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deliciouslystrangefics · 6 months

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One Dark Night At The Bar

Promt: What would Chris do, if he'd witness Tom making out with a hunky blonde man, that looks a bit like him? I don't think he'd stop them instantly, but would he stay silent for a long time or would he say something the next day? And would he think different of Tom?

Beta Credit: DestielWincest

Written Around: 2012-01-01

The day had been a surprisingly long one; the stress was stretching across his skin and seeping into his muscles. The tension he felt when having to work so closely with Chris could be felt between his thighs and a soft groan escaped his lips as he sank into his hotel bed. What he needed was some sort of relief from this, it was building up to fever pitch and he didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to hold it in. He couldn’t be for sure if Chris felt the same, there was nothing about him that screamed he was willing to bed Tom.

It wasn’t as if Tom hasn’t tried to find signs of it, he chooses his words carefully when speaking to his close friend. Tried so hard to find hints or clues that Chris wanted more than what they had, but it was to no avail. There wasn’t much else he could do without bluntly asking and he couldn’t quite bring himself to that as of yet. Perhaps it simply wasn’t meant to be, that was something that had crossed his mind but it didn’t ease the tension that continued to build, making it hard to breath.

Sometimes it felt like the air was going to be sucked out of him when he was around Chris, especially when he was so close, whispering something in his ear from time to time…but it never appeared to be much more than playful banter. If only the blonde could see what he was doing, how it affected him. He sighed softly and slid his fingers through his hair, it was time to do something about it…and it didn’t seem like Chris would be the one to help him out.

With a push, he lifted himself from his bed and went into the bathroom to clean up. Tonight he would take himself to the bar and find something…someone to help ease the need in him. Someone who mirrored Chris, he was a good looking enough guy that he was sure he’d be able to pull it off. Part of him scolded himself for being so scandalous, but he longed a touch that wasn’t his own.

Tom wouldn’t allow himself to feel bad about it; it was something he desperately needed before he acted in a heat of passion, something that he might regret. As much as he wanted it to be Chris, he couldn’t risk their friendship in such a way… he had no desire to make it awkward between them. Perhaps the easiest thing would be to talk to Chris but there seemed to be no indication at all that he was interested, he tried not to take things at face value but with his friend, that’s all there seemed to be.

Once he was finished with cleaning up, he took himself to the bar; it seemed like a regular bar but deep within was a lot of willing men who waited for Tom’s touch. It wasn’t something he was willing to jump into; he'd need a few drinks to build up that courage.

A soft sigh escaped his lips as he walked into the bar, his fingers slid through his hair as he sat down and ordered a drink. His eyes scanned across the bar, searching for the right one, the one who would release the lust that was drowning him. When the drink arrived he finished it off in 3 long swallows and ordered another. He wasn’t the sort to do this kind of thing but he was at his limit. Something was about to give and he couldn’t risk having a collapse of his will power…especially on set.

Once the warm glow of alcohol settled within, he took a breath and once again looked around the bar for someone that matched what he was looking for. He moved through the crowd silently hunting his perfect pray, his gaze dangerous and alluring. Some returned the hungry look but they did not live up to the desired aesthetics.

It took him moving to the very back of the bar before he found a built blonde with ice blue eyes, a bit taller than he was but not by much. He was perfect and he felt a twitch between his thighs, he wasn’t sure how far he was willing to go but he was willing to go far enough to smother this desire in him, to quench his thirst somehow. He moved closer to the other, this was a dangerous game and it was setting his blood a flame, he needed this more than he could clearly admit.

The two of them locked eyes for merely a moment before the blonde nodded his head toward the very back of the bar. Thankfully this stranger was making this easy for Tom but the intent must have been clearly written across his face. There was no need for questions, names, or any of those other formalities. That was a relief; he didn’t really feel like explaining himself as to what his desires and needs were.

The blonde was leading him through a short hallway, where the bathrooms were. There was a sort of table where a pay phone was, and it seemed this man wanted time to seat himself on it, which was a pleasant surprise. He licked his lips and lifted himself up and onto the table and looked up at his beautiful substitute for Chris.

It seemed at first he wanted to ask a question but Tom put his finger to his lips, his eyes a warning. There was no need for words, no need for his voice to ruin his desire, and his fantasy. He didn’t need to answer any questions; his body language would be enough to tell this false Chris all he needed to know. With that the blonde leaned in and kissed Tom, softly at first, taking time to get to know his lips, the way he kissed, and how fast to move this along. His lips were soft and unyielding, the way they molded against Tom’s and it was easy to start to believe it was Chris between his thighs, stealing his breath and drawing soft gasps from him. It didn’t take long before his tongue was seeking out the warm cavern of his mouth. Exploring and brushing against his gently, all Tom could do was bury his hands in this beautiful stranger’s hair, pulling him closer and urging him to do more.

Tom had made a perfect pick, it seemed this one knew what to do and how to give his lovers of the night what they wanted or perhaps he was too lush to notice if he wasn’t good at this, or perhaps he was too caught up in his own fantasy to notice what was real. It didn’t really matter at this point; those fingers were moving through his hair, pulling just enough to push a strangled gasp forth and make him silently beg for a bit more. He shuddered and submitted to whatever the blonde wanted to do to him.

Every once in awhile Tom whimpered because it was so good, the way those hands moved across his sides, down his back, and back down his slender hips. Those questing digits pushed his thighs open and ran up slowly, seeking out those spots that would make Tom thrust forward and moan out his need. There was a flash of panic in him as this strange Chris opened him up but he took in a ragged breath and calmed himself. He couldn’t help but admit the pleasure was much needed but still a part of him felt rather dirty for it. But there was enough drink in him to push those thoughts back and welcome those touches; he felt his cock twitching to life and with a bit more, he would tumble off the edge blissfully.

Perhaps he probably should have been more active in this tryst but he was content to just let this substitute do all the work. He didn’t seem to mind, he had taken control of the moment and continued to let his touches leave Tom arching and begging. His fingers moved dangerously close to his aching need but never brushed against him, his lips drew out more whimpers and moans, his tongue destroying whatever defenses there may have been.

No matter though, he could no longer bring himself to care that this stranger was devouring him and his fingers dug into his shoulders, urging him to keep going. Tom was silently screaming that he touch him, to bring him to the edge but his words were lost in a sea of moans and soft cries. Those hands found the peaks and valleys of his body and exploited those spots of pleasure in a way that had him writhing against him.

That hot mouth finally left his and travelled down his neck, leaving a wet and hot trail in its wake, scorching his skin with sharp nips and sucks that made him cry out, there were spots the blonde found that made him arch sharply and his nails dug into his shoulders. He needed to find release and he was just about to demand that it be given…

However the blonde seemed to sense the need and instead of using his fingers to bring Tom off, he pressed his hips into his, their clothed cocks pressed against each other. It was better than he expected, the sudden contact made his hips buck up and he shuddered, moaning out unashamed. His pretend Chris rolled his hips hard against him, he reached behind him and slid his hands under his backside and lifted him up and thrust his hips against him harder. The motion had Tom’s head lolling back against the wall, gasping and begging incoherently. Those fingers started to need his ass and it was almost more than he could take, he was dangerously close to the edge.

The heat and the desire started to pool into his stomach and spread across his groin and thighs, he was shaking and rutting hard against this man, trying to bring himself off without moaning Chris’ name. The other, rolled his hips harder and positioned Tom in just the right angle, it sent him over tumbling over the edge, crying out and moving his hips wildly, he was vaguely aware of the other cumming but didn’t concern himself with it. He was blissfully lost in the afterglow of his orgasm, and unaware of another blonde watching.

Chapter 1:

Mark and Robert had invited Chris to the very same bar, he had tried to get a hold of Tom but he couldn’t seem to get him to answer his phone. That was rather odd, he thought, Tom always seemed to answer when he tried to get ahold of him, but not tonight. He didn’t think too much of it. He couldn’t help but notice that, today Tom seemed rather on edge, he did hide it well but he knew those subtle looks and twitches, he might as well have been screaming. One would wonder though, if Chris was able to catch those subtle things, why couldn’t he catch Tom’s interest in him? Perhaps Tom hadn’t been as forthcoming as he thought he was or perhaps it was something Chris just didn’t want to take notice in; in any case he was glad to be at the bar.

He found himself to be right at home in pubs, the music, the crowd, and not to mention the drinking. He talked to his two friends for a while, they laughed and talked about the movies. The long hours and how much damage they had done to each other in all; they were just enjoying each other’s company and the conversation.

About an hour later though, the drinking finally took it’s toll, he had to seek out the bathroom, he excused himself and wandered to the back of the bar. He knew the sort of things that happened in the bar, especially the back of the bar. Chris wasn’t a saint, he had made his share of bad choices regarding such but what he was met with in the hallway, he was unprepared for.

He didn’t have to go very far before he was meant with moaning and whimpering but that didn’t startle him so much, but what did was it sounded like. Tom?! A frown graced his features as he moved closer to the scene that was unfolding in front of him. It felt like the atmosphere around him had dropped as well as his stomach, he stared flabbergasted at what was in front of him. Tom was arching and moving his hips like a bitch in heat and the one who was undoing his close friend, looked suspiciously like Chris himself. He put his hand over his mouth and watched the scene unfolding, forgetting why he had come back here at all. The way Tom was silently begging, the pleasure that crested his face, he could tell that his friend was somewhere else in his head, with someone else.

It was hard to take everything in and it was hard not to start piecing everything together. Over the course of several months, Tom had stayed close to him when he could. Whispering this and that in his ear, private jokes or something along those lines. Chris hadn’t ever thought too much of it, they had bonded as brothers and that’s all he ever saw it as. All those secret moments they had together of laughing and speaking to each other, he just thought it was Tom’s way of getting close to him.

In a way, he was right, but it seemed his friend was trying to get close to him in a completely different way. All the tension he saw building in Tom, he thought had been because of the work, the long hours, and the fight scenes. It appeared Chris had it all wrong; Tom’s tension was due to his desire to be fucked by him. It had built and built until it drove him to seek a stranger that looked like him.

The thought made his stomach turn, he wasn’t sure why, maybe it was because Tom had stooped to something like this. He couldn’t believe that the ever so proper British man would do something like this. Chris couldn’t wrap his mind around it; he just stared wide-eyed at the perversion in front of him. It was only moments later that the tale-tell sign of Tom’s orgasm hit, the look of utter sexual satisfaction distorted his features. A shudder went through him but he wasn’t sure what it was he was feeling, he certainly didn’t know how to handle the situation or what to do. He had never in his life been faced with something like this, not to mention by someone whom he never expected to do this.

He slid his fingers through his hair and watched them both come down from their high, there was a some lazy kissing as Tom limply held onto this stranger. Their hips were still moving and it seemed to Chris that his friend was still trying to hold onto the illusion he had created himself.

Finally Tom gently pushed the blonde away, who promptly wandered into the bathroom to clean up no doubt. Chris watched Tom, leaning back against the wall as he panted, trying to catch his breath. He slid his fingers through his hair and kept his eyes closed, savoring his dark deed. Chris felt his cheeks heat up but again but the emotion that was raging inside him was one he could not please.

“Have something to tell me Tom?”

Tom’s eyes flew open and his face lost several shades of color, he opened his mouth to say something but shut it again. Chris wasn’t sure just how he felt about any of this, he stared at Tom, and he found himself clearly disappointed with his friend’s very selfish actions.

Chapter 2:

Tom had been blissfully unaware of Chris and the fact he had seen him come undone at the hands his so called look alike. Not even the drinks he had could calm the panic that was starting to rise within, this was not how it was suppose to go. He was supposed to get the deed over, head to the hotel, and try and scrub the shame away.

Instead he was left here to deal with Chris…and those angry blue eyes that were nothing more than slits. He tried to sit up a bit more straight, trying to form words, explain this away somehow. Nothing was coming to mind; there was nothing he could say that would make this any better. Tom desperately wished he had Loki’s silver tongue, to somehow turn this situation to his favor but nothing was coming to mind.

There was a long moment of empty silence and still he failed to answer Chris’ question, he didn’t have an answer and didn’t want to answer. How could he possibly say anything at this point? How much had his friend really seen and what did he really think had taken place? Perhaps the moment could have been saved but the stranger he had been with walked out of the bathroom and looked from Chris to Tom, “He’s all yours.” And with that he walked away.

Tom felt his face heat up to a degree he had never felt in his life before he promptly lost all color in the process. There was no way he could save this now, no salvaging this situation, it was all out in the open and he wanted to be swallowed into the wall. He didn’t ask how the situation could get worse, it just happened all on its own, and the night had been going relatively well too.

Chris opened his mouth and then it snapped shut, he couldn’t bring forth the words that felt like razors clawing up his throat. He clenched his jaw and simply stared at Tom, he couldn’t even begin to explain how violated he felt. How completely filthy and used he felt, the very idea…of this…that Tom would do something like this, it made him sick. Utterly sick and he didn’t even know where to begin, how to process this. His nerves were suddenly frayed and there was no way he wanted to deal with this…not here.

In a fluid motion, his fingers wrapped tightly around Tom’s wrist to the point of bruising and something of a whimper escaped the other’s lips. He really couldn’t find it in himself to care; this was going to be dealt with before his anger consumed him anymore. The raven behind him was being pulled along like a rag doll, his eyes averted to the floor; he couldn’t find the will into him to fight Chris off.

Money was bitterly thrown at the bar to pay his tab and he was headed toward the door, Chris didn’t even bother to look at Robert or Mark, didn’t want to explain the situation at present…there was no way he could have done so without raising his voice. He couldn’t even bring himself to look behind him as he jerked Tom down the street; he could feel him stumbling but didn’t slow the pace.

All Tom could do was try and keep up, the alcohol in his blood made his movements somewhat haphazard. He didn’t dare speak and he tried hard not to make a sound but every time he stumbled Chris’ grip around his wrist tightened and it always brought a whimper of pain and fear from his lips. He couldn’t tell what was going to happen and didn’t know if he could find the words to help the situation.

It wasn’t long before they were in the elevator, riding up but he couldn’t be too sure as to who’s room or why…why go to anyone’s room? He worried his lower lip nervously, staring at the doors in a bit of a haze. Once the door was open, he was jerked out and toward a room, the numbers blurred by and he wasn’t able to focus on where they could be.

“Open the door.”

The words came out as a command and a warning, Chris shoved him into the door; he could feel his nose brush up against the wood. He stood there for a moment, unable to comprehend the gravity of the situation…he tried to suck in enough air through his nose to help make this all come together. A growl erupted behind him, more of a threat than a warning. Tom continued to worry his lower lip and fumbled for his keycard, he hesitated a moment before swiping the card.

The next few moments were nothing but a blur of motion, the sound of the door being shut and the feeling of being dragged into the bedroom. He hit the mattress with a soft thud and bounced for a few moments. He laid there with his face in the covers, freshly made…clean but they wouldn’t be for long.

Tom tried to piece together how the night had gone and how wrong it had suddenly become. All he wanted was a release from the tension building inside…release without Chris finding out…without knowing what was really on his mind when they were sharing those close moments. All Chris had wanted out of it was a brotherly bond and Tom twisted it into perversion but he never meant for it to happen…and never meant for this to happen.

“Strip.”

The tone of his voice was low and dangerous; anger wasn’t there but something far worse. A shudder of excitement and horror coiled its way down Tom’s spine and he couldn’t move for a moment, this could not be the way things were going to happen. Chris could not…would not be doing this, this had to be a nightmare, a soft sob nearly escaped his lips. He shut his eyes tightly and tried to breath, tried to find some piece of sanity to hold onto.

“I said STRIP.”

A there was a sharp flinch in his being, as if he’d been struck across the back. He didn’t dare look at him; another sound escaped his lips, something akin to a whimper combined with a soft scream. Tom wasn’t able to look at Chris…couldn’t bare it as shaky fingers removed his shirt slowly. He was afraid to move any faster and afraid to move any slower. He couldn’t imagine how enraged his…dear friend had to be…he had some idea because he could almost feel the powerful emotion washing over him in waves. He could feel his eyes brimming with tears and knew that the worst was still yet to come.

A low growl escaped his lips, Tom was taking too long for this, and he had absolutely no patience. He was beyond disgusted with him; his anger had taken him to a place he never thought he’d be able to go. The selfishness of it, the complete disregard of everything logical…He just couldn’t seem to wrap his mind around it and it infuriated him…blinded him to everything.

Once Tom finally had stripped away everything, Chris twitched a bit and opened the nightstand and as he suspected lube and a condom was there. He tossed them on the bed, and moved back toward the bed but something shiny caught his eye…used condoms and their wrappers. A new layer of rage washed over him and he shuddered, biting back the urge to scream obscenities at Tom.

“Open yourself up.”

The sentence alone gave its own directions, don’t take too long or I’ll take you as you are. Tom was frozen in place; this was nothing more than a bad dream brought on by the drinking…it had to be because this could not be happening to him. Chris…Chris would not do this to him, would not disgrace him in such a way. The man he came to love and trust so much…could not be doing this.

“Time is running short Tom.”

He felt tears escaping and a soft and silent sob ripped itself from his throat, he felt his body shaking. Tom shut his eyes and reached for the lube and sloppily poured a generous amount on his fingers. Those lips that nearly split open because of the smile that usually graced his features, were now trembling and raw…a product of the fear inside. How did it all lead to this…where did his night go wrong?

Trembling fingers slid toward the ring of muscles that were clenched tightly and he gasped when he touched himself. He rubbed a finger across the entrance and had to will himself to relax…had to pretend this situation was different because if he didn’t, there would be no way he could do this. The fear of Chris ripping him to the seams was enough to give his mind some focus. At least for a moment he could pleasure himself and convince himself of a lie to help ease the pain.

His mind focused and pretended that he was alone on this night…that Chris wasn’t standing at the foot of the bed, enraged. It took a great deal of his will power to calm himself and ease his mind. It took several moments of silence and stillness before he was able to find that quiet place inside himself. In his mind, he was in this position to bring himself to pleasures he often denied himself. A soft sigh escaped his lips as he pushed the first finger in, there was a bit of a burn but the oil soon eased that. In and out slowly before the second finger joined in. He rubbed himself and moaned out softly and shuddered, he could feel the warmth pooling in his stomach. He shifted a bit and tried to find that secret spot and his hips rolled back against his hand. A shiver and a whimper escaped, the frustration was building. After a few moments he was able to add a third finger. His eyes fluttered shut as the arousal started to settle into his stomach, pooling into his cock. Oh...His fingers crushed across something that sent a lovely shock wave of pleasure through him. He continued to brush against that spot until a fine sheen of sweat broke out across his skin, he was rocking his hips, moaning out, and his back started to arch…trying hard to get him to that the bliss that could erase this night.

The world of bliss was ripped from him; his hand was jerked roughly away from his now begging entrance. He cried out and slumped forward as the world came back to him and his body felt empty and afraid. The shivers of pleasure were replaced by trembling; he shut his eyes and chewed on his lower lip. This had to be a nightmare…this…this was a nightmare.

