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starry-bi-sky · 24 days

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my body's aching like a knock-down drag-out

and my poor heart is an open wound A Childhood Friends Au snippet that very briefly delves into Danny's life post-accident. CW: Mild Mentions of Blood, Violence, VERY mild gore ig. Danny briefly recalls getting impaled during a fight.

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What they don't tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it can hurt. That it can hurt more than when you were alive. That when you die, the emotions you die with stick with you like a leech that just won't let go. That emotions are ugly little thorns that stick their barbs into you and grow beneath your skin; or, at least, whatever’s left of it.

Danny is familiar with anger. It kept him warm in Gotham, when his parents weren't home from work and he and Jason were crowding Crime Alley with their presence. It kept him warm in Amity, when the fresh sting of moving was still needling into his heart and he wanted nothing more than to rip and tear into the closest person next to him.

He's familiar with violence. With fights. With death. He's seen people die in Crime Alley probably every day. From overdose, from gunshots, from stab wounds; anything that can kill, rest assured he's seen it. He's familiar with getting his own knuckles rough and bloody when other kids turn and bare their teeth at him and Jason; they're all just starving dogs stuck in a fighting pit, primed and ready to rip out each other's throats.

Black eyes, stomped hands, bloody noses. You name it; he’s had it. Gotham is paved with the blood of her children, and Danny likes to imagine that when he was born, the doctors handed his mother a file and told her; “Take it. He’s going to need it for his teeth.”

Danny’s mom (and dad, for that matter) was too busy trying to keep him and Jazz fed, so Danny stole the file from her drawer with Jazz’s help, and did it himself.

He’s familiar with anger, he thought he was getting better at it these days. It doesn’t come to him as easily as it did before. Of course, that was before Jason died.

Danny is less familiar with grief. Caring kills and Gotham kills the caring, so Danny cares very little about other people. Or he tries to. But grief hurts. His grief hurts. It hurts too much. It hurts like a bug trying to crawl out of his chest; like a rat chewing a hole through his heart. Some days he wants to dig his hands into his hair and split himself down the middle. Some days he just wants to scream.

He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead.

He wants the whole city to hear him wailing, some days. It sticks itself in the back of his throat like bile, and Danny is one wrong retch away from letting it loose. It sticks in his lungs like all the tar he’s smoked in since he was nine. It pushes and aches at his temples, in his head, like his brain is trying to swell out of his skull. His thoughts becoming so loud they threaten to commandeer his tongue.

He has no mouth, but he must scream.

Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it hurts more than when you were alive. Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it’s violent. That it’s bloody. Or as bloody as it can be when everyone has no blood.

Another thing they don’t tell you about being dead, is that it’s a lot like Gotham that way.

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies forget death itself. Blood comes easy, like water, and teeth are encouraged. Bring your own fangs to the fight. Dying is something you can just walk off.

Danny’s been dead for three months. He can’t say he’s been walking it off easy. He’s perfected the art of turning his nails into claws since his heart was still beating, but he can’t say he’s perfected fighting other ghosts.

Scrappy is just not enough.

He feels like he’s back in Gotham again. Back in her death-shroud alleyways, fighting someone bigger than him. But there’s no Jason to watch his back, and Danny has to get himself out of there alone. Or he might just not get up at all.

Black eyes, busted lips. It’s familiar to him like an old scent, Danny isn’t quite sure that he’s missed it. It’s more familiar than his fights with Dash.

But there’s no one else who can do it but him. Not Sam, not Tucker. He can’t lose them too. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t. His heart can’t take another break, he already feels like he’s going insane.

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies fight like death themself. He learns why when Technus puts a street sign through his stomach one day. It pins him to the asphalt like a moth pinned by its wings.

Danny claws at the metal like how an animal caught in a trap chews off its leg, and every move is blinding pain. He thinks he was howling, but it’s hard to tell. He couldn’t recognize the sound of his voice.

He bleeds green. It mixes in black with the pitch blackhole in his heart, which throbs and twists and cries in time with his reckless panic. The finger-choking terror of dying again strangles out the air he doesn’t need. His blood evaporates, only to reabsorb into him. It just bleeds out again, cycling like a snake eating its own tail.

Danny breaks his nails clawing at the metal, and eventually gets it in his mind to pull it out. So he does, and the end drips ectoplasm green as he gets to his feet. In red-vision, Danny sends the sign back with snarling, vicious fervor. The pain is irrelevant in his rage.

Only after the fight does the hole the pole left start to close. Danny doesn’t shift human until it’s gone. Unlike other injuries, a scar stays behind. Ugly; mottled, it aches for a week with every twist and stretch his body makes. He hates it.

Being dead is agony.

Every part of him is in pain. Every step, every word he speaks, everything he does, it is prerequisite with pain. The body is temporary, but the soul is forever, and death has carved into it with its freezing green hands and left him with never-ending heartache. It has torn from him and stolen what of him it could, and in return it’s left him with sorrow.

His pain is his grief, and he’s sobbed in the safety of his room more times than he can count. It’s still as fresh as the day he heard the news of Jason’s death. He knows, instinctively, that it will stay fresh forever.

In his room, Danny shoves his hands over his mouth and shrieks in whatever, muffled way he can into his pillow. It’s not enough. It’s never enough. He needs to be louder. He needs to be heard. He refuses to be.

Being dead hurts.

#tw mild gore #cw mild blood #cw mentioned violence #dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dpxdc crossover #dpdc #dp x dc crossover #dead on main #dp x dc au #dp x dc fanfic #cfau #cfau danny #obsessed with the fact that danny just has the WORST fucking time after jason dies and baby i can make it worse #*kills you and makes you a banshee and puts you in an irrevocable state of grief*#delicious angst. danny is having the wORSt time ever lol. lmao even #was originally meant to explore the idea that danny can survive lethal injuries as phantom. which briefly got mentioned.#but i got away from myself. leaning reaaal heavy into the fact that danny's a banshee. At 19 he's got a pretty good handle of himself #but imagine being a fresh out the gate banshee. usually they get time to themselves in the zone to cry until their heart's content.#sorry danny. you have school tomorrow and family sleeping in the bedroom next door #kinda proud of myself. you can kinda see how Rath would've occurred here.#danny is going through it rn #was gonna add a snippet about the city's thoughts on phantom but couldnt fit it in

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electrozeistyking · 28 days

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tomorrow

#by the way i’m not here. i just scheduled this to post today #probably won’t be back until some point after episode seven comes out.#so i’ll be off doing something Personal Related until then! for now enjoy this tasty piece because that sure is angst #murder drones #murder drones n #n murder drones #serial designation n #tw eye contact #tw eyestrain #potentially???#also yeah no. this piece is literally named ‘tomorrow’#yes i was listening to guilty by al bowlly while i drew this. did the fact this piece uses lyrics from it make it obvious or #haha i’m scared actually #zeisty’s heavy hitters

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frissy · 11 months

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Earth42! Miles Morales x fem!Reader

ATSV SPOILERS

(Edited) ��—— (Part 1) (Part 2)

• fluff to angst

• tw: mentions of death

• google translate used, so excuse any mistakes

• short! • Miles loves to spoil you

• little bit OOC, Miles has a soft spot for you

• not proofread!!

