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#mostly angst
vmartist · 8 months
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Adrien Agreste/Cat Noir x Male Reader:
• the loneliest time •
(Just some quick notes before I continue: This is a college au so everyone is much older than portrayed in the show. You are also a superhero but I won’t be going into specifics as it’s not important and I don’t want to bloat the story more. And this one-shot is based on the song, The Loneliest Time, by Carly Rae Jepson. Basically it’s your song to Adrien’s Careless Whisper😍. (Jokes aside, enjoy!)
Tonight was a patrol night with Ladybug and Cat Noir. You wait on your usual meeting spot, sitting on the edge as you swing your legs back and forth. Soon after you receive a text from them both in the superhero group chat.
Ladybug:Sorry, can’t patrol today but good luck you two!
Cat Noir:Same here, sorry!
You sigh before realizing you forgot about the presentation you had to finish tonight with Adrien. You quickly make your way to his house before de-transforming. When you look at your phone you see several missed calls from him. In a pant you quickly call back. He picks up immediately. “Did you decide to run a marathon before picking up?” He teased.
“Shut up! I’m outside…hurry up and let me in so we can finish our work…” You grumble before hanging up. Soon after Adrien opens the gates for you and leads you to his room.
“You can sit anywhere while I bring my laptop out.” He says while walking over to his school bag. His room looks immaculate, it’s a perfect reflection of him. You decide to take a seat on the couch in front of his giant plasma screen T.V.
“How come you didn’t answer my calls?” He questions while setting his laptop down on the coffee table in front of you both.
“My phone was on silent and I completely forgot until I checked it…” You reply. He squints his eyes at you but takes your answer anyway.
The night goes by smoothly as you both work on the presentation together. Throughout the night you could feel Adrien’s eyes on you but chose to ignore them.
“Did you want something more comfortable?” He asks pointing at your outfit. You look down and notice your still in your clothes from this morning since you didn’t have time to change. “I have some spare clothes you can try? I have a ton of sleep wear from this campaign I did a couple weeks ago…I’ve got a couple sizes just in case.”
“Oh…sure why the hell not? But, are you saying you want me to stay the night?” You ask in a chuckle. He turns around from digging in his closet with a small smirk. “And let you go this late at night? No thanks, you’re safer here.”
He lays out a couple bundles of clothes in front of you. “I chose some based on what you already wear. You can use my personal bathroom over there when you’re ready to change.” He says while pointing behind him.
You nod your head and smile. “Thanks, Adrien.” He hums back in acknowledgement and walks over to the couch and shuts both of the laptops down. You enter the bathroom and get changed. ‘Wow…the material on this feels so nice! Is this what clouds feel like?’ You think to yourself as you rub the clothes between your fingers.
You exit shortly after with your dirty clothes in your arms. “Where did you want me to put these?” He turns to you from the couch. “You can go ahead and put it down there with my other dirty laundry. I’ll have it cleaned and dried.”
The thought of leaving your clothes behind is a bit uncomfortable but even more so considering that you’re not leaving it with just anyone but, the Adrien Agreste….He notices your lost in thought and shifting in place nervously.
“Don’t worry, it’s okay I’m not gonna judge you or anything. Just come over here and relax.” He pats the side beside him. You quickly put the clothes down and sit next to him. “I don’t want you to treat me any differently than you would other people. I already get that treatment from everyone else in my life…” He mutters.
“I’m sorry…I guess I’m worried about disappointing you? As weird as that sounds…” His eyes light up and he shakes his head.
“No I know what you mean.” His eyes watch you for a second before he places a hand on your shoulder.
“You look tense…is something wrong?” He asks while tilting his head at you. You avert your gaze and bite your lip. Your mind is swirling with everything that’s been going on in your life. And there really isn’t anyone who can understand what you’re going through…
“Do you ever feel like…there’s so much pressure on you? Keeping secrets and feeling like you have to hide who you really are?” You ask while leaning into the couch.
“Hah…if there’s anyone who knows that it’s me…” He sighs while leaning back as well. His hand hovers over your leg before returning to his side. “What are you hiding from people?” He questions in a murmur.
“Um…? Oh I just remembered…did you and Marinette ever…?” You ask.
“No.” He immediately replies. “After high school I think she and I were in separate mental spaces. But I heard she’s now dating Luka.”
“Luka? Like the guy that’s in our campus’s band?” Adrien nods with a grin. “Wow…He seems like her type.” You reply while crossing your arms.
“How about you?” He asks. “You seeing anyone?” You promptly shake your head.
“No….I’ve got too much going on right now to consider a relationship.” You respond in a mutter.
He chuckles dryly. “Same.”
There’s now a silence that’s replaced the conversation. It’s welcome as you two gaze outside his window. In the corner of your eye you notice his occasional gaze your way. You’d be lying if you said weren’t looking his way too.
“What’s your secret?” You ask suddenly.
“Oh!? Uhm…” Adrien swallows the lump in his throat. “It’s hard to describe…” Your eyes follow his face for an answer before you trail down to his wrist.
“Wait…is that the friendship bracelet I made for you in grade school?”
Adrien adjusts it and smiles at it fondly. “Yeah it is. I uh…well you were my first friend.”
You snicker and shake your head. “Honestly I thought you forgot about me. After your dad became a household name and all.”
He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “You’re such a drama queen.” A stifled laugh slips past his lips.
You side eye him before grabbing a pillow and hitting him. “Takes one to know one!”
Within seconds this starts a small pillow fight. The room’s atmosphere of thick awkwardness is now replaced with laughter and joy. Eventually you find yourselves laying on the ground together, tangled in each other.
“I remember when we used to do this when we were younger…” Adrien whispered as he passed his thumb over your cheek. “What happened to…us? You stopped talking to me once we got into high-school.”
You pull away from him as your lips turned downward. “Listen, I stopped talking to a lot of people so don’t take it personal. I just had a lot going on.”
“Yeah you stop talking to your friends, big deal, but not you’re best friend. You know I hate secrets.”
You groan while rubbing your temples. “You were popular, I figured you’d find yourself a new best friend. I didn’t wanna bother you with my bull shit so I thought it’d be easier to distance myself.”
He wraps his arms around you as he lays his head on your shoulder. “I don’t mind your ‘bull shit’ but seriously…don’t just disappear again I want you here.” His grip tightens slightly.
“Adrien I’m not going anywhere…sorry.” You whisper.
“Sorry for what?” He whispers back in a teasing way.
“I’m not gonna say it now…” You say turning away from him. He pulls you back towards him as he nuzzles himself into your neck. “Aw come on, don’t be like that.”
“Can it Adrien…” You start to close your eyes when you hear Adrien gasp.
You sit up and gasp as well as you watch an akuma floating into Paris.
“Time to t—…I mean…time to use the bathroom! You mind if I use yours real quick?” You chuckle nervously.
“Go ahead…I also have to use the bathroom! I’m gonna use one of the one’s downstairs…” Adrien states before sprinting out of the room.
You quickly enter his bathroom and transform. “Wow he must’ve really had to pee…”
You swing into Paris and meet up with Ladybug and Cat Noir.
“Great now that we’re all here I can form a plan!” Ladybug exclaims while looking over at the akumatized victim.
After a quick fight, Ladybug fixes everything and you all fist bump.
“Pound it!” You all chant before going your separate ways.
However you notice that Cat Noir is going the same direction as you are…You jump through the bathroom window and before you can de-transform Cat Noir enters through the door and you freeze.
“What are you doing here!?” He shouts before gasping. “Wait…don’t tell me…”
You groan and place your palm on your forehead. “You must be Adrien then…am I right?”
He sighs before saying: “Claws in.”
You de-transform as well and avoid his eyes. “I…think it’s time I head home.” You exit the bathroom but before you can leave he grabs your arm.
“Wait! Where are you going?” He asks while tugging your arm towards him.
“Home. Where else, Adrien…or should I call you Cat Noir from now on?” You grumble before shaking him off you and walking out. Adrien watches you leave, hoping you turn around but you don’t.
The following weeks were a wreck. As Adrien he tried to talk to you. That was easy, you could walk away whenever you wanted. But as Cat Noir you had to be there. Ladybug started to notice the change and was quick to call it out.
“Okay, what is going on with you two? Is there something happening that I don’t know about?” She huffs.
“Nothing is wrong!” You exclaim. “Cat Noir here just can’t learn when to take a hint.” You mumble while gritting your teeth.
“Oh that’s rich coming from you! It’s easier for you to walk away from your problems isn’t it!” He shouts back.
Ladybug steps in between you both and furrows her brows. “Stop! The only way for this team to work is if we work together. What even caused all this anyway? I’m sure we can work it out right here.”
You scoff and turn around. “I do just fine because unlike, someone, I know how to push my feelings aside.”
Cat Noir balls his fist and begins shaking with anger. “Step aside M’Lady…” He mutters.
“Cat, what are you gonna do?” He pushes past her and swings on you.
You quickly block the hit and push him off. “Finally! This is what you wanted this whole time, right!?” You cackle.
“Stop it you two!” Ladybug tries to intervene but is knocked aside by you both.
“Stay out of it!” You both yell. He leaps on top of you and pins you down.
“Not so smug anymore are you!?” He shouts. You push your knee against him and kick him away. The fighting stops when you hear the flapping of butterfly wings.
The akuma lingers between you and Cat Noir. Ladybug reaches out to you two. “You guys have to calm down! I’m sure we can work this out!” The akuma flys into Cat Noir’s ring and you quickly run to him.
“C-Cat!? You were right, I should’ve talked to you! I was being an ass I know, but you know how I am…”
He’s gripping his head and shaking. “I won’t stoop to your level…I won’t take these powers and I won’t betray my friends!” He screams before rejecting the akuma.
Ladybug let’s out a sigh of relief before pulling the both of you up. “I’m not sure what happened and I don’t care. It’s none of my business, but will you both please work it out.”
You and Cat Noir look to each other and nod slowly. “Come on, Cat Noir.” You hold your hand out, he grabs it and you both head back to his house. After de-transforming you can see how puffy and red Adrien’s eyes are.
You both sit in his bathroom in silence, with the occasional sniffle coming from Adrien. “I can’t take a hint?”
“No that���s not what I…I’m sorry. I say stupid shit all the time…” You mumbled.
