#but looking at it now if the parts of the crust were to expand away from the core like that

[zorrasucia]

"Just sleeping and fucking all day," I AM DEAD!!! and i revived just to BEG you to expand on this please i just love them so much 😭

I'm so glad you liked it, Anon! I came up with something but I'm like 90% sure it's not what you were asking for - I aimed to write more smut and it turned into saccharine fluff somehow. I apologize. Rest assured that the next update for this fic is business as usual, very spicy and contains Carmy finally ******* ****** :)

Teach Me Tonight - Deleted Scene 2.0

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Deleted Scene] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] Deleted Scene: [Part 8]

Reader x Carmy Berzatto (The Bear FX)

Rating: Mature (1k)

Tags: Set sometime after the opening of The Bear, Smut, Virgin!Carmy, Fluff, Miscommunication, Domesticity

"Hey, baby," Carmy mumbled with a smile, rolling over in bed and looking at you with sleepy eyes.

You had padded into the room and leaned over to kiss his neck, waking him up from his third nap of the day. In between, you had fucked - slow and loving, then quick and hard, then a mix of both. You felt tired in the best way - and still somehow you wanted him. But you could wait.

"Shhh. I'm not here for another round," you soothed, moving a lock of hair out of his face. "Got us some pizza," you settled across from him, laying the box between you.

He sat up and ogled you shamelessly. You were wearing jeans and one of his shirts, your nipples showing through the white fabric.

"You're gonna be the death of me," he shook his head and focused on the slice of pizza you handed him instead.

"I mean," you gestured at him, his naked torso and satisfied smirk, "likewise, Carm."

You shared a hungry look while taking a bite of pepperoni. He broke first, looking up at the ceiling, away from you.

"How's it feel?" he asked.

"Mmm?" you nudged his leg with your foot.

"You come like two, three times when I can only do one and be just useless..." he blushed, curiosity tinting his skin. "I was just wondering what that was like, if all women were like that."

You smiled. Sometimes you forgot that he was a virgin before you.

"A lot of women can, uh, come multiple times," you explained. "If it's done properly, if you work for it," you cleared your throat. "Some women can't come at all."

"That sounds, uh-" Carmy struggled.

"Miserable?" you supplied and he nodded. "It can be. But sex isn't always about coming, you know? It's about being close and getting to know each other."

Carmy hummed pensively.

Just now, between one round and the next you had fallen asleep still intertwined, spent, his arms around your waist and his softening cock inside you. It was nice, to be so close with zero expectations of it going anywhere.

"What've you learned about me? With sex, I mean," he asked, his blue eyes wide.

"That you're giving, uh, determined, a fast learner," you pondered for a minute while you chewed. "A bit of a control freak but we knew that from before," he chuckled. "And you think you don't deserve good shit, even though you do."

"Pretty spot on," he let out a shaky breath.

You caressed his calf over the bedsheets. It felt strange to be talking about this but it had been a fucking weird day, and discussing orgasms with Carmy while eating pizza fit right in.

"You're a great fuck, Carm," you said softly. "And that takes patience and care and- I love that you want to make me feel good. I do," his gaze was downward and you reached for his hand. "I just don't want you to think you need to be perfect for me here too, you know? There's no pressure."

Carmy nodded and his eyes met yours, he gave you a soft smile.

"Thanks," he brushed your knuckles with his thumb. Then his smile turned mischievous. "Just to be sure, you do like coming though?" he looked for confirmation, head tilted.

"Yeah," you laughed. "Obviously, yeah," you poked at his side and reached for another slice of pizza. "I'm just saying there's no pressure, okay?"

"Okay," he took a big bite of crust. "You didn't answer my question from before," he prompted, raising his eyebrows. "How does it feel?"

"Uh. Well, you don't know how good it's going to be until you're coming. Sometimes it slows down, becomes softer. Or you get halfway through the next and get stuck there," you shrugged. "Sometimes it builds up, becomes more intense each time-"

"Like the last one?" he asked.

You blushed - the memory of him on top of you, his chain dangling near your mouth, his hands holding your wrists above your head, taking up all your thoughts. He had fucked you through your first orgasm until you saw stars and your moans turned into cries of pleasure.

"Exactly like that," you replied bashfully like it wasn't you that had begged him to keep going and fuck you harder.

"How many have you done?" Carmy asked after a while.

"Huh?"

"How many times you've come in a row?" he repeated, that calculating look back on his face. "What's the max?"

"I don't know, five?" you laughed nervously. "I think you're getting the wrong message from this, Carm."

"No, I know," he shook his head. "I was guessing we could start with all that 'no pressure' thing tomorrow. And I think I still have one more round left in me today, so..."

"What the fuck, Carm?" you giggled.

You covered your face with your hands, hiding how flustered you were.

"I'm serious," he said, amusement still showing in his tone. You finally uncovered your face and looked at him. He was smiling but he wasn't joking. "I don't know how to be calm," he explained. "I don't know how to fucking relax and be normal. I never have. Being with you- That's the closest I've come to that," he said softly. You cupped his face tenderly. "But sometimes it gets so crazy that the only thing I know I can do well is make you feel good. That's why I can be a control freak and competitive and insane..."

You shushed him.

"You're fine, baby," you caressed Carmy's shoulders, scooting closer to him. "I love that you're all those things. I just- You push yourself to the limit. You can hurt yourself trying to make everything perfect," your thumb traced the edge of the dark circles around his eyes - all from early mornings and late nights at The Bear. "I don't want to be that for you - another weight, another thing that needs to be perfect."

"You're not," he whispered. "You've never been that, okay?"

"Okay," you sighed and surged forward to kiss him, his face between your palms.

Even after the kiss was over you stayed there, your forehead on his, and your noses touching.

"So," you said after a while, "how about we finish this," you pointed at the pizza, "and watch a movie?"

You had learned that watching a movie with Carmy was shorthand for a nap on the couch since he was always so fucking tired.

He chuckled against your mouth.

"I think I can manage that," he replied, guiding you by the hand to the living room.

~

[Part 8]

~

@th3h0nkz @faephoria @wadupppp

#replies #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x you #carmy x you #carmy berzatto smut

[cherrycola27]

the darkest little paradise

Series Warnings: Mafia!AU. Language, drugs, alcohol, death, violence, smut. Minors DNI. 18+. Banner Credit @thedroneranger

Masterlist Next Part

...........................................

Prologue: The Auction

It had been sixteen years since you'd been home. Sixteen years since you made the biggest mistake of your life and your father shipped you off to boarding school in Italy.

You'd learned a lot in those sixteen years. You redeemed yourself in your father's eyes and helped grow the family business. You were certain that he was going to give you back your birthright and make you his successor once again. Something you had lost that faithful night.

But before he could, he died, tragically, suddenly—suspiciously.

You were sure it was at the hands of your younger brother. He'd always been jealous of you. You were positive that he set you up all those years ago and convinced your father that he would be a better heir to the empire.

You knew that he killed your father to keep him from handing you the business.

You just had to prove it.

You hated being back in the States. But your brother forced you to come back by having your assets frozen. It was wither come home, sell your body, or starve. Honestly, the last two options don't seem so bad now.

Thankfully, you wouldn't have to face him today. Instead, you were making an appearance in his honor at a charity auction at your country club. It was a masked bachelor's auction. Feral men and women with more money than they had sense would bid on attractive men from the community like they were prized cattle. To make it more anonymous, everyone masks. It added to the appeal.

You knew that these auction weren't supposed to end in an R-rated way, but you knew more often than not, they did. That's exactly what you were hoping for.

Your brother was supposed to be one of the bachelors tonight, but he was called away on "business." His right hand and second in command would be stepping in for him. You planned on spending whatever amount it took to take him home with you tonight.

Your brother would kill you if he knew what you were planning, but you didn't care. This was all a part of the long game that you were playing.

You reached into your clutch purse and took our mirror, and checked your reflection. Your red lipstick was still perfect. The silvery- grey mask your wore looked flawless and complimented your outfit well.

You were dressed in your signature color— sapphire blue. The liquid silk gown you had chosen flowed over your body and hugged your neck with a beautiful halter neckline. You had platinum and pearl and sapphire earrings dangling from your lobes.

Your mother's well loved sapphire and diamond ring was snug on your right hand, where it had lived ever since she passed.

Your driver turned into the country club and made his way up the long driveway before pulling up to the front doors where an actual red carpet had been rolled out. You rolled tour eyes at the spectacle that was being made. Sure, the theme of the evening was "Hollywood Glamour," but this felt like a bit much.

Nevertheless, you put your mirror away and grabbed the snow-white fur stole from the seat beside you and draped it between your elbows. It was the same color as the fine powder that you finally was infamous for.

Your father always told people he made his money through a hedge fund, but really, your family fortunate came from the drug trade, cocaine to be specific.

While you personally didn't participate in the use of your family product, you could sell the hell out of it. You introduced it to the upper crust circle of Europe and expanded business ten-fold for your father.

And as much as you wish you could say your family's real business was a secret, you knew it wasn't. Your father had every politician and lawman in his back pocket. You could get away with anything because of who you were.

You sat patiently as you waited for your car door to be opened. Soon, Raphael, your driver opened the door and extended his hand for you. "Remember, pick me up at seven tomorrow morning." You reminded him.

Raphael nodded his head before a tuxedo clad man escorted you to your seat. "Can I get you a drink, ma'am?" He asked you as you settled into your table at the back of the room, away from everyone else.

"Gin martini, chilled glass, lemon twist." You told him without looking up. He quickly scurried away as one of the organizers from the club brought you your auction paddle.

"Good evening, Miss Sapphire." A voice call to you. "Donny." You said as your personal security guard came and took a seat beside you. A black leather breif case tucked under his arm.

"Do you have it?" You asked him as your martini was set down in front of you. "Yes, ma'am." Donny replied. "Good." You said as you took a sip of your drink.

...............

The auction was just as you had predicted. Women and their perfectly manicured nails and men with their expensive cufflinks zealously bidded, all in the name of charity of course.

You bided your time, sipping your martini, waiting for him to come up.

Finally, the emcee announced him. "Ladies and gentlemen, we've saved the best for last, so get your paddles and your checkbooks ready for bachelor lucky number thirteen, or as we like to call him, Rooster!"

A roar of applause went up as he took the stage. And why wouldn't it? Rooster was handsome in his blue suit that he had paired with a red and blue statement dress shirt. The first few buttons were undone, giving the people a peak and the tone, tanned skin underneath. He had a matching blue mask across his eyes, and a pair of Italian leather loafers on his feet. You could see the glint of the Montblanc watch sticking out from under the sleeve of suit, and the thick gold ring he wore on his pinky.

You had to admit, he looked good. Gone was the scrawny half grown kid you remembered your father taking all those years ago. Just be he shipped you off.

He had been replaced by a man, tall, handsome, and brawny with years of heartache behind his eyes.

"Let's start the bidding for a date with the handsome Rooster at twenty-five thousand dollars." The emcee said.

Paddles immediately went up. You signaled for Donny to raise yours. The bidding climbed higher and higher, passing one hundred thousand. "Jump the bid to a quarter of a million." You told Donny. It was a strategy you had learned from your father, jumping the bid normally deterred the competition.

"Are you sure?" Donny asked you. "Yes." You told him.

"Two-hundred fifty thousand." Donny said as he raised your paddled. There was a gasp followed by murrmers from the crowd. The emcee continued with fewer participants. You growled in frustration as the amount climbed higher you continued to bid, having Donny jump it again to half a million. You thought for sure that would win, but a brunette at the front of the room countered your bid.

You were locked in a bidding war with her. It was a battle to see who would give first. Finally, you told Donny, "One million. Bid it. Now."

"Ma'am, I—" Donny stuttered. You shot him a deadly glare. He swallowed before lifting your paddled and loudly proclaiming your bid. The room went silent. "Wow, one million dollars. Do I hear one point one million?" The emcee asked. The brunette shook her head.

"Okay, one million going once, twice. Sold to bidder number six one six." The emcee said as he announced the end of the auction and next steps. You quickly took the brief case from Donny before giving him a hotel key card and a set of instructions to give to Rooster.

You then went to pay your debt. The country club treasurer was quite shocked when you presented her with the million dollars in cash, but was thankful for your "donation." Once your debt was clear, Donny drove you to the Four Seasons. He has an idea of what you had planned, but he knew better than to say anything.

Once there, you made your way in the back entrance and up to your penthouse suite and waited for Rooster.

Room service already had champagne, caviar, and a full bar cart stocked for you.

Thirty minutes after your arrival, Rooster entered the living area of the suite.

"Hello there, Rooster. Can I get you a drink?" You asked him as he made his way into the room. His eyes flitted about, taking in every detail.

"Cognac. If you have it." He said hesitantly. You poured a glass for the both of you before gesturing for him to sit. You stood across from him, watching as he took the drink from you and took a long sip.

You couldn't get a full read on him, but the way his eyes were roaming over your body, you knew you'd be able to seduce him.

You took a seat across from him. Neither of you spoke.

"So— what did you have in mind for the evening?" He asked you. You knew that Bradley was smart enough to know what you had planned.

You didn't answer him. Instead, you stood up and unhooked the top of your dress and pulled the side zipper down. The garment pooled at your feet, revealing the lingerie you had on underneath.

You then sat back down in your chair and kicked your shoes up on the table. The red soles matched your lipstick.

You took another sip of your drink as Rooster sighed and raked his hands through his sandy blonde curls.

"This isn't that kind of date, ma'am." Rooster protested.

You leaned back into the chair and brought the crystal glass of cognac to your lips. He watched you, tentatively as you sipped the rich liquid.

"Let me make one thing perfectly clear. I paid a million dollars for a small slice of your time, sir. That's quite a bit of money. More than you're worth. So, this evening is what I say it is, Mr. Bradshaw." You smirk back at him. You tilt your head to the side as if to dare him to challenge you.

"How do you know my name?" He asks you.

"I'm a very powerful woman, Bradley. I belong to a very powerful family. It's my business to know everyone I associate myself with." You tell him.

He stands up and moves closer to you. You give him a wink.

His feet stay rooted in place as he looks you over. He devoured every inch of the sapphire blue lingerie that you were clad in. You could tell he appreciated the way the bustier hugged your breasts and how he was enticed by the bows tied atop the garters you wore.

"Well, Miss—" He trailed off, still not knowing your name.

"Sapphire. You can call me Sapphire." You filled in the blank for him.

"Well, Sapphire, what exactly did you have in mind?" Bradley asked you with a teasing smirk.

"I want you to take off that Armani suit and show me why they call you Rooster." You replied with no hesitation in your voice.

Bradley chuckled as he reached for his cufflinks. He dropped them, and his watch unceremoniously onto the table before sliding off his suit jacket and unbuttoning his shirt. He twisted his pinky ring a few times before giving you a devilish grin.

Your lips curled as you sat up straighter.

He stalked over to you before planting a hand on each arm of your chair. That's when you knew you had him.

Perfect.

Everything was going according to plan.

Taglist: @roosterscock @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @mayhemmanaged @wkndwlff @roosterforme @daggerspare-standingby @dakotakazansky @startrekfangirl2233 @hecate-steps-on-me @cassiemitchell @na-ta-sh-aa @katieshook02 @desert-fern @je-suis-prest-rachel @soulmates8 @diorrfairy @eli2447 @xoxabs88xox @djs8891 @roosters-girl @rosiahills22 @dempy @callsign-magnolia @alchemxx @gretagerwigsmuse @lt-spork @multifandomlover4life @beccaanne814 @bradshawsbaby @seitmai @kmc1989 @bcarolinablr @roosterisdaddy36 @itsdesiree86 @waywardhunter95 @hisredheadedgoddess28 @whatislovevavy @inkandarsenic @lillyrosenight @tomanybandstolove @jiminie-08 @dingochef @laracrofted @skipchat @princess76179 @schoollover @cheyrenee @angelbabyyy99

#cherrycola27 #top gun maverick #top gun #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #rooster top gun #tgm #lt. bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw smut #rooster smut #top gun rooster #tgm fanfiction #tgm fic #top gun smut #top gun 2 #the darkest little paradise

[liz-allyn]

sugar and vice, pt. 20 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader-oc]

summary: no more running. no more cages.

words: 10.7 k

chapter warning: heavy chapter warnings for S&V John Walker (it's a warning), SA, death, violence, gore

series warnings: mob-typical bang bang violence, hurt/comfort. Spicy smutty situations. spousal abuse. family trauma. Drug use. coercion. manipulation. kidnapping. gore. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. ‘only ten one bed oops’ trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. extremely toxic relationships.

This version of TASM Peter is not canon. The relationships and characters here are not healthy.

Don't date a mob boss.™️

18+ You’re responsible for your own media consumption, but if you don't know these TWs by now, then don't go here.

Back to Part 19.

Note: your comments and notes keep me alive, but please be careful to use section breaks and spoiler tags!

Part 20

Once when she was a little girl, she cut her baby sister’s nails. She had to. It was something that their mother would have done—should have done—but she hadn’t been home in several days. Her older sister had the most experience, but she was stuck working a double shift. Rebecca had been sick with a cold for days, and Selena was just a toddler. 

After all, it was her job to look after her younger siblings.

So that left Honey in charge. 

Poor Gabriella. The infant couldn’t stop scratching her face. Red lines marked up her round cheeks like tiger stripes. Honey knew if any of the children had too many marks, people would start to notice. Then something bad would happen, her mother assured her. People would come and take Gabriella away.

She tried everything to prevent the baby from digging her tiny claws into her own skin. She tried rolled socks as makeshift mittens. She tried using a bath towel as a swaddle, but that turned out to be an awful idea once the infant realized she was stuck and didn’t like being restrained. 

By contrast, being tied up wasn’t something that ever bothered Honey.

The obvious solution was to trim her nails. She had to. It had to be done. They didn’t own a pair of nail clippers, Honey knew that. But it was on her to fix things. She was in charge. So she took a pair of kitchen scissors and tried her best. 

After that, she was never okay with the sight of blood.

It used to bother her tremendously. She’d become agitated for a few days out of every month. Her other sisters would joke about it. ‘She must be on her period.’ They were right. 

As a teenager, the smallest knick from shaving her legs in the shower would send her into a dizzy spiral. Over time, it got better. John changed that.

Mrs. Walker became an expert at cleaning up blood. She learned to ignore the smell or at least put a dab of Vicks beneath her nose to block the stench. 

The only helpful thing she learned in high school chemistry was how blood cells expanded when coming in contact with warm water. Thus, her teacher told her, cold water was best for removing blood stains. 

“You know. In case you ever have to hide a dead body.” 

It was a joke. Until it wasn’t.

John changed that.

She sat on the tiled floor of her bathroom, shoulders slumped and expression blank. Now, it was impossible to get rid of the blood on her hands. She could strip off her clothes and burn them, but she felt it on her skin. She could shove an entire eucalyptus tree up her nose, but the scent would linger.

She was stained in rust colors, starkly contrasting the pristine ivory of her bathroom. Silently, she gazed at how the blood crusted on her skin, following the ridges of her pores like brush strokes in oil paint. The cotton hoodie and joggers she’d been wearing were soaked through. There had been so much carnage and death she didn’t even know whose blood she was wearing.

Helen’s. Johnny’s. Her own, probably. Blood from ‘that’ guy, whose scalp was torn off.

Eddie’s blood.

All that was left of his life stained her skin. She should be nauseous by now. She should be at least a little woozy. But, instead, the thought of just washing him away made her want to die inside. 

She would wear it, then. Needed to wear it—she had to. On her arms and face. On her neck. On her chest, like a scarlet letter. Irreversably stained.

Is this what it means to be desensitized to gore? 

Indeed, she felt nothing at all.

What happened, happened. The Bunker was in shambles. It would take months to repair. Would have if Peter hadn’t instructed them to burn everything left.

Every piece of incriminating evidence, every tool at their disposal, and every chapter of their history was on fire underground. Nothing would be left, no matter when the fire department showed up. Johnny had re-routed the gas lines years ago. With the flip of a switch, everything would go up in flames. Nothing could be salvaged. It would be an empty cave filled with useless, charred artifacts from an irrelevant time.

On second thought—she considered—that’s what she felt.

It was as good of a description as any.

After that morning’s attack, she was dropped off at the Penthouse. Peter would follow soon after, they told her. She shouldn’t wait up.

She had limped into her bathroom to clean off the remnants of the massacre. There she remained, for over an hour. Couldn’t get up off the floor. Couldn’t force herself to get in the shower.

At this rate, she may never be clean again.

Her eyes wandered to the smartphone beside her, tucked near her thigh. 

John’s phone.

This was the weapon that killed Eddie Brock. 

The second she had entered her room, she pulled the cursed object out from the box spring. She wanted to hand it over quickly so that Peni could analyze it. Could... study it, or whatever it is that tech nerds do. Honey would do anything to fix things.

But nobody cared about the phone. It was as good as a gun without bullets. A time bomb, two seconds too late. It was of no consequence.

She picked up the smartphone, glaring down at it with contempt. Sticky red fingerprints covered the cracked screen. Her blood. Their blood.

Eventually, she came to a stand. Then, bitterly, she dropped the phone into the toilet bowl, submerging it in water. 

Peter was finally home. But it didn’t feel like home.

His home was on fire, riddled with bullet holes. Just like the home he grew up in.

He stood before the full-length mirror in his wardrobe and wiped the blood stains away with a damp, pink-tinged towel. His flesh was now rubbed raw. The cotton fabric felt like sandpaper against his tender skin.

The obvious solution was to take a proper shower. But he didn’t have time. He only needed to get enough blood off to pass in broad daylight without someone calling the cops if they saw him. He wouldn’t get very far if he looked like an ax murderer.

With all the rage he held inside, an ax was unnecessary. Overkill. And yet, not enough ‘kill.’

He had redressed in clean clothes, wearing a pair of midnight-navy trousers with creased edges that were sharp enough to cut. He paused midway through buttoning a crisp, white dress shirt, momentarily taking in the gruesome sight of himself. 

His torso was a canvas splashed with deep purples and reds, stretched over a frame of broken ribs and pinched nerves. His eyes rested on the delicate box chain around his neck, which held two gold wedding bands near his heart.

Ben and May’s wedding rings. Tarnished. Stained with blood.

He quickly reached for the towel.

Minutes later, he carefully shrugged on a matching double-breasted blazer, wincing as he pulled it over his shoulders. Every part of him felt broken, in every possible way. But physical pain hadn’t stopped him yet, not when something more important was driving him.

He regarded his reflection with tight lips. He didn’t wear this jacket too often. It was a tuxedo cut and hung looser than he was accustomed to, making his frame appear boxy. A little too retro, maybe. 

Perfect for concealing weapons. After all, he was dressing for a funeral. 

His skin prickled. He was familiar with the sensation. He recognized it instantly, like an earthy scent before a rain shower. Honey’s reflection came into view as she approached the doorway behind him.

The sight of her covered in blood made his stomach clench. He reminded himself that it wasn’t all her blood, and only then did the tension in his chest release. But not entirely.

“Thought you were getting some sleep.” Peter’s tone was flat. His eyes flicked back to his reflection as he tugged on the lapels of his blazer. 

He didn’t say it as a question; rather, he stated it as an expectation.

She stared back, unfazed, wearing a stone expression. “What are you going to do?” 

Similarly, it wasn’t a question. More like a demand.

He briefly glanced at her before returning to the mirror. His jaw set firmly. “You don’t wanna know.”

She marched into the room. “You’re going after John. I want to help.”

“Help me?” he repeated with a scoff. “I don’t think so.”

Her forehead creased, offended. “Look, I can help—”

“Just what do you think is about to happen right now?” he snapped. He squinted his eyes, turning on his heel to face her. “Ya think we’re just gonna pull up on ‘em and that’s it? Ya think he’s just sittin’ around at home watching TV?”

“No,” she said. Her tone was unwaveringly resolved. “I think he’s expecting you to come after him.” 

“No shit,” Peter sighed with frustration. “I’m expecting to be expected.” He fixed a stern gaze on her, tension pulling at his vocal cords. “Only difference is I don’t care if he knows I’m comin’, or how many cops are in my way. There’s only one way this ends, and it ends bloody. And you don’t want any part of it.”

He brushed past her and stomped towards his bureau. Her eyes followed each movement, crackling with lightning bolts. “Fuck you, telling me what I want!” she hissed. “This is my mess, too!”

He pivoted toward her. “And what, ya think killing him is gonna fix it?” His face went grim, sorrow etched into his features. Remorse welled in the bottom of his eyes. “Think it gets easier after that? Ya think it’ll make you somehow feel better—?”

“I don’t care about feeling better!” she barked back. He neatly flinched at the sharpness of her tone. Fury bubbled beneath her skin. “The only thing I care about is that he suffers.”

Peter contemplated her for a quiet moment. “Well,” he said, voice soft. His melancholy briefly overshadowed his rage. “You don’t need to worry about that.” 

He didn’t meet her eye. Instead, he studied the grain of the wood beneath his feet, letting his shoulders deflate. He looked beyond tired, deep lines creasing his features and flecks of gray in his beard. Yet, when he lifted his chin, his eyes were resolute. He arched his path to avoid her.

Unsatisfied, she trailed him with fire in her eyes. “How will you know where to find him?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“Who’s going with you?”

“Stop asking questions, Honey.”

She grasped him by the shoulder and yanked him around to face her. “Jesus Christ! The phone is gone, you unbelievable asshole! Do you really think I’d tell anyone—?”

“You’re not getting involved,” he stated firmly.

“Not involved? Are you fucking serious?!”

“Too many people have already gotten hurt.”

“Holy shit,” she blanched, freezing in place. Her eyes widened in horror. “You’re not telling the others, are you?”

He paused, for eons, she thought. Peter tried to keep his face neutral, but it was useless under her scrutiny. His eyes were ablaze with stubborn resolve, lips in a line. He turned his back and continued down the staircase.

