#toxic bones hours but from now on if I see you only reply to my posts with a tag me… instant block. good but

[stealingyourbones]

With every “tag me” reply it inspires me to never write again.

#toxic bones hours but from now on if I see you only reply to my posts with a tag me… instant block. good but #bones speaks

[shadowbriar]

Sirius Black - Sweet Rubbish

Pairing : (F/M) || Sirius Black x Reader Word Count : 5.2k Warning : I don’t know, nothing I suppose. Synopsis : Their game of love hate pretend has to put to halt as Sirius gazed into the crystal ball. Notes : Post number 1 for my 7-days post celebration. If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕

“Divination is rubbish.”

Sirius whines as he drags his feet to the class, spiteful mumbles escaping his lips with every step closer to the dreadful lesson. He loathes Divination class, to say the least. Other than the fact that the Professor always rambles about nonsense Sirius could never comprehend, sharing the hour with her irks him to the bone.

“Just because your pea-sized brain couldn't compute the knowledge given does not mean the class is rubbish, Black.”

Sirius sent dagger eyes at the girl who now walks past him with her head held high. There is no unit in this entire universe that could measure the level of hatred he has for her. She's the bane to his existence. Not a day passed without him seeing her face and wanting to take out his wand to mess her beautifully combed hair or to hex her to trip from her graceful walk. Pity she is the way that she is. He would have admitted she's magnetising if she wasn't.

“Didn't your parents ever teach you that it is improper to reply to someone when they weren't talking to you in the first place?”

“You were yelling for the whole corridor to hear, I was only doing it out of pity from the lack of feedback. Even your friends look like they've had enough of your moans.” She replies, stopping her pace to turn at him with an unamused smile “You're not denying your pea-sized brain, then?”

“My brain isn't pea-sized, it's huge! Humongous even!”

“Of course it is.”

With another toxic laced smile, she turns away and continues her journey to the class. A complete contrast to the sulking boy, she seems to be in her best mood today. Divination has always been one of the many classes she excels at. She has a clever mind and witty brain, complementing her charming personality. Just another trait of hers Sirius detests.

“One way or another I will rip off that ever so brilliant smile off of her face.”

James scoffs, “Right, mate.”

“What was that?” Sirius turns to his friends, looking incredibly offended at the unamused expressions his friends were showing “Why don’t any of you ever believe it when I express my despise to that girl?”

“Because you’re all bark and no bite, Pads.” Remus chimes “You’ve hated her since you first laid eyes on her yet you never did anything. You even got mad at Wormy for accidentally pranking her back in 3rd year.”

“Indeed,” Nods Peter, looking rather pissed at the flashback of Sirius’ overdramatic anger at him a couple years back “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re secretly in love with her.”

“Me? In love with her?” He asks with a bewildered expression “I’d rather drown by the Black Lake than to ever imagine being in love with her.”

“If you say so, Pads.” James says, patting on his best friends’ shoulder as if he understands the underlying message Sirius was implying “If you say so.”

—-

Sirius stares blankly at the Professor’s face. His mind wanders elsewhere, completely detached to his surroundings. From the corner of his eyes, he could see her sitting just a few tables below him on the right. Her posture was straight as always, complete focus and attention poured to the lesson taught. Her house coloured headband glimmers under the light of the class, enhancing the beauty of her hair. Sirius has imagined running his finger through the soft strands of her hair every once in a while, wondering what scent her shampoo would be but he would rather be jinxed with the cruciatus curse than to ever admit it aloud.

He doesn’t love her. No, love is the complete opposite of the emotions he holds for her. Sirius hates her, loathes her in fact. He couldn’t pinpoint the fundamental reasoning behind his strong abhorrence for her, he just does. Perhaps the fact that she’s too good at everything, or that she’s genuinely loved by everyone including his best friends, or that she’s simply too perfect of a girl to ever be real. 

Perhaps the idea of someone being too perfect that he couldn’t ever dream of being deserving of her, makes him hate her.

“This is horse shit.” James mumbles. The bespectacled boy then turns to the thick textbook laying on their table, skipping through the pages to find any interesting rituals they could do to fill in the time “Pads, do you want to see your future?”

Sirius glanced at James, confusion filling in his eyes, “What do you mean?”

“This,” James points at a spell on the Crystal Ball reading chapter “Looks a lot more fun than whatever mambo-jumbo the professor’s talking about, doesn't it?”

“Looks like another lark, that is.”

James rolled his eyes, “Shut up and stare at the ball. I’ll say the spell and you tell me what you see, alright?”

Sirius huffs, clearly wanting no part but hearing the Professor’s lecture for another minute would certainly burst his brain out. Reluctantly, he stares at the crystal ball with a hand supporting his chin. A small frown decorating his face. James’ whisper of the spell begins to enter his eardrums, making the slightest flame of intrigue and curiosity spark in his chest.

The once cleared crystal ball now turns cloudy, some kind of mist begins to pollute the inside of it. Sirius brows furrow, completely taken aback by the effect happening. He certainly didn’t expect James’ mispronunciation of the latin spell to work, yet here they are.

“What do you see?” James asked.

“Nothing yet,” He answers “Just some ugly grey fog.”

“Look harder!”

“I’m trying!”

And as if on cue, Sirius begins to see some sort of vision. He wasn’t even sure if it was truly happening or was his brain just playing tricks with him, but either way the grey mist now turns into shapes, slowly forming what seems to be a ceremonial venue. There were chairs lining up in front of him with flowers decorating them. He was wearing a suit, the most elegant suit he’s ever worn and there have been plenty of dress robes he’s worn in his life yet nothing compares to the grandeur of the one he’s wearing at the moment. He looks to his side, noticing the mists that now become James, Remus, Peter, and Regulus standing a couple metres away from him.

His gaze now averted to where the rose petaled aisle ends. A woman was standing with her bouquet of flowers in her hand. Her beautiful silk dress sweeps the floor as she takes the first steps closer to him. Her face was still blurred, as if the mist was still trying to craft the person’s face. A small smile now tugs on the corner of Sirius’ lips, feeling proud and content of the setting he’s in. Whoever this person is, it pleases Sirius to know that the crystal ball predicted a pleasant romance in his future.

The vision felt real now as Sirius’ heart began to palpitate, feeling the warmth of her gloved hands as it reached for his. His smile grows wider, cheeks warm from the fulfilment. It no longer feels like he was watching a prophecy, no, it feels more like he was in the scene, slowly occupying the body that is now reciting the vows the priest was saying. The feeling only gets more intense as he finally shares the kiss with his bride. He swears he could feel her soft lips on his, the hint of cherry from her lip gloss and her warm heavy breathing on his skin. It feels too real to be just a forecast.

After what seems to be the shortest forever, they finally pull away. She was smiling, her warm eyes gazing back at him with love and admiration. Her features were soft, much more beautiful than how he always thought now that he no longer had to deny the beauty of his wife. She giggles, calling his name

“Sirius!” James silently yelled, nudging his best friend with an annoyed expression “You completely ignored me for the last five minutes!”

Sirius blinks, trying to comprehend his reality.

“You were gone,” His best friend continued “What happened? What did you see?”

The raven haired boy cleared his throat, “Nothing. I– Uh– I saw nothing.”

“Bullshit, you definitely saw something.” James scoffs “Your cheeks are red!”

“I didn’t see anything, alright!” Sirius defends with more persistence “Must be because of your shitty pronunciation or something, I don’t know!”

James frowns, muttering his confusion on how his spell fails when it wasn’t the most tongue-twisting one he’s done before. Sure he wasn’t the most brilliant out of them four with charms, but he was still better than most and nailing a spell in the first trial wasn’t a new thing for James. He wanted to argue more about the hunch he has that Sirius was lying but the boy looks like he’s seen a ghost. Perhaps the spell did work and the vision Sirius had was just something he’s not ready to talk about. Whatever it is, James has made it his mission to find out, be it today or tomorrow.

—-

The next couple of days the strange behaviour Sirius tries his best to hide is becoming more and more visible. He would skip his meals and turn the other way when she was around. Even when she was busy with her group of friends and completely unaware of his presence, Sirius would still avoid her like the plague. He would exchange seats in classes he shares with her, occupying the furthest spot from her and blocking his view physically from her.

And such action didn’t go unnoticed for too long.

“Have you been sick or did the dementors kidnap you, Black?” She mused, taking a seat opposite of him and next to Remus “I haven’t seen you lately.”

Sirius gulps, completely frozen in his seat.

“Morning, Love.” Remus greets her “He’s been avoiding everyone, don’t take it personally.”

“Has he? Here I thought I was a special someone to be receiving such treatment.”

“He’s been acting strange since divination class,” James says as he swallowed the bits of food in his mouth “We were fooling around and tried to read his future through the crystal ball and– Oof! What was that for?”

James yelped at the sudden nudge to his rib. Sirius glares at him, sending him a death threat.

“Really? I thought you said Divination is rubbish, Sirius.” She teased, her playful smile decorating her face “What did you see? Anything interesting?”

Sirius lowers his gaze to his plate of food, not daring to spend another second staring at her face. His skin feels warm, like the temperature somehow raised a couple degrees and he’s the only one boiled. 

The lack of response from him somehow twisted a knife she didn’t know was stabbing her heart. It was evident that he was avoiding her, for whatever reason he might have. His silent treatment now only proves the effort he’s made to keep his distance that she so hard convinced herself was nothing more than a mere illusion. Sirius, as loud and apparent as his claims of vexation for her all these years, still holds a soft spot and that their love-hate relationship was nothing more than a silly game of pretend. Perhaps she was wrong all along.

“Well, I’ve got to go,” She fakes a chirpy persona, taking his mute to be her cue to leave “I’ll see you gentlemen around.”

As if a splinter’s been taken off of his toe, Sirius lets out a relieved sigh once she leaves their table. The audible huff made his friends raise their brows high, completely lost at the charade he’s playing. The two would always bicker, picking fights and arguments over the slightest most trivial matters that more often than not the boys would wish that they could hex the two with some stunning spell. Yet for the first time in their lives, they’re left wondering why Sirius would zip his mouth shut in her presence.

“What?” Sirius asks, noticing the questioning eyes glued on him.

“Do you really expect us to look past the fact that you didn’t spare her a word for the first time in your life?” Peter asks, fully suspicious of his friend’s antics “Are you ill, Padfoot?”

James whines, “Come on, mate, tell us what you saw on that crystal ball.”

“I saw nothing, Prongs.” Sirius says with a more stern tone “And I’m not ill, Wormy.”

“Well you’re certainly not straight in the head.”

“Oh yeah, Moony? And what makes you say that?”

Remus shrugs, “You’ve been acting strange for days and now that she’s here you’re completely ignoring her. Did she break your heart or something?”

“No, no she didn’t.” Sirius fidgets, tapping on his cheek as he looks at Remus accusingly “Say, when you call her ‘Love’, do you just– You know, casually call girls that or do you mean it like.. I don’t know.. Like my Love kind of thing?”

Remus turned to James with a baffled expression while Peter now had his jaw hang low. The three boys are now whisked deeper into the maze, trying to decipher Sirius’ true intention. He was never as cryptic and never held secrets from the boys before, always been the most open and true to others yet he’s acting like a completely different person now.

“Oh Merlin, is that what you see?” James asks with a shocked tone “Moony and her? Did you see them snog each other?”

“What? No!”

“That wouldn’t make sense, Prongs. If Moony was snogging her then it should be Moony who’s seeing the prophecy, not Padfoot.” Peter comments, slowly understanding the riddle as the smirk grows on his face “Did you see your future with her, Pads?”