“You hurt me a lot, (Y/n)…more than anyone has. I’ll set my feelings aside for, Ladybug and that’s it. But, right now I can’t look you in the eyes and tell you I genuinely forgive you. Please, go away.” He whispers before walking to his bed and laying down.
Your eyes linger on him before you decide to leave him in peace. As you leave you feel your eyes well with tears. You wipe your face with your sleeve and walk home. The next day at school, Adrien was a completely different person. He’s isolated himself from everybody.
When he was Cat Noir he was kinda the same, still cracking puns occasionally but after the job was done he quickly fled. You always watched him leave, your heart ached watching him go.
“You gonna head home?” Ladybug asks as she swings her yo-yo.
“Not now…I’m gonna stay here for a bit.” You mutter. She nods before leaving you alone to your thoughts.
The moon sits above you as the stars dance around in the sky. Tears fall down your cheeks as you watch the moon fall and the sun sets. The orange and pink light, colors the horizon. The sun slowly rises before you decide it’s time to head home. You lay your head against your bed and sob quietly thinking about the mess you’ve made.
———————————-
This was more angsty than I had intended but there will be a second part. Apologies for any spelling errors in advance, I barely edited. Anyway, hope you enjoyed<3
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sardonic-sprite · 9 months
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Part 2 of Dad!Tim AU (so Q doesn't murder me in my sleep /aff) tw: referenced rape, referenced attempted/intended murder
(Part 1)
As we hit the ninth month, everyone is tense and on tenterhooks, but Tim is by far the worst. He can't sleep for more than an hour without jerking awake from a nightmare: the faceless child growing up, hands around a sword, smirking on Ra's's right hand, maybe coming to Gotham, but to hurt Tim's family, not join them... other times it's the child dying in infancy or even birth, and Tim doesn't know if that part is worse, the grief, or the next part, the fear, as Ra's's sister advances on him to try again
Nine months to the day since Paris and Tim is a wreck and the whole family is buzzing out of their skin, ready to ACT, but its not until 2 weeks later that they finally get Talia's call.
And in the background, there's a baby crying
Everyone is all wtf talia we said we were gonna WAIT and she grimly tells them there would be no waiting, she needs them to come pick up the baby now. Because the baby is a girl. Because Ra's will only accept a MALE heir, and he's not going to bother raising a child he has no use for. Because Ra's's sister is furious with the disgrace of bearing the wrong sort of baby and wants nothing to do with something that was supposed to be her greatest honor. Talia can only be gone so long before they will realize she has not in fact buried the infant in the snow, so they need to come NOW
Everyone bursts into frantic motion, freaking out, livid, terrified. Its all way too much, and Tim just sits and stares blankly, because he thought he'd have just a little more time. Dick sees this, and gently asks if Tim wants to stay back, and if he wants someone to stay with him. He does. So the others go, and Dick sits and holds Tim's hand as Tim tries to process. And he realizes that if not for Talia, all of his pain, all of his terror, all the violation would be for absolutely nothing.
And then he realizes that makes him MAD.
How dare they? He thinks. How DARE ra's and his sister throw the child away just because Tim gave her the "wrong" chromosome? HOW FUCKING DARE they treat a human child like a goddamn happy meal toy, like it -- she -- is disposable because she isn't what they wanted?
He gets up ("Tim?" Dick asks softly) and goes to find Alfred. The room right across from his, Alf, the one that has a view of the gardens, thats the nursery. Tim may still not be READY for this but he'll be damned if he can't do better than fucking RA'S.
So he and Dick and Alfred spend the tense, anxious hours moving and arranging baby stuff in the room, while Barbara folds all the onesies and diapers into the drawer and calls leslie about formula bc they don't know any nursing mothers
They get the call that the family arrived, they have the baby, they're on their way home, and Talia will keep up the pretense as long as she can so they can get back to Gotham. Baby's sleeping now, they say, and swear she looks just like Tim.
"You've got a regular little Snow White on your hands," Jason laughs, and no one on the plane is ever allowed to tell Tim how close Jason came to stealing his child (HER CHUBBY LITTLE CHEEKS STEPH JUST LOOK i see them jay.) "Black hair, pale skin (you're still paler), red lips, well, whole red face when she really wants to wail."
Tim doesn't know what to make of that yet, but at least maybe it seems like he'll be able to look at the child without constantly seeing her mother. (Not that she deserves that title).
They can't paint the nursery tonight and have it be dry, but they're going to paint it, Tim decides. Something colorful and happy, not like the soulless beige he grew up with. Nothing like his soulless childhood.
The family arrives. They arrive and Tim and Alfred and Barbara and Dick go down to meet them, Tim clutching Dicks hand. The door of the plane opens and they file out, and its Cass, a complicated mess of emotions on her face, who holds out the tiny, TINY little swaddle
Tim's hands are shaking as he reaches out, but no one says so. Dick just carefully supports Tim's arms to make sure he's steady
Jason was right, he thinks. She is a little Snow White. Her skin's a little darker than his, but still paler than he'd have thought. She's got black hair, but that was a guarantee. She's got a little red mouth that yawns into a perfect O and blinks open blue eyes, but he doesn't know if they'll stay that color.
Its hard to believe he's a FATHER. He has a DAUGHTER. He's still only 17.
That's when Baby begins to cry, and Tim panics, and the others have to calm him down and promise its not his fault, she's only hungry, and they go upstairs to get a bottle. Then they all troop to the nursery, where Alfred and Bruce have to help Tim settle in Martha's old rocking chair, and show him how to hold the Baby in one arm and the bottle in the other hand, and help her eat.
Slowly the others trickle away, to sleep, to give him privacy, because jts all so surreal, and there may or may not be tears on Tim's face. Finally its just Bruce and Alfred, and they help Tim put Baby in the cradle thats been in the Wayne family for nine generations. Then they go, and Tim's still sitting on the rocking chair, staring, like this fever dream is going to disappear, and there won't be baby or nursery or this awful terrifying weight in his chest, and he's not sure if he would really want that or not
He hears a soft sound by the door and springs up, grabbing for a weapon he doesn't have, but its only Damian, looking as lost and unsure as Tim.
"I thought you went to bed"
"I could not sleep."
Tim can't really argue with that
Damian edges closer, looking at Baby's face like he's searching for something there.
"Have you named her?"
"No," Tim scoffs, because he didn't fucking want her, he thought she'd come with a name, just barely laid eyes on her or held her. Then he feels shame because what kind of father doesn't want to name his own child? His voice softens as he explains, "i have no idea where to start"
"At the end then," Damian suggests, just as soft. "With Wayne." And it might just be the kindest thing the kid has ever said to Tim.
"Ok," he says. "And in the middle?" It feels like a cop-out, asking Damian of all people to name TIM's child. But Tim can't... there's no logical process to follow here, naming is an emotional experience, it forges a CONNECTION and Tim just... all that furious resolve is much harder to draw from when he's confronting the reality it entails
Damian purses his lips, hesitating. Finally, he says, "There's Bahar. It... it means 'brilliant.'"
And at first, Tim balks, because no, that's what RA'S wanted from the child, Tim's brilliance, and what the FUCK, Damian-- and then he realizes. That... this might be, no it probably is, Damian saying "fuck ra's. The baby girl will be brilliant, and you're brilliant too."
He finds himself smiling, just a little, and repeats, "Bahar. I... I like it."
Damian smiles just a faint bit too, then.
"What... what about the beginning?" Tim tries, but Damian shakes his head and tells him that's for Tim to decide. He turns to go. Then Tim calls him back.
Slowly, hesitantly, Tim asks, "What's the word for 'snow?'"
Perfect little snow white... bury the kid in the snow... fuck ra's...
"... 'eira.'"
Damian leaves, and Tim looks down at the tiny little baby.
"Eira," he tries. "Eira. Eira Bahar Wayne."
It almost looks like Eira smiles.
Part 3
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julie-loves-cake · 6 months
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I want to give her a hug
+ bonus Pomnatha
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I see the potential now
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hold-him-down · 8 months
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Welcome Home, Derek
TW: mostly angst, some light med whump, post prison whump
part one part two part three part four
✥ ✥ ✥
Twelve hours later, the plane landed. Derek wasn’t easily awoken, and Jack reminded himself of the room in the airport.
“Derek,” he whispered, shaking his shoulder. “Buddy, wake up.”
Derek’s eyelids fluttered open, his eyes slow to focus. “We’re home,” Jack whispered, but there was no ease in his voice. He was under no illusion that the hard part was over, and in fact, he had a sneaking suspicion that the worst was yet to come.  
Immediately, Derek sought out his bag, relief flooding his features at the realization that it was untouched, securely wrapped around in his fingers.
The agent walked down the aisle, his eyes on Derek. “Welcome home, kid,” he said. His voice held no enthusiasm, no promise of good things to come. He took a seat across the aisle from Derek and Jack, hands on his knees. “Remember,” he started, “the reporters will want to talk to you.” He smiled, looking Derek over. “We have an agent waiting at the gate that will deal with it. You do not need to stop to speak with them, there will be plenty of opportunities for you to make a statement over the next few days. There’s a car waiting to get you to the hospital. We’ll need to get through customs and then we’ll head that way. Sound good?” 
“Okay,” Derek replied. “Thank you.” 
“You’re welcome.” His expression softened then. “Derek,” the agent said, “no one expects you to do this on your own. If anyone pushes you to answer any questions, to do anything you’re uncomfortable with at all, you’ve got an army of people here who will intervene on your behalf. Alright?”
Derek nodded again. The agent’s smile tightened and he returned the gesture, standing. “Alright,” he said, and led them to the door.
Things moved quickly then. They made their way through the airport in a sort of robotic nature, with the primary goal of getting out with as little attention as possible. They bypassed a group of reporters who shouted for Derek, for his parents, and interestingly, even for Jack; the agents positioned themselves to shield Derek from sight, but there were… a lot of people there. Jack didn’t reach out to take Derek’s hand, but he took a step closer as they hurried through the corridor. Derek followed his parents silently, keeping his head down.  
Customs was easy enough: they were brought to a private room and spoken to about next steps, passports were scanned, pictures were taken, and everything was kept surface level. When they finally got to the waiting car, everything stood still. 
“You’re… you’re going to the hospital,” Jack said.
Derek nodded. “I–” The question on everyone’s mind didn’t need to be spoken.