Blinking rapidly, she watched him walk away. She felt dizzy, but not from weakness. Instead, rage pulsed through her veins, each blood cell embedded with fear. She rushed after him, hot on his heels. 

“You’re going in alone?” she growled, her nose crinkled. “That’s your fucking genius plan? Go in, guns blazing, and hope you don’t get yourself killed?!”

“I have no intention of getting killed,” Peter said. “Not unless I’m taking him with me.”

His reaction enraged her further as they approached the base of the stairs. “Who does that work out for, huh?” she spat. 

Ignoring her, he marched on. Peter spotted one of the guards standing watch outside his office door. “Rollins!” he ordered, voice booming. “Bring the car ‘round.”

“Yes, sir—”

“Rollins, don’t you dare bring the car around!” she commanded, blocking Peter’s path and skewering him with a defiant glare. It was as if she dared him to move her. His dark eyes flashed angrily as he clenched his jaw. He looked as if he was considering it.

Rollins stared at the two of them, back and forth. Frozen with indecision. 

Enraged by his sudden hesitancy, Peter’s nostrils flared. He shot a dangerous glare at the guard before glancing down at the young woman with ire. 

He lifted his gaze back to his man, narrowing his eyes. “Rollins...” Through gritted teeth, his guard’s name sounded more like a declaration of war. 

Rollins sprang into action. “On it, sir.”

As his guard disappeared, she kept her feet rooted to the floor like a mythical beast guarding a castle. She breathed flames from her mouth and conjured curses and plagues with her gaze.

“You asshole—you’re in such a hurry to kill yourself!” she said viciously. “Who for, huh?! You think this is about the others? For Miles? You’re not doing this for us, Peter! And you’re not doing it for Eddie, either!”

“You’re damn right, I’m not!” he snapped indignantly, jabbing his finger into his bruised sternum. “I’m not doing this for anybody but myself!” 

Heat radiated from him in waves, like steam from a hot spring. He bent his neck, leering over her. Volume dropped low, his voice thickened into a threatening rumble. “If I were doing this for Eddie,” he said, “I’d make ‘em watch me kill everything he ever loved, ya feel me? ‘Course, I highly doubt you were ever on that list, so you’ve got nothin’ to worry about.”

She barked a bitter laugh. “So this is, what, payback? Your stupid, dick-measuring way of defending my honor?”

“This isn’t about you, Honey,” he said, dark as night. He leaned down until his lips were inches from her forehead, eyes as cold and sharp as a jagged iceberg. “If it was—knowing what I know now,” he added breathily, “I promise you—it wouldn’t be anything like this.”

A misleading smirk formed on his lips, betraying the brutality staining his thoughts. She felt the heat of his rage in each whispered word. 

“No,” he said, deathly grave. “For what he did to you—I would keep him alive for as long as I possibly could.”

The unabashed, murderous smile on his lips sent a shiver down her spine. Her discomfort didn’t faze him this time. He didn’t care how scared she was of him. If anything, the more afraid she was, the better.

“He’s a disease,” Peter ranted, directing his frustration back towards himself, “that I’ve allowed to spread. He’s a threat to everything I give a damn about! And I will not let him hurt somebody else I lo—”

Blinking, he cut the sentence short, just millimeters from a leap he wasn’t willing to take. She stared intently up at him, unaware that she was holding her breath.

He pursed his lips, eyes heavy with regret. He looked away, avoiding her gaze while he composed himself. Finally, he took in a slow, tense breath. “I need to do this, Honey,” he whispered ruefully. He had calmed slightly, swallowing back his rage. 

The only thing left behind was a tiny, heartbroken remark. “It’s the only thing I’m good at.” The corners of his mouth turned down sharply. 

She didn’t hesitate. “Even if that were true, you don’t need to do it alone.”

He shook his head in frustration. “Why are you so desperate to know what it’s like to kill somebody?”

A vicious yell burst out of her mouth. “I already have killed somebody!” she shouted, as if it were obvious. Her voice echoed off the walls while anguish pooled in her eyes. “It’s my fault Eddie is dead! I know it is—”

He shook his head again. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine—”

“Of course, it’s your fault!” she roared. “It’s both of our faults!” 

The comment stunned him, only slightly less than the bitterness of her tone. He snapped his mouth closed, taken aback. 

Despair twisted her face, and anger lit up her eyes. “Don’t you get it?” She was green with sickness, spitting out words like they were poison. “This is what he does! He turns people against each other!” 

Peter stayed quiet as he observed her intensity. Her feet were rooted while her whole body raged, “He turns you against yourself! He twists you up until you can’t even trust your own instincts! Until you hate yourself enough to feel like you had it coming!”

A dam had broken, and a river of acid spilled through her lips. Resentment from years of abuse writhed in her chest like a tsunami, threatening to flood every street in New York. Her fingers itched to wrap around the collective necks of the city and drown it in her devastation.

She pointed at Peter, eyes flashing furiously. “You’re willing to get yourself killed because you feel responsible for every bad thing that’s ever happened!” She jabbed her thumb back at herself. “I’m willing to suffer in silence because I feel responsible for every bad thing that’s happened!”

“Meanwhile,” she added, with a livid hiss, “John Mother Fucking Walker—who is actually responsible for all of this—feels Nothing. At. All!  Because he is a fucking psychopath!” 

Peter blinked, contemplating her in silence. Her firm eyes narrowed on him. “That’s how he beats us, Peter!” she exclaimed. “Fear! Guilt! That’s how he wins!”

The frustration in her voice reverberated off of the walls, sending a tremor that penetrated the bedrock. Peter observed her, stoic save for the sorrow in his gaze. 

Her chest heaved as unshed tears dampened her lashes. Exhausted, she sighed heavily. “I am tired of letting him win,” she said in exasperation. She was more composed but no less grave. “And if you think you’re gonna do what I think you’re gonna do—which is go after him alone—then that’s exactly what will happen.”

Peter’s eyes glistened, red-rimmed and raw. His silence stretched on forever until she was nearly inclined to  choke him for a response. Eventually, he simply bowed his head, casting his eyes down.

“What if fear and guilt are the only things I have left?” It was a meek, feeble reply from someone so powerful. She blinked up at him, watching as he chewed on his lower lip. “Wish it wasn’t that way. I wish I had—” 

He stopped, leaving the thought unfinished.

“Doesn’t matter what I wish, does it?” he said. “Doesn’t matter what coulda been.”

A crease formed between her brows. Her face softened. “Peter—”

“Just let me say this, please,” he blurted out with urgency as if the words would claw their way from his chest. “I need to.” She regarded his desperate gaze, and eventually, she bobbed her head gently.

He gazed down at her. His lower lip twitched for a moment. “I had my suspicions about your past,” Peter explained mournfully. “Knew something bad happened, but... bad shit happens to everyone, though. First, I thought it was your mother. Then after Pym, I... I figured it was some old boyfriend, some jerk who treated you like trash.” 

Her face flushed red. When she looked back at him, his glazed eyes were fixed on her. Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. With shards of glass on his tongue, he murmured, “I-I didn’t know... wh-what he—”

“I don’t blame you, Peter, if that’s what you think—”

“I didn’t wanna know,” he firmly replied, silencing her. Guilt weighed down his features. “Didn’t wanna ask, if I’m bein’ honest.” He gulped, nearly choking on his words like a razor blade stuck in his throat. “I was afraid of what I would do if I knew the truth.” 

She felt warmth sting her eyes, tears budding at the corner of her lids. 

“I thought, I guess—” Peter’s voice tremored before he pressed on. “I-I thought I could save you. From what, I didn’t even know. Maybe that was my mistake all along.”

He raked his fingers through his hair, eyes heavy with shame. “I was so stupid. I’m the one that let him in. I let this act—this dance between us—I let it go on.” He sniffed with a bleary gaze. “He played me against me,” he declared with finality. “My fear. My doubt, self-hatred—whatever you wanna call it. Whatever voice in my head that tells me... th-that you... You could never love somebody like me.”

She flinched at that. Her resolve to remain stoic buckled under her feet.

His eyes dropped to his feet. “I told myself this was just business, and that if the Feds could use you, so could I.” Vulnerability poured from his eyes as they met hers. “I pretended it didn’t kill me every time you looked me in the face and lied.” 

Despite his apology, her stomach twisted with shame. 

“And each time it happened,” he explained, “I couldn’t figure out what they had on you. Something awful, I figured. Something that scared the shit out of you.”

Peter looked at her somberly, lower lip wobbling and eyes dark with regret. “I thought it was me.” 

Her face crumpled at his admission, grief seizing her at last. She bit down on her lip to keep a sob from escaping. 

“It’s like he already won,” he said, with a broken soul. “I thought I was the one he wanted.” He sniffed, peeking down at her through wet lashes. Deep, raw heartache thickened his voice. “Turns out, it was you all along. And I led him straight to you.” 

Her vision flooded with tears at his admission. It sounded like a confession from a dying man. After a few gut-wrenching moments, Peter lifted his chin and met her eyes, resolved. “That’s why I’m doing this without you, Honey. This is my mistake to fix.”

Overwhelmed with grief, she stared up at him in a daze. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she gently shook her head to protest. 

“I’m sorry, Peter,” she said. It sounded like a eulogy.

His eyes glistened as he nodded, love and loss in their depths. “Me too.” 

He gazed at her, the coffee color of his irises shining bittersweet. She stared up at him in adoration and agony. She debated whether she should wrap her arms around him and cry or kiss him dizzy. 

He paused, letting his eyes linger, then turned away and trodded down the hall. “I’m gonna fix this, Honey,” he said. “I promise. You’re free.”

Perplexed, she darted after him. “Wh-what—?”

“No more running, no more cages,” he resolutely replied. She followed closely as he approached the oak doors to his office. “Won’t hafta be afraid of anyone comin’ after you. Not Fisk. Not me. And not some asshole ex. ‘Cos win or lose...I’m ending this. Tonight.”

She fluttered her lashes with concern, following him blindly into the room. 

“Why wait?”

Honey stopped short in her tracks like her feet had been fused to the floor. Peter froze. Swayed dizzily. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck didn’t just prickle, as they had been since the beginning of their conversation. It inverted, the sensation feeling like his skin had peeled off and been turned inside out.

John Walker coolly watched them come to a sudden stop. He lounged back casually in the executive desk chair with a devil-may-care expression and his leather oxfords up on the tabletop. Stunned, they stared at the lithe man with growing alarm. The icy blue of his eyes twinkled with delight at their fear, fixing them with a Cheshire smile. 

“Why don’t we do this right now?” he shrugged nonchalantly.

Each bruised muscle in Peter’s body went rigid. In a matter of moments, he was hit with a surge of emotion that he barely managed to contain beneath his skin. Pupils dilated, fingers shaking, heart pounding—fury washed over him, and all Walker had to do was smile. 

Over the sound of blood rushing, Peter registered the fluttering palpation of her heart.

His Heart. 

His Honey.

She was terrified. 

It reminded him of the moment she walked in on the meeting between him and “Steve,” only this time it was worse. 

An arctic chill surrounded her from the ice running through her veins. She paused mid-breath, rendered motionless, eyes wide with horror. For a moment Peter worried if she would ever start breathing again.

His palms began to tingle. He kept his attention straight ahead, while he fought between the urge to comfort her and the visceral need to tear John’s face from his skull. 

Before he could do either, another warning sensation—sharp and jagged, like his name being carved into a chalkboard with a steak knife—sliced through his brain.

After having been suppressed, ignored, and nearly incapacitated by the Symbiote, his senses were in overdrive. Every cell in his body alerted him to impending danger, which came in the form of footsteps.

He turned quickly, dragging Honey behind his back, as he laid eyes on the new threat. Three of his guards, Malick, Ward, and Rollins—fucking Rollins—stepped into the room. Ward and Malick were vigilant with their weapons drawn, but Rollins sauntered at a leisurely pace. He glanced over at his boss, unworried, and a malicious grin widened his lips. 

Peter’s shoulders slumped as he realized that their bullets were meant for him. He frowned sourly, betrayed. “Jack,” Peter coldly muttered, hiding his disappointment beneath the threat in his tone. “Wha’cha up to?”

Rollins simply shrugged. “Sorry, Boss,” he smirked. “‘S’just business.” 

Peter’s eyes darkened as he observed Gideon Malick aim his pistol at Honey, while Grant Ward slammed the office door closed, locking them in. With Rollins drawing his sidearm, three guns were now trained on him and the shaking woman behind him. 

Peter couldn’t see her face but didn’t need to. He could feel her fear radiating through his fingertips. Her body became both lighter and heavier as if her bones had turned to water. He sensed her increasing dissociation, barely tethered to the Earth and dangling at the end of his reach. Only terror cemented her feet in place. She was sluggish as he pushed her closer into his back as if he could somehow hide her there.

“I have to say, Pete,” John called to him matter-of-factly. Peter split his attention between his backstabbing guards and the monster seated behind his desk. “At first, I was impressed with your organization. But it seems like you have a few serious issues with staff retention to sort out.” John spoke with a self-satisfied smirk, kicking his feet off of the desk and coming to a relaxed stance. “You should think about setting up a meeting with H.R.”

“Believe me,” Peter glowered at John, briefly glancing at Rollins with clenched teeth. “It’s a priority.”

John took an unrushed stroll to the front of the desk before leaning back on the corner’s edge. He moved through the office as if it was his home. It was unnerving for Peter to consider how many times he might have been there without his knowledge, with his treacherous guards granting him access to anything he wanted.

“‘Course, I always thought you shoulda gone into human trafficking,” John said, with a mockingly sincere tone. A crease split Peter’s brow, his face twisting with revulsion. “You would’ve made a very lucrative pimp.” 

Peter glared at him, disgusted, as he chuckled softly at his own joke. The laugh faded, as did the humor in John’s ice-blue eyes. They narrowed with contempt, looking beyond Peter to the trembling girl behind him. 

“Lord knows you got the world’s biggest whore right behind you,” he sneered maliciously. “With a mouth like hers, you’ll get anything you want. If you throw in an extra five-thousand dollars, of course.”

Peter felt her bristle at the jab, and he reached back further to steady her. 

“Don’t look at her,” he ordered coldly, never breaking eye contact. “You don’t get to look at her. Ever.”

The blonde snickered, licking his lips scandalously. “Oh, I’ve done a whole lot more than just look.” 

Peter’s jaw tensed at that. 

John’s humorless gaze turned into a cold glare. “I don’t know if you’ve heard,” he added vindictively, “but that’s my wife you have behind you.”

Despite his own outrage, Peter kept a straight face. He listened intently, studying how Walker’s nostrils flared and how his pulse sped up at the sight of the couple embracing. 

Good, he thought. He needed every second of time he could get. 

Peter took a step backward with her, slowly approaching the wall. 

His eyes lightened, and a callous smirk formed on his lips. “You mean that’s ‘your wife’ I’ve had beneath me,” Peter sneered lewdly. 

The remark splintered beneath John’s skin. Peter watched with satisfaction at how the blonde’s brow twitched. He could smell the agitation leaking out through his pores. 

“Yeeaah,” Peter chuckled mockingly, fueling John’s anger. “She told me all about you. Short story. If ya catch my drift.”

Peter took another step backward, bumping her along, teeth flashing with amusement. “In fact,” he parried, matching John’s sardonic tone, “maybe you should talk to a doctor about your little problem. You know, instead of torturing women.” 

John glowered with his lower lip curled. “Well. Since we’re sharing.” He tilted his head with a predatory grin, while his eyes shot daggers at them. “I wouldn’t trust everything she says. The girl’s a freak. She tell ya about all of her filthy rape fantasies, too?”

Her breath hitched. A tiny shiver racked through her body. It was barely noticeable to the other men, but to Peter, it felt like a tectonic movement. He could hear the way her stomach shifted, her nausea roaring in like a rising tide. 

“She likes it rough,” John snarked. “It’s practically the only thing that gets her off. Pretty fucked up, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t ask you.” Inwardly, Peter seethed, resentment darkening his gaze.

“‘Course not. Why take my word for it?” John laughed, having momentarily taken the upper hand. He glanced around at the other traitors mirthlessly before turning back to Peter. “Why don’t we just find out for ourselves?”

Peter’s anger spiked at the insinuation, rage stuttering his heartbeat. He watched as John glanced at Rollins and the other men with a menacing grin. Cruel laughter trickled from the traitors that made his blood boil further.

He took a measured breath. “I know you boys don’t know me that well,” Peter remarked calmly. “But lemme be very clear.” He slid his eyes over and leveled a threatening glare at the men behind Rollins. “Anyone touches her, and I’ll send ya back home to your families in garbage bags.” 

Peter’s men dropped their smiles suddenly. He heard a stutter in the heartbeats coming from that direction as they attempted to suppress their reaction. “Don’t take my word for it,” he said directly to Rollins with a murderous gaze. “You know what I’m capable of, Jackie.”

“Is that what you did to Gwen?”

Peter’s anger spread through him like epinephrine as John carelessly spat out his deceased wife’s name. His shoulders tensed, and the cords in his neck pulled tautly. 

“You send her back to her daddy in a body bag?” John snickered. “Sure—Call me a shitty husband. But at least my wife never took a swan dive off of the Brooklyn Bridge.” 

The fresh swell of rage in Peter’s belly twisted him into knots. A gentle press from a tiny palm on the middle of his back was the only thing that anchored him. 

“Oof. Hit a nerve, did I?” John grinned with satisfaction at how the color drained from Peter’s eyes and complexion. “What else did you two lovebirds talk about?” he said. “She tell ya about our little talks late at night?” He grinned salaciously. “Lotsa juicy stuff.”

Peter swallowed hard, unflinching. 

“She told me everything,” Walker continued. “Her plan to seduce you. To pretend she cared about you. How much she despised you.” John tilted his head, musing. “How’d you put it, Peach? You could ‘never love a monster like him’?” 

He heard a soft gasp from behind him. As strong as their resolve was, the remark punctured its armor. Honey clenched the fabric of his jacket, her touch pleading for forgiveness. Steadfast, Peter took another careful step backward, keeping her close.

“‘Course, that’s no big surprise,” John continued ruthlessly. He could see through Peter’s indifference, knowing each word cut into him like a jigsaw. “‘Everyone that ever loved you is dead.’ Ain’t that right?”

Honey gripped Peter’s shoulder tighter, a swell of nausea creeping up her esophagus. Her vocal cords were paralyzed, with nothing but a whimper escaping her lips. “No...” she muttered breathlessly, stunned and enraged by the twisting of her words.

“Poor, pitiful Peter Parker,” John said in a sing-song voice. “Sad, psychotic little orphan boy. No mommy. No daddy. His aunt and uncle both turned into swiss cheese.” He punctuated each word with viciousness, spitting them out like curdled milk. “Clinging desperately onto the memory of his dead whore.”

Nostrils flaring, Peter glowered at John, dipping his chin. Another step backward nearly had the woman behind him up against the wall, backing her carefully up to a marble-top bar. “Gloat all you want, asshole,” Peter mumbled with disdain. “She still dumped you.”

John’s eyes flashed red with a serpentine hiss sliding off his forked tongue. “And yet, I’m the one that finger-fucked your girl while you were on your little date! Greedy slut was wetter than a swamp when I touched her—”

“Liar!” she screamed, voice cracking like shattered glass. 

She lunged forward but Peter blocked her. He practically shoved her back, her spine hitting the edge of the bar. A chorus of chuckles erupted, with Rollins, Ward, and Malick joining in on John’s amusement. She stumbled backward, using her hands to steady herself until she came in contact with a metal object on the bar top.

A camera.

Peter’s old camera. On top of the box disguised as a book.

Both items were out of place. 

Presented out in the open, where they shouldn’t have been.

Honey’s eyes darted back up to the front. 

“S’okay, Honey,” Peter muttered, his glare still trained on Walker. He held his arms behind his back as if to hide her from view. It formed a ‘cage,’ concealing her movements as she stealthily shifted the camera, keeping her eyes forward. “The longer this clown talks, the more desperate he sounds.” 

John’s eyes flashed with malice. “Oh, you wanna hear what desperate sounds like? How ‘bout I push your little bitch off the roof, huh? Have your men make you watch me turn another woman you love into Humpty Dumpty. She’ll be runny eggs on the sidewalk in a matter of seconds—”

“Why are you all still smiling?” Peter sharply cut him off. He shifted his glare from John to his snickering accomplices. “Is it ‘cos you're scared? Or are ya just that stupid?” The laughing ceased immediately as Peter fixed John with a cold gaze. “Either way, you’re about to be a dead man.”

With her hands behind her back, she blindly fumbled to lift the lid of the box. Her fingers scavenged across the bottom, expecting to find a weapon of some kind, or a knife, or perhaps even—

“Lookin’ for this?” John said. The bang of a gunshot deafened her. 

A splatter of wet, hot liquid covered her cheek and she flinched at the sound of an agonized cry. She screamed. At the gunshot. At the blood. And at the sight of Peter dropping forward to his knees in excruciating pain. 

“No! No! No!” 

She could hear her own shrieking in the distance as she grasped at him. Groaning, he writhed in agony. His hand, once again bloody, clutched a bullet hole piercing his upper right shoulder. She threw her already-stained palms over his, adding his blood to the fresco decorating her flesh.

Tears spilled down her cheeks. Lip wobbling, she glanced up with wide eyes as John pointed Peter’s pistol at them menacingly. 

“Did ya really think I wasn’t gonna search this place for weapons?” he scoffed in offense, glaring at them through slitted eyes.

Nostrils flaring and teeth clenched tight, Peter breathed through the pain. He scowled up at John feeling like a flaming sword had severed his arm at the shoulder. His heart hammered as he watched John raise the pistol again, this time aiming between his brows. 

“Please, don’t!” Honey sobbed. “John, please! I’m begging you!” She wrapped her arms around Peter as if she could shield him. 

The smile faded from John’s lips. Contempt radiated from his blue eyes, turning them into blackened sapphires. “C’mon, Peach. We both know you can beg better than that.”

Peter shoved her away from him, jumping to his feet. He charged and knocked John’s aim off target. Another shot rang out and pierced the wall next to her. 

Shrieking, she dropped to the floor and cowered down. 

With one bloody hand on John’s wrist, Peter smashed him in the abs with his injured arm. He put his back muscles into the punch, snarling as the bruised flesh burned like his body was on fire.

His rage partially numbed the pain as Peter advanced forward. He shoved John back into the desk. The injuries made each move sluggish, but Peter managed to land another hit, this time to John’s face. With his other hand clenching the gun, he slammed it into the tabletop, loosening John’s grip. With another vicious whack, the weapon fell from his hand and clattered out of reach. 

Amped with adrenaline, Peter reared his uninjured arm back. Balling his fist into a cannonball, he drove it down hard enough to break through concrete. 

Right into John’s palm.

He blinked, stunned. Looked up at John. His face twisted with confusion, as the supposedly weaker man grinned smugly up at Peter. 

“Oh, yeah,” John smiled with red teeth, slowly crushing Peter’s hand like an empty aluminum can. “And then there’s that.”

With a flick of John’s wrist, he inverted Peter’s arm and tossed his body like a garbage bag. Peter collided with the wall and toppled to the ground, sending plaster and drywall raining down. 

John straightened up, taking labored breaths as he adjusted his light blue collar, now dotted with tiny spots of crimson. He fixed Peter with a wry smile. “I know about your little science experiments, too,” he smirked. “Your buddy Eddie stole the outdated model. Say ‘hello’ to Anti-Venom.”

John rolled his shoulders, tipping his head to crack his neck. As his joints popped, he rolled his eyes back into his skull—literally. Honey gaped with horror as she watched her ex-husband grin at them with a demonic stare, pure white engulfing his eyeballs. The milky, opaque clouds in his eyes seemed to part in the middle, like a crocodile opening an inner set of eyelids, revealing the dilated pupils of his sadistic stare.

Peter struggled to get on his hands and knees as John stalked towards him, feet heavy with malice. Honey screamed with almost no breath, “Peter, look out—”

In a flash, John was on him, jabbing his elbow into his back. Peter gasped at the stab to his spine, feeling another rib snap. The force slammed him chest-first back to the floor. With dazed eyes, he glanced blearily at the secret box, now tossed to the ground a few feet away. Photos of May and Ben were scattered about, among the shards of broken glass, chunks of wood, and twisted metal.

Weakened from the fall, the gunfight, and now the beating, Peter strained to reach for the box but was stopped short. Walker’s steel fingers clamped on his shoulder, yanking him to his feet. He jabbed a boulder-like fist into Peter’s sternum, violently ejecting the air from his lungs. 

Honey sprang to her feet, grabbing a chunk of wood and charging toward them. Rollins and Ward were there instantly, scooping her up and restraining her. 

She writhed desperately, screeching as they twisted her arms back. The sound of her attack vexed Peter, as he straightened his back, landing an upward thrust of his fist into John’s chin. 

“Get off of her!” he hissed at Rollins and Ward, but John intercepted him. 

Like thrashing wild animals, they pummeled each other until sweat and blood coated the floor. Yet, with every hit, John seemed unfazed. Whatever was running through his body was just as formidable as the Symbiote that had once possessed Peter. Both men tossed each other about, but Peter was at a disadvantage.

“Stop!” Honey cried out painfully in a shrill voice, which wrenched Peter’s heart. “John, don’t do this! Stop it!” 

Peter swayed with cloudy eyes as he felt John hook his fist into his jaw. It felt like being hit in the face with a brick. Right after, John landed another jab with the opposite hand. And then a third. And a fourth.

“No, John! Please stop! Just stop! Please!”

His vision blurring, Peter jabbed left, only to have his wrist caught in John’s grip. With a twirl, John wrenched Peter’s arm out of its socket. He doubled over and howled in agony, his dislocated arm hanging limply at his side.

“John, stop it, stop it, please, stop!” 