Sounds of the condom wrapping being ripped open, made him all too aware that this wasn’t a dream. Chris, his dear and trusted friend was about to fuck him with all of his rage and passion…passion…it wasn’t indifference…somewhere in all this Chris had to still love him…or…or this wouldn’t be happening. That was the reasoning Tom had to hold onto, it was the only thing that was keeping his mind from tearing itself apart.

The blonde stared down at the trembling form but it wasn’t enough to snap him out of the darkness that had consumed his heart. The very idea, the complete knowledge that Tom was willing to resort to such things, it had completely turned him upside down. He couldn’t…couldn’t understand any of it and the more he tried to make sense of this evening and what he saw, the more it pissed him off.

During the little show of Tom opening himself up, Chris had undressed himself and watched him. The complete and wanton act, the way the raven-haired harlot had opened himself up…send waves of anger and lust through him. It had breathed new life into the member he had been trying to nurse into attention. There had been something very…appealing about the act of watching him. He had almost lost his focus and almost allowed Tom to bring himself off, but the sharp cry had reminded him of what he had to do…no…needed to do.

His fingers curled around Tom’s hips and lifted them up, ass in the air and head into the mattress. He took a breath and simply plunged himself into the wet, tight heat and he growled loudly. It was not a feeling he was expecting and it was only intensified the clenching, the velvet walls sucking him in more deeply. He swore at Tom and dug his fingers more deeply into his flesh. It was almost too much, it was a feeling he wasn’t expecting.

It was good, far too good and he was almost made aware of what he was doing…almost. He moved his hand to the headboard to brace himself. After a few breaths his hips started to move slowly and hard, the sounds Tom was making were something between a sob and a breathy moan. Chris was only able to keep a building pace for a short time before his hips were driving forward harshly. Every movement brought another wave of delicious pleasure; it was going straight to his cock. He growled and clenched his jaw, shuddering as his hips continued to snap forward.

Everything was becoming too hot and too much, his skin felt like it was on fire and he shuddered as he tried to suck in air through his mouth. He rolled his hips and then snapped them at the end, the pleasant sound of skin on skin…it was like the sound of a whip cracking. His fingers dug into skin and clenched the headboard; he tried to keep himself grounded as he dove into Tom. Everything was angry and everything was pleasure, it felt amazing to be inside of him. The waves of pleasure were becoming too much and at some point, he nearly had Tom’s head touching his knees. He drew him up and started to slam into him harshly and wildly as he felt the coil in his stomach start to snap. His vision was starting to white out…and suddenly everything was white, vaguely aware of something of a shout and a growl escaping his lips. He continued to ride out his orgasm, he was dimly aware of Tom clenching around him as he came undone as well. Truthfully…Chris hadn’t been concerned with the other reaching their completion, it was only a matter of luck.

Tom had opened himself up enough where he was able to handle Chris, even as he dove in without any other regard. There still had been a good amount of burning and pain and his mind shattered when he started to move. There had been little pleasure in it for him in the beginning. The harshness of the moments left his mouth slacked in the uncomfortable sensation and his eyes were burning with tears. However once a pace was truly set, his body responded to it and the pleasure had slowly washed away all of his thoughts.

For a time he wasn’t concerned with why this was happening, his mind had melted into need and desire. He needed to feel Chris filling him and had desire to reach completion in a way he hadn’t had in quite some time. His hips arched and moved with Chris, meeting him thrust for thrust. He clawed at the sheets and mewled in complete and utter abandon, the pleasure bleached away the ugly scars of the night even if it was just for this moment. Tom was able to lose himself in this and he shut his eyes and moaned Chris’ name, moaned it loud and begged. It never occurred to him that the other wasn’t even listening but it didn’t matter. He felt the tension in him melting away, rolling his hips and arching his back.

It felt so fucking good…to be fucked.

Tom needed this, needed it more than he thought, and he couldn’t concentrate on the fact that this was happening for all of the wrong reasons. At some point Chris made him into the shape of a tight triangle, his head nearly at his knees. A scream of shock escaped his lips as he felt that spot inside of him hit suddenly, again and again. The tale-tell sign that his blonde lover was about to spill and the thrusts continued to blur his vision until it all went dark. He felt his body stiffen, Chris’ name ripped from his lips as he felt the warmth of his seed splashing his skin.

He collapsed onto the bed, slowly his vision came back to him, and he tried to catch his breath. He basked in the glory of having been fucked so thoroughly; it had been easy to lose himself in it. He stayed on his stomach, and shivered a bit…it had been worth it…so he thought.

Chris pulled out and slumped forward but didn’t allow his body to collapse into the bed. It hadn’t changed anything, what he had done…what he had just done was sickening. He lost control of his anger in a way that…he couldn’t even think. He slid the condom off and began to get dressed; he needed air…needed to vomit. That…that moment shouldn’t have ever happened, he shouldn’t have allowed himself to lose control. There wasn’t any way for him to ever make peace with this moment. This…changed and ruined everything. He lifted himself off the bed and walked toward the door, he glanced at Tom for a moment. Tried to think of something, anything to say but there was nothing he could do. He had made the biggest mistake of his life, he hurt Tom, and now he couldn’t bear to look at him. The door slammed shut behind him, what had he done?