”Where next, mí amor?” He grabbed your hand.

You and Miles were out on a date, and he was spoiling you.. like a lot.

But you’re not complaining though.

He’s gentle with you, which is unlike his apathetic and cold demeanor.

But you are his [name]. His world, his love. He would do anything for you if it ended up withyou safe and happy.

“Miles.. isn’t this a bit much? We’ve been out all day and you’re carrying so many bags.” You looked at him, slight confusion in your eyes.

He has bags all around his arms. He didn’t let you carry anything. He didn’t want you to, he heave you major princess treatment.

“nonsense, mí amor… it’s never too much when it comes to you.” His grip on your hand got tighter.

You had no clue where Miles got all this money from, it’s kind of concerning to you. But he’s not gonna tell you, so you just go with it.

“oh.. okay then.. how about.. uh.. the jewelry store?”

“Of course.”

He went the rest of the day spoiling you, and being affectionate.

”I love you, [name]. Mí amor… mí vida… mi bella querida.“ he kissed your cheek. Wrapping an arm around your waist.

Everything was great, it was all fine. Nothing bad could happen, right? .

Your date was later over, he went home while you went to work.

That’s when everything went terribly wrong. .

Meanwhile…

Miles was slouching on his couch, he was thinking about you, and how much he loved spending time with you… then, he saw the news channel. It was live.

The whole world stopped for him. There was a crumbling building… and it was falling to you.

That’s when he saw his dad too. He had ran to you, attempting to help, but it was too late. Miles watched it all from the TV. .

He was crying. He hadn’t noticed. But he did when it all sunk in… you were dead. His darling, his world. Was dead.

All he could do now was beg for you to walk through the apartment door, coming to see him again with a bright smile on your face.

He was waiting for his dad to come home, with dinner in his hands from Miles’s favorite restaurant.

He would never witness either of those ever again. .

As soon as he could, Miles and his uncle Aaron made a tribute to you and his dad with graffiti on the brick wall on the roof of the apartment complex. .

His father was smiling in the portrait. In his police uniform…

JEFFERSON DAVIS: BELOVED HUSBAND, AND FATHER.

You were also smiling. But Miles’s had painted a halo around your head. You were his angel after all, but now you were truly an Angel.

[NAME, L.NAME]: BELOVED FRIEND, BELOVED DARLING.

TO BE CONTINUED

#fluff to angst #ansgt #tw death #tw blo0d #miles morales #prowler miles #earth 42 #spider man: across the spider verse #across the spiderverse #Death #tw gun violence #tw gunfire #loss of a loved one #heavy angst

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stararch4ngelqueen · 6 months

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Sooo idk if u take requests and this is super angst but it’s been in my mind. Kinda like ghosts and mirages can u write a fic where jay finds readers (his gf) notebook and sees that she’s suicidal? And how he stops her? If this is too much angst I get it. Mwah !

TW: Suicide/self harm/mentions of attempts. STRONG topics, this was difficult to write but if it brings comfort to someone in need, I hope so. Please be advised.

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Before Jason was killed, he had natural ideas of death, as did everyone else.

What did heaven look like? Was it a fluffy clouded paradise? Would people find eternal happiness sitting by crystallize rivers glimmering in the sun, feasting on ripe fruits like Adam and Eve had done before them?

Everyone’s ideals were different, Jason’s had always changed. However, he liked the idea of this heaven, enjoying the possibilities of seeing his old pets running to him once the time came.

Just like the torch passed from one Robin to the next, things unexpectedly change.

When Jason died, there was nothing.

No heaven, no hell, no happiness. Maybe God held his soul on standby because he knew he’d return to the living. He wasn’t happy about it for the longest time.

Luckily, a piece of heaven blessed itself in a person such as yourself. Your smile as bright as sunshine, your heart as sweet and pure as gold. He’s never met anyone so happy, so free spirited and optimistic.

He didn’t mean to read it. He really didn’t.

He watched you write in journals all the time, ripping out pages when it came to grocery lists or phone numbers to shove in your backpack before leaving the door. He was only looking for a shopping list you texted him to take a photo of, only to come across the tragedies you’ve dealt with and still carry.

His heart absolutely shattered when he reads the vivid darkness of your sorrows embodied within the pages of your private journal. A painful burn forming deep in his chest, right in his own heart.

What worried him the most was your latest entry, dated on a Monday in fresh ink. Monday. Yesterday.

When you came home in question as to why Jason never sent you that list, you didn’t expect him to be sitting in the living room. His head hung low, his hands clenched together in desperation.

He didn’t bother to say anything. He didn’t need to.

Your journal, your cursed, dark brown journal was sitting on the coffee table in front of him.

Your silence screams out to him, his head turning to acknowledge your presence. He stands slowly, watching you carelessly drop your backpack onto the floor, looking absolutely horrified at what’s to come.

“Jason,” you say, staying right where you were at the door. “Stop. Stop that.”

“Stop what?” He asks, staring at you with somber eyes.

“Stop that,” you instantly reply, feeling your heart beat much faster. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like that!” You exclaim, your breathing growing more frantic. “Like I’m ... like there’s something wrong with me! Cut it out! Stop it!”

“I’m not—!” Jason’s voice accidentally raised, forcing himself to hold his tongue, his hands balled tightly by his sides.

“There’s nothing wrong with you baby,” He begins to say, only met with your shaking head.

“No, y’know what? Don’t bother,” you reply, quickly reaching for your keys.