“When I’m done with you,” John whispered in Peter’s ear, “Fisk will have to scoop up what’s left of you with a shovel.”

Fighting to stay conscious, Peter met the man’s vindictive glare. John’s piercing blue eyes locked onto his. “Yeah. Wilson Fisk. I said his name. Wilson. Fisk. Meanwhile, you’re running around, afraid to say it like he’s Bloody Fucking Mary.”  

Peter was on the floor again, launched into a glass console table. Unable to break his fall, the glass and metal crunched under the momentum of his body, shattering in all directions. He rolled, coughing up blood, his face covered in bruises and cuts. His vision swam, gaze darting across the room until he spotted the secret box. 

With one arm limp, he dragged himself forward with the shoulder that had been shot, inching closer to the overturned box. He flicked the container away, his eyes landing on a delicate watch-like device. He reached for it.

John’s foot came down hard, stomping on his web shooter and crushing it beneath his foot. Peter choked back a frustrated scream, having another weapon fall short of his grasp.

“John, please! I’ll do anything you want! Just please don’t do this!”

John lifted his foot and slowly brought the sole down onto Peter’s wrist. He cried out, grimacing at the crushing pressure of the grown man standing on his forearm. 

“You know what else I call ‘em?” John said, ogling Peter as if to gloat. It was a victorious stance. He was like a giant about to crush an insect. A bloody half-smile hung on his chiseled face as he waited for Peter to make eye contact. When he finally did, John provided an answer. 

“Sir.” 

A crease formed between Peter’s brows as he gazed up at John, panting with shallow breaths. His face paled with realization.

“Yeah,” the blonde crooned with an evil smile. “That’s right.” A horrifying picture emerged from Walker’s self-satisfied expression. "Arrogant little prick. Did you think that you could beat the Kingpin?”

John crouched down low, leering over Peter like a vulture about to peck on its prey while it was still living. 

“Did you think changing your name and hiding underground would stop him from wiping you off the face of the Earth if he really wanted to?” Walker sneered in disgust. “You’re only still alive because he allows it!”

Honey sobbed with tears streaming down her face as John revealed his hand to them. Beside her, Rollins chuckled darkly, relishing in his boss’ despair. 

“You have the audacity to run your mouth all over town,” John hissed, pouring putrid waste into Peter’s ear, “like you’re gonna walk him right up to the Pearly Gates! Like you’re judge, jury, and executioner! The monster at the end of his book!”

Peter pressed his lips into a thin line, rage boiling beneath his battered flesh. John reached down, gripping him by his thick tuft of hair and wrenching it back. The action forced Peter to gaze up at him; his neck bent backward and vulnerable. The way Walker glared at him, he half-expected the man to grow fangs and bury them in his throat.

“Well, I got news for ya, Peter Parker,” John spat out each word mockingly as he narrowed his eyes. “Mr. Fisk doesn’t give a shit what you call yourself.” He fixed Peter with a beaming grin made up of pure, sadistic evil. “He doesn’t even know who you are.” 

He let the words hang in the air as if they were going to carve themselves into Peter’s headstone. For his part, despite his physical agony, Peter held himself steady. Kept his eyes fixed on John’s. Kept his jaw set firm. Anger pooled beneath his chest, cleansing him as it spread through his body.

“Guess you’ll have to explain it to ‘em next time you see ‘em,” Peter muttered, his lip curled into a snarl. “Might be curious to know who it was that killed him.”

The smile dropped from John’s eyes as a fresh wave of fury overtook him. He glared down at Peter, who fixed him with an insolent smirk. 

“And for the record,” the beaten man glowered in defiance, his gaze glittering with spite, “I’m not walkin’ him to the Pearly Gates—I’m takin’ him straight to hell. So you be sure to save him a seat... you pathetic... wife-beating sack of shit!”

John growled and pulled his arm back. Drawing on the power of the entity inside him, he envisioned putting his fist through Peter’s skull and not stopping until he hit the concrete beneath their feet.

“I won’t fight you.” 

The men froze at the tiny whimper, the voice carrying it shattered and frail. 

John glanced over to see his ex-wife hanging limply in the hold of the two guards. Her eyes were empty, her face colorless and ashen. The woman swayed like a bedsheet in the wind.

“You can do whatever you want with me,” she spoke meekly, her spirit detached from her body. “I won’t fight back. I won’t run away.”

Hopelessness marked her features as nausea threatened to choke her. She wished that it would. Drowning in her own bile was a better fate than witnessing the grin form on John’s face.

“Please,” she mewled desperately, eyes red and glossy. “You’ve already won. He doesn’t matter anymore. Let Fisk finish him off.” Her voice trembled, quivering in her throat. “You can have me. However you want me.”

The silence that followed was deafening. John leered, foaming at the corners of his mouth. Lecherous eyes appraised her from head to toe. His chest heaved with short pants, like a rabid animal in heat. 

“Atta girl,” he murmured with satisfaction before tossing Peter aside like a rag doll. 

Peter coughed raggedly, choking on his red-tinged saliva, and rolled to one side. Gripping his wrist and using his foot for leverage, he wrenched his shoulder back in place with a sickening pop. An agonized whimper squeaked out, despite his best efforts. 

John crossed the room in a few strides and gripped the woman by the throat. “No,” Peter gasped through bloody lips, exhausted and breathless from fear. “No...nono...please—”

“Where the fuck are you goin’, Boss?” Malick barked as Peter struggled to stand. The guard stalked forward, gun trained on him. 

Ward joined him, grabbing Peter by his wounded shoulder and kicking his shin out from under him. Their boss was on his knees again, held steady at gunpoint, with Ward pushing the barrel of his weapon into Peter’s temple.

When Peter looked up, John was dragging Honey by the back of her neck, scruffed at the nape like an animal. She stumbled as he forced her behind Peter’s desk, kicking the chair away. He shoved her forward. The veneer stung her cheek when she collided with it, and she let out a whimper.

“Let her go!” Peter writhed desperately. Ward whacked him over the back of the head, driving him forward. He put his foot on Peter’s spine while Malick twisted his wounded arm behind his back. With his chin scraping the floor, he peered up through the fringe of his lashes. “Don’t fuckin’ touch her! You hear me?”

“Get ‘em up,” John ordered coldly. “He’s gonna wanna see this.”

With a hand on his hair and his arms locked in place, Peter’s men yanked him to his feet. He pulled himself forward, only to have Ward dig his fingers into the bullet hole, tearing at his flesh. They pulled him back down on his knees, driving a foot into his calf. Helplessly, Peter writhed, thrashing against their hold a few mere yards away from the terrified girl. 

John sauntered up behind Honey, a smug grin plastered on his face. The woman lay motionless like a possum, bent over the edge of the desk. She stared at the mess of objects on Peter’s desk, shards of the battle. They shifted in and out of focus as her glossy eyes welled with tears. She let her mind take flight, drifting off to a cabin in the mountains. 

“No!” Peter felt his voice crack and a scream lodge in his throat. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you, Walker! Ya, hear me? Look at me, you sonuvabitch! I’ll rip ya apart, sweartogod—” 

John glanced at Rollins who kept careful watch over his boss. “If he makes a move, put a bullet in his back. That way he can still watch me snap her neck like a toothpick.”

Panic surged through Peter at the order, his amber eyes bright with terror. “I’m the one you want, yeah?” he pleaded, chest heaving. “Fight me like a man, you fuckin’ coward!”

John ignored him. He pressed his hips up against the seat of Honey’s joggers. He gripped the collar of her zip-up hoodie, tearing it down her shoulders.

She was elsewhere. Watching Peter’s fingers dance across the ivory keys of a piano. She liked being wherever she was. It was always easier for her to go there. Always easier for her to run away.

John ran his greedy hands down her spine and back up again beneath the filthy camisole she wore. His touch felt like a centipede crawling across her skin. A shudder racked through her as vomit climbed up her throat.

“Somebody’s excited,” John chuckled sadistically. 

She breathed out a silent sob. She climbed the limbs of the maple tree in her backyard. Picturing the home she would make there one day.

John leaned down, pressing a rough kiss to the back of her shoulder. “Just like old times. Ain't that right, Peach?”

It was like being shocked by electricity. Letting her fingertips brush against the metal of a wall plug while still in the outlet. Every muscle in her body tensed. Her eyes darkened. Pupils blown wide.

“I don’t like that.”

John paused as his hands reached the waistband of her sweats. He glanced up at her, still amused, eyeing the back of her head. “What’d you say?”

She blinked. Her vision sharpened. “That’s not my name.”

His brow furrowed, his agitation spiking. “You’re gonna have to speak up.”

“I said ‘that’s not my name.’” Her volume grew louder, every syllable coming out sharper and more jagged. Her teeth ground together as she fixed her gaze forward, focusing on the grain of the wood. 

“My name isn’t Peach,” she hissed. Molten-hot fury filled her while her tone hardened like rapidly cooling lava. “I’m not your Peach. I’m not your Kitten.” 

Each word punctuated with a twitch in her eye and a tremor in her voice. 

“I’m not your Doll Face. Or your Whore. Or your Pawn.” 

Acid rolled off her tongue as she trembled with anger. Her rage was so thick she nearly choked on it, barely able to form words. Slowly, she pushed herself up off the desk, her spine turning to steel even as he towered over her.

“And I’m not your fucking wife,” she gritted her teeth, eyes black with hatred. “Not anymore.” 

She turned her head to glance back at John, leveling him with a vengeful look. 

“My name is Maricella Jimenez,” she hissed, sounding out each syllable carefully. “And you will remember it.” 

The hand positioned on the desk sprang forward at his face so fast that John could barely see it. His head whipped back and all he could register was white-hot, piercing pain shooting through his skull. 

John roared, reaching up with one hand to cover his face while the other hand dragged her off the desk to the ground. The guards jumped with shock, mouths agape, trying to discern what just occurred.

“Aggghhh!” John cried out with an agonized scream. Enraged, he clawed at his face, growling like a mildly-wounded grizzly bear. His thirst for blood compounded.

“Fucking bitch!” he roared, the creature inside of him twisting his vocal cords. When he straightened, half his face was covered in blood. His fingers shook as he struggled to see the damage she had done. 

His men gazed at him with dumbfounded stares. Which he could only half see. 

With a four-inch shard of broken glass from the console table lodged in his left eye socket, he’d never see anything out of that eye again. 

“You fucking bitch!” he sneered, practically drooling with outrage. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you, you fuckin’ bitch!” 

The sight of John’s face was nausea-inducing. Not only had the glass pierced his eye, but it sliced clean through, with half of his eyeball dangling from the nerve ending on his cheek. 

“Holy shit!” Ward gasped at the ghastly sight.

Rollins hissed at other men, their jaws still gaping wide. “Don’t just stand there! Do something, goddamnit!”

“You screwed up now, you slut!” John raged with ragged breath. “You know what you did? You assaulted a Federal Agent!” He wheeled around to spot her cowering on the floor behind the desk. He stomped toward her, murder in each footfall. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Do you have any idea who I am???”

John grabbed her by the forearm, wrenching her up. She faced him with fire in her eyes. In her free hand, her finger curled around the trigger of Peter’s gun.

“Who gives a fuck?” she sneered.

Looking John in the eyes, she pulled the trigger, watching as his forehead imploded. The bullet ripped through his brain, tearing it apart and exploding out the back of his skull. From there, his brain matter splattered like a microwaved tomato, spraying across the room.

“Oh shit!” The guards cried out in horror, swallowing back sickness as fragments of John’s skull rained down on them.

Rollins lunged forward, his weapon still drawn. He took three steps to the edge of the desk. 

“No!” Peter howled.

Another shot rang out. Honey held the gun firmly in her grip, shooting at the first human form that approached her. Rollins grunted, eyes wide with panic, as the bullet tore through his throat. He clutched his neck as hot liquid spilled out of his severed carotid artery. His look of agony was only matched by his look of astonishment.

Peter knocked Ward’s gun away from his temple, grabbing his wrist and directing the barrel at Malick. With Ward still clutching the gun, Peter pulled the trigger and shot Malick in the side. 

Malick doubled over, releasing his hold on Peter’s wounded shoulder. Ward strained to regain control of his weapon. They struggled briefly before Peter reached behind Ward’s suit jacket and yanked a combat knife out of its sheath. He buried the blade into Ward’s ribs, before ripping it out and plunging it in again and again. With a few quick jabs, the traitor’s torso was carved up into wet spaghetti.

Malick stumbled, struggling to recover from the bullet wound. Peter’s brain buzzed as Malick attempted to shoot him. He pivoted out of the way, using Ward’s body to block the shot. 

Honey fired the gun in her hand again, the bullet hitting the ceiling, but it was enough to distract Malick away from his target.

In a few blinks, Peter was on his feet and gripping Malick by the arm. Before the treacherous guard could fire his weapon, Peter skewered him with the hunting knife, driving it into the soft flesh behind the man’s chin.

Malick’s eyes went wide as the blade impaled his mouth, piercing his tongue. Peter snatched the back of the man’s head with a steel grip, even as his hands trembled with rage. He glared into Gideon’s eyes with bloodlust, pushing the knife up further—slowly—watching Malick squirm until the blade was buried to the hilt.

The man went limp in his hold. Once Peter watched the light fade from his eyes, he released him, finally sated. 

The sirens in his head quit blaring as soon as the threat was eliminated. The intense pressure dissipated as if a boulder had been lifted off Peter’s skull. 

He let out a long, ragged breath, his body broken and yet still pulsating with adrenaline. His eyes darted to the desk. He spotted the traumatized woman that held his heart standing behind it. His face softened. Took a step towards her.

She pivoted, still clutching the gun. Aimed it at him.

Peter went still. Fawn-hued eyes went wide. He glanced down the barrel, then back up at her.

She was astral. Her soul was only tethered to her body by a thin wire. She was a kite, tossed about the atmosphere, observing the scene outside the plane of time. 

She stared at him. Barely able to breathe. Her hand shook from the weight of the gun. 

“Whoa...” he whispered, his voice soft. He lifted his hands outward in a placating gesture. 

Her eyes were glazed over. Staring right through him.

He watched, heart pounding, as she turned her gaze downwards to the river of blood that leaked from Rollins’ corpse. Heart going cold, all that was left of his life leaked out of him like a broken faucet. No more damaging than a spilled glass of wine.

Lips sealed tight, her eyes darted over to the body closest to her.

John’s body.

Her monster lay slain at her feet. His jaw hung open in a disturbing grimace, a permanent final expression. The top of his head was now a concave shell. The image of him imprinted on her, burrowing in her memories.

She had never seen so much blood in her life. It was everywhere. Beneath her fingernails. In the tiny valleys of her skin. Dripping from her hair. It stained everything.

“Honey...” She looked only vaguely aware of Peter as he cooed gently at her, growing more apprehensive the longer her silence stretched on. “...Honey...?” he repeated slowly, his tongue going dry. 

This time, she brought her attention back to the front, her eyes finally finding his. Peter looked sick with worry, terrified of the irony that this was the exact same position they were in less than 48 hours before. 

Honey held her arm outstretched, fingers tremoring around the handle of the pistol, as she fixed Peter with an unreadable expression. He felt his heart thumping up into his throat. His growing alarm threatened to strangle him. 

Her legs were rigid even as she trembled like a tightrope walker stranded between skyscrapers. She gazed at him with a look of dread, shock seizing her body.

Peter mumbled her name desperately, chanting it like a prayer. “Honey, Honey, Honey, look at me. Look at me. Okay? Look—”

He took a step forward and she responded with a step backward, positioning him at the end of the barrel. He blinked, going still once again. His eyes misted over as he gazed at her with empathy.

“S’okay,” he softly said, closer to a plea. “Everything’s gonna be okay. You’re safe—”

“Stop telling me that.” She was firm, her eyes cold. 

Peter felt silent, eyes darting back and forth between her and the gun. Her breaths were short, nostrils flaring. His shoulders curved into a slump. Carefully, he lowered his hands. “I meant what I said before,” he delicately replied. “No more cages.” Her eyebrows furrowed sharply. “I made you a promise. You’re free.”

She blinked wide eyes, motionless in every other way. Warily, he glanced down at the gun. “You don’t hafta do anything—”

“Shut up!” she hissed, voice shaking. He shut his mouth immediately. Her gaze wandered, her mind spiraling out of control. She flicked her sights on the four corpses stretched out around them. Her tongue tasted like metal. The gunshot was still ringing in her ears.

“Get on your knees,” she commanded. Unlike the last time she said it, there was no sense of control in her tone. No sense of pleasure to be gained. Instead, she sounded desperate. 

Peter closed his eyes, heart sinking in his chest. “Okay.” Reluctantly, he slowly sank down until both knees were on the ground.

Her eyes flashed wildly as she glared, holding the pistol tighter in her hand. 

“S’okay,” Peter whispered out a lament. “S’okay, Honey. You’re gonna be okay.” With every repeated phrase, he relinquished more of his hope. Her eyes may have been unreadable, but her position was not. 

They were on opposite sides of the room. A continent apart. He was exiled to the unfortunate end of the barrel, along with the other men who used her as a means to an end. This was where he belonged.

A lump formed in his throat as he gazed up at her with wet eyes. “Everything is going to be okay now,” he said with a bittersweet curve of his mouth. “You have all the power, remember? Always did.” His eyes landed on the gun, then back up to hers. “No one’s gonna hurt you again.”

He watched as a tear rolled down her cheek. Fear weighed heavily on her, dragging her down into its depth. Her eyes shined like glass. The glisten in his gaze was a mirror reflection of her sorrow and regret.

“Whatever you gotta do,” Peter assured her. But it was more than reassurance. It was a gentle promise made to a frightened girl that the monsters were all gone now. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”

He hesitated to speak the true meaning of his implication. Instead, his eyes shined brightly on her like rays of moonlight, as if he could illuminate her path through the dark. A sincere apology sparkled at the bottom of their bourbon glow, but also, he offered forgiveness. He fixed her with a look of compassion before closing his eyes. 

He let go.

Let go of his rage. Of his vendetta. Of his grief. Of his fantasies.

He let go of the idea of Honey.

From the depths of his bitter heart, he gave her his unconditional love.

“What I want...” 

He stirred at the closeness of her voice, his eyes snapping open to find her standing inches over him. The gun rested at her side until she let it fall from her grasp. She stared into his eyes, her tears cresting over the ridges of her heart-aching smile.

She surged forward in the blink of an eye, crashing her lips into his. Her arms crossed behind his shoulders as she collapsed into his embrace. Her tongue breached his mouth, and with it, he felt like his heart would leap out of his chest. She breathed him in, relishing in the taste of his devotion, responding to it with love letters written on her lips. It was like her whole body was on fire, and only he could control the flame.

His hands wrapped around her lower back as he worshiped each twist of her tongue. Her kiss was better than morphine, numbing his body and heart to every injury he’d ever suffered.

Only when they were both dizzy and out of breath did she break the kiss. She gazed down at him with eyes that could scorch. 

“What I want... is for you to touch me.”

Continue to Part 21

[back to masterlist]

A/N: I want to say thank you for the incredible support you all have shown me in this last break. Part 21 is already finished and will be released this week. Real compassion exists even on the internet and I just can't even deal...

Part 23 will be the end.

#Lizzy writes. #Lizzy writes! sugar and vice. #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #andrew garfield peter parker x reader #peter parker andrew garfield #peter parker angst #peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #spiderman x reader #andrew garfield #andrew garfield spiderman #andrew garfield x reader #andrew peter parker #mob!peter parker #mob peter parker #peter x honey imagines #mob au #spiderman au #peter parker au #mob peter x reader #mob peter x you #mafia au #tw #read the tags #tasm #tasm fanfiction #tasm peter parker #tasm peter parker x reader

[kstewdeux]

@inukag-week

June 14th, 2022 - Intimacy

Summary: Inuyasha probably needs therapy for trauma. Alas there aren’t therapists in the feudal era so cuddles are substituted for Xanax.

Two years in and it was still surreal that Inuyasha not only never slept sitting up but he would actually get annoyed - in his sleep no less - when she wormed out of his hot water bottle body’s hold. This sleeping arrangement was great for winter, don’t get her wrong, but in the summer, absolutely not.

And, quite unfortunately, summer was in full swing right now. During the day, you could actually see the heat waves dancing over the ground and if walking around nude had been an option, Kagome would’ve done just that.

Except, you know, social norms said that was a big ‘no no’ and a very jealous half-demon she was lucky enough to call her husband would drop dead of a stroke were that to happen.

In any case, tonight like so many others, Kagome had moved to sit by the door to get some air and almost immediately Inuyasha began to shift and groan. A part of her felt bad - especially when he began letting out soft whines and rubbing his face along the futon. The muscles on his bare back twitching beneath his sweat glistened skin.

Then, out of nowhere, he startled awake with a panicked gasp.

“No.”

The whisper was hoarse and despairing before he rolled onto his stomach while his hands shot up to press against his neck. Watching his ribs expanded with his audible shuddering breaths, Kagome was already scrambling to stand when, without warning, he went rigid then limp. Both ears swiveling in her direction as he propped up on one elbow and began to glance around.

When those disbelieving amber eyes finally landed on her small figure half-kneeling by the doorframe, his heart absolutely melted behind his eyes and a relieved half-smile graced his lips.

It was a look she’d never witnessed before and just as quickly as it appeared, it vanished.

“Don’t scare me like that,” he chuckled warmly as he reached up to rub the crust out of his eyes, “You can’t just leave.”

“I didn’t leave you. I’m still in the house,” Kagome teased as she settled back to sit on her ankles. Something dark and deep danced across his face that he wasn’t quick enough to hide.

“I know that stupid,” he offered tiredly as he slowly sat up and stretched his arms above his head, “Just saying you can’t leave me without saying something.”

“Again, didn’t leave you. Very much here,” Kagome snickered before noticing the way he closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh of what could only be relief.

“I mean, don’t go places at night. Scares me when you’re not here,” Inuyasha mumbled with a faint blush before inhaling sharply and quickly amending, “I mean, shit, you used to get kidnapped constantly and you can be a real idiot. Get hurt falling over a twig or something.”

For the first time in the past two years, Inuyasha appeared to be admitting - in a clearly unintentional way - that being away from her had been hard. That there was a very heartbreaking reason he was so hell bent on keeping her in his arms at night. Not once had he actually said anything more about their separation - other than a flippant ‘knew you’d come back’. Sango had hinted that Inuyasha had struggled to stay positive at times and had straight up disappeared for a month after the well closed but Inuyasha denied he had any problems with their rude separation. That he only disappeared to let people know Naraku had been defeated and the jewel was gone. Who he told he’d never say but that was his story and he stuck to it. Looking back, the reason he probably denied having a hard time was because, by all accounts, Kagome seemed to have carried on with her life and coped with the loss extremely well. She’d graduated from high school. Maintained the life she should’ve had. Meanwhile, Inuyasha…

Inuyasha tried the well every three days and put his life on hold waiting for her to come back. Miroku once mentioned that Inuyasha refused to go on exorcisms that would take longer than an afternoon. Speculated why that had been - something which had earned the poor monk and bump on the backside of his head.

In short, Inuyasha wanted her to believe he’d been fine when things went down. No different than when he insisted he was fine when a literal acid covered hand had pierced his internal organs. While some might chalk that up to him truly having supernatural healing abilities and being emotionally constipated, what it came down to was that he didn’t want people to worry about him and most certainly didn’t want their pity.

“You go on exorcisms without me. All the time. What makes nighttime so different?”Kagome asked slowly as she got to her feet and made her way back over. Inuyasha’s moon illuminated blush deepened and he averted his eyes.

“It’s dark.”

“Okay but you can still see in the….”

“Yeah but……it’s just…when I lost you it was dark,” he interrupted awkwardly- his entire body shying away from her gaze, “In the jewel I mean. Was, ya know, dark.”

As much as she wanted to comfort him, Kagome bit her tongue and waited to see if he was going to continue.

“Dream about it. A lot,” he offered barely above a whisper - clawed elegant fingers gesturing towards his temple, “I’ll wake up and…and get all confused. Think you’re still gone and you being here is the dream. If you’re here…”

Calloused fingers gently rubbed his sternum as he let out a heavy reluctant sigh and sagged.

“If I can feel you, that…that doesn’t happen.”

Kagome’s heart cracked with such ferocity it was within the realm of possibilities that Inuyasha could hear it.

“Oh Inu…”

“But I’m not stupid. I know you don’t like me holding you when it’s like this,” he interrupted with a heavy sigh as he scratched the back of his neck, “It’s hot and shit but m’gunna think of something, okay? Make it better ‘cause I…”

Pausing, Inuyasha tried to figure out a way to put what he needed into words looking more miserable by the second.

“I just can’t do this anymore, ya know?” he attempted with a tired weary sigh while his fingers returned to absently rubbing at his chest, “I need you to be here or else I just…I just can’t okay?”

Heart aching, the urge to hold him and make all the bad memories go away was almost overwhelming.

“Come here.”

Sighing, he shook his head.

“M’okay and you’re not,” he mumbled before laying back down and adjusting himself under the thin sheet, “Imma figure something out. You’ll see.”

“Fine. I’ll come to you then,” Kagome huffed playfully as she crawled over the floorboards and leaned down to nuzzle his jaw - earning herself a happy little hum. She was rewarded in another way as well. He didn’t say those words often and when he did, it made her heart sing.

“Love you,” he sighed contentedly, “Hope you know…”

Inuyasha’s breath caught when she placed a sensual kiss against his throat and moved her fingers to gently stroke his chest. Arching his neck slightly to give her better access, Kagome pulled back just enough to see his lips parting and a look of bliss wash over his face.

“I’m never going anywhere ever again,” she soothed as she dipped her mouth back and relishing in the way his body began to writhe.

“G-good,” he managed in between soft whimpers and light pants - a muffled moan escaping when her fingers slid down his torso and lightly caressed his bare stomach.