~~ It wasn’t until the door slammed that Tom was even aware Chris had left, the sound made his heart jump. The realization started to settle in his chest and stomach; he felt utterly filthy and couldn’t form words or thoughts. All he could do was feel and his eyes started to burn once again and the tears slid down. Soundless sobs started to wrack his body; he trembled and brought his knees to his chest. He bit into his lower lip until he could taste copper, he shut his eyes and tried to breath…tried to find something to hold onto. There was nothing and a strangled scream fell from his lips. Again and again he screamed until his voice was wrecked, the sobs continued to shake him until there was nothing left. He was empty and numb…but so, he could not stop sobbing.

~~~~ Never got around to writing another chapter. Maybe one day this get a happy ending.

#Chris Hemsworth/Tom Hiddleston #Angst #Promt #Mild Smut #Depressing Fic

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gascreates · 2 months

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^^ infectious

#i now desire to read sickfics #this is an old sketch that i colored cuz i was dying to feel productive #depression and executive dysfunction are joining forces against me #i fight back by finishing something fast so i can feel accomplished for a bit #then maybe i can work on the bigger pieces/comics i want to get through #or maybe *gasp* work on a FIC #wouldn't that be crazy #atla #zuko

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ghost-bxrd · 7 months

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Prompt

Tim is a genius, so it’s really no surprise that he’s got the number of each batfamily member saved in his phone long before he becomes Robin.

But then Jason dies (and comes back to life) and Tim is struggling to keep Bruce alive and Dick from spiraling.

To cope with the stress of having the lives of Gotham’s two most important vigilantes depend on him he starts leaving Jason voicemails and text messages on his old number detailing progress and setbacks, fears and hopes, and the dream of finally finding somewhere he belongs. Along with the crushing realization that Tim’s own hero — Jason— is long dead.

Unbeknownst to Tim, Jason listens to and reads every single one of the messages.

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wynnyfryd · 8 months

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Trailer Park Steve AU part 4

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

September

He doesn’t talk to the Munsons much. (Doesn’t talk to anyone, really, aside from his mom and Robin and that one older woman who keeps renting and returning Gone With The Wind as an excuse to leave her house.) He keeps his head down and his nose clean, doesn’t care to make friends with the neighbors; just wants to get by.

One day Eddie approaches their door, waving a gas bill that got mixed up in their mail, and Steve greets him pleasantly enough.

“Stab anyone today?”

“Eat glass, Harrington.”

So it goes.

Steve watches the world pass and the weather turn, lets the hours bleed into weeks and squeezes his eyes shut against the flashbacks when they threaten to overwhelm.

Things with his mom are weird.

They don’t really speak, preferring to shrug their way past each other with careful, tight-lipped nods, and his mom takes these pills the doctor gave her that keep her perfectly pleasant and calm. Silent. Physically present but not really here.

And he can’t imagine how it feels to be her: Florence Harrington, ripped from the comforts of the upper crust and left to rot in a tin can seven miles across town. She spends most of her time letting out weary little sighs as she swans from room to room, drifting like a shade on the banks of the River Styx. (He can make that reference now because Robin won’t shut up about mythology. “It’s so gay, Steve. The Greeks were literally so gay.”)

Anyway.

Shit’s weird with the kids, too. He still drives them around — lets them loiter at Family Video when it’s slow; hangs around when they need a ride to the arcade or the movies or the skating rink; and he’s still on the hook for ‘ice cream. for. life,’ so…

It’s just not the same.

Like. Not to be dramatic, but who the fuck is Steve Harrington without the house and the pool and the free-for-all fridge? Just some kid with a car and a bat and a punchable face. And he can barely afford to keep the car now, anyway, so pretty soon they won’t need him for that, either. They’ll learn to drive; they’ll get their own jobs. Maybe Lucas builds enough muscle to take over as the party tank.

Maybe it’s better if he shelfs himself now before they realize he’s become obsolete.

“Oh, my god, you’re being pathetic,” he groans to himself. His voice is muffled where he’s lying face down on the couch. Ridiculous behavior, because everything is fine; Steve is fine. In the grand scheme of things where there are monsters and melted corpses and all kinds of crazy, horrible shit?

Yeah.

He’s being obnoxious. It’s a lovely sunny Saturday afternoon with just the right Autumn breeze going — gentle but cool; long sleeve polo weather; his favorite kind — and he’s sitting inside throwing himself a pity party.

Fucking absurd.

…Five more minutes.

Just five more minutes, then he’s getting off this couch.

He gets to a minute and a half when he hears the crunch of tires against the gravel, the clanging of a little bell from the handlebar of a bike, and then:

“STEVE!!!”

And that’ll be Dustin, trying to bang the door off the hinges and piss off the whole park at the same time. Kid’s nothing if not a multitasker. Steve lets another aggrieved groan loose into the couch cushion.

His mom’s out with the car; the lights are all off. Maybe he can just play dead ‘til Dustin leaves? He loves the kid, he really does, but his left ear is full of static, and he just wants to fucking sleep. Or sulk. Or both.

“STEVEN CHRISTOPHER, I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE.”

Jeeeeesus Christ. “Okay, chill,” Steve grumbles as he hauls himself upright and throws open the front door. His limbs feel like lead; there’s drool on his chin. “Wake the whole goddamn neighborhood, why don’t you?”

“It’s two in the afternoon.”

“Yeah, and half the people here work nights.”

“Oh-kayy,” Dustin drags out the word, “but you don’t.”

Ugh. Whatever. He’s not gonna be shamed by a toothless teenager for his depressing loser tendencies. “Did you need something?”

Steve scratches at his belly hair through his shirt, feels a muscle twinge in his shoulder and send a spark of nerve pain skittering up to the base of his skull.

Dustin either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care that Steve’s body is falling apart where he stands, because he just rolls his eyes and says, “Uh, yeah. I need to know why you’re avoiding everyone? Mom’s tried to invite you to dinner six times now.”

“I was working.”

“All six times?” Dustin glares. Steve feels a little pinned by it, feels guilt seeping through the cracks as he fidgets with his bad ear. This kid’s gonna be the scariest lawyer some day. “She’s worried.”

Goddammit.

Guilt squeezes hard behind his ribs; he knows Dustin uses his mom as a mouthpiece for the feelings he can’t express. “I’m fine,” he sighs, letting his eyes and voice go soft. “Honest.”

Dustin holds firm, gaze fierce and fists clenched. “Bullshit,” he insists.

“Man, don’t—”

“Bull. Shit.”

Suddenly, their impromptu interrogation gets interrupted by a crashing drum fill, a shriek of electric guitar as Munson’s van squeals into the lot. He’s blasting some melodramatic metal shit about wizards or whatever; Steve doesn’t know. He only knows that the skitter of nerve pain he felt is ramping up to a fullblown migraine now because this guy has to listen to his racket at full fucking volume, apparently, and isn’t this all just “fucking great.”

—

part 5

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #trailer park steve au #steve can have a little depression as a treat #robin buckley #dustin henderson #claudia henderson #my writing #my fic

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bamgyw · 8 days

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˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ c.bg; six nights ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

summary: six nights of emo boy gyu sneaking into your room without your daddy knowing. afab reader x softdom!beomgyu warnings: everything, unfortunately. minors dni. heavy smut ahead. lots of pretentious writing, too. catholic guilt and imagery. abusive behaviour, parental neglect. drug use. violence. everyone is sad. i’ll keep on updating part-specific tags. a/n: i,, don't know what happened. originally this was supposed to be your classic manipulative gyu x church girl reader, but i wrote this line in which he's being all caring and gentle and i was like,, hot i like it. so it became more and more angsty, the final product being the aberrational catholic guilt ridden catcher in the rye wannabe porn document i present for you today. if you make it through the prologue you're a soldier and your efforts shall be rewarded. index: prologue: the house of god, first night, second night, third night, fourth night, fifth night, sixth night, dawn of the seventh.

prologue: the house of god

when daddy wanted to hide something from you, he would turn to his beloved bible. and ever since you turned fourteen, he had been holding on to a passage that he would repeat to you every night before going to sleep:

"let no one say when tempted, "i am being tempted by god," for god tempts no one. but each person is tempted when lured by his own desire. then desire gives birth to sin, and sin brings forth death."

that is the only sex talk your daddy ever gave you. it was more of a sex mantra than a talk, or a warning, or even a prohibition. just a rule of nature that he wanted you to have engraved in your mind: desire is sin, and sin is death.

when daddy didn't want you to do something, he'd blame the rule on god. and there's little you could say against that.

as you grew up, you realised that god might not be real, but daddy most certainly was. a punitive, disciplinary god. and one feels much more compelled to obey divine rule when god lives under your roof. when you can touch him, and he can touch you.

when god lives in your house and his wrath can tear your flesh apart not in hell, not in heaven, but in this life; you become more cautious than the most devoted of christians. so even when everyone in your grade started drinking, dating, having sex; you had it very clear that the priority was to protect yourself. not from the dangers of drinking, dating, or sex; but from daddy, that is to say, from god.

none of your friends from school understood it, that the fear of god was not irrational. you had scars and bruises that god had given you which you could perfectly show them. but then daddy would get in trouble. besides, he wouldn't like you showing your body around.

none of them could ever understand what living with god was like, so they were the kind of people who would ask that stupid question; if god loves us, why does he hurt us?

the first person to understand god was a boy called choi soobin.

daddy had remarried choi soobin’s mom the year before you started college. she was a beautiful woman, lively and hopeful to start a second life after becoming a widow. it must be thrilling to get a chance at a second life when your first one has gone wrong. soobin’s mom could have been very happy in another universe. you felt sorry that she had stepped into daddy‘s trap.

you had always wondered how daddy had managed to get a woman like her. bright, cultured and affectionate. but then you figured that maybe, as he was god, he didn't necessarily need to be yahweh, or elohim. he could also be zeus and disguise himself as a swan to kidnap and rape leda.

you found out later that soobin‘s mom had never fully recovered from the passing of her first husband, and she often suffered from major depressive episodes. daddy saw that void in her, and her urgency to fill it. he forced himself into the hollowness of the void, and obstructed her veins, bones, and heart with the word of god.

soon enough, soobin’s mom had no limb or internal organ she controlled herself. she had once had colours, you remembered; rosy cheeks, a hazel head of hair, lips tinted with vibrant red. but daddy had turned her grey.

soobin’s mom had been kind enough to see the good sides of daddy, you had liked her for that. but you regretted that she hadn't learned to hide her colors so that daddy couldn't steal them away, like you did.

she became a shadow of herself, an almost non-verbal phantom trapped between the real world –that is, the confines of daddy's house– and the world of hopeful prayers and the salvation of soul.

the boy called choi soobin would never forgive daddy for that. but it was alright. you understood. in a sense, he had killed his mom. you had to love daddy because he had created you, but you didn't think choi soobin was obliged to.

people said choi soobin had changed, too. that he used to be a gentle kid, polite and sweet, but he had turned hostile. that, like most teens, he had become self-absorbed and belligerent without a cause or that he had gotten those adolescent mood changes so late in his life because he was an attention seeker. people say things like that when they don't understand what living with god is like.

you were the only one who didn't believe daddy when he said that soobin had a demon inside him. you knew better than that, you knew that daddy saw demons everywhere. but soobin’s own mom believed it. when daddy tried to exorcise the demon away from soobin with fist and blood, she looked away.

all that soobin had wanted by acting up against daddy was to save his mom. to bring her back from the dead. but after that betrayal, he stopped trying.

soobin had never been violent towards you, though. not once. not even mean. you were the only one who understood him, the only one who told him he wasn't evil. you knew that god's tyrannical rule could break a person, fill them with hate. and so soobin and you became close, often talking against god. every whispered defamation, every blasphemy, the danger of it felt so exciting. not because of the mischievous sin, or because of the disobedience, but because you felt like you could speak your mind at last.

your first kiss was soobin. you felt loved when it happened, something you realised you weren't used to. the feeling bloomed throughout the following week as you hid from god's watchful eye to be together.

soobin told you a hundred times that you were the most beautiful girl in the world, kissing all over your face, clasping you as close to him as he humanly could. he would sneak his hand under your skirt and whisper, "don't think about him right now. it's just you and me." and though his touch never went very far in the magnitude scale of sin and punishment, it was enough to breathe a new life into you.

you sensed that a big part of why soobin wanted you so bad was because he got turned on at the idea of defying daddy, and groping his holy daughter was the greatest offence he could commit. but that was alright. you felt the same way. and you hoped that that hate-induced lust would turn into love, in time. you could then be happier, even in the house of god.

or you could have been happier. because god is omnipresent. and he would soon act to see you separated. the blossoming flower was brutally ripped from the soil.

when daddy found out, he locked himself into the master bedroom with soobin one morning, and he didn't let him go until the sun began to hide. it was scary. soobin had left that room broken and dead in life, just like his mom, but he didn't have one single bruise. maybe daddy really was god, after all.

soobin never talked to you again. spoken, yes, but it was hollow. you never felt loved again. you learned a lesson that day: your pleasure brings pain to everyone around. the mantra became true. desire is sin, and sin is death.

so if there was any need left in your body to touch, to kiss, to lick, to possess or be possessed; you confined it to the darkest pit of your ribcage, way past your heart, never to be accessed again.

until choi beomgyu came around.

he was the second person to understand god. but he had brought his lesson learned from home. he knew god’s ways even before he met daddy. he had a god of his own. you called yours daddy, he called his ‘that narcissistic sadist’. but strangely enough, you felt like they meant the same thing.

choi beomgyu was sort of soobin's friend, if you could even call it that. they never labeled each other as such, never sought out each other's company for the sake of friendship. they just wanted to live through their loneliness while sitting in the same room.

beomgyu’s dad was a dealer. he made a living out of ruining people's lives, as beomgyu saw it. growing up, he had promised himself that he would never be like that, the kind of person who doesn't care about poisoning someone's body if that meant keeping the cash flowing. but as he grew up, he learned that it wasn't all black or white. that all of those fools kept showing at his father’s doorstep, like they had no other choice. like they enjoyed hurting themselves.

beomgyu, like soobin, had become hateful. one of the things that bothered him the most was the "why me?" question. how unlucky he could have been to be born of such a father. but then again, he could run away. he could sort his shit out, get a job, never see his father again. but he kept going back. like he had no choice. like he, too, enjoyed hurting himself.

his dad barely knew he existed, and if beomgyu ever tried to make himself heard, he would silence him in cold blood. so any semblance of love or validation beomgyu could aspire to, he sought out with mathematically strategised plans. he craved the drug of attention and knew exactly where to get it.

he'd linger around fancy schools and church events, scoping out a certain type of girl. there was always a few of them going through a rebellious phase, desperate to go out with a bad boy and piss off their high-official dad.

it didn't take much effort for him to get what he wanted. he was handsome enough to make it easy, and even though he was a spiteful nihilist, he could be charming on command. just a smirk, a tousle of the hair, and some cheesy lines like, "i'm messed up, but with you, i feel like maybe i could be better," or "you're too beautiful for a screw-up like me." and he would have them wrapped around his finger.

he would bring them over to his place and fuck them rough on his drug-money-bought mattress. if there was shouting, or a gunshot coming from another part of the house, he'd fuck into them harder, muffling their fear with a rough kiss, using their panic to fuel his own twisted thrill. you fucking scared? i've gone through this crap every day since i was a kid.

if he could crack the shell of a privileged princess, dragging someone along with him down to his mud, his pain would slightly numb out.

for just a little, but never enough.

that pattern of behavior didn't lead to happiness. not even to satisfaction. it was a vindictive way of muffling his pain with the aching moans of someone who had it easier. but in reality, it only pierced what was left of his soul, making him even more hollow. it was soobin who made him realize that.

until that day, beomgyu saw soobin as almost a kid—pitifully weak and too sheltered. but when he told him about his exploits of going after posh girls, soobin didn't applaud in shared bitterness as he often did.

beomgyu explained to him how hard he got seeing the fear in their eyes as they realised that the life he led, that freedom of the rebel, wasn't as cute and bohemian as they had romanticised.

soobin responded curtly. "and then what? you cum, the spell wears off and you stare at the ceiling in silence, thinking of how miserable you are." he said. "and then you feel guilty for being a piece of shit and using that girl as a blow-up doll. and because of that you feel even worse about yourself, which means becoming more hateful and ruining more people. its not a you thing, you're not that special. that loop has been said and done. probably how your dad feels after beating on you."

beomgyu was taken aback. he didn’t even find it in himself to get offended. he remained pensive for a while before saying, "hyung. do you think i'm a bad person?"

soobin replied; "i think you can choose not to be."

and beomgyu took the advice. he put an end to the hunter-gathering of rich girls. he respected soobin from then on, too. soobin had therefore been a good influence, one could say. or at least an influence beomgyu was willing to accept. he started hanging around your house more, to the point of almost never leaving.

you learned about him as if he were a mythological figure—someone everyone talked about but whose existence you couldn't confirm. as a friend of soobin, beomgyu was bound from the start by an unspoken rule to maintain the least possible contact with you.

beomgyu was made aware of that rule very early on. what he didn't know, because he had been misled, was your age. that's why he didn't think much of it at first; he thought you were a kid. so, whatever—he couldn't talk to soobin’s annoying little stepsister. big deal. he didn't care about kids anyway.

this, combined with the prison-like structure of daily life in that house—minimal time in common areas and endless hours rotting in your own cell—fulfilled daddy's command to keep your life and soobin's, and therefore boemgyu’s, completely separate.

but even though you hadn't seen choi beomgyu in person, you had been able to construct a fairly accurate forensic portrait of him, pieced together from your father's warnings about people like him.

about the piercings, daddy believed that the body is holy, and anyone capable of mutilating within sin. about the music they played when locked up for whole afternoons in soobin’s room, he believed that god is serene, and disturbing that peace is a sign of the devil. he considered long hair on a man an abomination, and much like the eccentric clothes, a mark of a sodomite.

daddy didn't approve of him, and saw him as no more than a threat to the sanctity of his home. but beomgyu was quick to remedy the situation.

beomgyu was most acquainted to the ways of gods. he knew they were capricious, proud and pathologically narcissistic. so he made sure daddy could see he was a troubled young man and played the role of the lamb seeking guidance. he convinced daddy that he could abduct him, like he had done with soobin and his mother.

when soobin recounted the scene to you, his voice had sounded more hopeful, more full of admiration than you had ever heard. "he went to your dad and talked to him as if he was the buddha. said that he was lost and needed someone to guide him on the right path." soobin said. "he had some quotes from the prodigal son parabole learned, and he just delivered so naturally. not a trace of shame at lying. it was like watching a play. your dad bought everything."

from then on, beomgyu became an unsung hero in your eyes. the boy who had outmanipulated daddy into having it his way. the boy who had defeated god.

around halloween that year, beomgyu and his dad had a terminal fight. it ended on a threat so destructive that beomgyu thought it was for the better if he stayed away from his father's place for a couple days. maybe a week. soobin, knower of the impotence and humiliation of having to sleep under the roof of the one who lacerated you and torn you to pieces, offered him shelter.

daddy's eyes lit up with greed. he saw the definitive chance to welcome a prodigal son into the fold. for beomgyu it was almost a joke. he was amused at how fast daddy allowed him in. so clueless and hasty, like one of the girls he used to charm into his bed.

in truth, beomgyu wasn't even to blame when he inevitably bumped into you. it had been daddy's mistake, he had let him in himself. you thought maybe that made daddy more human, somehow. that he forgot to close the back door to the prison and the devil strolled in.

but it wasn't really a matter of having let his guard down. daddy was still as stern, still as disciplinary, still as paranoid as he had always been. choi beomgyu was just much smarter than daddy.

he was a demigod, he was a promise. he was soon to make you his.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ next part

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ please let me know if you think reading about booty sex is gross (i'm doing market research)

#i know nothing happened #consider this a teaser #incoming depression sex yay !!#beomgyu #beomgyu angst #txt smut #beomgyu smut #txt hard thoughts #beomgyu hard thoughts #beomgyu x reader #txt x reader #beomgyu fic

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bloodpen-to-paper · 1 year

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When Juanaflippa died, she was the first. No one knew how to react. Charlie and Mariana expressed the rage, the denial, and it was a spectacle of roleplay followed up by a wacky trial made for laughs. At this point, the rest of the server were still getting used to their eggs, so only Charlie and Mariana felt that twinge of pain from losing an egg. But when you remember Juanaflippa, you remember an explosion. A marvel.

Next Trump died. Maxo made you feel heartbroken with the image of a grieving father wallowing in misery and self destruction. But it was all still early, and most people didn't even notice. Trump died from neglect. Dan never saw him after adoption day. The server didn't come together like they did Juanaflippa. It was all very quiet. To this day, not many people in the community could tell you anything about Maxo's kid. About how hard his father bargained for his life between the gods. About how he failed. Trump was a whisper in the wind that only his father and those who watched him could bother to hear.

