie listens to the steady tick tock of time. "Can you put him on the radio?"

"Yeah." Buck unclips it from his lapel and holds it to Eddie's cheek.

"Hey, Cap," Eddie manages to get out before a cough rips through him.

"Good to hear your voice, Eddie," Bobby replies. "How you feeling?"

"Oh, swell," Eddie sighs. "Frank suggested I try pressure therapy a while ago." For a solitary moment, Buck's quiet chuckle is all he can hear. "This is way better than a weighted blanket."

(OR: buck and eddie get trapped together, time is running out, and eddie doesn't want to die alone)

#sami rambles #trapped dads truthing even tho my heart is only half in it #now deathbed love confession truthing. that shit im down for #911 show #911 fox #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buck x eddie #buddie #911 spec #911 fic #911 fanfic #buddie fic #buddie fanfic #buck x eddie fic #911 spec fic

[bestworstcase]

re: talk of Burn, do you have any idea why Yang's aura clearly broke when Neo struck her in V8 (right after activating Burn)? my theory is that perhaps activating her semblance does something like Tock's where it makes her aura manifest more solidly on her body (which is how it can make her hair light on fire) and therefore also, like Tock, means that her aura is more vulnerable. to me this would also explain why Yang would use it as a finisher at first; using it when she's already going to run out of aura makes it, in a sense, less dangerous because she's already gotten most of the other uses out of her aura that she can get.

would love to know if you think this is accurate, or what you actually think is going on with yang's semblance on a mechanical level (if you're interested in that anyway)

first, a general point about aura and aura breaking. the characters’ use of meters has led to a sort of popular fanon that aura works like hit points in a video game, where you have this many and taking damage reduces your HP by a certain number until you hit zero and then your aura breaks; (dark souls splash screen voice) YOU DIED.

i do not think it works that way.

from world of remnant:

aura is a manifestation of the soul, a life force that runs through every living creature on remnant—whether they are a meager shopkeep or a renowned knight. however, what sets true warriors apart from all others is their ability to amplify and control their aura.

aura is the power of one’s soul. it’s guided by emotion, self-knowledge, and spirituality. in its purest form, it becomes a semblance.

defensive aura is not a passive effect. we know this for a fact. in V5, oscar finds it physically exhausting to engage his aura in this way and ren tells him that’s normal—it requires intense concentration at first, then becomes second nature with practice. in V7, jaune’s aura-training demonstrates that recovery, regaining aura once it has been depleted, is a conscious action that can be improved through practice. this is because the “aura level” tracked by those meters is not a measurement of how much aura you have in the tank, as it were, but something like the density of the aura-field you’re pushing outward, or speed of flow, or something along those lines.

(the way i’m handling it in TDT is there’s a hard upper bound to how much aura you can hold in your skin, like a sponge not being able to absorb more water, and what auraleric gauges attempt to measure is % of maximum saturation because everyone’s aura will break around 5-10% saturation even though the amount of aura you have at 100% varies. anything you push out above that threshold is projected as transient bursts of energy and that’s where you start getting into offensive techniques.)

hazel’s phenomenal endurance is noted to derive from his rapid recovery, not the basal amount of aura he has. (he even just shrugs off being impaled.) i believe his semblance gives him an edge here, because it requires concentration to amplify one’s aura and hazel can’t be distracted by physical pain.

which brings me to aura-breaking. it doesn’t happen when the proverbial tank is empty. auras break when you can’t sustain the mental effort of generating enough aura; this might happen because the well you’re drawing from really has run dry (<- think this is what happened to nora with the high voltage door), but it might also be because you’re too tired, or you took a really painful or unexpected hit that shattered your focus, because you’re panicking or furious.

i think tock’s semblance is in the same ‘family’ as hazel’s and ironwood’s in that it puts her into a state of intense focus by blocking out anything that might shake her—with hers being far, far more potent than theirs but so potent she can’t maintain it for longer than sixty seconds, and possibly needs the ticking clock to ‘anchor’ her focus.