“Fans would be nice. Or maybe a cold bath before bed,” she breathed against the skin where his human ear would be. Half-listening, Inuyasha nodded absently while his hand fisted in the blanket. Kagome’s fingers moved further south and his face contorted in ecstasy. Wiithout further warning, Inuyasha gracefully and effortlessly twisted and pounced.

Time passed much like one might expect for a young married couple until they were both panting for breath and sweatier then they had been…

Albeit much more indifferent towards the suffocating humidity and uncomfortable heat. And this time Kagome had no complaints when Inuyasha gently gathered her into his arms and molded his body against hers.

“Love you,” came a masculine mumble as his lips gently caressed her shoulder, “Always.”

“I know.”

A tired snicker and weak nuzzle comprised his affectionate reprimand before his breathing evened out and the arm holding her in place went slack.

For the record, after some trial and error, Inuyasha did figure out how to keep his wife comfortable enough to stay in his arms.

Although…it was kinda weird that she never complained about being too hot ever again.

#inukag week #inukag week 2022 #inukag #inuyasha fandom #inuyasha fanfiction #Inuyasha #Kagome #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 #kstewdeux

[writingsfromhome]

Water under the Bridge (Josslyn II)

A/N: Okay! Here it is!!!! This was fun and made my heart hurt a little but maybe I’m just being emotional. And can you guys believe it’s been over a year since I posted Josslyn?? Where has the time gone?? I don’t think we’re on the sacred timeline anymore........Anyway thank you anon who suggested this storyline, and hope y’all enjoy! <3

Josslyn (Original)

------

We’re going to have the best weekends evr, Regan texts me even though she’s just in the other room. Schedules were released for our summer semester and Regan and I had managed to get Fridays off. Summer was going to be so fun, and after two years doing college together we were experts at managing our workload to have fun on the weekends--even if that meant sacrificing a few nights’ sleep.

We’ll make summer our bitch, I text back. I hear a chuckle from her room.

Help me pick out a fit? she texts. I want to tell her Adam would love her in whatever, but I head to her room instead and watch her try on a dozen outfits before settling on the second. I tease her about Adam--they were going steady since first year, but she still got so nervous about him sometimes. Adam’s college was a train ride away so he would come down at least one weekend a month.

As for my own love life, there’d been no one steady. I did the whole hooking up and dating scene in first year but I was romantically burnt out by second. Nowadays, I could go home with someone if I chose to, but I also didn’t mind if I didn’t. My active endeavor to find a boyfriend had stopped when I realized I was trying to fill a gap. Instead, I was learning to be happy on my own.

“Are you sure I can’t convince you?” Regan asks. She was taking the train to Adam’s college and staying with him, there was this big start-of-summer party and she’d been trying to convince me for weeks.

“I don’t feel like being a third wheel,” I tell her honestly.

“You don’t have to!” She goes over her one argument again. “Gaelle’s roommate isn’t even back until next week so she has a spare room! She said you should come. Plus,” she ties her hair up, “it’s the weekend before the semester starts so have some fun.”

I make a noise, and she turns to look at me, totally judging me. It makes me laugh. “That’s why my version of fun is to.binge Netflix and-”

“Y/N!” She groans.

“Fine! I’ll go.”

Two words that would change everything.

***

By the time we get to the campus, Regan and I had come up with a dozen things we could potentially do this summer. I’m high on excitement as we meet up with Gaelle, and the three of us head to Adam’s place.

The sun is almost set by the time we leave, most of the sky is dark but a streak of orange stays stubbornly on the horizon. I pause to take pictures before we’re rushing off.

We approach the frat house--if you could call it that. It was half glass with a very modern structure. The greek symbol on the side of the house was the only indicator it wasn’t a millionaire’s summer-house.

“Since when did frat houses get so modern?” I ask. “This is...nice.”

“Wait ‘til you see inside,” Adam says. And he was right, even the drinks were fancier with their own guy behind the bar...although he was taking the occasional shot and getting progressively drunk.

We settle in an area close to the music and get swept up into the party atmosphere. Some people were beyond drunk already and I enjoyed the slight buzz of the drink in my hand. The views from inside with floor-to-ceiling windows were amazing.

Pretty soon, Adam and Regan break off. We move towards the centre of the party where the typical party shenanigans were happening. We tip back our drinks and pretty soon I’m straddling the line between tipsy and drunk. I find a cute boy with blonde hair and deep brown eyes and makeout with him until he gets too handsy.

“Ugh!” I give him one last shove and look for Gaelle but I’d lost her too. I search for a bathroom but they’re either occupied or have a lineup. This was a huge ass house, one of the bedrooms had to have one.

I open the first door to shouting.

“It’s called locking the door!” I shout drunkenly as I close it. The next room actually is locked, and the next one isn’t but I wish it was. “Eugh.”

I climb up to the topmost level, three doors--one was locked with the sound of people inside and the second is a bathroom. I was grateful people hadn’t made it up this far.

As I wash up, and touch up the mascara that was crusting under my eyes the door shakes as someone bangs on it from the other side.

“Dip! What the fuck are you doing in there? Everyone’s waiting for you!”

My heart pounds at the sudden noise and the deep voice demanding me to open up. The rush of adrenaline sobers me for a moment as I rush to open the door, “Sorry I didn’t realise anyone was...waiting.”

My words slow down and freeze altogether as I realise the fist banging on the door belonged to...him. Harry. He seems just as surprised as me, straightening up before a smile slowly inches across his face, it was almost sweet bordering on predatory. “Y/N!”

“Hi,” I say awkwardly. There was a lot of history and also not at all. I was also, I decide, too drunk for this. Act sober, this is not the night to run into this fucker.

“You-you’re the last person I was expecting to--excuse me it’s... good to see you! You look--you look as beautiful as ever!”

The events from high school that created this tense history between Harry and I was one of the worst things possible to happen to teenage Y/N. The thing is though, that I’d totally bounced back after I had decided he could fuck himself. Although it was awkward seeing him every day until graduation, it made me tougher. I credit it for making me so casual about relationships now...I stopped expecting so much of the boys I saw.

But leaving high school behind, my world expanded with college, I realised how childish it had all been: I’d had a fling with a player, and he’d played the field...It wasn’t that deep. But seeing him now, It made me aware in a way I wasn’t for a long time. Maybe what they said about distance had some merit. Or maybe I was just buzzed.

“Thanks...I wasn’t expecting you either.”

“You don’t uh, you don’t go here do you? I’ve never seen you around.”

“No,” I look out to the small hall but there’s no one there. The room that was previously locked is slightly ajar carrying male voices. “Adam goes here, I’m...with Regan.”

“Ah, Regan.” He smiles. “You’re still two peas in a pod?”

“Obviously,” The stiffness eases at the mention of my best friend. “So...can I get out of here?”

“Yeah sorry,” he moves aside so I can step into the hall. “Um, we’re playing video games in here room if you...you’re probably not interested.”

I clear my throat, Harry was playing video games when there was a party downstairs? I was curious, that maybe he changed.

“Oh,” he laughs and the dimples I adored make an appearance. “I’ve still got it! My frat just hosts too many parties for me to keep track.”

I guess I said that out loud, I bite my tongue but it really has a life of it’s own. “Did you jussay you still got it?” Oh my god, I was teasing him already. What about Harry made me absolute putty.

“Yeah,” he looks almost bashful. “Uhm, go easy I’m a little nervous here Y/N.”

I don’t know what to say to that, I bite my lip so nothing stupid comes out.

“So you’re just here for the night?” He carries on.

“Staying over with a friend,”

“A fr-” he cuts himself off, pressing his lips together. I realize I’m staring and look away.

“I should go-”

“Wait I-wait uh, how have you been? I haven’t seen you in years.”

“Yea,” I play with the rings on my fingers. “M’good, great. College’s a lot better than high school.”

“It’s not even comparable,” Harry says as he leans his shoulder against the wall. He looks perfectly placed there, and a tipsy voice flashes inappropriate thoughts into my head. “So...any...boyfriends?”

“Um,” that was direct. “No. No, I’m trying out being single...”

“Did something happen?” His expression is still casual but he holds himself rigid.

“No? A girl can’t be single?”

“Sure but someone like you...I’m just surprised.”

“Whatever that means,” I roll my eyes and head past him to go down but he blocks my way.

“Wait, I didn’t mean to offend you...” his voice dies out as I cross my arms. “I also didn’t mean to block you in.”

He steps aside and it feels painful to me but I take the small steps towards the staircase. One part of me--I blame the tipsy stupid part, wants to kiss him just to see if there was still something there, see if anything’s changed. The other was listing all the reasons this was an awful idea, to top it off he was a proven player, has broken my trust once before, and went to a school almost 2 hours from mine.

“Y/N,” Harry’s gruff voice says from behind me. My feet turn without permission and he’s right behind me. “M’sorry. Let me start over.”

I glance at his lips, damn. I can’t meet his eye suddenly. Oh god, I was still pretty tipsy. My mind short-circuits and all I can do is turn back to walk away, down the two sets of stairs, past sweaty bodies and loose limbs. In a great coincidence I bump into Gaelle in what looks like a game room.

“Harry goes here?” I ask--shout at her immediately. Her eyes widen, something passes over her face. “Was no one going to tell me he was going to be here?”

“I’m sorry!” She shouts. “I forgot you two had history!”

“I just wish I was prepared,” I say and she doesn’t hear, I just shake my head when she asks me to repeat. I needed another drink, and Regan. Maybe she could remind me why I stopped caring about him.

As I set off to find her, I’m reminded again how stupid this all was. High school was an ancient dream, we were all different people. I was a different person.

But even though what happened in high school was petty and juvenile, I remember how Harry made me feel. How it felt when we were together--even if it was a joke for him back then, I couldn’t forget the feeling of being seen. Of having arms to fall into, even if I knew they weren’t permanent.

“Regan!” I find her sitting on the dining table while Adam spoke with someone else. Her eyes alight and she waves me over. “I saw him! He...he goes here!”

“Who?” Confusion strings her brows together.

“Harry! From...you know Harry! He was upstairs! I--I didn’t know how to act.”

“Shit Harry! I forgot he went here!”

“You knew?” I throw my hands up.

“I didn’t think it was a big deal! He’s a dick but that was high school?”

“No I-” I sigh. “You’re supposed to tell me he’s still a dick! I saw him and it just got...complicated.”

Regan slides off the table and pulls me into a side hug, we can also hear each other better. “You’re a big kid now, do whatever you want Y/N. Tell him off, kiss his face, take revenge, who the fuck cares? We’re taking the train two hours home after this anyway!”

She had a point. But still...he couldn’t have changed much from the boy who hurt me.

“Adam hangs out with him sometimes,” Regan continues. “Apparently he’s not as bad as high school. He’s...mellowed out.”

“Unreal,” I roll my eyes. Adam was just covering for his friend. We hear a cheer go up behind us and Regan bulges her eyes as two guys help Adam up on his hands to do a keg stand.

Regan swears and heads back to him. I walk away, somehow feeling more and less confused after talking to Regan--do I go back up and see what this leftover emotion was, or ignore it as a drunken need for comfort?

But it’s like the decision is made for me when a hand wraps around my arm as I move from the dining area to the kitchen. I already know it’s him before I turn.

“Can we talk?” he asks. I nod and his grip loosens, slipping down into my palm. “Upstairs?” He motions to the staircase and we climb up the two flights. This time he leads me into one of the locked doors and although I’ve never been here, I’d been in some version of this room before. It’s familiar.

I ignore the ache when he lets go of my hand once we’re inside. I set my drink down on his desk and perch on the window ledge, it’s not big enough to sit on but has enough space for a few of his books and a speaker. His room’s pretty near, but then again Harry was never messy.

“So what do you want-” I start just as he says “Let me get this off my chest.”

“Go ahead,” I cross my arms before uncrossing them, and then crossing them again. With the way he ruffles his hair and crosses to the door and back, he seems just as nervous.

“You can leave at any time. I just want to say I was an asshole, I still kind of am sometimes. And I’m sorry for what I did to you. I know it’s like what--2 years late but all that with...Josslyn and all that...I’m sorry.”

Hearing her name makes me want to grind my teeth but I let the feeling pass. I reach for my drink instead to give me something to do. “It’s all water under the bridge.”

“Really?” Harry regards me suspiciously. “Because the way you were talking to me out there...”

“You’re just you,” I shrug. “Harry Styles, player and sweet-talker. I was just guarding myself against that.”

“Because of what happened between us?”

“No...maybe. I don’t know. But honestly, I’m not upset with you. It feels like an eternity ago. I guess it’s just self-preservation.”

“I guess,” he echoes. “So where does that leave us? If you’re all self-preserved?”

I eye him but he cracks a smile, he was teasing me. “It doesn’t have to leave us anywhere,” I snort. “We’re water under the bridge Harry...”

“My parents split,” he says suddenly and I’m reeling with the direction he’s taken. I open my mouth, and close it when nothing comes out. “Sorry, I know that’s random it’s just I never really talked to anyone about how they were rarely home and when they were they were always arguing a-and we spoke about it a lot. About our families so I just...”

“I’m sorry to hear that, do they still live in town?” I ask, wanting to put my hand on his or show him I cared but they stay glued to my drink.

“My mom moved into the city, it’s closer to her job and since I’m not living at home anymore it doesn’t really matter...”

“You still go home?” I ask.

“I don’t even know where home is?” He looks at me then, and the look in his eyes chips at the wall I’d been trying to build all night. Things had changed, for him.

“Are you--do you have someone to talk to?”

His laugh is dry, “They split last summer, convinced me to talk to some therapist. I don’t know if it really helped I think I’m actually better off. They’re better off and I just feel...free.”

I don’t know what to say to that so I stay quiet. He looks back up at me then, cracks his knuckles, before perching on his bed. “I’m just--sorry I’m not telling you that so you can feel sorry for me-”

“I don’t I just-”

“No it’s okay I just want to tell you that because you knew about that stuff. But I’m trying to tell you I’m not the same guy. Not completely, I’m just trying to tell you things changed and so have I.”

It echoes the same sentiment I had earlier in his conversation, and I remember Regan said he’s mellowed out. Maybe it was true. It still didn’t mean I was going to get together with him anytime soon but my heart hurts for him. I walk up to where he sits, he watches me with a steady gaze.

In the quiet, I hear the party going on outside the window, three floors below us. If I listen really carefully, I can hear sounds coming from the video game being played next door. In the stillness, I reach for Harry’s hand and he obliges, grasping mine.

“I wish I could...help you with the hurt. Not knowing where to call home is pretty shitty.”

“Don’t worry about me Y/N,” he pastes on his classic smile and I return one for his sake. It was getting heavy in here. “I’m just happy I got to talk to you. And I just found out you don’t hate me so...” he holds our intertwined hands and shakes it. “woo hoo!” I laugh as we let go.

“I guess I should go back to the party.”

“Yeah, okay. I won’t keep you.”

“Okay,” I’m a little stung he doesn’t suggest I stay a little longer. Maybe it was all in my head, maybe his intentions really were to make amends and that’s it. I pick my drink up from his windowsill and move to the door. I glance back before I go, he’s laying on his bed deep in thought, gazing up at the ceiling. I close the door behind me.

***

I wake the next morning, surprisingly well. I can’t say the same for Gaelle who’d passed me her keys at some point and told me she’d be home late. I spent the rest of the party trailing Regan until I decided I should just go crash. Harry hadn’t come out to find me, and I tried to hide the sour feeling, excusing myself early.

“Fuck me,” Gaelle croaks from her bed when I step into her open doorway.

“How about coffee, and pancakes?” I ask, returning the favor of being able to sleep here.

“I’ll take it,” she flops back into bed. I busy myself with measuring coffee and water, my thoughts occupied with everything Harry and I had been through since we last saw each other. I demonized him for so long, humanizing him is harder to swallow.

What he’d done to me was shitty, there was no denying. But had he really changed? And most importantly, why did I care so much? It’s not like he was the one.

My phone rings: Regan. She’s talking so fast I hardly hear her, only really understand that it was a party ritual to gather in the student centre the morning after a big party. Endless coffee and free food seemed to be the general consensus for a party cure.

“I don’t know if I can make it there,” Gaelle says when I tell her. “I was hoping for pancakes at home.”

“I already put the coffee on but I’m hauling your ass there if you’re not up in 5. Our train leaves after noon anyway and it’s closer to the college.”

Slowly but surely Gaelle emerges and we make our way, spotting Regan easily as the bright spot in a sea of college students in PJs and last night’s clothing. She’s the only one fully dressed, with a full face of makeup on.

“I didn’t drink that much,” she shrugs when we settle around her and Adam’s friends. “Unlike some people.” She looks pointedly at Adam who’s slumped where he sits. I remember the kegger and laugh.

Life soon flows back into the group around us as does the coffee and breakfast foods. I’m relaxed in the environment until I look down the tables to where Harry stands, looking back at me. He raises a hand and I do the same until an extremely tall angel--she was literally wearing a halo, probably from last night-walks up to him and wraps her hands around his waist. She says something to him and he tears his gaze away.

I look down at my cup immediately, my cheeks burning with humiliation. I’d been thinking about him all this time, thinking about how it might feel if I kissed him and of course he had a girlfriend. She never came up, but he never said he didn’t either. He didn’t make any moves on me yesterday, if I looked at it he only made an attempt to talk. Sure he was flirty but that was just Harry and I...I was a fool. I was such a fool. Things may have changed for him but he hadn’t. He was still the same Harry who chose Josslyn over me. He would always have a girlfriend, I was just the girl from his past who he could trust. I couldn’t say the same about him.

“What’s wrong,” my best friend nudges me. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I don’t know,” I look into her concerned eyes. “I’m just going to--I’ll be right back.”

I head out and find the closest washroom. The tears are instant and I let myself cry--out of frustration, humiliation, or some twisted sense of betrayal...it was all the same for me. I check the time, I just had to hold myself together and avoid Harry for another 2 hours before we were back on the train home. I would tell Regan everything then.

*** Three weeks later ***

“If Adam’s over later...” Regan trails off. She’s sprawled on my bed while I sit in my desk chair trying to read one more chapter before I close the books for the week.

“I have my earplugs ready and a second place to stay,” I roll my eyes. “I already told Kiara I might crash on her couch.”

“I owe you,” she jumps back up.

“You owe me like, 7 and a half.”

“7 and a half?”

I’m about to answer but a knock on our door has her racing out. I try to ignore the voices, I just had two more pages I had to get through--the joy of summer classes.

“Y/N?: Regan’s voice is a whisper. “We’re going now but...you have a guest. If you want me to kick his ass I totally can though.”

Standing behind her is Harry. I focus on him, yes it really was him. Why was he here?

“Harry?” I sound confused because I am. He’s wearing a plain white t-shirt and jeans, and he’d traveled 2 hours just to get here.

“He wouldn’t leave me alone,” Adam says louder as they leave the room. “I’m sorry Y/N...”

“What is this?” I ask. My feelings are at war with each other, I was still feeling slighted by the last time we saw each other but seeing his face was also an exciting surprise.

“I wanted to see you,” Harry says nervously. He still stays at my bedroom door.

“You can come in...” I stand up and realize I was wearing an oversize t-shirt and the scruffiest PJ shorts I owned. “Phones have cameras now, you didn’t have to come all this way.”

He shrugs, taking one step in. “I liked seeing you in person last time. But I feel like we left it wrong.”

He knows I saw him, what conclusions I must have come to. It wouldn’t be that hard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We talked it out.”

He comes to life, “Don’t play dumb Y/N I know you saw me with...I know what you thought and-”

“Did you really come all this way to explain that you had a girlfriend? Like, three weeks later?”

“No that’s the thing-”

“Because that’s kind of dumb. And unnecessary-”

“No listen!” He says a bit louder so I do. “The thing is she wasn’t my girlfriend...we’d hung out a few times but she saw me at the caf and got clingy. We’re not an item honestly, I can’t remember the last time I had a girlfriend-.”

“So why are you here?” My voice is higher than usual. I was confused, and upset, and I wanted him to leave. This was starting to sound like Josslyn part 2.

“You know why I’m here. Y/N I’ve been nothing but a dick to you and I know I don’t deserve you but I really like you. I want to clear the air, and ask you if you can see something here I...”

He trails off when he notices the tears trailing down my cheek. It’s just too much for me, as I finally face the emotions from that weekend. I’d shoved them aside after Regan had gotten onto the train worried her and Adam were headed towards a breakup. I’d put aside what happened and never thought about it. But my heart broke a little that morning. 

I knew what I knew: maybe Harry and I weren’t good for each other but we were good with each other. In an attempt not to get hurt I’ve been distancing myself from romantic connections--I found more of myself in doing this, but a part of me was missing without exploring it.

Harry moved closer until we’re nearly touching. I wipe my tears with my shoulder and we stand still on the hardwood floors of my room. An eternity passes before he reaches out to wipe the tear caught in my lashes. I close my eyes to his touch, scared of how much I wanted it.

“Y/N,” my name is a breath on his lips and it makes my heart stutter. My eyes open in slow motion, seeing him so vulnerable right in front of me, and suddenly things speed up and we’re reaching for each other; two waves crashing until they become one.

***

I don’t know how much time had passed in minutes, Adam and Regan are still out but Harry and I had fallen together and crashed apart so many times that I’m dizzy with it.

“You’re wonderful,” he says as we face each other, our noses just nearly touching. He trails a finger down my cheek. “Just...incredible.”

I feel the flush spread through me, “Great vocab Styles. We’re really using the big words.”

“Words are sort of hard right now,” he grins. “My brain’s all mush.”

I laugh, “Not much different to its usual state!”

“I knew you were going to say that!” he tries to reach for me but I skip off the bed with a laugh. “Come back.”

“I have to pee,” I slip on pants and can’t stop grinning the whole time I’m away. When I come back in, the blissful smile on his face tells me everything I need to know. I climb over him but he stops me in place, a knee on either side of his hips.

“I’m happiest when I’m with you Y/N,” he says, his voice roughened with emotion. “I think I always was. Younger Harry liked to self-sabotage.”

I bend down and my hair slips around us. The way he looks at me makes my insides mush. And even though I have proof of why I shouldn’t trust him, he’s here. In my bed. Miles away from where he would be if he hadn’t traveled all this way to see me. And that means something.

“I’m glad you’ve done some growing,” I say to him quietly.

“I had to,” he says softly. “I couldn’t have you like I do now if I hadn’t.”

“I guess we’ve both grown,” I brush a curl from his forehead.

“I know, old Y/N would have punched me if I showed up unexpectedly.”

“Rightly so,” I grin. He smiles back, brushing my hair behind my ear, back over my shoulder. He props himself on his elbow to kiss the shoulder he’d bared. It’s simple, and sweet, but it’s enough to unravel me all over again. And he knows it.

“When does Regan get home?”

“We might have another half hour,” I grin.

“Let’s not waste it,” he mumbles into my skin.

I agree.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #series #harry styles series #harry styles fic #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #writingsfromhome #college!harry #I think the idea of growing separately as a young adult #and coming together again as more mature versions of yourself is what #gets me #or maybe I'm emotional because I'm a year older soon #and it's got me thinking about being in your 20s #either way hope this is enjoyable #tag talk out #ps dont mind any inconsistencies i wrote this quick

[goldenspecter]

Cosmo’s TMNT Masterpost

(Rise, 2003, 2012, and others)

Here’s where you can find pretty much everything I’ve ever made for the TMNT fandom! Fanfics here[haven’t gotten the courage to post fanart here yet], hope you guys enjoy my work. Reblogs are appreciated!

Fanfics

1. Finding my way home(and moving forward)

Out of sheer curiosity, Leonardo and Donatello looked up, and there it was.

A portal.

Had the Universe really taken pity on them? Had it really heard his desperate prayers for one more chance?

It was not like the ones they had seen before, it was an irregular circle made up of several shades of blue, completely different from the perfect and symmetrical pink triangles of the Kraang.

Leonardo and Donatello looked into each other's eyes for a few moments, "Should we go in?" Donatello asked, almost shouting, drawing the attention of the others, who quickly turned to the portal and to see each other, then the two brothers in question.

"It's our best bet, and our only chance," replied Leonardo.

Or rather, with the 2012 kids' home gone, they end up in the Rise verse after a strange portal shows up. Therapy is needed, and start the slow process of healing from their trauma.

(Rise/2012, Work in Progress, written with @keeryd​ )

2. Strawberry Cookies:

"Mikey here was just about to tell me what we could do to cheer Raph up while he's sick," Donnie says. "Mikey continue?"

Now that Mikey had both of his older brothers attention, he grins. "I was thinking we make strawberry cookies!" He does his jazz hands as he says this and is met with looks of something that he can only put as disapproval. "What?"

"You do know that everytime that we have tried to make it-" Donnie starts.

"We mess it up and Raph has to come in and save our butts from burning the cookies?" Leo finishes, "What would be different this time?"

Mikey huffs, "We are doing this so we can cheer him up and to prove that we can do something on our own!" he says, "That's what got Raph sick in the first place!"

Or rather, Raph gets sick after helping his brothers recover from the poisoned pizza puffs. Mikey, Donnie, and Leo take a shot at baking cookies for Raph while trying not to burn their kitchen down.

(One shot, complete)

 3. Chicken Fried Rice:

“I only poured in half a pot of rice,” Donnie complained.

Mikey stared at him, really stared at him before he spoke. “You do realize that rice expands when cooked right?” he said, “You do realize that?”

Donnie was silent, looking away from Mikey.

“Donnie!”

Donnie makes chicken fried rice. Mikey watches over. Shenanigans and brotherly fluff ensue.

one shot in which Donnie is in the kitchen, cooking rice and Mikey, Mikey is positive he should have gotten Donnies braincell. 

(One shot, complete)

 4. Tea Time with Hortense and Patty: 

"Sooo," Raph starts. She's always been weird with awkward silences. "Are these grandma kinning hours?"