“I'll go to a hotel, get showered and pick you up some things?” Jack offered, eager to take the pressure off of Derek to navigate the moment. During one of the endless briefings in Turkey, Mr. Lewis had heavily implied that Jack should plan not to attend at the hospital. He reluctantly agreed, and figured he would cross that bridge when he got there. And here was the goddamn bridge, and he was no closer to knowing how to cross it. On one hand, he didn’t want to make a scene or add any extra stress where it wasn’t needed. On the other, the idea of leaving Derek, now, made him want to scream.
“You can stay at our house,” Mrs. Lewis offered, “Don’t be silly.” 
Jack nodded, feeling the tension roll off of Mr. Lewis. “Yeah, I–” He paused, then smiled evenly. “That sounds great.” 
Mrs. Lewis scribbled down the address and pushed it into his hands. “In case you forgot it,” she said. They both knew he hadn’t.
Jack put it in his pocket anyway, just in case. What Jack said next did very nearly kill him, but he turned his attention to Derek, standing perfectly still behind his parents, his grip unshakeable on his bag. “Will you call me? As soon as you’re done with the doctor?”
Derek nodded. 
“Your mom has my number,” Jack continued. “Just– send me a list, okay? Of any snacks you want, or… clothes, books, movies… anything you need, okay?”
“Okay,” Derek said softly. “I will.”
Derek hesitated to get into the car. Jack watched his back, watched every deep breath that seemingly rattled in his lungs, watched the tension roll through him, until something shifted, and he climbed in, closing the door. He glanced at Jack through the tinted window as the car pulled away, and Jack stood, alone at the airport, and tried to smile. It was temporary. Derek would go to the hospital, do what he needed to do, and Jack would be there, whenever he was ready. 
When the car turned out of sight, Jack took a deep, steadying breath. He would not cry, he would not panic, he would not do anything silly.
He found a curb and sat down, his duffle bag next to him, and opened his phone. Ninety-three missed calls.
✥ ✥ ✥
“Where are you?” came a kind of shout-speaking from the other end of the line. It was the first time in over a year he had spoken to James, former best friend to Derek and once inseparable from the two of them.
“I’m at the airport,” he said. Specifically, he was sitting on the curb having a big moment, but he didn’t need to get into that.
“I’m across the street– I’ll come get you. Are you with Derek?” James’s voice was guarded. He was across the street? In Maine? The last time Jack had casually-and-not-at-all-pathetically perused his instagram, he was living in Chicago. 
“No,” Jack responded, trying to keep the angst from his voice, to exude the absolute calmness that he believed he could make himself feel with enough willpower. “Derek just left for the hospital, the fucking government or whatever is making him go through a bunch of protocols before he’s allowed to take a fucking breath. His goddamn father won’t look at me, let alone let me stay with them, his mom’s a mess, and Derek is… Derek is suffering because of all of it. Every step has been made harder and–” So much for the keeping calm thing. He blinked, pausing. “Sorry," he said evenly. "I think I’m grumpy.”
“I’ll say,” James said. “I’m coming there, where are you specifically?”
“I’m under a billboard for lobster rolls.” 
“There’s a hundred billboards for lobster rolls, Jack, we’re in fucking Maine–”
Jack squinted up. “I’m under the one with a lobster wearing sunglasses, wholly unaware that some embassy agent douche bag is coming to fuck up its life–”
Three minutes later, a beat-up cavalier rolled to a stop in front of him.
“Did you drive here?” Jack asked James as he dragged himself into the passenger seat.
“From Chicago? No. I flew here as soon as I got your email. This car is rented. Twenty-five, baby. Speaking of which, an email? That’s what I get after seven years of your crap?”
Jack took a breath. “Oh my god, I forgot I even sent that. I was with Derek, and he is… it is bleak,” he said matter-of-factly. “As soon as they called I got on a plane, and it hasn’t really let up since then.” 
“What happened? Last I heard things weren't looking good.” 
Jack leveled him a sharp glance.
“Come on,” James said, veering onto the highway. “It’ll feel good to let it out, right? Over drinks?” At Jack’s laugh, he amended, “I mean, over dinner?”
“Yeah,” Jack said. “Might as well– I’ve been tasked with waiting for a text to tell me what the fuck I’m supposed to do.”
“From his parents?”
“Or him, I don’t know. I’m open to hearing from literally anyone who wants to text me.” Jack looked at his phone, which boasted a strong zero notifications, then shoved it into his pocket. “I’m giving them an hour, and then I’m going to the hospital.”
“There’s no way that would backfire,” James said. Jack was pretty sure he was being sarcastic, but he was too tired to care. They drove three miles in relative silence until James pulled into the drive thru, ordered, and then parked. He turned to Jack. “I can tell this sucks for you. I’m sure it sucks for his parents, and I can’t even imagine what he’s going through. Bring me up to speed.”
Jack recalled the last few days, leaving out some of the more potent bits (specifically, the ones in which Derek was naked and afraid of him). James knew about their relationship, but it still wasn’t the coziest discussion. Still, it felt nice to kind of release some of the tension he’d been hanging onto.
“Wow,” James said after he’d finished. And then, he added, “Shit.” 
“Yeah.”
“Are you going to stay with them tonight?”
“I don’t know. Mrs. Lewis, I think, is genuine in her offer, but I don’t want to overwhelm Derek, or like… impose on their family or whatever.” Jack pulled his phone back out and stared down at it, willing it to light up. 
“Since when have you cared about imposing on them?”
“Since Derek came back into the picture, I guess. I just don’t want it to be too much for him.”
“His family is one-thousand-percent going to be too much for him. Maybe you being there will help take some of the pressure off… that whole reunion?” They both moved their attention toward the front window, lost in thought as they ate in silence. “I guess just see what he wants to do? Is there a hotel nearby? We can be roomies again for a few days?”
There were several, it turned out. They checked into the one closest to Derek’s house. Jack showered and changed into his last pair of clean clothes while James worked (from his computer, he was very serious now, it turned out), and then they waited, catching up on life. 
Jack received updates from Mrs. Lewis throughout the day, which was enough to keep him somewhere in the ballpark of level-headed.
Even so, he was desperate for the moment he could book it for Derek’s house, but he meant what he had said to James. They both knew that this wasn’t going to be an easy transition for Derek, and he was sure the list of people who wanted his attention was long. He was also sure that Derek wasn’t going to be interested in freely giving out his attention, so he would wait. If he didn’t hear directly from Derek by nightfall, he would make a new plan.
He didn’t need to. At exactly 9:17 p.m., his phone buzzed.
✥ ✥ ✥
Derek was distantly aware of his parents' eyes glued on him, but he was numb. He sat still as he rode to the hospital, the lines between past and present blurring to a point where he fully detached himself from any of it. He wasn’t sure if it was the effects of the drugs or the stress, or if it was something else entirely. He held onto his documents and his backpack and he kept his mind blank, his only focus on making it from one moment to the next. 
The hospital was overwhelming. He had been ushered inside and directed to a small, overly sterile room, where he sat alone, trying not to focus on all of the medical equipment surrounding him. He knew rationally that this was good, that he was home, that he was safe. But no matter what he tried to convince himself, he couldn’t get a grip on his body’s reaction to… everything.
Every sound, every shadow. Every movement in his peripheries triggered some fucked up fight or flight response and it was catching up with him. He didn’t allow himself to wonder if he would ever be okay again. He was taking it second by second, and that was all he could do.
He sat as still as he could with the doctor, following each direction the best that he could. He knew if he didn’t do well with the doctor, he would be punished for it, and that thought terrified him. The thought that they could send him back to prison, and he would definitely not survive a second time, crept in and out of his mind. He still hadn’t quite figured out how he made it out this time. 
He had stripped his clothing methodically, only pausing briefly at the very beginning. For all that had happened, for all that he’d been through, while the concept of nudity no longer struck any chords, the concept of another stranger seeing him, taking in his injuries, inventing rationales, telling his parents, twisted at his gut. The near-constant staring at him, at the bags under his eyes, at his hollow cheeks, at the various cuts and bruises.. 
He was grateful that he was given a gown, if just to cover some of the bruises. And the doctor, to his credit, cleared his throat and worked in relative, albeit overtly alarmed, silence.
Derek had taken breaths as big as he could but he knew they weren’t what the doctor wanted by the expression on his face. His hands shook as he tried to hold them in for longer, to breathe in deeper. Eventually the doctor set down his stethoscope and Derek hoped that it had been enough, and that the doctor got whatever he wanted to get from him.
His jaw was set as the doctor touched him, along his ribs and his stomach. He tried to think about Jack, and of the two nights they got to be near each other, and the feeling that was the closest thing to safety that he could remember. He spent the last several years thinking he’d never see him again, and so, in the moments when he knew he was near his breaking point, he tried to think about the next time.
The doctor continued giving him directions, and he tried to keep up. He gave him more shots and kept touching him and god, he wished Jack had stayed. That Jack had gotten in the car and had come to the hospital with him. He knew that he hadn’t articulated that well enough (had he articulated it at all?), that the words had caught in his throat. 
He was given little cup-fulls of medicine and made to drink more water and asked question after question after question that he just didn’t know the answers to. Some questions, he knew, would lead to more, and he desperately wanted to lie in those moments, to spare himself the uncomfortable silence and the even more uncomfortable procedures, but the doctor seemed to know the answers based on his expression alone. When he last ate, if anything hurt, when he had last received medical treatment, if his bones had been set after they’d been broken, if he’d been assaulted physically, if he’d been raped. To his credit, he didn’t shed a tear during the three-hour exam. Not when the doctor’s hands were on him, not when he was left alone for periods of time, and not when he recounted the various reasons for the more fresh injuries.
He tried to listen as the doctor explained which pills to take when, and what needed to happen next, and what was wrong with him, but the lines of reality all blurred, until finally he asked the doctor if he could close his eyes. After a too-long sigh, the doctor nodded.  
So Derek closed his eyes and waited for it to be over.
It wasn’t long before he was handed a clean pair of clothes. He pulled them on as quickly as he could.
Against all odds, he made it to the car. He sat in the back of a black Lexus, his mom, anxious and red-eyed, climbing in next to him. When he looked in her direction, offering her the closest approximation of a smile that he could form, she cried harder. Between sobs, she whispered, “It’s okay.” He knew that it wasn’t. He was a mere shell of the boy she had left at the airport eight years ago, but he wasn’t stupid.
