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kestalsblog · 3 months

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Thoughts on "Loser, Baby" Song

From what I’ve seen, viewers are extremely divided on the impact of the song “Loser, Baby” in the fourth episode of Hazbin Hotel. I’ve decided to share my own thoughts on the sequence below. Warning that this is a long post, and if you are triggered and upset by the song and/or episode, I encourage you not to read. I understand and respect any individual analysis, and if you were hurt by the song in any way, you are 100% valid. Others who feel differently are also valid. All I ask for is that same respect.

I don’t believe the only people qualified to speak on media are those who can relate to it, but I feel, given the conversation surrounding the episode, I should briefly mention my own background, so people don’t assume I am trying to speak on behalf of other survivors here. As a preface, I was in a severely abusive long-term relationship, so I can understand multiple perspectives here.

First, since Husk is a gambler, it’s safe to read the song as an extended metaphor for gambling too, in which case “loser” takes on the literal meaning– someone who has lost the game. Husk reminds Angel that many of us are dealt the shitty hand in life, and that the best way to get through the game is simply to go together. That’s probably the simplest positive analysis, but I think it's important to keep in mind throughout the whole song so that we don't read "loser" only as "failure" or "scum of society."

The most understandable criticism, though, is that the piece is blaming victims by attacking them and trivializing their experiences. I’m the most on the side of this argument at the words “whiny bitch,” which feel like an odd choice considering Husk has been nudging Angel to open up throughout the entire episode. It’s not my favorite line, but I can handle it only if we read the song as Husk actually singing to himself and calling himself these names as a means for Angel to see that he feels the same.

I do have some fondness for the song’s language as it continues, though. Excuse me for referencing my own personal experience here, but it’s relevant to my understanding.

Eventually in my healing journey, I realized writing and speaking affirmations to myself like “you’ll get better soon!” and “time heals everything!” were making me feel worse and frustrated. I felt like I was just waiting around for this magical deadline when I would “improve” or “recover,” and when that didn’t happen, I felt terrible about myself because I felt like a failure on top of damaged goods. I was letting myself down.

I reached a cathartic moment one day when I admitted to myself, “Maybe things are never going to get better, and I am always going to feel ruined by this.” Confessing this possibility allowed me to realize that, despite the fact that I am a “loser” in that I lost time, innocence, my old sense of security, and my carefree nature from before, I can still experience meaningful and even joyful moments in this new, altered condition.

At one point in the sequence, lots of flashing signs point terrible, degrading names at Husk and Angel. I can see why this might be upsetting to some viewers who are adamant that the characters do NOT represent those labels, but there is an obvious alternate reading that these are just the names both have assigned themselves over the years. By putting them bright and on display, they can face their self-hatred directly and reclaim their honest selves. (Let me pause here to say it's also crucial to remember Husk is not directly calling Angel any of these names). The solo lights then disappear and are replaced first with the soft blue raindrops moment where Husk shields Angel with the umbrella, and finally with the single LOSER where they both can dance together.

Most importantly, the lyrics gesture toward surprisingly affirmative by the song’s conclusion: “Eat shit together, things will turn out differently / It’s time to lose your self-loathing / Excuse yourself, let hope in, baby / Play your card, be who you are.”

Husk isn’t disregarding the possibility of hope, even in the gutter for the losers. In fact, he directly welcomes the possibility that the game can change with company, and self-hatred won’t be beneficial toward supporting that change. Even if we are dealt the losing hand, he reminds us the game is still worth playing. He reminds Angel again and again that it's okay to be who he is. And now "loser" assumes a new connotation - losing the negativity, the hatred, the things that are holding them back.

Significantly, after this point, no more self-negatives are even spoken, not even "loser" again because Husk and Angel are interrupted before the crucial word “me” when they sing that final line “loser just like—” Any connection to the self now has been effectively erased, reminding us that Angel and Husk may have made poor choices, may have been given crappy cards, but they are not losers in the sense that they are not less of people.

Last, it’s important to remember that the song is not meant to speak for everyone. It can't. If we’re going to be strict about it, it’s not for any survivors except Angel, and as we can see by his shifting mood, it certainly helps him feel better in the moment. The whole episode has been about Husk trying to encourage him to “break down his walls” and stop feigning the super inflated ego act he typically puts on, so, in one way, it becomes a “let’s get Angel past the self-loathing that’s preventing him from being his real self so we can move on to something more genuine and happier together" tactic.

I know it’s hard to separate our lived experiences from media. Judging from the disparity in opinions I’ve read from survivors on the song, I’d say it’s been therapeutic for just as many as it’s been damaging.

Before I conclude, it's worth mentioning I also have my own critiques of the song. I mentioned one with the word “whiny.” Another potential issue is the difference between Angel and Husk’s problems. I’m not trying to minimize gambling addictions by any means, but I know many of us feel that Husk’s loss of a cushy social position because of gambling pales against the extreme bodily violence Angel faces. I think it would be odd for Husk not to attempt to comfort Angel in some way, and trying to relate is one of the most common ways of doing so, but I admit that the discrepancy in their situations bugged me throughout the number. Husk reminds Angel he's "not unique" in his problems, which is important for survivors to remember (to know they are not alone), but it might mean a little more coming from someone on a similar playing field. The one redemptive thing I can say here though is that both characters sold their souls to someone with a tyrannical hold over them, and even though we know Alastor isn’t abusing Husk in the same way Val hurts Angel, we have yet to see the connotations of his power within that specific dynamic.

When push comes to shove, the song overall works for me, and I admit I felt seen while watching/listening, which isn't even something I really care about in media, but it was an interesting experience nonetheless. If you felt otherwise, I am sorry, and I encourage you to do your best to separate yourself from the media you consume and remember that every story, every song, is written by flawed people for flawed people. I mean it as fondly as possible, but we're all just losers "living in the same shit sandwich." Nothing will ever perfectly represent or encompass your own experience and healing. Analyze art respectfully for what it is, what it isn't, and what it can be.

What else can you do?

#hazbin hotel #loser baby #hazbin hotel loser baby #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel angel dust #media analysis #hazbin hotel spoilers #thoughts #sensitive topics #kestal #huskerdust

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candywife333 · 9 months

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There is Never A Right Time

Summary:

Jungkook hadn’t thought about the woman he had left for a long time. He had gotten secretly married to her, his judgement clouded under the influence of alcohol, and all it took was a shadow of distrust to make him abandon her. If the world questioned the sanctity of her character, then the world had to be right. Right? He hoped he was right at least. Because if he wasn’t , he had lost the best thing that had ever happened to him in his life. As he continued to work as a top idol, artist, and entrepreneur time went by. He had other women but they never lasted long in his life. When he attended an award show with the rest of the members, he saw a girl there. Another artist. Definitely someone he knew he had never seen or heard of before. Who was she? Something about her was familiar. Maybe her eyes. And then it struck him, making him go as cold as a corpse. He had seen those same eyes somewhere else alright, in the mirror when he looked at his own reflection every morning.

DISCLAIMER: The character written in this fan fiction does not represent the real Jungkook’s personality or behavior. All of this is fiction.

WARNING: Fic mentions noncon/rape (does not describe it explicitly in this part), please don’t read if this is a trigger.

This series is slated to be a trilogy. Here is PART ONE, hope you guys enjoy. Also, I will be creating a permanent tag-list for all my chubby reader fics, please let me know in comments whoever would like to be a part of that.

PART 1

The lady stood in front of him and the other members. She exuded a powerful aura, regal and dignified. These qualities were rather an unusual combination for idols, especially Korean idols so he was a little starstruck. Something that was rather unusual for any member of BTS to feel. She couldn't have been more than 18 years old though based on her appearance. The girl must be mixed race because she had very unconventional features for an idol. She had dark thick curly black hair that trailed to her hips and her skin reminded him of strongly brewed milk tea. The even more startling features were her plush lips, a prominent straight nose graced by a diamond stud, and double lidded eyes fringed with what seemed to be thick eyelashes.

She was sporting an unusual outfit as well; a customized skirt and bra set that he only saw gypsies and belly dancers wear. A gold belt adorned her waist sitting lower on her hips with a diamond belly piercing highlighting her lithe , toned figure. He couldn't stop looking at her because strangely enough something about her was familiar.

He made eye contact with her accidentally and what he saw made his heart palpate against his chest. He had seen those same eyes every day of his life in his mirror. Her doe eyes were too similar to his own. They say that eyes are a mirror to the soul, but her eyes were a mirror to his own.

Who was she? He felt a stir of panic as their eyes met and she bowed down low. She was of average height, but her presence seemed to envelope the room since other well known artists, idols, and staff greeted her politely. The stage director came near her bowing. To Jungkook’s surprise , she spoke in fluent Korean though she seemed to be a foreign artist.

The stage director and the girl were a few feet away from BTS when the stage director exclaimed , “How is your mother doing Cha-ya? She must be worried since you have only promoted up til now in the US, Thailand, and India. Are you having a comfortable time adjusting over here?”

The girl’s eyes lit up in glee as she responded with a little chuckle, “It has for sure been a different experience than the U.S. and India for sure. The stage is so organized and everything is so close by for promotions. I am enjoying it to the max. Mom told me to eat well and sleep 8 hours a day. You know how doctors are like. She’s constantly checking in on me to see if I am stressed out. Saiyan and Arang are also being such worrywarts since this is the first time I’ve been here.”

The stage director continued in mild surprise, “Are they your brothers? I thought you were an only child ?”

She guffawed in a cacophonous fashion which made several idols and artists look her way, in awe and confusion. Jungkook thought that she was a rather different type of artist. Very uninhibited by social norms. Clearly she had not been brought up in Korea.

“Director, we are actually triplets but both of them were born a few minutes ahead of me so they insist that they are my older brothers. We are very tight knit and they will be coming to visit soon. Saiyan is a pretty popular model right now and so he will be finishing his Engineering degree at Washington State and rush over here for Seoul fashion week. Arang on the other hand finished his MBA/Medicine dual degree, so he will be managing a chain of Health and Wellness Resorts over here. “

The director’s jaw slid open in an exclamation. He sputtered in disbelief, “ How are all of your siblings so well studied and managing jobs like that? You must be the only sibling purely in entertainment.” The girl deliberated for a second before responding, “Mom made sure we all had solid educations before pursuing these types of careers. She is always skeptical of fame, and she brought us up to be extremely disciplined, stable, and loyal individuals. I am actually finished with my course in Law (focus in international law) ,but currently all that is stalled for the time being because of my activities in entertainment.”

As Jungkook was hearing this conversation along with the other artists in the room who were curiously eavesdropping as well, the Director continued in awe, “Your mother seems to be an extremely strong lady. I knew she was a doctor who seemed extremely rich and well off, but she must literally be a goddess to give birth to such high achieving kids. What about your father, what does he do?”

Cha-ya scoffed with a quizzical, somewhat bitter look, “He actually left her before we were even born. We found out who he was when we all finished college. Our mother made sure our upbringing was never lacking. We saw him a lot on the Korean and world news growing up but never knew that he was our dad. You know, he is someone whose popularity never fades strangely enough. He sold his soul for fame, so it is to be expected perhaps.” The director looked so intrigued and invested as he prodded for more info, “ Who is he? Definitely we would know who he is? Is he a singer, actor, businessman in the industry over here?”

Cha-ya’s entire expression became rigid and mask-like as she replied in what seemed to be a disinterested tone, “ We do not consider him our dad, so neither my brothers, nor I would like to claim him. He was a sperm donor. That is the long and short of it. Who he is, is as irrelevant as what today’s weather forecast is. He betrayed my mother and trusted the world over her. She went through so much pain just to be by his side. And when she thought the pain would end, he left her. I have to be on stage, so if you will excuse me now Sir.”