Sirius cheeks heat up, shaking his head vigorously, “No.”

“You totally did, you tosser!” Remus points out with a victorious smile “You actually saw a future with her, didn’t you?!”

Sirius buries his face to his palm, trying to cover his now crimson face.

“You are so pathetic, Pads.” James laughed, completely entertained by the sight in front of him “All these years expressing your disdain for her only to have the universe pairing you two all along.”

“I don’t know Prongs, he’s always been in love with her for me.” Remus pours more salt “He’s just too embarrassed to admit it.”

Peter chuckles, circling his arm around Sirius’ shoulder to make him come out of his shell, “So what exactly did you see, Padfoot?”

—-

Coming clean to the boys only made Sirius more conscious. They have been acting as persisting bees in his head, lecturing him non stop and urging him to let go of the cat and mouse game and just come forward with his feelings. Crystal gazing is one of the most conceivable forms of divination, as Remus notes, yet the chance of the prophecy being false was never zero. No kind of divination is 100% false proof and Sirius still couldn’t tell if the vision he saw was a true prediction of his future or was it just a manifestation of his deep desire for her.

And if all this hype was caused by the latter, Sirius wouldn’t know how to survive from the heartbreak.

So now he finds himself walking to the other side of the castle, taking small steps as he climbs the stairs to the Divination class. He has to see the prophecy once more, make sure that the spell James uttered that day was right and that the crystal ball was truly predicting his future with her. He needs to know that his head wasn’t playing tricks with him just because he’s been turning deaf to what his heart has been yearning for all these years.

Coming inside the class, Sirius' pace was put to halt when he spotted her, sitting on her usual table as she gazed into the crystal ball. She looks up to him, probably hearing the sound of the creaking wooden floor when he enters and flashes him a smile, looking surprised to see him yet appreciative at the same time.

“Sirius,” She calls with a pleasant tone “What a surprise.”

He gulps, “I– Uh, I think I left my textbook here.”

“Did you? I think the Professor stacks the left textbooks on that corner, perhaps you’ll find yours there.” She points at a cupboard, seemingly buying the lie Sirius came up with.

“What are you doing here?”

“Crystal gazing.” She answers “Would you like to join?”

Sirius hesitated but found himself sitting next to her, heart pounding loud inside his chest from the close space. Sure it wasn’t the first time they sat next to each other, but it certainly is the first time they’re together with no other soul present. This is the first time they act civil, if not friendly, to each other. This is the first time, after seeing their wedding prophecy, they’re at each other’s company.

“Should we see yours or my prophecy?”

“Yours.” Sirius answers.

“You’d like to see mine?”

“Can we do that?” He asks, completely oblivious of the topic “When I tried it with James he couldn’t see my prophecy.”

“Well, I am not James, am I?”

Sirius smiles.

“Put your hand just above the ball.. Yeah, just like that,” She instructed him, utterly unaware of the nervous havoc Sirius was feeling when she touched his hand and positioned it above the ball “Are you ready?”

He nods.

She begins to cast the spell, something similar to the one James uttered but this one was lengthier. Like she knew a different, more advanced, spell to use for their fortune telling ritual. Sirius' eyes now travels from her to the crystal ball, trying to see what her prophecy would be.

The clear ball slowly turns misty, just like when he did the gazing with James. He could see the Great Hall forming, with its long tables now exchanged with seats filled with who seemed to be graduating students. He could see her, sitting among these students with her eyes glued to the podium where he was shaking Dumbledore’s hand. He could see himself, jogging back to the empty seat next to her with a big bright smile, pulling her close to his embrace once he reached her and sealing her lips with his.

The vision was short. Much shorter than the one he saw with James but the intensity was just the same. He could practically feel her lips on his, the pressure of her body as he pulled her close, and the sweet scent of her perfume that he has just now learned much lighter than a fine spring breeze. It was too real to ever just be a vision.

He looks up to her, noticing her lack of expression, “You don’t look disgusted.”

“Why would I be disgusted?”

“I kissed you,” Sirius says with an unsure tone “You saw that too, didn’t you? Or was that just me?”

She narrows her eyes, “What are you talking about?”

Sirius turns pale, gulping at the fact that he just blurted out what he saw.

He opens his mouth, only to close it again in the lack of words. His brain stopped functioning at the very time he needed to explain something to her. His blood turns cold, scared to death that he’s making it awkward between them but before he could actually pass out, she lets out a heartfelt laughter.

“Merlin, you’re so pale right now!” She says between her laughter “I’m only joking, Black. I know.”

He raised an eyebrow, “You know?”

“Yeah, I know.” She affirms with a nod, resting her hand under her chin as she watches him intently “This isn’t the first prophecy I have that involves you in it.”

“It wasn’t?”

“Nope. I had one too many about you, if I’m being honest.”

“Did you?”

“Yes,” She answers with a smile “Are you going to continue with your two worded question? I mean it’s cute, but certainly out of character from the typical Sirius Black.”

Sirius’ cheeks turn red, turning silent this time.

The glee from her face waters down fast, noticing the silence she’s caused between them. If he didn’t know better, Sirius would’ve sworn that he saw a glimmer of disappointment and heartbreak in her eyes, but why would she feel such feelings, right?

“I– Uh– I just remembered I have this thing to do,” She says abruptly as she she stood from her seat, evidently trying to flee from the situation and packing her belongings “I hope you’ll find your textbook, Sirius.”

And with that, she left.

—-

To say that he feels horrible from how their encounter ended would be an understatement. Something about her departure feels off, like he just did a grave mistake he wasn’t sure what about. The way her smile dilutes and the dimmed glint of spark in her eyes as she left haunts him.

He tries to recall the last moments before disaster strikes. He couldn’t look past the strangeness of how she called him cute one moment and bolted out the door the next. What went wrong?

“Someone’s pinching your bird,” James coos.

Sirius raised an eyebrow, “Meaning?”

“We just saw Lucius asking your girl for a Hogsmeade date.” Remus adds, taking a seat next to him “She didn’t say yes, though. Wait, did she or did she not? I’m not sure, we left before she could give an answer but I’m betting she said no.”

“I bet 5 galleons she said yes.”

“Wormtail!” Sirius says with a pure betrayed expression “I thought you were on my side!”

“I was, but you’re slacking mate.” Peter reasoned with a shrug “Whatever issue you think you have with her is certainly more important to you than the prophecy you’ve seen before your own eyes. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“I’m with Wormy,” James nods “I bet she says yes to ugly snobby Lucius.”

Sirius lets out a gasp, completely surprised at his friends’ betrayal.

“You know what, maybe you’re right. Maybe she said yes.”

“Moony!”

Remus shrugs.

“She said no.” Sirius says with confidence, firmly “She said no, you wanna know why? Because she too saw her prophecies with me. Yeah, prophecies, meaning multiple times. Loads of times. She saw her future with me so she would not say yes to Lucius’ invite.”

The boys look at each other, confused and surprised at the new information dropped.

“I don’t know mate, it seems like she said yes.”

Sirius turns his sight to the direction James was pointing at. There they were, her and Lucius entering the Great Hall with what seems to be the most intriguing conversation ever. She was smiling, her cheeks red from all the laughter. Her eyes were glued on Lucius, as if no one else were present in the room, as if Sirius wasn’t in the room.

Jealousy was never in his dictionary but for the first time in his life, Sirius has never ever wanted to pluck someone and hex them to disintegrate until now. Exactly what can a guy as arrogant and grim as Lucius say to make her laugh like that? No one should deserve to see her bright smile and hear her melodious laughter. No one but him.

“Better work your way soon, Padfoot.” Remus comments “Or else your vision would turn into nothing more than a mere fantasy.”

—-

“Wait, wait!” Sirius shouts as he runs, trying to catch her before she vanishes again “Wait!”

She turns, looking surprised to see the boy with sweat laced skin coming to her. His hair was dishevelled, not that Sirius ever combed it neatly, but much more messy than the usual. He looks as if he’s run through every corner of the castle, trying to find her.

And in reality, he did.

“Black,” She calls, hands folding in front of her chest “Can I help you?”

“Yes,” He nods, catching his breath “Tell me you did not say yes to Lucius’ invite.”

She blinks, looking completely appalled at his request.

“My friends told me Lucius asked you for a date. Please tell me you said no to him.”

A frown forms on her face, “Why do you care what I said to him?”

“Well you’re my future, aren’t you? Of course I care about what you said to him.” Sirius reasoned “Now will you please release me from this torment and just say that you said no to him.”

She stares at him as if he’s grown an extra head. Sirius could feel his feet cold, shrinking down under her gaze. There’s nothing he wished he could do more than to read her mind right now. Something went wrong that day, Sirius knows it he can feel it, he just doesn’t know what it is and he fears that it would only be the gasoline to the supposedly budding romance between her and others.

“I don’t get you, Sirius.” She begins with a disappointed tone “First you act like you didn’t want me to be your future and yet now that someone asks me to be their date, you suddenly want me? How is that fair?”

“Wait, what?” He asked, appalled “When did I ever say I don’t want you to be my future?”

“You’ve been ignoring me ever since you saw that prophecy with James, whatever it may be about, and you went silent when I told you that I know about our prophecies.” She reasoned, her nostrils flaring from the vexation she could finally burst in “It's pretty clear to me that you don’t want me to be in your future.”

“You– You think I was avoiding you because I didn’t want you to be my future?”

“I don’t know, do you have any better explanation than that?”

“Yes,” He answers, only to shake his head the next minute “I mean, no, but–”

Sirius runs his hand through his hair, looking visibly frustrated at the misunderstanding they somehow got entangled in. He looks at her, who's still waiting for his explanation, and flashes her a sad smile. He was never good with words, not at crucial moments like this, but he knew that if he didn’t try tonight, he might as well say goodbye to the prophecies that have turned into the dreams he’s seeing every night in his sleep now.

“Do you even remember when we started to be so hostile to each other?” He asks gently.

She shakes her head, unsure on where the conversation is being directed to.

“I don’t either but I’ve always known why I could never be friendly with you.”

She gulps, asking with a voice barely above a whisper, “Why?”

“Because I don’t believe that someone as perfect as you exists in this world. I just can’t.” He confessed, a shameful smile shown on his face “I just couldn’t believe that someone as smart, as lovely, and as beautiful as you is real and I don’t think anyone is deserving of that. Even for someone as narcissistic as I am.”

“As you are?”

“Especially as I am.” He repeats “And I thought, if I couldn’t love you I should just hate you. Maybe that would water down the affection I have for you over the years and I have been doing just fine with denying my feelings for you until James stupidly made me gaze into that stupid crystal and I saw it. I saw us.”

Her facial expression softens, yielding to the sweet words he’s uttering, “What did you see?”

“I saw you walking down the aisle.”

She smiles.

“And I was there.” He continues “As the groom, if that wasn’t clear in the first place.”

A laughter broke from her lips, easing Sirius’ mind that he could finally diffuse the tension.

“You were beautiful in white.” He adds, eyes full of love and affection “And I can’t wait to finally be on that day so please, for the sake of my pathetic tottering heart, please tell me that you said no to Lucius.”

She begins to sniffle as the beads of tears that were decorating her tears started to fall. Her eyes were still glued on him, watching him as if he was the one thing she ever asked the universe to give and have finally been granted of it. Her shoulders were relaxed yet no matter how beautiful the sight he’s seeing right now, Sirius still couldn’t find peace until she gave him her assurance.

“Please tell me those are happy tears and not because you said yes to Lucius.”

“Oh, bloody hell, can we please stop talking about him? You’re ruining our moment!”

“Well I can’t really enjoy our moment with the possibility of you going on a date with someone else still hanging now, can I?!”