As the streets started to become more familiar, his chest tightened. All of his muscles were tense, his eyes scanning the neighborhoods anxiously as home drew closer. Derek hadn't wrapped his head around the idea of home yet... He didn’t think he would ever see this place again. 
His fingers clutched the straps of the backpack tightly, housing his only earthly possessions. 
When the car turned onto his street, he pressed his face closer to the window. In front of his house was... His eyes narrowed, taking in the sight before him. They threw some kind of party? 
“What is all this?” It was his mom who spoke.
“I’m not sure,” said his dad from the front.
Big posters and cards and banners that said things like, Welcome Home, Derek and, God Has Answered Our Prayers and, We Missed You, were hung all along the railing of the porch. There were wrapped boxes and baskets and balloons and flowers stacked on the chairs, the table, the steps. He couldn’t see any people at the house, which he was grateful for, but saw his neighbors peeking out the windows as the car came to a stop.
He swallowed back bile as his stomach turned over.
“It’s okay,” his mom said, and he watched as her hand moved closer to his face. She was going to touch him, and he needed to be still. He closed his eyes and turned his mouth into the closest thing he could get to a smile, but he thought it probably didn’t look right, because she backed away from him quickly.
“I’m sorry,” he said. 
“Let’s get you inside.”
As he made his way to the front door, he tried to keep all the sounds separate, listening for any signs of danger. He scanned the yard, swallowing, and followed his father through the front door. He felt no safer inside than he had in the car, but still, he followed his parents to the kitchen; it all felt wrong. This wasn't his house anymore. He didn’t have a house anymore.
Distantly, he heard his mother talking. She was talking to him? “–call Jack?” was all he caught.
“I’m sorry?” he asked. “I didn’t –”
“We can call Jack if you want? I’m sure he’s nearby.”
Derek couldn’t completely comprehend what was happening; he didn’t know what he wanted. “Yeah,” he eventually said, not even entirely sure what the question was. “Do you– is there somewhere I can… lay down? Just for a little bit?” 
His mom plastered a smile to her face and nodded, leading him up the stairs. “This is still your bedroom,” she said, opening the door. He nodded and walked in, setting his bag carefully on the bed. “Derek,” she said. “This is still your house. No matter what, okay?” 
“Thank you,” he said, his voice low. She nodded and closed the door. Derek turned in a complete circle in the small bedroom, trying to figure out where he was, who he was, how to… what he was supposed to do here. What was he supposed to do? In the background, memories of the prison, and more recently, memories of the doctors, flashed through his imagination and he sank down to the floor, wrapping his arms around his knees. He pictured Jack’s face, Jack’s voice, to help drown out the noise. 
When the blackness that threatened his vision receded, he grabbed his bag from the bed and set it on the floor in front of him. He brushed his hand over the small patch and opened it, pulling out one of the envelopes. He swallowed. He had read it a thousand times already, and had long since committed it to his memory.
It was one of the last letters he had received before the guards stopped letting him read them; they came in one afternoon and took them away, as though they were nothing. He thought they had been destroyed. When the agent handed them to him in the hotel, it took him a moment to even realize what they were.
There was a knock on the door, and he moved to put the letter back in the bag, but paused, opting instead to place it under the mattress. It might be better to keep them separated, the small voice in the corner of his mind told him. It wasn't rational, but it was an easy enough modification, and if they took his bag from him, at least he had the one.
“Come in,” he eventually said.
“Hey, pal,” he heard, as a man walked in. He closed the door behind him and turned, allowing Derek his first look at him. 
“Arlo?” Derek asked, taken aback. He stood as he looked him over twice, still not believing what he was seeing. He was… tall. He was full grown. An adult person, something Derek did not expect to see. “Arlo,” he said again, this time it was just a gasp. 
“Dad said you looked like shit but I didn’t believe him,” Arlo said with an easy smile. “What happened to your hair?”
“The doctor in Turkey shaved it,” Derek replied, not sure if Arlo was joking. He felt the familiar pangs of panic rising in his chest, the words pouring out of him too quickly. “There was… Uh, I think there was lice. It was too much and would have been too hard to deal with, and I said it was... I said it was okay.” He could feel his chest constricting, his breaths coming too fast. 
Derek couldn’t say why, but something in him snapped. It was like the weight of the world crashed down around him. Arlo closed the distance between them silently, wrapping his arms around him. Derek felt himself come undone. He tried to stop this. He tried to make his mind go blank, to find that place in the corner of his imagination that was warm and safe and that no one could touch him and he wouldn’t be sad or lonely or hurt. He had learned to go there when he could, and it had offered him reprieve. But Arlo was holding him tightly, and for some goddam unknown reason, he broke. 
Sobs wracked his body, his fingers clutching desperately at the back of Arlo’s shirt. He could feel Arlo’s hand on the back of his neck, and it wasn’t safe, and he knew it wasn’t safe because his neck was exposed but he couldn’t let him go. And he couldn’t fucking breathe. And he couldn’t think, and he sure as shit could not stop crying.
Arlo didn’t speak. He didn’t try to quiet him or tell him it was okay or tell him that he missed him or loved him or that he could talk to him. He just held onto him. Minute after minute after minute passed as Derek fought for control.
When he could finally speak, the words were broken. “I’m sorry,” Derek said, pulling away from his brother. He gasped at breaths, and swallowed back sobs, and blinked away tears. “I’m… I’m not doing too well over here,” he gasped.
“I know,” Arlo responded. 
He sat on the bed, moving the bag slightly to the side. Derek automatically darted toward it in a move to protect it and Arlo bristled, handing it to him. “Sorry,” he said. “I should have asked.”
“Is there anything I can do to make this better for you?” he asked. “I know Mom and Dad are doing their best, but they’re–” he gestured vaguely “A lot.”
Derek nodded, carefully sitting down next to his brother. The mattress was soft and inviting, but felt more dangerous than anything else. 
“I’d ask you how prison was, but I feel like I already know the answer.” 
Derek let himself smile, attempting to wipe the still-falling tears from his cheeks. “Yeah,” he said. “It wasn’t great.” 
“Well,” Arlo replied. “You’re home now. What's the first thing you want to do? Has there been anything you've been missing desperately?"
Derek shook his head. “After a while, I just kind of blocked everything out. At first, you know, thinking of home helped. But eventually it just hurt more, and then I just... stopped.”
Arlo nodded. 
“I don’t know,” Derek said. "I don't feel like I really know anything. Can you just... just talk to me? Tell me a story,” he whispered. It was something Arlo used to sneak in and ask Derek for every night, after their parents went to bed. Derek would stay up for hours making up stories for his brother, until Arlo would fall asleep on the floor, and Derek would cover him up and turn out the lights. 
Arlo smiled. He leaned back against the wall and started talking, the cadence of his voice easy and light. He reviewed what the family had been up to, where everyone was. He went through an itemized list of church gossip, ending with the bombshell that he, and their parents, had left the Church all together, and would thus be promptly spending eternity in Hell with Derek. 
Their sister was in England for the semester, which their parents were reluctant to even allow, and it had been a massive disagreement where she threatened to run away forever. She was studying humanities at Boston University and was actively throwing her whole self into trying to do good in the world. As the words tumbled out of Arlo, Derek found himself breathing easier. And Arlo asked nothing in return. He didn't ask questions, he didn't make demands. 
There came a moment where Derek didn't think he could stay awake any longer, and he curled up on top of the covers, letting his eyes slip shut.
"Is there anything I can get you?" Arlo asked softly, as he stood from the bed. He pulled a blanket out of the closet and draped it over his brother. "Food? Water? Anything?"
“I was supposed to call Jack, but I... I'm having trouble with..." Derek paused. "I haven’t been able to.”
Arlo smiled and nodded. “Let me see your phone,” he said. Arlo keyed in Jack’s number seemingly from memory and texted him, then laid the phone on the bed next to Derek. He knelt next to the bed, close to Derek but without touching him. “Do you want me to leave the lights on or off?” he whispered, Derek’s eyes already closed.
“Off,” Derek responded, curling tighter under the blanket. Arlo hit the switch on his way out.
Seconds later, the phone lit up. 
I’ll be there. Ten minutes.
DEREK’S BACK TAG LIST:  @whump-cravings @crystalquartzwhump @redwingedwhump @mylifeisonthebookshelf @nami-writes @peachy-panic @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @whump-blog @pumpkin-spice-whump @quietly-by-myself @whumpcereal @whump-queen @pigeonwhumps @squishablesunbeam @bumpthumpwhump @writereleaserepeat @susiequaz12 @rabass @whumpsday
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gohjuo · 25 days
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raise your hand if you been victimized by me sending you the : )
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m00nagedreamin · 4 months
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when i tell you that i’m 4k words into the first chapter of a fic with no signs of stopping
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yoonglestummy · 1 year
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Sad Boys With Cigarettes
Jimin never liked that Suga guy, the one who hides his identity behind his phone, the one who has songs he produced at #1 on the charts. It wasn’t because he was good at what he does, it’s because he has rejected Jimin how many times, either in DM’s or on Twitter, Jimin still wasn’t a fan. Determined to get what he wants, Jimin finds himself digging deep into Suga’s life only to come out empty handed. Jimin just want to make a song with the producer who raps like a god, is that too much to ask for?
( @donttelltheelff @ccssll1122 @foshizzlebizzle @jinslipsandshoulders @lovesavepeace97 @niallsarmveinstho @hierarchyfneeds @mirageofcapricorn @im-naturally-blond @aloneinherroom @pleasegivemearemedyyy @secretmermaid24 )
🚬49/?
(( HAHA IM STILL HERE FUCKERS I HAVENT KI\\3D MYSELF YET ))
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bitterkarmaa · 9 months
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More prompts added to the prompt list! Get ‘em while they’re hot! I’m still working on old ones so please only one per person for right now :) that doesn’t apply for earlier submissions I haven’t completed yet!
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abovethemists · 1 year
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Ashes and Fruitcake
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Summary: It's been one year since Father Gold's Christmas Eve tryst with Belle. They're both still dealing with the consequences of that fateful night. A sequel to Brimstone and Mistletoe.
A/N: I finished my Christmas fic and it’s less than a month late! That’s progress people. 
Read it on AO3
*
His name was Gideon. 
Gideon French. 
Gideon French. 
The name taunted him, it mocked him, it damned him. 
Gideon had been a valiant warrior, defeating the Midianites with a mere 300 soldiers, his faith in God leading him to victory. The name was an insult meant to shame him with his own cowardice. Father Joseph Gold was anything but valiant. 