"Grandma hours!" Mikey exclaims excitedly. "Grandma time!!!"

"Ah, if it isn't our favorite girl and her little brother!" Hortense tilts her head over in their direction slightly. "Are you going to join us? We were just about done arguing," she says.

---

Today is Tea Time. Two old ladies have a tea party, one of them forgets to bring the food, and they are joined by Mikey and Raph. A good time is still had.

(One Shot, Complete)

5. One of those Days

When Donnie woke up this morning, he woke up with the familiar thrum of anger and irritation running through his body with more intensity than normal. Rubbing the crust out of the corners of his sleep-addled eyes, he jerkily grabbed his phone and turned off the alarm. It's one of Those Days, Donnie noted. Those Days where Donnie isn't capable of handling Mikey's over-enthusiastic optimism or Leon's chaotic trickster nature. His safest bet is to hang out with Raph, his calm and mellow demeanor always helped calm down before Donnie went on a rage fest and say anything he couldn't take back.

Or, Donnie and Raph help each other out, balance each other, and make things a little less difficult.

(One Shot, Complete) 

 6. Gift Hunting: 

“It’s Leo. Tiny Leo,” the voice answers. “I need your help with something.”

“What is it?”

“I can’t say until you say yes first,” Leo says. “It’s really important though.”

Angelo is silent, weighing his options. He could say no, he really could-

“Please, Angelo, you’re the only one who can really help me with this,” Leo pleads.

Rather, Angelo and Leonardo go out in the streets of New York to help the blue banded turtle find gifts for his brothers' sixteenth mutation day. Bonding and fluff ensues.

(One Shot, Complete)

 7. Aftermath:

“Raphie bear?” Mikey called out, gently tapping Raph, with relief washing him when Raph turned his head to face him. “What’s the matter teddy bear?”

“Th-thi-this doesn’t feel real.” Raph stuttered out, his voice cracking as a sob broke through. “I’m not really here. Neither are you and everyone else. I’m still alone with Draxum and his minions. No one’s coming to save me because I was stupid enough to get captured and no one wants such a worthless turtle like me.”

In which Raph was kidnapped and tortured by Baron Draxum and his family has to deal with the aftermath of it.

(One Shot, Complete)

 8. To Be the Eldest

Donnie, the second youngest in his family, wishes he was the eldest for once. Then one night, Donnie gets his wish granted and now he was three small turtles in his care.

Donnie adjusts to being the eldest, comes to some realizations, and makes a promise to his (now) younger brothers.

(Work In Progress)

 9. Wanted: Snaggletooth 

Dr. Noel bent down on his knees in front of Raph, a manic smile that showed too many teeth coming about on his face speaking of pain and suffering that has yet to come. He stretched out his hand towards Raph’s face, placing a thumb under his mouth, pressing into his snaggletooth. “Beautiful. Just as I expected,” he crooned, pulling out a syringe and injecting it into Raph’s neck, pushing the contents of the syringe into his system.

Raph’s eyes fluttered as he started losing consciousness, watching through hooded eyes as Dr. Noel's smile grew even wider, with his last thought right as darkness consumed him being that he hoped his family would find him before it was too late.

Post S2 Finale, Dr. Noel remembers Raphael, his snaggletooth, and manages to find and capture the red masked turtle. It doesn't end well for Raphael.

(Work In Progress)

 10. Dimensional Differences:

They bow. Not like one of those pretentious bows like she would do at Yokai parties and not like the ones she would do with her brothers when they hosted tea parties. They bowed deeply, heads stopping at her stomach, one hand closing around their fists. This spoke of respect and honor.

And that unnerved her a little bit. Why are they bowing so deeply?

“Thank you,” they said in unison. It’s unnerving to April and she felt the uneasiness coming from her brothers too.

“Why are you thanking me?” She said finally, voice sounding foreign to her.

“You saved my life?” Baby Leo said slowly, voice tinged with confusion. “That was an honorable thing to do?”

April blinked, “It shouldn’t be considered honorable for doing what any big sister would do,” she said. “That’s not honor, that’s just being a good older sibling.”

In which April, Sunita, Casey, and the turtles end up in the 2012 verse after a mishap with Leo's ōdachi and stay with the 2012 turtles until they can go home. They find out a lot of things that don't quite jive with them. Some things are the same, some things are different and they're not quite sure how to handle those differences.

(Rise/2012, Work In Progress)

 11. Mind Meld Part Deux:

“Oh thank Galileo that you all are back to normal!”

“What do you mean we’re back to normal?” Raph questioned, pulling back from the hug. Mikey and Leo also pulled back to stare at Donnie. “We’ve-we’ve always been like this?”

Donnie went quiet. He shouldn’t have said that.

“Donnie, what did you do?”

The brothers found out about Donnie’s Mental Intelligence Reprogrammulator. Arguments are had, words are said, words that tear a rift between him and his family, and it’s up to Donnie to earn his brothers’ forgiveness. The only thing is, will he get it?

(Work In Progress)

 12. I'm a little kid and so are you(don't you go and grow up before I do):

The 2003 turtles somehow, someway ended up in the Rise verse, with Rise Splinter and his turtle tots, and stay with them while the boys try to figure out their way home. 2003 Raphael got attached to his tiny counterpart the moment he laid eyes on the tot. (Raph centric)

(Rise/2003, Work In Progress)

 13. Dimensional Self-Isolation

Post S2 Finale, Raph finds himself trapped in the 2012 universe and has a difficult time coping with all of the differences that this world has in store for him. From new villains, unfamiliar familiar faces, and the way the 2012 boys and Splinter treat each other and him, Raph has a heavy plate on his hands during his long term stay.

(Rise/2012, Work In Progress)

14. A Collection of Turtle Thoughts

A collection of drabbles and ficlets about Turtles I've been writing since October 2020. Ranges from humor to hurt/comfort, I have it all.

Requests are open. SFW only though.

(All Iterations, Work in Progress)

If y’all reblog, read, and share my work, I’d really appreciate that! Anything and everything is appreciated, money or not! Thanks folks 🐢💕

#tmnt #tmnt fanfiction #rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #tmnt 2012 #tmnt 2003

[uhlikzsuzsanna]

Richard E. Grant Reveals Whether Classic Loki Is Gone for Good: 'How Do You Top That?' (Exclusive)

[Warning: The below contains MAJOR spoilers for Loki Season 1, Episode 5, “Journey Into Mystery.”]

Richard E. Grant seems the ideal candidate to be conscripted into Marvel's cinematic universe: He's an Oscar nominee (Can You Ever Forgive Me?) who doesn't take himself too seriously (he's been in two Hitman's Bodyguard movies) and he's already on the Disney payroll (having joined the Star Wars franchise for The Rise of Skywalker). Yet, the actor says he and Marvel had never discussed his entrée into the MCU until Loki.

"I'd been in Logan, but that's completely separate," he told me over Zoom. "I'd joked on and off down the years with Tom Hiddleston, because of some vague similarity in the way that we look -- me, a much older version of course -- about working together as father and son in something. I assumed because I was asked to play Old Loki, I thought, 'Oh, this is the call finally,' because of the physical similarity. So, that's as much as I knew."

Grant made his Loki debut in the post-credits scene of episode 4 as "Classic" Loki, a Variant of our Hiddleston's God of Mischief who dons Loki's comics-accurate green and gold getup and ultimately goes out in a blaze of magical glory in the penultimate episode. Ahead of the Loki finale, Grant chatted with ET about answering Marvel's call, his one major complaint with his costume and whether Classic Loki is gone for good.

ET: Beyond you looking Hiddleston-y or him looking Richard E. Grant-y, what was it about this character in this story that you knew, "Yes, this is my part in the MCU"?

Richard E. Grant: Well, the key is in Old Loki, because being 64, I was older than anybody on the entire crew or cast. So, that was the clue in, I thought, "Old Loki, that's it -- I'm in the old age roles now."

What else were you told about him in that initial pitch? And was the costume part of it? Because it seems so much part of the character.

Yeah. And when the costume designer showed me my face on this costume that she designed and I saw the Jack Kirby drawings from the '60s, I thought, "Oh, great! As I have no muscles" -- as you can see -- "I'm finally going to be in a muscle suit. I'm going to have muscles like Tom has got!" And of course, I got there and I said, "Well, where's the muscle suit?" They said, "You don't have a muscle suit. This is what you're wearing." I said, "But this is like Kermit the Frog. There's no muscles. There's nothing here! How can I fight in Asgard?" [Laughs] "No, no, it's your magic that counts!" And I said, "Help me. Just give me the muscle suit," but they refused. So, I'm still sore headed that I was never given a muscle suit to fight Asgard as in all the drawings. I still don't really why they didn't do that, but maybe they wanted withered Loki. Who knows?

So, what was your reaction the first time you got all the garb on and saw yourself in the mirror?

Horrified, because I had no muscles! I was standing there like sort of a geek with these Y-fronts. I remember when I was a kid in the back of all the comics, they used to have these little drawing adverts with a skinny kid having sand kicked in his face. And they used to have these chest expanders, they said, "Send off for one of these chest expanders and you too could look like Thor!" Well, I never did, and I thought, well, finally, when I'm cast as Old Loki, this is going to be my chance. And damn, they took it away from me in that too. So I'm pissed at them for that.

How did Hiddleston react when he first saw you in it?

He said, "You have no idea what kind of response this is going to elicit when it comes out." I said, "That doesn't sound too positive or hopeful to me without the muscles, Tom." And he said, "No, no, believe me, I've been playing this part and there's a universe of people who are so obsessed and so ready to see Classic Loki. Be prepared for it." I didn't really take him seriously. I thought, "Well it's a TV series. How many people will watch this on a new channel?" Yada, yada. And how right he was looking into the crystal ball and how wrong I was, because since it came out last Wednesday, I have been absolutely flabbergasted by the response. My Twitter feed and Instagram have increased in vast numbers, and the response has been pretty astonishing. I'm amazed and grateful that it hasn't been negative so far.

I loved your post, by the way, about how your father would have reacted to this costume.

Well, he was right! I'm still at 64 earning my crust by wearing makeup and green tights. [Laughs]

I have to assume this was also your first time with an alligator as your scene partner?

It was. And in reality it was three stuffed cushions sewn together. Sort of fun to hold!

Alligator Loki is such a breakout star and I loved seeing the blue plushy you used on set. What was it like filming those scenes? Did it feel absolutely ridiculous?

No, because I was grateful. Very often you'd have dots or crosses or just a tennis ball on a stick to react to, so the fact that we actually had the soft cushioned shape of something alligator-like was a help. But it's just the nature of being an actor. You know that the CGI and the graphics and production design department, they come up with something amazing. What I didn't take on board is that, of course, he'd have these beautiful gold horns on top of his alligator sideways eyes. I love that. I've only seen the stills of it, but it looks amazing.

Your final moment in the episode is so powerful. I'll tell you, it brought tears to my eyes. On set, I imagine you're probably in front of a blue screen having to use your imagination. Tell me about capturing that emotion and how you and Kate Herron found that moment together?

The camera was on a big sort of jig crane thing that was at the highest section of the studio and I would follow a mark on that and they had, I think, three or four aircraft-sized wind machines blowing the Bajesus out of everything. And I thought, having wondered whether the helmets and the horns had to be quite so tight, I was grateful for them on that day because they did not move despite the amount of wind that was blowing at me. It was scripted to say, "He's laughing and shortly and cackling in the face of his own imminent, catastrophic death in the mouth of [Alioth]," it was very empowering to be able to just give it the full welly at doing that. So, I enjoyed that hugely.

You said you've only seen stills of Alligator Loki. Have you seen the episode yet?

No.

So, you haven't seen how the scene looks with all the CGI yet?

I've seen stills that I'm holding up the city, so I've seen that. I have never got used to watching myself on screen. I love watching other people, but when I come on, I just-- I'm astonished that I get any work. So, I've learned decades ago just to never watch. So, when you see a still, you don't have the horror of your shortcomings to mull over.

Well, I will tell you, you looked pretty bad ass in that moment.

Good. Thank you, John!

This seems like the end for Classic Loki, but if this series has taught us one thing, it's that Lokis survive. Do you think we could see him again someday? And are you down to play him again?

As you just said, everything's possible. But I think that's because his sacrifice is so huge and it's going out with such a bang, how do you top that if he had to come back? I have no idea. You know, it's not within my arena to do that. But I wouldn't say no, if asked. Put it that way.

#Loki #Loki series #Richard E. Grant #interview #etonline #Tom Hiddleston #2021.07.12

[the-purity-pen]

PTC:  part iv

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Fem!Reader

gif by @pascalsky​

Word Count:  2,238

Rating: PG

Warnings: sweet moments, some dirty thoughts here and there

A/N: words are not enough to say thank you for all the support on this story! @creativekat​ and i are absolutely in love with writing this together!

Read Part 1 | Read Part 2 | Read Part 3

The individual pizzas had been a huge hit. The kids had loved deciding what toppings went on their own crusts. And the twins, Fast Forward and Rewind, had especially liked the fact that they didn’t have to share with one another. Everyone had finished eating and you were packing up the leftover food while Marcus put popcorn kernels into the air popper. 

You carried a short stack of tupperware to the refrigerator and placed the items inside. Once the door was closed, you turned and leaned against it, releasing a small sigh of relief that the chaos of dinner was over. The kids were pretty active inside the classroom, but that was nothing compared to what they were like on their own time. Your ears rang with the laughter and happy shouts from earlier. 

Turning your head, you watched Marcus load the air popper, his biceps moving just below the short sleeves of his shirt. Your eyes started to drink in the rest of him, but you stopped yourself. You were afraid to let your body react to him again like it had earlier. Suddenly thirsty again, you pushed away from the fridge door so you could open it. The cold air felt good on your warm skin. “So, that was a success,” you commented as your eyes searched the chilly space without seeing anything inside.

Marcus finished popping the corn and turned his head towards you before placing the popped kernels into separate little brown paper bags for the kids. He nodded with a soft smile on his face. “It was. I’m glad you were here to help,” he commented quietly, feeling himself having to turn away from staring at your body.

He focused on the popcorn and scooping an approximately even amount of popcorn into each bag. He moved slowly and carefully so as to not waste a single kernel. He knew that if Missy’s friends were anything like her, they would be devouring the popcorn and would definitely want more. He was thankful for the concentration because the more time you were closer to him, the more he felt the need to explain his feelings for you.

You sighed quietly and shook your head and when Marcus heard you, he swiped his hands on his jeans of butter and salt and came over. “What are you looking for? Can I help you find something?” he asked as he tried to lean into the fridge to look with you but the sudden closeness of him had you holding your breath. Marcus turned his head and realized he’d made a mistake. He could smell your shampoo and it made his head swim. 

“Uhh… just trying to figure out what I could have to drink…” you stammered the words out and turned your eyes back to the fridge contents. 

Clearing his throat, Marcus did the same, “Help yourself to anything… Do you want a beer? I think I’ll have a beer.” He reached back behind the orange juice and retrieved an IPA. When you nodded, he handed it to you and felt the immediate absence of your body next to his when you backed away from the refrigerator to find the bottle opener. When he closed the door he had his own beer in his hand. 

You popped the top off yours and held the bottle opener out to him, which he took, careful not to let his fingers graze yours in the process. Trying not to stare at him, you took a long swallow of the cold beverage. Just then Missy burst through the door from the living room, “Is the popcorn done yet?”

You startled slightly as Marcus smiled, focusing on his daughter, “Yes, hija.” The three of you made yourselves busy as you took the bags into the living room to hand them out. You followed Marcus and Missy and finished handing out the bags to which all of the children said thank you. You smiled at each of them but you gave Wheels a little wink which he reciprocated.

The kids all started to dig into their popcorn and get back to watching their little movie marathon that Missy had turned on. You had no idea what the movies were about but they all seemed to be very excited about it. 

Marcus left the living room with you, the two of you nearly walking side by side down the hall. Your shoulders just grazed each other as he took a few steps faster and you felt your breath hitch for a moment before you were clearing your throat and walking over to where you had set your beer down. Marcus grabbed his and walked over to the table and you opted to follow him to sit at the table beside him.

At first there was a silence between you and Marcus as you focused on the beer bottle label which had become loosened with condensation. You began to pick at it, peeling it bit by bit. Suddenly, Marcus cleared his throat, “So… tell me about you. Is your family local?” 

Family was an interesting subject for you. You knew you didn’t fit in with them, so even though you all lived in the same town and you saw your older brother quite regularly, you still felt as if you were hundreds of miles apart. You let a small smile lift your features, “Ummm… yeah… but, we aren’t very close unfortunately.” You wondered if he would push the subject. You knew a lot about Marcus Moreno. You heard many stories about him over the years. Some of them you knew were true. Others you wondered about. “It must be nice having your mom around to help you with Missy.”

You went back to peeling at the label on the bottle. Half of it had come loose now. You paused in your hyper focused activity to take a drink, startled when Marcus met your eyes. You swallowed hard and set the bottle down, feeling incapable of looking away as his dark eyes searched your face. 

Marcus couldn’t help his staring, that’s just how he listened. And when the conversation turned back to him, he sat up a bit straighter and swallowed a lump that had formed when hearing how you weren’t close with your family. He couldn’t imagine that and how lonely it might be.

“My mom certainly is great,” he said with a small nod. It was true though. Anita had been around much more after his wife died and was more than willing to help train Missy and her friends during the first alien attack last year. Marcus had a brief moment of wondering if you were a mother because seeing how you were with the kids made him think you’d make a great one.

But that comment was lost on his lips as he watched you, his eyes dancing over your features. He swallowed hard again and your own eyes couldn’t help but follow the movement of his throat. Your heart was racing and your nose flaring, which Marcus would later admit was very cute, as the two of you had a moment of intensity.

The moment seemed to draw itself out but neither of you looked away. Instead it seemed as if the space between you was closing. You inhaled sharply as his hand came up to your shoulder, stroking it lightly with his thumb, making you shiver. All the reasons you shouldn’t do this, right now, flooded your thoughts. The kids, his daughter, your students were in the next room. He was a Heroic and … your history with Heroics had not been good. 

A protest formed on your lips as you whispered his name just before his lips found yours. The kiss was gentle but firm. There was yearning there, but no demands. Your mouth opened, inviting him to deepen things and your tongue pressed against his, sweetly. A soft moan escaped your throat as your hands reached for him, finding purchase on either side of his torso. You could feel the way his ribs expanded with his own labored breathing. 

Marcus leaned in closer, if he could even manage that, when he felt your hand on his torso. Your touch was electric in ways he would have never imagined. He had been pining after you for so long and it was finally the moment he had thought of for so long.

His mind whirled with emotions as he kissed you deeper, slowly pressing his lips and tongue against you and into you, like a slow motion dance. The hand on your shoulder came up to cup your face, holding you to him as you kissed him with emotions you didn’t know you were capable of. It was a silent message between the two of you, a love letter written in the dark of night with whispers spoken into the ink.

Marcus pulled away in what felt like a too soon moment and you couldn’t help the soft whine that escaped you. Both of you were breathing hard, trying to catch your breath. Marcus rested his forehead against yours for a moment, his thumb tracing over your jaw before he pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes.

You licked your lips and treasured the taste of him for a moment longer as you tried to catch your breath. Your eyes searched his face, yearning for more, but wondering if you should even want that. Hesitantly, you pulled your hands away from his body, letting them rest a moment on his knees only for a moment, like a butterfly searching for a place to land. 

Finally, you reached for the bottle again, taking a drink trying to quench the rampant thirst Marcus had brought out of you. Nervously, your hands moved to the label once more, peeling the last of it off in one swift pull. You laid it flat on the table, letting your eyes wander to the shiny paper, then returning to his immediately. He had a pull on you that you couldn’t seem to resist. With a shaky breath, you finally voiced one of the many thoughts you were having, “What, uhhh …. What does this mean?”

Marcus felt you shift back and he let his hand drop from your face but not before sliding it down to your arm slowly. His heart wouldn’t calm down as he watched you pull the label off but his eyes were only watching the movement in his peripherals. He was watching your face, watching your eyes, your lips and he could feel the way his own still tingled from the contact.

Your voice broke his stares and he cleared his throat. His lower lip quivered a moment, unsure of how to answer it without feeling too forward. Hell, you had just kissed in his kitchen with kids in the other room. Was there really such a thing as being too forward at this point?

“It uh-” he paused, his other hand coming to the label you had peeled off and picking at it slightly. A momentary distraction to try to gather his racing thoughts.”I guess it’s me telling you that I like you. Ha- have liked you. For a while now,” his words stammered out. He let his gaze fall upon the label as he nervously picked at the corners, feeling the plastic coated paper peel away from itself as he touched it.

You couldn’t help but smile at his words, his shy movements. This was the great Marcus Moreno, leader of the Heroics, confessing that he liked you. “For a while?” You wondered aloud. You’d had no idea. A warmth filled your chest at this new knowledge and Marcus finally looked at you from the corner of his eyes, smiling shyly. Your heart hitched at the adorableness of that look. 

But, then reality came roaring back to the forefront of your thoughts, forcing you to look away again. You thought of the kids in the other room. Of the way your family had always looked down at you, when they were the ones who were supposed to love you. The way you’d rebelled as a teenager, lashing out and getting into trouble. “I … uhhh, I like you too… but…” you didn’t want to tell him this wouldn’t work between you. But, some part of you wondered if that was true. Were you just getting in your own way? Letting your past affect your future. 

Marcus waited patiently for you to gather your thoughts, even though he was dying to know what came after that “but”. He couldn’t imagine what it could possibly be. He hadn’t felt anything like this in years. 

Finally, you shook your head and finished your thought, “why me? I’m nothing special.” You’d heard that enough times to know it was the truth. Marcus’s face dropped. That wasn’t the end of the sentence he was expecting. He thought it would be one of the other numerous excuses he had heard from others he had shown interest in. “Too busy.” “Too focused on work.” “Not good at relationships.”

He wasn’t expecting this but when he saw your own face change he reached over and held the underside of your chin gingerly. He slowly lifted your face to look him in the eyes. “You are though. So special,” he reminded you quietly as he leaned in and let his lips press against yours softly.

#fic: ptc #ptc #marcus moreno #marcus moreno/reader #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno and reader #reader insert #marcus moreno/you #marcus moreno x you #marcus moreno and you #marcus moreno fic #marcus moreno fanfic #marcus moreno fanfiction #marcus moreno story #we can be heroes #we can be heroes fic #we can be heroes fanfic #we can be heroes fanfiction #wcbh #wcbh fic #wcbh fanfic #wcbh fanficiton #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfcition #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fic

[thebigqueer]

"Fellas, Is It Gay to Perform Necromancy on Your Ex-Crush?" - Valgrace (1/2)

Summary: Nico decides to help Leo reach out to Jason.

Notes: This is a 2-part story because I made it too long lol. Also it's technically valgrace but it features nico & leo more (for this first chapter).

Read on AO3

The firelight flickers over Leo’s features as he sticks his marshmallow stick into it. Despite the warm company of flames, goosebumps still rise against his bare arms as a gust of wind pushes through the evening air.

He sighs. Piper’s been gone for too long, and he’s getting lonely on his own. He could easily move across to the other side of the amphitheater and sit with his siblings, but right now, Leo really just wants to be with his best friend. He hasn’t seen her in a long while and it’s been nice catching up with her.

The marshmallow’s lightness gives way to darkness as it chars in the fire. Leo considers bringing it closer again, but he figures it might be better to let it continue roasting. He likes the taste of burnt marshmallows.

So did Jason, Leo thinks wistfully. Then he scolds himself for even thinking about the late demigod.

It’s been months since he’s has died. Leo should be over it by now; he should have moved past it. But he hasn’t.

It’s hard to forget when every time he thinks about Jason, he can only remember the secrets he kept from him.

Leo scrubs a tired hand across his face. He needs to stop thinking about him. Jason’s in the past, and in front of Leo is only the future. He can’t keep himself tied to what could have been, but instead focus his attention on what can be.

Besides, Nico’s already sent in those holograms that Leo made Jason while he was trying to find his way back to the real world. That alone has released the demigod of some of his guilt; at least Jason’s going to finally know how he feels.

But it’s not enough. Leo needs to talk to Jason. He needs to let go of him for once and for all.

The marshmallow in the fire blazes. Its whiteness bubbles and boils in the flames, then hardens into black crust. Leo almost laughs. How metaphorical.

The crunch of footsteps snaps the demigod’s attention, and he turns to the sound of it. Expecting it to be Piper, Leo offers a false grin to the approacher and gears up a joke to exclaim. Upon closer inspection, however, his eyebrows jump in surprise and anxiety - as well as a little bewilderment - hum in his blood.

A teenage demigod stalks towards him, his dark, feathery hair fluttering in the cool air. Silver tips gleam in the firelight at the ends of it. Abysmal obsidian eyes bear into Leo’s own, and a knowing, embarrassed smile cracks against the hero’s face.

“Nico,” Leo murmurs into the quiet. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he responds. His deep, glass-like voice resonates in the air and pierces into Leo’s ears. “Mind if I sit?”

Leo scoots over to make room for him, offering a confused but nonetheless welcoming look. “Sure. Cool hair, by the way.”

Nico smiles. “Thanks. I did it after a mental breakdown.”

“Sounds ideal.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Oh.”

After an uncomfortable pause, in which Leo turns back to his marshmallow in embarrassment and Nico picks on his jeans, the son of Hephaestus asks, “What brings you here?”

“I live at camp,” the demigod says blandly.

Leo rolls his eyes. “Not what I meant.”

Nico’s dark eyes glimmer with amusement. Despite Leo’s melancholic state just seconds before, a flutter of relief overcomes his heart. He and Nico haven’t talked much since he’s gotten back, but he’s glad to see that the demigod looks a lot more… comfortable here, for lack of a better word. He looks like he’s found his place.