“Are we seriously arguing right now?”

“I don’t want to but it just feels so natural to argue with you.” Sirius huffs “So did you or did you not agree to his date, woman?”

“I did not.” She finally says, mirroring his exasperated expression “Happy now?”

“Very.”

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

“You are very annoying, do you know that?” Sirius asks, his brows still furrow in irritation.

“No, not really. Must have slipped off my mind, just like every other million times you utter it.” She says with her hands now resting on her hips “Is that all?”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, “How do you mean?”

“Well did you look for me just to ask if I said yes to Lucius? Or do you have something else you wanted to do with me other than confessing your, as you claim, pathetic tottering heart?”

Sirius opens his mouth, taking full offence at her mocking of his confession, but her question birthed a new urge in his heart. He’s confessed to her and she has accepted it, so it seems, would it be proper for him now to ask for a kiss? Would it be a proper time for him to ask for them to seal their future romantic endeavours?

His cheeks begin to turn rosy at the thought of finally kissing her. The emotions from the prophecies start to fill his chest, now feeling much less satisfying than how they used to. With her standing in front of him now and giving him the same heart eyes, the image of them kissing now could barely mean a thing as the possibility that such a pleasant gesture could happen any time soon. And he prays to whoever deity up there that it would happen sooner than later.

“So? Do you really just want to confess?” She asks, giving him hints now that she too wanted the delightful image to come to reality “Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Sirius, don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet now.”

“You just never know when to shut up, do you?”

With that, Sirius takes his bold steps to her, finally sealing their lips together. He could feel his soul bursting in flames, melting into one with her. He never knew that he was so deprived of such fortune until he finally tastes her, until he finally feels his body pressed into his, until he finally has her.

“Do you still think Divination’s rubbish now?”

“Still rubbish,” He answers between their kisses “Sweet rubbish.”

#sirius black #sirius black imagine #sirius black imagines #sirius black scenario #sirius black scenarios #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fanfic #sirius black oneshot #sirius black fluff #sirius black angst #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x oc

[loserlvrss]

꒰ 𝐁𝐀𝐃 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐀 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓? ꒱ 古賀祐大

summary : you and your boyfriend broke up on bad terms, however, you can't seem to get over him when it would be so easy to be under him instead

genre : angst, non-idol!k x afab!reader, 1st person pov (yeah idk why either) tws : angst, suggestive content, kissing, alcohol consumption, language, toxic!k, lovesick!reader, jealousy, verbal fight author notes : fuma’s innocent don’t do girl don’t do itttt word count : 2.2k

my phone pinged! and i debated ignoring it — for the nth time in the last hour. the music was blasting, the bass shaking the house in a dub-step rhythm. i took another swig from the metal can that had somehow made it into my hands as another text rang out and caught the attention of the girl attached to my arm. the smooth liquid was the best the bottom-shelf had to offer, and beggars can't be choosers when trying to get drunk fast.

her eyebrows knit, eyes locking on the piece of machinery closest to her sights, then raising to mine.

honestly, right now, i wanted to throw the overly-expensive communication piece at the wall and watch it shatter. i looked to her, the phone, and then the can, taking the rest of it back and crushing it like a frat-boy would.

she huffed out a laugh, "you didn't block him?" but, it wasn't so hard to believe and she knew it just as well as i did.

i still loved him, even after the couple of months we've been broken up; it's not because it was on good terms. actually, it was the complete opposite: we were shit to each other and it was best we went our separate ways. we should, in reality, hate each other. it would only be the natural thing for two people in our situation to do — however, i can't help fighting the urge to reply.

her disappointment was apparent, “y/n, are you kidding me. he’s not even here right now but you can’t stop thinking about him! pick any other guy, i beg.”

my senses were colliding like a car-wreck — leaving my better judgment in the leftover to never be found again. i could see the red and blue and hear the sirens howling out to the moon. still, even under my dying breath, his name would roll off it.

“i-i’m tryi —“

“don’t be ridiculous, i know you well.” she said, fishing the phone that wouldn’t stop buzzing out of my hand. she read out the top text, “y/n, come over. i need to apologize. I need y — he’s drunk. he only ever says shit like this when he’s drunk! you forget he was my friend before he ever dated you. and, god, do i regret introducing you to him.”

my heart sank, a nausea creeping up my throat. he was bleeding me dry, i knew it, but he could have it all; my skin, bones, blood and teeth.

“block his number before you do something we’ll both regret!” she handed it back, “you know i only want what’s best for you — you’re you for fuck sake! you could have anyone, and i mean anyone, yet the only person in your head only texts you at two fucking a.m. you deserve better than him, don’t kid yourself.”

tears pricked my eyes because i knew it was true, but the shooting pain only went away when his hands were on my skin. it was better to stay away, to not take the risk. he should’ve been — should be — the one to get away, and sometimes i also wished she’d never introduced me to the devil under a different name.

“okay,” i sniffled, her palm resting against my cheek comfortingly, “i’ll block him.”

“good.” she unlocked her arm from mine, pushing me forward, “now go find someone better! god knows the bar is low!”

i felt the brush of a body against mine as i found myself smack in the middle of the crowd. my head whipped to the sights of a boy, probably around the same age as me, half-lidded eyes and flushed features. he apologized but, honestly, it was my — her — fault, though he didn’t seem to register that it was anything but an accident, probably too drunk to.

it was an envious state, i thought.

i smiled lightly, her words echoing my mind, “its okay. i’m sorry. my name’s y/n.” his face was soft with godly-defined structure: sharp nose, eyes and plush lips that upturned with a smile resembling mine.

“fuma!” he said, trying to shout over the music. however, something about his tone told me he wasn’t loud, exactly the opposite in fact: gentle, and warm. something my boyfriend — ex — had lacked when we were still together once upon a time. “you’re very, uh, beautiful.”

i laughed at his awkwardness, though i had to read his lips to understand. “thank you,” i replied, pulling him down to my height to hear each other better. my lips brushed against the shell of his ear. “you’re very pretty too.”

he visibly shuddered as i pulled away, furthering my slight sense of pride, mostly because i never had an effect over the only person i wanted to.

he choked out, “d-do you want a drink?” and i nodded, grabbing at his empty hand. the friend i had come with gave me an approving smile and shrugged as if to say the cliché, 'he's cute and you only live once.' he froze, obviously a little shocked by our sudden intimacy, however he brushed it away and led us both to a quieter area; weaving through lip-locked and timely-jumping college students.

i found myself pushing up onto the counter top, watching as he grabbed two beers from an already opened case. they were warm, but again, beggars can’t be choosers when trying to get drunk. he cracked it open and handed it in my direction.

his eyes wouldn’t land on mine, but only stared at the lips that were taking the smooth liquid so easily, watching my throat bob with every gulp. he shifted, leaning against the painted-wood-plastic at my side.

after a moment of deafening silence he asked. “do you go to this school?”

“no.” i replied, letting the can rest against my crossed legs, “i’m here with a friend.”

“a boyfriend?”

the words stung, because no matter the truth, i still wanted to say yes. i still wanted to be able to call the person i loved so deeply my boyfriend — to have him pick me up from this stupid frat-party and not have anyone say anything about it. i still wanted him, and i knew exactly why, though i’d never admit it.

i bit my lip and fuma must’ve, even through his clouded state, read the room. “a sensitive subject, i’m sorry.”

“don’t be sorry, i, uh, don’t have a boyfriend.”

“anymore.” he corrected. maybe it was because he was drunk that his words, even slurred, were so truth-filled it stung. “but i can tell you still want him to be.”

“no,” you paused, both knowing it was a lie, “i want to forget about him. he’s not here.”

“he’s not?”

“i don’t give half-a-fuck where he is in actuality.” you swallowed a bit of your pride, as well as some beer, “if he wanted to, he would. right?”

“right.” he replied, taking another swig.

i looked at him, all of him in disbelief. he knew i was a liar, but at the end of the day he didn’t even know me the way my ex could claim. maybe, i thought, that it was the best possible situation for me to be in. actually, it was the best i could make of this fucked up reality.

my voice lowered ever-so-slightly, “do you want to?”

“be your boyfriend?”

“woah, slow down there cowboy. let’s not go that far right now — we both know i’m not over my ex.”

i couldn’t tell if his face flushed from embarrassment or just the copious amount of alcohol running through his blood. “then, do i want to what?” he breathily-laughed out.

“make me forget?”

my reply almost sounded desperate, and i wondered if that resulted in an inclination to say yes. i wondered if that’s why i was pressed against the countertop i once sat criss-crossed on, lips locked with a stranger.

i felt guilty — a little lost — the sense of feeling so good but so wrong leaking through the thought of him; the man whose hands desperately groped whatever he could find, pressing our bodies so close i was convinced we could merge into one.

a moment ago it was true i wanted him to make me forget about my ex, i wanted him just as bad as he did me. but right now, the flashes of someone else strobed behind my eyelids, projected so nicely that i even wanted to forgive him — for the nth time in the years we spent on and off. i wanted to feel the intimacy of love, even if it was fake, but i couldn't when the only person i felt stockholm syndrome for was across the city.

but, a bus ride at this hour would be easy. it would take barely half and hour before i was underneath the man i wanted so pathetically.

my body shivered, but it wasn’t from the way fuma gripped my skin so gently. i felt a coursing guilt rush over me like a bad high. in reality, i knew i shouldn’t have offered, especially when both him and i were under copious amounts of influence; him worse-off than me. i was taking advantage of a good situation, a seemingly good guy, just to get over a bad for 40 minutes.

maybe i was just crazy — not crazily in love — but just plain fucking crazy. crazy for a man who wasn't mine anymore. crazy because i knew i shouldn't want him. crazy because i knew i was just losing a part of me that should've been lost a long time ago. crazy at the thought of being crazy.

"y/n" god, now i could ever swear i was hearing voices — his voice. well, that was until a hand grabbed my bicep, pulling me away from the tall man. "y/n, what the fuck are you doing?"

i didn't even get a chance to swing around fully before i was being pulled from the kitchen and out of the house entirely. the air was frosty, but honestly i couldn't be bothered to even feel cold; too annoyed to think of anything but the man who was still latched to my arm. eventually, i got fed up, after feeling copious amounts of despair fill my chest, pulling my limb from him.

he turned around calmly, despite the red i could see seeping behind his pupils. he tried to grab my hand this time, but i back away before he had the chance.

"don't — don't touch me, k." i crossed my chilled arms over my chest, one foot back and prepared to step again, "what are you doing here?"

"you weren't answering."

i scoffed, "i never answer, k. that's nothing new."

he didn't hesitate, and it was a little shocking, "your location is still on."

"that doesn't give you th-the right to just show up out of the blue!"

and despite being mad at him, he looked so damn cute with a pout on his face. i could tell he was somewhat drunk, a pink tinting his features i used to adore oh-so-much.

"but, you weren't answe —"

you yelled, "why would i answer you, k!" i couldn't understand his infatuation with the fact that i didn't answer his late-night texts, but maybe he was just as lovesick as i felt. "wh-why would i do that after all this time?"

was he just as damaged as i was? did he really still front like he cared, and was i still falling for it over and over again? it's said that to forgive takes strength, but right now i think that holding back is taking more out of me. he had my heart in his hands still, and despite dropping it countless times, he always knew when and where to pick it back up.

i wasn't sure if i loved him, but i'm just as unsure about not being in love with him. he's driving me to brink of insanity. he's gotten everything out of me, and it's taking everything in me to not muster up more.

if i had known that love would've had such a high price tag, would i still have felt the same way towards him? maybe the good could out-weigh this bad, but i was never one to wishful think before meeting his stupid-pretty eyes. i was never one to feel so unsure before having his stupid-hot skin on mine. i was never one to wear my heart on sleeve before he oh-so-gently pulled it out of me.

and maybe he was unsure too. maybe he didn't know why i wouldn't — couldn't — answer his messages. maybe he was one to think so highly of himself that s breaking up was just a suggestion.

did i love him enough to give him a fourth, fifth and sixth chance? yes. i loved him enough to forgive and forget after every little mistake, and that's what's eating at my brain. the hardest thing I've ever had to do was walk away while still loving him. so, why doesn't it feel like it's for the better? why doesn't his memory fade like its supposed to.