Then Tilín. At this point, the server was becoming more accustomed to the eggs. They were becoming attached. When Tilín died, it was depressing in every sense of the word. Quackity was somber, he barely spoke a word when he heard what had happened. A grave was built for Tilín by others with a heavy heart. There was no spectacle, and this time most people were involved in some way. Luzu came on to meet Tilín, and had to deal with that grief of being told his child was dead, something so heavy on him that he shut down completely. In life and in death, Tilín was the embodiment of sadness.

Bobby. The first death since Tilín. The first death in a long time. Everything had changed for the server. The eggs are their babies, their world. Everyone gathered to grieve Bobby, because they're a community now unlike ever before. But its different this time, they aren't there to witness a marvel from a distance, or grieve in sympathy. Bobby was a celebration. Music and dancing and memories. Toasts and cheering his name until the final moment. And having a final clap in his name after. Bobby was life. Because they're all scared now, terrified for their children. But they know what to expect this time. They're ready. They knew not to watch Jaiden and Roier grieve from the sidelines, they knew not to turn their backs on the two, and they would be sad but by god would they be happy as well. The server celebrated Roier and Jaiden, celebrated Bobby, and accepted his death with his name being shouted into the sky.

#its about the grief cycle #juanaflippa is anger/denial #tilin is depression #trump is bargaining which is often the most forgotten part #bobby is acceptance #their deaths all meant something different #now we wait and see what happens next #fic #qsmp #qsmp fic #qsmp analysis #qsmp juanaflippa #qsmp trump #qsmp tilin #qsmp bobby #qsmp tubbo

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prince-liest · 4 months

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Some thoughts on Lucifer's mental health, relationships, and role as king of hell!

Lucifer’s perception of himself as the king of hell is really interesting to me because he’s very blase about it in canon while totally using it when it suits him.

I think it’s really telling that the first time he actually brings it up himself is when it’s something he can leverage to help Charlie out. He reads to me like someone who objectively knows that he’s the hottest shit in town, but also just doesn’t really think that it matters most of the time because it's not relevant to his personal problems. Being Lucifer Morningstar did not allow him to achieve his goals in petitioning heaven. Being the most powerful person in hell didn’t even un-fuck his family life!

...Except for when suddenly it might in fact help un-fuck his relationship with his daughter.

It's the main thing he can desperately and dramatically showcase as a worthwhile reason for Charlie to maintain a relationship with him, because he as a person is depressed, half-functional, and barely has enough spoons to pay attention to a conversation he's having with her while he's actively having it, nevermind remembering their last one.

He wants to! And it doesn't start with his song at the hotel! It starts with him answering the phone, heavily fumbling actually connecting with Charlie despite clearly desperately wanting to, and then realizing she's asking him for something and promptly choking on his tea before excitedly telling her, "Yeah! Of course! Anything within my power is yours for the asking, you just name it." He knows that there is a great deal 'within his power,' and he's happy and relieved that he can offer her that!

Lilith has been gone for years but he's still wearing his wedding ring. His walls are still covered in family portraits. He's just been sitting in his room making thousands of rubber ducks he thinks suck instead of ruling hell, because his daughter liked that one duck he made one time.

Charlie needed him to support her in her mission, but damn did Lucifer also need Charlie to get him out and moving and actually doing things again.

Anyway, someone get this man on an SSRI.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin lucifer #lucifer magne #lucifer morningstar #meta #personal #text posts #long post #expanding on some comments I made about him in an ask!#can't WAIT to find out what his and Lilith's deal is #my funky little depressed king #Alastor took him not knowing who he was personally #but after his comments about watching TV and not remembering Charlie's hotel #I think it's pretty clear Lucifer is just out of touch as hell because he hasn't got the spoons to function like people think he would #ETA: I tried to write a little rambling meta post failed to get my feelings out and now I'm 3k words into a fic #I NEED TO JUST REMEMBER THAT FIC COMMUNICATES MY FEELINGS BETTER..........

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alessiasfreckles · 4 months

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chocolate chip cookies (alessia russo x depressed!reader)

when you quit the team, feeling lost, no one knows what to do, including you. you spend days curled up in bed, alone, until you meet alessia, your replacement, who brings you out of your shell and helps you find yourself again.

warnings: depression is a big topic in this one! no mention of s/h or suicidal thoughts, just overall depression. if you're feeling depressed, don't hesitate to reach out.

-------------

When you tell the team that you’re quitting, the room goes silent. Then someone bursts out laughing. You’re not sure who, you’re staring at the ground, not wanting to look into the faces of your now former teammates. They think it’s a joke. It’s only when you turn around and leave without another word that they realise you’re being serious.

And you are. You've already spoken to Jonas - he tried to convince you to stay, but you’d made up your mind. He told you that whilst he couldn’t guarantee there would always be a spot for you on the team, there’d always be a spot for you at the club. You nodded, thanking him quietly. You won’t be going back, you know that, but it seems unnecessary to make this harder for everyone else.

You don’t go back to the training ground after you tell everyone. You’ve already packed all your things in your car, wanting to make your departure quick and easy. On the drive home, your phone keeps buzzing with messages and calls from your former teammates. When you’re at a red light, you turn your phone off.

You decided to leave a while ago. You’ve lost any passion for the game, and when you realised that you were just going through the movements, you decided it would be best for the team if you left. You were dead weight, taking up a spot that could be used by someone else. Someone better. Someone who cares.

When you get home, you leave everything in the car, even your phone. You go inside and go straight to your room, getting into bed. you’re just so tired. It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep, feeling slightly more peaceful now that you don’t have the prospect of quitting looming ahead.

You wake up to the sound of someone banging on your front door. Most of the day has passed, it’s getting dark outside. You lie there for a minute, waiting to see if the banging will stop, but it just gets more insistent. You sigh, dragging yourself out of bed and to the front door. When it opens, you see the faces of your teammates. Beth, Viv, Leah, Kim, Katie. The core five. They ask what’s going on, say that they’ve been trying to call you and message you all day. You walk past them to your car, get your phone out, shrug.

“I left my phone in the car,” you say. You watch them exchange glances.

Still, you don’t want to be a bad host. Or a bad friend - if they still consider you a friend. You decide that it’s understandable if they don’t. You invite them in, and they pile onto your sofa. Leah pulls a stool in front of the sofa, telling you to sit down. You sit. Five faces stare at you, expressions ranging from confused to worried to something like anger.

You didn’t mean to make anyone angry.

“What’s going on?” Kim asks, her captain voice on.

You shrug.

“Why would you quit?” Katie asks, frowning.

I’m not good enough, I'm bringing the team down, I don’t care about playing, the team deserves better, you all deserve better, runs through your head.

You shrug.

“Y/n, is something going on?” Viv asks, her voice gentle.

I’m tired, I don’t want to do this anymore, I just want to sleep, I wish I didn’t exist, life would be easier if I didn’t exist, I don’t understand why any of you are here, why do you care about me, I don’t care about me, I’m not worth caring about.

You shrug, then shake your head.

“I just don’t want to play anymore,” you finally say. You’re not sure if it’s the truth or not. You loved playing, once. You loved the feeling that you got when you were on the pitch, the way it made everything else melt away. But you haven’t had that feeling in a while. When you’re on the pitch, the voice telling you you’re not good enough follows you.

Your former teammates frown. They’re not convinced, and honestly, neither are you. You say that you’re tired, you want to sleep. They get the hint and leave, but not before each hugging you tightly, telling you to call them if you need anything. Beth and Viv promise to bring Myle around at the weekend, and Leah says she’ll come and see you tomorrow.

They keep it up for a few weeks, but the season is starting, and you know they’re busy. You spend your days at home, curled up in bed, cocooned in a blanket. You watch tv and scroll on your phone for hours. You order the food shopping to be delivered so you don’t even have to leave the house. Someone usually visits you on their day off, and the girls message you. You go over to Beth and Viv’s place, cuddle the dogs, watch tv there instead of in bed at home. It's okay. You’re fine. You don’t feel any better, really, but it’s fine.

It starts when you’re forced to go to a movie night. Leah promises it’s just a small group of the girls, she knows you don’t want to be faced with the whole team. She tells you that there’s one new girl there, the new signing, but that she’s really nice. On the day, you think about ways to get out of it - surely Leah can’t just force you to go?

She can and she does. She shows up at your house, tells you that she will pick you up and put you in the car if she has to. You crack a smile at the image. It’s the first time you’ve smiled in a while. Leah notices.

The movie night is at hers. She's picked you up early, and when you get back to her place she sets you to work, chopping fruits and veggies for a snack board. The doorbell rings, the first person arriving. You expect it to be maybe Beth and Viv, who are usually pretty punctual, but it’s the new girl. Alessia. You've seen her in person a couple of times, when the team played against Manchester United last season, but you were already feeling out of it and hadn’t paid much attention to her then.

She comes in, hugs Leah and smiles at you. You smile back. She asks if there’s anything she can do to help, and Leah directs her to some meat and cheese she’s put out that needs slicing. She's been seeing charcuterie boards on instagram a lot lately and wanted to try making one.

“You mean, you wanted to get us to make one for you,” Alessia teases, and you let out a small laugh. It surprises you, and Leah, whose mouth drops open slightly. Alessia doesn’t think twice of it - why would she, she’s never really met you before. She wouldn’t know that it’s the first time anyone has made you laugh in, well, months.

The evening goes well. It's nice to be around the girls. You don’t pay much attention to the movie, your brain feels too foggy to keep up with it. The mean voice returns, telling you that you’re just there because they feel sorry for you. You start picking at your nails.

“I like your nail polish,” Alessia leans over and says to you quietly. She’s sat next to you on the sofa.

“Oh, thanks,” you reply, taken aback. The nail polish is chipped and worn, remnants from Katie coming over and painting your nails a few weeks ago.

“It's a great colour. I like having my nails done but I'm terrible at leaving them alone. I fidget too much and I'm clumsy so I usually end up breaking at least one,” she tells you, looking at her own nails.

You nod, not saying anything. You wrack your brain, trying to think of what to say or how to act. It's been so long since you talked to anyone new that you feel like you’ve forgotten how to be normal.

“Um, you can borrow it, if you want,” you say. “The colour, I mean. I can give it to one of the girls to give to you.”

“Really? That’d be great!” she looks at you with a big smile. You feel an odd sensation in your stomach, like you’ve just had a hot drink and the warmth is trying to spread throughout your body.

You nod shyly, giving her a small smile.

After that night, she starts messaging you. The first message you write off as being about the nail polish. After all, why else would she message you? She keeps going, though. After she sends you a message thanking you for the nail polish, she mentions a book she’s reading. You’ve read it too, so you figure the polite thing to do is to ask her what she thinks of it so far. Then she asks you for recommendations. You’ve been reading a lot, lately, now that you have time. You send her a detailed list, then realise that maybe that’s too much, but you’ve sent it now. She replies with heart eyes and exclamation marks, so you think that maybe it was okay after all.

She asks if she can come over to borrow a book you’ve told her about. After a moment of hesitation, you say yes, she can come over tomorrow afternoon, if that works. You spend the rest of the day cleaning and tidying. The next morning you find a chocolate chip cookie recipe. You used to bake a lot, but you didn’t really have time for it anymore after becoming a professional footballer, and you weren’t meant to be eating that kind of thing anyway. The thought crosses your mind as you mix the ingredients that maybe Alessia won’t want any, since most of the team eat pretty healthily. You keep mixing. It’s too late now, you might as well finish making them.

You’re nervous, waiting for her to arrive. You’re not sure why, probably just because you haven’t interacted with her alone before. You’ve put some cookies out on a plate in case she wants any, and you’ve already got the book she wants to borrow lying on the table.

When the doorbell rings, it makes you jump. You open the door and she steps inside, immediately giving you a hug, then quickly stepping back.

“Sorry, is hugging okay? I need to get better at checking with people before I hug them,” she says apologetically.

“Hugging is okay,” you nod, and she grins and pulls you into a hug.

“Oh my god, it smells amazing in here!” she exclaims, looking around.

“I made chocolate chip cookies,” you explain, and brace yourself for rejection. “Do you want one?”

“Absolutely!” she says, and you try to hide the surprise on your face. You offer her the plate and she takes one. When she bites into it, she lets out a moan that has you blushing. “Holy shit, y/n, these are incredible! You really made these yourself?”

You feel that warmth pooling in your stomach again. You nod, smiling shyly.

“You should be a professional baker or something, these are so so good!” she tells you, polishing off the cookie. You can’t help but smile. There are crumbs on the corners of her mouth and a smear of chocolate on her chin.

“You’ve, um, got something,” you say, pointing to your chin. “Right there. A bit of chocolate, I think.”

“Whoops,” she blushes, wiping the chocolate away with a sheepish smile.

“Oh, I have the book you wanted,” you say, figuring that she probably has things to do.

“Trying to get rid of me so quickly?” she asks.

A pit opens up in your stomach. “No, no!” you quickly insist, but she laughs and waves you off.

“I’m just teasing,” she tells you, smiling.

You smile back, but it’s forced. It doesn’t seem like Alessia notices, though.

“You have a lot of books,” she says, eyeing the large bookshelf in your living room. “Have you always read a lot?”

“I used to, when I was little. I didn’t really have time to read as much when I joined the team,” you say, and wince at the mention of your leaving. She’s never brought up the fact that she essentially replaced you, and you don’t want her to.

“I’m guessing leaving the team has given you a lot more time for things like reading?” she asks, and you nod.

“And baking,” you add, not wanting it to seem like you’ve just been sitting at home not doing anything since you left. Even if that is the truth. She doesn’t need to know that today is the first time you’ve baked in, well, years.

“True, that one is very important!” she says, taking another cookie from the plate. “Seriously, y/n, these are amazing.”

She keeps asking you things, about yourself, about books, about your life, and you don’t realise how much time has passed until you look outside to see that it’s gotten dark. She follows your gaze out of the window and jumps up.

“Shit, I didn’t realise how late it was! I really should get going,” she says apologetically.

You hold out the plate of cookies. “Want one for the road?”

The two of you message more after that. It’s weird, how easy it is to talk to her. You chalk it up to the fact that she never met you before you left. This is the only version of you she knows. She doesn’t expect anything from you.

A couple weeks later, she asks if she can borrow another book. This time she wants you to recommend something for her, and you pore over your bookshelf for hours, trying to find the perfect book for her. Once you’ve decided on one, the next task you’re faced with is what to bake this time. She didn’t mention anything about it, but after she enjoyed your cookies so much, it feels like it’d only be right to bake something again.

This time you make pumpkin spice cupcakes with cream cheese frosting. You carefully mould little pumpkins out of marzipan to decorate the cupcakes, and you can’t help but feel a swell of pride at the look of astonishment on her face when she eats one and lets out a moan at how good it is. She keeps commenting on the little pumpkins, in awe at the fact that you made them by hand, and the warm feeling spreads throughout your body, making your fingers tingle. After she leaves, armed with a new book and two more cupcakes, you get a message from Leah, inquiring about where her cupcake is, and how come Alessia gets cupcakes but you’ve never baked anything for her, and you smile to yourself.

The days in between visits are not as good. You still spend a lot of time curled up in bed. Sometimes, you think about the future, and you usually end up falling asleep trying not to think about it, brain spiralling.

This goes on for a few months. Every couple of weeks, Alessia visits you for a new book and some new baked goods, and every time the two of you spend a little longer talking. You both avoid the topic of you leaving the team and what you’re going to do next. You have enough money in savings that it’s not something you have to worry about, for a while at least, and thinking about it makes you want to cry, or sleep, or just not exist anymore.

One day, though, Alessia is sitting on your sofa, eating a slice of lemon cake, when she asks gently, “What are you doing, y/n?”.

The question is enough to make you burst into tears, tears that you didn’t know you’d been holding in.

“I don’t- I don’t know,” you sob helplessly as she rushes to your side, pulling you into a hug.

“Well, what do you want to do?” she asks after you’ve calmed down a little.

The question makes you stop. You haven’t thought about that in forever.

“All I’ve ever wanted to do is play football,” you shrug.

“But… not anymore?” she prompts you. You can understand why she’d think that. You quit, after all.

“I don’t know. I think I do still want to play, just… not at that level. It was too much. I feel like I-” you trail off, sighing. “I feel like I lost myself. And I still don’t know where I am, or who I am. Everything just feels so hard, like it’s all so much effort, and like there’s nothing I can do to stop it all from happening, like it’s a huge wave and I’m just getting tossed around under the water, barely able to come up for air.”

She nods, not saying anything, and you feel a sudden rush of embarrassment for opening up like that.

“Sorry, I don’t know why I said all that, I-” you say, but she cuts you off.

“No, it’s okay! I asked, I want to know. And it makes sense. A friend of mine struggled with depression a lot when we were teenagers, and-”

“Wait, depression? You think I’m depressed?” you ask, confused. Alessia laughs gently, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Oh, I’m 99% sure you’re depressed,” she says.

“Wha- I’m not depressed,” you insist, shaking your head. “It’s not like I want to hurt myself or anything.”

“Okay, but do you ever feel like it would be easier if you didn’t exist?” she asks, and you frown. “Or, like, have you lost interest in things you were previously passionate about? Do you feel tired all the time?”

“Okay,” you say, slowly. “So, maybe I’m a little depressed.”

The mean voice at the back of your mind laughs.

“What if I’m just being dramatic, though?” you ask. “Plus, I have no reason to be depressed. I have a good life, I have nothing to worry about.”

“Look, what if you go and see someone? A doctor, or a therapist?” she suggests, and your cheeks burn at the thought of burdening someone else with your problems.

“No, it’s fine, it’s not that serious,” you say, waving a hand. “There’s definitely more important stuff they have to deal with. I’m fine, seriously.”

She raises an eyebrow but drops the topic. She brings it up the next time she comes over though, and the next, and the next. You think about it a lot.You look stuff up online, look at social media accounts talking about people’s experiences, buy books dealing with the subject.

The next time she comes over, you tell her you’ve made an appointment with a therapist, and she hugs you tightly.

You start seeing each other weekly, after that. Sometimes she’ll go to yours, sometimes you’ll go to hers. She’s on a mission to help you figure out what you want, and nothing is going to stop her. She buys you baking books and equipment, goes to galleries and museums with you, watches documentaries on pretty much everything and anything the two of you can find. When you mention that you’ve been thinking about learning how to play the piano, she helps you find a teacher nearby.

Things are looking up. You still don’t know what you want to do, but you’re feeling better. Your therapist is good, and you thank your lucky stars that you’re in a position to be able to pay for private therapy.

When Alessia rings your doorbell, you don’t think anything of it. You’d planned for her to come over to watch a documentary she’d found about llamas (you weren’t sure what revelation you were going to have about your future from watching something about llamas, but who were you to deny her?). When you open the door, she’s smiling from ear to ear and holding a box.

“I have a surprise for you,” she says, closing the door behind her gently as she comes in.

She carefully sets the box down and opens it to reveal a small ginger kitten. It looks up at you with wide eyes and lets out a small meow, then puts its paws up on the edge of the box, looking out curiously.

“Alessia, what is this? Whose kitten is this?” you ask, dumbfounded.

“Yours?” she asks, smiling sheepishly.

“What do you mean, mine?”

“I mean, she’s your kitten. If you want her? Oh god, please say you want her. It’s just, you talked about having a cat when you were younger, and how much you’d like to have one again, and I figured they’re a lot lower maintenance than dogs, and-” she’s cut off by you hugging her tightly. Tears prick the corners of your eyes and you try to blink them away fiercely, still hugging Alessia.

A small mew alerts you to the kitten, who has jumped out of the box and is rubbing her head against your leg.

“I have her stuff in the car,” Alessia says, nodding towards the door. “I’ll just go get it?”

You nod, unable to look at anything but the tiny kitten now trying to clamber up your leg.

You’ve been seeing your therapist for about 6 months when Alessia asks you to be her girlfriend. It’s a couple months after she got you Dorothea - Dory for short (or Dorito, occasionally), as you’d named the ginger kitten. You’re stunned, but quickly nod yes as she starts to bite her lip, looking worried at your lack of answer. You hug her, feeling her breathe a sigh of relief against you, and when she kisses you she tastes like the chocolate chip cookies you’d made earlier that day, the same recipe as the first time she’d come over.

Your therapist has been helping you figure out what you want, now that you’re slowly regaining some of the passion you’d lost. You decide that you do still want to do something with football, just, as you’d told Alessia, not professional football. You hadn’t realised how much you’d missed having time to yourself, having other hobbies outside of your work.

You get in contact with Jonas, who puts you in contact with some other people, and before you know it you’re back at the club. Not on the team, you've made it pretty clear that that’s not what you want. Instead, you’re spending the day at the youth program. You already know by lunch time that this is what you want to do.

Before you know it, you’re settled in as a coach for the Academy. Your days consist of working with kids, young people who have the whole world ahead of them. You still have bad days sometimes, where it feels like you can’t get out of bed. On days like that Dory cuddles up next to you in bed, and Alessia holds you close. She moves in after you get the job, claiming it makes sense, since you’re always either at her place or she’s at your place anyway. She insists that she’s still very much a dog person, but you catch her asleep on the sofa one evening, with Dory curled up on her lap, and you smile.

#alessia russo #woso x reader #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo imagine #alessia russo fanfic #woso fanfics #woso #woso imagine #awfc #also i know this is a pretty 'good' image of depression #and that it's usually much messier than this #but for the sake of the fic i left it fairly 'mild'#tw: depression #hannah writes fics