“I know,” Nico says. “I’m actually here to talk to you.”

Leo nods. He’s been expecting this. “About the holograms I asked you to send Jason?”

The other demigod shrugs. “I’m a curious person. I’m just wondering what’s up with that. Totally fine if you don’t want to talk about it, though. But, you know, seeing how you asked me to travel to the Underworld specifically just to do that… Can’t help but be a little anxious about whatever it is that I gave him.”

Leo nods again, but this time a trickle of anxiety runs down his back. His shoulders rise and fall in a shrug.

“I don’t mind talking about it,” he says. Leo turns his gaze to Nico and offers him a pointed stare. “Besides, I think more than anyone, you might know what I’m talking about.”

If Nico understands what he means, he doesn’t show it. He remains still and patient, unsurprised, as if he’s expecting whatever Leo’s about to say before he even says it.

The son of Hephaestus sighs. He pulls his marshmallow stick back from the fire, but he doesn’t make a move to take the sweet substance off. His mind wanders back to so many nights ago, when he, Jason, and Piper had been sitting in this exact place, telling each other scary campfire stories and laughing when any of them cracked a joke.

It’s amazing how much has changed within a year.

“Listen, Nico,” Leo begins, his voice strangling itself, “I just want to start by saying that… I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you on the ship. I wish I could have been a better person to you then. But I guess I was dealing with my own stuff, and I was kinda blinded by my own issues to see that others around me were having troubles too. So I’m sorry about being inconsiderate to you.”

Nico waves his hand by way of dismissing the apology. “It’s fine. I understand that. My problems didn’t need to be of your concern, and I’m sure there were things that I could have helped you with that I hadn’t. Don’t feel sorry, Leo. You were dealing with your own issues.”

Leo shakes his head. “But it’s… I…” He groans and runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “It’s more than just me being sorry. I just wish I’d let you know you weren’t entirely alone. In terms of being, like, confused about your… identity, I mean.” His heart flutters in his chest as he turns again to Nico, anticipating the demigod’s reaction to his admittance. He’s not sure if he’s come off as direct as he needs to be.

Nico frowns. “You mean, like, me being gay? What does that have to do with this?” he asks defensively.

Leo notes the way his voice hitches at the word “gay,” like he’s still trying to taste the way it feels around his mouth. Nico shifts the tiniest bit away from him, as if he’s fleeing from judgment. The sight of it creates a crack against Leo’s heart; he doesn’t want Nico to feel like he’s being criticized.

“What I’m trying to say,” Leo says in what he hopes is a calming voice, “is that… I know what it was like. I mean, I don’t know what it was like to be you specifically, but I get that anxiety over your sexuality. I… I went through something similar.”

For a moment, it seems as though Nico doesn’t fully understand. His eyebrows curve into the center as he absorbs Leo’s words. Confusion sparks against his eyes. But after a moment - a moment in which Leo’s eyes bear deeper into Nico’s, begging him to comprehend - understanding flashes against the son of Hades’ features. “Oh,” he murmurs. “So… Are you saying…”

Leo nods. “I’m… queer. I know you and I haven’t had the same experiences with our sexualities, or even in general, but just know that… I wish I could have done more to reach out to you.” He shrugs. “Maybe we could have helped each other out.”

Nico offers a hesitant smile. “Yeah. I guess so. Wish I’d known, too. But… I’m honored you told me. Admitting this kind of stuff can take a lot of courage, as I’m sure you know. I’m glad you’ve come to some kind of conclusion about yourself.”

“You too, man,” Leo says. “I’m glad that you’ve found a way to move on from your fears of yourself. I’m not sure where you stand in terms of your confidence, but just know that we’re all proud of you. We all support you.”

Nico’s smile widens, just a bit, and that’s enough to make Leo’s heart skip a beat. He’s never seen Nico look so sure of himself, but the sight of it makes Leo excited, too. It gives him hope that maybe someday, he’ll be able to reach that level of assurance.

Not today. But someday.

Nico rolls his eyes. “Enough of this cheesy stuff. What does this have to do with those holograms?”

Leo shifts in his seat, contemplating what to say and how to say it. His chest thrums with a sudden burst of anxiety at the very prospect of admitting to Nico something that took him so long to do to himself. How will Nico even take the news? Would he make fun of Leo? Would he tell him Leo’s feelings are a mere joke?

Will he understand?

Leo’s chest expands as he takes a deep breath. He knows he’ll feel better when he tells someone about why he’s done what he’s done. He’s kept this in for too long.

The son of Hephaestus plays with his fingers in his lap, if only to get a distraction from the world around him. “I… I really… I liked Jason,” he murmurs. “I spent a lot of time pining for him. But I also spent a lot of time hating myself for liking him.”

Nico’s eyebrows lower and he offers a considerate, empathetic nod. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

Leo turns his gaze to the son of Hades. Sincerity sparkles in Nico’s eyes, and an urging look covers his features. Leo’s anxiety lulls itself as he sees the understanding; at least the son of Hades isn’t judging him.

“Yeah,” Leo murmurs, “so that happened. It’s kind of why I decided to date Calypso. I just wanted to… forget about my feelings for him, you know? But that wasn’t fair to her or me, because in a way I kind of used her. We’re broken up now, though, which I think is better for both of us. Still good friends.”

Nico offers a polite nod.

“Anyway,” continues Leo, “I was getting tired of keeping that secret in. So you know how I sent that hologram to you?” When Nico nods again, Leo takes that as a sign to go on. “Yeah, so I tried doing something similar to Jason. Except for him, I kind of just kept all those holograms for myself. They were mostly used for therapeutic purposes, just so I could get a better understanding of myself.” Leo sighs and runs a shaky hand through his hair. His hollow chest thrums with guilt at the thought of the holograms; they contained so many secrets that he couldn’t give up, not even to the person they were intended to be given to. “I meant to give it to Jason,” he promises, “but he…”

In a quick second, memories of Jason sear Leo’s mind. His gleaming hair, his awkward smile. The way his laugh would echo around Leo and envelop him in happiness.

He was perfect. He was everything Leo wished he could be.

He was everything Leo wished he could have.

Leo bites his bottom lip. A surge of hot tears crash against his eyes, and it takes all his strength to prevent them from pouring out.

Nico shifts his body so that he’s closer to Leo. Not close enough to make either of them uncomfortable, but enough so that Leo knows he’s not alone. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “I get it now.”

Leo nods. Despite his efforts to keep his emotions in check, a tear still manages to slip out. It flashes in the orange firelight and drips from his face, bursting onto the green grass below.

Through a choked voice, he whispers, “I just… needed him to have those holograms. I needed him to know the truth. I didn’t want him to leave this world without… without knowing that there was someone who loved him in that way.”

“You needed to let go of your ghost,” Nico murmurs in understanding. “You needed to move on.”

Leo nods.

“Did it work, at least?” asks Nico. “Do you feel better now that you’ve given it to him?”

The son of Hephaestus opens his mouth to speak, but silence strangles his voice. Taking a deep breath, he whispers, “It’s not enough. I need… I need more. I need to actually confront him.”

Leo turns his head to Nico, a pleading look in his eyes. He hopes Nico understands what he’s asking.

The child of Hades’ eyes widen in surprise. “Are you asking me to take you to the Underworld?” he asks. “Look, Leo, I’m not sure-”

Leo shakes his head and waves his hands dismissively. “No, no, I’m too exhausted for adventures. I just want some time without all that excitement. But I just… I’m wondering if maybe there’s a way that I can contact him. And knowing that you’re a ghost whisperer…”

Nico’s eyes darken in the firelight. A cold, icy film covers them, and he fixes Leo with a stern look. “I can’t bring him back, Leo,” he says. “That’s not fair.”

Leo raises his palms defensively. “Hey, no, that’s not-”

“I’m not finished, though,” says Nico. An air of hesitance lingers in his words, and when he turns his dark eyes away from Leo, the latter’s heart skips a beat in anticipation. Excitement and anxiety roar in Leo’s ears. Will he agree to help?

Nico turns his face into the firelight, but he looks right through it. His mind wanders to some other place, some other world where Leo can’t reach him. The son of Hades’ olive fingers twitch in the glow of the flames.

Nico looks around, and as he does so, the silver tips of his hair flash in the firelight. A stern, anxious look pulls on his features.

“What is it?” Leo asks. “What were you going to say?”

Nico turns back to him. His dark eyes burn brightly in the firelight, flaming with excitement. In a hushed, hurried voice, he whispers, “Meet me in the woods tonight, right after the sing-along. Don’t worry about curfew, because I can shadow travel the two of us out. Don’t tell anyone you’re going there. I have a plan to help you.”

At Nico’s words, a gust of wind brushes between the two and chills Leo down to his core. His skin prickles with goosebumps once more, but he’s not sure if that’s because of the chilly air or because of Nico.

With one final skeptical look, the son of Hades stands to leave. But before he can, Leo asks, “Wait, what are you doing? What am I going to walk into?”

Nico pauses in his steps. His body freezes and he goes rigid, almost as if Leo’s question has shocked him.

Then he turns and, in the flicker of the firelight, a ghost of a smile haunts his lips. “You deserve to see him one last time, Leo. And you need to learn to let him go, because the more you keep holding onto his memory… the more you become a ghost of yourself. I can’t bear to see another friend go. Consider this a gift from me to you.” His hand lingers at his side, almost as if reaching for a sword that isn’t there. “Consider this a gift from one friend to another. That is, if you consider us friends.”

A ripple of surprise thrums in Leo’s blood. If there’s anything he didn’t expect tonight, it was to hear that Nico di Angelo considered him a friend.

But nonetheless, a relieved, grateful smile gleams against Leo’s mouth.

“Friends,” he promises. “I owe you one.”

Nico laughs. “Yeah, you do. I’ll see you in a bit.”

And with that, the demigod rushes off into the darkness, leaving Leo alone with only the flames for company.

#my writing #valgrace #nico di angelo #leo valdez #jason grace #riordanverse #the burning maze spoiler #tbm spoiler #bm spoiler #burning maze spoiler #valgrace fanfic #valgrace fic #nico di angelo fanfic #nico di angelo fic #leo valdez fanfic #leo valdez fic #riordanverse fanfic #riordanverse fic #trials of apollo #toa #heroes of olympus #hoo #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians

[creativekat]

PTC part iv

Gif by @pascalsky​

Word Count:  2,238

Rating: G

Warnings: sweet moments, some dirty thoughts here and there

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who is reading and commenting! It’s so amazing for @the-purity-pen​ and I to know that people are enjoying what we are writing! We have been having a blast writing it together!!  Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

The individual pizzas had been a huge hit. The kids had loved deciding what toppings went on their own crusts. And the twins, Fast Forward and Rewind, had especially liked the fact that they didn’t have to share with one another. Everyone had finished eating and you were packing up the leftover food while Marcus put popcorn kernels into the air popper. 

You carried a short stack of tupperware to the refrigerator and placed the items inside. Once the door was closed, you turned and leaned against it, releasing a small sigh of relief that the chaos of dinner was over. The kids were pretty active inside the classroom, but that was nothing compared to what they were like on their own time. Your ears rang with the laughter and happy shouts from earlier. 

Turning your head, you watched Marcus load the air popper, his biceps moving just below the short sleeves of his shirt. Your eyes started to drink in the rest of him, but you stopped yourself. You were afraid to let your body react to him again like it had earlier. Suddenly thirsty again, you pushed away from the fridge door so you could open it. The cold air felt good on your warm skin. “So, that was a success,” you commented as your eyes searched the chilly space without seeing anything inside. 

Marcus finished popping the corn and turned his head towards you before placing the popped kernels into separate little brown paper bags for the kids. He nodded with a soft smile on his face. “It was. I’m glad you were here to help,” he commented quietly, feeling himself having to turn away from staring at your body.

He focused on the popcorn and scooping an approximately even amount of popcorn into each bag. He moved slowly and carefully so as to not waste a single kernel. He knew that if Missy’s friends were anything like her, they would be devouring the popcorn and would definitely want more. He was thankful for the concentration because the more time you were closer to him, the more he felt the need to explain his feelings for you.

You sighed quietly and shook your head and when Marcus heard you, he swiped his hands on his jeans of butter and salt and came over. “What are you looking for? Can I help you find something?” he asked as he tried to lean into the fridge to look with you but the sudden closeness of him had you holding your breath. Marcus turned his head and realized he’d made a mistake. He could smell your shampoo and it made his head swim. 

“Uhh… just trying to figure out what I could have to drink…” you stammered the words out and turned your eyes back to the fridge contents. 

Clearing his throat, Marcus did the same, “Help yourself to anything… Do you want a beer? I think I’ll have a beer.” He reached back behind the orange juice and retrieved an IPA. When you nodded, he handed it to you and felt the immediate absence of your body next to his when you backed away from the refrigerator to find the bottle opener. When he closed the door he had his own beer in his hand. 

You popped the top off yours and held the bottle opener out to him, which he took, careful not to let his fingers graze yours in the process. Trying not to stare at him, you took a long swallow of the cold beverage. Just then Missy burst through the door from the living room, “Is the popcorn done yet?”

You startled slightly as Marcus smiled, focusing on his daughter, “Yes, hija.” The three of you made yourselves busy as you took the bags into the living room to hand them out. You followed Marcus and Missy and finished handing out the bags to which all of the children said thank you. You smiled at each of them but you gave Wheels a little wink which he reciprocated.

The kids all started to dig into their popcorn and get back to watching their little movie marathon that Missy had turned on. You had no idea what the movies were about but they all seemed to be very excited about it. 

Marcus left the living room with you, the two of you nearly walking side by side down the hall. Your shoulders just grazed each other as he took a few steps faster and you felt your breath hitch for a moment before you were clearing your throat and walking over to where you had set your beer down. Marcus grabbed his and walked over to the table and you opted to follow him to sit at the table beside him.

At first there was a silence between you and Marcus as you focused on the beer bottle label which had become loosened with condensation. You began to pick at it, peeling it bit by bit. Suddenly, Marcus cleared his throat, “So… tell me about you. Is your family local?” 

Family was an interesting subject for you. You knew you didn’t fit in with them, so even though you all lived in the same town and you saw your older brother quite regularly, you still felt as if you were hundreds of miles apart. You let a small smile lift your features, “Ummm… yeah… but, we aren’t very close unfortunately.” You wondered if he would push the subject. You knew a lot about Marcus Moreno. You heard many stories about him over the years. Some of them you knew were true. Others you wondered about. “It must be nice having your mom around to help you with Missy.”

You went back to peeling at the label on the bottle. Half of it had come loose now. You paused in your hyper focused activity to take a drink, startled when Marcus met your eyes. You swallowed hard and set the bottle down, feeling incapable of looking away as his dark eyes searched your face. 

Marcus couldn’t help his staring, that’s just how he listened. And when the conversation turned back to him, he sat up a bit straighter and swallowed a lump that had formed when hearing how you weren’t close with your family. He couldn’t imagine that and how lonely it might be.

“My mom certainly is great,” he said with a small nod. It was true though. Anita had been around much more after his wife died and was more than willing to help train Missy and her friends during the first alien attack last year. Marcus had a brief moment of wondering if you were a mother because seeing how you were with the kids made him think you’d make a great one.

But that comment was lost on his lips as he watched you, his eyes dancing over your features. He swallowed hard again and your own eyes couldn’t help but follow the movement of his throat. Your heart was racing and your nose flaring, which Marcus would later admit was very cute, as the two of you had a moment of intensity.

The moment seemed to draw itself out but neither of you looked away. Instead it seemed as if the space between you was closing. You inhaled sharply as his hand came up to your shoulder, stroking it lightly with his thumb, making you shiver. All the reasons you shouldn’t do this, right now, flooded your thoughts. The kids, his daughter, your students were in the next room. He was a Heroic and … your history with Heroics had not been good. 

A protest formed on your lips as you whispered his name just before his lips found yours. The kiss was gentle but firm. There was yearning there, but no demands. Your mouth opened, inviting him to deepen things and your tongue pressed against his, sweetly. A soft moan escaped your throat as your hands reached for him, finding purchase on either side of his torso. You could feel the way his ribs expanded with his own labored breathing. 

Marcus leaned in closer, if he could even manage that, when he felt your hand on his torso. Your touch was electric in ways he would have never imagined. He had been pining after you for so long and it was finally the moment he had thought of for so long.

His mind whirled with emotions as he kissed you deeper, slowly pressing his lips and tongue against you and into you, like a slow motion dance. The hand on your shoulder came up to cup your face, holding you to him as you kissed him with emotions you didn’t know you were capable of. It was a silent message between the two of you, a love letter written in the dark of night with whispers spoken into the ink.

Marcus pulled away in what felt like a too soon moment and you couldn’t help the soft whine that escaped you. Both of you were breathing hard, trying to catch your breath. Marcus rested his forehead against yours for a moment, his thumb tracing over your jaw before he pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes.

You licked your lips and treasured the taste of him for a moment longer as you tried to catch your breath. Your eyes searched his face, yearning for more, but wondering if you should even want that. Hesitantly, you pulled your hands away from his body, letting them rest a moment on his knees only for a moment, like a butterfly searching for a place to land. 

Finally, you reached for the bottle again, taking a drink trying to quench the rampant thirst Marcus had brought out of you. Nervously, your hands moved to the label once more, peeling the last of it off in one swift pull. You laid it flat on the table, letting your eyes wander to the shiny paper, then returning to his immediately. He had a pull on you that you couldn’t seem to resist. With a shaky breath, you finally voiced one of the many thoughts you were having, “What, uhhh …. What does this mean?”

Marcus felt you shift back and he let his hand drop from your face but not before sliding it down to your arm slowly. His heart wouldn’t calm down as he watched you pull the label off but his eyes were only watching the movement in his peripherals. He was watching your face, watching your eyes, your lips and he could feel the way his own still tingled from the contact.

Your voice broke his stares and he cleared his throat. His lower lip quivered a moment, unsure of how to answer it without feeling too forward. Hell, you had just kissed in his kitchen with kids in the other room. Was there really such a thing as being too forward at this point?

“It uh-” he paused, his other hand coming to the label you had peeled off and picking at it slightly. A momentary distraction to try to gather his racing thoughts, ”I guess it’s me telling you that I like you. Ha- have liked you. For a while now,” his words stammered out. He let his gaze fall upon the label as he nervously picked at the corners, feeling the plastic coated paper peel away from itself as he touched it.

You couldn’t help but smile at his words, his shy movements. This was the great Marcus Moreno, leader of the Heroics, confessing that he liked you. “For a while?” You wondered aloud. You’d had no idea. A warmth filled your chest at this new knowledge and Marcus finally looked at you from the corner of his eyes, smiling shyly. Your heart hitched at the adorableness of that look. 

But, then reality came roaring back to the forefront of your thoughts, forcing you to look away again. You thought of the kids in the other room. Of the way your family had always looked down at you, when they were the ones who were supposed to love you. The way you’d rebelled as a teenager, lashing out and getting into trouble. “I … uhhh, I like you too… but…” you didn’t want to tell him this wouldn’t work between you. But, some part of you wondered if that was true. Were you just getting in your own way? Letting your past affect your future. 

Marcus waited patiently for you to gather your thoughts, even though he was dying to know what came after that “but”. He couldn’t imagine what it could possibly be. He hadn’t felt anything like this in years. 

Finally, you shook your head and finished your thought, “why me? I’m nothing special.” You’d heard that enough times to know it was the truth. Marcus’s face dropped. That wasn’t the end of the sentence he was expecting. He thought it would be one of the other numerous excuses he had heard from others he had shown interest in. “Too busy.” “Too focused on work.” “Not good at relationships.”

He wasn’t expecting this but when he saw your own face change he reached over and held the underside of your chin gingerly. He slowly lifted your face to look him in the eyes. “You are though. So special,” he reminded you quietly as he leaned in and let his lips press against yours softly.

#marcus moreno #marcus moreno x f!reader #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno x you #marcus moreno and f!reader #marcus moreno and reader #marcus moreno and you #marcus moreno/f!reader #marcus moreno/you #marcus moreno/reader #marcus moreno fiction #marcus moreno fanfiction #marcus moreno fanfic #marcus moreno story #wcbh #wcbh story #wcbh fanfiction #wcbh fanfic #we can be heroes #we can be heroes story #we can be heroes fanfiction #we can be heroes fanfic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character story #co-writing

[darkpoisonouslove]

Win a Heart

Summary: Icy can fight Bloom. Fighting the strongest person in the universe is not something she is afraid of. What she can’t do is voice her true feelings for Bloom and earn the right to owning her own heart.

This is an AU but I’d like to keep the suspense so more information is at the end. You can go there if you feel confused about anything.

The flames rained on her ice shield – each like a rock melting away her magic instead of breaking through it. No matter how much power she put into fortifying her frost, Bloom's fire was eating it away one molecule at a time in pursuit of licking at her skin. Even if she did tap into her endless well of rage, she couldn't make ice at the rate Bloom was making her way through it. Her tactic would fail and she couldn't clear an opening for an attack.

She tilted her head back, gazing straight into the lake of fire spilling over the ice crust springing from her hands, and sent her magic down her hair. It was long enough to brush the floor and lead the ice where she intended it – freeing a path of escape for her. Bloom had no time to react when she glided backwards on the ice rink she'd made and away from the fiery downpour.

Frost encased Bloom into a cocoon she'd die in if she couldn't catch up. Bursting flames were not enough against the strategy Icy had devised just for her. The Dragon Fire gave Bloom an advantage but even it couldn't break through the layers of ice Icy had constructed to let her magic through to the inside. Every patch Bloom melted was freezing back against her body instantly to wrap her even tighter in her prison. The princess had challenged her and now the tables had turned.

Bloom writhed in her cage struggling to free herself with brute force but the ice was too thick even for her relentless stubbornness. There was no force or weapon she could use to crack Icy's victory.

Bloom locked eyes with her, having arrived at the same conclusion. The blue of her irises was still vibrant, though, like a boiling sea and her gaze reached into Icy's core melting through all her defenses. Ice shards dropped in her stomach as her heart shuddered to shake off the remnants of the cage she'd stuffed it in.

Bloom's eyes widened as if she'd seen the cracking walls inside her before she closed them in intense focus. Heat filled the atmosphere chasing away any shivers that could rock her concentration or Icy. The air trembled as Bloom's hair burst in flames dripping all over her body and Icy's cocoon.

The butterflies were in her stomach fluttering aggressively in their search of a way out. The warmth flooding her was inviting as she watched Bloom flaming her way out of her ice. The flaring fire wasn't threatening as it crawled through her handiwork to free the princess without a malicious intent. Bloom wasn't fighting to best her. She was overcoming herself and her own limits and she'd taken a page out of Icy's book to improve.

A block of ice shattered and crumbled to the floor where Bloom's chest expanded like she would swallow the whole world, and Icy, too. There was still something to do but it wasn't her turn. She would've skipped it anyway to see what else Bloom was up to.

Bloom answered her thoughts with the air she breathed out as it caught fire, too. She was a fire-breathing princess and Icy was captivated by the twirling flames as they wound around her cocoon and left it in a puddle on the floor. Everything was always so symbolic with Bloom, so... ethereal. Almost like they knew each other on an entirely different plane of existence.

"Don't count me out yet," Bloom held the fire retreating from her hair in her palms. A courtesy on her part to Icy who had drifted away like she never did in her own bed.

"I can say the same to you," Icy brushed away the smugness wafting from Bloom. It was deserved but it wouldn't last forever. Even if she didn't mind. All good things had an end. She just had to be grateful there'd been a beginning at all for her.

It was her turn to borrow and she crafted a blade of ice. Maybe brute force would work better combined with elegance. Maybe then she wouldn't break her neck.

She swallowed the thought like a lump of ice that would charge her magic and charged at Bloom with the weapon. Fire could take no solid form like that even if the streaks still flaming in Bloom's hair suggested otherwise. She had to try her hand at beating the most powerful person in the universe. Maybe then she would be able to outdo herself, too.

Swinging the blade was natural, the ice one with her as always despite her poor preparation with a sword. Bloom was an expert swordswoman but she had no way of conjuring a weapon from her magic. Icy had found the way to-

Bloom caught her ice blade with her bare hand unmoved by the sharp edges. She used her fire to leave the shape of her fingers in the wholeness of Icy's weapon. An imprint on her mind to join the one Bloom had been carving in her heart from the day they'd met.

Icy's breath caught but she let the ice take over. Gliding over it had been second nature her whole life. It was easy the same way dueling Bloom was effortless. Like a dance. Each move reciprocated with the due respect and desire to match it, raise the stakes until they were both engulfed in the flames of the intensity between them and the rest of the world couldn't reach them in their cocoon.

Bloom followed her movements intently, eyes on her frame like her gaze belonged there, like it was home. And there was the familiar pull. The invitation for Icy to spill into her but her spine couldn't bend that way without breaking. Her ice couldn't melt without drowning her. Perhaps it would kill Bloom, too. The risk was too great.

Stuck in her vicious circle, Icy faltered when her blade was stuck in Bloom's grip once again. Pulling did nothing with Bloom holding it as if her life depended on it and thrusting was impossible through the princess's strength. All she could do was supply more ice to restore the parts the flames coming out of Bloom's palms reshaped. They were caught in Bloom's will–like the rest of the universe except Icy's fate–and the moment stretched around them unbreakable. Whatever it was made of was stronger than Icy and she'd accept it if she didn't have to find her way to victory.

She willed the ice to grow, icicles with pointy edges reaching down from her blade through the fire eating it to pierce Bloom's chest. It had to free them from the spell she'd bound them in.

Air pushed Bloom's chest closer to the sharp tips aimed to stab through her heart but the heated burn of the flames inside her neutralized even that threat. Now it was water dripping from the icicles to soak Bloom's outfit and her heart. Icy had touched it – far more gently than she'd believed she could... with Bloom's help. The complimentary existence they led almost had her believing they were soulmates meant to be. Almost.