"admit that you only came to see if i was with someone else." i sighed, tears blurring over his frame, "admit that it was because you were blinded by jealousy. admit that you still want me, that you can't get over us as easily as i thought. admit that you still lo —"

"i love you, y/n."

reblogs, likes and comments are greatly appreciated! thank u!

#&team #kpop #kpop requests #kpop imagines #kpop writing #kpop bg #kpop oneshots #kpopidol #&team imagines #&team k #murata fuma #&team x reader #&audition #kpop suggestive #koga yudai #kpop angst #kpop fluff #kpop x reader #kpop fanfic #kpop scenarios #fluff #angst #k labels #&team fuma #suggestive

[liz-allyn]

sugar and vice, pt. 17 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: time for a reckoning.

words: 9.5k

chapter warning: angst. bitter feelings.. description of a shooting.

series warnings: mob-typical violence, bang bang shoot shoot, whomp. hurt/comfort. s*xu*l situations. spousal ab^se. family trauma. dr^g 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 remember when TVs were square, you should not be here.

Back to Part 16.

Part 17

Twelve hours after she last saw Peter, she emerged from her bedroom for the first time. It was already past lunchtime, but she didn’t have much of an appetite. Wearing a comfortable athleisure set with a soft fleece half-zip pullover (with plenty of pockets), she took only a glance down the hallway at Peter’s door. The door to the primary bedroom was closed, shrouded in shadow.

“If you’re lookin’ for ‘em, he’s not here,” a feminine voice called from downstairs. It was Felicia. 

Honey followed the sound and padded down the stairs to see the other woman standing next to Rex’s terrarium. With her long, silver hair flowing down her back, she leaned down and curiously watched Rex chase after a tiny swarm of crickets. Her eyes were focused with morbid curiosity, tongue poking slightly out of her lip as she studied how the lizard moved. He darted around in the blink of an eye, gobbling up the tiny insects and crushing them in his jaws. He was so much faster when he had something to hunt.

“Didn’t know you were here,” Honey said, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. “Got a meeting or something?”

“Nah, I’m on my lunch break,” she smirked. “Mafia stuff works up an appetite.” She straightened her back and let out a long sigh. “Wanna go do somethin’?”

Her brow furrowed. “What?”

“Well,” Felicia explained, “I was thinkin’ we could hang out. Just us girls. Get some lunch. Go get our nails done. Do some shopping. Stop by the hospital and snap a few x-rays?”

Honey’s shoulders slumped, her face falling flat. “Thanks, but I’m fine.”

“That’s not what I heard,” Felicia replied teasingly. “I heard you almost took a flaming bumper to the face. Pretty close call. Then again, I’ve had worse dates, though—”

“What did Peter tell you?” Honey asked sharply, her lips pressed together.

Felicia furrowed her brows. “All he told me was that you should probably see a doctor,” she frowned, disappointed at the hostility. “Nothin’ else.”

Honey rolled her eyes. “You ever get tired of doing what he tells you to do?”

Felicia blinked her long plush lashes several times, then replied calmly. “I’m not here because he told me to be. I’m here because I thought you needed a friend.” Honey swallowed hard, glancing away toward the bright windows and letting the light burn her eyes. “But if that’s not something you need right now, I get that too. Just say so.”

She sighed, and when she faced Felicia again, her eyes were red-rimmed. A lump settled in her throat, and her voice was a weak murmur. “It’s not the pain that bothers me. It’s the fear.” 

She bit down on her jaw to steady it, attempting to ward off tears with her loathing. She looked over at Felicia to see the woman watching her patiently, brows pinched together with concern. 

“For a second there, I thought I was gonna die,” she explained grimly. “I saw the flash... and I felt the heat— and I-I thought I was already dead.” Her eyes misted over, and she brought the back of her hands up to rub them angrily. She sniffed. “I was going to die and couldn’t do anything about it. I’d rather break every bone in my body than feel that again. I’d rather die, th-than feel...”

She couldn’t finish the sentence, biting down on her tongue. She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. She flung out a million curse words in her brain, admonishing herself for crying in front of Felicia. Self-loathing bubbled up in her chest. A cruel, bitter chuckle escaped her throat as she reminisced over her suggestion to ‘embrace her power.’ It was a joke to think she had anything of the sort.

“Helpless,” Felicia supplied solemnly. 

Honey glanced up at her. Blinking with surprise, she observed how the other woman held herself. Arms crossed tight in front of her chest. Whatever difficulty Honey had with eye contact, Felicia had it worse. The taller woman pressed her lips together, grimacing.

When the two women finally met each other’s eyes, Honey was perplexed. It wasn’t pity on Felicia’s face—not like she’d feared. Instead, there was a painful solidarity between them. 

As Honey opened her mouth to speak, Felicia strode up to her, arms extended. Then, too quickly and perhaps too awkwardly, the taller woman hunched down and pulled her into a tight embrace.

Honey gasped at the action. She was hugging her. Honey wasn’t tall enough to place her chin on Felicia’s shoulder. Instead, she leaned into the hug, resting her chin against her clavicle. 

Awkward as it was, it was a very pleasant hug. The smaller woman returned it as best she could, despite the throbbing ache in her side. At that moment, she could look past that pain and allow herself to feel the embrace. 

Felicia gave good hugs, she decided.

Tears welled up in Honey’s eyes, and she allowed herself to feel those, too.

Thirty-six hours after she last saw Peter, she curiously poked her head into the empty primary bedroom to see it untouched. Sheets were pristine and smoother than glass. His toothbrush and toiletries were missing from the bathroom.

Peter had granted her wish. Both of them—it appeared, including the request she made before their shoot-out at the arcade. She wanted space, and now she had it. 

Not only had Peter not made an appearance, but every faceless guard had strangely vacated the penthouse. It was quiet in the morning haze. Peaceful.

She spent the day alone with Rex on her shoulder. They found plenty of things to do. After all, they were in a million-dollar home. They had endless hours of TV to watch. They had access to a full home gym (which she hadn’t bothered to enter until now and wasn’t going to while icing a hairline-fractured rib, no matter what Rex said about accountability). She had a library of beloved novels to read, a heated infinity pool on the roof, and a $5,000 coffee maker. 

What more could she possibly need?

Thirty-seven hours after Peter, she noticed no more lights coming from the camera in her bedroom. Or in the hall. Or in the primary bedroom, or the great hall, or the terrace entrance, or the kitchen, or anywhere else she looked. 

Thirty-eight hours after Peter.

Thirty-nine hours after Peter.

Forty hours after Peter.

Forty-six hours after Peter, she tucked herself into the covers of her own bed. She was exhausted, and the doctor-prescribed 4-6 hour pain medication had worn off. 

She embraced the pain like it was her child. It was grounding and balanced the self-righteous anger that burned in her chest. 

Peter wasn’t coming back tonight. It’s probably best, she thought. 

He’s probably fucking someone else, she thought.

Probably best.

The third day without Peter brought a pleasant surprise. Hearing a knock at the front door, she rushed into the foyer with Rex on her shoulder. The knock itself was odd since no one ever knocked. No one asked for her permission to enter. The place wasn’t ‘hers’ to grant people entry to. Or was it?

Curiously, she pulled the door open, and her heart filled with joy. “Miles!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around the teen. Rex skittered around almost up on her head, displeased with the lack of personal space.

“Hey,” he chuckled, surprised as he returned the embrace, “whassup? I mean, I know I’m a sight for sore eyes, but—”

Grinning wide, she pulled back. “Hell yeah, you are! I’ve missed you so much! How are you? What are you doing here? What have you been up to?”

“Whoooaa,” he replied, hands outstretched. “We’ll get to all that later. First, can I come in?”

Honey flexed a brow. “Can you—you’re asking me?”

“I was asking Rex, but he doesn’t have thumbs.”

She blinked, stunned. “Ye-yeah, sure. Come in!”

“Cool! Alright, second thing—I’m hungry.”

Honey and Miles sat together on the floor in the TV room with empty boxes of Filipino takeout around them. Miles took the last lumpia roll after Honey insisted that she was stuffed. She had yet to learn where the skinny kid was putting all the food.

They spent several hours catching up on the latest teenage drama. Miles did most of the talking. He filled her ears with everything from his college applications, an opportunity he received to paint a mural at a local Boys and Girls Club, to the pretty girl he ran into (literally) while leaving a bodega. She was amused and engaged—and overall honored that he would share his stories with her and allow her to be a sounding board. She lamented not being able to do the same with her sisters.

On her part, Honey didn’t have much to say about her recent experiences, nor did she really want to. However, a question kept prickling the back of her mind.

“So. Um.” She cleared her throat, wiping her hands with a napkin as the hour grew late. “Have you, um, talked to Peter lately?”

Miles pressed his lips together, glancing at her briefly before his eyes fell to the ground. “Nah. Not directly.” Several moments of silence passed. “Haven’t seen ‘em since—” He bit his tongue. “For a while.”

She hummed in acknowledgment. “Probably a good idea,” she said. 

Another pause. Miles watched her curiously. “I miss him.”

A bitter laugh she couldn’t contain burst from her lips. “I can’t imagine why.”

He raised a brow. “He’s not a bad person.”

She turned towards him accusingly. “How can you say that? You know what he is.” She connected the memory of Miles storming out of the penthouse after accusing him of being ‘on something,’ and the horrifying picture of Peter sticking a needle in his arm and becoming—something else. “You’ve seen what he’s done.” 

“I have,” Miles nodded knowingly, although his tone didn’t suggest that he agreed with her. He shifted his position and gazed down at his shoes, losing himself in thought. “I’m worried about him, y’know.”

Honey rolled her eyes. “Miles. Seriously. You need to worry about yourself.” She connected with his eyes, imploring. “Peter is dangerous. The life he lives is dangerous. You need to stay as far away from him as you can.”

Miles fixed his gaze on her, studying her reaction. “I’ve known Peter since I was a kid.”

“You still are a kid—”

“I mean it,” he declared. Honey observed the resolve in his expression and silenced herself, allowing him to speak without interruption. “I’ve seen him when things are bad, yeah. But I’ve also seen him at his best. There’s good and bad in him. In everybody.”

Sighing, Honey listlessly nodded. “Two wolves. I know. I know.”

Another long silence filled the air, prompting her to look over at him. There was a darkened expression in his eyes, mouth in a tight line, as he gazed at the wall.

“Did I tell you I almost went to jail?” he asked. A crease formed between her eyebrows. She shook her head in confusion. “Yeah,” he added, nodding sadly. A dark cloud rested over him. “It was, um—It was a few years ago. Not long after my mom got hurt.” He crossed his arms tightly. “It was when we moved from Brooklyn. Things sucked that first year. I was in a school I didn’t like. Didn’t have any friends. My dad had to start dropping me off at the front because I didn’t want to go. It was embarrassing.”

The slightest glimmer of amusement tweaked his eye, and Honey grasped at it with a warm smile. Then, just as quickly as the light appeared, it went out again like a flame in the wind.