(fic stuff again, because tock’s alive in TDT for butterfly wing flaps reasons: sixty seconds is not a hard limit of her semblance; she can and on one occasion did go for much longer. to project an aura field you draw aura out of your reserve, which is the aura that naturally ‘pools’ around your soul; if that runs dry and you’re desperate enough, pushing hard enough, you can wring more aura out of your soul. blood from a stone. it hurts a lot, it will mess you up, and it can do permanent damage similar to what the aura transfer machines do to pietro. sixty seconds is how long it takes for tock’s semblance to drain her aura reserve, rounded down to allow for a margin of error.)

so. yang.

i think, mechanically, when the average person with aura training gets hit, their aura burns up to disperse most of that energy. (<- when they’re swatting gunfire away, the bullets bounce; the energy is reflected.)

but yang’s semblance absorbs energy—which is to say, if you had a ball throwing machine shoot a tennis ball at yang and someone else with equivalent training from the same distance, it would hit yang harder because her aura is less reflective; more of the ball’s kinetic energy flows into her body. then, like a battery, her aura converts that energy into some other form that can be stored.

sort of like dust, in fact. dust has a lot of potential energy, which is released when the material reacts with aura. given the literally explosive firepower yang gains from burn, i think that she’s storing this absorbed energy in the same form as occurs naturally in dust, which would put burn in the same ‘family’ as coco’s hype or arrastra’s equilibrium…

…and would also mean that this statement:

some prefer to use dust in its raw form: elegant, yet destructive. those who choose to wield dust in this state must possess a certain level of discipline to ensure that their resulting powers do not break free of their control.

is true of burn, too. and that tracks with who yang is and how she uses her semblance—even in V1-3, yang takes a more head-on approach to fights and tends to soak up more damage before exploding bigger vs her increasingly nimble and even acrobatic style post-beacon, but her control over those massive volcanic eruptions is immaculate.

the way burn works in general requires that yang be very, very in control of her aura at all times because she needs to balance between absorbing energy to charge up her semblance while reflecting enough to prevent injury, and this is one reason why i think yang is probably the best out of the cast when it comes to using aura. ren might have her beat on the more spiritual, extra-sensory perception side of things, but yang has to keep her focus while getting hit harder than anyone else Because Physics.

and that brings us to neo one-shotting yang’s aura. here is what happens: cinder is gloating from atop a pillar of fire while people scream and run in a panic all around them, and out of the corner of her eye, yang sees a glint of steel and realizes that neo is about to stab her unsuspecting baby sister in the back, she’s too far away, she can’t get there fast enough—burn is, in that moment, a reflex. instinct. she panics and hurls herself in between neo and ruby without even thinking about it because the only thing in her mind is GET TO RUBY NOW.

and that’s why her aura just shatters. it requires concentration—you practice until it becomes instinctive, until you don’t need to think about it, muscle memory. but it still takes focus. intention. yang has incredible self-control and thus incredible control of her aura, but everyone has limits, and hers are “holy fuck that guy stabbed blake” and “neo is going to kill ruby go go go.”

her semblance in itself doesn’t make her defense any weaker—but when she’s terrified enough for burn to activate reflexively like this, her aura will break if she gets hit because she’s freaking out.

[blurbios]

Patching Up Shigaraki

cw: injuries, blood mention, cursing, slight angst (?)

other: gn!reader, reader has healing quirk, reader is part of the lov

wc: 1.2k

synopsis: you stayed up waiting for the boss to return and when he does he can barely walk. luckily enough, you’re the team’s newest edition, a healer. you make sure to patch him up and that he gets his much needed rest. 

It was some ungodly hour of the night when you were posted up, sitting on the couch, waiting for your boss to return. Normally you weren’t one to worry about him, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a bit nervous. You knew he could handle his own, but he was taking way longer than you had anticipated. You fought off your own bouts of sleepiness as you watched the hands of the clock tick and tock by. You were zoned out by the time the door flung open. The cool breeze brought you back to your senses and you snapped your neck in its direction. There he was, shirt torn, face contorted in pain, leaning his back against the doorframe. You froze for a second before you sprung into action. You ran to his side and hooked an arm around his waist and helped escort him to his room. Tomura let out a couple pained grunts as you did so, eyes shutting tightly when the pain spiked. You had seen him like this before, but it didn’t make it any easier. Nobody wants to see their friend in pain, especially when their friend is one who never asks for help. Luckily enough for Tomura, he had you, who would help without needing to be asked. You carefully opened his bedroom door as he leaned into you and once in his room you propped him up on his bed, back resting against the headboard. You could tell where his injuries were by the torn fabric and splotches of blood that stained the rest of the shirt. 

“Can you lift your arms for me?” You grabbed the bottom of his shirt and started to tug it over his head and arms. He winced when he warily did as you asked. “I’m sorry, Shigs. I know it hurts, but it won’t for much longer.” You looked at him with concern in your eyes and were met with sadness in his, he looked defeated. You placed your hands on his shoulder where the deepest wound appeared to be and activated your quirk. Your eyes trailed his body to see what all else you’d have to fix up. When you got to the gouge on his chest, you couldn’t help but shake your head. “You have to be more careful, Tomura.”