You weren’t going to take that kind of conversation from anyone else ever again. The same, horrid words you’ve heard from your parents, your siblings, your friends.

You’re sick. How could you do this? What’s wrong with you? You need to be locked up somewhere.

Bold, accusatory statements that hurt worse than any knife ever could.

“You read it. It wouldn’t be sitting there if you hadn’t! I’m not gonna stand here and listen to you tell me that I’m—“

“Just stop!” He rips the keys from your hands, taking you by surprise at how fast he reached you. He nearly traps you against the door, hands grasping firmly along your shoulders.

“There’s nothing, baby!” He states right to your face, making your eyes grow wide. “There’s nothing wrong with you, okay? Nothing. I won’t let you think there is, get that shit out of your head right now!”

“B-but,” you start to babble, thick tears heading in the borders of your eyes. “I- I just -“

“You’re not crazy,” he interrupts, cradling your face in his heavy, trembling hands. “You’re not sick. Theirs nothing wrong with you, y’hear me? Nothing! Not a damn thing!”

Jason exhales a pained laugh, his own eyes spewing with tears. “Take it from me, babygirl. I’ve already died once, I’ll die again if you think like this.”

Speechless stole your ability to think, your ability to breathe. Your throat constricts around an invisible ball of molten steel, making you choke on your tears.

“I know you don’t wanna go, Princess,” Jason’s voice grows softer, both his thumbs making work in wiping your tears. “I know you don’t. You’re just tired, baby. That’s all.”

Slowly, you find yourself nodding, watching him nod with you.

“I’m tired,” you admit, gasping heavily in your newly weakened vulnerability. “I’m so tired, Jason.”

He holds you close to his body, clutching you as if saving you from a devastating fall. He knows this pain all too well, and you’ve saved him from it.

“I know,” he exhales, keeping you from withering away in the safety of his arms. “I gotcha now, okay baby? M’not going anywhere, jus’ let it out. I’m a big guy, I can take it.”

His biggest regret was letting those entries fill up three quarters of the journal. How many more did you fill up before then? How much pain do you carry in your heart that you need to hide via forcefully brighter smiles?

He wasn’t going to let this go on much longer. He needed you to know that someone in this harsh world understood the exhaustion, and that it was okay.

He didn’t know if Heaven or Hell truly existed, or if it was all just some huge hole of dark nothingness. He didn’t want you finding out either, feeling he’d be torn at the idea of bringing you to a Lazarus pit, but relenting on the possible side effects you’d suffer for it.

You deserved nothing of what Jason experienced, the man himself now feeling hellbent to protect you from it.

There wasn’t going to be any attempt, because Jason would do everything in his damn power to make sure that never, ever fucking happens.

Medications were locked, except the essentials, which even he supervised. He’d order from your favorite restaurants for a short while, preventing any use of kitchen cutlery.

He’d dote, making sure you kept your hygiene maintained. He’d enjoy sitting beside you outside the tub while you bathed, reading to you to keep you company. Though on certain days, you’d find his eyes flicker from the paper towards your hands when you had to use a razor, which even he was iffy about, and hid once you were done.

He never said he didn’t trust you, but don’t really be surprised if your razor is replaced with hair removal cream for the first few weeks.

If you were comfortable enough to seek out therapy, he’d offer up numbers of therapists he’s visited and trusted, helping you keep up schedules. After each session, he’d surprise you with flowers and boba on a park walk, or drive outside of Gotham.

Progress would be made, but progress wouldn’t move forward without your weak moments.

You’d have your days where your motivation was as stubborn as Jason’s mentality, refusing to listen to the things he said, or not bothering to get dressed for your next scheduled session.

Depression is horrid, but he understood. He was the most patient man you knew, cradling your body close to his in the middle of the night, muffling your minutes of screaming sobs against his chest, gently prying your hands away from your forearms when you dig your nails in a little too deep.

He’d remain awake as long as he had to, cradling your hands in his until your agony mellowed out, lulling you back to sleep. He was being the person he wished he had by his side long before he met you, back when he was alone and had no one.

Jason looked forward to the days you’d smile again, genuine happiness being a fuel to those pleasant flames. It’s okay if it would take a long time, keep giving him your tears. He can handle it.

You were the greatest gift he’s ever gotten in this fucked up world, not even you were going to take it away from him.

- -

I don’t know what death is like, nor do I know of all beliefs everyone has of them, but I do know about suicidal thoughts/intentions and having experienced them, please know, as tired as you may be, it isn’t worth it. My inbox is open if you ever need it. Dosent matter if you’re a stranger, let’s not be ❤️

#this hurt #jason todd #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #dc jason todd #gotham knights jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd dc #jason todd x female!reader #jason todd x plus size reader #angst #heavy angst #tw self destruction #tw sui implied

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10liver · 6 months

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If you died, Katsuki's heart and soul would be crushed. Even worse if he was the reason why.

Ever since you passed away from that one accident, he's never been the same. He's officially retired as a pro hero, locking himself up in the very same four walls that used to be your shared room. Now, it's just a soulless, empty pit of what it used to be.

He's cut off all of his friends, even Kirishima to the best of his abilities. He'd barely eat, only eating when Kirishima would get fed up enough to literally shove food down his throat.

The only thing on his mind was you and you only. Your future, your future kids, how you'd look if you aged. Your smile lingered in his brain every time it could to the point where all he could do was curl up and sob, wishing you were here and alive.

He wanted to see you again. He needed to see you again.

And so, he did.

#ao3 #fanfic #my writing #bnha #anime #oneshot #mha #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #angst #heavy angst #tw death #pro hero bakugo x reader #dead reader #sad brain rot

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fungifanart · 1 month

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Deserted

Characters: Leona Kingscholar, male reader, yuu!reader

CW: Heavy angst/whump, slight suicidal ideation

Word count: 1K

Notes: Did you guys know that Leona is my favorite character? (Also, @oleilaa got mad at me when I didn't tag them in my last Leona-related fic)

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Somehow, Leona knew that this is how it would all end for him.

Trudging alone across a barren desert, the hot sand slowly burning the bottoms of his bare feet beyond repair, his once proud and well-maintained mane now a rat's nest caked with more sand.

He turns his dry eyes up towards the horizon, hoping to see even a mirage of an oasis just to revel in the illusion of hope, but his mind won't even grant him that much. So he lowers his gaze back to the ground, he doesn't have a destination in mind anyway.