“I got into fights a lot,” Miles said without pride. “I was angry, y’know? A lot.”

With solemn eyes, she bit her lip, nodding. Violence was still somewhat new to her, at least from the perpetrating side. Anger she knew intimately.

“Everyone tried to talk to me about it. My counselors at school told my dad that I needed to see a therapist. But how was I supposed to talk to anybody? I couldn’t even tell them who I was, or what happened—”

His voice clipped. He swallowed hard. Her brows furrowed with concern as she watched tears well in his eyes. 

“This one day, I don’t know. I lost it. I was walking home from school, and this kid from my class saw me. He was older than me, like 17 or something. This dude... sucked. Just not cool. Always messin’ with me. But on this day, I-I guess I wasn’t havin’ none of it. And I hit him. He went down, just one hit.” A smirk formed on his face. “It felt kinda good to shut him up.”

His half-smile faded, eyes darkening. “And then I hit him again. He was on the ground, and I-I just couldn’t stop.” 

His voice was wracked with shame. Honey reached out and grabbed his hand, wrapping her fingers tightly around his.

“Next thing I know, I feel hands pulling me off,” he swallowed dryly. “I’m tryin’ to fight all of ‘em. I don’t know, I guess I thought— Like, I was back there? Where they took me.” 

Tears welled in her eyes, as she sadly nodded with understanding.

“I kept fighting. Everyone. I wanted to hurt everyone—”

“Miles,” she said, heart aching. “None of that was your fault. You were probably having a flashback, you weren’t yourself—”

“Let me finish.” 

She silenced herself, stowing her pity.

“Pete was the one that stopped me. He stopped me. He hugged me. Told me to go home. So I did what he said. When the cops came, they weren’t lookin’ for me. They were looking for him. He told them that he was the one who beat up that kid. Said he was a punk that needed a lesson.” 

She sat motionlessly, stewing over the information. Miles looked up at her. “He took the fall for me. I asked him why. He saved my life, he got my family outta New York. Why do more than that? He said he believed in me. He saw what I did and believed I could be better than that. But if I had a record, no one was going to see past that.” His voice sounded tenser, stretched thin with emotion. “He saw me at my worst, and still—he tried to protect me. All he’s ever done since he got me outta that warehouse is try to protect me. Protect the people he cares about.”

Honey glanced away, her brows furrowed. Then, gently, she replied, “I understand why you feel that way, Miles. But he’s not just doing all this to protect us. He’s not keeping us safe.”

“Nah,” Miles nodded, shrugging with a half-smile. “Pete does what he does because he’s crazy. He’s messed up. Seriously.” She smirked back for a moment, the gesture failing to reach her eyes. “But I love ‘em, too. He’s family. That’s what families are for.”

Her heart cracked at his admission. She felt an overwhelming sense of pity for the teen. He was so pure. So naive. 

Carefully choosing her words, she gently replied, “Miles, I’m not sure you fully realize what Peter’s capable of.”

He nodded, then said, “I am, though. He saved my life. That’s what he’s capable of.” He added thoughtfully. “That’s the Peter Parker I believe in. The kinda guy that’s gonna make a good dad someday.” 

She observed him quietly, biting her tongue. The image of Peter holding a baby branded itself into her brain. She pictured him taking a hike near the mountain retreat with a small child sitting on his shoulders. 

Was Peter a boy dad or a girl dad? 

He was great with Miles in the moments that she saw them together. Peter had a knack for teaching. He gushed with enthusiasm when he’d explain a concept to Miles, whether nuclear fusion or chemical bonds. He made it sound interesting—even to her.

She could imagine Peter taking his boy by the hand and guiding him through the woods. Through adolescence. Struggling with the need to show them the world and all of its wonder and simultaneously wanting to shield him from it.

Then Honey remembered how Bella clung to Peter at her mom’s apartment. The child tugged on his pant leg, and he’d crouch down to meet her eyes. He didn’t patronize her when he spoke to her. He gave her his undivided attention, and Bella lit up inside to have it.

The memory of Bella pierced her heart, leaving a pang in her chest. “I don’t know about that,” Honey replied to Miles, her tone darker. “This is the same guy who has my niece hidden in a bunker somewhere.”

When she glanced over, Miles stared at her like she’d grown an extra arm. “What are you talking about?”

She sighed, eyes misty. “My niece, Bella. I miss her so much. Peter has her hidden somewhere, and he won’t tell me where.” Her brows furrowed in pain. “She’s just a baby.”

Miles blinked at her. Several times. “It’s not safe to know.”

She groaned with frustration. “Yeah, so I’ve heard.”

“No, you don’t get it. Peter can’t tell you where she is because he doesn’t know. No one does. That’s the whole point.”

Her head snapped towards him, eyes wide. “What?”

He shifted his body around, turning his shoulders towards her. “Only one person knows where your family is, and they’re not talking.”

She gazed at him, perplexed. 

“They’re not gonna say anything.” He wore a knowing look. She stared at him, her mind spinning. When she opened her mouth to speak, Miles raised his hand, silencing her. “That’s enough heavy stuff for one night. Let’s get back to the game.”

With that, he turned towards the OLED panel in the room and grabbed one of the two Nintendo controllers next to them. Waking up the Switch, he navigated to a new screen, pulling up a character selection.

“I got Bowser this time. You wanna be Yoshi again?”

Honey stared at him, deeply confused. Miles turned to her, picking up the controller and putting it in her hands when she didn’t reply. “C’mon, we gotta get started. My neighbor’s gonna play us online.” He poked her in the arm to get her attention, then nudged his head towards the Mario Kart selection screen. 

Confused, she glanced over at the characters. There was a Third Player.

“Cat Peach,” Honey said, staring at the Third Player’s character selection. “Bella loves Princess Peach.” When she looked back at Miles, he was a brick wall. Complete silence. Face neutral. Staring straight ahead at the TV screen, waiting for Honey to pick.

She curled her brow upwards, glancing at Miles, then back to the Third Player. Tears welled in her eyes as she observed the avatar on the screen. Her niece’s avatar. Her niece. Miles’ neighbor. Miles—mostly likely with his father’s help—had hid Bella and the rest of her family.

Tears flowed down her cheeks as she turned back to Miles, her jaw agape. He avoided looking straight at her, taking a sip of his third Mountain Dew. “C’mon now. Some of us have an early bedtime.”

One week after she last saw Peter, another surprise guest appeared. Because Felicia had been by every day, that’s who she expected to find at the door. Honey gasped with delight when she saw who it really was.

With twinkling eyes and hands deep in the pockets of his hoodie, Eddie smiled back. “If it isn’t Nancy Reagan.” 

They spent the next half-hour catching up. Honey profusely apologized—unnecessarily—to him for being the cause of another fallout. He rejected her apology—repeatedly— but accepted her offering of two-thirds of a strawberry cheesecake. 

Honey eventually got around to addressing the splinter under her skin. 

“So. Did Peter send you here to spy on me?” she asked, unsure if she wanted the answer.

“Nope.” He shook his head. She couldn’t help the strange way her heart sank at his answer. Eddie peered at her suspiciously. “But it would be nice to know what you want me to tell ‘em when he inevitably asks about you.”

She pressed her lips together, eyes suddenly interested in the granite of the countertop. She wasn’t sure what she wanted him to say. She wasn’t even sure of what she wanted.

After an hour passed, Eddie explained that he was sent to the penthouse for a reason. To deliver a package.

Her eyes bulged, heart tripping, as he handed her a smartphone. The only thing that kept her from fainting was that the device was much smaller than the one she was hiding in her pocket. A model at least ten years old. It had a simple case with one of those artist-drawing stickers. A red spider. She looked up at him, eyes full of confusion.

“For emergencies,” Eddie said, shoving his hands back in his pockets. “You’re a big girl. I’m sure you’ll be fine. But just in case.”

Three weeks after she last saw Peter, she reached for the spider phone for the first time.

It was shortly after lunchtime at a chic, New American restaurant off of West 51st, adorned with a crystal chandelier, neon lights, and lush botanicals. Honey and Felicia were seated at the bar finishing up lunch (and a bottle of champagne) when the silver-haired woman excused herself to the restroom. 

Being left alone was no longer strange. In the past three weeks, Honey had experienced more freedom than she had in the last four months of living with Peter Parker. She was permitted to travel wherever she pleased. Just as long as she had the emergency phone. And guards to scope the area ahead of time and transport her. And Felicia or Miles as an escort. It didn’t feel like she was being escorted. After three weeks of lonely days in the penthouse, she longed for companionship. 

After the incident at the arcade, she tried to stay vigilant when left alone. But when she looked up to see Felicia return to the bar, a strange man sat on her stool instead. 

She’d never seen him before. He was at least sixty, but the expression lined in deep trenches on his long face made him appear centuries older. The scent of stale cigarettes enveloped him. With graying, auburn-sand hair and intense eyes that seemed to radiate disappointment, he fixed a hard gaze on her.

“I know who you are,” he quietly declared in a bitter tone.

Every muscle in her body froze, and she fought the urge to scream for help. Instead, she kept one hand on the bar near her nearly-empty plate, resting over her steak knife.

He glanced down at her hands, unimpressed, and he gave her a sardonic smirk. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to help.” 

She remained nothing more than a statue, lips pressed tightly together.

“More importantly, I know who you’ve been with.”

She swallowed hard. Eyes wide, she flicked them cautiously toward the corridor Felicia had disappeared through as violent images filled her mind. The food began to creep up her esophagus. 

She shook her head. “I-I don’t know what you—”

“Don’t lie,” he sneered, light as a feather, while his eyes screamed in a fury. “I know you’re Peter Parker’s new girl.”

Her heart thrummed in her throat. She opened her mouth.

“If you make a scene, I’ll throw Miss Hardy into a jail cell so deep under this city she’ll be in New Amsterdam,” he glowered. Honey snapped her mouth shut while piercing sirens rang out in her head. “Did I mention I’m a cop?” he added with a cruel casualness. 

She felt dizzy, her heart sinking in her chest. Her brain ping-ponged between John Walker, and Wilson Fisk, and whoever planted the car bomb, and the corrupt officers that cut down Peter’s aunt and uncle in a spray of bullets. 

A long list of enemies. And by the look in this man’s eye, he wanted to be at the very top.

“My name is George Stacy,” he muttered, eyes dark. “Peter Parker killed my daughter.” 

Something inside her shattered as she connected the distraught rage emanating from the man seated next to her to the angelic face in Peter’s photo box. 

“Did he tell you about her? Did he tell you about Gwen?” His voice made a sound like glass breaking as he said her name. Grief and anger swirled in the blue depths of his eyes. A deep crease formed between Honey’s brows. 

“Excuse me.” Felicia’s biting tone caught their attention. “You’re in my seat.” They looked over to see the silver-haired woman glaring daggers at the older man, fearless in her stance. Honey had never felt so envious of her courage in her life.

George fixed her with a disgusted sneer. “Well, well. If it isn’t the Black Cat. Parker’s still your favorite place to sharpen your claws, isn’t he?”

Felicia didn’t flinch, crossing her arms. “Aww, Georgie. Didn’t know we were already at pet names. Get out of my chair.”

Anxiously, Honey glanced back and forth between the two heavyweights. George stared up at her through narrow eyes. “You’re lucky I don’t throw cuffs on you right here,” he said.

Felicia rolled her eyes. “Kinky. Got probable cause?”

“You’re a thief who gets on her knees for a murderer.” He side-eyed Honey. “You both are.”

“I don’t really like your accusations, Georgie,” Felicia snarked. “‘Specially the criminal kind. Got proof?”