He wasn’t sure where he had first heard the name, only that he’d become aware of it through some small town osmosis. He’d known Belle was pregnant, of course. No matter that she’d stopped attending church some months back, it was hard not to notice the change. She hadn’t said anything to him, hadn’t approached him, and so he’d left her alone. If the child was his, she would certainly come to him. 
No, Belle must have some other lover in town, someone free to be with her as she deserved. No matter that he never saw her with anyone else. No matter that she seemed smaller, and wanner and lonelier with every passing week. 
It was really none of his business. He was her priest, and not even that anymore, not since the final Sunday she’d shown up in his pews, some time in mid March. 
For that, at least, he could take full blame.
After the midnight service last Christmas Eve, he’d panicked. Following their tryst on the altar, Belle had come back to his small rectory behind the church, braving the cold for the warmth of his hearth…and his bed. They’d made use of that bed. At the time, he’d been so drunk on Belle’s kisses, on her presence, on her very being, that he had no space for shame or fear. But Christmas morning dawned cold and bright and oh so clear. The snow melted away to a muddy sludge and Belle had slipped away just as easily. 
She had appeared on the third pew that following Sunday, her face downcast, as if she feared to look at him. And he knew, then and there, that she regretted what had happened between them. How could she not? So he kept his distance. Belle stopped volunteering for bake sales and Sunday school classes, and eventually he stopped seeing her in church altogether. 
It soon became clear why. Belle, so perfectly petite, a fact he had once delighted in, could not long hide the belly burgeoning beneath her blouses. Even without the idle gossip that followed her down the street, he’d have had to be a blind man not to notice. And he knew, knew without a shadow of a doubt, the child was his. 
The first time he’d seen her in that state, outside Granny’s diner on a warm spring day, he’d wanted to run to her. For one wild moment, he’d wanted to tell the world this beautiful woman was bearing his child. He’d wanted to hold her in his arms, tell the church to fuck off, and beg her to marry him. 
But then their eyes had met across the street and before he could approach her, she’d hurried off in the opposite direction. 
And Belle never approached him. She never showed up at the church doors late at night to accuse him, to demand he acknowledge what he had done. She never found him in the diner or spoke to him at all. And so he let himself believe that she had found another lover. That perhaps some strong, handsome, younger man, a man who was available to her, had shown up in town. That must be the reason. Belle would tell him if the child was truly his. Soon there would be a diamond sparkling on her ring finger and he would be called on to oversee her nuptials to this mystery man. He would do it, do it with as much of a smile as he could muster. He would see his Belle happy, even if, especially if, it wasn’t with him.  
But he was never approached for his professional services either. He never saw Belle on the arm of another man and no news reached his ears of a boyfriend or fiance. Quite the opposite in fact. 
Over the course of several months Belle went from a liked and vital member of the community to the town pariah. It was remarkable that in this modern world, a town like Storybrooke could still be so backward. He heard confession from most of the sinners in town. He knew exactly what they got up to better than anyone else. To see them shun Belle for one simple mistake, one he was probably at fault for, shattered his heart more than anything else. 
It seemed the central reason for their hatred of Belle was her refusal to name a father for her baby. Every woman in town imagined it was her husband who had done the deed and they hated the beautiful Belle for it. Every man who had harbored dreams of claiming Belle for themselves resented that she’d clearly chosen someone else. No one had the slightest idea of who the father could be, and so it was everyone and no one. If she’d just named a man, everything would calm down. 
But she never did. 
And he never asked because he was afraid. He was afraid she would regret their night together, and even more afraid that she wouldn’t. Because if she didn’t, he would be forced to make a choice, a choice he was neither prepared nor willing to make. 
It was a weary walk the few yards to his home that Christmas Eve night. Belle hadn’t been in the congregation for that evening’s service, nor had he expected her to be. But he couldn’t help but think of her tonight of all nights. What was she doing even now? Putting her son to bed, whispering to him about the wonders the next day would bring? Rocking him as she sang carols in her slightly off tune voice? He’d never seen the child up close, but he imagined he had dark eyes, golden brown as they gazed up at the blue eyes of his mother. It was a serene scene, a beautiful one, one with no place for him. 
At least it wasn’t snowing this year, he thought as he trudged up the lane to his front door, the weedy overgrowth on the cobblestones dried and brown and crunching beneath his steps. Despite the cold, it had been a sunny day giving way to a cloudless starry night. There would be no white Christmas, no getting snowed in. It was for the best. 
The rectory was dark, quiet, and cold as he entered, shutting the door behind him and shrugging off his coat to hang it on a hook beside the door. He flicked the lights on and the modest little house came brightly into view. The first floor was a small living room open to a kitchen with a rickety wooden table, older than Gold himself, wedged in beside the fridge. Narrow stairs at the back of the house led upstairs to his bedroom. He closed his eyes at the sight. A year ago tonight he’d been stumbling up those stairs with Belle’s arms around his neck, their mouths fused together as though they’d never get another chance and couldn’t stop kissing for one moment, even for breath. They’d been right, it turned out. 
He turned away from the sight of the stairs, going instead to strike up a fire in the hearth, the little stone fireplace enough to keep the small space warm once it got going. Once there was a nice blaze sapping the chill from the air, he slapped his hands against his thighs, glancing around for a distraction. There was the TV, not that he got many channels, and not that he was much in the mood for The Grinch or Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer or any other holiday special that would be airing tonight. He could read a book. He could plan out his sermons for the new year. Or…
He had a bottle of whisky, gathering dust in the back of his cupboards. 
Gold took an unconscious step back toward the kitchen. Before he knew it, he’d thrown open the cupboard doors, pushing aside the tinned vegetables and ravioli until he spotted it. He shouldn’t imbibe, he knew. It was a slippery slope, one he’d seen his father ski down as fast as humanly possible. It was in his blood. He could all too easily be just like his father, a drunk who abandoned his own son. 
The thought sent bile creeping up the back of his throat. 
No. Gideon wasn’t his child. Belle would have told him. She would have said something over the past year, given him some sign. 
His fingers itched for the bottle. He wasn’t certain why he even kept it in his home. It was almost as though he was constantly testing himself, testing his own will. He would hold fast in this, even though he’d failed so spectacularly in other tests of his self control.  
A knock on the door startled him, and he slapped the cupboard door closed. A quick glance down at his wristwatch told him it was nearly 8:30. He could only imagine the desperate soul driven to his doorstep so late on Christmas Eve. It was no doubt someone looking for counsel in this season of togetherness. It could certainly make one feel alone, he knew. 
This was good, Gold reasoned, a distraction. He would offer an ear and advice to his parishioner and then head to bed. Tomorrow was another day, one with no less painful memories of Belle. But time would ease this heartache, time would ease everything.
He opened the door with a benign smile on his face, one that fell almost immediately into a look of shock. The object of his recent thoughts and all his desires was standing on his doorstep. 
She looked different from this time last year. Gone was the festive little red dress with gold accents. In its place, a long down puffer coat that covered most of her small body. It seemed after a full winter in Maine, Belle had finally invested in weather appropriate clothing. 
“Hey,” he said, otherwise struck dumb by her presence. 
“Hey,” she replied. 
They stood there for a tense moment, just staring at each other. Eventually Belle asked, “May I come in?” 
“Of course,” Gold said, backing out of her way and letting her into his small living quarters. 
“Where’s Gid– your baby?” he asked, stumbling over the words. If Belle noticed, she didn’t let on. 
“Mary-Margaret is with him,” she said. “Thinks I’m running a last minute errand.” 
“Ah,” he said, by way of answer. Mary-Margaret Blanchard was another town pariah like Belle, after her affair with the married David Nolan had resulted in his divorce. It made sense the two women would band together. 
“Here,” she said, thrusting out her hands, and Gold realized for the first time that she was holding a small bundle wrapped in plastic wrap. He reached out for it, instinctually. 
“Fruitcake,” she said with a nod as Gold took the package. It was hard and quite a bit heavier than its size would let on. “It’s probably terrible. I’m not much of a cook. But it’s Christmas and fruitcake seems to be the type of thing you make at Christmas even if no one really likes it or wants it. I suppose I could have done gingerbread or sugar cookies or something more crowd pleasing but I’ve always been a bit off I guess.” 
She finished off her rambling, twisting her now empty hands together. Gold stared down at the fruitcake. 
“Thank you,” he said after a moment. “For thinking of me.” 
“Of course,” she said with a nod. “Merry Christmas.” 
“Merry Christmas,” he returned. 
They stood there for a long moment, the silence hanging between them like something tangible. It had been ages since they’d seen each other, even longer since they’d exchanged more than a word. Yet here she was, looking up at him with those crystal clear blue eyes, the ones that haunted his dreams. Then Belle spun around moving through his small living space, stopping at the framed painting of the Virgin Mary hung above his second hand television set. 
“She must have been terrified, huh?” she asked, still looking at the painting with her back to him. 
“I beg your pardon?” Gold asked, not following her train of thought. 
“She was alone,” Belle continued. “An angel springs up and tells you you’re going to have a baby, immaculately conceived. I bet no one believed her. They probably all thought she was a harlot. I bet she faced stares and condemnation.” 
Gold set the fruitcake down on his kitchen table with a louder than expected thump before crossing the small living room to where Belle was standing. 
“I know that feeling,” Belle said, her voice so quiet he almost couldn’t hear her, despite the close space. His mouth went dry at her words, silence enveloping them but for the crackle of the fire. 
“Belle,” he began, his voice rough.
“I’m moving away,” she said suddenly, turning to face him. 
He felt his stomach drop, as though he’d missed a step going downstairs and was now in free fall. 
“Excuse me?” he asked. 
“I’m moving,” she said again. “In the new year.” 
“I see,” he said, dumbly. He didn’t see. Couldn’t see. Couldn’t fathom that Belle would disappear from his life altogether, no matter that their relationship had been nonexistent over the past year. 
“I…” she began, before trailing off. “Do you have anything else to say?” 
“Where?” he blurted out. 
“Boston,” she replied with a wry twist of her lips. “The anonymity of city life seems appealing for some reason.” 
Gold nodded. Boston. That wasn’t too far. It wasn’t the other side of the country. Perhaps she could visit. Perhaps he would see her again. 
“Why?” he asked, rather dumbly. Belle gave him a choice eyebrow.