“I already know Giri and Master are going to lecture me, I don’t need one from you too.” He rolled his eyes. You would’ve been hurt by his words, had he not been in so much pain, so you just carried on easing it as you could. Once you were done, you went and got some wipes so you could clean his skin of all the dried blood and a shirt for him to put on after. The bed sank under your weight as you sat next to him. Tomura sat up straight and leaned in your direction, so it was easier for you. He furrowed his brows when the cold wipe made contact with his skin.

“You did well today.” You tried to placate your own qualms.

“Not as well as I should’ve.” He looked through you, not able to make eye contact.

“You’re alive, that’s all that matters.” You offered him a small smile.

“Being alive doesn’t matter, if I’m not getting stronger.” His voice broke. 

“Did you get him at least?”

“You think I’d let someone do this to me and let them live?” He raised his voice slightly in annoyance. 

“Right, dumb question, sorry.” You handed him his shirt and he slipped it over his head. He shimmied around until he found a comfortable lying position. You proceeded to lay down next to him, leaving a gap between you two of course. 

“What’re you doing?” He grumbled. You were looking up at the cracked ceiling trying to gather your words properly. “You can’t fall asleep here, I’ll wake up next to ash.”

“You’ve had a tough day Shigs. I know you’re just gonna lay here and beat yourself up until Kurogiri comes to check on you.” His eyes widened as you spoke sincerely. He hadn’t realized that you’ve grown to know him so well over the short time you’ve been with the league. He was relieved when he looked at you and your eyes were still on the ceiling. “Don’t worry, once you fall asleep, I’ll be on my way. I just want to make sure you actually get some rest.” He mumbled something under his breath that you couldn’t quite make out. Then to your surprise you felt the weight of his head on your shoulder. You knew better than to comment on it because he would’ve kicked you out, but it was a sweet moment that you wanted to savor. The smailair scent that you always spritzed yourself with had become a signal of safety for him, so he knew he was safe and could relax without worry. You reached a hand over and softly combed your fingers through his hair, trying your best to avoid tugging the tangles. Tomura would never admit it, but he liked your touch, you were always so gentle with him, even if he didn’t deserve it. He began to think of ways to thank you, instead of just flat out saying it, because it was still hard for him to do that. He thought about taking you out for a nice meal the next time that they ran into some cash or buying you a game on his switch and letting you play. He knew he’d figure something out because he really did care about you. You thought he meant a great deal to you, he cherished you even more so, this went for the other remembers as well. Within minutes of your sweet touch and thoughts of you filling his mind, he had fallen asleep, made apparent by his soft snores. You could feel your sleepiness returning and began to plan your exit. You lifted his head with a hand and replaced your shoulder with one of his pillows, placing his head down gingerly so as to not disturb him. You cautiously got out of bed and tiptoed over towards the door. You stopped for a second to take  in the sight. You were so used to seeing his face all scrunched up, brows pressed together, and his jaw clenched, so being able to take in his features like this was nice. Serene moments were hard to come by, given your situation, so you made sure to really admire this one. You were glad that he was in one piece and finally getting the rest that he so desperately needed, and deserved. You quietly closed the door and made your way down the hall, peeking into the other members’ respective rooms to double check that they were getting their rest too. Once you knew that everyone was sleeping soundly, you felt a yawn creep over you and the exhaustion from the day fell on your shoulders. You settled in on the couch to get some rest of your own. Content with the work you did, you drifted off with a weak smile on your lips. 

a/n: SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG :( I HAVE TWO MORE WEEKS AND THEN MY SEMESTER IS OVER AND I CAN GO BACK TO ACTUALLY WEEKLY POSTINGS !

#boku no hero academia shigaraki #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki imagine #shigaraki x reader #tenko shimura #bnha imagines #bnha x reader #mha reader insert #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki x you #league of villains #league of villians x reader #dabi mha #tomura shigaraki #tomura imagine #tomura headcanons #tomura x reader

[raaorqtpbpdy]

The Divergence Point

Wes finally succeeds in revealing Danny Phantom's true identity, and everything immediately goes downhill so fast some old ghost named Clockwork steps in.

For the prompt: Wes has done it. He has exposed Phantom to the world. So why can't he get rid of that annoying tick-tock from his head? And why is everything burning? [from @kalifa100]

Read also on AO3

[Warning for mentions of violence]

He... he'd done it.