She side stepped the director and went closer to the entrance of the main stage. Jungkook could feel the bile and vomit rising to his mouth. She had been pregnant when he had left her? He had three kids, that he never knew anything about? This grown beautiful artist was his daughter?And he had two more accomplished sons? His parents had grandkids? And how the hell did she brith triplets?!! Wouldn’t her vagina tear ??????!!!

His world was crashing down on him as the rest of BTS stared at him with stark grief painted across their faces. They all remembered her name, it was unforgettable.

Before he could process anything, he heard the booming noise starting up on the stage. Wait, wait up a minute! This track was the most popular pop/ rock release of the year all over the US. He saw his daughter he never knew he had on stage in an elaborate headdress dancing with precision and fluidity on stage. She had no backing track, the other idols could tell. This was live. Only one artist sang with no backing track in all her performances this year in the US. She was on MTV and all other award shows, becoming sensational, l hitting all headlines for singing with no backing track usually acapella . Shadow, that was her romanized name, but in all Asian countries she went by Nee-Da.

She had risen to the top for the past 3 years for her herculanean work ethic , creative marketing/business acumen. She was known for her cutthroat ruthlessness in the music industry, mostly aided by the fact that her mother was known to own and manage the world’s most innovative new security system, Poison. He did not know what to be more shocked about at this point? How could he not have recognized her? Seeing her in real life was different from seeing her on stage with all the makeup and ornamentation on.

She was the pop-star of the era, a business mogul with a net worth of close to 300 million dollars at such a young age due to her clothing and makeup line. She was his daughter. How could this even be possible? Jungkook could feel his identity crisis coming. How did he birth the most iconic popstar of this generation, who as of now hated his guts? What scared him even more was the realization of who her mother was.

The lady he had left, the woman he could never forget even in his dreams was her mother. And her mother owned the world’s scariest personal security company, Poison. The company had revolutionized personal security by founding a bracelet and many other gadgets that created magnetic repellant force fields around individuals. It was notorious for being marketed only towards woman and could only be activated when the device recognized the XX chromosome, so the device would never protect men.

Basically, women all around the world who had these devices now had a programmable magnetic forcefield around them which shielded them from the outside world. Firearms, Tasers, and aggressors were all repelled by this technology. Women could safely walk out in the middle of the night as long as they had a device, which was continuously made affordable at its very inception by the reclusive owner of the company.

With this technology ,the owner instantly became the most powerful business woman, icon, feminist, that the world knew. That is in fact all the world knew. That she was a woman. But nobody knew anything else about her, she was an elusive person who didn't show up to most media events. Her personal motto was that the products advocated for themselves. Her financial officers and other company higher ups showed up in the media, but she never did. Most people in the world didn't even know how this woman looked like, because of how reclusive she was.

All people knew was that she was Cha-ya’s mother and that she had two other kids.

What Jungkook got to know that made him almost go into a stroke was the sheer fact that Cha-ya’s mom was his Y/N. The one whose heart he had broken years ago.

Y/N was a billionaire of gargantuan proportions, a net worth that made his look like chump change. His daughter was the iconic popstar of the century, someone whose craze and popularity surpassed his own in his heyday. Which meant that his son Saiyan was the new model who had just walk in Paris Fashion Week as the face of Armani. The same one that Jimin’s daughter had raved about the other day. Which meant that his son Arang became the CEO of the exclusive wellness resort, Ellysium , a resort only catered to the richest of the richest. All this calculations overwhelmed Jungkook to the point that there was only one reasonable outcome. He fainted.

He woke up to the sound of his members whispering in anxious voices to one another. “Do you think he can handle this right now?” Jin asked Namjoon. “I have no clue bro, I mean he hasn't seen her in years and the last time he saw her, he treated her so badly that even I felt ridiculously hurt for her” Namjoon sighed in a rather morose tone of voice. Hoseok scoffed as he seethed, “Do you think she will even acknowledge him after all he had done to her? Jungkook left her to face a whole media circus alone while he impregnated her when he was inebriated, mind you. Then, to top it all of with a cherry he not only remembered nothing of the process, but she found him shagging a whole different girl the next day. Do you think that you would forgive actions as heinous as those”?

Jungkook felt dizzy as he struggled to sit up on the sofa. Jimin rushed to him with a frown on his face and worry painting his eyes, “You doing okay Kookie? Are you alright staying here for the rest of the award show, or do you want to head back home?” Still dazed from his fall, Jungkook responded pensively, “No it’s alright. I just need to catch my bearings and I can be there for the rest of the show”. Before the rest of the members could stop him Yoongi spit out bitterly, “You say you are okay attending the show. But are you sure you really want to? Cha-ya’s mother will be in attendance, flying out to see her babygirl win an award. You sure you can handle that Jungkook”?

Jungkook felt his heart racing, panic overtaking his mind. How could he face her? He had wronged her in so many ways? How could he show his miserable face to her after the way he had ruined her life? Y/n was never even his girlfriend or fiancé at the time. But, he had compromised her in the worst way possible and then had not even remembered his mistake the day after. She had paid for his mistakes by bearing children and caring for them when he had not even known they existed. Even if he had known , it was questionable whether he could've done anything signifiant. He had been embroiled in multiple scandals and caught in alcohol addiction during that phase of his life. He was living wild and no way would he have been a sober, or healthy father to his kids.

With the help of a few assistants , the group slowly trudged towards the celebrity seating quadrant of the award show venue. Cha-ya was up on the stage receiving the award for Most Streamed Artist from the hands of a veteran Korean actress. As Jungkook watched his daughter---as strange as it felt to say those words, receive the award with a blinding smile on her face, he felt his chest hurt. What type of crime had he committed in his previous life that he didn't even get to see his girl grow up? She was beautiful, sharing so many of his features, his bulbous nose, doe-like eyes, and rounded face.

She resembled him more than she resembled her mother. And before anyone could even expect it Cha-ya spoke into the microphone, “I thank everyone at VEX entertainment for helping me get to where I am today. I would also like to thank my staff and all the people behind the scenes who have pushed me to this position. I hope to make all of you proud. None of this would be possible without all of you”. She took in a deep breath as she announced, “But, most importantly I have to thank my mother. She brought me up to be the strong woman that I am today. She worked so hard to give us everything and never left us lacking. We never felt the absence of a father because she is both to me and to my brothers. I would like to call her up on stage, so I can dedicate this award to her. Please mom, come up on stage”.

Everything was moving too fast around Jungkook as he breathed in shallow pants. He felt like he was breathing too fast and his brain was not functioning. He felt paralyzed. Stuck. But he couldn't even catch his breath when he saw the mother of his children sweep into the area where he and the members sat. He could barely recognize the bold woman he was looking at. She looked lethal, powerful, untouchable ---the direct opposite of what she had been, a warm approachable girl.

She was draped in a blood red shimmering sari crafted with gold thread, an ensemble exposing a massive fire breathing dragon tattoo overarching the entirety of what seemed to be her left hip barely reaching to her belly button . The dress was close to backless with just a red resolute thread holding the top sleeveless jacket in place. You could tell she worked out, but she had all the feminine curves befitting a woman, a rounded stomach hidden by the shadow of the sari covering her modestly. Her face was covered with black sunglasses and she adorned her wrists with plain gold bangles, her neck laced with a simple gold chain.

She walked onto the steps leading to the stage in blood red heels as the entire celebrity section of the audience got a view of her back and tattoo. The lady was arresting to look at--all the way down from her aura to her body to her attire.

Y/N walked up to her daughter with arms opened, hugging the girl on stage with all the warmth that you would expect a mother to have for her child. A smile as radiant as a sunrise obliterated Y/N’s face as she spoke into the mike, “I am so proud to be here today to see my baby girl receive this award. She has worked so hard and all her efforts have come to fruition today. Thank you for allowing me to be on stage to celebrate this award with her”.

Both mother and daughter walked off the stage hand in hand as one of the MC’s for the award show started to walk up the stage. Collective gasps rang through the aisles as people saw who the next MC was. It was Saiyan. He had donned a simple Black Armani suit which highlighted just how devastating he looked. He took after Y/N more as he had slightly more defined cheekbones and huge eyes fringed with thick dark lashes to make any woman envious. He hulked onto stage, towering over his mom and sister at a height of 6′3. He laughed and hugged both of them, kissing his mom on the forehead, and strolled to the mike to present the next award.

Jungkook’s eyes felt like they were about to pop out his head and his head was about to fall off his body. All three of them were on stage looking like such a happy family, radiant and warm. He could tell how much love his kids had for their mother . Y/N kissed Saiyan back on his cheek and walked off stage with Cha-ya in hand, giggling with her. These were all the people who he should've had in his life for years, held closest to his heart, but his poorly made decisions or lack thereof had distanced him from his own flesh and blood.

Blinded by agitation and grief, Jungkook rushed out of the aisles, surprising his members as he absconded backstage to catch hold of Y/N and Cha-ya. But they weren’t alone. Cha-ya and Y/N were inundated by so many stage staff and artists who wanted to welcome them. His gut clenched as he saw all the men eyeing Y/N like she was the tastiest meal they had seen in centuries. He heard Y/N respond graciously to one staff member, “Oh, thank you for loving my outfit. It was designed by an upcoming Thai/Indian designer. She really went over the top with the gold motifs.”

Jungkook couldn't stop himself as he pushed people, shoving past them trying to get to Y/N and his daughter. Staff around him were startled as they saw him wading through the crowd to the center of the room, whispering in shock at his pushy nature. As soon as he got in front of them, he was finally able to process the magnitude of Y/N’s beauty. Y/N was shocked for a mere a second at his sudden appearance and to his great surprise, kissed Cha ya on the cheek walking away from him as she told her, “Baby, mommy will be in your changing room. I have to take care of something”. Cha ya nodded at her mother, her eyes glazing over with a coat of suspicion and bitterness. She bowed stiffly towards Jungkook , “Sunbae, nice to meet you. It is an honor to meet you”. Her eyes took up a hard glint as she saw the rest of BTS filter into the room. She faced them and bowed to all of them, speaking in a lackadaisical tone “It is an honor to meet all of you. I have grown up watching all of you”. Her face did not show interest in engaging with them and she looked at them with a rather disinterested attitude.

“Well I should get going. My mother is waiting for me”, she said as she glided seamlessly out of the room towards her dressing room.

Jungkook felt tears well up in his eyes and anxiety stain his mind as he could see how cold his daughter was being towards him, as though he were a stranger. She had greeted him as though he was just any person on the street, as though they didn't share blood. As though he meant nothing to her. Jimin and Namjoon closed in around him, steering him towards a secluded corner of the room as he started sobbing miserably as though he were not able to breath. His eyes were red, tears flowing down his eyes, wetting his cheeks as he understood the gravity of what sin he had truly committed.

He wiped frantically at his eyes, pushing away from his members as he ran towards Chaya’s changing room. He heard Yoongi scream beyond him, “Jungkook you better get back here! Don’t do this Jungkook, You need to calm down!!” Jungkook could not be reasoned with as he darted towards the room that a surprised staff had pointed at. He arrived in front of the door, barely catching his breath as he knocked in a hurried manner, desperate to speak with the most important people in his life that he had alienated.

Chaya opened the door in a pink satin robe, leaning against the door with a sigh, “I knew you wouldn't be patient. I told mom it was a bad idea for her to fly out. She did anyway knowing that she would have to contend with you.” She sneered as she bit out in a crisp manner, “Well, why don’t you come in Jungkook -sshi? Or will you stay outside and make a circus of our reputation? Funny how you are obsessed with keeping yours, but have no problem blemishing others. You couldn't stay away, could you? You managed to for so many years, but now you fail at what you claim to be best at. Not caring. How juvenile”. She snarked all this at him vindictively as she simultaneously opened the door, gesturing for him to come into the room.