"You can't win this," Bloom let herself inside her head again, unafraid to roam even that space – the only one that did not belong to her. But Icy had given it. She'd given it away even if she had nothing left for herself. Just to see that smirk on Bloom's face. Was it worth it, though, if Bloom didn't know?

She couldn't win against the princess of Domino. She couldn't even win against the prince of Eraklyon who was younger than her but from a much more powerful kingdom than the measly royal of Dyamond that she was. She had to turn in and be his wife because she couldn't win. All her battles were meaningless, except the ones with Bloom. She always came out stronger, even in defeat. Maybe she was aiming for the wrong victory. Maybe it was Bloom's heart she was capable of winning.

"I've been in love with you for years." The crown meant for her head shattered from worlds away to let her draw in a warm breath. A free breath that her magic didn't attack to turn into a weapon of self-defense.

Shock slapped Bloom in the face like a wave she swallowed to a fail in her breathing. She had to shift to steady herself and slipped on the puddle they'd made on the floor. She tumbled down with the weapon Icy had to let go of so that she wouldn't fall on top of her with it and stab her.

A groan broke against Icy's ears to free her from her stupor. Bloom was alive and fine – more or less. Now it was her turn to get a verdict.

Bloom propped herself up on her elbows. "Good one," she muttered to make Icy's stomach flip. She was never that sparse with the due congratulations when Icy defeated her during sparring. It was the confession she hadn't bought and Icy couldn't blame her for looking everywhere but at her when she took the hand offered to her.

"I meant it." Icy held on to the warmth Bloom didn't pull away from her to compel her to catch her gaze. "I've been in love with you... ever since I learned how to love."

Bloom didn't let go after Icy helped her on her feet. "Why didn't you say something?" It was her turn to wait for Icy to return her gaze.

Because you would have saved me.

They'd become fast friends despite Icy's hatred for Domino and Eraklyon and anyone else who imposed their power over her. Bloom would've jumped in to the rescue. She would've pulled her from the arranged marriage with Sky and bound her to herself. She wouldn't have let her drown in feelings she couldn't freeze her way through. Even if it would've scalded both their skin off and razed their kingdoms to the ground. It wasn't Bloom's job to protect her. It should have been Icy's right to protect herself but Bloom was the only one who had given it to her, the only one who had believed in her enough to never hold back despite possessing the strongest magic in the universe. She'd let her be an equal. Maybe they were also equals in the way they felt.

Icy blew a touch of frost on her breath Bloom's way. It instantly turned into water in the heat of Bloom's lips. The ice couldn't even reach her. Bloom had never been hers to touch.

Bloom licked the water drops from her lip, her tongue frantic as if she was parched, before lunging herself at Icy and wrapping her in a kiss. Her breath was scorching and tickled through the cold Icy carried around with her. Bloom's fingers tangled in her hair like she wasn't afraid they would fall off if Icy sent the frost through her strands again. Bloom made it so easy to be strong, to be light and warm, so effortless to run her fingers through the red strands without fearing for her skin, nor for her magic within. She'd finally won the freedom to win the princess' heart.

This is an AU in which Bloom was raised by her parents on Domino after the Ancestral Witches were defeated. She became really close friends with Icy when they were little. Icy is arranged to be married to Sky in this. Bloom does not like Sky (and Sky doesn’t like Bloom) for a variety of reasons which I will not list because I will have to write a whole essay but not the least of which is his engagement to Icy. Icy is not a descendant of the Ancestral Witches and it has everything to do with Bloom but I will not explain it all because, again - a whole essay.

#winx club #winx icy #winx bloom #bloom x icy #blicy #fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing #200fc

[ahhhhhhdonna]

dust of snow

(Another Yennefer and Jaskier escape-from-prison fic. Playing hard and fast with magic and dimertium and other things in the fandom I don’t know anything about...all for the sake of the whump. Forgive me. Title relentlessly stolen from a Robert Frost poem of the same name. TW for blood, broken bones and swearing.)

“Here.”

Yennefer stopped their running and Jaskier was grateful to stop; he was wheezing, his panting tinged with a whistling that didn't bode well for his plans to not die today.  He had his arm wrapped around his rib cage, willing the bones to stay in place, to stop screaming at him at the abuse.  

Through blurry eyes, he could see a smear of blood on Yennefer's forehead from where she had pushed aside her hair... Her wounds must have reopened in the chaos of their escape, badly stitched as they were.  But she didn't appear to holding her insides together by sheer force of will, so he wisely decided not to mention it.

“Listen to me,” she bit out, “I can only do it once...and I don't know how long I can hold it open.”

Yennefer's fingers intertwined with his and squeezed until it was painful.  

“Don't fall behind, bard. It could cut you in half if closes on you before you're through.”

“Pleasant,” he gasped, just as she raised the one hand that was free from her dimeritium cuff and she screamed, so piercing and so close that he shuddered and ducked. Her grip tightened even as he pulled away. 

A hole ripped open in the air in front of them, it's edges ragged and undulating, and he gaped, the wind from it whipping his hair.  

“Go,” she shrieked and yanked him through the portal along with her- through whooshing, vibrating, spinning nothingness- before they burst forward into hard, cold snow.

Jaskier moaned and retched, falling onto his hands and knees.  Pain exploded through his mid-section and his vision greyed as he fought to get his stomach back under control.  Freezing wind bit his face, tore through his ripped chemise, stealing what little breath he had left.  And oh...Oh, wasn't that just like her.  To promise a daring escape from their captors – someplace safe, she'd snapped when he'd dared to ask, shut up, Jaskier, keep moving, Jaskier – and then to drop them in the middle of some frozen hellscape that he was not properly dressed for.  Not that she was dressed for it, either.  But sorceresses probably had some stupid spell that kept them from getting cold.

“Yennefer, where in...the fuck...are we?”

When she didn't immediately provide a snide response, he turned and saw why.

The mage was lying beside him, crumpled, her ebony hair blown over her face. The arm still trapped in it's dimeritium shackle was outstretched beside her and he saw with shock that veins of inky black zig-zagged from her wrist, stretching down towards her elbow and up towards her palm. It looked hideous and painful and he swallowed, reaching for her.

“Yen.”

With shaking fingers, he slid her hair back. Blood was dribbling from her nose. He remembered the sound she'd made when she opened the portal, the scream as though she was ripping out a part of herself.  Gods, maybe she was.  He shook her, gently at first and then harder, suddenly deeply frightened and painfully aware of how alone he was.

“Yen, wake up! Yennefer!”

She didn't stir. Jaskier sat back on his haunches, tucking his hands into his arm-pits for warmth. Someplace safe, she'd said. He squinted and tried to take in their surroundings through the veil of wind-blown snow.  In the distance, a tree line, just dark shapes beyond all the white.

If he could get to the trees, maybe he could arrange some sort of shelter for them, to get them out of the worst of it.  Wait until Yennefer woke up again. If she woke up again, his brain supplied, unwelcome.

He looked down at her, pale and terribly still in the snow.

“Alright,” he said, “Alright, you... You inconsiderate witch...Don't get left behind, yourself.”

He crouched beside her and, before he could change his mind, gathered her up in his arms and tried to stand in one fluid motion.  A rough cry left his mouth; he went down hard on one knee but, by the Gods, he didn't drop her. He had carried a few fair partners in his time, usually to a conveniently located mattress, but never after his ribs had been kicked in by a soldier's boot or trudging through a foot of hard packed snow. Tears sprang to his eyes and he let them come. Gritting his teeth against another shout, he heaved back up to his feet.  The bones in his side ground together but he staggered forward, carrying Yennefer like some nightmarish version of a bridegroom.  

***

He groaned and coughed and carried on, pausing every so often to catch his breath, to readjust.  He couldn't feel his hands anymore and his grip on Yen kept sliding. His tears had frozen to his face and the snow was biting away at his eyes.  He had just fallen to his knees for the tenth time in as many minutes when he realized there were figures emerging from the blowing white sheet in front of him, three tall figures in whipping hooded black cloaks, descending quickly.

Fear bloomed deep within him. He tightened his grip on the woman in his arms and whimpered.

Someplace safe, she'd said.  And yet here they were.  Surrounded.  Jaskier had no strength left to carry her, to run. He threw himself over the mage as the crunching boots came ever closer.

“Don't touch... her, I'm...warning...you,” he gasped out, but hands were already grasping him, prying him off.  He fought blindly, feeling the pain in his chest swell until blood burst from between his lips, spattering the snow.

“Leave off him!”

That voice. Jaskier stilled suddenly, and looked down dazedly at the man before him... down in the snow, cradling the wounded mage in his arms. Silver hair spilled from beneath the black hood, gold eyes were alight with shocked concern.

“I'm only trying to help him, wolf, he's in rough shape,” the man holding him grumbled but he let go.

Jaskier wheezed, staring, and when Geralt- it was Geralt, gods, it was Geralt!- opened up the arm not clutching Yennefer to his chest, Jaskier scrambled for him, tucked his face into his shoulder, sobbing breathlessly when Geralt's hand pressed iron hard against the back of his neck.

“...I thought you were dead,” Geralt said with wonder. “I thought you were both dead.”

Then the witcher, believed by many to have no emotions to speak of, threw back his head and made a sound somewhere between laughing and crying. It was a desperate sound that Jaskier had not in twenty years heard him make and now his mighty frame shook with it, as his arms tightened around them both.

“Your mage needs help, Geralt,” the third man said, stepping forward, and gently taking Jaskier's shoulder.  “The bard, too. They're half dead. We need to get them to the keep.”

Soul-deep exhausted and coughing troublesome blood over his knuckles, Jaskier was barely lifted his feet when-

Eskel, catch him! He's-

-the world at last went dark and, blessedly, pain free.

***

The crackling of a fire nearby roused him, the warmth of a heavy fur met his aching finger tips instead of the hard crust of snow. His mouth tasted horrible and metallic, but when he drew an experimental breath, his chest expanded easily, without the shriek of grating pain.

Decidedly better.

He slowly opened his eyes. Yennefer of Vengerberg was resting beside him, glaring. She looked tired and angry and completely fearsome, as usual.  And Jaskier would have been more afraid, maybe, if they weren't side by side in the same bed and buried to the nose under the same large fur.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” he said, gesturing to the bed. For all his body told him he was healed, his voice was a dry, ugly rasp.  He brought up a hand to rub his throat.

“You fool,” Yennefer said, seething.  “You absolute fucking fool.”

“W-what did I...?” He cleared his throat, a bit hurt.  This was certainly not what he expected.  Although honestly, he had expected entirely to expire beside her in the snow and never wake up again but... here they were.  Wherever that was.

“Where are we?”

“Geralt's chamber,” she said, “Kaer Morhen.  No thanks to you, bard.”

-someplace safe-

“Kaer Morhen?” Jaskier murmured, awed.  He turned his gaze about the room, drinking in the sparse furnishings of Geralt's most private life.  It was somehow less and more than he'd expected, all at once.

“I portaled us as close to Geralt as I could. You needed to only wait for help to arrive,” Yennefer said.  “And what did you do?  Wandered off in the wrong direction like an absolute fucking-”

“-fool, yes, yes.  I heard you the first time,” he cut in, sputtering,  “Well. Well, unlike some immortal magic people I know, I can't read thoughts, Yennefer.  If that was the plan, you could've, I don't know, shared it?”  

She scoffed but didn't contradict him.  

“..for all I knew, you'd taken us to the ends of the earth,” he continued, “And I couldn't wake you!  I wasn't about to let you... I wasn't going to let you freeze to death, no matter how unlikable you are.”

“Well, your noble, and entirely useless, act of chivalry nearly cost you your life, bard,” she spat, “Your broken rib splintered and pierced your insides.  It took another store of energy I didn't have to spare to save your life.  Again.”

He grimaced and gingerly touched his chest, trying to remember.  Beside him, Yen huffed and turned onto her back, tugging the fur more to her side in frustration.  

He focused on that flash of Yennefer's wrist.  The cuff was gone but the flesh was still rubbed raw and faintly etched with those horrible black lines.  He reached for her for a better look, then stopped short, thinking better of it.  He'd kept his fingers this long, after all... he rather liked them, thanks very much.

“Your arm,” he said, “It was...it looks...Is it better?”

She hummed and lifted the limb in question, looking it over.

“The dimeritium was poisoning me,” she said, “it reacted very... badly to opening the portal.  Once the cuff was removed, I began to heal.”

“Does, um.  Does it hurt?”

Her eyes flashed at him, dangerous, and she tucked her arm back under the furs.

“Pain doesn't bother me the way it would you.”

Jaskier swallowed. He fiddled with the edge of the fur drawn over his chest for a few moments before he opened his mouth again.

“I. I, uh. Thank you,” he said, uncharacteristically meek.  “For saving our lives. My life.  Twice.”

Yennefer closed her eyes and sighed, endlessly put upon.  Her perfect lips turned up at the corners.

“...Lambert did say you fought him like a feral kitten when he tried to pull you away from me,” she said, idly.  “I suppose that's somewhat brave... if embarrassingly ineffective.”

“A feral...!?” Jaskier tucked lower under the fur, ears growing hot. “Gratitude retracted, Yennefer, I retract all my thanks!...Wait.  Did you just...?  You think I'm...”

When he looked at her, Yennefer was pretending to be asleep, her lips still caught in that hint of a smile.  

#witcher fanfic #Yennefer of Vengerberg #Jaskier #Geralt #hurt Yennefer #hurt Jaskier #hurt/comfort #no plot #no context #none of that stuff #tw broken bones #tw blood #tw swearing

[ariparri]

Aahh it's here, it's finally here TwT

This story was written by cursedautumn on Instagram as her part of a story/art trade.

Woke up today to see that she was able to finish it and I just love it ToT

I just adore this ship so much and I'm happy the first kiss scenario exists through a story!

The original scenario has Veruca a bit more shy when asking for another kiss before Diego just smothers her and starts calling her cute. But this, this was perfect!!

And I think that last bit of the story may be a nod to Avis, Veruca's great grandmother, due to her patronus/symbolism being a blue butterfly. If it is, that's just so cute!

The June evening of that year was absolutely perfect for a date: the sky was clear, dark blue and starry, and on the horizon there was a strip of sun so bright ruby color that it was painful to look at it. The air was heavy with the scent of pine and wood, and the flower beds flanking the Westside Park paths were filled with scarlet roses, yellow tulips, and white peonies-in short, a beautiful profusion of flowers. In the twilight, the gazebo, festooned with glittering garlands and lit with candles, looked like a real magic house, and Veruca, who came here to meet Diego, marveled at the beauty and romantic atmosphere of this place. Diego had a way of surprising her, even though this was probably their tenth date. By the way, they never kissed, and he was still eager to give her a real holiday every time. Romantic!

"Do you like it?" Diego asked coquettishly, adjusting the collar of his snow-white shirt. Veruca nodded confidently. "I told you, this is a great place for a date!"

"And you were right as always!" she laughed. They began to pull out of a wicker round basket the provisions they had brought with them for the date: a bottle of rose wine, expensive cheese, a mind-blowing scented baguette with a thin crisp crust, glasses, a bunch of ripe grapes and a bag of cherries, chocolates and napkins. "I think there are more garlands here than there are stars in the sky."

"And the brightest star is right here, right next to me," he said. Veruca smiled: her boyfriend offered a few standard, but very pleasant, compliments. Diego took one of the cherries in his mouth and took a big bite. A drop of juice rolled down his chin and was about to fall on his shirt, but he caught it and wiped it with his finger so that Veruca blushed involuntarily and turned away, pretending to be very busy looking at the wine in the bottle.

She and Diego had been dating for quite some time, and she couldn't even remember exactly when it all started. Their relationship flowed like a river: from date to date, hugs, dancing, talking — but so far without kissing or anything more daring. It seemed strange to Veruca that she, a grown-up girl, didn't kiss her boyfriend, but given the circumstances, she could be forgiven for that. And then, what's the point of a relationship if you have to force yourself into it? Diego didn't force her. He just waited. Veruca understood what he wanted, and she often found herself wanting to finally expand the horizons of possibilities. But she just didn't feel ready for it yet. Maybe it will happen today, maybe tomorrow, maybe next month. Veruca didn't make a wish. She had learned to expect anything from herself.

Although, frankly, she liked Diego not only in platonic terms. As a man, he was remarkable, but his merits were not limited to this. He was a rare beauty: dark, fit, muscular, with long, thick hair the color of bitter chocolate and pleasant dark eyes. When he undressed, smiled, ruffled his hair, Veruca was ready to devour him with her eyes, and inside she had a burning desire to kiss him. However, she held back. Controlled herself.

"Well, let's get started!" Diego said solemnly, picking up the wine bottle and carefully uncorking it. Veruca followed his strong, beautiful hands with her eyes. "Shall we start with a baguette with cheese? I'm starving."

They sat down at a table in the gazebo next to each other. The sun had set, and Westside Park was plunged into a romantic haze. They unwrapped the thin paper that served as the packaging for the baguette. Dark cherries and transparent grapes glittered enticingly on their round, glittering sides. Diego poured the wine into the glasses — the liquid sparkling and fresh as a morning lake.

There was silence for a while. Veruca sipped her wine. It was sweet, with hints of apricot, not too cloying or tart. Her throat burned pleasantly. It wasn't that she was getting drunk very quickly, but tonight the wine was particularly relaxing, and she quickly stopped thinking, stopped worrying, and leaned her elbows on the table with an exhalation. Diego didn't say a word, but his eyes said more: he looked at her with love and adoration. With each passing second, Veruca felt lighter and lighter, and wanted to laugh, jump up, and dance. She stared at his handsome face, at his broad shoulders, at his dark gold hair…

"Hey, honey!" Diego snapped his fingers in front of her face and smiled. "What are you thinking, mmm?" Veruca smiled and caught his hand. "Nothing, really."

"How's the wine?" he asked, rolling a seductive smile on his lips. Veruca shrugged, pretending to be only mildly impressed.: "Very pleasant. Light. I love that kind of thing."

"I know," Diego grinned, and moved closer to her. Veruca took a slice of bread and took a bite; it was fresh, crisp, and delicious. "Damn, this wine is crazy! I got it from a distant relative of mine, who works for Limmiani wine products."

"Oh, you're related to a Limmiani worker?" Veruca asked in a flirtatious tone. "I'm definitely not going to leave you now!"

They laughed as they sipped their wine and ate crusty bread, tender cheese, juicy, honey-sweet grapes and cherries, and hard but fast-melting chocolate. The sky overhead shimmered and glowed with cold bluish stars. It got a little cold. Veruca shivered, she forgot her coat at home. Diego noticed this and immediately asked her to take his jacket; she accepted the offer and did not regret it at all — the fabric was soft and warm, it smelled pleasantly of perfume and flowers. They sat there for half an hour, enjoying each other's relatively intimate physical company, until Diego asked her to dance.

"Dance? Here?" Veruca laughed, feeling a little light. It was already dark and not so warm. "That's nice, but I'm not sure I can waltz in my heels."

"Then take them off," Diego suggested. "The grass is soft, there are no insects here. There's nothing to be afraid of."

Veruca hesitated a little, but finally obeyed and kicked off her shoes. She put her bare feet on the ground. The grass was still warm, warmed by the afternoon sun, and very soft, like Wilhelmina's blue velvet dress, which she loved to wear on winter visits and of which she was insanely proud. For a second, Veruca thought she was going to fall, but she managed to stay on her feet and held out her arms to Diego.…

And at that moment, music began to pour out of nowhere. Pleasant, clear as a bird's song, it shimmered and flowed like a stream — a real delight for the ears! She relaxed, and she and Diego began a romantic dance in Westside Park, under the stars and trees.

Their dance was somewhat awkward, a little drunk, but pleasant and somehow natural, as if it wasn't some kind of surprise. Numerous golden lights blurred in Veruca's eyes. The scent of flowers, honey, and just-begun summer filled her lungs like fresh sweet wine filled a crystal glass. Veruca remembered the time she and Diego had been to the Hogwarts summer festival. It smelled like summer there, too. Memories intertwined with the melody, and suddenly it dawned on her — the same music played at the disco when they won the title of the best couple of the festival! Veruca wanted to laugh, but she didn't: she didn't want to ruin such a tender and romantic moment. Diego even remembered the music they had danced to when they were only sixteen or seventeen. Did he cherish everything connected with it so much that even the music from the festival was imprinted in his memory?..

Veruca's heart ached with love and tenderness. She rested her head on Diego's shoulder. He stroked her back with his hand. The rough palms touched the soft, exposed skin of her back; it was like a tickle, like a butterfly sitting on her back, and then it fluttered up, flapped its wings, and flew away.

She was frightened, excited, and attracted by their closeness. Veruca knew better than to be afraid of Diego, and she trusted him. No, perhaps it was not he who frightened her, but the unknown, the unknown romantic expanses. She was standing right on the edge of the abyss, ready to throw herself into it. The fear was gone. Veruca wanted to do something urgently, so that they would be even closer than they were now.

Even closer. Impossibly close.

The dance was not enough.

Breathing, too.

Veruca couldn't wait any longer. She lifted her head and met Diego's warm gaze. He was looking at her, waiting for something. His hands on her body felt like living, open fire.

Veruca cupped his face in her hands, raised herself on her toes, and pressed her lips to his. And Diego returned the kiss, holding her even tighter.

Veruca froze, feeling her hands grow cold, her head burn; her lips burned as his hot and sensual mouth pressed against hers, and she went limp and soft, her heart ached sweetly in her chest and fluttered with wonder and happiness. The smell of Diego enveloped her — the smell of hot chocolate, perfume and apricot wine, his warm hands, his shirt and smooth hair. They kissed timidly, carefully, as if they might hurt each other. It was... nice. Very much so. She had never been kissed before (the cheek doesn't count), and the kiss with Diego Caplan, her beloved man, was unexpected and completely beautiful. Everything around them — the gazebo, the darkness and cool wind, the wine and food left and the music — didn't matter, because Diego was there, and she was kissing him on the lips for the first time.

Finally, they pulled away. Veruca suddenly felt weak, vulnerable, and at the same time liberated. She did it! She kissed him! She kissed Diego Caplan on the lips herself, and he answered her! She was filled with a sweet delight in herself.

Diego smiled in surprise; he seemed equally shocked and delighted. Veruca heard his voice close to her ear: "What was that, Miss McQuaid?"

"Don't you understand, Mr. Caplan?" Veruca was not left in debt. Then she lowered her voice. "I think the second time you will understand for sure."

"Oh," Diego said knowingly. His eyes flashed. "Would you like to repeat it? I'd love to, believe me."

Veruca was flushed. Merlin, she had to be so drunk to pay compliments that gave a head start to Diego Caplan, the master of compliments! She laughed nervously and started to turn away, but Diego cupped her face in his hands — just as she had done a few minutes ago — and asked softly, "Did you like it?"

She bit her lip. "Yes. And you?"

"Me, too." Diego grinned with a raise of his eyebrows. "Can we try again?"

Veruca laughed and was about to agree when he kissed her. The second kiss was bolder, less innocent. They intertwined their tongues, bit each other's lower lip, hugged, squeezed and clung tighter, embodying in this kiss all that they could not express in words, all that Veruca was so shy, and what she could not get over. Finally, this barrier was overcome.

The second kiss was followed by a third. Veruca and Diego kissed hungrily, feeling an acute lack of each other's warmth. It had been dark for a long time, and the ground was cold, but they were warm, even hot. It was hard to stop. They finally broke away from each other, disheveled and flushed, and their hot foreheads touched.

"You're the best," Diego muttered breathlessly, "woman I've ever had. I adore you."

"And you're the best man I've ever had," Veruca replied with a sly smile. "By the way, I think we have some wine left. Why don't we finish it off?"

"Food is sacred," Diego agreed, and they walked back to the gazebo, holding hands and laughing. A butterfly with bright blue wings, hiding behind one of the light bulbs, fluttered into the air and flew away into the black sky, shimmering with flashing diamond stars, into a summer night full of love...

#dieruca #diego x veruca #veruca mcquaid #diego caplan #hogwarts mystery #hphm #harry potter hogwarts mystery #hphm fanfiction #hphm fanfic #post hogwarts

[rexnihilis]

... run, dodge the Air Cannon and bounce back from Forced Quirk Activation. It seems that Shigaraki is trying to copy the movements of All For One from Kamino. Although he also does not refuse Decay and the  explosion quirk...

... jump from the Decay wave, hide behind the building from the explosion and get away from the laser from the right eye.

"Kacchan. We leave closer to the city, there are more covers."

Shigaraki will definitely hear this broadcast, but Bakugo knows that we will not endanger the civilian and at the moment when Tomura tries to block our withdrawal, we will be able to break ahead...

... send an air attack towards Shigaraki, smash the ground before the Decay wave, grab Kacchan's hand and...

The calculation turned out to be correct, and Shigaraki tried to block the passage to the city, which means...

"KACCHAN, C'MON !!!" and with the explosion of Bakugo and a strike of 45%, we are leaping back to ground zero...

But then he began to choke ...

______________________________________________

How lucky! How lucky I am that the owner of One For All is this small bastard! How will it be worthwhile taking his quirk from him, and then his life, after he interfered with me in the USJ, became one of the reasons why I am considered only an appendage of Stein's ideology, as well as for the destruction of our triumph in Kamino. This is not the whole prize that I will receive for his death! The killing of the  All Might successor, gaining the power that was stolen from Sensei 200 years ago, and also destroying the reputation of the heroes with a final blow to their "golden eggs". This is the same as getting  Royal Flush in the final of the poker game.

Everything would be even better if this brat DON'T! DODGE! FROM! MY! HITS! To get on it is like trying to grab a rat by the tail. Although the comparison with the rat, for this hero, is still a compliment...

"Kacchan. We leave closer to the city, there are more covers."