Wes could hardly believe it himself, but he'd done it!

He'd tricked Danny into transforming in front of everyone, and now no one could deny that Wes had been right all along. They'd all seen the truth with their own eyes, and he'd done it!

He'd exposed Phantom to the world.

But he never expected it to turn out like this.

Why couldn't he get rid of this annoying tick-tocking sound in his head? And why was everything burning? How could achieving his greatest goal be a bad thing?

People were rioting as an unconscious Danny got carried away by the Guys in White. Fights broke out. A fire started. The mayor was trying to get everyone to calm down to absolutely no effect whatsoever. Everyone was freaking out, and no one was even paying any actual attention to the truth Wes had just exposed which started all this in the first place.

He'd just wanted to show them the truth; he never wanted anyone to get hurt.

No. No way. He could fix this.

The ticking had been growing steadily louder in his head, louder and louder until he couldn't focus, couldn't even think, and he was clutching his head in pain, his eyes squeezed shut.

Then, all at once, it quieted to a soft tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock in the background, and the air grew cold.

Wes opened his eyes. He was no longer standing in the second floor window of City Hall. Instead, he looked to be in some kind of clock tower. But the colors were all wrong, eerie and unnatural like they were glowing and absorbing light at the same time.

"Wesley Weston," said a voice.

Wes jumped at the sound and whipped his head toward it. "Who are you?" he demanded.

"I am Clockwork, the Master of Time," the ghost replied, because there was no doubt in Wes' mind that it was a ghost. "And you seem to have gotten yourself in quite a bit of trouble."

Most Amity Parkers would be scared out of their wits if they found themselves face-to-face with an obviously powerful ghost, in what was obviously his home turf, being told that they were in trouble. Wes Weston was not most Amity Parkers, and he wasn't afraid of any ghost, no matter who they were.

Wes narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

Clockwork rapidly aged before Wes, then waved his hand through the air, causing a line to appear. At a single point, the line split into dozens of lines.

"This, is your timeline, and that point," Clockwork said, sticking a gnarled finger at the spot where the lines diverged, "Is today."

Wes wanted to speak, ask a question maybe, or say something in his defense if he did indeed need to defend himself. But the words didn't come to him, so he just listened, waiting for Clockwork to finish his explanation, which would hopefully include why the hell Wes was here.

"Each of these lines that branch off from today, is a direction in which your timeline might go," the old ghost continued. "But you may have noticed that only one of them goes straight forward."

He indicated the line that continued straight amongst all the wild and diverging paths.

"So?"

"So this is the line that you have forced because of your actions," Clockwork pointed to a wiggling, looping line going way off in another direction.

"Again, so?"

"So... this is how that line ends."

Clockwork gestured broadly to a screen where Wes could see a world on fire, ravaged by war. His eyes widened in shock.

"Wait, you're telling me I'm responsible for that?"

"There are billions of people on your world, making trillions of decisions every day, but at any given point in time, there is only one decision that matters, and the person making it changes all the time."

Clockwork jabbed his finger once again at the point where the lines diverged.

"At this distinct point, there is only one person on Earth whose decisions determine the future of the world as you know it," Clockwork said. "And at this distinct point, that person is you. Ordinarily, there are a few potential vital decisions that will result in the safe continuation of the timeline, and one of the right ones is made."

Clockwork waved his hand again, and showed another timeline, side by side with the first. This one, too, branched off after a certain point, although it only had about ten possible outcomes, and three of them kept the timeline going more or less straight ahead, with only slight deviations, where the others spread wider.

Evidently, that was the standard situation, and the divergence point where Wes' decision mattered was atypical to say the least. His had lines that turned around and went backwards, lines that formed loops and waves, and only one that went forward.

Clockwork pointed once more at the divergence point where Wes' decision was the only one that mattered.

"At this divergence point, there is only one right answer," he said. "Only one way to avoid catastrophic consequences. You must not reveal Daniel's secret to the world."

"What?" Wes shouted. "No way! I worked hard to do that! There has to be some way I can keep the timeline from devolving into chaos and still expose Fenton's secret. I worked too hard for too long to just give up!"

"If that's so, then you will repeat the day over until you find it, or realize the futility of trying," Clockwork told him. "Failure will not be tolerated."

The next thing Wes knew, he was gasping awake in bed.

It was eight in the morning on Saturday, and Phantom's public appearance hadn't happened yet, meaning Wes hadn't even gotten the chance to enact his latest plan, and it hadn't caused absolute chaos.

Weird dream.