Should he go back to his home? What home? His "home" is nothing more than a large building full of people who hate him and reminders of all of his failures and shortcomings. In that sense, his home is just one big prison.

And he'd rather die than go back there.

So he keeps walking. In no definite direction. All while his hunger and thirst eat away at his insides and the harsh sunlight beats down on him from above.

This must be punishment for the Spelldrive tournament. The karma for his scheming, sabotage and lashing out has finally caught up. And it's going to be the death of him.

After what feels like hours of painful walking with no end in sight, Leona's legs finally give out. Leaving him no other option but to use his hands to drag himself across the sand on his stomach.

This is unequivocally the lowest Leona's ever felt: Aimlessly dragging himself across a desert he feels no greater than a grain of sand in.

However, just as Leona's arms are beginning to give out as well, he hears the sound of light footsteps approaching and looks up to see a familiar-looking face crouching down in front of him and extending a helping hand. Though, his eyes are too dry and tired to recognize who it is.

A few seconds of blinking later, his eyes finally adjust enough to fully make out the person's face, recognizing him as the prefect of Ramshackle dorm who's smiling like nothing is wrong as he holds out his hand.

Leona's eyes go unfocused again as he questions how he came to be here and, more importantly, why he's reaching out to him now.

Why is the Prefect reaching out to Leona: The man who put him through so much, almost taking his life in the process, and used him as a simple pawn on a chessboard before leaving him by the wayside?

Does he...really forgive him despite everything?

One more look at the Prefect's comforting smile and still outstretched hand gives him his answer: The sun positioned perfectly behind the other man's head to create a halo around it, giving him the look of a saint.

And that's what he is to Leona.

A saint.

A savior.

An angel.

His angel.

Leona finally musters the strength to reach out and take the Prefect’s hand...only for cracks in his skin and the color of sand to quickly spread all over the Prefect’s body, starting from where Leona had taken his hand.

Leona frantically lets go of the Prefect, but it's already too late. In the Prefect’s place stands a sand sculpture of him, still holding out its hand with a no longer comforting smile, which then crumbles into another pile of sand, indistinguishable from the rest surrounding him.

His body forces out whatever water it has left in the form of tears as the realization hits him.

He was a fool to have hope.

This is who he is.

Destroying things, reducing them to sand no matter what or who they are, is all that he's good for.

Who's to say that this entire desert isn't his handiwork as well?

His despairing cries echo over the area as the wind picks up, sweeping up the Prefect’s remains into a sandstorm that swirls around him almost mockingly.

Leona's body curls itself into a ball as his cries continue, growing more labored as sand invades his mouth and throat, drying them out and causing him to cough more than cry, wishing that his signature spell worked on himself as well.

The wind howls in his ears as this happens and he swears he can almost make out the sound of malicious laughter at such a pitiful display.

This new torture goes on for what may well be hours or even days for all Leona knows. He has to keep his eyes closed to shield from the sand and the sandstorm is blocking his view of the sun regardless.

This is truly his personal hell.

However, an unknown amount of time later, the laughter dies down before completely disappearing, taking the sandstorm with it with what sounds like a defeated sigh.

Leona opens his eyes, blinking the sand out of them as a more grounded set of footsteps than before approaches and he feels a hand take his and lift him up onto his feet, which suddenly feel normal again. In fact, everything about him feels normal again!

Looking at his savior, Leona is shocked to see the Prefect once again. However, his face bears much more mixed emotions than before, the forefront of which being...pity.

"I can't stay mad at you." He says with a sigh while turning away, "So I'm giving you one chance to wake up and get out of my sight."

Leona doesn't move or say anything, still too surprised over this development to even attempt waking up from this apparent dream.

A few seconds pass and the Prefect looks back at him with an incredibly frustrated expression, "Didn’t you hear me?!" He says before winding up to slap him.

"WAKE UP!!!"

The moment the Prefect’s hand connects with Leona's face is when he jolts awake, sitting up in his bed in Savannaclaw, with the only remnants of what he'd experienced being a dry feeling in his throat and a dull pain on his cheek.

#why is this mushroom writing fanfics?#twisted wonderland #twst leona #twst #leona kingscholar #twst mc #twst yuu #angst #heavy angst #tw sui ideation #twst x reader #twst x male reader #leona x reader

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holylulusworld · 1 year

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Barnes vs Barnes masterlist

Summary: The unavoidable happened. What will Bucky do now?

Pairing: Mobster!Bucky Barnes x Wife/Ex-Wife Reader

Warnings: heavy angst, cheating, sadness, heartbreak, mentions of infertility, wish for a baby, jealousy, more to be added

A/N: Please be aware this is an AU. Bucky is an ass and ooc in this story.

Barnes vs Barnes (1) - Fifteen

Barnes vs Barnes (2) - Nineteen

Barnes vs Barnes (3) - Thirty

Barnes vs Barnes (4) - Two

Barnes vs Barnes (5) - Thirtyfive

Barnes vs Barnes (6) - Four

Barnes vs Barnes (7) - Zero

Barnes vs Barnes (7.5) - Fifty-Fifty

Barnes vs Barnes (8) - Two

Barnes vs Barnes (9) - Sixty

Barnes vs Barnes (10) - Thirty-nine

Barnes vs Barnes (11) - Five

Barnes vs Barnes (11.5) - One

Barnes vs Barnes (12) - Eight

Barnes vs Barnes (13) - Ninety

Barnes vs Barnes (14) - Three

Barnes vs Barnes (15) - Three hundred and sixty-five - FIN

#bucky barnes #mobster!Bucky x Reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #mobster!bucky #mafia au #tw: cheating #heavy angst #bucky barnes x you

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stuffeddeer · 9 months

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small insinuation of self harm

Dazai realizing he loves his s/o, telling them, and then wanting to tell the world ! He's very dramatic, so he repeats it religiously at the agency - a mantra that follows him everywhere :))

Until afterwards when he's alone in his apartment, heart beating out of his chest and feeling especially anxious. What's wrong with him? He didn't do anything differently today than he normally does...

He thinks hard as to what might be causing this, when the door opens and you step in. Oh, he's anxious about you.

But why? He loves you! He's quick to say it as you close and lock his door, and the feeling suddenly returns.

Oh.