The rest of the members stood outside as she sardonically queried, “Well, would you all grant us some privacy? I am sure we will have Jungkook-ssi out of the room soon enough. It shouldn't be a very long conservation. There isn't much to say anyway.” Yoongi’s eye twitched as he glared in silence at the rude girl who was literally the unexpected niece of all of the members.

She closed the door on their faces.

Inside the room, Y/N sat on the couch surveying Jungkook’s appearance with mild interest. “Why are you here Jungkook? Do you need to say something?”, she calmly asked. Y/N’s mind whirled in turmoil even as she looked calm on the outside. Why was he in front of them all these years when he himself had shunned her at her weakest moment? Jungkook was hyperventilating as he asked in a cracked voice, “I am not going to ask you the Stu-pid question of whether these kids are mine or not. Because I know that they are all the same age and I can see it in their faces and their mannerisms. They are mine”. He took a deep breath as he felt the panic overtake him, “But why did you never tell me about them? Why did you take me away from their lives. You know how much my mother and father wanted grandkids. Out of everybody in the world, you knew it the best. Why did you deprive me and my parents of them?”

In an infuriatingly placating tone, Y/N responded without a hitch in her voice, “Don’t you remember? You didn’t want anything to do with me because I had apparently betrayed our friendship by being a characterless bitch and luring you into fucking me when you were drunk. Can you not make a quick trip down memory lane? Or has it been too long for you to remember the lurid media details that tore me apart? You may have forgotten but I never will”.

She took a sip of tea as she tapped her nails on her lap, “You wouldn't hear me out when I told you that we had both accidentally gotten married when were drunk. Even though I knew that you never wanted anything to do with me romantically, you still initiated intercourse even as I clearly told you no. I begged you to let go of me. But in your blind livid anger of finding the marriage certificate lying on the couch later that night, you didn't do what most men do. You didn't do the practical thing, which is to rage and get over it. You didn’t tear the certificate and put an end to it there. You decided that I deserved to pay, and you fucked me even as I begged you to not ruin me. But, then again, why are you asking me all the gruesome details, when you were the perpetrator?”

As Jungkook clutched his head, bending it down in dismay and shame, she quietly drawled, “We could've simply dissolved the marriage. It was not done seriously. It was done in a compulsion, as both of us were under the influence. Influence that you forced down my throat if we are being truly accurate. But, why did you have to ruin my life even when you were in a sober state? What excuse do you have for that? Other than your ridiculously misplaced anger? So you forced me when you were sober, making me pay in the most pitiful manner.”

She laughed bitterly, eyes bereft of emotion, retreating behind a mask of forced complacency , “You knew, out of everyone else, since you were my friend at the time, that I had never even done it before. But you still treated me more pathetically than a piece of trash on the sidewalk. You degraded me as you violated me, taunting me with the most hurtful epithets known to man. You stripped me of my dignity. Don’t you remember jungkook? Don’t you remember any of it ? If you do, why are you forcing me to re-live it? I had kids, and I moved on from that pathetic, trusting, giving version of myself. You taught me that I must always pay the price for being kind. I will never forget it”.

The torture was too much to bear. Jungkook crumpled off the sofa, onto the floor as he started sobbing, remembering what he had done to her. He remembered how he had hurt her again and again. They had been extremely close friends at the time, and he had ruined their friendship by crossing the line when both of them were drunk. At the time he had loved another girl, one who showed him how disgusting humanity could be. Y/N had warned him against her multiple times when they were friends , but he stupidly enough had stuck onto that girl, having a toxic relationship with her.

When that girl had walked in on Y/N and him, finding the marriage certificate splayed out on the couch, she had broke up with him. In that frenzy of indignation, he had committed the vilest mistake of his entire life. He had forced Y/N, someone with no sexual experience, to suffer. He had degraded her verbally as he had humiliated and forced her. He remembered it as if it were yesterday. He remembered it everytime he looked at his reflection. When the violation was done, she had walked away pitifully, stumbling away from his form as she quietly uttered, “I am sorry for taking away your chance at happiness. You have punished me in a way I can never forget. I will never forget what you have taught me about our friendship. Now I know how much our friendship meant to you. Don’t worry, you will never hear from me again ”.

As cum and blood had streamed down legs, she had dragged herself out of his house, to go back to her lonely hotel room where she sobbed and cursed at her mother for giving birth to her. She cursed at god for her sheer existence. She would never trust again. He had damaged her forever.

An hour after she left his house, Jungkook had understood his grievous mistake and told his Hyungs the sin he had committed. They all stared at him in shock as Yoongi started beating him, “Is THIS what we taught you Jungkook? To be a rapist and a miserable excuse of a human being?!” Everyone else stared at him in shock. Namjoon went to Bang PD to ask him to contact their lawyer. What if Y/N launched a lawsuit against Jungkook and the group?

To all their collective surprise, they received news from Y/N’s friend Myrna, a foreign communications director at HYBE, that she had left for the U.S., going back to her home country. She had stopped at a hospital before leaving and handed Myrna an NDA drafted by a lawyer, before leaving, stating that she would not reveal anything that had gone down that day. The NDA also stated that she would like to never be contacted again, and that HYBE would face heavy legal repercussions if they ever attempted to do so. A divorce application form had been filled out and left in a pamphlet as well. All Jungkook had to do to nullify the marriage was to sign off on it”.

Jungkook lived through his memories once again as Y/N smoothed down her dress, “If you would like to get to know the kids, I will not stop you. In fact, I had reached out to your company regarding the kids when they were born. But, I never heard back from them since. I even personally tried contacting you and your members, but none of you ever responded. Regardless, bygones will be bygones. The past is in the past. Cha-ya, Saiyan, and Arang have been brought up to be kind, forgiving individuals. They are not ruthless like their dad. Though they are angry, rightfully so as of now, they will come around and try to get to know you eventually.”

“Now, I will leave the room and allow you to talk to Cha-ya and Saiyan if that is what you wish to do. Arang will be arriving in five minutes”.

As she got up to leave the room, she felt a firm vascular hand wrap around her wrist. She looked back to see Jungkook on his knees, head down, whimpering “I don’t wish to just know my kids. I wish to know the wife I never had”.

Y/N reached to remove his hand off her wrist, “You must not understand what the true definition of the words ‘too little, too late’ mean”.

TAGLIST:

@sporadicarcadebanana , @darkuni63, @jessicalynn85

#angst #jungkook x reader #eventual smut #fluff #super angst #groveling #jungkook x chubby reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x plus size reader #CEO Y/N #jungkook has kids #pregnancy Jungkook #bts x chubby reader #bts x plus size reader #sensitive topics #smut #yearning #idol jungkook

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platrom · 2 years

Text

One Last Time.

Midoriya x Reader, Bakugou x Reader (eventually/partially)

WORD COUNT: 6.9k-7k words

NOTE:. A ginormous thank you to my beta reader for dealing with my rambles and pouting over Midoriya. I’m just a hopeless romantic. 😔 I’m sorry I didn’t give you all a happy ending this time, but there is a part two.

And please comment! Reading your guy's comments are huge motivators and I have a blast interacting with you all. 😊

TW: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, alcohol abuse, mentions of alcohol poisoning, addiction(s), panic attacks, spiraling, unhealthy habits, poor mindset, depression, unstable mental health, mentions of a mental hospital, mentions of insanity, manipulation, reader & bakugou & midoriya are childhood best friends, frequent mentions of midoriya (though little actual interaction between him and the reader), cursing, miscommunication, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff (somewhat, i tried, i swear), mentions and description of horrible family past and toxic friends, memories (good and bad), reader's solitude from others, ominous voice(s) in reader's head, suicide, manga spoilers, mutual pining, midoriya being blind to emotions, Bakugou being observant, cliffhanger.

Please be cautious while reading this, majority of the content written about is considered heavily triggering to many. Please take a look at all warnings before proceeding (with caution). If you are struggling with any of the topics discussed, please seek professional help. It will get better.

BEWARE ALL READERS: PROCEED WITH CAUTION. DARK CONTENT AHEAD.

One last time, you promised to yourself as you laid flat on your bed, body sinking into the mattress. The exhaustion of your previous activities bled through the remnants of your remaining adrenaline, the pain settling deep within your heart and bones.

This is the last time.

Did it really count as a promise if there was no one else but yourself to keep it and hold yourself accountable? Promises were meant to be held by two different souls— whether it be with another person, an animal (such as pet or that random squirrel you kept on seeing in your backyard), or even a stuffed animal (those beady eyes were always judging people, you knew it). Nevertheless, promises still and always required another party.

"Maybe the mind counts as another soul," you mumbled tiredly. Turning your head, the bright and bloody digital clock read "2:37 AM." There was no point in arguing with yourself now.

Indeed, there was no point in putting up a fight when the depths of your exhaustion crept upon you, its long and thick tendrils grasping your loose limbs and pulling you underwater into an endless milky-way of black.

Yet, a fleeting thought appeared in your mind as your eyes fluttered shut, body and mind fully succumbing to the dark.

If only Midoriya knew.

It was a mantra that rung in your ears ruthlessly throughout the following day. From the moment you awoke and with every hour, those simple yet painstaking words lingered in the corners of your mind, worming its way into every single activity you participated in. Whether it be mundane activities such as walking, eating, reading or anything else, the thought never escaped you.

Poor loving, caring, generous, and selfless Midoriya. He would be disappointed in you if he discovered your nighttime activities; the terror you put yourself through again and again, willingly. You were poisoning your body with your actions and behavior, but you didn't care. You stopped caring ages ago.

Rushing into convenience stores, drinking eagerly until everything blurred and the world become a swirl of bright colors and flashing lights. Then, rushing off into the night and to the cliff you and Midoriya discovered as teenagers all those years ago.

There, each time, you would stand at the edge, staring into the abyss of water below you. The salty liquid gleamed and glistened under the starry sky, leaving you wishing that you shone that bright. The water lapped and splashed against the rocks, dousing them with a salty spray that fueled the growth of the algae. Kelp swirled in the water, swaying in all directions teasingly as it coaxed you to jump below and never resurface.

"'Why come up when you can stay down below forever? With no worries or troubles. With no one to bother or hurt. Why don't you join us down below?'"

It was tempting; you had to admit. The amount of times your resistance nearly broke and you took the temptation would have shattered Midoriya's heart into thousands of pieces, leaving it beyond repair.

You couldn't do that to him.

Not to your Midoriya.

Not to the same toddler who would grab your hand in excitement whenever he saw you at the playground, wordlessly letting go of his mother's hand to sprint over to you. He would pull you up from your spot in the sandbox to press your foreheads together, lively and innocent green eyes gazing mesmerizingly into your (e/c) ones.

Not to the same boy in middle school who was constantly bullied by his peers and never spared a glance by the adults around him. The one who would always smile at you, despite the tears that welled in his eyes whenever he was brutally beaten up by his childhood best friend due to the lack of a quirk in a world fueled by them. The sweetheart who would offer you half his lunch if you forgot yours, or would gush over his hero analysis' books and the latest pro-hero battles.

Not to the high school boy who endangered his life countless times to protect you and your classmates when you both were at UA. The boy who would grab your hand when he felt you slipping from reality and pull you close to his chest, hugging you as if you were his last lifeline- not as if he was yours. The teenager who would tell you all of his deepest and darkest secrets- whether it be of his quirk from All Might, relationship with your mutual peers, or stories of fights against villains.