#danny phantom #dp #wes weston #dp clockwork #fic #things i wrote #phic phight 24 #phic phight

[avoxrising]

The Feral One • Ch 22

Finnick x Y/N

Series Masterlist Link

A short but important chapter tonight!

Content Warnings - None

You jolt awake as the truck comes to a stop. It seems to be evening, meaning the hovercraft ride and drive took the whole day.

Peeta is let out of his truck first. You can’t see where they are taking him but he’s muttering things to himself and looks scared. A soldier opens your door and you are instructed to follow.

Getting out, you finally see who you and Peeta are joining. Gathered around Boggs are Katniss, Finnick, and a few other soldiers from District 13. They are sending you into battle.

Boggs and the others seem shocked by the two new arrivals and Boggs quickly cuffs Peeta, explaining to him that it’s just a precaution until he can get the situation figured out. You hold out your hands to him but he shakes his head. He wasn’t going to cuff you.

Boggs returns to the group and explains that Coin wants you and Peeta in the propos. Finnick explains to you both that your squad isn’t on the front lines, they’re just there to film propos and look cool. Boggs then explains the holo and pods and how we still need to be careful.

Finally, the group grows tense as they debate who will take watch and when. Your head hurts too much to listen so you make your way over to the wall and sit down.

“Are you feeling alright?” Finnick asks you, noticing your sluggish movements.

“Headache,” you mutter.

“How about you get some rest,” Finnick suggests, handing over his sleeping bag to you. “I’ll wake you when it’s time for dinner.”

You wake up screaming an hour later, sweat dripping down your forehead.

“Hey hey it’s ok,” Finnick states as he tries to calm you down. One of the soldiers makes a comment about how the screaming may reveal our location but he is quickly shut up by a glare from Finnick.

“Bad dream?” he asks you.

“Tick tock,” you mutter. “The clock… it… I need to talk to Peeta now.”

Finnick worriedly nods and goes to get Peeta. He comes back and is prepared to stay for your conversation but the look you give him tells him it’s a private convo so he leaves.

“Peeta?” you ask the boy, and maybe your only companion in this situation. “What’s happening to me?”

“I don’t know,” he responds. “What was your dream about?”

“Clocks,” you say, making Peeta freeze.

“They need to send you back to 13 now,” he states. “It’s not safe for you here. We need to go back!”

Peeta’s outburst garners the attention of the group, causing Boggs and Finnick to rush over.

“She can’t be here,” Peeta tells them. “All her progress is going away the longer she’s here. We can’t stop it. It’s too late. We need to get her out before it gets worse.”

“I can have a medic come check her out but unless it’s a medical emergency I’m afraid she can’t be evacuated,” Boggs states. “Soldier Y/L/N are you feeling alright?”

“Headache,” you mumble.

“If it gets worse I’ll call in medical,” Boggs states. “Until then I’m ordering you to rest. Soldier Odair, I’ll take you out of the rotation tonight so you can monitor her.”

Dinner comes and you are starving. You eat all of your food and some of Finnick’s too. The headache is still there but you’re starting to manage.

After dinner you curl up next to Finnick in your own sleeping bag. You won’t let him touch you but you’ve instructed him to sedate you if you start screaming again. Sleep comes too easily for you.

Tick tock

Tick tock

A poisonous fog crawls back into your mind as your head screams in pain. Your arms are on fire as the sound intensifies.

Tick tock!

Tick tock!

Taglist:

@randomgurl2326 @mystargirl-interlude @uther-pendragon-is-an-ass @yourdailymemedelivery @americanprometheuss @l3xi3luv @noisyalmonddreamer @nordicvxid @teaganthemorningstar @samatokisunfinishedcigarette @justtrying2getby @lvsticm @notplutos @innercreationflower @nexxus13 @kachelleee @helluvafire @haymitchabernathyslover @memeorydotcom @frostsword @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @giverosespls @honethatty12 @just-levyy @dd122004dd @nekee-lilac02 @impeterporker @nox-the-gay-nerd @redsakura101 @hopefulatrocity @eddiemunson4ever @fangirlvibez @kittimbo @zucchinimalfoy @sleepy-roman @secretsicanthideanymore @writerofadream @vsnrly @mayonesavegana @lilifl0wer @finnickodaddy @abbersreads @fox-bee926 @ginger-swag-rapunzel @isasalom @yizhoutv @livingdead-reilly @imaegonstargaryenswife0 @faephoria @omwtkydttfym @iris1587

*if the tag didn’t work please check your settings to make sure other blogs can tag you

#hunger games #finnick odair #hunger games fic #the hunger games #finnick odair x reader #finnick x reader #finnick odair angst #finnick angst #thg finnick #finnick #finnick fluff #finnick odair x y/n #finnick odair fluff #mockingjay #the feral one

[buddieswhvre]

Requested by @buddiesmutslut here's number 9 the lawyer Eddie and innocent Buck fic! I tried my best to make things clear but still keep the air of suspense lol. Also, yes Buck is going through it right now.