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illyrian-dreamer · 3 months

Text

And Then There Were None – Part 2

Azriel/fem!reader

Synopsis: In the lead up to the war, Hybern releases a catastrophic spell that wipes out all humans, sparing just one.

Abandoned in the desolate human lands, you scavenge to survive long enough to find your family.

Reluctantly, you are found by the Shadowsinger as fate intervenes to guide you under his watchful eye.

<<<Part 1

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings: Death, blood, suggestions of miscarriage, suicidal themes

You woke in a bed as soft as the clouds, the covers silken with feathery pillows piled beneath your neck so plush your hardly felt them.

A level of luxury you had never known could exist – and that’s how you knew you weren't home.

Vision a blur, the room you woke to was dim, safe from the fire that crackled at the opposite end. Your vision reeled as it took in the space around you - an obnoxiously large bedroom.

The haze lingered as you raised your hand in front of your face - a quick way to decide between reality or dream. If this were real, someone had done an awfully good job at scrubbing the dirt from your fingernails.

But then a familiar ache throbbed as you bought your other hand from under the covers, and a stark white bandaged wrapped tightly at your wrist. Real then, and that fae male had indeed broken your wrist. The scars from your journey were faint now, but still there too.

You felt for your stomach under the covers then, for any signs of your lingering ailment. They had changed you - thick cotton like padding within the fresh undergarment and the softest gown you had ever felt between your fingers.

You pushed the thought of who might have changed you from your mind. Healers - you hoped.

Your skin beneath the gown was soft and oily, and smelt of salve. The healers had done well to heal you. Good, this was good. It meant you had a chance to return home, continue your search.

Gods – the search, your family. You had to continue.

You were alone in this room, and it was night - all good signs. Perhaps with enough strength, you might slip be able to escape unnoticed…

With a slight dizziness, you swung your legs from the bed, toes pressing to the warm, rich wood - as if they floor was warmed from within.

You wouldn’t dare to poke your head out the door - not in a house of creatures with heightened senses.

The windows - that was your only option to remain unseen.

Whether it was the delirium of the events days prior or the haze of exhaustion you were yet to shake, you didn't consider escaping into an unknown lands in nothing more than a nightgown was a fools choice, mortifying at the least. But survival called, your family called.

Padding around the postered bed, you scanned quickly for your belongings . Clothes, waist belt, knives were no where to be found.

The cupboard was empty, safe from a long black coat made from the softest velvet your had ever felt. Tying the fabric firm at your waist, you didn’t take the time to roll the sleeves that drooped well past your fingertips - clearly made for a much taller, larger form than your own. Black was good, especially at night, helping conceal the silky cream night robe that seemed to scream find me.

If you had the time, you would have marvelled at the wall of windows - in shapes and sizes you didn't know a glass welder could blow. Arched in a row of three, each of them had smaller panes within - still large enough to fit through, and with latches.

Perfect.

You fiddled with the latch, the world outside dark and unmoving with no sign of light until you cast your eyes upwards. Fingers halting on the latch, your breath knocked from you chest as you observed the most brilliant array of stars you had ever seen.

Were these the same stars as the human lands? How was it that such magnificent beauty was concealed from your own part of the world?

Another stab of loathing for fae found you then – it seemed even the Mother was versed in reserving luxuries only for them.

The latch clicked open, and you pushed gently against the pane, the window unmoving. Frowning, you pushed again, before trying to pull it inside instead. The glass moved on smooth, oiled hinges - and that’s when the howling began.

As loud as a pack of wolves, yet that insistent noise was instead from wind.

Fretting at the noise, you glanced behind you in urgency. Any second now they would come, the wind as good as any alarm. So with a strong grip on the window ledge, you pushed your head through, eyes squinting through the unforgiving gales.

The wind almost knocked you, hair immediately whipping this was and that, eyes stinging with tears as you failed to see clearly.

Scanning as best you could, you saw no stairs of landings to climb to, no balcony from which you could hope to escape.

And then you looked down.

It was instinct to back away, so fast that the back of your head knocked against the pane, and a quick profanity escaping your lips.

You had never been so high up before. Never knew anything could be built so tall.

With a roll of your stomach, you forced your head back out, avoiding looking anywhere below the horizon.

On the far left, hidden mostly by brick, was a distant glow of a city, the lights warm and flickering with glorious life. And between you and it - a river, it’s water the blackest of blacks in the night, besides from the reflection of the city that budded it’s banks.

To your right - dark, intimidating forms of mountains and peaks. And with a quick flash below, far, far below, there was only night.

Your gut lurched both from the height and realisation - it was suicide to try and escape.

It took a moment to force your rigid muscles to push yourself back inside the room, hair strewn over your face and cheeks pink from the bite of the cold.

“We don't usually advise opening the windows here,” a melodic voice spoke over the wind.

Hissing in fright, you whipped your head behind you, to the most beautiful women you had ever seen. And beside her - the same blue siphoned male, his eyes aglow with hazel.

You fished for your voice then, strained in your throat from days of not speaking, the rush from the wind and the awe of what and who stood before you fighting for silence.

They were am incredibly handsome couple.

Folded clothes in her hand, the blond simply placed the outfit on a spare reading chair, moving lightly to re-hatch the window behind you. You almost sighed in relief as the piercing howling stopped.

“The windows are charmed to block out the noise,” she explained, her tone light and friendly despite the step of caution you took to distance yourself. “Well, don't you look good in black,” she perked, brown eyes scanning you, her smile sincere.

You looked down, the fabric of the coat drooping from your frame.

“I stole this,” you said dumbly, before cursing yourself silently.

The women laughed, and you could have sworn a slight smile pulled at the males lips too.

“That’s quite alright, besides, you were awake before I could deliver you some proper clothes,” she gestured to the set she bought in, but you were fixed on those golden locks, the way they bounced when she moved, and that dress…

“I’m Morrigan by the way, but you can call me Mor.” If she caught you staring at her, she did not let on.

You frowned, senses returning, and you scanned the room again. Formalities, names, nicknames –completely unnecessary, unless…

“I must carry on with my search,” you said sternly, eyes darting between her and the blue-siphoned male.

He knew. He would have told her.

Those large, towering wings pulled in tighter against his frame, and the male opened his mouth to respond. But Morrigon beat him to it.

“You’re awake much earlier than the healers expected. They advised you may need a few more days rest.”

You tried to hide your panic, eyes scanning her, then the door, then where Azriel stood between it.

Mor traced your eyes. “We are no threat to you,” she said gently.

You swallowed. “Then I am free to leave?”

Mor schooled her face into something softer, more sympathetic. “You may want to meet with out High Lord and Lady. I know they are eager to meet you.”

“Me?”

She nodded. “They wish to discuss your predicament.”

“Have they found my family?” you all but blurted, heart thundering with anticipation.

She shook her head then, her face falling more grave. “I’m sorry, I haven't any news.”

A gnawing at your stomach then - something was wrong. How long had they kept looking, had they found anyone?

“How many days was I-?"

“Four,” the male answered, hands still clasped behind his back. There was no smile on his face, but it remained soft.

“And up and about well ahead of the seven days the healers predicted! Quite the fighter you are Y/N,” Morrigan chirped.

You almost jumped at the use of your name. And then a scowl fixed on your face.

“My apologies!” More gasped quickly, and you missed the glare Azriel threw her way, Mor’s eyes meeting his with guilt. “Please forgive me, I forget that humans aren't accustomed to-"

“Mind reading?” you gritted, more exposed under the ridiculous ensemble of clothes you wore. You wish you could drown in the lengths of extra fabric.

Mor wore a broken smile. “Of sorts, yes.” She paused then, fretting to fill the silence. “Would you like to change your clothes? They should be to your size.”

You looked at the set neatly folded at the chair.

“The healers have washed you, but we can draw you another bath if you’d prefer?”

Your cheeks reddened at the question, the male’s eyes politely finding somewhere else in the room to fix that gaze.

Was this their way of telling you that you smelt?

Humiliated and frustrated, your eyes narrowed on the male. “What is your name?”

Hazel flicked back to you, and he took a moment of silence to observe you before answering. “Azriel.”

You eyed him up and down, taking him in fully. Tall, large, muscled - your attempts to stab him would have been laughable. Delirious indeed.

As he eyed you back, his gaze fixed your wrist, even while concealed beneath the velvet coat. “I am sorry to have hurt you.”

Civilised - far more civilised than you would have expected fae to be.

You cleared your throat. “Well, I suppose I’m sorry for my attempts of murder.”

His mouth pulled into a polite smile, the apples of his cheeks glowing in the firelight.

Mor chimed in then. “They told me you caught Azirel off guard, Y/N. Like I said - quite the fighter. Not just anyone can catch the Shadowsinger by surprise.”

Shadowsinger. As if at their mention, the furling, smoky shadows peaked from Azriel, and you let out a small yelp. It seemed it was your turn to be surprised.

Without a whisper of a word, they withdrew into the Shadowsinger himself, as if scolded back into place. Azriel gave no hint of amusement as he kept watching you.

Your eyes danced from him back to Mor, cheeks once again redening.

“This is… overwhelming,” you admitted.

Mor gave you a sympathetic smile, before placing a delicate, manicured hand on your shoulder. “A bath, then?”

You nodded, and she led you to the bathroom, candles lighting with the wave of her hand, and water now filling the marbled pool, steam quick to fill the room.

You forget about Azriel in the other room as Mor closed the door behind her, marvelling at the arches and architecture, a new set of large windows in this room, this time facing the city. You padded there mindlessly, watching the twinkle of the town that beckoned.

“Velaris,” Mor came to stand beside you. “Or, the City of Starlight. It’s location is well concealed, unknown by the other courts.”

You were reminded of the courts then, the brief lessons they had taught you at school. The divide of seven different courts, each ruled by a High Lord determined by their magic gifted the Mother and bloodline. Allies, enemies – it was complicated twining of politics and power.

But you had never heard of Velaris.

“This place is a secret?”

Mor nodded. “The true home of the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court. A paradise they keep concealed, untouched by others.”

“Why?”

Mor chewed her cheek. “It’s safer this way,” she said simply.

“And you trust me with such information?”

Mor’s brown eyes warmed, but something sadder hid behind them. “It doesn't seem fair to lie to you about your own whereabouts.”

You nodded, eyes finding the city beyond again. “You mentioned the High Lord and Lady want to meet. Rhysand and Feyre?” Your head ached at the strain to remember their names, but the information found you.

Mor smiled at their names, and you remembered the way the males had too when they first found you. Loyalty coursed through them like some kind of magic. If you wanted to survive, you would be sure to respect their hierarchy.

“Morrigan,” you swallowed, bracing yourself for an answer. “Please, what do you know of the search?”

Mor stiffened, pausing for a moment. “The High Lord and Lady are on their way home to meet with you. They will tell you all they know.”

You eyed her carefully, your heart straining. “They haven't found my family, have they?”

Mor’s face of sympathy was beautiful, whether schooled or real. “I’m sorry, I really can not tell you.”

You swallowed once before nodding, eyes casting out to the city of Velaris, the name foreign in your mind.

“They are travelling as fast as they can, and should be here within a few hours,” she reassured. How or where from you didn't bother to ask.

“A bath then,” you nodded.

Mor smiled tightly. “Should you need anything, just ask. This house - the House of Wind - is just as alive as you and I. You should only have to speak what you wish.”

You nodded, hiding the overwhelming thought of a magical living house as the pool of warm scented water beckoned you with furls of steam.

“A fitting name,” you murmured, remembering of the persistent howl that waited just outside those obnoxious windows.

Mor grinned, catching your every word. “Isn’t it just,” she called and she fluttered from the room, pulling the large, carved door closed behind her.

You took a few moments of silence, again scanning the marble-splayed room you now found yourself in. Dream or reality, you were still yet to be convinced.

That was, until your dropped your undergarments, the thick wads of cotton stained with specks of bright, fresh blood. A saddened whimper escaped you, and your hands instantly found your belly, phantom cramps pulling from within.

You thought about calling for Morrigon, to demand an answer or to see a healer again. But deep down you knew, and that instinct to protect yourself, your privacy, was greater.

A waft of essential oils blew your way, as if the house was beckoning you to bathe. Toeing the water, each of your muscles seems to relax and steam clouded around you. An uncontrollable sigh left you as you moved deeper and deeper, breasts bobbing beneath the water, the muscles in your abdomen glad for the relaxant.

You had never had a bath like this, never indulged in such a level of luxury. Was this how all fae bathed, or just the ones so closely aligned with royals?

It was a jarring comparison to the tin bath in your family home, the steam quick to escape from the batches of hot water your mother boiled in the kettle when you were young. As you grew older, you would often forgo using the kettle, bearing the bite of the cold for efficiency, only treating the children when you bathed them.

A shock of panic found you as the pool dipped even deeper, and you shot from your toes back to the scooped edges of the pool, clinging to the edge. Obviously built for creatures much taller and larger than you, while you on the other hand had never learnt to swim. Not when your parents were so busy, and the creek behind your home merely ankle deep.

Bathe, change, and then you would have your answers - you reminded yourself. So you scrubbed with determination, dipping your head beneath the water and rubbing the pads of your fingers at your scalp too, washing away any remains of the taxing journey it took to get here.

You would start your search fresh, start anew, even swallow your hate for fae if it meant the help of the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court. You could drink their wine and pass pleasant smiles if it meant they would aide you, if it meant your family returning home safely.

————

You looked at yourself in the mirror, the black tunic and pants gifted by Mor fitting better than any of your skirts and dresses back home. The fabric was soft yet thick, protecting you from the cold, even while the House of Wind seemed to warm from within.

There were slippers waiting by your bed, black also, and your skin seemed to glow from the oils from the bath. The face staring back at you was clean, yet tired, the bags under your eyes still a swell of purple. Forcing your shoulders back, you forced a stance of determination. You could do this, you could meet with the most powerful creatures of Prythian, and you would convince them to help you.

With a gentle knock at the door, a voice called. “It’s Mor.”

“Come in,” you answered turning from the mirror, hands finding the pockets on your pants.

Her eyes warmed at the site of you. “Black certainly does suit you,” she repeated, and you wondered about the comment from earlier. Loyalty to black, it seemed, was also a part of their strange culture. Perhaps something to do with the Night Court, and you wondered if the other courts found such ties to certain colours.

“Thank you for the clothes. I will return them once-"

Mor raised her hand dismissevely. “We’d hear of no such thing. Are you ready?”

You nodded. “Are they?”

“Rhys and Feyre arrived a half hour ago. They await you in their office.”

Mor seemed to want to take your hand, but rethought it, and instead raised a palm to the door.

“Follow me,” she hummed before striding for the door, red gown trailing behind her.

With a deep breath, you followed in silence.

————

“Here she is,” Mor cooed musically as she pushed the doors open to the office, the High Lord and Lady stopping their polite conversation with as they turned to take you in.

Your knees almost buckled under their gaze.

That power, even as a human you felt it from many steps away, steely blue and violet eyes seemingly pinning you to your spot. A heavy dose of intimidation overcame you and your body faltered, even though their eyes remained soft, their smiles friendly.

They both stood, Rhysand donned in a neat black suit, Feyre’s dark gown falling from her frame like liquid night. Gorgeous – an absolutely gorgeous sight the both of them were.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Feyre spoke, her voice and as smooth as Morrigon’s, yet younger.

“Welcome to our home,” Rhysand added.

Blinking between the two, your knees almost groaned as you forced a curt bow. “Thank you, High Lord and High L-Lady,” you stammered. “For your hospitality.”

You waited for any sign of compliance from your bow - knowing that fae spoke a language of hierarchy and formality.

But your were instead met with an informal sideways smile of Feyre. “Please, call us Rhys and Feyre.”

You nodded, although you couldn't see yourself respecting that wish.

“Are you feeling any better?” Rhysand asked, violet eyes piercing, refusing to leave you. “We were told you had survived almost a fortnight on your own. That is very impressive.”

You weren't sure you’d ever get used to the unblinking ways of the fae as you blushed at his compliment. Had their parent’s never taught them it was rude to stare?

The smallest of smiles tugged at Rhys’s lips.

But you muffled your thoughts, forcing yourself to answer. “Feeling much better, thank you High Lord. You swallowed tightly, fishing for the right words to say. “And to your healers,” you added with rush. “Thanks to them too.”

“I am glad,” Rhysand smiled, moved back into his seat and gesturing for you to do the same.

“I’ve informed Y/N that you would update her on the search for the humans, to explain your own findings.” You could have kissed Mor for steering the conversation, desperate to hear what the High Lord and Lady had to say.

Feyre immediately began fiddling with the fingers, before Rhysand took them in his own hand. You observed closely at the small interaction, Feyre’s nervous fidget, Rhysand’s immediate response. They seemed to speak na unspoken language.

Not good, not good, not good. Your nails instinctively settled into familiar wounds at your palms.

“Of course,” Rhysand answered, his beautiful features schooling into something more serious as his voice softened.

Feyre’s eyes found you then, something like regret and sorrow burrowed within. In that moment alone, their difference in upbringing was at contrast. Rhys - ever the schooled socialite, tamed and controlled behaviour from years of perfecting courteous mannerisms. Feyre on the other hand – human, child-like sincerity shone through despite her pointed ears and occasional glimpse of canines.

“I’m sorry to say that we have not found your family Y/N,” Rhysand said straightly.

You nodded, assuming that had been the case. That didn't stop the sting in your eyes, or lurch of you gut. You clamped your lips against the wobble that already threatened.

“The truth is, we haven’t found a single human since finding you.”

Instantly the room began to reel, Rhysand and Feyre tipping slightly as your heart skipped to an irregular thunder.

How could this be? You had been asleep for four days, between their armies and winged beings among them, how could they not find a single other? Your mind screamed a flurry of questions, but your remained stiff, only moving to grip the arms of your chair.

Rhysand sighed then, glancing once at his mate who’s look of regret only deepened, tears shining in those grey-blue eyes.

“It is with the deepest regret that we inform you we have traced a powerful magic from the lands of Hybern. A spell, rather.”

You forced your voice past the lump in your throat, past the bile that swarmed in your mouth. “What spell is that?”

Tears spilled from Feyre’s eyes, whatever control she had on her breaking into unmistakable grief.

No, no don’t say it - your mind screamed.

“As spell to kill all humans,” she whispered.

You blinked. And the others watched, waiting.

You blinked a few more times.

"What did you say?"

Rhys's frown was pained. "It seems Hybern was intent on capturing your lands, and used a magic so strong it expelled humans..."

But Rhys's voice grew muffled as your vision narrowed, clouding with darkness.

And then it hit you.

It was as if someone had pulled the floor from underneath you. The room tipped unforgivably, vision blurring and stomach lurching with the lack of food in days.

A broken noise escaped you.

“Y/N, you must breath,” a voice spoke.

Panicked, laboured breaths wheezed from you, and you clenched your eyes shut past the horror of what they had told you.

Meek breaths passed your chest as you tried to speak. “I don’t-how, I don't understand.”

“Hybern has access to the cauldron, and we believe he used it to seize the territory of human lands.”

“It worked then, then spell? They’re gone?” You voice was hoarse, breathy with distraught. Tears had not found you yet, only an overwhelming dread laced with a flicker of denial.

Even while the room danced around you, you caught Rhysand’s tight nod, his face grave and solemn. “We are so sorry.”

Mor’s hand was gentle at your back, as an all consuming anxiety took over and you clutched at your head.

“Please do not touch me,” you rasped, audible wheezes catching in your throat.

Immediately her hand lifted.

“Dead, then,” you swallowed another rise of bile, raising frantic eyes to Feyre.

Broken eyes locked with yours. “I’m so very, very sorry Y/N” she whispered.

“My family, my siblings? Dead?”

She was crying, but you didn't care. You waited for the answer. All she offered was a nod.

A broken, crazed laugh found you then. It was a cold, lonely thing, and you caught Mor exchange a look with her High Lord. There was nothing they could do except watch as you ran shaking hands over your face.

You were trembling, eyes dancing frantically. No. No no no. This was unbelievable. You didn't believe them, you refused to.

“Impossible,” you scoffed.

“We wish it were, Y/N truly,” Mor said softly.

“Then pray tell, how it is that I survived?”

“We’re perplexed by you remaining, Y/N. We have no answer for it,” Rhys offered, a tanned hand stroking at Feyre’s back in practiced comfort.

“Liar,” you snarled, standing so quickly your chair fell back.

Liars - the lot of them, to tell you of the extinction of humans when you sat there alive and well in their home.

Rhys’s eyes pinned you, as if expecting your outburst. “I can’t begin to imagine your grief Y/N, but we tell no lies.”

“I don't believe you,” you spat, hands curling into trembling fists. “You wish to keep me here, to trap me!” Anger rose within you. Typical fae tricks and fibs, that's all this was.

“I would have thought the same thing if I were still human,” Feyre coaxed, wiping at her eyes. “I don't blame you for not trusting us. I truly wish we were lying.”

Something in her sincerity knocked you, cracking at your anger, demanding you to consider their words true.

But your shook your head stubbornly, crazed by their audacity, distancing yourself from the devastation that loomed underneath.

“I will not stay here and listen to this.”

You heeded for the door, pulling on the handles with trembling hands, only to find that blue siphoned male waiting on the other side.

Azriel.

His arms were neatly tucked behind his back, legs wide and ready as if waiting for you.

If only you had your knife.

“You will let me leave,” you all but growled, eyes darting from behind him back to his frame, looking for your way out. He bore no weapons this time , but it wasn't as if he needed them.

Azriel’s eyes softened. “I can’t.” His voice was soft and steady. “It’s not safe for you out there.”

Your fists clenched tighter. “I don’t care! I will not sit here prisoner, I need to find the truth for myself.”

You made to step around him, but those rippled hands gripped you, from the shoulders this time.