Great. This bastard thinks I'm falling into such a simple trap. If I try to catch him now, then I will have to protect him from this idiot who didn’t join us when there is a chance. And now, I have a chance to get closer to residential areas where there are still a lot of civilians, so get rid of it explosive Pomeranian nor do I even have to do anything, except using the trick of the enemy, against himself!

... take on an air strike, send the collapse toward the civilians, jump into the "trap" and activate Warping. And then again that heady feeling, when his thin neck is in your hands and you just want to, and he will turn into a bunch of dust. It remains only to pick up One for All.

And again, I feel the warmth that filled me after awakening, but... It stretches, it kicks and breaks out! Now it’s clear why Sensei couldn’t take this quirk. It is reasonable, although not completely... It can take 10-15 minutes, so it’s worth knocking out this bastard and just picking up this quirk bit by bit...

While these thoughts flashed through Shigaraki’s head, his hands lit with lightning, and the caught went into the abyss of his mind...

______________________________________________

Darkness. Previously, there was only darkness, but now there, on the horizon, a white wasteland is visible, which is illuminated by a gray, dim light, which breaks through cracks.

Cracks in One for All.

Cracks in reality.

This is the end.

Cracks go faster and faster from the horizon, and hands are visible right behind them. Hands that expand cracks and absorb this world.

Izuku lost. Izuku couldn't escape from the successor of All For One, and now not only One for All, but all of Japan will be waiting for this wasteland.

He did not fulfill the request of the first, he ...

"Kidou."

These words came from darkness. Swirling darkness that always surrounded and covered him inside a quirk. Continuing to cry, he saw that now not only his fingers, but his whole hand are now not covered in this darkness. He still couldn't speak, but now he felt this world even more real. Even colder.

"Kidou. You mustn't blame yourself. It isn't your fault that your enemies are stronger and more experienced than you. You mustn't blame yourself for not being able to fulfill the request of the First."

These words were warm in Izuku's chest. The warmth that he had forgotten so long ago. The heat that filled it better and stronger, even than 100% One For All.

Tears poured from his eyes, because he had to stop Shigaraki. He was the only one capable of doing this. He...

"You don’t have to do this. You are still a child, Izuku. You are all still children, and they shouldn't have put you in such a situation. They had to do everything themselves and they failed. You shouldn't take the blame for other people's mistakes. You are already a hero, but the hero isn't obliged to solve all the problems that appear by people's actions. People must accept their mistakes and pay for them. And if they aren't able to accept their mistakes, they don't deserve to be saved. And now... Sleep. You need rest."

Izuku tried to refute his words, he wanted to say that everyone deserves to be saved, but the words of this man were echoed in Izuku’s soul. These glories lulled and offered to relax and then everything will pass. They promised hope and trust. They promised protection...

"Sleep, Kidou. Sleep and everything will pass. You mustn't solve their problems. But since they are not able to deal with this problem, I must do it."

The last words of this shadow sounded more like a threat, but Izuku was already fast asleep and there was only a person in his dreams that gave him warmth. A man whose hair was white as snow and his eyes was red as blood...

______________________________________________

Endeavor strove for the place where Shigaraki went. Midoriya said that he would go right behind him, and this conclusion was not a bit wrong.

"Burnin, report!"

"Midoriya Izuku and Bakugo Katsuki left in an unknown direction, while Uraraka Ochako and Shoto Todoroki tried to follow this idiots, but I caught them."

So Katsuki went along with Midoriya? Is he also connected with One For All? Shoto too try to run away. What is One for All and how is it related to All For One? No time to find out.

"Burnin, Shigarki headed for Midoriya. Order for you and all nearby sidekicks - take all students, civilians and injured as far away from this damn mountain! Contact the commission and ask for reinforcements."

"Yes sir!"

Well, we figured it out. Now we need to call the rest of the pro.

"Ryukyu, Crust, Wash! Answer!"

"Wash! Wash!"

"Ryukyu in touch!"

"Where is the Crust?"

"... He died saving us."

Silence hung on the channel of the heroes for a short while.

"Wash, help Burnin and warn everyone you meet that Shigaraki has several quirks. I’m also send off the coordinates. Shigaraki is there, pursuing Midoriya Izuku."

A crazy and inhuman roar filled the sound channel.

"Ryukyu, what was that?!"

"It was not me!"

“Okay, we don’t have time for that. Send as many heroes as possible there and bring the Eraserhead. While Shigaraki is distracted, we have the opportunity to eliminate him.”

And will pray that Midoriya is still not in Shigaraki’s hands...

______________________________________________

It’s easier and easier, pieces of One for All began to ripped out, only 5 minutes remained, and the void that was inside All For One should have been filled. Only 5 minutes, but nothing is ever going to be easy. There is always something that spoils his ideal plans. This time it was Hero No. 1.

"Even a step and the boy will fertilize this lifeless land."

Bluff.

It was a bluff. Shigaraki couldn’t afford to lose One For All. Not now that he was in his hands. So close that it has almost become a part of himself.

Endeavor, stepped back and looked. He was looking for a way to save that brat.

Useless hope.

A little more and it will be impossible to save him...

And then the Cold came.

It was all-consuming and murderous. It promised suffering and torment. It only wanted death...

Shigaraki used the Search to find the source of this cold and he saw darkness in front of him. Where previously there was the brightest light of all possible, darkness and cold now swirled. Something that terrified him more than anything that he had met in his life. Even when Sensei used his Aura on Shigaraki to teach him to resist, it was not so scary ... It was not so hungry. It was not so angry. It didn’t exude such a...

Cold...

Turning off the Search, he saw that the bastard reopened his eyes, but now fear and determination were not read in them. Now there was only a look of the Monster, which was troubled by stupid and weak hunters, who guessed to awaken that which would kill them, and decided how to have fun at their expense...

Not only his eyes changed, but also the color of his right eye and several curls of his hair.

The eye turned red. Pomegranate color. The fruit by which Hades bound Persephone and his underworld. The kingdom of the dead.

Hair turned white. They became even whiter than even Shigaraki’s and they were not snow, but bones. Bones of heroes and villains that gave their lives on the orders of the gods.

Seconds stretched out in a minute, and then in hours. Horror flooded Shigaraki, but this horror was dispersed by the warmth of One for All. The fire that was in the hands of the first man when he burned the forests of all those animals that threatened him...

And then this Monster touched him. He touched his face and all the warmth that was One For All went out. Shigaraki no longer felt the warmth he was just trying to steal. On the contrary, the warmth with which he woke up began to leave him. It left behind only the chill of death, which was getting closer and closer.

Shigaraki tried to activate the Decay.

The decay responded with a good old sense of dust that clogs the face and covers the body. The very disgusting, but so familiar feeling of worms dripping in the body. And so he tried to direct this force, in order to kill this monster.

But the Monster was no longer here. 

There was only PAIN. 

Trying to touch his face, Shigaraki did not feel anything until he touched his brain.

This monster ripped out his face and a piece of skull.

He ripped out his skull.

His...

Skull.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!! BASTARD, BITCH, CRUD! YOU RIPPED OUT MY SKULL!"

Turning toward the Monster, he shouted at him in pain and rage. He hated him even more than All Might.

If All Might simply did not save him, then He hurt him. He took away from him what I wanted.

HE ALWAYS CRACKED WHAT I TRIED TO BUILD...

Shigaraki never hated anything so much in his life. Never in his life did he want to destroy something so much.

And now That Something has appeared.

His skull and face grew again, and Monster threw up a piece of his face with a skull several times in his hands and looked at the horizon.

He tossed the skull one last time, destroyed in the air with the help of pure darkness that shouldn’t have existed in this world, and turned around.

His hair was white as snow and his was eyes red as blood.

Instead of the green of the forests and the light of the heavens, the blood of the fallen and the darkness of the depths swirled around him.

The Lord of the Underworld reappeared in this world and now his servants were his victims.

The only thing he said was:

It’s Show Time.

#bnha #mha #bnha spoilers #manga spoilers #shigaraki tomura #Izuku Midoriya #bnha 274 #All for one #fic #Shigaraki is fucked up. #After all this is the DFO. #dfo #When the real Afo saw this he called on All Might to exile himself from his son. #Gigantomakhia couldn't decide what to call him and as a result of overheating of the brain he simply fell asleep. #The doctor fell into an existential crisis. #Izuku possessed with Afo!Au. #Toshinori and Gran Torino suffered a simultaneous double heart attack. #The Bakugo PTSD defused him for a couple of hours. #Both Todoroki's are really confused.

[jurassicsunsets]

question: do you think there’s fossils underneath the deepest sea floor? Do you think we could ever get down there to dig them?

Totally there are! In fact, much of the seafloor is made of fossils.

To properly answer this question we first have to talk about hard-rock geology. 

Part 1: Hard Rock Cafe

When I say hard rock I mean igneous rocks (rocks that formed by cooling of molten rock) and metamorphic rocks (rocks that formed when already-formed rocks were cooked and altered). This is to set it apart from soft rock (sedimentary rocks—rocks that formed from bits of stuff getting squished together) and prog rock (rock that formed when 1960s musicians took LSD). Hard rock is what forms the basement of the world, beneath all the other layers of rock, and so it’s what we have to start with here.

The ocean crust acts very differently from the continental crust, and that really deserves several long posts of its own. I’ll summarise it by saying this: Ocean crust is thinner, younger, and moves more than continental crust.

(Image: A gif of seafloor spreading. Oceanic crust moves away from the central plate boundary in both directions, like two conveyor belts going in opposite directions.)

Oceanic crust is formed at the boundaries between tectonic plates, and specifically where the plates are pulling apart from each other (AKA a divergent boundary). This exposes the mantle that is underneath the crust, causing lava to pour out.

Now we come to a very common misconception. It’s very common to think that the mantle is a liquid magma, a molten ocean upon which floats the Earth’s crust. But this isn’t actually true. The Earth’s mantle, despite being at very high temperature, is solid. This is because the enormous weight of the rocks above creates so much pressure that the mantle takes its most compact state—solid. (As a bonus fact, the minerals that make up the Earth’s mantle are lime green.)

(Image: A chunk of peridotite, the rock that makes up much of the Earth’s mantle. As promised, it is indeed lime green, and is made up primarily of olivine—the same mineral that makes up the gemstone peridot. There’s also some pyroxene in there, the same mineral that makes up asbestos! [Source])

Despite being solid, the mantle is still a fluid. That might take a bit to wrap your head around, so I’ll help you out. Think of silly putty; it’s a solid, but also can flow and deform in a ductile manner. Make that a lot thicker and that’s kind of how the mantle acts.

Back to the divergent boundary. The seafloor pulls apart by tectonic forces, exposing the mantle. Remember, the only thing keeping the mantle solid is the weight of the rock above it that compresses it. So, when that pressure is removed—pow! The mantle melts, and erupts as lava. This lava meets the cold ocean and “freezes” quickly into solid rock, schmamming onto the sides of the plates that are moving apart. And so new crust is born.

If you have taken any middle-school science you probably know that heat makes things expand. And if you haven’t, then you’re now getting a leg up on your classmates. And if you have taken middle-school science but didn’t learn this, I can’t blame you. The school system is a mess and it failing you is not your fault. The fact that you’re reading this is proof it didn’t manage to completely kill your curiosity, so good on you!

Where was I? Oh, yeah. Heat makes things expand. When things expand they became less dense, and so they float a little higher. This means that the brand-spanking-new ocean crust at the mid ocean ridge, which is still hot from being erupted, “floats” on the mantle higher than than the older, cooler crust.

(Image: A map of the world, with particular attention to the topography of the seafloor. It’s not all flat, but rather, has long mountain ranges down the centre of the ocean basins (shown in dark blue). [Source])

This causes the divergent zones in the middle of the ocean to form long ridges where the new crust floats higher than the older crust. Because the crust moves away from the middle ridge like a conveyor belt, the older crust gets pushed further and further away as new crust is created at the ridge.

We can take samples of these crust rocks using super deep rock-coring rigs, and then we can use these cores to conduct radiometric dating and find the age of rocks in different parts of the ocean. This is shown below:

(Image: A map of the world, showing the age of the oceanic crust. The youngest rock is shown in red and it right near the centre ridges of the oceans, while older rock is further away. [Source])

You can imagine “rolling back” the rocks progressively towards the mid-ocean ridge, until South America and Africa fit together right at the ridge—as they did about 100 million years ago.

When crust gets too old, it cools down and becomes more brittle. This can cause it to break and sink under continents, a process known as subduction. This is currently occurring on both sides of the Pacific ocean. The Atlantic, however, has not begun subducting away yet.

Part 2: Soft rock and smooth jazz

All the above was to give a necessary context to talking about fossils in the ocean. We now have a maximum age of fossils that we could possibly find in the ocean; any older than that, and the rocks would be subducted underneath continents and returned to the mantle. The fossils on top of the oceanic crust have to be younger than the crust itself.

So, how are these fossils preserved? This is where we get to sedimentary rocks. I mentioned above that sedimentary rocks form primarily by broken-up bits of other rocks getting schmammed together into a bigger rock. This happens in the ocean, too. Rivers carry sand, silt, and clay into the ocean, and deposit it.

However, these particles can only travel so far. Eventually, these tiny particles of rock will start to sink. The smaller the particle, the easier is is for currents to sweep it up and prevent it from sinking; therefore, the sediment size generally gets smaller the further from shore you get (because bigger particles settle out first).

(Image: A digram of sediment transport, showing that larger particles have a greater settling velocity and thus don’t get carried as far away from shore. [Source])

This isn’t the end-all/be-all, by the way. Submarine avalanches called turbidity currents can cause bigger sediment particles to be transported much further, as the underwater landslide can glide on a sheet of water with very little friction, and can thus travel far out onto the flat abyssal plain while moving really fast—like, 60-100km/hr.

(Image: Schematic view of a turbidity current, showing how they form from underwater landslides and travel across the flat ocean floor. [Source])

Both of the above mechanisms can bury the remains of organisms, but there’s an even more significant kind of rock in the deep ocean, and it’s made up of fossils.

See, in the deep, deep ocean, far from shore, it’s hard for sediment to be transported normally. So there’s not a crap-ton in the way of mud or sand. Rather, the sediment is formed largely of the shells of organisms that live above or on the seafloor.

The most common of these are single-celled organisms called foraminifera, or “forams”, which make calcite or aragonite shells. (Calcite is the stuff that makes up chalk, or antacids, or marble, and aragonite is just another form of calcite.) Most foram shells (or “tests”) are near-microscopic, and look like this:

(Image: Scanning electron microscope images of various shells, or “tests”, of foraminifera. Some look like coiled nautilus or snail shells; others are elongate tubes; others look like a bunch of spheres glues together. [Source])

Many of these foraminifera are part of the plankton, and float around by the surface. This is because sunlight makes it much easier to precipitate calcite out of the water. When they die, their skeletons sink to the bottom of the sea and pile up, creating what will eventually become limestone. 

Since different parts of the ocean crust are different ages, there is different thickness of sediments in different parts of the ocean. Plankton don’t really care about what’s going on at the ocean floor—it’s 3km below them! So we can think of them as living at all parts of the ocean (though more live at warmer temperatures). Their skeletons sink to the floor of the ocean wherever they are. The oldest crust has been around for a much longer time than the brand-new stuff, so it’s had more time for forams and other sediments to accumulate on top of it. Brand new crust is rough and naked, but old crust is smooth due to being covered by a thick blanket of limestone.

Many other organisms may be preserved in limestone. Some of them, like molluscs, sea urchins, corals, sponges, and trilobites, have shells that are themselves made up of calcite. Others, like vertebrates, are made up of other materials, but can still get buried alongside other organisms with limestone.

Unfortunately, most of the limestones we’ve studied came from shallower seas that covered the continents in bygone ages when the sea level was much higher. Because oceanic crust is eventually returned to the mantle, it doesn’t enter the permanent record very often. Even if it did, there’s still the massive logistical hurdle of digging for something beneath kilometers of water and hundreds of metres of overlying younger sediment.

But that doesn’t stop me from dreaming of someone pulling up a deep-ocean limestone core with a complete plesiosaur skull inside.

#palaentology #paleontology #geology #palaeoblr #geoblr #fossils #plate tectonics #seafloor spreading #long post

[nsheetee]

Bad Dreams

Pairing: Hendery x Reader Genre: Best Friends to Lovers AU || slight angst, lots of fluff Length: 2.1k Warnings: reader has mild PTSD, mentions of reader in a car accident  Summary: In which Hendery is your dreamcatcher, and washes away the bad dreams you’ve been having.

☁︎ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ☁︎

Soulmates are people who are ideally suited for one another; what a concept: to have someone in this world that is made specifically for you. To have someone that perfectly fits with the rough edges of your personality with their own. To have someone that not only understands you, but also knows how to console you and how you want to be cared and loved. And vice versa: the ability to know someone like the back of your own hand, to know someone better than you know yourself.

You always thought Hendery was your soulmate.

From the moment you met him, timidly glancing at him from behind your mother’s legs as your families met for the first time. You didn’t have the chance to make any friends yet, school had not started for you and your neighbors were all older people. So, Hendery was really your first friend.

At first, you bonded over how the pizza crust was the best part of the pizza and how you both liked to play on the swings at the playground. As you grew into your awkward teenage years, you bonded over your same interests in music and how high school popularity really isn’t that important or all it’s cracked up to be. And now, as young adults, you can both whine and joke about the bills you have to pay and the college classes you have to attend in the comfort of your shared apartment.

You know Hendery is your soulmate.

There is no one in your life that has known you as deeply as Hendery does. There is no one who can tell what you’re thinking just by a glance into your eyes, or know what you want to eat even when you don’t. There is no one else that stood by you through the time you decided to dye your hair bright blue, or when your first pet passed away, or when you got accepted to your dream college.

For you, it’s always been Hendery.

Some nights, in the dark confines of your 1AM thoughts, you promise yourself that as long as Hendery never leaves-- never changes, you’ll be okay with not finding a lover. You’ll be okay with being alone because you won’t truly be alone. Either way, you don’t think it’s possible for anyone to know you the way Hendery does. Maybe there is some sort of part in Hendery that is tied to you, some sort of red string that connects him to you.

Maybe that’s how he knew that something happened to you on that rainy night, even before he got the phone call from the hospital.

When Hendery arrived at the hospital, he felt oddly calm. When he saw you, it was like standing in the eye of a hurricane, chaos around him and peacefulness in him. You had some scratches on your face, but other than that you looked fine. You were alive.

You caught Hendery’s gaze and smiled weakly; he didn’t think his feet could carry him to you any faster. Hendery has hugged you many times before, from quick side hugs to full on “never let me go” hugs. But the way he hugged you was different this time. He slowly engulfed you, pushing you into his chest and resting his chin on your head. Hendery was scared; scared that he let you leave home that morning without breakfast, scared that he assumed you would come home okay. He should’ve known fate isn’t blind to who she hurts.

“I’m sorry.” You feel the need to apologize. Hendery doesn’t react, he just keeps holding you close. “I don’t know how it happened. The other car just... hit mine. I-I wasn't speeding. I couldn’t even see it coming-” The more you talk, the more you feel like crying again. It feels like your brain is torturing you into reliving the events of what happened just an hour ago. You gripped tighter onto Hendery, who seemed to know before you that you were going to cry again.

You, once again, are convinced Hendery is your soulmate.

When you’re released from the hospital and allowed to go home, you don’t think you’ve ever been grateful to see your own bed. Even after all those long nights studying in the library, after working for several hours a day; you have truly never appreciated your own room and your warm bed until you’ve felt the roughness of a hospital gurney. But when the hours ticked closer to night time, you grew restless. Tossing and turning, forcing your eyes shut and hoping sleep will come. Nothing helped, the mental pictures that will forever be stored in your memory of that car crashing into yours, the feeling of impact and spinning out of control sending you to sit up in bed, panting and shaking.

The last time you had a nightmare this bad, you were younger. You climbed into your parents’ bed and your dad petted your hair while your mother hummed a lullaby for you.

“There are no such things as nightmares, only bad dreams.” You’re mother sang. You thought it was a funny way of putting it, but whenever you had a nightmare from then on, you convinced yourself it’s only a bad dream.

But this was more than a bad dream; this bad dream was reality less than 24 hours ago. You gathered your pillow and blanket, quietly padding into Hendery’s room. He’s sprawled out like a starfish on his bed, the blanket messily draped over him and his chest slowly rising and falling. You almost feel bad for disturbing him, but you sneak over to his bedside and shake him awake by his bicep anyway.

“Hendery.” You whisper, but it’s enough to make him sit up sharply.

“What is it? What’s wrong.” He grabs your wrist, sleepy eyes looking you up and down.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I had a bad dream. C-Can I sleep here?” Hendery sighs at your response, you can’t tell if he’s relieved or annoyed but he nods his head. You’re about to drop your pillow and blanket on the floor next to the bed, but his grip on your wrist tightens as he pulls you down onto the mattress with him.

“I can sleep on the floor.” You mutter but Hendery groans.

“No, you can’t. The doctor said you almost got whiplash, I know your neck’s probably sore. Just sleep here.” So, you and Hendery shuffle around until he’s laying on his back on one side of the bed with his blanket and you’re laying on the other side on your stomach with your own blanket. Hendery is quick to fall back into his dreams, mouth opening slightly and warmth radiating from his skin and onto yours.

The moonlight from Hendery’s open window casts a spell on you and you fall asleep next to him. His hairy legs rubbing against yours every once in a while and light snores lull you into a surprisingly peaceful night of sleep.

☁︎☁︎☁︎

The next night it happens again. You’ve been trying to go to sleep for over three hours, but your own brain is stopping you from enjoying what few hours of sleep that you’ll be able to get until the sun rises. You don’t feel bad coming into Hendery’s room this time because he’s still up, playing games on his computer at the desk in the corner of his room. He has a headset on and since he’s facing away from the door, you walk up to him.

“Hendery,” He looks at you for a moment to let you know he’s listening, and then turns back to the game. “Is it okay if I sleep here again?”

“Yeah,” He mumbles, still looking at the computer, “But I’m playing with Yangyang and Xiaojun right now, it might not be quiet.” He explains. You shrug despite him not being able to see you and you fall into his bedsheets again, this time using one of his pillows and his blanket as your own.

It’s an hour later when Hendery logs off, shutting the computer down and turning to look at you. You’re completely passed out on your stomach, face half pushed into the pillow and your back rising and falling peacefully.

“Doesn’t it hurt to sleep like that?” Hendery thinks as he changes into pajamas. He stops right before he gets into the bed. Should he go sleep somewhere else? You weren’t taking up the whole bed, but it did feel different to be the one getting into bed with you. Even though you did this just the other night, it feels more intimate to be sharing a blanket now. Hendery keeps his distance from you on the large bed, but he can’t help but notice how much he likes how you look in on his pillow. The thought startles him, but he falls asleep to your hair tickling him and the quiet noises you make.

☁︎☁︎☁︎

The bad dreams keep coming, but you force yourself to not go to Hendery for relief. It’s time to grow up; you can’t crawl into Hendery’s room at all hours of the night when you can’t fall asleep. It’s been hard, maybe those past two nights spent beside Hendery made you a bit dependent on his warmth for comfort, but you force yourself to stay in your room when you wake up from your dreams night after night.

Which is why it surprised you when your bedroom door opened tonight, a sleepy Hendery trailing in and quietly slipping in between your sheets next to you.

“Did I say you can come in?” You tease him for his lack of greeting or asking of permission. He surprises you by rolling over to face you, his nose just centimeters away from yours and his skin so close that it almost burns to not have him touching you. Your breath is caught in your throat as his hazel eyes look into yours, sleepy but determined.

“I can hear you crying when you wake up from your nightmares.” Hendery whispers, “Why didn’t you come into my room.” The teasing smile on your face dims and instead you bite your lip.

“I didn’t want to bother you.”

Hendery decides to do something crazy, something that skews the perfect line you both have drawn between you two that defines your relationship as best friends. His arm wraps around your waist, warm fingertips dipping under your pajama shirt and gently pushing into your back to pull you closer. You give in, gently rolling into his embrace and resting your head on his collarbone as you hide into him. His other hand finds your hair, massaging your scalp as he sighs, his chest meeting yours as it expands and compresses with every breath.

“You never bother me.” He whispers into your forehead, continuing with his touches to the new parts of you he’s never had the pleasure of feeling before. “Please, I want you to trust me. I want you to… confide in me.” He begs and you slightly pull away to look up at him.

“I do trust you, Hendery. You’re my dreamcatcher.” You smile slightly to comfort him.

Hendery wants to kiss you. He’s wanted to do it many times throughout his life: when you went to your high school’s prom together, when you first got your heartbroken by some dumb guy a few years ago, when you got your first apartment together. But right now, unlike all the other times, something is telling him that you want to kiss him, too.

So he does.

Hendery leans in to catch his lips with yours. He’s slow and gentle, so that if you want to pull back at any time you can. But you don’t. You push into him to show him that it’s okay, and it breaks the timid and shy spell set on both of you. You and Hendery kiss for a little longer, lips moving against one another like a bow against a violin, like two dance partners who have been dancing their whole lives together, like soulmates.

You learn about a new part of Hendery tonight: the way he likes to be touched and the way he likes to be held. You learn how his lips feel and how his tongue tastes when it’s dancing with yours. You learn that kissing has never felt so good when it’s with someone you really, truly love.

You fall asleep that night, and every night after, in Hendery’s arms. Your dreams are filled with the soft, plush lips and black, silky hair of your lover, and the best part is that when you wake up, he’s still there.

#hendery #wayv hendery #nct hendery #wayv fluff #nct fluff #hendery fluff #hendery scenarios #hendery imagines #hendery au #hendery drabbles #wayv scenarios #wayv imagines #wayv au #wayv drabbles #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct au #nct drabbles #friends to lovers au #hendery x reader