Tick, tock, tick, tock, the hands of the clock continued moving but Buck was frozen still. This was a warning, this should be a warning, right? He may act as if he wasn't scared but in reality, he was losing his goddamn mind. Coming home to his place being absolutely trashed was a big wake-up call. He needs to stop this. Yes, his loft wasn't his home, never was, but still, it was a place that gave him shelter for so long, and seeing it like this was painful.

There was a time when he was his own person, and had no one who could suffer the consequences of his actions but now it was different. He had Bobby, Chimney, Hen, and Eddie, oh my god Eddie.

It was as if Eddie had some special power when it came to Buck and suddenly his loft opened to reveal Eddie.

“Hey so Bobby was doing some research and I think-”

“I'm withdrawing the case.” Eddie looked at him as if Buck had lost his mind but in reality, today was the first time ever since this all started that he was really thinking.

“What are you talking about and why are you cleaning the loft?” Buck needed the previous Eddie who didn't care about him so much. He needed him to ask less questions and do what he was asked to.

“Because it doesn't matter. It's not like I can practice after this so why even bother?” Some time ago they were standing at the exact place where Buck screamed about how important his job was to him and how he needed Eddie to trust him and today at the same place he's asking, no begging Eddie to leave him alone.

“Buck-”

“No Eddie, maybe I deserved it. I mean it was my fault, right? I took an oath to save people and I couldn't so maybe I do deserve it. Or what do you know, maybe I did kill him? Maybe-”

“Buck! If there's one thing I know about you is that you'd never hurt anyone on purpose-”

“What do you even know about me? Nothing. I just want you-” Buck needed Eddie to just go away. If Eddie said anything else Buck would completely break down and tell him everything that happened. And that's what Buck didn't want. He didn't want Eddie to put himself and in turn Chris in more danger because of Buck.

“I know how you act like you like dark coffee when your favorite is oat milk vanilla frappuccino. I know how you feel bad for killing a moth, a literal moth because it did nothing wrong. I know how you give your whole heart for someone without anything in return because that's how selfless you are, Buck. So yeah, I know you. I know you to the core and that's how I know that something is wrong.” One side of Buck wanted to cry in front of Eddie after everything he just said. There was finally someone who saw his whole existence and still thought he was worthy of something and yet he couldn't.

Christopher, the absolute treasure of his life would be in danger and Buck would literally walk through fire alone if it kept Chris safe. And if the fire was Eddie's disappointment and hurt, then so be it.

“Eddie, I want to withdraw the case”

Tags: @smilingbuckley @wikiangela @theotherbuckley @cinematics123 @honestlydarkprincess @cal-daisies-and-briars

Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed🩷

#buck and eddie #911 abc #buck x eddie #buddie #eddie diaz #911 fandom #9 1 1 fanfiction #buddie fanfic #911 fanfic #evan buck buckley #buddie wip #buddie fic #buddie fandom #eli writes #lawyer eddie #innocent buck #mystery

[an-otterly-adorable-being]

Doing something a bit different from my headcanons, though this one-shot does tie back to some headcanons I did a while ago. Hope y'all enjoy!

(The Headcanon)

Tick Tock: Stolas x M!GoetiaPrince!Reader One-Shot

☆-------------------------------------------------------☆

     This was fine, you were fine. Sure, you were currently waiting to see the love of your life, the prince who you were kept from for decades. This was it, your chance to finally go back to him, to finally have him back in your arms. Satan's sake, that clock in the corner was far too... loud wasn't the right word. It was normal, just making you aware of the passage of time, both present and past.

     ...Annoying, that was the word. Although that still didn't feel right. Disquieting? No, that wasn't it either. Stolas would probably know the word, being a little, adorable nerd. Did he still wear those adorable glasses? You hadn't seen them in any pictures during your time forced away from him, but maybe he only wore them in private? You remember when you used to wipe the tears from underneath the lenses, the looks of adoration Stolas had given you through them, and every other emotion possible in his eyes. His beautiful, mesmerizing eyes.