“Let go of me!” You struggled against him, but his grip remained strong.

“Listen to me. Hybern has sent an army and they sweep the human lands as we speak. I saw it for myself – if they find you, they will kill you.”

The integrity in his voice, deep down you knew he was telling the truth, even if you refused to believe it. Because believing it meant you had lost everything, everyone. It meant the cruelest punishment from the gods - not another day with the laughter of your siblings, the caress of your mother or hold from your father. No home, no love, no warmth - just a bobbing existence, with grief as your only friend.

Perhaps that’s why you started sobbing, still trying to pry Azriel’s hands from you with his own.

“I don’t care, I don’t care!” you cried, voice breaking as fat tears rolled down your cheeks. “I want my family!”

Azriel cast a worried look back to the others who could only watch with pained expressions.

Mor sprung into action, fetching a blanket from a nearby room.

“You are liars, territorial murderers, the lot of you! How could you let this happen?” your voice was hoarse once again, your knees buckling as shock took over.

Azriel moved with you, gently bringing you to the ground as you wept, your legs folding underneath.

The blanket was strewn around you gently, Azriel’s touch surprisingly tender. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice a strangely soothing balm against your turmoil. "I wish things were different. But your safety is paramount."

You wanted to fight against it, to push and claw and burrow in the bubble of denial, but you hadn’t any energy left.

Waking to an empty home, to empty streets, days of travel without another human in sight – perhaps you knew all along that this nightmare was real.

The room continued to spin as reality sunk in. Your family, gone. Your siblings, so young, so innocent. The humans wiped clean from the world. A full scale genocide, and you were the only one to survive it.

"They were children," you wailed, your words a harrowing cry. "They were only children."

Injustice, isolation and grief was leaden on your chest, so constricting and heavy you thought you might die.

“I-I can’t breath.” One palm braced on the wooden floor, the other against your heart as you began to pant. Eyes darting between the fae that watched on, you clutched at your chest, panic swarmed with bile.

And then you made sick.

Azriel's grip didn't falter, and someone moved to pull the hair from your stinging eyes.

"Try to focus on your breathing, Y/N," a voice coaxed in your mind, male or female you couldn’t tell. "In and out, slowly."

But the air felt thick, suffocating, as if the weight of the world was pressing down on you. Each breath seemed to be a struggle against an invisible force, and panic tightened its grip around your heart.

That voice in your head again. ”Just keep breathing," it said gently, the voice cutting through the haze of your panic. "Focus on my voice. You're safe here, I promise."

The words were like a lifeline in the storm raging within you, and you clenched your eyes shut, clinging to it.

Rhysand approached cautiously, his expression a mixture of sympathy and sorrow. "Az," he prompted, and the male raised from his knees.

Rhysand crouched down in front of you, his gaze unwavering. "We'll explain everything after you've rested Y/N, I promise," he said, his voice carrying the weight of truth.

And as the room slowly ceased its relentless spinning, you found yourself clinging to that promise, holding onto the hope that amidst the devastation, there was still a path forward, however uncertain it may be.

The world outside was dangerous, filled with uncertainty and threats you couldn't begin to comprehend. And Hybern. He had killed your family. Your siblings, those sweet innocent children who you loved so dearly. Your parents too.

Sobs wracked through you again, your body giving out as you let out a muffled whimper of grief.

Strong arms slid from under you turning you over to cup you by your arms and knees. And then you were being carried, away from that horrible scene, from the mess on the floor where your world came crashing down.

You clung to whatever you could, the blanket, Azriel’s shirt, you didn't really care – but you clung and cried. Even when you were again met with the softness of a mattress, even when the weight of the duvet being drawn over as it settled against your skin.

In that tumbleweed of devastation, a rippled hand soothed you, coaxing you to sleep. You gladly let it, letting the horrors of the world slip away, even if only for a moment.

“Just rest now. You are safe.”

And with a final thought, you sent a prayer to the Mother to not wake up to this nightmare.

A/N: Hey pals, thank you so so much for the love and support of Part 1!! I sincerely hope you liked part 2! <3 <3 Now would you like some fries with that angst? Because it'll only get darker from here. Again, I'll tag everything I can at the top of the fic, but please have a look at the warnings ahead, I would hate to hurt anyone <3 <3 If you'd like to join the tag list for this fic, drop a comment! Thank you so much for reading, mwa!!

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tomurakii · 6 months

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I like bloodweave. Okay. But I DON'T like the version of them in fanfic where Astarion is a dick and Gale is like. Whining and pleading for him to be emotionally vulnerable (or just. Nice to him) prior to the relationship being established. Because that is just not accurate. Gale needs the player to express interest in him during his weave-teaching scene before he even considers hitting on them properly. Gale is entirely resigned to his fate and needs someone else to pull him away from it. Gale only starts being sweet and romantic and devoted after you accept his love confession and give him hope for the future. Gale says fuck all and then slinks away to cry privately if you break up with him.

Like he isn't chasing after people lmao. He isn't dropping to his knees and crying about anything much less this dickhead he met a week ago. He is overwhelmingly passive about literally everything personal to him up to and including his own death (provided there are no casualties/there is a good reason) until after the player expresses that they care about him. Astarion is not doing that in any of these fics.

Like Gale is friendly and a dork and doesn't wanna get murdered but he fully has a suicide plan. He thought the artefacts would help him survive but he didn't believe he'd ever truly live again. If Gale confessed and Astarion said/did like one (1) mean thing afterward Gale's romance is closed off forever. He's wandering into the forest to cry. He's killing himself immediately. His fragile ego and self worth can't take it. You have to understand that when we joke about him being pathetic it's not bc he's like. Sopping wet and chasing people down and begging for a scrap of attention. It's because he craves affection but would literally rather die than ask or even hope for it until someone else forces that hope back into his serotonin-deficient tadpole brain.

#i feel like u can tell when a bloodweave fic is written by an astarion stan vs a gale stan lol #because the astarion stans are just using gale as a vessel for like. their sopping wet meow meow #who screams and cries until astarion becomes emotionally vulnerable with them #which gale would not do. realistic bloodweave is astarion tries to fuck him in act 1 and he refuses because of the orb #and then astarion is like “boo what the fuck. change of plans” and gale is like “okay” and they never speak of it again lol #anyway #please god the gale characterisation in this place. half of you make him the soppiest most pathetic loser and the other half make him evil #he's not ACTUALLY a loser. when i joke about it the reason its funny is because its not true #hes just a regular guy with depression lol. hes not out here debasing himself begging for some old twink to care abt him #bg3 #gale dekarios #bloodweave #gale of waterdeep #does this make sense. i havent slept #i just mean that if you want gale to be sappy he needs to have like. prior assurance that his feelings are reciprocated #because if he doesnt have that and astarion is a dick to him he WILL just give up on the relationship #like hes not hunting people down after they deliberately upset him. i see so many fics where they create tension by lime #*like #having astarion openly fuck someone else after establishing a sort-of relationship with gale. for the drama #like hey. gale fully dumps you if you do that in game!! you have no way to convince him not to. he will dump astarion for that permanently

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clownsuu · 1 year

Note

Wally talks to his dad about his love life

Home I feel is a really good listener (maybe a little too good since he eavesdrops a lot on accident- very observant of his surroundings)

cw minor obsessive/possessive behavior on first photo under cut

I remember I freaked out years ago when I found out some bugs, specially some spiders, have lil beaned peets

#I will never get over that fact it’s the cutest thing ever #I think that’s what cured me from my fear of spiders LMAOOO #That and djmm #B e a n s #Welcome home #welcome home howdy #welcome home wally #welcome home home #howdy pillar #wally darling #wallypillar #howdydarling #funfact I was gunna draw some ship stuff for mob au with these two #Bbbbbut u h h h h h h #Every single time I ask anything relationship wise with mob howdy and Wally it’s like-#R e a l l y a b u s i v e JDHFHHDJDJDJ #I had a fic where I asked if howdy was married and he depressively said yeah #And I was like “why u so sad dawg isn’t married life supposed to be good specially with someone so powerful”#And he’s like “yeah but I’m just seen as another object- if anything the torture got worse afterwards-“#And I was like o h #And I ran away with him LMAOO #But then later we got caught by Wally and Wally killed me rip JDHDHDDH #In “canon” mob Wally marrying someone who is a part of the “mob family” he would treat mostly gently #However when it comes to howdy he would still use him as a punching bag #Howdy rarely gets any sleep- and to then be bound by the boss? Who never sleeps and is incapable of doing so? W h a c k #Another funfact #Since Wally can’t sleep he would stare at his (current/possible) partner while they sleep #Very awkward

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unsolved-duvall · 1 year

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𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮 - 𝐞.𝐦.

eddie munson x fem!reader

summary you're falling apart and no one can see it. apart from eddie, and he wants to do whatever he can to help you. but you're used to doing everything by yourself. (3.9k)

warnings mental health, anxiety, talks of depression, mentions of suicidal thoughts, brief talk of body image issues, crying, lots of emotions, fluff, brief kissing, this is kind of a heavy one so please bear that in mind <3

It was never pretty when you finally let all of your emotions out. It’s why you rarely let yourself feel them.

But if you didn’t let yourself feel them you worried you would drown in them. They would take over your whole being and there wouldn’t be enough of you left for you to recognise when you looked in the mirror.

Everyone always told you there was nothing wrong with you. That you weren’t broken like you insisted each time their monotone voices tried to snap you out of a bad episode. You almost wanted to be broken, you wanted there to be a reason you felt like this. Because if there wasn’t, and this was just how you were. Then you weren’t sure you could live like that. At least if there was something wrong with you, you could blame everything on that. You could blame the way you push people away on that. You could blame the way you self-sabotage on that.

You could blame the way you find so much comfort in sadness on that.

You had felt yourself slipping into that mirror-image version of yourself this whole week. The version of yourself that was there, but wasn’t really there. Your voice wasn’t your own. Every word you said felt like you were reading it off a teleprompter, saying precisely what everyone around you wanted to hear so they could convince themselves that you were alright.

So you did just that. You smiled when you had to. Spoke only when you couldn’t avoid it. And no one noticed.

Apart from one.

Because Eddie always noticed.

You hadn’t been together for very long. You certainly hadn’t been together long enough for Eddie to see you like this. But he knew nonetheless that something was wrong.

It was why he had asked you to come round tonight. Wayne would be at work, as usual, and he wanted to spend the night with you.

When Eddie had told you that, he quickly clarified through blushing cheeks and a peal of nervous laughter that he didn’t mean ‘spend the night with you’ in that way. He just wanted you there.

So you said okay. Told him you would be there at seven. He smiled an almost sickly-sweet smile and pulled you in for a hug, too tight to be casual, and told you he’d see you then; his hand resting on your arm even after you had pulled away from the hug.

You knew he knew. You knew he’d ask you about it. About why you were so… you didn’t know what you were. But it wasn’t you.

It was a cold night. The bitter air bit at your face and tried to fight its way through the layers you were wearing. The sharp pain that shot through your hands at the coldness was almost therapeutic. It distracted you for just a second and was enough to make your mind go quiet. Which was something you had never been able to do.

You knocked on the trailer door and took a step back, waiting for Eddie to open it. But instead, you heard his voice ring out from inside, telling you to come in. You were sure the whole trailer park must have heard him. The boy did not have a quiet bone in his body.

Pushing the door open you were met with a comforting warmth and the yellow light from the lamps dotted around the trailer lit up your face. You dropped your bag to the floor and pulled your sleeves down, tucking your hands away in them, letting the heat sink deep into your bones.

Eddie appeared a few seconds later, popping his head up from where he was knelt down behind a kitchen counter.

“Angel!”

He always called you that. And even so, it still made your heart swell whenever he called out to you.

“Hey Eddie,” your voice came out much quieter than you intended it to. You were trying to put on a brave face, or whatever the fuck your counsellor had called it. Apparently, you had a bad habit of pretending you were okay when you weren’t. You didn’t need a professional to tell you that, but sure. Thanks.

Eddie’s face dropped slightly, his smile fading for a second before he composed himself. His face lit back up if only slightly more forced than before, and stood up.

“I uh- I was trying to find your popcorn. You know the one with the chocolate and stuff mixed in?”

You nodded, taking a seat on one of the chairs that hadn’t been pushed back under the table, pulling a leg up to rest your chin on your knee.

“Yeah but I can’t- I can’t find it,” Eddie’s brows scrunched up in confusion and he spun round a couple of times, his eyes darting across the kitchen.

You couldn’t help the smile that tried to tug at your lips. He looked like a lost child. But you loved him anyway.

Not that you had told him you loved him yet. It seemed too soon and, if you were being honest, the idea of telling anyone, even Eddie, that you loved them scared the shit out of you.

So instead of saying “you’re an idiot you know that? I love you though.”

You said, “I think I finished it last time I was here.”

Eddie stopped abruptly, his hair flying around him as he halted his movements and flicked his eyes over to meet yours.

“You did?” He sounded genuinely upset, you weren’t sure why, it was just popcorn.

“I think so,” You watched as Eddie leaned against the counter, and you switched your legs around, dropping the right one to the floor and resting your chin on your left knee instead.

“Remember last Tuesday? It was storming outside so we stayed in and watched all those films. I ate it then.”

“Oh- I don’t remember you eating it?”

“Yeah, that’s because you fell asleep ten minutes after you lay down next to me”

“You were playing with my hair! It is completely on you that I fell asleep” Eddie laughed between words, and you wished you could laugh too. But you couldn’t.

Eddie picked up on whatever it was you were feeling and his laughter died down as he cleared his throat, a not-so-subtle tell that he felt unsure of what he was meant to say or do.

You hated that it was you who made him feel like that. You hated that you were such a burden to everyone around you; you hated the way you could make even the happiest people feel sad, just by being in the same room as you. It was like you were draining to be around.

“I’m gonna go and uh- go and get changed if that’s okay?” You stood up and waited for Eddie to respond, he seemed to be distracted now, his eyes almost looking through you rather than at you.

“Oh yeah- yeah, of course, sweetheart. I’ll order a pizza for us, yeah?”

“That sounds good, Eds”

Eddie smiled at you. It was a painful smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. As you walked past him he reached a hand out and let it rest on your back until you were too far away.

You made your way to his room and heard him shuffle around behind you. You should say something, right? Tell him you were okay. Reassure him?

You wanted to. You were going to. But then your hand was on the door handle and you had walked into Eddie’s room without saying anything to him. It was like you were fighting a constant battle with your own mind. You knew what you wanted to say and do, but you still couldn’t manage it.

Eddie made sure you knew very quickly into the relationship that you were welcome to wear any of his clothes. In fact, he encouraged it. So, instead of bringing pyjamas with you, you had made the executive decision to wear Eddie’s clothes tonight.

You flicked on the lamp in his room and knelt down by the dresser, pulling out some of his clothes.

You settled on an old-band tee (if you were being honest, you didn’t recognise the band. You were getting better at knowing Eddie’s music, but you were still learning. And Eddie was more than happy to tell you everything about them).

You threw on the already oversized tee and pulled on a pair of his clean boxers over your underwear to wear as shorts.

You already felt safer. His clothes smelt like him. They wrapped you up in a warm hug and told you everything would be fine. You just wished you could believe it.

You turned on your heel and noticed something you had somehow not seen when you walked into his room. His bed. It was made up with fresh sheets on it and smelt like… flowers? Almost as if someone had sprayed perfume on the bed.

And there was a toothbrush and toothpaste lying on the pillow, as well as an eye mask. You walked over to it and ran your fingers over the pillow. Fuck.

You didn’t realise you were crying until your vision went blurry. Your head started spinning and in a moment of upset, you sank to the floor, sitting with your back resting against the wall and you let the tears fall.

Before you could wipe them away you heard the bedroom door open, you spun round and saw Eddie standing there, his eyes flicking between you and the bed. His face filled with dread and you could physically see the internal battle he was having with himself over what he should say or do first.

“Baby- baby, hey don’t cry. It’s okay”

You hid behind your hands. It was a childish move, but it made you feel safe. You didn’t want him to see you like this. You heard him moving around, his footsteps carried across the room as he made his way over to the bed, sitting down on it, giving you as much space as you needed.

“Sweet- hey, I didn’t do it for that.”

Huh?

“I- I told Wayne you were coming to stay for the night and he told me I should make sure you were comfortable here. He took me out to buy you some toiletries and fresh sheets for the bed because apparently mine are too old and even he doesn’t trust them, which I think is rude to be honest- but anyway, that’s- that’s what all this is.”

Eddie took a much-needed breath before he picked up the eye mask and twirled it around in his hands.

“It’s all for you so it’s like being at home. You have one of these, right?” You didn’t answer, still crying and not even looking at him.

“I can sleep on the couch, I was going to! There are blankets and pillows out there for me. I don’t want you to feel like you staying the night meant- fuck. I just wanted it to be nice, I’m so sorry”

Oh.

Oh, you loved him more than you could ever tell him.

“It’s okay” Your voice was small but you needed him to know that was not why you were crying. At all. In fact, that idea hadn’t even crossed your mind. Eddie had made sure you knew there was absolutely no rush, no pressure, to do anything that you didn’t feel comfortable with.

“I wasn’t- I’m sorry I wasn’t crying because of that,” You still weren’t looking at him, but you had dropped your hand from your face. You now stared at the floor, anywhere but looking at him.

“Well- oh. But, baby? Why were you crying then? Are you… does something hurt? Do you need me to get you something?” Eddie’s soft voice hit every nerve in you and brought the tears back to your eyes. You let them fall down your cheeks freely; there was no point in hiding them anymore. He had already seen what a mess you were.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine”

Fine.

You didn’t believe it, and evidently, neither did Eddie because he said your full name and that grabbed your attention. Because he never did that.

“You need to talk to me.” His voice had changed. It was still soft but there was something lining it that made you feel like you had disappointed him.

Of course, you could never disappoint him. But he was worried as hell about you. He had barely slept last night because of you. He had picked up on your change in demeanour for a few days now, but he wanted to give you space. But he couldn’t do that anymore.

“You need to talk to me because you’re scaring me.”

You were scaring him?

“Eddie I-”

“I have tried. I have tried to give you space but- baby, I don’t know what to do anymore. I thought you would come to me, talk to me. But you haven’t and I can’t just sit back and pretend I don’t see you slowly killing yourself.”

You had one hand picking at a loose carpet thread and the other one resting on your knee, digging your nails in until you knew you had have crescent-shaped scars there tomorrow.

“I’m sorry.” It was all you could say. All you could force yourself to say.

For a beat, Eddie didn’t say anything, and you worried you had annoyed him. You were ready for him to get up and walk out.

But he didn’t-

“Come here,” He moved back on the bed, leaning against the wall to give you space to sit however you wanted.

You thought about staying where you were. But something inside you had you moving to sit next to him before you could think about it for very long. You climbed onto the bed and sat next to him, shoulder to shoulder. You didn’t look at him, and you didn’t move when he tried to pull you against him.

You didn’t know why you wouldn’t let him love you.

“Talk to me, baby.” His voice was as quiet as yours had once been.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Say whatever you need to say.”

“I-”

Fuck why was this so hard. You should be able to talk to him, if there was anyone in the world you could talk to, it was him. And yet, here you were.

“I just want to feel okay again.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” You had just pulled his heart out and broken it in two. He had never heard you speak like this. He had never heard you speak and have your voice break from the raw pain you were feeling. He wanted, no needed, to make you feel safe.

“I’m so sorry. What can I- what can I do? Tell me, please.” He was all but down on his knees begging you to tell him how he could help you.

“I don’t know. I don’t know Eddie because if I knew I wouldn’t feel like this, would I?”

Shit. You didn’t mean to say that. You don’t even know where that came from.

“I’m sor-”

“Don’t apologize. It’s good, this is good,” Eddie placed a hesitant hand on your leg, and when you didn’t flinch away he let it rest there. An anchor to keep you here with him. A gentle reminder that you weren’t alone. No matter how alone you felt. “Showing emotion is good, sweetheart. No matter what it is.”

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I don’t know why I did that.”

“Maybe because you feel scared. Maybe you don’t know how you feel right now and that’s really scary, to not understand our own emotions.”

God, if anyone ever called him dumb again you were going to dropkick them because he may just be the smartest person you have ever met.

You leant into him a bit more, your head resting above his shoulder. It felt good to be close to him. He made you feel okay again.

“I just feel- I just feel so… numb. I know I’m not okay. But I don’t know why, I don’t know why I feel this way but I do. I feel this weight in my chest and it-” your voice broke as you started to cry again, but you pushed through, because it was Eddie.

“It feels like I can’t breathe. Because I wake up and I don’t even get one second of calm before the anxiety hits and my heart is racing and I have these horrible thoughts. And I feel like that all the time. I overthink everything and I convince myself that everyone hates me and- it’s so tiring. I hate myself. I hate what I look like like, I hate my own brain, I just hate myself. I feel so uncomftorable in my own body. And I’m not important, I’m not interesting, I’m not…anything. I feel like everyone else is okay and I am just drowning every second of every day and I have to pretend I’m okay because there are people who have it way, way worse. And every day I wake up and I wish-” You cut yourself off abruptly.

“You wish what, sweets?” Eddie asked you, his hand on your leg now rubbing soothing circles into it.