He feels a sudden urge to break up with you, loosen contact, drive you away - Does he love you? He didn't want to tell anyone else (he did, he regrets it now). What happens if he falls out of love? Why did he do that? His chest just keeps squeezing, keeps constricting — feeling almost as though he was drowning in his thoughts. A moment of reprieve is granted only by the gentle placement of your hand over his heart.

"Are you alright?"

A few deep breaths and Dazai's heart rate is back in his control. Yes, he loves you, he thinks. But saying it is too scary.

Dazai just looks at you, a war tearing between his brain and his heart, unable to decide how to feel. His brain wants him to vanish: pack up and leave you forever so he doesn't have to deal with this vulnerability. His heart, however, wants to pull you closer. Never leave you, never let you out of his sight, always keep you within six feet of him to protect and love— and like you.

You pull his head onto your chest, cradling it in one hand as the other cards through his hair. "You can tell me anything, you know."

Dazai knows. But telling you he's not actually sure he loves you after his huge breakthrough what was merely the night before feels cruel.

It took a lot for him to open up and admit that, and he's not sure he can open up and admit that he regrets it. He should leave you - you deserve someone better, someone who can shout from the rooftops that you're theirs. But selfishly, he wants to hold you close and let you sooth him.

Seeing him still so torn, not moving as you hold him, causes a frown to come onto your face. All you want is for him to be happy and healthy and loved, and you'd thought you had a 66.67% success rate (you're working on the health thing). Like Dazai had moments prior, you wrack your brain for a change, and quickly land the same place he did: his love for you.

You smile softly, maybe a little sadly, and pull him closer until he's sitting on your lap. "Osamu," you press a kiss to the crown of his head.

He says nothing, just staring blankly. This is the hardest he's ever had to work to keep his heart in check, to stop the frantic beating. Is it hot in here? Should he take off his coat? Why can't he tell everyone he loves his partner? He does love them, he does.

How are you supposed to approach this? If you say you don't have to love me, he could go on the defensive. You just want him to relax. "I'd never force you to do something against your best interest."

Dazai meekly nods. Of course not. You always focus on him and his needs, emotionally and physically. You pack him lunches so he doesn't skip it at work and force him to eat dinners with you most nights. He just now notices the plastic takeout bag on the table - you must have brought that in when you first arrived. You want what's best for him, and he loves you for that! Doesn't he? Does he?

"I don't want you to force yourself into doing anything— saying anything you aren't ready for yet."

Dazai shuts his eyes tightly. Of course you figured it out. Feeling anxious, his heart beats desperately as he relinquishes control, not caring if you notice. Several soft apologies begin to fall from his lips quicker than you can stop them. The turmoil of this is eating him alive, and he hates it. Is running still an option? Does he even want to? The only thing keeping him from opening up new scars tonight is the feeling of your fingers in his hair. He's not sure if he'd leave even if you made him.

Fuck, but staying is so hard. His hands move up to tightly grip the fabric of your shirt, bunching it up between his fingers in hopes to ground himself.

You say nothing, allowing Dazai time to collect himself. Minutes pass, the food you brought likely cold now as Dazai just breathes in your embrace. A small growl from your stomach pulls him from his head finally, a small smile on his face as he looks up, seeing an embarrassed blush decorating your cheeks.

"Sorry, sorry!" Suddenly you're burying your head in Dazai's chest, seeking solace from your embarrassment. You trust him, love him enough to let him comfort you, just as he does you. A groan comes out of your mouth as your hands cover your face.

Dazai chuckles, pulling your head up before gently removing the hands covering your face. Your shoulders fall as Dazai's smile makes you relax. Whatever's bothering him won't go away over night, but you'll always be there to help.

"Come on, let's go eat," Dazai says, voice much calmer than it is when he's loudly boasting about his s/o at the agency. You don't mind. You like this version of Dazai all the same.

He loves you, he's sure of it. He just needs some time to properly accept it before yelling it from the rooftops - and you're more than happy to give him that time.

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saltwaterburns · 5 months

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as our worlds move on, in this shirt, i can be you

summary: he was alone before you and after you. he didn't realize there would ever be an 'after you'

warnings: just sad rambles & stuff i suppose! 😁

pairing: anthony lockwood x gone!reader

a/n: Did el just?? Write angst?? While being an avid angst hater??? Could it be?? Yes. Yes it was. Whipped this baby up in half an hour while doing my bio homework. Ur welcome!!! This was written with a very specific song in mind. The reader isn't necessarily dead? Ghost touched or ghost locked, whatever your heart desires! Some of this text was taken from a tiktok caption i saw in May 😋

"My calendar's stuck on January, the month that you passed, and I haven't changed the sheets on my bed since. But it seems I still somehow find the strength to water the lilies, your lilies, because I know they were your favourite and I can't handle losing another part of you."

He stops scribbling and lets his pen drop to the table, closing his eyes from exhaustion. The hour is late, the silence around him overbearing, but his mind is amiss. His thoughts are like the wild, untameable sea, roaring out again and again and again, come back. Come back, come back, come back.

But you're not coming back. Not when he asks, not even when he asks nicely. Not when he begs, not when he cries. All he's got left of you are memories of fleeting looks, hushed giggles and gentle brushes of hands and lips against each other.

For a moment he thinks he can still smell and feel you. He thinks he can almost imagine your eyes, the mischievous sparkle in them. It's a fleeting moment if anything but it happens, his mind takes him back to when your eyes locked and that's when he realizes everything that's beautiful in the world started with you and the magic you held, the love you sprinkled like pixie dust on everyone you ever met. Then the moment passes quicker than it occurred, and he's left in a world where your touch still lingers, where your fingerprints still exist in the dust adorning his home and where the flowers beside your bed have just begun to wilt. Where the love that you carried has spread further than you could've ever imagined and made new again so many hearts you never broke.

He's left utterly alone in a world where every thing, every sensation and feeling is a constant reminder of you and your loving heart, your gentle and helpful soul, your witty comments and abnormally good rapier skills.

He chuckles at the memory and his gaze trails over the umbrella holder where your rapier, still untouched, resides. The kitchen light reflects back from the shiny blade, the pink gemstones glimmering on the handle.

It's so you. Decorating your rapier, the one thing keeping you safe in a world filled with ghosts with cheap little gems. In your words, the rapier was "plain and freaking ugly," and it's so you that his heart leaps in his chest. He's got this primal urge to tease you, ask if you want to stick some butterfly stickers onto the blade too, but as he turns around to face your chair, the words die in his throat.