George’s jaw clenched. His eyes were black with rage.

“Didn’t think so,” Felicia answered, then turned to Honey. “How ‘bout we get outta here? I’m sure Georgie here can settle our tab.”

The man suddenly came to a stand, his full height bringing him to eye level with her. “You disrespectful little smartass.” He leaned in close, pouring venom into her ear. “You’re trash. Standing behind a man who pushed his wife off the Brooklyn Bridge. She was going to leave him! And he killed her for it.” 

Wild-eyed, George turned to face Honey. “Y’know what she looked like when they pulled her body from the river?” His eyes welled with tears as he ground his teeth together. “Y’know what she looked like when I had to identify her? I couldn’t do it! The fall crushed every bone in her face!”

“That’s enough,” Felicia declared with a cold tone. “We’re leaving.” 

She took Honey by the shoulder, guiding her from the bar. She could feel the tears running down her cheeks once they stepped out into the frosty air.

“You’re protecting a monster!” George shouted after them, his voice, heart, and soul obliterated. 

Honey was quiet in the back of the car as they sped home. 

“Was he telling the truth?” Honey asked with a mouse-like whimper, unsure if she wanted the answer. Unsure if she wanted Felicia to lie.

The woman’s gaze darted over, appearing shocked even behind the giant, black lenses of her Givenchy sunglasses. “Are you kiddin’ me?” Felicia snapped with indignation. “Of course not!” The woman sounded offended at the accusation.

Honey stared at her in silence, trying to decide which version of the truth she wanted to believe.

Twenty-three days after Peter, Honey sat across from Miles at a bistro table in front of a streetside cafe. To her right sat Bella—wearing a princess dress. Delightful as she sketched out a cat on a piece of paper. Black crayon was smeared everywhere. Miles leaned over, giving her pointers on her cat drawing, showing her his sketch of a spider.

Honey wanted to say something. She really did. But couldn’t find the words. 

She couldn’t speak. 

Her eyes filled with terror as she recognized the tall figure stalking towards the table, wielding a shotgun in his hands. 

She couldn’t scream. 

John walked up to the table, pointed the shotgun at Miles’ chest, and fired.

When she awoke, she was screaming. Her chest landed hard against a warm, firm body. Her mouth was open and dry, and her eyes were clouded with nightfall, and her throat was raw, her skin sweaty, and her face was wet with tears. 

“It’s okay! You’re okay! You’re okay. It was a dream. I gotcha.”

She shuddered with relief, her heart still racing with terror. She gasped in short breaths, grounded only by the warmth on her chest, the sturdy oak branches around her body, and the soothing hum of Peter Parker’s voice.

“Shh, s’okay,” he cooed at her.

Honey buried her face in Peter’s neck, full-body sobs overtaking her. She squeezed his shoulders tight, digging her fingers into the fibers of his shirt. The scent of cinnamon and cedar filled her nostrils. Like some magic spell had been cast, she felt her muscles melt, cradled in the warmth of his hold.

“It’s okay,” Peter whispered, rocking her gently. “You’re safe. You’re okay.”

Another cry ripped through her chest at the idea. “M’not,” she stuttered over hiccups. “I’m not okay. Nothing is okay...”

She felt his fingers glide down her spine, smoothing down the tank top on her back. He softly replied, his breath tickling her ear, “It was just a bad dream—”

She was incoherent, crumpling in a pile of broken ‘no’s’ and ‘I can’ts’ and ‘I’m sorrys’ and ‘it's my faults.’ He chased away the shadows, his fingertips alternating between rubbing her back and running through her hair.

“‘S’not your fault, Honey,” Peter murmured, resolve in his voice. “None of this is your fault...”

Trembling with tears, she pulled away slowly. Hesitantly, Peter released his grip, handling her like an origami flower left out in the rain. 

The scruff of his beard had grown back in, and he wore a black pullover sweater that made him appear soft and gentle in a way she was unused to. She looked up at the golden-flecked, whiskey hue of his concerned gaze. Her own eyes were bloodshot and bleary. Her heart swelled and ached at the sight of him. Distressed, his eyes flitted over her face.

The spell wore off. As soon as Honey’s body heat left Peter’s hold, they both mourned the loss. He dropped his gaze to the comforter, his cheeks flushed disconcertedly. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, pulling his fingers away from her. “M’sorry, I-I wasn’t tryin’ to—I wasn’t watching you or anything.” 

His eyes darted around, hands fretting. “Of course not,” he muttered under his breath. “Who says that? Th-That’s stupid.”

He looked back at her earnestly, “I-I didn’t want—didn’t mean to intrude, I didn’t... I-I know ‘m’not supposed to be here. I just... I came by for some stuff, and... And I-I heard you scream, and I... I thought— Uh... I, um... I’ll-I’ll leave you alone now.”

Tears spilled in rivers down her cheeks. “Why are you protecting me, Peter?” she whimpered. “Can’t you see I’m not worth saving?”

He paused, eyes going wide.

“You can’t love me,” she wept. “You don’t know who I am. You don’t know what I’ve done.” She shook her head, racked with grief. “I keep trying to protect everyone, but-but I can’t—I... I’m killing them. I’m gonna get them killed.”

“What are you talking about?” Peter whispered. He squeezed his hands together, fighting the urge to cradle her face in them.

“‘M’not a good person, Peter. And I keep waiting for you to throw me away.”

He was dumbstruck into silence, shaking his head. Brows pinched together in horror.

“Don’t say anything,” she sniffed. “Please... don’t say anything. Just... just please. I need you to hold me.” He gazed at her blankly, as she closed the gap between them, pulling him into a kiss. 

Both of her arms circled his shoulders. She nudged her chest up against his. She pried open his mouth with her lips, slipping her tongue through. His breath hitched at the taste of her, his hands outstretched safely away from her body. 

She pulled her lips away with a heated smack, “Please, Peter. Please just touch me.” When she leaned in to kiss him, she felt the expanse of his broad hands on her lower back. He scooped her into his embrace, letting himself sink beneath the depths of her kiss. 

He could feel her heart beating up against his own, both of them like rabbits darting through prairie brush. She paused only briefly for air, resting her forehead against his before dragging her wet touch across his tongue. 

He could feel her everywhere. In every artery. In every cell. Drifting within his lungs. Swimming through his brain until he was dizzy. Whenever he felt himself floating, faint with desire, she snatched him tighter. Crushing their bodies against one another.

She emerged from the shell of her bedding, crawling into his lap. Threw her leg over him, pressing her heat against his belly. The sensation drew a gasp from his lips, and he seized her hips gently. He held them steady in place.

“Stop,” he breathed. He felt her go still. He squeezed his eyes closed, pulling his lips away. “We can’t.”

His words twisted a knife in her belly, her soul bleeding out. 

“I can’t,” he muttered apologetically.

She found his eyes, hers full of dismay. A punishment for her cruelty. She was afraid to ask. “Why not?”

His eyes glistened in the city lights outside of her window. He stared at her, the corners of his mouth downturned. “Because if you push me away, it’ll break me, Honey.” He swallowed heavily. “And I don’t have anything left to break.”

She squeezed her eyes closed, tears breaking through her lids. She lowered her head, grieving the innocence of when they’d first met. She’d give anything to go back to that moment. 

“Stay with me,” she whispered urgently. She met his eyes again. “Just stay here,” she said, softly begging. “Please. Just hold me.”

She nudged the tip of her nose against his. He gazed up at her with somber adoration and mourning, eyes achingly tender. 

“Just for tonight,” she pleaded. She wore a desperate expression, like she would perish if he let her go.

It hurt to look at her. It hurt to touch her, almost as much as it hurt not to touch her. Pain was a mutual friend. 

Tears shimmering at his eyelids, he nodded softly. 

Wordlessly, she gripped him tighter. As if she could physically hold on to the tiny bit of relief. She wanted to hold on for as long as she could.

They hung on to each other, curled up together beneath the darkness. She rested her cheek on his shoulder, her hand resting above his heart. Fingers outstretched, she studied the slow rise and fall of his chest. He buried his fingers in her hair, rubbing tiny circles on the nape of her neck. The sound of their hearts beating in sync soothed him, like rain pattering on a rooftop. 

Just for tonight. They slept in peace.

Her limbs felt heavy, but she was warm. She snuggled against a firm body toasting her like a furnace, as tendrils of daylight pulled her from slumber. Her eyes blinked open. Curiously, she lifted her head.

Peter dozed softly with her body nestled against his side. Her eyes softened as she gazed at the way the light danced across his freckles. She studied his image, memorizing each aspect of the moment. His hair was puffy and wild. She observed flecks of amber and gray in his chestnut beard. His lips were chapped with a plump cherry pout. And while she was mapping the lines of his face, she realized that this was the first morning she’d ever woken up next to him.

Like he could hear her thinking, his hand twitched, tightening his grip on her lower back as he stirred awake. Coffee eyes wandered quickly and found hers, lighting up with warmth. A sleepy, half-smile stretched across his features.

“You’re here,” she said dreamily, returning the smile.

“I am.” His voice was thickened by deep sleep. He watched her with fondness for several moments, before adding worriedly, “Did you not want me to be?”

Her smile dimmed for just a moment. She shook her head. “It’s nice.”

It was the truth. They gazed at each other, silent and starry-eyed and lost in a pleasant peace. He brought his hand up slowly to brush a piece of hair from her face. Her skin hummed at the brush of his fingertips. A shadow darkened her eyes. “I saw George Stacy yesterday.”

She felt his muscles tighten faintly, and his eyes fluttered shut. When he opened them, he drew a measured breath. Concern dimmed his gaze. “What’d he say?”

She pursed her lips. “He told me that you pushed Gwen off a bridge.”

A sharp pain flickered on his face like the sting of a wasp. A cold shadow fell across him, like the dark side of the Moon. “You believed him.” It wasn’t much of a question.

“I don’t want to hear it from him,” she said gently. “I want to hear it from you.”

His vision drifted. Melancholy and grief swallowed him, pulling him under a dark tide of painful memories. She felt his hands release her as he shifted to a sitting position. Her heart ached at the loss of his hold, and she hopelessly tried to seek comfort by wrapping her arms around herself.

“Gwen and I—we met in high school.” The hoarse creak of his voice startled her. He sat with slumped shoulders, leaning over a bent knee. “She was the only one that knew me, before my aunt and uncle died. She stuck with me after. Even when she saw what I was becoming.”

Bitterness accentuated his tone. Delicately, Honey sat up in her sheets, leaning enough to be able to see his gloomy profile. “She tried to save me,” he said. “But what happened, happened. I told her what I had to do. And that I am what I am. She couldn’t stop me, and I told her not to try.”

He swallowed hard. “I pushed her away, tried to break it off. But that just pissed her off more. Made her double-down. She was so damn stubborn. So she tried to help me.”

A pang contorted his features for a moment. She saw a faint tremor in his lower lip. He bit down on the flesh to still its movements. 

“Her dad, though,” he continued. “He was a cop. He already hated me, even before I was a criminal. It was only a matter of time before he found out who I really was.” He sniffed, lifting his chin with a rueful look. “I knew he’d protect her, but he could only do so much. Eventually he was going to find us out, and if he wanted to protect her, he was going to have to pit her against me.”

The last part of his sentence cut through him like a razor. He paused for a moment, wetting his lips. Shoving his voice out of his pained chest. “So when she turned 18, she asked me to marry her.” 

The sharp lines in her forehead faded at the revelation.

“She said if we were married,” he said, haunted by grief, “she couldn’t be forced to testify against me.” He gulped again, and by the look on his face he was swallowing rusty nails. “I didn’t care that it was part of a plan. It was the happiest I’d ever been since... even since before, I think.” 