     You were getting nervous now. Stolas was taking his time, and you wondered if maybe he wasn't interested in seeing you again. You wouldn't blame him, you didn't even try to fight back when you were "forbidden from seeing him." Yeah, Paimon would've crushed you, but you could've atleast tried. Plus, Stolas supposedly has a new man in his life. Why were you even here?

     "Because you're selfish," you mumbled to yourself. You wanted Stolas to be happy, but here you are, waltzing back into his life just like the two of had waltzed before. Except this time, you were the one butting in, not Paimon. Your brain was telling you to leave, to disappear again and save you both the heartache. But your body didn't move an inch, facing the fears you wanted to cower from.

     Damn, that clock was getting to you, and you still couldn't find a word to describe it! Stupid, idiotic, useless, guilt-inducing, depressing, none of them worked. It was the only thing saving your mind from tearing itself apart and it was just as frustrating as your own feelings. Stolas never would've bought something like that, the clock was definitely from Stella. And then, you started thinking about her.

     That lady made your blood boil. She was a status obsessed bitch, and you hated her for it. Why did she get to be the one to be with Stolas? You were there and ready, you would've actually loved him, unlike that overgrown brat. Yeah yeah, Stolas was supposed to produce an heir and you were both guys, but still! Magoc is everywhere in Hell, there had to be something, right?

     It didn't matter now, though. Stolas already went through that pain, and you couldn't even hold him as he cried. You couldn't wipe the tears away. You couldn't sing a song just well enough to soothe him. You, the man who promised to protect him with your life, couldn't be his knight in shining armor, because you were a coward!

      ...That's it, that clock was going to be smashed. You couldn't take it anymore, it needed to be stopped at the least. You stood up and marched to it, ready to turn it into tiny splinters. You almost didn't hear the voice behind you. Almost.

     "Y/N...?"

     "Stolas, I-"

     "Y/N!"

     Stolas had gotten stronger apparently, as he fully tackled you to the ground, knocking over everything in the way. You could see the tears falling from his eyes, as a wide grin filled his face. He held on to you tightly, and you embraced him as well, tears also forming.

     "I can not believe this is real. I thought that I would never see you again."

     "Yeah, this is real. So are the pieces of whatever you knocked me into sticking in my back."

      "Oh goodness, let me help you up."

     Ironically enough, you landed on the clock, breaking it in half, leaving you with a slight sense of satisfaction. You didn't dwell for long though, as Stolas had you sit down with him on a nearby couch.

     "It's... been a while, are you-"

     "Stolas, I'm so, so sorry for everything. I should have been there for you, I should have protected you, I-"

     "Y/N, please, there is nothing to apologize for."

      "But there is! I should've been there for you!"

      "And you would've been killed by my father if you did. I...I know I can't convince you that you don't have to apologize, so I want to accept your apologies for everything."

     "I don't deserve you Stolas."

     "You absolutely do, alright? "

     "Heh, yeah... um, I don't want to intrude into your personal business, but I saw you were with someone else, and I wanted to let you know that, even though I still love you, I don't want to interfere with your relationship."

     "Ah, Blitzø. I...I do love him, but our relationship is complicated, to say the least. There is far too much to really get into, and besides, I want to spend time with you. You've always had a piece of my heart, you know."

     "I know, I know. Should we do dinner maybe? Catch up then?"

     "That sounds delightful. Oh, and Y/N?"

     "Yes?"

     "Thank you, for coming back. I've missed you."

     Stolas took ahold of your hand, gently brushing your knuckles. You missed this, you really, really missed this. You and Stolas made eye-contact, and before either of you knew it, you were kissing.

#oneshot #writing #stolas x reader #helluva boss x reader #helluva boss stolas #something a little different #fanfic #ish #not sure if it counts tbh

[dvzaiosamu]

just a rushed oneshot about osamu dazai, once again. This one is about how he was never happy; nothing could fill more his heart, for he will live forever in the solitude. But he has you, he does, but for him, it doesn't feel enough. Dazai x fem.reader. This has two parts.

tw: suicide, self-harm mentions, depression, not mentally stable, sensitive topics, blood mentions, ect...

song recommendation: the lobotomy by maebi and old doll, mad father.

parts: 1/2

note: In fact, I already had the oneshot for this post done... but, when I wanted to schedule its publication, an error occurred and everything I did was deleted, leaving only what you are going to read below. I literally cried :( I hate my fucking luck. I'm tired now so I won't be able to upload the second part, I'll upload it one day when I feel motivated.