He clenches his jaw, squeezing his hands into fists, letting his nails dig crescent shaped marks into his flesh. The pain sobers him up, pushing arising tears back down his tear duct. He refuses to cry.

He refuses to cry because you aren't here to hold him, kiss away the salty tears pouring down his cheeks and muffle the sobs wrecking his body with your lips. You aren't here and it finally dawns upon him. You aren't here and he's alone, just like he was before you.

#anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood x reader #george karim #lockwood and co #lockwood and co x reader #lucy carlyle #george karim x reader #lucy carlyle x reader #light angst #or heavy angst?#death mention tw #anthony bloody lockwood #lockwood netflix #lockwood x reader #lockwood x y/n #Spotify

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issybee06 · 25 days

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Discombobulated

(adj.) emotionally confused or uncertain

……………………….…………………………………………………

The mission wasn't supposed to go this way. It was a B-ranked mission that took the two teams four days in the middle of the Earth country to complete, and they were just on their way home.

Kakashi should have foreseen this somehow, despite being just a Chunin with no Dōjutsu to see into the future. He still should have been prepared.

They all should have.

The enemy had strung on them when they were at their lowest, chakra exhausted from a previous battle.

Kakashi hadn't seen the man grab you, nor had he seen the blade covered in poison being stabbed into you, all he saw was the expression of pure terror Rin had on her face as she witnessed the scene.

He heard though, the screams of Kushina as she raced to you. The cried of Gai as Genma held him back from running after his sensei. Minatos calls to head to the cottage a mile back.

Now here he was, standing in the doorway of the Cottage as Rin and Kushina frantically tried to save you.

Obito, Genma, and Gai sat on the porch, eyes trained forward in horror. If you died… you'd be the first friend any of them had lost.

Kakashi, he didn't turn away. He watched as Rin, with tears streaming down her face, dug through all her medical bags searching for her antidotes.

He watched as Kushina grabbed a kunai to cut open your shirt and sports bra, and he watched as Minato held your hair back as you leaned over the shitty old kitchen table to throw up your own blood.

Your face, sweaty and flushed from the fever that was beginning to rise. Your pretty eyes that he had caught himself looking at were blinking tiredly. Your hair was wet, stuck to your face and knotted around your head.

Kakashi couldnt look away.

You were still pretty, he thought. Even if you looked like death.

Minato had to force him, pulling him away from the scene as Kushina pulled the fabric from your front, exposing the wound.

“You don't want to see this.”

Good Minato, who despite dealing with three kids in the middle of the war, still tried to keep them somewhat pure from the horrors of this world.

Kakashi, as soon as he turned away, knew you were going to die.

You had been insignificant to him for most of your lives, just another face in the classroom you two had shares.

You were nice, he knew that, but being nice got people killed and he was certain you'd die if you ever got into a battle. Back in the academy, you were quiet, nice, and friendly but insignificant to him.

You had changed since he had graduated before you, and left you to grow.

You turned into a fighter, not as good as Gai but you were above average. You fought with everything, all you had and it impressed Kakashi how much you grew.

Being Kushinas student must have done you some good, because you also held a fire similar to hers.

Maybe that’s why you had rushed to Genma, fighting the enemy that had knocked him out.

Maybe that’s why you had cut the man’s face, scarring him.

Maybe that’s why you were grab by your throat, held down and stabbed with the poison covered blade.

Maybe it was because now you were dying on a rotting table inside of an abandoned cottage in enemy woods.

Maybe it was because you were stupid, rushing to save your friend with no consideration for your life.

Maybe that's why he had grown to love you more than a teammate.

You used to be so insignificant in his life, but now you were everywhere.

*first post, might make this a series!*

#hatake kakashi x reader #kakashi x reader #naruto #naruto shippuden #minato namikaze #kushina uzumaki #x reader #obito uchiha #rin nohara #angst #genma shiranui #might gai #heavy angst #tw blood #kakashi hatake x reader

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ilariyalavorowrites · 13 days

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Stalking Me, Stalking You (CSI Nick Stokes) Part two

Imagine: You never saw it coming, you never knew he was there until the moment he struck. For months, this individual had stalking you from the shadows, trying to find a way into your life. Never quite able to but in his mind, time was running out and soon enough you would be completely out of reach. This was the moment to act, to ‘rescue’ you and steal you away.

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, kidnapping, hurt but eventual comfort. Suffering, lots of suffering, slow-moving plot, stalking, obsessive behaviour.

Pairings: Nick Stokes x Reader and Reader x OC (one-sided)

Word count: 3,338 words

Universe: CSI

Reader gender: Female

Part two of ten

Tagged: @just-call-me-the-old-hag @horsedragonllama @space-helen @kneelforloki

Previous / Next

Tuesday, 8 AM

It was hard to even comprehend what, the how but most importantly the why as you lay upon the lumpy, uncomfortably firm bare mattress. There was not much within the room that could easily make out through the darkness covering every inch from wall to wall. A small window was your light source, far too high up and tiny to even be considered a viable escape route.

A bare-bones cell, where you were completely dependent upon your captor for all your necessary needs except one. How long had it been since you had been placed within these four walls? It was hard to say with any degree of accuracy but you could hazard a guess after watching the sliver of light move across the room. At least twenty-four had come and gone which gave you ever a little hope.

As you thought over the few details you remember when he had last opened the only possible exit, an empty pendant that hung in the middle of the ceiling and one single chair and table on the other side of the room and that blinking red light staring down, watching. A camera poised just out of reach, following your every motion from within the safety of a room far beyond that locked door.

You could only focus on what was important, surviving through until an opportunity presented itself. One, where you'd find a way out and into the welcoming embrace of freedom. Until such a time arose, you would bide your time knowing that your mother’s arrival would herald the alarm being raised, you had not known a moment in time when she hadn’t been resourceful when left to her own devices.

She wouldn’t have remained at the airport for longer than what she deemed a necessary length of time to wait before flagging down a taxi. You hated to envision the sight of her arriving at the house, only to discover that you were not there. Only to try and reach out again, nervously calling again and again but never able to reach you and elevate that rapidly growing concern.