He went quiet for a while, before adding grimly, “I tore her family apart. He never forgave me for that.” A dark bitterness contorted his features, the familiar echo of self-loathing returning to his voice. “And I looked that man in the eye and swore that I would protect his daughter. But I failed.” 

His eyes fell closed, and for a moment she thought his memories were tattooed on the insides of his lids. 

“She fell,” he ground out, tears welling up. The dam was in danger of breaking. “I tried to catch her in time.” The breath sucked out of his lungs. “It was a matter of inches. Milliseconds. But it wasn’t enough.”

He slowly turned to face her, eyes shimmering with tears. “You asked me who was responsible for her death. I didn’t push her. But I’m the reason she was up there to begin with.” A pained flicker of a smile ghosted across his lips—a cruel impersonation of acceptance, of resignation of his guilt. “She died because of me,” he declared. “I let the woman I love die. I can’t let that happen twice.”

Eyes misty and red, he let the statement rest, as if dictating words he wanted written on his tombstone. 

With a heavy heart, she replied, “But I’m right here, Peter. I’m not dead. Why wouldn’t you tell me the truth? Not just about Gwen, but Bella, too? Why would you make me think you knew where she was?”

Peter looked away, gazing down at his hands, pinching his lips closed. A false light returned to his tone. “My uncle used to say that one of the two keys to success was never telling everything you know.”

He didn’t follow up with anything after that. Her face slumped in disappointment.

“Bella means the world to you,” Peter explained, meeting her eyes again. “And I’d never put her life in the hands of just anyone.” He swallowed painfully. “Not even myself. I can’t be responsible for destroying someone else I love. I won’t.”

“Destroying me—you-you really thought the solution was pushing me away?” She sounded frustrated and betrayed. “That didn’t work with Gwen. Why did you think it would work with me—?

“Because I’m afraid I already have,” Peter affirmed. She fell silent as he gazed at her mournfully. “I know what rage does to people. I know what it looks like. That night, when we were fighting—I saw it in your eyes. Saw it when you looked at me. Hatred is... it’s a flesh-eating parasite. Never satisfied.” He gazed at her, eyes grim. “That’s all me, Honey. I did that to you.”

She sighed as regret seized her lungs. “Peter,” she pleaded, “let’s go back to the mountains.” His brow furrowed with confusion, as she explained more urgently. “Let’s go away. With Miles, and-and Felicia, and Bella, and everyone, and just—just hide?”

He shook his head. “What do you mean?”

“I’m scared, Peter. I’m scared that something awful is going to happen.” She felt the thick serpent crawl up from her belly again. “I’m-I—I don’t feel safe here anymore. Between the bomb, and... then George Stacy walked right up to me in broad daylight. What if that had been someone else?” His gazed at her worriedly, and she implored, “I’m... I’m afraid someone’s watching us. Watching me.”

She swallowed hard to keep the bile from spilling out of her mouth. Her skin felt clammy. Reptilian. Lying to Peter now made her physically ill.

“You’re gonna be okay, Honey,” he replied with gentle affirmation. “You and Miles, your family—I’m gonna protect you. You don’t need to worry.”

“Please, stop telling me that,” she declared firmly. “We both know it’s not true.”

He studied her silently with a frown, eyes flitting over her face. “I’m not good with flashing lights and loud noises.”

She blinked at him, brows pinched.

He met her eyes, as if continuing a confession, “Too much stimulation has always been an issue with me. Sorf of a-a weakness, I guess.”

“What does that—?” 

“The cops could tear this place apart, but they wouldn’t find anything. It’s not here. It’s in a place underground. We call it The Bunker. It’s in an abandoned subway station that nobody knows about. Roosevelt. That’s our fallback position, a strategic planning base. Weapons, cash, files on every corrupt bastard in this city. It’s all there.”

Her brain was spinning with confusion.

“Inside a bank in Queens off of Woodhaven,” he added, casual and matter-of-fact in a way that made her feel unsettled. “There’s a safe registered under the name Ezekiel Sims. Inside, there’s $63 million in cash. Unmarked bills. Untraceable, clean money. It’s my cut. Nearly fifteen years’ pension for my sins. But it’s not for me. It’s for Miles and his family. The combination to the safe is his birthdate.”

“Why are you telling me this?” she blurted, overwhelmed.

Peter stared at her, eyes soft. “Because I’m done hiding. I’m through with hiding who I am. Especially from you.” Her brows furrowed as he explained, “If you wanted to turn me in, to drain me dry, take Bella and run—you have everything you need to know. As long as you and Miles are safe. Felicia. Johnny. Everyone left alive that matters to me—all I care about is that they’re safe.” 

He swallowed hard, gazing at her solemnly. “Nobody can hurt me, Honey. No one but you. If that’s what you want.”

She felt the sting of tears brimming her eyes, her heart sinking in her chest. In under a minute, he’d given her the key to her freedom, to everything she could have ever wanted. It was also the key to his destruction. The nail in his coffin. Diametrically opposed to what she could ever want. 

Why her? 

That’s the only thing she could think about. It was a record running on repeat, slowly driving her insane. Why trust her? Why choose her? Why risk his life and legacy for her? 

Not just material things—but his family was on the line. Secrets had already been divulged. Blood had already been spilled. Why would he love her when the weight of her betrayal made her want to die?

She cast her eyes downward, unable to meet his gaze. In her mind, she wanted to scream at him to run away. She wanted to scream at him for being so blind. For foolishly choosing her, when he could have anything else. Or anyone.

“Were you with someone?” she asked, as timid and quiet as a mouse.

His eyebrows pinched together. “With someone?”

“Someone else,” she replied, a little clearer. Again, she was conflicted at whether or not she wanted the answer. “Another woman. Or man.” He was silent as she stared down at the black polish decorating her nails. “You were gone for days,” she said, idly. “I mean, n-not that I expected you to just... y’know.” She took a deep breath. “It’s okay, if you did.” 

When she looked up at him, Peter was staring back at her like she had grown an extra head. “Are you asking me if I’ve had sex with anyone since I left?”

Her eyes went wide, embarrassed by the bluntness of his question. “I mean, I’m not—” She stuttered, struggling. “No, I mean, I am. I just—”

She cleared her throat. It was like wet cement surrounded her vocal cords. “I get it,” she stated, her eyes darting from his face, to his chest, to the blanket, to the wall, and back around again. “You’ve got—your-your face is, it’s nice.” She was flailing. “And your rest of you, is, um, is—”

A heat wave traveled up her neck, making her feel faint. Her breaths were coming out short. “It’s okay,” she explained apologetically. “If you did. It makes sense. I just… you can tell me.” She met his eyes, trying to steal herself. “Please. If... if you don’t mind.”

Peter stared at her for a long time. He was quiet. Contemplative. He could have grown moss. Just when she was about to pass out from the anticipation, he shifted in his seat. His umber eyes fixed on her. “Honey. Since I met you, I haven’t looked at anyone else.”

She pressed her lips together, chewing on the inside flesh. His words were like a glowing, hot blade, slicing her open. Tears rimmed her saddened gaze. Her voice came out as a whimper. 

“You don’t have to lie.”

His brows furrowed. A dreary expression leveled him. He turned his shoulders towards her. 

“There’s not anybody else,” he softly declared. It felt like a whisper that only she could hear. “There’s not another woman. Or a man.” 

His hand came up, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear. “Not another sunrise or sunset, no fancy car, no drug trip...” 

The warmth of his lungs ghosted over her face like a warm mist. “No cute puppy, no breathtaking waterfall, no flower, or beach or mountain—not a single moment of joy on this Earth—that compares to how you make me feel.”

Her muscles seized, eyes wide. Tears brimmed that she was unaware she could even feel. Added to that, was the rough touch of his thumb brushing at the edge of her mouth. He stared down at her lips like he could read lines of poetry written on them.

“I was in the dark,” he murmured. “After Gwen, I was asleep. Thought I was already dead. Until I saw you. Thought it was a crush. But then... I met you.” His warm gaze heated into a small smile, thawing out his features. “I watched you sing and dance and make food, and play games with Miles, and talk about animal facts, and tell stories to Rex, and apologize to the house plants when they didn’t get watered.” 

He chuckled softly, like a candle flickering on a winter night. “I listened to you talk about everything like it was—like it was a gift. Like no matter how dark it was, there was gonna be a sunrise. Like you could already see it.” 

She met his gaze as her eyes welled up. No one had ever looked at her like that.

“Bringing down Fisk was always endgame for me,” he murmured. “Didn’t ever see past it. Figured I didn’t need to.” Timidly, he leaned closer, as if sharing his biggest secret. “When you touch me, it’s like I can feel the sunrise. Like I can reach out and touch the future.”

A tear trailed down her face before he wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. Her lip wobbled and she felt as if he was holding her upright. Like her life had been a perilous journey and she’d finally found rest.

“You once told me that you had all the power,” he said with a coy smirk. Embarrassment kissed her features, before he soothed it away with his hands. “That’s not the half of it,” he said. “You’re my tomorrow. You have the rest of my life in your hands.”

They gazed at each other, eyes shimmering, hearts swelling with emotions they couldn’t begin to describe. 

“How could I look at anyone else?” Peter said with a profound wonder. “You’re the first and last thing I wanna see every day. There is no tomorrow for me if you’re not in it.”

His hands were holding onto the sides of her face, but inside, she was buckling. Her walls crumbled. She searched his eyes through her own blurry tears. Desperately looking for a catch. Seeking a reason not to believe him. 

But she was right about another thing—she knew what it sounded like when he lied to her. And in every cell of her body, she knew that this was not it.

“Peter,” she breathed, with a wary tremor in her heart. It was like she was standing on shaky legs at the edge of the Earth, ready to dive into its core. “I think—” Her voice shook timidly, until she willed it to be steady. “I… I think... I’m in love with you.”

His eyes glowed, momentarily weakened by a fleeting helplessness. He closed them for a moment, as if to steady himself. “No,” he softly replied. Opened his eyes to stare at her like she was the answer to everything in the universe. “You’re not.” A gentle smile played upon his lips. “Not yet.” 

Her insides melted for him. She wanted to fall into him and be consumed by the blaze.

“It’s okay, though,” he whispered with a subtle, teasing grin. “I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it happen. To be worthy of it.”

The cheekiness of his smile triggered an even wider one from her. She breathed out a small laugh, tears falling. He gazed down with eyes that spoke louder than his words. It left no doubt in her mind.

Peter Parker loved her.

It hurt to look at. 

Her smile dimmed. “Peter.” She swallowed hard, mustering the strength to crawl across a mile of flaming coals. “I... I have to tell you something.” His light never flickered. He gazed at her, half-entranced, half-heartedly listening. “I’m... I’m not the person you—”

A phone buzzed.

Her heart seized in her chest. A full stop. It felt like the touch of death.

Peter flinched nervously, snapped out of the spell. He dropped his hands to his pockets, digging the buzzing device from his slacks. 

She sealed her eyes closed, withholding a silent scream.

Peter gazed down at the screen with a frustrated sigh, looking up at her apologetically, and put the device to his ear. “What is it,” he answered, quietly seething. As he listened to the muddled voice on the other end, Honey was dizzy with conflicting emotions. She wanted to curl up and die. 

“What do you mean he’s here? We’re supposed to meet in Brooklyn.”

That was the last straw. She needed to say it. She needed to come clean. She needed to tell Peter the truth about everything. To bare her soul and confess her sins the way he had. The only problem was that her heart was stuttering in her chest, shaking her stomach so much that she was going to vomit on her bedspread.