Not to the vigilante boy whose tears stained the paper of the goodbye letter he wrote to you when he chose to leave UA. The one whose scrawls could not stop describing the excruciating pain he felt to be leaving such an important piece of him behind. The person who impacted him the most, who loved and cared for him for all of those years. The only person that killed him the most to hurt.

You. That was you.

And when he came back, when the students and teachers of UA were able to bring him back, his first request was to see you. And when he couldn't? He was pissed, to say the least. The cold and snappy responses he gave afterwards presented that idea straight enough.

Midoriya never knew what happened to you during the period he left UA for. None of his classmates knew and all of the adults at UA refused to inform Midoriya of your disappearance.

Eventually, you came back.

He and the others didn't need to know about the disturbing thoughts that plagued your mind every passing second. The ones that clouded your senses with every breath you took. It would have been too gruesome to let them in. To show them the scratched and fissured layers beneath your skin.

They couldn't know about the days you spent secluded in a room, hugging yourself as tears streamed from your eyes, down your cheeks and onto the hospital gown you wore. They couldn't know about the way you shrieked in agony and covered your ears with your hands as those mocking voices became too loud and powerful for you to fight.

Simply, it would be too much for them. They wouldn't be able to comprehend or fathom why you had these voices- you didn't yourself. You didn't understand why they chose you out of all the possible victims in the spectrum of people. They would never listen to your distressed howls of desperation as you cried out for them to just "shut up for once!"

Maybe, that was why you stood where you were today. Why you were upright facing the sky, instead of downwards in the soil.

Possibly, that was why you chose to drink until you were blackout drunk- sick, tired, and ready to finally slip from the world's grasps.

You could never be vulnerable. Not again. Not once more. Not after all those times the people who you thought loved and cared for you ended up shredding your heart to pieces. They had seized you in their claws when you were at your weakest, and squeezed until you split at the seams and bursted into millions of fragments. Every single person. Your family, your friends, your peers. Everyone and everything.

As a result, you had become numb. You had became so numb that when the pain struck, it would burn and sizzle before you froze your emotions, before you drowned yourself with liquor and nearly met the angels above. Maybe, those angels wouldn't hurt you like everyone else did. You doubted it. Heaven wouldn't accept you anyway.

"You don't deserve a happy ending."

You had gone off the rails, nobody could help you now. Not Midoriya, not your family, not your friends, not your colleagues, not your neighbors, no one. Not even a therapist.

"You're better off dead than alive. You'll be doing everyone a favor instead."

He would never know.

Unless he caught me.

You shivered at the mere thought, cowering into yourself. It would never, ever happen.

You wouldn't allow it.

Even if it was the last thing you did.

It was a Monday and you were five hours into your shift at the agency, head buried deep in blueprints on hero costumes. These specific costume upgrades had taken months to plan, requiring you to go and scout and research different materials, test them, and undergo many processes of elimination. Red Riot and Dynamight had come to you for assistance (despite having their own support team), and Deku as well. It was as clear as day that they only trusted you with this task, but the demand of time it entailed was overwhelming and had put a block in all of your other projects.

Luckily, merely the final touches were being added and then you could begin building. The materials you had narrowed down to were purchased in bulk and begging to be melted, reformed, and melded to your liking.

You could just hear their cries.

Their pleads for change.

"Just like yours."

No, you shook your head in agitation, clenching your jaw. The once steady pace of your heartbeat picked up furiously, leaving you to inhale uneven, shallow breaths that set your lungs ablaze.

Not right now, you pleaded, grinding your teeth. Tears sprung from your eyes and you screwed them shut, a sense of hopelessness washing over you. You curled into yourself.

Calm down, you told yourself. Don't listen to them, (Name). You're fine. You're okay. It's just work. Just work. Just keep working.

It was easier said than done. Every muscle in your body felt excruciatingly tight, as if you had run a marathon and immediately sat down for hours afterwards. Everything was frozen, and if you tried to move far, you would break further. The strings that held together your mind, soul, and body were stretched thin and ripping at the middle. Once they tore, you would be long gone. The structure that you called your body would become a jail cell, locking you in the depths of your mind for eternity.

With every shaky breath you took, you sunk deeper into your lost state of mind. The voices began to yell obnoxiously inside your head, blocking every coherent thought that attempted to pry its way through the impervious seal of destruction that had enveloped you. Your ears rang as loud as the church bells in the town square— it felt as if blood was pouring out of your earlobes and down your skin, until it reached the ground.

There was screaming somewhere- near or far, you didn't know. Your body shook violently as you fell from your chair and onto the ground. Tools clattered around you and papers flew everywhere, your precious blueprints were lost in the sea of a mess you contrived.

Every breath you took was shallow and fast, each irregular and suffocating. Your lungs burned and a timorous feeling stirred in your stomach, sending you haywire.

Nothing was going to be okay. You couldn't do this. You weren't meant to survive. You weren't built for this.

I can't, I can't, I can't, I can't, you repeated in your head.

"Yes," the voice agreed. "You can't, you can't, you can't. Just give up, (Name). It's time to give up."

You didn't want to give up.

"Are you sure?"

You didn't want to die today.

"Why not?"

You couldn't leave all that you worked for behind. Everything you fought for.

"You're just going to lose it eventually. Why does it matter?"

You couldn't leave behind your family and friends.

"They don't care about you. Why do you think they haven't spoken to you in ages? They're all fake, just like you."

You needed something to fight for. Something to keep you grounded.

"No!" cried the voice.

There was no way to win against the hindering voice. You knew that. Time and time again, every pitiful attempt at effacing it would be proved futile. No matter how vigorously you fought, how bodacious your efforts were, your audacious acts were rendered a perilous failure that you would pay for dearly later on.

Although you couldn't win wars, you could win battles.

You cracked your eyes open, pupils peering through a blur of gray as you lifted your head to the light. Pain shot through your bones, and you began to tug at the strings of your sanity in an attempt to regain yourself.

This is progress. I can do this.

The hands on your ears fell to the floor, laying on the cool marble tile below you. The contrast of the subzero-temperature like ground against your blazing and blistering hot skin left you balling your fists in stagger. This had to be how Todoroki's hands felt whenever they touched. The feeling was akin to having ice situated on a burn.

It felt like you were coming back to life.

The ringing in your ears was nearly gone.

Slowly but surely, your breath evened out. The air that entered your lungs were not disarrayed breaths of air, but now timed and even.

In the distance, down the hall, a rush of footsteps could be heard. Frequently, heroes would enter and exit the floor, since all the technicians at the agency were congregated in the same location. Pro-heroes saved lives and as a result, damaged their gear— it was logical that there was constant activity in this section of the building.

However, you were in no state to be interacting with others.

The evidence of your misery was strewn across the floor, with your tools laying around haphazardly and your papers splayed everywhere. If anyone entered, they would conclude that something had happened to you.

And you would not let them even reach that idea.

Swiftly, you rose from your seated position and began to clean the mess on the ground. In one swipe, at least three tools were clutched and dropped into their respective areas. Papers were either crumbled and tossed into the bin beside your desk or stacked neatly. The office would have to look pristine and immaculate.

Just like a criminal, you had to cover your own traces. You had to stay vigilant and weary. Or else, you would be caught.

"Just like you will be."

"WHAT WOULD the world be like, if everyone was good?" Midoriya sighed, tipping his head back as the sweltering afternoon rays of heat beat down upon you both. His fluffy curls were soaked with sweat, reminding you of a puppy's dripping, wet fur after a bath.

He looked awfully adorable, despite the fact that both of you had been running for the past few hours. Midoriya was training for his second Sports Festival and this time, he wholeheartedly believed (and hoped) he would reach the top three. His first year at UA was one that taught him there was more than just his quirk— he had always known he had to train his body to accommodate for the raw and brute power that came along with such a quirk, but he didn't quite understand it. He just did as he was told. He followed All Might's words, all of his mentor's words, but never took the time to consider what they were saying.

It wasn't until after countless villain attacks, constant injuries, and the grueling hell that rained upon him after discovering his true quirks did he comprehend what he was being told.

You were proud of him, then. Your Midoriya, the same boy you grew up with was slowly becoming a real pro-hero (you would have said hero, but you knew he was born one. However, society would have never accepted him as a "pro-hero" if he did not have All Might's quirk). His younger self would have shed tears of joy at the sight of himself then.

He would never be that same Deku, the one who would cower in fear at the wrath of "Kacchan."

A giggle ripped through your lips as you fell onto the bed of grass below you, dirt sinking through your fingertips. The grass grazed your skin like a gentle kiss, sending small tingles down to your toes. "Izuku, you do realize everyone's definition of good is different universally, right?" You heard a small peep of confusion beside you.

Ignoring him, you continued. “Some of us think the definition of 'doing good' is treating others like human beings, which is really the bare minimum in all cases. In comparison, others argue that it means not to be selfish, but selfless. Like helping and paying attention to others around you, but that could just be what's expected from everyone for someone else. Possibly, for those heroes you aspire to be like, saving lives is the equivalent of being a good person. We all have different opinions on definitions and ideas so controversial like those. Be more specific."

Taking a deep breath after your mouthful, you shook your hands and kicked out your legs. Midoriya laid down on his back as well, stretching his arms out so his hand would brush against yours. A quiet "oh" escaped your throat at the contact, and you swore electricity passed between you both.

Midoriya made no reaction, so you ignored the tingles that lingered in your fingertips and the hairs that raised on your arms and neck. It was likely you imagined those currents that passed between you both.

That happened a lot.

Too often.

"You sound like Mr. Aizawa, you know," Midoriya commented, sparing you a glance before he chuckled. "Old and wise."

Feigning annoyance, you shifted your hips to move you onto your side and kicked Midoriya's calf, lips pressed together in a thin smile.

"Say that again and I'll have you in a headlock, Deku," you threatened, pushing yourself up from the bed of smooth grass and into a kneeling position. With a menacing grin, you cracked your knuckles, "I may be no hero, but I can kick ass; even yours."

At your words, a challenging grin grew on his face. Midoriya could never back down from a challenge, especially not one from you. "Oh, you think so?"

In a matter of seconds, you lept onto him, rolling around in the dirt. Arms and legs were flung and choked laughs escaped both your throats. Midoriya was much stronger, you knew that. But you could win with brains.

"I know so!" you countered.

Midoriya liked your confidence. A lot.

Well, he really liked you. So much that it hurt him.

Though, you would never know; you couldn't.

He couldn't risk losing you. Not now, not ever. So he would always settle for being your best friend. Something was always better than nothing.

He couldn't get greedy now, your value to him was worth more than any of the riches in the universe. One could argue you mattered more to him than his own future career as a hero.

Therefore, he would stand by your side idly, waiting for the moment for your hands to brush together so he could intertwine his fingers with yours. He would always wait for you. He would wait until you noticed him and his love. He would wait for you to learn to love him like he loved you.

Forever and always.

Always and forever.

It's only three minutes until this elevator comes and I can go, you reassured yourself. Work had been hectic, to put it lightly. With the unforeseen panic attack in your office earlier, persisting through repairs of practically pulverized gear and assembling new gadgets had proven to be a trial that left you fatigued.

Thankfully, the pattering of footsteps that had echoed in the hallway during your episode had been nothing but a ruse (and you firmly believed that the voice had made you conceive them). After tidying your trashed office, guzzling an entire bottle of water, and coating a thin, glossy sheen of chapstick onto your chapped lips, you had courageously exited the security of your office to check for any people in the hallway.

After all, you had an image to keep.

Fortunately, the universe had granted you that good omen and decided to not torture you further.

I doubt it'll grant me anymore, you pursed your lips sourly, merely huffing once the elevator reached your floor and its metal doors slid open for you. There were no other passengers, leaving you to revel in the delectation of silence, even if it was for a few measly minutes.