Fear was your constant companion, never knowing what was going to happen the next time that the door opened. With one hand, you pushed yourself up until you were sitting on the edge of the makeshift bed. As soon as you sat up, the waves of nausea returned but you could ignore it for now.

Your eyes turn upwards, staring straight at the camera. As your analytic mind ran through possible scenarios but for now, it was best to comply with your kidnapper. Play along, act like the part that he wanted you to play as you observe every word spoken, the slightest action and reaction to find that gold window to escape.

It would take time but then again, right now that was all you had. It had taken more than a moment, to mull over where you had seen him before, trying to place the man who had imprisoned you against your will. Then it hit you like a ton of bricks. Your eyes widened, in suspense at the realisation of who he was and the extent of the resources he had available to play with.

Money to make his problems vanish at the drop of a hat, with one well-placed phone call to the right person. You would have to play your cards carefully and hold them close to your chest as one wrong move could send you spiralling down a path that might not come back from.

Taking baby steps as you blindly walked over broken eggshells. The click of the lock turning alerted you to the fact that you were no longer alone. He was coming through.

“Darling, did you sleep well? “He affectionately crooned, pushing the heavy door inward, and entering the box-sized room. There was a sense of anticipation for you to reply in his tone as he stiffly stood mere feet away, with a food-laden tray in one hand, carefully balanced but his eyes were glued to your frame. Lingering a fracture of a second longer upon your abdomen before darting away.

You could have screamed at the top of your lungs, demanding pointless answers to the mountain of questions you plucked of out the air, as to what had led him down this dark path, but what good would that do? You had seen the various outcomes, seen bodies dumped and victims torn asunder for questioning their killer’s motivations.

“My back aches but I did get a little sleep” You forced the words out, much like you would dry swallow tablets if you had no water. Your answer seemed to be good enough, as he quickly turned on his heel to place the tray down on the table.

You followed his few short steps, hesitating to move from your seated position. The table itself was bolted down to the floor, as was the chair. To keep you from wielding either as a weapon against him. He had thought through each likely eventuality, combing out stray paths that could allow you to find your way out.

This was going to be harder than you had initially considered but the security camera should have the first indication that he was smarter than most of the criminals you tangoed with daily.

“Your breakfast will get cold, come eat” There was underlying sharpness to his words as he spoke still in that disturbingly affectionate tone.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------Monday, 9:15 AM

As Officers Jack Rodriguez and Francis Sawyer rolled up to the scene, their eyes glanced from left to right taking in all the necessary details that would need to be relayed to dispatch first and then to whichever CSI would be assigned to gather evidence.

It was a standard one-up, one-down house that looked much like the ones on either side. Nothing special from the outside. The perfect starter family home for any citizen who looking to live in this part of town.

Rodriguez pushed open the driver’s side door on the cruiser, as Sawyer silenced the siren that had flashing the blues as they raced across town straight from the police station. It was their first call of the day and they both wanted to get the ball rolling. His eyes then searched for the woman who had placed the call in the first place, one Mrs Evelyn….

Her surname had been a familiar one but then again, there were likely to be countless individuals with that particular surname. He pushed against the notion as his eyes landed upon an older lady frantically pacing in front of the homestead with Its front door wide out to the elements.

His keenly trained eyes noted the suitcase lying on the grass verge, remembering that the dispatcher had mentioned that this lady was the mother of the property’s inhabitant and was visiting from out of town.

“Sawyer, I’ll speak to the lady who phoned this in, whilst you secured the scene” Rodriguez stated to his partner who nodded and moved in the direction of the front door. They had always worked well together, becoming in sync over the last decade of their partnership.

Jack with a gentle smile approached Evelyn carefully, trying his best not to startle her already frayed nerves. “Morning Ma’am, I’m Officer Rodriguez” He quickly introduced himself to try and begin an open line of communication between the two of them.

With his gun in one hand, poised in front of him Officer Francis Sawyer slowly approached the property. His eyes swept from left to right, to make sure that nothing would catch him off-guard as he moved through the threshold and into the entrance hall.

“Las Vegas Police Department” He loudly announced as he took the first step past the doorway. There was nothing but silence as he continued onwards, taking in every little detail from the empty coat hooks on the left side to the different pairs of shoes lined up on the right.

Nothing out of the ordinary thus far as he ventured further into the domain until he stopped at the threshold of the living room. This room told a completely different story. The sofa and chairs were knifed and torn into tatters, the coffee table shattered into a thousand different pieces and every drawer and cupboard gone through.

Papers and possessions were thrown about the place, littering every inch of the floor. It was a complete and utter disaster as if a mini hurricane had come through here. As he inched deeper into the room, the crack of photo frames underfoot drew his gaze downwards. Seeing the image of one that he had crossed paths with in the past, at the shift change when she was on her way out. He blanched, as a sudden realisation hit him hard like a ton of bricks.

This was the home of one of their own. The name rang around his head once more, embedding the notion of this violation of privacy as if it was his own home that this stranger had entered and recklessly destroyed.

“LVPD, if anyone is there come out now” He tried once more but still was met with a wall of silence. He carefully wandered through the remainder of the rooms, sticking to the walls as he cleared each one. Francis went from one end of the house to the other until he stood in the kitchen at the back of the residence. Taking note of the broken glass that covered the ground underneath one of the windows. Once he finished his walk-through, he exited back out the front door to rejoin his partner to stand guard until the forensic unit took control of the scene.

Evelyn continued to listen and answer to the best of her ability the Officer’s endless barrage of questions. “Once I saw the state of the living room, I left the way I entered as I didn’t want to find myself face-to-face with the intruder” She had recalled the advice that her daughter had given her on one of their weekly catchups when she had told her about their cousin’s plight when she found her home broken into.

“I have been trying to reach my daughter since I landed, but my calls remain unanswered and this makes me think something has happened to her” Evelyn said, words drenched in heavy layers of fear and worry for her child. “How did you get in Ma’am?” Jack questioned, as he continued down this path as the picture of what had led to the phone was coming together.

“My daughter came me a key the last night I was here, last October but the door had been left ajar which is not like my daughter at all. She would always check and make sure the door was locked before leaving” Evelyn answered honestly as this had been her child’s way even before moving to Vegas. Forever worried about her safety within and outside her residence.