“You know why,” she returned, stepping over to the squashy loveseat beside the fire and sinking down on it. Gold remained standing where he was. “There’s no future for me here.” 
“Not with that attitude,” Gold quipped and Belle gave him something that was almost a smile. 
“If it was just me, I could stay,” she said, softly. “I could bear the weight of the stares and whispers. But it’s not just me. They’ll treat my son differently. He’ll always be the boy without a father. In Boston, no one will care.” 
“The boy without a father,” he repeated, the words rasping out of his dry throat. He’d once been called the same. 
“Yes,” Belle said with a nod, her gaze steady and piercing until he could no longer look at her. He stared into the fire instead, the flames dancing and licking against the wood until spots formed in his vision.  
“Well, I suppose that’s the real reason I came here tonight,” Belle said, standing up once more, her energy restless. “Horrible fruitcake notwithstanding. I didn’t want you to hear it through the grapevine that I was gone. I wanted to tell you face to face.” 
“Why?” he couldn’t help but blurt out. He and Belle had shared one magical night a year ago and had barely seen each other since. No one would think it odd for her to leave town without notice to him. There was only one reason she would tell him. There was only one reason for him to know. 
Belle’s eyes widened for a second, before she schooled her features. 
“Because I care about you,” she said with a little shrug. “And if our positions were reversed, I’d want you to tell me.” 
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, needlessly. Of course he wasn’t going anywhere. He’d been in the same position in the same church for two decades. He didn’t move on, up or out. He stayed in his comfort zone, like the coward he’d always been. 
“I know,” she said, with a wan little smile. “I wouldn’t want you to. Storybrooke suits you. I can’t imagine it without you.” 
“It could suit you too,” he said in a small voice. “It seemed to, once upon a time.” 
The sad smile fell from Belle’s face as she shook her head. 
“Not anymore. And I have to do what’s best for Gideon, give him his best chance.” 
Gold felt himself nodding, as if against his own will. It felt as though he was watching his own body from somewhere far away, unable to control his own movements. He wanted to yell at her to stay. He wanted to demand an answer to the question that had been burning on the tip of his tongue ever since that day last spring when he’d spotted her outside of Granny’s, her white button down shirt straining across her midsection. She couldn’t just leave. She couldn’t take away his son, not if the three month old babe he saw her pushing around town in a pram had even the slightest potential of being his. 
But his cowardice choked him. 
Belle reached out a hand, her knuckles brushing against the back of his hand. He wanted to grab her hand, to pull her back to him, to keep her with him. Instead he balled his hand into a fist. 
“Okay,” she said, looking up at him a little wistfully. “I guess this is goodbye then.” 
He didn’t say anything as she stepped away, back toward his front door. She was about to leave, forever. He would never know Gideon’s paternity and it would haunt him until his dying day. She was leaving. 
Idiot! He felt his subconscious yelling at him. Stop her! You fucking idiot! 
“Belle, wait,” he called after her. 
She stopped, turning back to face him with a wary look on her face. 
“Is…is he…”
Belle crossed the few steps between them, pressing a finger to his lips before he could finish his question.
“Don’t ask me something you don’t want the answer to.” 
His hand came up to take hers, pulling it away from his lips. He held her small hand loosely in his own and she didn’t pull away. 
“Is he mine?” he asked, his voice low but sure, all traces of fear and nervousness gone. 
Belle let out a shallow breath, her exquisite eyes wet and shining and she looked up at him. 
“You know he is,” she said in a whisper. 
It was like a dam had broken. He knew, had always known, of course he did. But he’d had plausible deniability until this moment. He had a son. A son! And he’d lost so much time with him already. 
His hand tightened around Belle’s, pulling her closer to him. 
“Why didn’t you say something?” 
“I didn’t want to ruin your life.” 
“So you’d ruin our son’s instead?” he demanded. 
Belle blanched at his words. Our son. 
“You never said anything,” she countered. “That morning, a year ago, you could barely stand to look at me. I took advantage of you. I made you break your vows! You hate me!” 
“You didn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to do,” he said, his free hand coming up to cup her cheek. “And I could never hate you.” 
Belle looked up at him, wide eyed. 
“Then why did you cut me out? Why were you so cold?” 
“I thought you must regret it, in the cold light of day. Even if I was…available, you could do so much better than me.” 
She shook her head, tears spilling on her flushed cheeks. “I don’t regret it. I could never regret it.” 
He pulled her to him, pressing his forehead against hers and breathing her in, the sweet scent of her hair and skin and breath, everything a lure to draw him in. 
“I’ve been so stupid,” he said with a sigh. 
“No,” she said, pulling back to look at him. “Why would you up end your life, everything you’ve ever known, for me?” 
“Because I love you,” he said simply. “I have done from the first moment I saw you.”
Belle sucked in a ragged gasp. 
“You love me?” she asked, her voice small and wavering, as if she could scarce believe it. 
Gold could do nothing but nod, tears springing to his eyes and choking his speech. God, he loved her. He’d always loved her. Why did he ever question it? Why would he not admit it, even to himself? He felt unburdened suddenly, as though a loadstone had been taken from around his neck. This was love, real love, a rare and precious gift. God could never condemn such beauty. His feelings for Belle could never be a sin. He wanted to tell her again and again. But he’d settle for kissing her. 
He pulled her firmly against his chest, kissing her hard on the mouth. Belle didn’t resist, her arms winding around his neck as she melted into him.
His hands trailed down over her curves, hidden beneath the thick down of her coat. He wanted to rip the offending garment off her, he wanted to take her to his bedroom and show her with his body how much he loved and adored and missed her. But a moment later, Belle was pulling away, a firm but gentle hand against his chest. 
“I can’t do this again,” she said, breathlessly. “We can’t do this.” 
“Why not?” he begged, his hands still gripping her through her coat. 
“Because it won’t change anything,” she said with a shake of her head. “It won’t change our circumstances. It’ll just make it harder for me to leave.” 
“Then don’t leave,” he said, pulling her into another kiss. She gave in for longer this time, her hands tracing over his chest, going to wrap around his waist. He pushed her coat open, his hands skimming over her sweater, pulling at it until he could feel the warmth of her skin beneath his fingers. Belle shivered beneath his inexpert touches, her mouth opening and her tongue tangling with his. Their kisses were messy, and hungry, and devouring. Belle’s coat hit the floor a moment later and then he was maneuvering her back onto the loveseat, blanketing her body with his. 
Belle’s legs wrapped around his waist, holding him to her as his mouth slipped away from hers, across her cheek and down her neck. She gasped as he bit lightly at her shoulder, her fingers carding through his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. He traced the v-neck of her sweater with his kisses, coming to rest between her breasts, breathing in the sweet scent of her. They were fuller than the last time they’d done this, and he marveled at the change, cupping her breasts with his hands. 
“So beautiful,” he said, looking down at her, dark hair spread across the arm of his loveseat. 
He massaged her right breast through her sweater and Belle let out a moan, her hands going to grip on to his forearms. 
“Don’t do that,” she gasped. “You’ll make my milk let down.” 
“Then I’ll lick up every drop,” he said, his voice husky. “I want every part of you, Belle.” 
She looked up at him, her eyes blown wide and lips parted. He couldn’t help himself. He had to kiss her again. Kissing her was as necessary as breathing. If only he could kiss her enough, he would prove to her that she should stay, that he loved her and wanted her. That there was no reason to ever leave Storybrooke when she had everything she needed right here, in his arms. 
Belle’s hips gyrated against his, her core grinding against his hard cock through all the layers of their clothing as her hands carded through his hair. Her breathing was growing more ragged, her legs tightening around his waist.  
She gripped on to him so tightly he thought she’d never let go as she thrust herself against him. His cock was painful trapped inside his trousers. He wanted to be inside her, he wanted to feel her come apart around him as she’d done a year ago, the night they’d made their own miracle in Gideon. But Belle was chasing her bliss, rubbing against him and creating such delicious friction he was certain she was going to make him come in his pants two Christmases running. 
He thrust against her, burying his face in her neck as he spilled himself, the feeling of post orgasmic shame attempting to creep in. He quashed down the feeling. 
Belle gave a shuddering gasp, throwing her head back against the arm of the loveseat as she came. Her face was rapturous for a second, beautiful and angelic, before it took on a more pained expression. Gold watched the change with a growing sense of dread. 
They were both breathless for a moment and Gold pushed Belle's hair back from her sweaty brow, kissing her temple. They were both still fully dressed, no clothing displaced. They'd technically done nothing wrong. And yet Belle's face looked conflicted. He wasn't sure if she was angry about what had happened, or frustrated, or just sad. She certainly didn't look like a woman who'd realized she wanted to stay in a small town and make a life with her parish priest. He felt his heart sink as he watched her. 
“I have to go,” she said finally. Gold just stared down at her. 
“What?” he asked. 
“I have to feed Gideon,” she said. “I have to let Mary-Margaret get home. I’ve already stayed here way too long. I–I didn’t come here for this.”
“I know you didn’t,” he assured her. 
“I’m sorry,” she said with a shake of her head as she sat up, gently pushing him off her. He rolled to the side as Belle scooted out from under him, standing up and pulling her sweater straight, fussing over her appearance. There was a love bite blooming on her neck, her hair was mussed, she looked like she'd been up to exactly what she had been. Gold knew he was no better, the front of his pants wet and sticking to him.   
“Don’t leave,” he begged again, still lying prone on the love seat. “Don’t take Gideon from me before I even get a chance to know him.” 
“Would you claim him?” she asked, finally meeting his eyes. “It would change everything for you. You would lose your job, your home, your whole life as you know it would be destroyed.” 
“But I would have you,” he said earnestly, hopping up from the loveseat and reaching for Belle. Weighing the two on a scale wasn’t even fair. Belle and Gideon would win. They would win every time.
“Will you still feel that way tomorrow in the cold light of day?” Belle asked. 
“I…” he came up short. She was right. He would be jobless, homeless, he would have nothing to offer either Belle or their child. They were better off without him. They would always be better off without him. He’d never been anything but a burden for the few who’d ever loved him. He loved Belle too much to be her burden. 
Belle nodded, accepting his non answer. 
“You’re married to the church,” she said, lifting her hand to glance across his cheek, feather soft. “and I’m the other woman. There’s no place for me here.” 
She picked her coat up from the floor, wrapping it around herself protectively before looking back at him sadly.