“I wish I didn’t have to wake up.”

In a split second Eddie had pulled you into him and had his arms wrapped so tightly around you that you weren’t sure where he ended and you began. You buried your head inbetween his neck and his shoulder and let yourself need him.

You let yourself need someone else for the first time. You clinged to him like a lifeline and let him breathe life back into you. Your hands went under his t-shirt and you let them run up and down his back. Eddie was holding onto you too tightly to even move a limb. You heard his little shh shh shh’s and I’ve got you’s before you noticed you were crying.

And the you let yourself feel everything you had pushed so far down you almost forgot how much it hurt.

“It’s so hard. Everything is so hard and I don’t think I can do it. I don’t think I’m strong enough.” Eddie had to fight to hear your words through the gut-wrenching sobs you were finally letting out. But he did listen. He would listen for the rest of his life if you needed him to.

So that’s what he did. He listened to you. You told him everything, you told him everything you were feeling and he sat and he took in every word. It was hard, for both of you, but it was desperately needed. Because it wasn’t until you truly spoke the words out loud for the first time that you realised how close to the edge you had been.

Eventually you ended up curled into Eddie’s side. Your legs were tangled together and you had your arms wrapped around him. One hand slid under his t-shirt to rest on his chest, it grounded you somehow, to feel him. He kept a tight hold on you the entire time, his calming hands rubbing up and down your arms and his lips pressing delicate kisses on the top of your head every few minutes.

Whenever he could hear you getting emotional again he would cut in with some comforting words, “You’re okay, I’ve got you” and “I’m so proud of you, baby”.

Eventually your words died out and you lay in slience for a few minutes until Eddie said “Can I say something?”

You nodded against his chest and he gently tapped on your arms before pulling you up to look at him.

“You are the most incredible person I have ever met. Every day you just amaze me. The way you talk- shit, the way you talk about the things you love? Oh my god, I could listen to you talk about your interests for hours. Because you get this little gleam in your eye and you do thing where you don’t even finish your first thought before you’re moving onto the next thing.” You watched him talk, you let him talk instead of cutting him off and insisting he was wrong.

“Baby you are so fucking strong. You just keep fighting and I don’t know how you do it. Because you do it on your own, and it kills me to watch. It kills me to watch you close yourslef off from everyone else and fight on your own. I just- I just want to be there for you. I want you to come to me when you need help, and I know you won’t do that just yet- maybe not ever. Because you’re not used to having that, but that’s okay because I will wait for you, i will always be here ready to catch you or fall with you or sit and cry with you, if that’s what you need.”

You were crying again and Eddie lifted a hand to wipe away the tears that were staining your flushed cheeks.

“And you’re so beautiful it kills me that you don’t see that. There is not one goddamn thing I would change about you. Nothing. I swear on my life, fuck I swear on Wayne’s life, I think you are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. Everything about you makes me feel week in the knees baby I swear.” Eddie’s saccharine sweet voice found it’s home in you and calmed something inside you that you thought could never be calmed.

“I love you.” It was all you could say. Those were the only three words you could muster that encapsulated how you felt right now. And it scared you to death to say them, but you figured that if loving someone scared you that meant it was the real thing.

Without missing a beat Eddie said, “I love you too.”

He pulled you to him and kissed you. It was gentle, sweet. You breathed him in and let his lips say everything else you weren’t ready to hear yet. You kissed until you had to pull away reluctantly to breathe.

Eddie rest his forehead against yours and you both closed your eyes for a second, simply being with each other was enough.

Until- “Wait, didn’t you order a pizza?”

“No. I knew something was going on with you and I couldn’t do anything until I knew you were okay.”

“Oh.”

“Oh I’m sorry did you want a pizza?” Eddie’s voice was laced with sarcasm as he pulled away from you to stare at you. It made you laugh.

“No, I just want you.” You told him, pushing him down flat agains the bed and moving to rest your head on his chest. Eddie let you move him, he let you lie curled into the side of him, half on top of him, before he pulled a blanket over both of you.

“Can you stay in here tonight. I don’t want you to sleep on the couch.” Your voice was muffled by the way you buried your head against his chest, but he still heard you.

“Yeah angel, I’m not going anywhere.”

That’s how you fell asleep that night, with Eddie’s arms wrapped around you and so close to him that there wasn’t even room left for air to get between the two of you. You slept so deeply that night that you knew you didn’t ever want to sleep without Eddie again.

Which was good. Because Eddie wasn’t planning on letting you go anytime soon.

authors note i wrote this last week during a very difficult time. this is very self-indulgent. the writing is not good, i wrote this with no outline, no plot, nothing. i know this is not my best work at all but i still wanted to post it. you've been warned <3

taglist @joeschains

(tumblr please don't delete the last line of this babe i love you)

#eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson comfort #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female character #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson st4 #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #mental health #anxiety depression #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x y/n

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macfrog · 6 months

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walking through fire | one shot

just something that's been on my mind the last few weeks. i hope that you're all ok going into this difficult time of year. and if there's any part of this, big or small, that you find yourself resonating with - there will always be a warm, cozy chair in my inbox/dms, free for you to come sit, hang; we can talk about everything or nothing at all. love you guys. 🤍

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

summary: you’re neck-deep in a bout of seasonal depression. your boyfriend suggests an autumnal walk. (better than most healthcare systems offer amarite)

warnings: quite literally about depression & anxiety so please read at your own discretion. established relationship, fluffy soft!joel takes care of his girl, implied suicidal thoughts, use of medication to treat depression/anxiety, feelings of worthlessness/burdening, but hope! in the end! a wee sliver of hope!

word count: 2.7k

main masterlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🖤

November turns on itself all too quickly.

Your body feels like lead, sinking deep into the mattress. Like a broken, rusted shipwreck at the bottom of the ocean; your hand lying limp above the bedsheets like a sailor’s last attempt at reaching over the waves for help.

Joel opened the blinds today. Nuzzled into you, the scruff of his beard sharp on your numb skin, and then stood up and slowly unveiled the glaring light of white cloud. You shrunk further into the bed, your hot breath suffocating you under the sheets. Inhaling and exhaling, breathing in your own rotten air.

He pushes the door open and shuffles across to the bed. Your sea dips when he lowers into it, two arms slipping around your waist like a lifebuoy. He pulls you into his chest; his warm body melting the ice of your bones.

“Hey,” he whispers, and drags his nose across your cheek. He kisses your temple, combs his fingers through your hair. Dabs his thumb along your bottom lip and then says again, “Hey, darlin’. You awake?”

Your eyes flutter open, only enough to see the blurry shape of him; the strong curve of his shoulder, the binary of dark cotton and pale skin.

“Hi, baby. How you feelin’ this mornin’?”

The words catch on the dry cliff of your throat, dangling for a few seconds like panicking climbers, before plummeting into the abyss. You settle for an incoherent mumbling, a vibration on your lips that Joel understands through the pad of his thumb.

“Yeah,” he sniffs, “not so good, huh? That’s okay. You know how much I love you?”

And that peels your eyes open a fraction more. Only enough to sharpen the image of him, to find the dark pools of his eyes and the way the flame in them flickers as he says it.

“Love you so much,” he whispers. The tiny fire thaws the very bottom of your heart, even if only enough to keep the blood pushing heavily through your veins.

Your eyes close over again, and you take his shirt in two weak fists, pulling yourself into his body. Your head fits in the crook of his arm, burying into his side.

“You feel like leavin’ the house today?” he asks, voice sweet and earnest. “Just for a little while? We could go for a walk, could go for a drive. Just you ‘n me, sweet girl.”

You shake your head, your eyes prickling from the sincerity of his question. The guilt beginning to creep its way over your shoulders.

“No? You don’t wanna?” He lifts his head, staring out at the view from the window. “’s a nice day out. Cold, but it’s dry, ‘n the leaves are all orange and yellow, just like you like. Not even for a half hour?”

That same guilt – sneering, bullying – pokes a sharp-clawed finger in your ribs until you answer him. “Tired,” you mumble, screwing your eyes shut until you see the sudden, violent assault of stars in your vision.

“I know you’re tired, baby,” Joel says, stroking your back. “But it might do you a little good to get some fresh air. And you’d be with me, and we can come back home whenever you decide.”

Your fear and shame seem to cower beneath his words; melted by the soft timbre of his voice. They retreat inward, burrowing deep between the cage of your ribs, twisting and mangling around your pale bones.

“We can come back whenever?” you whisper, defying their threats.

“Whenever, darlin’. Promise.”

You surrender yourself, letting him take you in his arms and carry you over to your closet, where he sets you down gently. Keeping an arm around your waist, Joel waits patiently as you pick an outfit, and then helps drape it over your frame. You feel more statue than human – solid substance rather than plush flesh. Cold and brittle; the tender touch and lively glow drained from your skin the same way it drains so quickly of energy.

You’ve been fighting for years. Months and months and months of one step at a time and just keep going. Being told you’re more than what’s going on in your brain, being told not to let it become you. But there are days when you stand before the mirror, and you don’t recognize the figure staring back at you. The dark tunnels in place of eyes, the thin line of her lips.

There are days you can see the marks on your skin from how tight your anxiety and depression bind you; wrapping like ivy around your body until there’s nothing left of you to see through the dark green leaves. Just a haggard, shapeless thing. A skeleton too tired to carry the weight of yourself; a heart too weary to beat in time.

There once existed a time you had smiled, even laughed – you know it, you have the lines scored deep into your cheeks to prove it. Sometimes they ache when you think about it, like even they miss the feeling. Joel knows it, too – you sense it whenever he tells some dumb joke, sense that he’s searching your face for the slightest lift, the slightest dip of a dimple. And it fucking kills you, when you realize you have nothing sincere or true to offer him. No swollen cheeks, no flash of teeth. At best, a heavier exhale pushed from your nostrils.

It all feels so long ago, that lighter, fresher, happier you. It feels so far from your clutches. Like you’re drifting further and further from the surface, disappearing into the murky depths of your own mind.

The doctors, the articles, the fucking motivational posts on Instagram all say the same. Keep fighting it. Confront your illness. Prove it wrong. But you’re so fucking tired of fighting. Fighting it the entire drive to work, your heart threatening to burst; fighting it every conversation you have, your façade slowly cracking. Swallowing the panic like you swallow the medication; both of them sticking in your throat and refusing to go down.

There is no fighting it. There is no overcoming through confrontation. If you broke your leg, shattered every bone to dust, would they say the same? You gotta walk on it straight away to make it strong again. You don’t think so.

Joel doesn’t seem to think so, either. Joel, with a heart of molten gold, ready at every turn to let it pour onto your skin and paint it the color of sunlight when you can’t do it yourself. Joel, with his strong arms and wide reach, bundling you up over the top of all that foul ivy and snapping its thick stems with just his fingers.

Joel, who will sit at the edge of your bed and watch you take your meds; kiss your forehead and squeeze you tight when you show him your empty mouth. Joel, who will hold you in the dead of night and tell you stupid stories about his brother when they were kids, rubbing your back and chasing the dark ghosts from your mind.

Joel, who still sees something in you – whether he’s imagining it or not – and decides each day that it’s worth protecting. Worth saving. You’re worth saving, even on the days you don’t believe it yourself.

He drives for ten minutes, a little out of the suburbs and into a thicket of fire-colored leaves and solid, frozen ground. Fall sinks its teeth deep into the roots of the earth, drying up the bloom of summer and replacing it with something harder, something tougher. Nature is dying in the November breeze – the amber leaves painted the color of the trees’ blood as they fight a losing battle against the shifting of time. You feel yourself decaying with it: a drawn-out, painful surrender to the bleak days and dark nights.

Joel keeps his hand on your thigh the entire ride; you keep your fingers intertwined with his. The fluttering in your chest gets quicker and quicker, spreads its wings wider the further you feel from home. Your mouth dries up, forcing you to swallow after every third breath. But his hand stays there, planted on you like the root of an ancient tree: never shifting, no matter how strong the wind throws punches.

A shaky breath falls from your lips when he slows to a halt, the truck parked by a long wooden gate. He cuts the engine and turns to you, squeezing your leg lightly.

“We’re just gonna walk down there,” he nods out the window, “and back again. As slow as you like, ‘n we turn back when?”

“Whenever I want,” you whisper, nodding.

“Whenever you want, darlin’. Just say the word, alright? Sound good?”

You nod, blinking away the strain of tears across your vision. Your knee bounces, the metal buckles on your boots clinking in the footwell.

Joel rubs his thumb against your cheek. Lifts your free hand and places a delicate kiss to your knuckles. “I am so proud of you,” he mumbles against them, like scoring it into the bone.

You fill your cheeks, flattening your lips together, and he pulls on his door handle.

Five paces from the car, you realize how cold it is. The bitter air snaps at your cheeks, drags the salty tears from your eyes. Joel quickly fixes the collar of your jacket and pulls your scarf over your face.

“You bring gloves?” he asks.

Your head shakes in response.

“Here.” He fishes in the pockets of his tan jacket for a dark brown pair, flicking his fingers for you to hold your quivering hands out. He slips them on, all too big for you, and then knots his fingers through yours and leads you on down the sloping backroad.

Bordered by tall trees on either side, you feel secluded and hidden from the rest of the world. It fills you with equal parts comfort and terror: nobody else is here. No one can see your vacant eyes, the wet stain of fallen tears on your cheeks. Not the vice grip you have on your boyfriend or the weak quiver of your voice.

And at the same time: nobody else is here. No people, no sign of life. Just an isolated track, the looming trees overhead, the squelch of muck and the bite of fall for company.

Joel matches your pace, strolling along by your side with your arm through his and his hand resting on top of yours. He catches your glances over your shoulder, sees the jittery movements of your head as you scan the scene around you, and pats the back of your hand tenderly.

“Take a deep breath for me.”

You fill your lungs with a chilly gulp of air, pushing it back out again as steadily as you can.

“And again.”

You repeat the exercise, your chest swelling against your buttoned up coat.

“You’re doin’ great,” he says, looking down at you. “You feelin’ okay?”

“I’m – Yeah, I’m just…” you twist back to search for the wooden gate, “…can’t see the truck anymore.”

“’s right there, promise ya. You wanna go back?”

He pauses, and your boots scuff to a halt on the stony terrain. You chew the inside of your cheek, eyebrows arching to release more tears from between your lashes. “No,” you breathe, “I wanna try to go further.”

“Then let’s try to go further. Yeah?”

You nod, setting off when you realize he’s waiting for you to take the lead.

The fields on either side of you are strung with a thick blanket of mist from one end to the other, masking the trees at the opposite side and obscuring the line between earth and sky. Your body close to Joel’s, your heartbeat attempting to match the steady pace of his, you feel safe, protected. The promise that you can call it a day whenever your body begins to weigh too much, whenever your lungs begin to falter.

Somewhere between the thinning of the hedgerows, another slanted, shabby gate materializes. Its crisscross panels and worn wooden posts separating you from the first company in your twenty-minute walk.

“Joel,” you call, loosening your grip on his arm and wandering over to the long, dewy grass towards a chestnut horse, a sliver of white fur diving deep between her eyes.

She slowly thumps over, huge hooves sinking deep into the soft dirt. Her long tail swishing, navy rug wrapped around her midriff. She docks at the gate, puffing a heavy breath – hot, thick clouds shooting from each nostril.

“Hi,” you say quietly, lifting a floppy-gloved hand for her to sniff. “Joel?” you say again, glancing down at her swollen belly, the low droop of the rug. “I think she might be pregnant.”

She tosses her head up, ears flicking, and nuzzles into the soft material of Joel’s glove. You feel her wrinkled muzzle, the strong, solid bridge of her nose. She blinks slowly; huge, deep brown eyes twinkling in the late-morning light, and you swear she’s trying to communicate something to you.

“Hey, girl,” Joel says, running a careful hand down her mane.

The horse sighs serenely, eyes flitting between the two of you. Her nostrils flare gently, light brown lashes fluttering. You tilt your head, stroking her and letting her teeth graze the sleeve of your jacket. Her bulky head turns to-and-fro, glancing up and down the trail you’re stood on, contently waiting for the passage of time. Enjoying her view from the misty field before it all changes again.

Unexpected and unwelcome, the absence of compression in your chest suddenly makes itself known. Dread spills into your lungs, thick like tar. You turn on your heel and cast Joel one fleeting glance.

He catches it, and without missing a beat, asks, “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Is that okay?”

“’s more ‘n okay, baby. You did so good today. Didn’t she?” he asks the horse, who huffs another hot breath. Joel tosses a thumb towards her. “See?”

You step back over to the animal, now preparing to wander back on home, and give her one last tender stroke. She blinks twice, tosses her head a final time, and her broad body turns, thudding off back up the slope.

As he links your arms again, Joel blinks down at you, the corners of his mouth slowly lifting.

“What?” you ask, shyly.

“Look at you,” he says, nudging your shoulder with a glint in his eye. “You’re smilin’.”

Autumn flashes by as Joel drives you home – ginger and bronze and honey and cinnamon blurring into one as you pass them by. You settle back against the headrest, moving with the sway of the truck, your tired fingers tracing blind shapes on Joel’s palm.

Nature is burning. Perhaps dying is too harsh a term. Burning in preparation for the winter, when it will lay dormant and restful. Quiet, save for the crunch of snow beneath your feet. Bland, save for the sparkle of frost on your windowpanes. The droplets of beauty laced through, the little reminders that not all has been lost.

I am burning right now, the earth says, but wait until you see what I can become.

The days will turn to night. The sun will tear the sky to tatters, set the whole thing fucking ablaze, go down in a battle stained in red and orange and deep, dark blue – and she will still return, spilling golden all over the horizon. She always does.

The clouds will cover overhead, dampening the color on earth. The blues will fade to gray, the yellows will undoubtedly pale. And then the sky will clear, when it is ready; the clouds will break in two to let a ribbon of cerulean burst through.

The leaves will fall to the ground and feed the soil; new ones will sprout from buds left in their wake. The ground will thaw, will soften again in time to welcome the push of daisies and burst of heather. The horse will foal, the birds will sing to their babies, the buzz of insects will irritate your ears; the rivers will gush and the trees will sway and you will be okay again.

You will be okay again.

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller au #joel miller fluff #the last of us #tlou #tw mental illness #tw depression #tw anxiety

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too-much-tma-stuff · 7 days

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I Never Blamed You (Part 6)

So, where has Dick been?

Previous | Masterpost

Dick was not going to reach out to Bruce first, he absolutely was not. He wasn’t wrong, and Bruce was never going to change anyway! Their fighting was the reason he had gone to Bludhaven in the first place, and their relationship had only gotten worse when Bruce had taken in Jason, and worse again when he died. Dick had blamed Bruce, but he had blamed himself more, for not being a better brother to the kid. Ya sure he hadn’t wanted a brother, but that was how siblings usually worked! He should have been there! And now here he was, not being here for Tim either, and feeling like complete shit about it.

He apartment was a fucking pigsty and he didn’t clean it. He hadn’t been taking care of himself, he’d been eating junk, he was barely sleeping. He was not doing well and he didn’t care. He didn’t care about much other than his patrols and being Nightwing, he didn’t care about much besides saving people. Like maybe if he saved enough strangers he could make up for not saving his brother.

He couldn't.

He still checked in on the rest of the family sometimes, and he never blocked Batman on official channels so if they really needed help they could call him. Bruce had never blocked Dick either, or locked him out of their servers, if he did Dick would probably cry.

It had been a few months so it was time to check in again. He still wasn’t locked out thankfully, so he had a look around at the most recently updated files. What were Bruce and Tim having issues with in Gotham?

The most accessed file in the last few weeks was the one on Red Hood and his partner Hyena. Dick really didn’t know that much about them besides they were Gotham’s new crime lords, and he had heard on the news Hyena had killed the Joker. Dick felt like he owed Hyena for that. He had succeeded where Dick had failed after all. He still held a small grudge against the people who had resuscitated the bastard, Nightwing had killed him on purpose after all.

Dick opened the file on Hood, propped his chin on one fist and leaning against the desk, bored and tired, ready to skim the file before moving on. He froze, his body going completely rigid as any trace of his previous fatigue fled his body.

Alias: Red Hood

Civilian name: Jason Todd

It couldn’t be the same Jason Todd, he was dead, it had to be an awful coincidence surely! But he read on with rebid hope anyway. It wasn’t a coincidence. It was Jason, the Baby bird. He’d grown so much, he’d changed so much!

Dick barely remembered to turn off his computer before he grabbed his suit and headed straight for Gotham, and Crime Alley.

It was half a miracle that Dick didn’t crash on his way to Gotham with how fast he was going, and how little attention he was paying. He wound in and out of traffic to get to his little brother as quickly as possible, ignoring everything else till he reached Crime Alley. He abandoned his bike more than parked it, and went looking for Red Hood.

They must have access to the cameras in the Alley, or maybe just a network of informants, because they came to meet him long before he would have found them. Both Hyena and Hood were there, but as soon as Dick saw Red Hood he zeroed in and barely noticed Hyena, didn’t even hear the way he snarled when Dick rushed towards Jason.

Jason made a ‘down’ gesture to Hyena who subsided and stopped growling, fading partially into the shadows, though he was still watching them intently.

“Is that really you Little Wing?” Dick breathed, he felt like the hope was choking him and he didn’t even know if it was real. He’d had delusions and hallucinations before, and Jason featured in them regularly. Hood looked tense, his arms were crossed and his posture closed off, he didn’t seem exactly happy to see Dick.