Something is always better than nothing, you internally argued. There's always good in a bad day- just like now. My day was poor, but the rest of my evening will be a substantial improvement from earlier.

Occupied by your uplifting and heartening thoughts, it felt as if your trip from the fifteenth floor (your floor) to the ground floor had gone by rapidly. Typically, your elevator trips were awkward, uncomfortable, and appeared to be prolonged misery graced from the hells bellow. A sudden ding signaled the reach of your destination and once the doors slid open, you squeezed through the crowd of people beginning to pile in.

The lobby of the agency was a spacious area, filled with luxurious yet cozy couches and loveseats, as well as countless offices. Workers paced back and forth, brows knitted and mouths tense. Sidekicks, interns, and heroes were in nearly ever corner. Some appeared to be littered with deep gashes and gnarly bruises, while others were unscathed. Certainly, the Deku Agency was a zestful and active one; one you were more than elated to escape.

Vigilantly, you swerved past your vexed colleagues and ignored the receptionist's buoyant chirp of farewell, lunging through the glass doors and stumbling into the outside.

You continued to strut forward, fists clenched tight and eyes narrowed. If you looked as if you were seconds from detonating, people would blatantly ignore you and try to escape your supposed incoming wrath.

Just like Bakugou.

Within seconds you covered most of the distance from the entrance of the agency to the edge of the building. However, when you were about to turn around the corner, a hasty hand promptly grabbed your shoulder with such brute strength you were sure could break your brittle bones. A horrified gasp left your throat, a sickening feeling brewing deep within your gut. Involuntarily, your eyes squeezed shut as you hit your assailant's chest, and a familiar, gruff voice immediately made your head shoot up.

"Don't scream, idiot," Bakugou warned, piercing vermillion eyes boring into yours. A medical mask covered his mouth and he wore a black baseball cap. "I'm not going to hurt you, just need'a talk to you."

Like a fish, you gaped stupidly at him, heart ricocheting through your chest. Looming over you at twice your height and size was Bakugo Katsuki, Lord Explosion Murder God Dynamight, the Top Two Pro-Hero.

Midoriya's biggest rival.

Also, both Midoriya's and your childhood best friend.

"Katsuki, you bitch-!" you hissed, pounding your fist against his solid chest. "You're dressed like this and don't expect me to scream the minute some suspicious looking guy grabs me from a corner?!"

Bakugou frowned as you ran your mouth, watching your eyebrows knit in exasperation and frustration. Piqued by your attitude, he clamped his free hand over your mouth with a groan and a roll of his eyes. "You done running your damn mouth off? I didn't come here to listen to your rambling."

Appalled, you shook your head and pulled yourself out of his grasp (you knew he didn't try and hold you back, if he wanted to he could have easily). With a sneer, you diverged from his path and strutted ahead.

You were not in the mood for Bakugou's bullshit today.

Without missing a beat, he followed behind you. His heavy footsteps stayed in time with your lighter ones- signifying he wasn't going to let you go until he got what he wanted.

Abruptly, you stopped and spun to face him, pointing your finger at him accusingly. "Say whatever you want to say, but make sure it's quick. I don't have time for this."

You crossed your arms and raised an eyebrow, foot tapping against the pavement impatiently. Irked, Bakugou clicked his tongue at you and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"You've been acting off. It's showing," Bakugou bluntly stated. He was never one to beat around the bush when it came to others. Especially you, despite all the years of being acquainted. You reacted poorly with confrontation, he was well aware of that. Alas, it was the only way he knew to reach out to you, and possibly help you.

To be your hero.

Pressing your lips together tightly, you mustered your finest smile, gaze cold and blank. "I should be heading home, it'll get dark soon." At once, you stepped away from Bakugou, only to feel a hot, coarse hand engulf your wrist seconds later.

"You can't hide it, (Name)," he murmured, breath fanning against your neck. Gently, his giant and callused hand enveloped your tinier one, knocking the breath out of your lungs. Due to the nature of his quirk, his body temperature ran at a significantly higher temperature than most who did not obtain a pyromancer quirk. Although many found his heat to be overwhelming and suffocating, Bakugou was always a source of warmth that could melt even the iciest bits of you.

"Don't let him in. Don't do it," the voice whispered in your ear. "He's going to hurt you too."

"I'm not hiding anything," you retorted, eyes trained steadily on your feet. "I have nothing to hide."

His response was immediate. "That's a lie."

He knows.

You knew he knew. Bakugou always knew. Bakugou goddamn Katsuki always knew. He was a nosy little shit; always had been and always would be. He got it from his mother.

You knew that.

He knew that.

You just comprehended it too late. You were too slow. You couldn't keep up.

"You're just not good enough."

You knew that. You knew it. You always did. You just never accepted it.

"You've always been pathetic. Just give up."

They were right. They always were. Why did you even try?

You should've listened to them earlier. Tears began to fill your eyes, blurring your vision. You wretched your wrist out of his grasp and walked away. All words that flew from his mouth fell deaf upon your ears.

You couldn't let him see you so weak.

"Oi, (Name)! Get back here!" Bakugou hollered. There was a twinge of concern in his voice.

Don't hurt him too, (Name).

Your lips were locked, mouth dry and throat parched. Words refused to escape your sealed lips. Only tears fell and the urge to run and disappear felt possible.

So, that's what you did.

You ran from Bakugou and sprinted past people for countless blocks. There were not enough fingers on your hands to count how many times you crossed illegally and nearly slammed into an innumerable amount of cars, but you didn't care.

You never cared.

The familiar white lights of your treasured store came into view. A small smile graced your lips as you stumbled past a group of sketchy teenagers and into the vast parking lot. Finally, you could leave everyone and everything behind and learn how to let go.

You could learn how to not be selfish.

Just like Midoriya.

7:23 PM

7-11, the classic convenience store of Japan. Whether it be heroes, students, children, or elders, you could find people of all walks of life at the epoxy-floored store notorious for its delicious treats and savory dishes.

It was unfortunate that this homely store for many was considered your link to the retreat of your issues. When you were younger, you would have never pictured to use such a place like this as your method to get black-out drunk.

Except, this was the present; all that mattered was now.

Hurriedly, you staggered inside and carelessly swung a red hand basket onto your forearm and followed the familiar tiled path down to the cooler, where all their drinks were stored.

Various liquids were stored on the cool shelves: plastic water bottles with droplets of condensation sliding down their sides, glass containers filled with numerous types of teas, different types of milks stored in cartons, and your frequently visited section of them all— the alcoholic beverages. There were a couple of selections of beers, as well as fruity cocktails that were spiked with heavy amounts of rum.

Although the store wasn't too large on its variation in spirits, you didn't care. A drink was a drink. It served a purpose and you would accomplish that goal no matter the consequence.

The remnants of tears on your face dried once the chilly air of the refrigerator blasted against your skin, merely adding to the sting of your eyes. Every single muscle in your body was sore from your sprinting to flee from Bakugou— as a support hero, you never engaged in physical activity as much. It was a rough estimate, but you could guess that you had run at least a little bit less than three miles before you reached here.

Karma was one hell of a bitch.

Heedlessly, you grabbed a pack of beers and walked to the checkout counter. Picking up a couple of chocolate bars, you tossed them onto the counter, impatiently waiting for the employee to scan your items before you vanished back into the night.

"Your ID, ma'am?" requested the worker. Sluggishly, you pulled out your card and handed it to him, watching his eyes inspect the information printed on the plastic. With a nod, he handed your card back and totaled the cost before asking for your form of payment.

"Cash," you replied with a strained smile, pulling out a wad of bills.

The man finished checking out your items and bagging them, only to meekly mutter a tired, "Stay safe." You nodded in response, not trusting your voice.

Hurrying out the door, a quavered, muttered "thank you" fluttered past your lips and into the rosy evening, for no one's ears but your own.

Beer always tasted bitter to you. Every single time you picked up a bottle, can, or glass of it, it tasted bitter. Whether or not it was mixed with fresh fruit in the fermentation process or more than the common amount of yeast was used to make it sweeter, it still was harsh on your tongue and just as pungent.

Howbeit, you couldn't get enough of it. A disputant could argue that it was the easy access of beer that left you coming back to it- how effortless it was to just pick up a pack of beers, check-out, and go on your merry way. Employees paid little to no attention to those who bought beer. They all assumed beer drinkers were abortive alcoholics looking for a quick fix.

If you had wanted wine, champagne, rum, vodka or any other alcoholic beverage, a worker would have to be brought to take the drink out of its glass enclosure. Then, suspicion would arise. Questions would be asked.

It had occurred before.

You didn't care to think about it now though. Not when you had guzzled down two beers and were nursing your third. The other two bottles had been tossed haphazardly beside you on the grass, your legs dangling helplessly over the edge.

In the distance, the sun was setting. Warm hues filled the sky- layers of ruby red began at the top, far above your head, until it slowly melted into a borderline lobster red, becoming tangerine, slowly blending together to manifest a banana yellow that eventually turned into a lemon-like shade of yellow, until you could view no more.

The water below your feet was just as dark as you remembered it; its waves lapped at the stones below you, the water playfully skimming the sides of the boulders before receding back into the endless body of water.

Tears slipped down the apple of your cheeks, sliding down to your jaw and off, descending down to the oblivion of water beneath the cliff.

Bakugou's words resided in your heart, clouding your mind.

"You've been acting off. It's showing . . . You can't hide it, (Name)."

They know. They knew.

"They always knew," laughed the voice. "You can certainly try and hide it, but it doesn't mean it worked."

"They always knew, but they never said anything," you sobbed, pulling your knees to your chest, cradling your body close. "They never cared!"

"Exactly!" cried the voice. "That's what I've been telling you all this time! They never cared about you!"

The voice was right. You should've listened to them earlier. They knew what they were talking about. You knew that. They knew that.

Why didn't you listen earlier?

They were always right, in the end.

So, why did you fight before?

Midoriya, I always fought for Midoriya. Just for him.

You brought your beer bottle to your lips and guzzled it down, choking on your snot, tears, and the brew in your frantic gulp of the drink.

Wheezing, you tossed the glass to the side and laid back, grabbing your face in your hands as you curled into a fetal position.

What an idiot you were. Caring for a man, once a boy, that really was only a part of your memories. Your dreams, who only felt like your imagination. You and Izuku rarely spoke. Truthfully, you hadn't spoken in days, weeks, and possibly even months.

Midoriya had probably forgotten about you, just like everyone else had.

He was just like the rest. Midoriya Izuku, your childhood best friend, childhood crush, was just like every other person in your life- he hurt you exactly as they did. If not, more.

Midoriya was your everything. As children, you had protected him and stood by his side no matter how rocky the terrain became. He was supposed to be the one stable thing in your life, just like you were for him.

You fool.

You were nothing to Midoriya. You should have recognized that earlier. Once he entered UA, he had met fantastic people like Uraraka and Iida and didn't need you anymore.

Those thoughts weren't new, they had occurred before. Foolishly, you chose to ignore them. Now, you knew you were wrong for doing so.

A melancholic feeling settled over you as you downed the remaining bottles of beer, watching the sunset become a blur of black. The once colored hues of the sky faded into the sinister obsidian, with twinkling lights shining in the distance. The grass below you did not feel the same as it once had. Numerous times before, it had been soft, calming, and grounding. The blades of green always gently brushed against your skin, tickling your neck.

Presently, it prickled you, profoundly digging its leafy tips into you. It was a contrast to the loving embrace you were used to. Instead, it restricted you and attempted to pull you under.

It didn't feel right.

Nothing did.

"Then, why are you still here?" the voice questioned.