As Sawyer returned, Jack could not ignore the troubled look on his partner’s face. He had found something within those four walls as he watched him relay to dispatch an update. The familiar radio codes alerted him that there was more to this scene than what they had been informed en route. “Ma’am, is there any reason that your daughter would deliberately go missing” It was a question that needed asking, even if it left a bitter taste in his mouth as the words passed through his lips.

“No, she was looking forward to this visit. We had plans, including dinner reservations with her partner” Evelyn blurted out, annoyed at the notion that her daughter would just up and disappear like this.

“Do you happen to know the name of her partner? Had your daughter mentioned any concerns about them?” He pressed, knowing that any romantic entanglements would always be the first point of call in any investigation.

“His name is Nick but I don’t know his last name. They meet through work but she has never expressed any concerns. She always seemed happy when talking about him” Evelyn replied as she failed to recall any conversation where her daughter had spoken negatively about Nick. Jack nodded, noting down this in his notepad as the CSI’s rolled up.

“Thank you, Ma’am, I have your contact details and my partner will drop you off at one of the hotels as this is now an active crime scene” Jack started to explain before adding “I will let my superiors know to update you when we have more information” He tried his best to calm her but knew that she would likely be beside herself until that phone call came through.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------Monday, 11:30 PM

Captain Jim Brass entered the room without meeting the gaze of any of his colleagues. Conrad Ecklie followed close behind, much like a shadow would.

“Thank you all for waiting, at 8:45 this morning, officers were alerted to a burglary at the home of one of our own. From the testimony of the detective next of kin who had discovered the scene, dayshift CSIs have gone over the home with a fine tooth comb but it seems that this was just a distraction” Jim stated, taking a breath before continuing.

“The detective has not been sighted since 10:45 am yesterday, the availability of evidence has led u to believe that this is now a 427, that she has been kidnapped” As Jim spoke her name, he watched the expression on each of the faces change.

“We are pooling all resources together but as there will be a conflict of interest. The graveyard shift will be hands-off, using eyes only when reviewing the evidence. As Dayshift will be taking the lead. This time, Conrad spoke with authority that went above and beyond the department as Undersheriff of the entire LVPD.

Nick was beyond speechless, his face pale as the shock continued to rush through him. He could not find the words to express the true extent of his abject horror. His partner was missing and the order from up on high had all but reduced his capacity to assist in bringing her home, back to him.

In a sense, he was an observer looking through a pane of glass, whilst others had the control and power behind his rescue. It was maddening, his blood boiled at the frustration and anger rising within. With his fist clenched, hanging by his side, to stood and listened knowing that verbally lashing out would get him nowhere fast.

Nick knew that he would need to come clean to Russell and Catherine to the extent of his relationship with the now-victimized detective. However, that meeting would come sooner rather than later, as Nick’s body language had not escaped DB Russell’s observant gaze. It was dissimilar to how the other had responded. The quiet fury reminded the older man not of a colleague or friend but of a deeper, more passionate connection.

His keen and well-trained eyes had moved through the room, watching how each of them had reacted. Frustration and annoyance hung in the air, they all wished to help to get to the bottom of this. They had worked alongside the Detective in question, some for many years, others not quite as long. He had only worked with the Dectivictive on a handful of cases but still, she was an easy-going well trained and personable individual.

Nick was a man bounded by limitations but ready to fight back when the opportunity arose, to go to the end of the earth, searching under every rock along the way. His eyes told a story, one that would be similarly reflected in his own if his family had been the ones to be taken.

He needed to speak to Nick Stokes the seasoned Criminalist before Nick Stokes the man and loving partner took hold and crossed a line that he could not come easily back from.

There was no personal connection for him, Russell would view the evidence objectively without bias but his colleagues would likely struggle. They would most definitely try but Stokes was an unknown element. A match that could easily spark into a blaze, he would need assistance in quelling this fire before it started. Catherine Willows would be an ideal second, to tag along into this meeting.

With this knowledge, the cogs in his mind begin to turn. “Catherine, A word if you wouldn’t mind” Russell’s focus shifted back to the blonde woman standing across from him. He gestured with his left for her to follow him. She quickly nodded, before the pair of them exited the room,

His eyes flicked back to the layout as the two of them entered his office, walking as the lone Texan stepped into the hallway. His entire posture was tense, driven by powerful emotions that could send him spiralling down a dangerous road.

“What do you want to talk about DB?” Catherine enquired, from the other side of his desk, patiently waiting for him to answer. “Close the door please, As this pertains to Nick Stokes,” He said calmly, taking a seat behind the desk in his recently acquired office, decorated with his little personal touches.

Catherine quickly closed the door but turned sharply back when Nick’s name was raised. “Nick? Relating to what exactly?” She questioned, taking a step closer to the man who was effectively her boss and superior.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------Sunday, 7:30 PM

His eyes remained fixed upon the long strait of the road ahead as he passed a sign on the side of the road. The twenty-five foot high tall incandescently lit up sign that marked the Vegas limits as his eyes briefly lifted to take in the words upon the back of it.

DRIVE CAREFULLY, COME BACK SOON

A smirk spread across his lips, as he turned his attention back to the road. A thought crossed his mind. He had no intention of ever returning to this city again, especially now that he had what he craved the most. All tucked away in the trunk of the car, she would still be knocked, thanks to the cocktail of drugs that he had administered not long before leaving the shack where his prize had been concealed.

This was just the beginning of their life together, as long as she played her role to perfection like he knew she would. The winding road would indeed be arduous, for it would be a long while before they reached home. Yes, it would be their home to spend the rest of their days together.

She was different, unlike the others who tried and failed to live up to his high standards. She was the ideal candidate. She would succeed, where the others had been dismally disappointing. Those who let him down did not deserve to breathe the very same air as he did but they were not worth another wasted moment of his time, even to reflect upon.

“Here’s to the next chapter of our lives Darling” He smugly announced confidently, knowing that there was no one else around to hear his words. Not even his darling, who was lost to the drug-induced slumber. For there were no loose ends to tie up, they had all be swiftly taken care of, one way or another.

No direct evidence linking back to him, all the angles had been carefully considered before taking action. Oh, how wished that he could watch them scramble around like lost little lambs trying to find their way in the dark. Alas, that could not be, it was the risk that was too high for him to take without compromising his escape. It had needed to be a clean getaway, without that the probability of discovery rose to a level that could lead the cops right to his door.

He would not lose her, not after all the time that he had invested in his venture to simply obtain her, to rescue her and make her his.

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