A night with a single moon, a strangely bright starry night. There have never been as many stars as there are today, or at least not as visible as the ones he glimpsed. His heart gave small muffled beats, an audible sigh as he stared at his already fired gun. On the ground lay the body of a weakness that did nothing, was only pierced by a bullet in that dark street full of dangers where he, Osami Dazai called himself the boss of the dangers of those streets, a mere attempt to disconnect from his intrusive thoughts.

He knew better than anyone what was going through his mind; Thought after thought, tiredness once it was over and tired of life, a strangulating stone blocking his throat, a pain and suffering that this world housed him. How was he going to die? He tried and failed, he didn't succeed. In a weak attempt he rubs his forehead, trying to get rid of the headache... Thoughts or headache? Headache or thoughts? Not even he knew it. He was overwhelmed by the burden of living.

In the darkness he continued to find himself, a pool of blood was created in front, obscured by the poor lighting. He couldn't care less about the life of a citizen. He tried to hide it, drown out his thoughts by killing. He thought that if he killed he would be happier, that at least it would be a distraction to get rid of everything. It wasn't like that.

Darkness took over this night, giving it an eerie appearance. Osamu used to love nights like this, when he most enjoyed scaring and then shooting his victims without any remorse, without mercy. He was a cruel murderer.

On the other side you were, considerably far from the young man. You were at your house, a house shared by you and Dazai. It was spacious and quite cozy: it had simple windows that were covered at night by lowering the blinds, for the sole reason that people could clearly see what was going on inside. It was itself a two-story, two-bathroom, three-bedroom house with its own amenities, space, and beds. One of the rooms was yours, the other was Osamu's, and the third was guests'. On that same floor (upstairs) was one of the bathrooms, with all kinds of luxuries, but minimalist in its own way. On the ground floor was the living room with its respective large and long sofa accompanied by a rug, television, shelves for books on one side, some furniture to store things and that's it. Then you had the kitchen and dining room where you were currently, preparing today's dinner, eagerly waiting for your partner to show him another wonderful dish that you decided to prepare.

You finished cooking and preparing a copious table, and you waited, waited and watched the clock tick, with its sound memorized in your brain that repeated like a broken record: tick tock, tick tock...

He always came around the time you finished cooking and getting everything ready for a cozy night in for Dazai after hard work in the mafia. You were worried that something had happened to him, that maybe Mori had detained him a little longer until he finished his missions or that he had simply forgotten that you made him dinner every time he wasn't home, it frustrated you at an end that he had forgotten, but then it quickly melted into worry, you didn't know what to believe and you were confused.

"Why does he takes so long to arrive? It's been over half an hour now and I have no calls, texts or messages from him." The question stood out and resonated in your head: why? Why did it take so long? You sighed and let time move forward. "Guess I'm just going to call him."

Moving your hand to your pants pocket, you grab your phone, tap its screen, and deftly enter your phone's password. Biting your lip repeatedly, you nervously reach his profile and press the call button.

The phone vibrates as you wait for Dazai to answer on the other line, a characteristic sound as you wait impatiently: vzzzzzt. You wait a few minutes and the wait ends with a message: ‘Osamu has not responded.’ Your condition worsens and you press the ‘call again’ button. This time you will finally be able to witness how the young mafioso accepts the call. "Hello Dazai, are you okay? How are you?"

A short two-second pause, overwhelmingly giving off a bad vibe. "I'm fine, what do you need?"

"I just wanted to know where you are. I made dinner and you were nowhere to be found, and look, that's the time you always show up. Something happened?"

"You see... Maybe I dallied on the way home, but you don't have to be so desperate, I'm already on my way, it won't be far away," He explains to you on the other end of the phone, with a carefree voice, still maintaining his soft but icy tone. In the background you can hear his footsteps stepping on the asphalt.

"Well, I guess I'll wait until you get there... Take care, I love you," You hang up the call with a sigh.

Back to Dazai, the youthful mafioso, crude and indifferent. He was walking through some very dimly lit streets. The crickets sing while there is a silence so unusual that it seems pleasant to the ear. There was no wind or noisy people talking on those same streets, there was just him. He was alone.

On the way home, he repeatedly thinks about jumping off an icy water bridge he was passing over. He didn't know what else to do, he wanted to die but without pain, he wanted to die but without losing close ones and friends, he wanted to die but find a reason to live. There were only knots in his mind, he was tired. He thought about committing suicide once and for all with his gun, drinking poison on purpose... So many ways to die and so few possibilities of achieving it.

*sigh*

#bsd #dazai osamu #dazai x reader #bsd headcanons #angst