"I don't know," you whispered back, a wave of fresh tears welling up in your eyes. "I really don't."

Lifting yourself up, you kicked your feet in an attempt to shake out the jitters and calm yourself. The entire world felt like it was crashing down on you, but you couldn't properly react to it correctly, how you thought you were supposed to react.

What was wrong with you?

Why were you still here?

Why did you keep trying?

Why?

The intrusive thought sent you doubling over; you clasped your hands over your ears and hunched forward, face pointing towards the water. How long had you been here for? You definitely had lost your phone hours ago. It didn't matter, you wanted this to be over. Just for it to finally end.

"Do it, (Name)."

Jumping off the cliff wouldn't be a painless death, nor quick, but it would suffice. You were bound to be poisoned from the alcohol and if you happened to just hit your head on the way down? Easy as pie.

Shakily, you stood up despite the ache screaming within your bones. Every part of you was shaking, your teeth were chattering, your knees were knocking together, and your stomach had curled in on itself.

This is for the best, you told yourself. Just jump and it'll all be over.

"Jump!" echoed the voice. A watery grin spread across your face.

You squatted down, mimicking the awkward position of a jump squat.

"Jump!" it repeated.

"I'm so sorry, Izuku," you choked, spilling your deepest pains to the wind, the trees, and ocean below you. "I know you don't care about me, but I'm still sorry."

You were leaving without a trace. With nobody able to contact you or track you. With no farewells, appreciative notes, or apologies.

Maybe it was meant to be.

Not you and Midoriya.

Just you and yourself.

All alone.

It was nearly involuntarily how quick you threw yourself off the cliff, eyes shut tight as you felt the world around you fall. It was finally ending.

"NO!" a voice cried, somewhere above you. You didn't care enough about it to open your eyes.

Once again.

Weightless, free. Those were the words that could only describe how you felt. It was better this way. The voice was right.

As always.

"(Y/N)!"

Close. You were so close to dipping your feet in the water. You knew it.

You wanted to see this, to have one last memory before you died. The sight wouldn't be the prettiest, but you would cherish it even after your death.

The lids of your eyes flew open. Everything around you appeared as if it was falling with you. They were blurs of objects as you passed by them at inhuman speeds.

Nearly there.

You were nearly there.

Until you weren't.

Until someone caught you.

Until a multitude of what felt to be thick tendrils wrapped themselves around you as the tips of your toes skimmed the water, snatching you from the grips of death.

Until you were being pulled back up to this person, this monster, and into their rather warm hold. They hugged you close to their chest, so close that you could hear the erratic pounding of their heart.

Incoherent blubbers tumbled out of their mouth as they rocked you slowly, tucking your face into the crook of their neck. Your eyes fluttered shut, mind unable to process what had just happened.

They were warm, so warm. And you were tired. A little nap wouldn't hurt.

Not at all.

Their pleads for you to stay awake were unheard as you succumbed to the darkest depths of your mind, to the aching of your heart and body.

All alone.

Once again.

As always.

If you want a part 2, you're gonna have to threaten me for it or else it may never come. 🤭

Thank you for reading and I'll see you in part two! Consider checking out any of my other stories for content similar to this!

#© platrom, plot / writing / banners & headers. do not repost, reblogs are appreciated! please consider leaving a comment and a heart! <3

PART 1 (HERE) / PART 2

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petra608 · 2 months

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I noticed that my Robocar Poli content has been the most popular on Tumblr so I wanted to share my own as human/origin au. I wrote this quite a bit ago on Wattpad and just reposted it on ao3 so forgive me for any bad writing or mistakes. Thank You!

~Trigger Warning~

~Death, suicide, illness, sensitive topics-

January 26

New York

General Hospital

In the Children's Ward of General Hospital there was a 6 year old boy named Danny. He was lying in his bed with a nasogastric tube in his nose. Danny has been in and out of the hospital for about 4 months suffering from a cancerous brain tumor. Even after the surgery, even after traveling across the country to get the proper help, even after the radiation therapy, even after they had to shave his long hair off, he still seemed like the happiest kid in the world or at least he pretends to be to make everyone feel better.

His mother, Valerie Cooper, was reading him stories and entertaining him. His father, David Cooper, has just gotten back from getting him ice chips. As broken-hearted as they were, they were still determined to make everyday a good day for Danny since they didn't know which one would be his last. But before all hope was lost, the doctor came in with the biggest smile.

"Good news Danny! We got your blood results, the cancer is officially gone. You can go home!" The doctor said with glee.

A wave of relief has washed over Val and David. He's going to be okay. There baby boy, is going to be ok! He can go back to school, and hang out with his friends again, he can live his life the way he deserved to. They could barely hold back their happy tears. Danny was happy about being able to go home he couldn't contain the excitement.

"So, when can we take him home?" Valerie asked

"That's the thing, you can take him home today!" The doctor answered

And that's what they did. They quickly got there stuff together and Danny got to ring the bell saying he completed his treatment. The hospital staff all clapped for him and on their way out one staff member gave Danny a high five.

On their drive home, they were so happy that all of this was behind them and they can look forward to the future. Danny was bouncing and being a little goofball in the back. His mother was in the front seat and playing with him and the dad, the dad just looked at him through the rear view mirror. He was just so relieved that everything was going to be ok. That he wasn't going to lose his son. He just thought about how Danny was going to be able to live a full, long, life. He didn't need to worry about not waking up the next morning. He was going to be ok.

Everything was going to be ok.

...or so he thought.

That's when the truck came. It all happened so fast, nobody had time to react. The truck hit their car on the side where Danny and David were. Both cars stopped moving shortly after the collision but it was still really bad, and messy. Nobody in the car was moving, the driver of the truck called the police and help arrived 5 minutes later.

The ambulance rushed to the hospital. The same hospital Danny was just discharged from. As the family was rushed inside the staff saw them and were just, heartbroken. It's truly heartbreaking seeing an innocent kid, that was just discharged, back in the hospital, the same day!

All the Doctors and Nurses did everything they could to save them, to keep them alive. But it was all for nothing. Danny didn't make it. Neither did David. But Valerie did, however she still lost her husband and her own son. And she'd have to live with that.

——————————————————

One Week Later

BroomsTown

"Come on sweetie, would you please come out?"

Valerie's father, Mr Musty, had come to visit her after the accident, with Valerie so distraught, she couldn't take care of her daughter, Who was with her grandfather the day of the accident.

Maggie was her name, but everyone called her Mini. She was barely 5 and just lost her father and her only brother. She, surprisingly, took it a lot better than Valerie did, but she's probably still to young to fully understand what has happened.

"Can you at least let me in" Musty has been trying to talk to Valerie for over an hour. It's been days since she last stepped foot outside of the master bedroom

Valerie hasn't said a thing. Normally, Musty would just let her be since she is still grieving but something didn't feel right. He decided to open the door himself and check on her. He checked the bedroom but she was nowhere to be seen. So he went to check the master bathroom. As he got closer to the bathroom he could see the door was slightly open. When he pushed it open he saw his daughter. On the floor. With an empty pill bottle next to her.

With panic in his eyes, he knelt down to check her pulse. He needed to call for help. He also needed to keep Mini from seeing this. Mini already lost so much she didn't need to lose anyone else.

So, help arrived and rushed her to the hospital. Musty had to stay behind to take care of Mini. He didn't know how he was going to tell what was happening. And if they aren't able to save Val, how is he going to tell Mini she has lost her mother too? Even if she does make it, she is probably gonna have to go to a Mental Hospital to get better so this doesn't happen again. Either way, Mini is going to suffer from this.

Thankfully, she was ok. Bad news is she does have to go to a Mental Hospital. And the closes one is a few towns over.

That means Mr. Musty has been left with Mini. Besides her mom, she has no other family that's able to take care of her. Musty lives in the city, that's where his business is, that's where Mini would be safest because the city he's from has a far better first-responders than BroomsTown does. But if he moves Mini, then she would be losing her friends and have to start a new school and all of this is just to much for her after everything that has happened. So, he ignored all his doubts, and decided to move to BroomsTown with Mini. That seems like the bast decision.

——————————————————

2 Months Later

BroomsTown

Mr. Musty has been Taking care of Mini ever since the incident with Valerie and it has been getting difficult. In BroomsTown it is very common for kids to be running around town without adults. Mini is always run around with her friends and Musty has some trouble keeping an eye on her. He couldn't always keep up with her since he has to use a cane whenever he has to walk any long distances. This has caused Musty to worry about her safety a little to often.

As a distraction, Mr. Musty went out to lunch, he is currently waiting at the park for some old friends of his.

"Hey, Old Guy!" Mr. Musty had heard from someone behind him. When Musty turned to see who it was, he saw his friend, Hudson. Hudson and Mr. Musty had been friends since freshman year of college and were currently business partners for an insurance company back in the city.

"Hudson! How have you been old friend?" Musty say as he goes to shake Hudson's hand.

"Why I'm doing well friend," Hudson replied

M "That's good to hear, and the business?"

H "The business is fine. Don't you trust me?"

M "of course I do, I didn't mean anything by it-"

H "Relax Musty, I was only kidding...are you alright?"

M "Yes, it's just that a lot has happened this past year and it's just hard to process.."

A moment of silence between the two before another man had broke said silence.

"Sorry I'm late you two, their was a problem at the store."

M "Mr. Wheeler! It's no problem, it's just good to see you."

W "..and it's good to see you out and about, how are you and Mini holding up?"

M "I'm fine and Mini is taking everything a lot better than I thought."

H "where is the little pipsqueak anyway?"

M "oh Mini is running around town with her friends... which, Mr. Wheeler I must ask, is it safe for kids to be running around town unsupervised like that?"

W "oh of course! It happens all the time. I kids are almost always safe running around town by themselves."

M "almost?"

W "Well.. Due to the recent budget cuts to the towns first responders, accidents are becoming more..frequent."

With that there was another pause washed over the group as worry had start to overcome Musty once again.

"I'm sure Mini is fine." Hudson says in a reassuring tone

M "I know, I need to get my mind of this. Hudson, how is your granddaughter doing?"

H "Jin? She's doing well, she has gotten a new job in the city."

W "A job? I swear it was just yesterday that Jin had you running around town playing 'rescue',"

M "rescue?"

H "do you not remember? Jin and I would make some sort of rescue team and 'save people'. I think she got you involved as a 'medic' one time."

W "kids grow up so fast don't they?"

Hudson and Wheeler had continued their small talk while Musty had gotten lost in thought. 'A Rescue Team?'

——————————————————

A Couple Days Later

Its been a couple days since the three men had lunch. Musty had went MIA and Hudson thought it would be best to check up on him. That's how he found himself knocking on Mr. Musty's door. When nobody answered the door, Hudson had tried opening the door and was successful.

"Musty?" Hudson yells out as he walks into the house. "I find it funny how you complain about Mini's safety but still left your door unlocked."

"Hudson!" Mini yells out as she runs up and hugs the old man.

H "It's good to see you munchkin. How have you been?"

Mi "I've been great! I've made a new friend! And I saw a grasshopper! It had lost it legs. My friend stepped on it. Then a cat came and ate it- speaking of which, why don't you come over anymore?"

H "Oh my god. Your right. I have betrayed you by not coming over more. Please forgive me your majesty..".

Mi "....your a drama Queen."

H "I'm a drama Queen!? Your one to talk little lady."

Mi "well I get away with it because I'm cute!"

H "...Touché"

H "where is your grandpa anyway?"

Mi "he's in his office, he has been in his office a lot recently."

H "Has he been ignoring you?"

"no, he comes out when he needs to. Besides I get to eat all the cookies I want when he's busy." Mini say as she runs off to Musty's office.