“What do you want, Big Bird?” He asked. The nickname, even through the modulator Dick recognized the way Jason said it.

Dick was shaking he realized, and he could feel the burning of tears behind his eyes as he crumpled in on himself. Hardly a warm reception, but of course it wasn’t. Why would Jason want to see him? He had been a terrible brother, he hadn’t been there when Jason needed him, he hadn’t been there for Tim. He shouldn’t have come, shouldn’t have intruded on Jason’s new life. He was probably better off without Dick anyway.

“I’m so sorry,” He managed to choke out. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there, that I wasn’t here. B didn’t tell me, you- No, you didn’t have to tell me, you don’t have to accept my apology. But I wish-” He was interrupted by a little hiccupping sob. He shook his head and brushed away his tears with the back of his hand, furious at himself for his useless self pity. “I wish I’d been a better brother to you. I should have been there, I should have saved you.”

A pair of strong arms wrapped around Dick and he surrendered to them immediately, if Jason hurt him he probably deserved it. But no, Jason just… held him. “I don’t blame you Dicky,” Jason said softly and the floodgates just broke. Dick wrapped his arms back around Jason and sobbed into his broad chest, clinging like a child and barely processing it as he was picked up. Hyena leading the way and Jason brought him to their nearest safehouse.

Dick passed out before they got there.

----------

Danny opened the door for Jason and quickly disabled all the traps so Jason could carry Dick in and lay him down on the couch. He covered Dick with a throw blanket and slumped down into a chair, taking his helmet off and took a deep breath, letting his head fall back against the chair with a soft thunk.

Danny trotted to the kitchen and put a pot of coffee on to brew. Once it was done and Jason had a moment to collect himself Danny poured Jason a cup. He pressed it into Jason’s hand and curled up on Jason’s lap purring softly, Jason was sure he wasn’t actually happy right now, but knew Jason found the sound soothing and was doing it for his benefit. He appreciated it.

He absently rubbed Danny’s back while he processed his feelings. Danny didn’t say anything, they never really demanded answers of each other, Jason appreciated that too.

“I didn’t know he cared this much, or that he was doing this badly,” Jason told Danny softly. “I should have reached out to him. I thought he already knew and just didn’t care.”

“It’s not your fault, you didn’t have a great relationship with him before did you? You didn’t think those things for no reason,” Danny told him.

“Ya, he’d left by the time Bruce took me in and he was barely around. And when he was Bruce and he would fight and he’d storm off,” Jason said with a sigh. “But he’s thinner now, and so tired. I didn’t realize-” He cut himself off, hiding his face in Danny’s shoulder.

“He’s here now, we’ll work it out,” Danny promised, and his confidence did soothe Jason, at least enough to come out of hiding and sip his coffee.

---------

Dick woke up to the smell of fresh baked bread and cinnamon. For a moment he thought that he must be at the manor, and it felt like it had when he was a kid, but when he stretched he realized he was sleeping on a couch. He paused for a moment, and all the memories from before came back. He sat up abruptly and looked around wildly.

“Well welcome back Sleeping Beauty. Seriously, how long has it been since you slept?!” Jason asked, and the other man sitting at the kitchen island cackled. He recognized the laugh, even if Hyena was out of his suit. “You’ve been asleep all night, I made cinnamon rolls.”

As if to prove it Hyena held up his half eaten cinnamon roll, and then took another big bite. “There’s coffee too,” Hyena said with his mouth full, Jason whacked him with a spatula for it and Hyena dramatically pretended to be hurt. Jason rolled his eyes.

Dick blinked and got up, warily approaching the counter as if he expected them to reject or attack him. Jason just got him a cup of coffee and a cinnamon roll as he sat down. Dick picked it up and nibbled it, it was delicious enough that he kept picking at it, even though he didn’t have much of an appetite.

“How long have you been back?” Dick asked Jason softly. He should introduce himself to Hyena properly, but he couldn’t seem to focus on anything but Jason right now. He’d grown so much, he looked older than he was. Where had that little boy gone?

“I came back about six months after my death but I wasn’t all there,” Jason said, turning away to pour his own cup of coffee. “The League of Shadows found me and dumped me in the Pit. I had the worst case of Pit Madness afterwards. It took me a year of training with them, and another year with the All-Cast before I really knew who I was enough to come back to Gotham, and I’m still not the same as I was before. I never will be,” Jason said like a warning as he pulled up a stool and sat down across from Dick and Hyena.

“They’re pretty common ongoing side effects of resurrection like that,” Hyena added, finally drawing Dick’s attention to him. “Increased violence and obsessive tendencies are pretty normal. So are the grudges and the need for closure, I mean, it makes perfect sense doesn’t it?”

He stretched across the table towards Jason, and Dick finally noticed the white in his hair. It matched Jason’s now, though the placement was different. Jason absently brushed his fingers over Hyena’s open palm in a brief but practiced caress. Hyena grinned up at him fondly. It made Dick feel out of place.

“How would you know?” Dick bristled, he didn’t mean to, and he shouldn’t have. He just hated how well Hyena obviously knew Jason when Dick didn’t know him at all. He had always been a bit of a jealous person.

“Because I died too and I was the same! And I wasn’t even exposed to this Pit stuff,” Hyena explained with a little shrug before straightening up again.

“Oh,” Dick sounded, deflating again, he really shouldn’t be picking fights. He'd rather focus on Jason anyway. “Why didn’t you tell me you were back,” He said looking at Jason and trying not to cry again. “You’ve been back for, what, 8 months? You could have reached out.”

“I didn’t think you'd care, we weren’t exactly close,” Jason said with a shrug. Dick felt like he had been punched in the gut. “When I revealed myself to Bruce and asked why he hadn’t avenged me he threw a batarang at me to stop me from killing the joker and slit my throat,” He said, tilting his head to show the scar. Dick felt like he might throw up at the sight. “I guess I didn’t want to risk reaching out again.

“I figured I was pretty well disowned and didn’t have a family anymore-”

“Besides me!” Hyena chirped, smiling at Jason who gave his partner a look of fond exasperation.

“Yes, besides you. So I just kept going with what I was doing, making Crime Alley a safer place and stuff. I did reach out to Tim and we’ve had dinner a few times, but I guess I figured… I heard through the grapevine you didn’t come to my funeral. I didn’t think there was any reason to reach out.”

“I was just in denial,” Dick admitted in a near whisper. “I didn’t want to believe you were gone. I never got a chance to be a better brother, I thought that I’d have more time I guess. Bruce and I, we both fell apart after your death. He got violent to the point Tim felt like he needed to step in,” Jason was nodding, Tim must have told him about that. “But I did too, I had nightmares, and didn’t sleep to the point I started hallucinating you. I beat the Joker to death and never forgave the fucking EMTs who resuscitated him, even though I couldn’t bring myself to do it again.” He sighed and rubbed his face. “I missed you.”

“Damn… I’m sorry Dick, if I'd known it fucked you up that bad I would have reached out. I just assumed since Bruce and Tim knew, you must know too. I wasn’t that surprised you didn’t come, but I didn’t blame you.

"Not this time, and not when I died either. I was mad at Bruce, not you, you didn’t ask for a brother and I understood that. I wasn't your responsibility.

"But, I guess, you’re here now, and I am too. We can try and start over. It’ll have to be slow though,” he glanced at Hyena, who nodded encouragingly. “This is going to be�� a lot. For both of us I’m sure.”

“Right,” Dick agreed sheepishly. “Whatever you need Little Wing, I’m sorry I just showed up without warning last night. I just needed to see you.”

“It’s okay, I’m… glad to know you care. No one told me that you tried to kill the Joker.” Jason paused and shoved the plate of cinnamon rolls towards Hyena. Huh, Dick hadn’t noticed him trying to sneak another one. Hyena looked sheepish as he took another, Jason shook his head at his boyfriend before continuing. “Just take better care of yourself okay? Next time I see you I don't want you passing out in my arms again,” Jason chided him.

“Ya, ya I will,” Dick agreed with an embarrassed little blush. “I’ll reach out to Tim too.” It was way past time to do that.

“Good, he’s a good kid but his self worth is in the fucking gutter. He’s going to work himself to death before he’s 30 if someone doesn’t give him a healthy role model, and some support, and we all know Bruce won’t do it,” Jason huffed, rolling his eyes.

“I’ll do my best to help,” Dick vowed. This was a second chance he never expected, he was not going to waste it.

#fanfiction #danny phantom #dc x dp #jason todd #dead on main #my writing #dick grayson #Hyena!Danny #batfam #long post #multii part fic #dick grayson has eldest daughter syndrome #Dick Grayson has depression

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bamgyw · 7 days

Text

˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ the first night ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

flee from sexual immorality. every other sin a person commits is outside the body, but the sexually immoral person sins against his own body. - 1 corinthians 6:18

warnings: nothing too smutty yet. suggestive, let's call it that. mentions of abuse and violence. a/n: i'm realising its a little slow burn but that's better for the tension building. there's fingering in the next part, just bear with me. also, might be corny at times. i dunno. sorry. this is a part of a longer work ♡ go to the beginning here

soobin's room was a shithole. it had a correctional feel, with sparse furniture and an austere, almost monastic approach to decorations –not one poster, not one framed picture, not one item that didn't have a practical utility– as if he hadn't had an interest in his life.

it freaked beomgyu out how clean it was, and how earnest; everything that was worth seeing could be spotted with a single glance. simple. soobin had shamelessly exposed the stark core of his existence, that is, a plain wall and the depressive charm of a victorian orphanage.

the mattress was rigid, too. unbending. it defeated the whole purpose, beomgyu thought. it irritated him, that someone would make a mattress so hard it was almost a prank item, and that someone else would be stupid enough to buy it. he was sure soobin’s stepfather thought it built character, or some bullshit of the sort.

beomgyu lay there, sprawled out like a starfish, staring up at the ceiling. he couldn’t sleep. not a wink. his stomach was killing him, or maybe it was his liver, or his kidneys – hell, he couldn’t tell anymore. everything just ached, like his whole body was one big bruise.

his dad hadn't just kicked him out. that would have been too kind. no, his dad had kicked him out after beating the shit out of him. real old-school, no-holds-barred kind of beating.

half of his internal organs might have been bleeding out in that moment, but whatever. beomgyu, stubborn as he was, refused to go to the hospital. he hated the clinics, the cold tools, the patronising doctors. he could already picture them, their eyes widening as they examined him, enumerating the parts of his body that were just about to give up. he was dying, he really didn't wanna know.

they would ask who had done that to him, and if he was sure he didn’t want to press charges. as if. as if he could ever bring himself to do that.

he couldn’t sue his father, he never would. even if his body was falling apart and in ruins. it was their thing. the beatings, the fights. the twisted ritual that kept them tied together. to snitch on his dad would be to betray him, to shatter the only fragile bond they had left.

so there he was, sleepless in soobin’s room, rolling around in the concrete mattress helplessly, restlessly, until he got so bored he couldn’t stand it anymore.

the room was dark and quiet, the kind of quiet that presses down on you, heavy and suffocating. he needed to get up, to do something, anything to distract himself from the pain and the mess in his head.

he decided to go to the kitchen. maybe a glass of water would help, or at least give him something to do. as he got up from the bed, he didn’t worry too much about waking soobin. he knew he very rarely slept. he needed to be alert every second, like closing his eyes would make him too vulnerable.

that was one of the things that fascinated beomgyu about him—how soobin carried that crippling anger with him everywhere, but he never complained, never erupted. if beomgyu’s dad hit him, beomgyu would hit back, an eye for an eye. but when soobin’s stepdad hit soobin, he would just stand there, stiff and quiet like an ancient tree, never saying a word in some militaristic vow of silence.

the hallway was eerily silent as beomgyu made his way downstairs, each step echoing in the stillness of the night. he moved cautiously, aware of how the house breathed around him, the creaks and groans of the old wood floors amplifying in the quiet. he didn’t mind the silence though; it gave him space to think, to let his mind wander even as his body throbbed with pain.

he still tried to make as little noise as possible. the last thing he needed was for soobin’s stepdad to wake up and find him rummaging through the kitchen. that man already had a hair-trigger temper, and beomgyu didn’t need another beating tonight. he moved like a shadow, each step calculated, avoiding the spots he knew would creak the loudest.

reaching the kitchen, a thought crossed his mind. if he was lucky, he might just figure out where soobin’s stepdad kept the expensive whiskey. the good stuff, the kind that could numb the pain, at least for a while. he knew he had a hidden stash no one could access, soobin had told him. it was a small, fleeting hope, but it was something to do. a quest to keep him entertained.

slowly, he eased open each cupboard in the kitchen, the hinges protesting with a drawn-out creak. he peered inside, squinting to make out the shapes in the dark.

but a fleeting glimmer caught his eye, halting his breath for a moment. someone, two eyes in the dark. he gasped, startled. he only began to calm down when eyes started to make out the figure. he cursed at himself for being too jumpy. it was just one of those ceramic figures of virgin and child.

he looked around the room. his eyes had become used to the dark enough for him to guess the shilhouettes. anywhere he looked there was a porcelain veiled lady carrying her holy baby, an agonising jesus on the cross, some martyr saint immortalised in art with the object that gave them death.

everywhere blood, everywhere tears, everywhere fire, swords and stained white cloths. he couldn’t see them properly in the gloom, but the white of the eyes fixated on him so eerily it felt assaultive.

"fucking hell," beomgyu breathed out. that room was like a souvenir store at the vatican. soobin’s stepdad had amassed religious imagery with borderline obsession.

he must want redemption really bad, beomgyu thought. he must have done something unforgivable and now he's trying to buy his way into heaven with catholic merchandise.

the watchful gazes and the silent judgement were starting to weigh down on him, and he was about to give up, thinking maybe he’d better just head back to bed. but in a sudden, careless movement, he turned around and bumped into something soft and warm. a body of flesh. the stepsister.

in a split second, he realized the situation and acted purely on instinct. his hand shot out and clamped over your mouth, muffling any potential scream that might shatter the silence. "don't yell, please don't yell... i'm soobin’s friend." his voice was a harsh whisper, almost a plea. slowly, cautiously, he reached out and flicked on the light switch, still keeping his hand firmly over your mouth. "don't be scared." he murmured, more to himself than to you.

as the light finally flickered to life, it illuminated the room with a harsh, revealing glow. he saw you for the first time.

fuck. his breath caught in his throat. slowly, he released his grasp. he almost felt sorry to have touched you. like he could've stained you, somehow. like he was a foul moth and you were the sunlight.

it all made sense now. why your father guarded you so closely, as if he was keeping something holy. this was the secret they had shielded him from, the thing they didn't want to share—soobin and the stepdad. the face of a doll, with moonlit eyes and sugared strawberry lips, sweet enough to taste. an angel of a girl.

"you're not a kid," he breathed out, the words almost a whisper of disbelief.

you remained silent, standing there, paralysed like a scared rabbit ready to bolt. your instinct to flee would get triggered at the minimum movement from him. he could see that, but he couldn't fight the force –call it divine, call it gravitational– that kept pulling him towards you.

he reached for your hand, and you tried to get away. but he was quicker, seizing your wrist firmly. it didn't hurt, though. he was tender with his grasp. you weren’t used to that. with the slightest pull you could've freed yourself, but you chose not to.

"please, stay with me for a bit," he said, his voice almost as gentle as his touch. "talk to me."

you should’ve flinched. you should’ve yanked your hand away and stormed up to your room, locking the door behind you. but you didn’t. you allowed his grasp on your wrist to shift, to evolve at beomgyu’s will until the handcuffed enclosement turned into his hand sweetly holding yours.

"why?" was the only thing you could muster.

"because i can't sleep," he said, the words falling from his lips. ‘and because i want to look at you forever, christ.’ he thought before calmly adding, "my brain... it thinks too much at night. doesn't come up with the most pleasant thoughts, either. everything's too silent."

"that means you feel guilty." you said.

"yeah," he nodded. he was feverish. thirsty. "exactly."

"i feel like that too," you said. “sometimes.”

beomgyu thought he was going insane. that you weren't even real. some imaginary angel his mind had made up to comfort him just a little. it was the house, he thought, it was like an asylum. the light was too bright, too white. everywhere he looked, jesus christ or the virgin mary would return his gaze. the whole place was designed to keep him away from you, he thought, paranoid. but you didn't fit there. you felt warm and honeyed and lovely. you just didn't belong.

your hand was in his, as secure and mellow as your connected gazes, and he would rather die than let go of it. but he took his other hand up to your face, caressing your cheek with the back of it. it was scorching hot, rosy pink and glazed like an apple.

“you’re very pretty.” he mumbled, almost a purr.

“you can’t say that.”

“beautiful eyes, too.” he said. “sad.”

"my dad doesn't hesitate to hurt people." you said, trying to warn him away. you felt too cozy under his touch to push him yourself.

"i don't care what happens to me." beomgyu said, letting his hand travel to your neck, your hair, you cheek again. he would explore as far as you allowed him to. "but i wouldn't want him to hurt you."

"then leave." you said. but you didn't care what happened to you, either. he could see it in the worry of your eyes. it wasn't a fear for yourself, it was an all-embracing need to protect.

beomgyu shook his head slightly. "i’ll take the blame."

"he will say i brought it upon myself. that i looked for it." you said. "he’ll call me the whore of babylon and make me suffer for it."

you didn't seem as frightened as you seemed certain. not a lost bunny, not the distressed victim. you were aware of your actions and their consequences, intellectually and matter-of-factly. and for the first time in his life, beomgyu held something beautiful and felt not the need to destroy, but to save.

"your daddy can try." he said. "i have a dad of my own, and i know how they are. it’s just hubris. don't be so scared of a man who collects figurines of jesus christ like they're funko pops. he's the one who's terrified, don't you see?"

you smiled slightly, and he liked it so much. how the formerly strained and full of fear muscles of your face relaxed into that adorable grin. how he had done that to you. he was so satisfied, so proud of himself for getting an angel to smile. he wanted to do that forever.

he tried to stop himself from staring at you, fearing you'd get intimidated under his hungry gaze. that you'd fear him. but he couldn't quit. you were his new thirst, his desire unlimited, a beautiful wet dream stranding right in front of him.

that stupid white nightdress was giving him such a hard time, too. the two necklaces you wore, so pretty and delicate. the first one, fastened and secured close to your neck was the pearls. he didn't know if they were real or not, he was just some brute before a siren. second was the rosary beads in rose mother-of-pearl, loosely draping over your chest to fall under the fabric of the nightwear, wickedly hidden from beomgyu’s sight.

he assumed they were the kind jewel you never took off. he liked the idea. they seemed so easy to pull on, to hang on to. so ornamental over a naked body. so fucking pretty.

his hand travelled up to the rosary beads, almost with a brain of its own. you swiftly moved your own hand over his to stop him, but you ended up softening your grip and letting him do as he pleased.

“do you sleep with these on?” he asked, softly. "it’s dangerous, you know? you could choke."

“i take them off.” you said. “i just wasn’t going to bed yet. i can't sleep lately. like you.”

of course. you were just like him. morphed by your hostile environment into a broken half-human. an incomplete being, hollow. but still so beautiful and gentle. unlike him. he had felt his void with hatred, while you had maintained yours clean and unpolluted. he wanted to fill it with kisses, with caresses, with words of praise.

he began to lean in.

your breath hitched. he was so handsome, painfully so. plump lips, elegant cheeckbones. you liked him. you wanted to keep looking at him, to have your hand reach for his face and feel his skin, too. you wanted to never stop him from leaning in and to let him kiss you.

but the realization of it all sent a wave of panic through you, because you knew you couldn’t—shouldn’t—like him. you got away. "i really should leave," you said, but it came out more like a whisper, more like a plea.

still holding the beads, he took his hand to your cheeks again. you leaned in to his touch a little, but you didn't give in completely. you had led a life of strict restrain and soldierlike discipline. you had the willpower of a hundred trained armies.

yet that didn't make it hurt less to let him go. you grabbed his hand and put it down with a slight shaking of your head.

“please,” he begged one last time.

you began to walk back while facing him, as if to make sure he wouldn’t follow after you. beomgyu's heart ached with each step you took away from him, his fingers curling into fists at his sides as he watched you disappear into the shadows.

but a stupid thought, impulsive and idiotic came to you. in daddy’s house —the house of god— it was the type of idea that could get you killed. you swiftly approached him, almost unnoticeably, like a ghost. when you found yourself before him, you tiptoed slightly. you pecked his cheek. then you disappeared.

"good night," beomgyu whispered into the dark. he felt a pang of emptiness, like that feeling after a good dream slips away in the morning.

before his mom left his father, she had taken him to the ballet a few times. he remembered a specific one, in that moment. la sylphide. mom had loved that one. he felt like the lead, a man whose name he couldn't remember, kissed in the night by some magical being but waking up to nothing but her memory.

he was spaced out as he headed back to soobin's room, lost in his own thoughts. pushing the door open, he found soobin sitting up on the bed with the night lamp casting shadows over his unreadable face.

"why're you still up?" soobin asked him, his tone as flat as the mattress.

"just grabbed some water," beomgyu replied, keeping it simple.

"is everything alright?"

beomgyu gave a nod, not really knowing how to approach the subject. if he should even talk about it, if he would be capable of speaking without giving out too much. he slipped under the covers, giving soobin a subtle signal to switch off the light. and just as the room started to dim, he spoke into the darkness. "i saw your sister."

soobin's strained response came out after an exaggerated stretch of silence. "she's not my sister," he muttered.

beomgyu let the quiet hang for a beat before adding. "she´s beautiful.” he said. it came out as an accusation towards soobin.

soobin said nothing. the rustle of sheets is all that broke the silence as he rolled on his side, facing away from beomgyu. in the stillness, beomgyu drifted off into sleep, like touched by a divine calmness. soobin, however, remained awake.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ next part

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ none of you have let me know if you think reading about booty sex is gross yet

#we're working up to it please just hold it #i stan our attention spans we got this team #incoming depression sex yay !!#beomgyu #beomgyu angst #txt smut #beomgyu smut #txt hard thoughts #beomgyu hard thoughts #beomgyu x reader #txt x reader #beomgyu fic

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