“I love you too, Joseph,” she said, a shiver going through him at the sound of his given name on her lips. “You should know that.” 
And then she disappeared into the night. And the coward that he was, he let her go. 
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inkribbon796 · 6 months
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Egotober 2023 Day 15: Makes and Models
Summary: Yancy’s getting bigger, stronger. But he’s not strong enough for everything yet.
A/N: It’s 3rd Sunday. You know what that means . . . Yancy angst.
Prompt: Strong
Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31
It was a calm but otherwise quiet Sunday. Dark didn’t like them being in the warehouse all week. He barely let them work at the warehouse, they could loiter around in his office but that was it.
But Illinois didn’t like being in Dark’s offices all day, even his larger warehouse office. Maybe he’d go later in the day to bother Patton and Arthur but for now he was wandering around the Manor. Sometimes even getting himself lost.
When Illinois opened a door it was into the garage which wasn’t the weirdest thing. He was supposed to be going into the attic, not the ground floor. But he’d been spat out in weirder places than this.
Yancy was in the garage, working on one of the cars in the garage. The garage doors were pulled open. An old Chrysler Windsor that Dark just let Yancy tinker around with because it sure wasn’t going anywhere.
“Hey,” Illinois called out and Yancy stuck his head out a window.
“Oh, hey, Ills.” Yancy smiled at him. Grease on his face and hands. “What’s up?”
Illinois shrugged. “Oh, nothing, was just bored and wandering around. How’s the car coming along?”
“It’s fine, still learning.” Yancy was climbing out of the car through the window with a large piece of metal. He’d recently started another growth spurt but wasn’t taller than Illinois and he certainly was nowhere near Arthur already was. Even if all three of them hadn’t stopped growing yet. “I’ll get it eventually.”
“Definitely,” Illinois said, admiring the mess of a car.
They were quiet for a little bit as Illinois watched Yancy and Yancy went off to try and scrub his hands clean. Illinois looked out at the mess of parts and how Illinois couldn’t lift half of this stuff.
Then. “I’m gonna try and convince Appa to get me a motorcycle.”
Yancy looked back at him. “Today.”
“No,” Illinois said. “After the fight to get into the Network I need to work up to it. Really seed out that I want one and gauge his reaction to it.”
“Yeah, well good luck,” Yancy scoffed.
Illinois spent some time with Yancy in the garage. Yancy grabbed and organized a bunch of his tools and scrap. Illinois only helped a little bit and tried not to feel bad that a fifteen-year-old was stronger than him. They were just talking about random stuff and then they decided to take a walk in the woods.
It was nice for a while, walking in what most people thought was a hell scape of twisting woods that only soon-to-be-dead people, and the Warfstache-Doom walked. For the Lost Ones the haunted, cursed woods just spat them back out to the Manor. All they had to do was decide if they wanted snacks or to keep doing their walk.
They talked about random things like what was going on in the Network, how Patton and Arthur were doing, and anything that came into their mind.
When the Manor was in sight again, they paused.
“You wanna keep walking or you good?” Illinois asked.
Yancy just looked at the Manor, thinking about something. And then he just kept staring at it.
Illinois let it go for a minute, enjoying the peace for a bit. But after a while he spoke up. “Hey, Yance, you okay?”
Yancy startled a little, “Huh, oh sorry.”
“You want me to call Appa?” Illinois asked.
“No, I’m good,” Yancy said.
Illinois felt like he should pry, but Yancy never had so he didn’t. He would forget before he realized he would regret not asking when he had the chance.
They went inside and Yancy went up to his room to grab something and on his desk he saw a childhood drawing he had done when he was little and Dark had placed it in a simple wooden frame for him. A crude nine-year-old’s drawing of Yancy with his parents.
The older he got, the harder it was to remember them and Yancy hated that. But anytime he made a thought to remind Dark about finding them he would forget by the time he got Dark’s attention.
And that never sat right with Yancy. He didn’t know why it happened and he hated it. But neither he nor Dark had any answer for why it was happening.
Maybe he would, maybe he’d be strong enough to break whatever was happening to him.
Maybe.
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inaffablejam · 11 months
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Darkness at my mind
Papa /genders neutral reader 
(no pronouns used. Could be platonic or romantic, no specific papa) 
Summary: your papa comforting you, through a panic attack 
TW: panic attack (please be careful) 
Words: around 600
(Enjoy) 
_____________________________
No one was there, no one near. Running, trying to breathe, it's exhausting, your body is eating you alive, burning within you. 
Your feet grow heavier every step you take to reach your desired destination. You know where you're going, you know the ministry, you take another one left. Making your way through the dark corridors. You feel your body slowly giving up, the adrenaline fading away. With thoughts overflowing your panicked mind. 
The door, finally…you don't knock, just open and drag yourself in there. Letting the heavy door fall shut behind you. 
"not now" a rough voice came from the figurine on the other side of the table. You just stood there, waiting for your legs to give up. Till you let your body rest against the door. Now he looked up from the sound. You couldn't see the expression on his face when he realized it was you. 
You were gliding down, legs pressed against your torso. Whimpering, panic finally overtook control. 
Footsteps you could barely hear, coming near, he's trying not to scare you even more. He crouched down beside you. Not touching, not yet. But talking in his deep voice, telling you something, your mind didn't pick up. But you felt his presence. Did you want that? Or is even that too much, right now? Your path led you here, but everything was screaming inside of you.  
Breathing, trying to focus on that. Why is that hard? It feels like the air is burning inside of your lungs. 
Your arms hugged tighter around your legs, your body shook. 
Still  with the talking, his voice in the background. He was sitting beside you now, his back on the same door, but still space between your bodies. You let your head fall against his shoulder. Wanting contact, needing the sensation of his body. 
Your eyelids pressed firmly against each other, trying hard to concentrate on something… anything. 
Your breathing was fast, but didn't feel like fire anymore. More air reaches your lungs, and lets oxygen flood through your veins. 
"good, you're doing so good" he spoke, and still didn't dare to touch you, frightened he would scare you away. He was there for you, making sure you knew that " darling, deep breaths, ok, keep going." he praised you. Your voice was rough and hardly there, still panicking, but you knew he wouldn't cross boundaries without your consent "hold me" you whispered. Letting your head snuggle deeper into his shoulder. He did, carefully wrapping his arms around you, feeling the pressure from his bigger body, calming you down. 
You cried, but you think you did this for a while, unsure why. Whimpering leaving you, while you try to get yourself out of your panicked state.  With every sound that left you, he tried to close more distance, hold you tighter. 
"thank you" you said out of breath, your body sweaty, and still tears in your eyes. But you manage to get your breathing back under your control for now. 
" darling, of course" he spoke in a deep soft voice," don't thank me"
"mhm" you, sniff your nose against his shirt "thank you papa" he laughed, hearing you use his title. He stroked through your hair, calming you down" want to talk about it? " he asked carefully. You shook your head, not being ready for it yet. 
" that's OK, take your time" you looked at him, seeing him smile down at you through your tear-stained eyes. Your wounds will take time to heal, and you were only at the beginning. You would tell him eventually, now you just wanted to spend a few more minutes in the arms of your papa.
He kissed your forehead slightly, before resting his on yours. 
Closing his eyes before beginning to hum a song.  You let your body relax into his, snuggle deeper into his arms. Trying to let your mind rest and focus on the sounds and vibrations of his voice.  
"Remember always
That love is all you need
Tell me who you wanna be
And I will set you free" 
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shiphappensmate · 2 years
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One thing that will never fail to upset me is that Billy was always pressured into acting a certain way.
To not be weak.
Because weakness attracts attention and he couldn't take his chances.
Put on a show, make them see him as the criminal everyone thought he was.
First it was by his father.
Then it was his school peers.
Then the women at the pool.
And then, the MindFlayer posseses him and rips away any semblance of control he could ever have.
When possessed he's always seen crying.
Forced to see himself doing things he didn't want to.
Forced to hurt people.
Forced to kill.
Forced to be someone he wasn't.
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deq22rawf · 1 year
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~ Masterlist ~
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hello everyone, i hope your day was nice, and if not, I hope it gets better! Anyways, the official masterlist for this account is here!
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upcoming fics —
— Strangle the fear of decidin'
— Was that correct?
— Apologies [P3]
multiple characters —
— Apologies [P2]
— Apologies [P1]
— in my heart, there's only betrayal
— Jealousy, Jealousy
— Why are you like this?
diluc —
— The Dark Side Of Dawn
— Me or Her? [Older Fanfic]
childe —
— Death is Life [P1]
— Death is Life [P2]
ayato —
— Busy, as always [OLD FIC]
zhongli —
— Hold me tight, never let me go [SHORT FIC]
dottore —
nothing yet!
other fandoms —
monsters inc. — Tylor Tuskmon HC's
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spaceofentropy · 11 months
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It's Wednesday, so the new chapter's out! It's number 7 of 15 and this chapter has everything: shenanigans, not-exactly-boyfriends, dates (?), brownies, a friend from out of town, and even nightmares, woohoo!
(We're almost halfway through and it feels soooo weird! Didn't I start publishing this yesterday?!)
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Text
Liberosis
masterlist
(just a short scene i wrote instead of studying)
cw: implied torture, angst, implied sleep deprivation, solitary confinement
Wyn pressed back into the shadows, waiting until the guards had passed. Moving as quickly as he could– it was hard to run when he couldn’t walk without limping– he darted out into the open corridor, constantly checking over his shoulder.
The walls were lined with sealed white doors– solitary confinement for those who resisted Guillotine’s usual recruitment methods.
Wyn paused at a door, looking up at the red glare of a security camera. He took a deep breath and flipped off the camera. He hoped Guillotine was watching. Scanning his hand against the biolock, it blinked blue and with a soft click, unlocked.
He stepped inside.
Ross scrambled to their feet, a flash of panic bright in their eyes. In the white light of the cell, the bags under their eyes looked more like bruises. There was a long pause before Ross relaxed, raking a hand through faded-green hair.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” said Wyn, fingering the strap of his satchel. He knew he needed to be quick before Guillotine sent repercussions. She would not forgive this easily. “But I did, uh, I did bring you something.”
Ross slowly sat back down on the floor with a wince. “Who said I was scared?” They managed a ghost of their usual smile. “I don’t suppose you’ve come to tell me that Guillotine is dead and we can get out of here?”