"That's my girl." Hudson say with a chuckle as he follows her.

——————————————————

A couple seconds later Hudson is walking into Musty's office, looking for the old man. The office has a warm and cozy feeling when you enter. A fireplace sits on the back wall with bookshelves on either side of it. The Office also has a big desk, the top covered in papers. Musty is currently sat at the behind the desk looking down at the papers. "Musty?", he calls out, closing the door behind him.

The sound of his name caused Musty to look up for his current work and stand. "Hudson? What are you doing here?" Musty had said as he made us way around the desk and towards Hudson.

"I haven't heard from you, I just wanted to make sure you were ok."

"Oh. I'm sorry I've been busy." Musty says as he walks back to the desk and starts gathering some papers.

"What are you doing?" Hudson asked taking a few steps towards him.

"..When we were at lunch the other day you mentioned that game you and Jin use to play, and it gave me an idea. I thought of a way for the town to get the first responders it needs, but in a more affordable way." Musty says grabbing some folders and starts walking back towards Hudson again. "I have already thought of a few that are perfect for the job."

"Roy Williams, he is a firefighter in a nearby town. I'm friends with his family, I've seen how he works and I'd say he is the best at that station." Musty says handing Hudson a folder with 'Roy Williams' on the tab.

The Musty hands Hudson the other file he is holding and starts to speak again. "Amber Smith, she is a doctor in New York. She helped treat my grandson before he passed. She's great at her job and kids love her."

"And with you consent, I'd like to get Jin involved with this too." Musty says walking back to his desk. "Her skills with tech could really help this team."

"I still need to find a few more people but I have everything planned out." Musty takes a pause "..so what do you think?"

Hudson glances at the folders he was handed and takes a second to process what was just said. "Are you sure about this? I mean, what if one of these people aren't good enough for the job? Or what if this whole project blows up in your face and you have wasted your money and time? I'm not saying it's a bad idea I'm just asking if your sure about this?"

Musty takes a second to answer, looking over the papers on his desk. "I'm confident that this will work."

Hudson let's put a sigh. "...your a crazy old man. But I support you."

——————————————————

Next Day

Mayor's Office

Mayor Renolds was the Mayor of BroomsTown. He was currently in his office checking over records. The office was basic and cold, no personality could be seen in this office. As he was was going through the records he heard a knock on his offices door.

"Come in"

Mr. Musty had walked into the office and was now walking to the desk the mayor was sitting at. Causing Mayor Renolds to look up.

"Musty. Back so soon. Should've known you'd be back to complain about something." Mayor Renolds says coldly, putting his work away. "What can I do for you this time?"

"I heard you cut back on the town first responders, is that true?"

"Yes. Mr. Musty it is true. The town's funds are getting low and we couldn't afford it."

"Are you sure that was wise? The town needs their first responders."

"What do you expect me to do? Unless you have a better idea, this visit was pointless."

"That's why I'm here, I have a proposition for you."

"What are you going on about Musty?"

"I came up with a way for the town to get the first responders and the protection it need, but more affordable for a town of our size."

Mayor Renolds lays out a sigh and adjusts his glasses. "Alright. I'll humor you"

"what was this idea of yours?"

#robocar poli #robocarpoli #fanfic #robocar poli au #human au #sensitive topics #robocar poli fanfic #rcp

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ffangedd · 25 days

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Just warning people as you've probably seen on my Twitter and Instagram I'm really unstable at the moment. I still am unable to heal after what happened in the cotl fandom. I am not in the best of living conditions either (stuck inside with nothing to do, no job, ect.) I'm trying my hardest to keep myself safe, but I have already written a will just in case.

I may not speak or act appropriately during this time as I am going in and out of mental episodes on the daily.

#sensitive topics #life update

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werdlewrites · 8 months

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Those Two Words (Dean Winchester x OC)

masterlist-about-ao3-twitter @ djomomma

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summary: He watched her, too. The way she floats through the home with a now sleeping baby in her arms, head just on her shoulder. She doesn’t make a sound, and even if she had, Eric was known to be a heavy sleeper. But it’s effortless - like she was made for this, despite never picturing her future with a child. Until it happened. And then it didn’t. warnings: small amount of dialogue, hurt/comfort/depression, miscarriage, Dean is a family man, AU? mentions of two OC's. This might be triggering for some wc: 4,075

There’s a light that flickers inside. A bundle of life to soar within your chest like thousands of butterflies to kiss your skin. It loves, forgives, and guides through this short journey left on Earth. It’s filled with beauty - something to never know pain or darkness, and yet it comes. Heartache penetrates this shimmer - wounds left behind as violent claws reach through your soul to tear it in two. There’s no peace, not even in grieving for the loss of someone you loved - or the loss of a piece of yourself. Time is the only ally, yet enemy all the same. Time brings distance from the pain, allowing wounds to stitch together with the hope of becoming whole again. Then the guilt comes - fallen from the tongue of someone unseen, yet buried in your mind. It calls you “selfish” and “unloving” as you move - not on, but forward. You allow fingers to pry their way through a healing light, and rip it open to bleed and create an ugly scar. A reminder of the hurt - the suffering.

The light heals but is weaker than it once had been. Tired from the time spent in recovery, yet strong enough to carry on - for you to carry on. It quivers and shakes as the memories come flooding in, yet you remain strong on two feet. Sometimes it falters - flickering in and out to leave its person in a daze, fighting to catch their breath or understand their surroundings. Like now, a mere two words rang out like a church bell in her ears. Yet, not of something to celebrate and praise, but rather, a time of mourning. Two words to lock her in place, mouth hung agape as she tried to understand..if she heard correctly. They trickle in like the start of summer's rainfall, until the pressure builds and breaks through the dam, dousing the light.

“I’m pregnant,”

She’s stuck in the dining room chair, hands splayed out over her knees - squeezing, though she doesn’t know it. All senses die as her life flutters and falls to the polished wood beneath her bare feet. Her best friend of a decade was pregnant - someone so beautiful, carrying a frail, tiny creature to call her mother. “Please say something,” Allison begs, voice warm and filled with sorrow for her friend - the color drained from the woman's face. She doesn’t seek a “congratulations” to come spilling out in the heavy quiet - more so forgiveness, for carrying a reminder inside of her belly, something her friend once dreamed of. The solemn eyes of the dying woman shift to intertwined hands to rest over her stomach, shielding this new spark from the cruel world it would soon face. She finds tears reaching just the corner of Allison’s eyes - weighed down by uncertainty and confusion. It’s then that her once darkened soul sparks with light again - in and out, sputtering until it brings her to stand from the chair, with Allison soon wrapped in a tight embrace. “I’m so happy for you,” she mumbles in the crook of the girl's neck - the only acknowledgment being a frantic nod of the head, untrusting of herself to speak.

Two words were all it took to remind Carmen of what she had lost.

Allison grew, and so did the threat against Carmen’s stability. She wore genuine smiles, though they wavered the moment curious eyes looked her way. “It’s not about me,” she tells him. Folding up the laundry with the help of her husband, who asks almost daily how she is doing with a little Winchester on the way. One that hadn’t been hers. “They’re bringing a baby into the world. It’s a beautiful thing,” she continues, packing away their neatly done clothes - a trait adopted after dating Dean for so long. All military and structure. “It doesn’t mean you can’t feel a certain way about it, y’know?” She hated these conversations - she hated the way it forced her to look inside at the damage done, to feel the pain as life slipped from her grasp. She lets go in the quiet moments, a bleeding heart spilling out into her partner's hands. He doesn’t try to push it all back in - to stop the flow with a firm hand on her fragile heart. Instead, he lets himself float within her misery - a moment of suspension for the two of them. To feel, see, and accept this reality. Dean holds her in the mornings, afternoons, and nights - never allowing her to feel lonely. Other times, she holds him. Fingers tangled through freshly washed hair as he lay over her emptiness, thumb soothing across the bare skin that once held life. She apologizes for failing him - for failing their baby, and he holds onto her tighter. “You could never fail me.” But soft words are buried beneath self-loathing. Carmen gives into his comfort, letting it wash over her to cleanse a tortured spirit. But it’s tainted, and beyond the help of sweet words.

Family dinners and game nights are hosted by none other than the expecting couple themselves. Meals were cooked with love and the table was cleared by the guests once dinner was finished. They would play board games from their childhood - or rather, from Camen and Allison’s childhood. The women would exchange sly glances with one another across the table, hidden smiles behind their hands as their partners sat in silence, plotting a course of action like they have for their entire lives. “What’re you lookin’ at?” Dean would spit out - a look of annoyance in his eyes. “Nothing,” she sighs out, a shit-eating grin still shining brightly beneath the dim lights. “You’re just..so pretty.” He scoffs, a light smirk seen just at the corner of his lips - doing all he can to not smile - to not give in to her. “I’m going t’be the God damn Pretty Pretty Princess if it’s the last thing I do.” “Not with that ring you’re not,” she gestures towards the black, plastic ring. It sits snug around his pinky finger, barely hanging on and ready to snap should he make a fist. While his brother adorns purple earrings, a child-sized ring, and a bracelet - nearly a winner of the game. “This is a damn joke,” Dean mutters to himself, finger flicking at the numbered board for his next move. The games go on for hours, it seems. Leaving everyone sleepy-eyed in the living room while they talk about nonsense. Dean catches sight of his wife leaning into her palm, pretending to listen to his brother while a hand lays idle over her abdomen - a silent admiration of Allison, and what it must all feel like. He laughs at his brother's jokes - a distraction to keep attention off of Carmen, while a strong hand slips its way through. Fingers tangle to pry her focus away from the loss, giving a squeeze of reassurance - and she returns the gesture with a softened sigh.

Eric Winchester is born at 1:10 AM, weighing seven and a half pounds - crying and screaming until he is bundled up in his cocoon of warm blankets. The tears are unavoidable - cradling his tiny body against her chest with eyes full of wonder and adoration. "He's perfect," she offers in a hushed tone, letting the boy continue to bask in his peaceful dreams. Dean watches with a softened smile, heart warming until it’s agonizingly hot - boiling and damn near killing him on the spot. His vision flashes white from the ache, thoughts, and words left scrambled and lost on his tongue. But Sam is with him - a comforting hand on his shoulder to let him know he is there for support should his brother need to fall. But he remains steady for her; his wife, who offers the newborn to his uncle with trembling hands. He doesn’t realize at the moment that he is shaking just as much, dismissing the kind touch to his hand as he accepts the infant with a dazzling grin. For a moment, it’s as if the bliss had been their own. Leaving the hospital in the early morning to find something to eat, and catch up on long lost sleep. Together, they swoon in the car - faces lit by the oncoming sunrise, skin kissed by the vibrant orange. The couple smile together, filled with love and happiness as they talk about this new baby to enter the world. How small his hands were and the puffiness of his cheeks. When the quiet comes, he finds Carmen’s gaze cast out the window, unfocused on their surroundings but doing all she can to bury the creeping ache. She wipes at the corners of her eyes with the back of her sleeve, and he steals away her hand to lay a kiss across the surface.

Nearly nine months have been spent in healing for the two of them since his birth. He becomes a focus - a beacon of light to drown out their sorrows. It’s when three words reach her ears that suddenly shift the tides, fighting against the familiar current. “Will you babysit?” It’s just like before - a disembodied moment, a disconnection. Her knees weaken and he doesn’t notice the way her fingers tighten over the edge of the counter. Instead, his gaze drifts away - flickering to take in the sight of anything that wasn’t her lifeless eyes. “I’m sorry, I just-” “It’s fine, Sam.” Her voice is enough to surprise her, crawling over the barricade lodged in the woman’s throat. “Allison’s parents are out of town, and..she really needs some fresh air,” he finishes with a nervous laugh, which in turn pulls her dull expression into something joyous. “She definitely does. Of course, we’ll babysit.” Hazel eyes fill with light, grateful, and understanding of what his sister-in-law has agreed to, knowing it may not be an easy task. And then, the day comes. It washes in like a dark, threatening cloud seen just over the horizon the night prior. It inches closer as time passes, waiting to douse her in its heavy burden. It casts a shadow just over her shoulder, while Dean’s carries a little less shade - a sign of healing, but unforgetting. Carmen gives in to the pull as she moves down the hallway, pushing a once forever sealed doorway open to reveal shades of forest green and plush carpet. Who knew a lively space could feel so hollow? A place meant to overflow with laughter left eerily quiet since the last photograph was hung. It shines in the daylight - rays streaming in from thinned curtains, not once feeling the breeze dance along its threads. So alive in the day. And as the sun fell, it took the light with it, stripping vibrance away to let the darkness in. Stuffed animals sat upright in their places - on the chair and shelving. Books collect dust - childhood favorites left untouched. The crib was still - no imprints or rustle of fabric to show it had been lived in. To show that it had loved, and warmed someone once upon a time.

The deer and other small wildlife stare outwards from the wallpaper, never having the chance to protect someone - but always seeking the opportunity. She remembers how much of a pain in the ass it all had been. Choosing decor to leave both soon-to-be parents happy, but especially the wallpaper. Sights had been set on the pattern, and she spent an entire day convincing a Hunter that it would be beneficial for the imagination. Dean caves with a kiss to the lips, proceeding to help apply it before an argument fueled by hormones ceases the process. Carmen spends her day in bed, surrendering the project to the brothers who take care of not laughing too loudly, fearful of the woman. She cries in the doorway, thankful for all they’ve done, and apologizes for being so emotional. And as Dean cradles her tired body, he studies the finished wall and confesses his newfound love for it. That was nearly two years ago, time flew by before she’d even had the chance to catch it. Spending hours, weeks, and months in mourning. He calls for her, voice booming from the living room as he slips on his shoes. It all happens so fast. She blinks, and suddenly she’s walking through her friend's doorway - ignoring the cloud to now hover just above. “Our movie starts at six,” Allison begins, nearly out of breath as she becomes frantic with organization and the lists she’s prepared. “And this is the name of the restaurant we’re going to after, and-” “Okay, okay,” Carmen cuts in with a laugh, grabbing at her friend's shoulders to spin her around, pushing the girl closer to the front entrance. “I’ve got it taken care of. I’m a big girl, y’know?” “I know,” her friend responds with a sigh. “I just - it never gets easier. Leaving. I feel guilty for-” There’s a heavy pause, meeting her friend's eyes as a hard swallow chokes her on the spot. “I - I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t-” Carmen leans in a little closer, expression unreadable until her lips twitch into a sly smile. “Get out of here. Go have some fun, momma.” Allison embraces her words, though with great reluctance before wrapping herself up in the other’s arms. “Thank you,” she mutters, slipping away into her husband's hold as they both move into the evening. “Don’t you dare let that woman come home within the next few hours,” she warns, pulling a hearty laugh from Sam’s chest. “Yeah, I’ll try.”

The littlest Winchester is already swept up in the adoration of the eldest. Barely speaking a word to his brother as he moved with purpose, finding the boy slouched as tiny hands slapped carelessly against the buttons. A cluster of sounds emitting from the plastic table, until they suddenly stop as Dean towers above him. Gleeful cries follow only seconds after, making attempts to pick himself up to pull at his uncle's jeans. But just as he tumbles onto all fours, Dean kneels down to his level, a pointed finger holding all of Eric’s attention. He watches in wonder as he reaches for the table, pressing down on a vibrant pink button to release a bright tune in the silence. Again, more delight shines on in sweet eyes. His joy was heard through squeals and giggles. “You’re too easy,” Dean states with a prideful look on his face. “C’mere, squirt,” he grunts, swiftly plucking the boy up from the ground to hold against his side. “We’re gettin’ up t’no good today, aren’t we?” Carmen has only just seen the other couple leave, locking up for the night until their return. She can hear the coos and plotting buried in hushed whispers just around the corner. “We’re stayin’ up late. We’re watching movies-” “Excuse me?” Carmen interrupts, finding her partner with a guilt-ridden expression, though he fights past it to appear confident - maybe even a little offended by her playful prodding. “Nothin’,” He blurts out, tucking the boy deeper into comfort. “We’re talkin’ business, okay? Big boy stuff.” Her face contorted, amused and disbelieving of his defense before reaching across the way to wiggle her hands between the two. “You’re not forcing him to watch Poltergeist,” Carmen chuckles, successfully stealing away the infant to kiss soft cheeks. “It’s a classic!”

The hours passed with ease, filled with vibrance, laughter, and some delicate moments where the other was simply too afraid to break the spell. Some of those moments being when Carmen overhead her husband encouraging the infant to speak. “Can you say, ‘Best uncle in the world?’” Eric would spit and babble in response, gnawing on his tiny fingers as his shimmering eyes looked elsewhere. “Well, that sucks. Because I’m your only uncle.” Or, when he watched her dance along the slick tile of the kitchen floor, all for the boy's entertainment as he sat on the other side of the baby gate. Eyes were wide, watching with amazement and sloppily clapping his hands together every time she did a dramatic spin. Other times, she would study him from the couch as he read the boy a story. Thick pages nearly blocked from view as Eric laid his palms across the pictures and words with every flip. Dean would laugh, “I can’t see, bud,” as if the child could understand. She soaks in these gentle moments. A spotlight filled with a warm, summer glow cast down upon the two. His rough hands and angered spirit were now watered down. A dying garden filled with rotten weeds and poison now thriving with delicate flowers and joy. He watched her, too. The way she floats through the home with a now sleeping baby in her arms, head just on her shoulder. She doesn’t make a sound, and even if she had, Eric was known to be a heavy sleeper. But it’s effortless - like she was made for this, despite never picturing her future with a child. Until it happened.

And then it didn’t.

Carmen lays him with care in the crib - a rich mahogany to match the changing table. The color compliments pewter walls and perfectly white accents. It had always been clear, that this was no hollow place. A soft rug held a singular stain at the edge, having experienced an accident as the new parents struggled to adjust to new life. Toys were littered across the floor, though hastily pushed aside as they were left with no time to clean before their night out. The ear of Eric’s favorite dog was crumbled and permanently disfigured as he gums it. Colored blocks were stacked to the side, with other loved items frantically tucked into storage with arms still hanging out from the box. This room sang a joyous chorus in the day as sunlight poured in, and a velvety lullaby as the moon took its place. You could hear the adoration bleed out from the walls even in the quietest of moments, and it was heard throughout the home as Eric’s door was always left open. Even now, as his caretaker slips from the crib with ghostly steps, slipping back out into the hallway to meet her partner. “Down for the count,” she sighs, allowing a tired body to rest against the wall just at his door. The woman waits in the silence - waiting for his deep voice to cut through and warm her flesh. To make a sarcastic comment or joke that lights a smile on her face. Instead, she lingers under his stare. Green eyes sparkled beneath the dim lights, alluring and filled with something she couldn't place in the moment.

It was yearning.

Plump lips twitch into a smile, a sensation of butterflies bursting within his chest - sickening, yet warm and encouraging goosebumps to the surface of freckled skin. Dean averts his gaze, feeling as though her curious stare was ripping through him to pull out unspoken thoughts not yet ready to reach his tongue. "What is it?" She questions, watching as he licks at his lips before shrugging away her invisible touch. Just before confessions spill to the floor, revealing all he’s dreamed of as Carmen lives out a life once lost to them. “Nothin’,” a strong hand reaches and tangles with delicate fingers, tugging her along until they settle on the cream-colored couch. She doesn’t buy it - not after having known this man for just over a decade. His wife can do more than simply read through his hazy shield. She predicts, understands, and reasons - while her past self had spent energy she couldn’t waste on fighting a stubborn, arrogant, man-child. “Sam says they’ll be home soon. I guess Allison started crying.” The imagery brings unexpected laughter as she settles into his side, fingers fanned out over a denim-clad thigh. “She lasted longer than I thought.” It’s a deflection. Dean Winchester has grown and shifted with the tides. Swimming with them, rather than against as they seek to pull him under with violence. There’s a storm at his back and it holds reality - turmoil and emotions he struggles to express. So, despite the bliss in their hearts and laughter in their chests, he’s lost somewhere in that sea. Eyes carved from jade staring out into nothingness, swimming faster from the heavy cloud. “What is it really, Dean?” His resolve shatters from her kind voice, gripping at her fingers as they work to pry them from her flesh. Words act like water caught in his throat, choking and suffocating until he finally forces them out, and with it comes a new light to cast out the shadowy sky.

“We got dealt a shitty hand,” he begins, not yet brave enough to face her, instead electing to watch as her thumb soothes circles over his skin. He refers to more than just their loss as a joined family. But to the loss of Carmen’s sister, before they had ever met. He means the sacrifice of his father's life, the murder of his mother, and each painful journey they fought through up until this moment. “Doesn’t mean we have t’stop playin’ the game.” Confused by his words, her brow knits together as she tries to make sense of it all. Lips parting to ask what he means, though silenced as he shifts his body to face her directly. “I’m tired of our girl’s room being shut.” Her breath hitches as Dean tears down that dam to keep her own storm at bay. Angry, grey waters crash and grip until she’s fighting for air. She could die here in his arms from sheer pain. From a broken heart. “I see you and Eric, and I - I just can’t stop it, y’know?” He can see the glisten in her eyes - sorrow climbing to the top and threatening to wipe the woman out like a plague. He inches closer, pulling her legs to drape over his lap, a comforting hand against her cheek. “I think about you. I think about us, and what it was like. T’have her, and-” Mentions of her loss leave him sick and gagging on foul words, but he manages to choke them out as a tear spills down her cheek. “She lived, Carmen. She lived, and she was perfect.” Another tear on tinted cheeks and she surrenders to his touch, a thumb brushing them aside. “Yeah, she was,” is her mumbled reply, followed by a sniffle and an aggressive swipe just beneath her nose. “We can walk away from it. We can leave that dream behind, just say the word. Whatever you want, I’m with you. I just-" He doesn't finish, watching as those waves crash within tearful eyes. It's familiar territory, she doesn't need to hear the rest as she fights against the current. Her only focus was to keep her head above the waves.

A strong hand falls to her hip, all too close to a once full belly - a home provided now echoing with the haunting cry of a ghost. He hopes to let it sing again, if she only reaches for his hand for guidance in the murky waters. The shoreline awaits in the distance, beckoning them in closer to taste its warm security. But it’s not a journey to take on alone. And though painful, they would come out of it together - so she takes hold of him. She has long been dreaming of that empty crib, whether it be in nightmares or something rare like a dream she couldn’t pull herself from. Had it been the trick of a Djinn, she would have died if only to see her daughter grow. And as Eric’s gentle breaths and grumbles of sleep slip through the baby monitor, sadness shifts into hope and longing. “I don’t want to keep it closed, either,” She whispers, untrusting of her own voice to carry the following words filled with power. But there’s strength as she meets his stare. “Let’s try again.” They’ve touched land - brilliant sunlight stripping the weight of water from their clothes, so they may walk freely across the sand without burden. A sunrise dances across his skin as excitement sinks in. Beauty and love are seen shimmering like crystals in his eyes. That flickering light in their chests fighting for survival now glows with radiance. “Yeah? You want to?” She can only nod, a faint chuckle from nerves slipping through painted lips that are captured in his kiss. “I love you, so damn much.”

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