Wyn shook his head. “I just…I know the food is terrible here. So,” he opened his satchel and pulled out two sandwiches, crossing the floor and handing them to Ross. Then an apple. “It’s not a lot. I’m sorry. It's not…it's not a lot.”
Ross’s hands shook as they held the wrapped sandwiches, nails digging into the paper. They glanced at the food and then at Wyn. “This is for me?” they whispered.
“Yeah. I would have snuck a weapon in there, but there are metal detectors…” he trailed off, shoving his hands in his pockets. Ross had buried their head in their hands. “I’ll go now,” he whispered.
“Wait.” Ross’s voice was raspy.“Will you stay with me? Just for a while?”
Wyn looked at the door. Then he turned his back to it and sat down next to Ross. They took a bite of the apple. And then another. The cold seeped through the tiles.
Neither said anything.
The moment held shaking hands and pale lights and exhaustion threaded together.
“Thank you,” whispered Ross. They roughly rubbed their eyes.
Wyn heard the sound of boots pounding down the hall. He grinned at Ross. “Don’t give up. I’ll be back.” He could lie well. It was one thing he had mastered in his service under Guillotine.
taglist (let me know if you want to be added!): @whumpawink @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @pigeonwhumps
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itsnothappening · 2 years
Text
strike | jasonette
word count: +1.8k
summary: that stone had ruined his entire life; he was stuck living the same day over and over again, stuck watching the love of his life dying repeatedly no matter what he did.
a/n: i was tempted to make the ending so depressing, but in the end, i decided to be nice :)
@maribat-calendar-events
ao3 | wattpad | series masterlist | masterlist | prompts
Blue eyes snapped open and stared at the ceiling above. Jason felt his chest heaving, as it did every single time this happened. 
Quickly sitting up, he looked at the calendar positioned right in front of him, hoping that the date was the first of January, even though his pessimist side scoffed at him for even trying. 
When Jason's eyes flashed up to the piece of paper that held the fate of his entire life, his hopes shattered like delicate glass, the shards striking his already bleeding heart. 
Resisting the urge to scream, to self-destruct, Jason swung his legs out of the bed and put his head between his knees, trying to even out his panicked breathing. 
For what joy had he decided to touch that cursed stone that just appeared out of thin air? Why? That stone had ruined his entire life; he was stuck living the same day over and over again, stuck watching the love of his life dying repeatedly no matter what he did. 
"Jason?" A new voice said and said man jumped. 
Shit. When did she even come in?
Jason schooled his expression into something calmer as he sat up straight, brushing his sweaty hair away from his forehead. 
Marinette's concerned eyes scrutinised him, looking for something to explain the position she found him in. "Are you alright?"
Jason wanted to scream. It was always the same. 
Marinette would walk in. Marinette would see him sweaty and pale. Marinette would ask him if he was alright. By the end of the day, Marinette would be dead no matter what he did to save her. 
"Yeah," he forced out, the lump in his throat choking him. "I'm fine. Nightmare."
Used to his short, brusque answers, Marinette still walked in, putting her soft, small hands on his forehead. Jason practically melted at her familiar touch, all his muscles turning into goo. 
"Are you sure—" she began. 
"Yes, Pixie, I'm sure, and no, I don't have a cold or the flu." Jason had relived this day enough times to know exactly how the beginning would go. 
The beginning was perfect. In fact, it was so perfect, that Jason would even go as far as to say that it was the one thing that made this day his very own personal hell. 
Marinette stood up, still unconvinced, but she held her hand out to him anyway. "If you say so."
Jason stood up, stretching out his muscles before giving Marinette a knee-weakening smirk. "Shall we make the pancakes together?"
Dear God, her laugh was beautiful. Marinette shot him a smile as she nodded towards the kitchen, "How did you know? It's like you already knew what was going to happen."
Jason's smile became much more fixed at the last sentence, his somewhat good mood evaporating within milliseconds. Laughing bitterly, Jason muttered, "Oh, you have no idea."
The day progressed as it had in the last twenty-nine times before. Jason followed Marinette through their apartment like a lost puppy, yearning for her attention and affection, as she rambled on about the New Year's Gala that Bruce was going to be hosting. 
The discussion only caused the cuts on Jason's heart to become even deeper until inside, he was a bleeding mess. Before, on his third time, when he had more hope, he had warned her about what was going to happen. 
Clearly, his personal hell didn't like that because that night, Marinette's death was infinitely worse than it had ever been or would ever be. Jason puked when he saw her body. He hadn't been able to sleep properly since then. 
"Jason," Marinette snapped her fingers loudly, bringing Jason back to Earth. She peered at him with a healthy amount of concern in her eyes, "Are you sure you're alright? You zoned out and your eyes look a little glassy."
Jason internally scolded himself for letting that happen. Marinette couldn't know about her impending death or the consequences would completely break him and his sanity. Maybe that was the entire purpose of this thing. 
At any rate, to soothe Marinette's worries, Jason shot her his signature smirk. "If I need anything, it's only your kisses Pixie."
Marinette also smirked back, and despite already knowing what was going to happen, Jason's heart beat faster all the same. "You asked for it."
Her soft lips landed on Jason's, and his response was immediate. Kissing Marinette was a feeling that he would never get used to, and something he would never get enough of. What started as an innocent kiss quickly turned heated, and ended up with Jason pinning Marinette against the wall, her hands tangled in his hair. 
Breathlessly, Jason quickly looked at the time. "We should probably get round to making those pancakes."
Marinette's lips were deliciously red, just tempting Jason to come just a little closer. "Or," she whispered, her hands tangling in his hair and tugging at the strands lightly, "We could just continue."
Even without knowing what to come, Jason just knew he wouldn't have the strength to refuse her. It was an impossible feat, one that Jason had no desire to change. 
A few hours later, the dread that had been absent in the morning began to build in Jason's stomach. As he straightened his tie in their shared bedroom, Jason tried not to let his breathing get out of control, but he couldn't help it as images of Marinette's mangled body filtered through his mental walls. 
Jason's breathing was completely out of control now, and he could feel his lungs constricting, trying to grasp that air, but just unable to. It reminded him of his current situation; stuck in a day that lasted until the final millisecond and then began all over again like it was a movie. 
The repeated pain of seeing Marinette die in over twenty ways was maddening, it was crushing Jason's sanity, and he wasn't sure how long he could keep on doing this. How long would it be before he broke completely?
Jason wasn't sure he had much time now. Each time he repeated a day, Jason could feel his sanity cracking under the strain, the urge to just let it happen. It wasn't like he was getting out here soon, anyway, was it?
Staring at himself in the mirror, suddenly all of Jason's imperfections were ridiculously clear, standing out in the clear glass. The large dark bags, the barely-there wrinkles, the haunted look in his eyes, the constant downturn of his lips; the signs were all there. It would only take one tiny push for him to break. 
"Jason," Marinette called out from outside. "Ready yet? Our ride's here."
Jason scrubbed a hand over his face, wiping all traces of his upcoming appointment with insanity as he pasted a half-genuine smile across his face. 
Walking out of the door, Jason felt his breath catch in his throat. Despite seeing Marinette in this same dress over twenty times before, Jason loved and hated it at the same time. 
He loved it because it represented Marinette for who she was and what she loved. She had designed the absolutely stunning dress by herself, made it on her own and was now presenting it to the elites of the rich and powerful. 
He hated it, despised it even because it was the dress she died in every single time. It made her look like a ghost, something Jason could see, but just out of reach because she wasn't there. Only the goddamn dress.
"Shall we?" he asked, holding his arm out. 
Marinette giggled as she slipped her arm into his. "We shall."
The dread only multiplied, knowing exactly what was to come. 
The ballroom was decorated the same each time.
Each time, there were bright lights and Christmas-themed decorations dotted around the room, creating a formal, but happy atmosphere. Jason only wished it had the same effect on him as it did on Marinette. 
She was practically glowing. 
Jason smiled tightly as he made conversation with the various elites, hyperaware of the fact that the clock was inching towards midnight. 
When it was 11:55, people started beginning to look for their significant others or loved ones, and Jason did the same. Searching the crowds for Marinette, he saw her talking to someone he had never seen before, nor heard of. 
Marinette's smile was tight and clearly fake, so Jason advanced to her quickly, wanting to get her out of the situation immediately. 
"Pixie," he said with joviality he did not feel. "Let's move out, shall we?"
He even added a flirty wink for a good measure. 
Marinette gave him the sweetest, most saccharine smile he had ever seen from her, but the relief in her eyes was clear. Turning to her companion, Marinette excused herself politely. 
The stranger did not seem willing to let her go, attempting to exchange a few more words. 
Jason's instincts began to suspect something. Something about that stranger was familiar—had they met before?
Examining the person with new interest, Jason suddenly spied the tiny barrel peeking out from the person's hand. 
Jason swore. 
The stranger's eyes connected with his, and immediately, Jason knew what was going to happen. 
Purely on instinct, even though he knew how it was going to end, Jason flung himself on Marinette, covering her small figure with his larger one. 
Jason clutched onto Marinette like a lifeline as he hoped to protect her even though he knew it was most likely going to be fruitless. She would die anyway, as she had for the last twenty-nine days. It always happened when it struck midnight because the universe was a cruel, cruel being. 
5
Heart beating out of his chest, Jason heard the exact moment the assassin realised what he had done. 
4
Swearing loudly, the assassin tried to run to the side where Marinette was exposed from. 
3
Not going to happen. Jason quickly turned around; it was time he used his training from his time as Red Hood. 
2
Jason was keeping the assassin occupied now; occupied enough that he wouldn't have time to shoot Marinette. Scoring a particularly harsh punch at Jason, the assassin made for the minuscule gun that was now pointing at Marinette. 
1
Heart in his throat, Jason knew there was only one thing he could do now. Launching himself in front of Marinette, just as the assassin pulled the trigger, Jason felt the bullet enter his skin. 
0
Jason expected a bright light to flash. He expected to be staring upon the scene he was in, with Marinette lying dead on the floor, a pool of blood spreading around her. Instead, the last thing Jason remembered was falling into the welcoming arms of unconsciousness. 
Blue eyes snapped open and stared at the ceiling above. Jason felt his chest heaving, as it did every single time this happened. 
Sitting up immediately, Jason looked at the calendar position right in front of the familiar bed in front of him. He expected the date to be what it had always been: 31st December. 
Instead, it said:
1st January
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