“Fuck,” she idly heard him mumble. “Alright. Let ‘em in. Make ‘em wait. I’ll be down in a minute.”

She was drowning in sorrow as he ended the call. Oblivious to her distress, he shoved his phone back in the pocket of his jeans. He looked back at her, disappointment twisting his face. He read the look on her face as frustration at the interruption.

“I’m... I’m sorry,” he winced. “I...” His eyes darted to her door. “I... I have to—”

He didn’t need to say it. Duty called. Her opportunity to resolve herself was slipping away. Maybe it never even existed.

He cupped her face with his hands, gazing at her tenderly. “You get cleaned up, okay? And I’m yours the rest of the day. We’ll go anywhere you want. Just gotta take care of this one thing. It’ll take me less than an hour.”

Less than an hour. 

She had less than an hour until her world crumbled. Until she revealed to the one person that ever really loved her that he was wrong about her. She was never worthy of his love.

“I promise,” he repeated with soothing tones and gentle touches. He leaned in slowly, as if requesting permission, and pressed a delicate kiss to her forehead.

She responded with something that sounded vaguely like words. He removed his hands. His touch. His warmth. Finally, he removed himself from her presence. 

Dread filled her, along with a cold fear that she’d never see it again.

She followed instructions with an empty brain. A hollow heart.

When she emerged from her room, she was clean. Her stomach was empty of its contents. The color had faded from her skin. She was an apparition, walking aimlessly among the living in the waking world.

Rex. She went down the stairs to check on Rex. Maybe he needed his terrarium cleaned. Maybe she could clean it. Maybe she could scrub the whole penthouse with a toothbrush while she waited for the sensation to come back to her fingers and toes. 

Her feet guided her closer to Rex’s tank, and she stopped suddenly. Aware that someone was blocking her path. A tall, beefy figure leaned down over the terrarium.

They turned to face her. 

Her eyes went wide. 

Her heart jumped.

Her breath seized.

John Walker fixed her with a pleasant smile—cheeks rosy, shark-blue eyes twinkling with amusement.

“So, this is what you’ve been hiding away, eh?” he grinned snarkily.

The world was spinning. The earth was shaking. She thought the whole building would come down on top of her.

“I don’t think we’ve had the chance to meet,” John said.

Her brows furrowed. She was frozen stiff, barely registering Peter as he walked up into her view. Stood shoulder-to-shoulder with John.

“No, I, uh... I was saving it for a special occasion,” Peter replied. He glanced over at John with a fond expression, then faced her. 

A rat caught in a trap.

A snake stretched between the fangs of two wolves.

Torn apart.

“This is, uh, an associate of mine,” Peter told her. “A friend, really. I'd like you to meet Steve Rogers.”

Continue to Part 18

[back to masterlist]

a/n Thank you everyone for your patience and support! Things are going to heat up and move very fast. I appreciate your positive feedback.

#Lizzy writes. #Lizzy writes! sugar and vice #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #tasm peter parker #andrew garfield #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x reader #peter parker #peter parker au #spiderman au #mob!peter parker #mob!andrew garfield #andrew garfield peter parker x reader #andrew garfield spiderman #andrew garfield x reader #andrew garfield x you #peter parker x oc #tasm peter parker x oc #tasm #the amazing spider man #the amazing spiderman #peter parker andrew garfield #andrew garfield x female reader #mafia au #mafia aesthetic #mob au #dark fic #tasm fanfiction #peter parker angst

[jamneuromain]

Wishful Thinking Chpt. 9

Andy Barber x You (Reader), no use of Y/N

Alternate Universe - College AU

Summary: A new semester. A new task. A new boyfriend, your previous professor, Andy Barber. Everything seems to be going on the right track. So why didn't it?

Warning: Angst, possessive behavior, inappropriate teacher-student relationship, power imbalance, age difference, cheating, explicit language, toxic dom/sub relationship, more arguments

A/N: This fic has some disturbing themes, and discusses potentially upsetting topics. Please read through the warning before engaging with the fic. As I have said, the fic has mentioned a number of (potentially) triggering and heavy topics, you don't have to engage further if you feel uncomfortable about one or more topics.

A/N 2: Aaaaaaaaaaaaand I'm back! I'm feeling way better and I'm merging towards my social life as well. I did a litte editing and changing on part 8 where they argued. But it doesn't affect the plot. Feel free to check it out :3 Two more chapters and WT will be completed (I hope I'll get it done by December based on my current speed lmao)

Wishful Thinking M. List Dancing in the Daydream M. List

From [email protected]

Dear all,

I hope this reaches you well. This email is to remind those of you who have yet to submit your form for assigning a supervisor…

You have been looking at this email for quite some time. Opening the link at the bottom of this email too. But you haven’t made a move yet.

You have thought about having Andy as your supervisor, but that idea sounded like a lifetime ago. And now, there’s no way you’d let Andy be your supervisor.

How are you going to face him? This is more than just some misunderstanding from last semester. This is you two breaking up. Broken up. Whatever.

You are not making him your supervisor.

Taking a deep breath, you text a reply to the message your barely-friend Fiona sent you half an hour ago.

Fiona: Are you going to choose Barber as your supervisor?

You: No. Klein.

A few more messages come from Fiona after you send it. But you ignore them, knowing that she’d be asking dumb questions.

No, probing questions like “what are you going to write for your dissertation” or “should I include my pilot study into my dissertation” or other things that she wants to make an impression in front of her supervisor without “borrowing” from your answers first.

Bitch.

You feel like screaming. Which you did, after punching your mattress and burying your head into the pillow. Only lifting your head when you are completely out of breath.

With everything that happened with Andy, Laurie, Fiona and your schoolwork, it feels like nothing could alleviate you from the endless mess of self-doubt and self-hatred. Hating others as well. Hating your friend choices. Hating your boyfriend choices. Hating your school which led you to him. Hating everyone and every being on this very planet.

Hating yourself.

“Fucking hell.” You mumble to yourself. Pulling your laptop close to fill in the form for dissertation supervisors.

Typing word for word of your dissertation title, and selecting “Joanna Klein” as your preferred supervisor.

I hate my life. The idea keeps floating in your head like the obnoxious bubbles in a soda can, spritzing tiny drops of irritating reality into your face.

Andy has just received the email from Joanna Klein to all available lecturers and professors about supervising students in their dissertations.

He found the familiar name – your name – in a heartbeat. Merely sticking out his lips and making what Laurie would call “a bitch face”, as he found your name under the list of students under the supervision of Joanna Klein.

The pure imagination of pulling the strings behind your dissertation, of having a say in what you could not refuse, seeing you writhing under his grasp, gets his blood pumping in his veins.

He’s probably sick to the bones. One brief moment of clarity tells him so. To get high just to watch you struggling in his control. The adrenaline rush of knowing you are helpless, having no one to turn to but him.

He probably needs help.

But who needs help, when you, the most direct and sufficing way of satisfying his hunger, practically serve your weakness on a silver platter?

Andy pulls his chair closer to the desk, makes up his mind, and starts typing on the keyboard.

He is doing what’s best for you.

You might not see it that way for now but…

You’ll understand, eventually.

Andy sits in his office. Waiting. Patiently. Tapping his fingers on the table surface, as he looks out of the window.

It has only been a while, since you last came to his office to deliver his suit and your breakup.

However, things turned rather quickly, as there was no room for argument as the final version of the list containing supervisor and their students to tutor through the dissertation was settled as the last nail in the coffin.

Five students, students that he is going to supervise, are about to enter that door. And one of them being you.

He grins, thinking of the fact that you are tied to him for the rest of the term time.

No use running. He rolls your name on his tongue silently. He’s far beyond any help could ever achieve in pulling him back. He wants you, one way or another.

He’d keep you, treat you like the precious thing he adores, if you behave.

If you do not… well, there are more than a few ways that he can think of to devour you.

He’d keep you, one way or another.

Five students, including you, walked through that door, sitting on the chairs that he prepared. You picked the seat furthest from him, in a small corner. Didn’t make eye contact. No friendly “hello”. No nothing.

He doesn’t mind.

He knows that you are still mad about your little dispute.

He will tolerate it, knowing that you still love him.

He will explain, tell you that he will fight tooth and nail for you. Tell you that you could start over. He was being unreasonable. He was frustrated and angry, and he lashed out on you, that he was sorry about it all.

Later. He will explain later.

Andy clears his throat, folding his hands on his stomach, “Today we’ll start by having a brief introduction of yourselves. You obviously know me, since I’ve taught you all, but I would still like it if you could introduce yourself to each other. You can tell us about your name, something about yourself, and also tell us about what you are planning to write for your dissertation…”

He pays no special attention to you. He comments, nods, and gives useful suggestions based on everyone’s self-introduction.

“I understand I’m asking for a lot of work in a short amount of time. However, I would expect you to produce a general frame of your dissertation by the next meeting, which is two weeks from now. In the framework, you’ll be talking about how you want to approach your topic-” He stops Fiona from scribbling on her notebook, but ignores you who are doing the same. What can he say, he favors you in the smallest of details, “I’ll send you all an email after this meeting for the framework you’ll be writing about. The topic, the details you are going to investigate, the methodology – I’m sure Professor Rifkin has explained this in her class, and also, keep an open mind when you are writing the dissertation, especially for those who are employing a qualitative method to analyze their data. Any questions?”

You are the first to rush out of his office after he declares that today’s session has come to an end.

He waits until the last student has left the floor before heading out.

The entire floor is quiet. Dead. Deserted.

His shoes barely make a sound on the soft carpet as he steps out of his office, finding you on the floor, sitting on the carpet. You have opened your laptop, but it seems blank.

You gain your consciousness when he approaches, looking up at him. A sigh leaving your lips before you speak, “You did this.”

Not a question, but a firm sentence.

You know he was behind this transfer of dissertation supervisors.

Andy neither confirms nor denies. He cocks his head slightly, looking at your tired expression, “You will need to work on your methodology. Your arguments wouldn’t be convincing if you only state the method for your dissertation.”

“Can’t we be those ex-es like friends? Stop torturing each other over the fact that we broke up? Can you just leave me alone?” You take a deep breath, saying the words that you know he will be disapproving of.

He takes a seat on the couch in the open space, about three feet from where you are sitting, but he doesn’t have to put extra pressure on his neck looking at you from above.

Andy interlaces his fingers into a fist, his thumbs tapping each other.

To tell the truth, he couldn’t. He couldn’t let go of you. Couldn’t watch you go away.

“Look-” Seeing him unresponsive to your plead, you change your tactics, switching into defiance, “If you want to be a bitch about our relationship, I will have to put in a request to the faculty about changing my supervisor.”

Andy lets out a cold, hard laugh. Raising his eyebrows in disbelief, Andy “kindly” tells you about the regulation that runs around the place: “Nice try getting rid of me, sweetheart. But even if you do, and that’s a big ‘if’, you would still have to write your dissertation, and during scoring, your dissertation would be assigned to lecturers based on your topic. And I know all your topics, sweetheart.”

Your lips visibly tremble in fear, so are your arms, “You wouldn’t.”

“Watch me.” His tone turns sharp, “I can put an A into your months of work, or an F. Your choice.”

“Yeah? And what should I do for an A?” You shut your laptop with a loud snap, jumping from the spot on the floor to your feet. Clenching your teeth and hissing like venom burns your mouth, you challenge him even further, “Suck your dick, Professor Barber?”

“Be nice, sweetheart. I’m trying to be a friend.” Andy narrows his eyes, the threat in his tone is evident, “First of, I suggest you to be respectful when talking to me.”

You glare at him with fire burning in your eyes.

“I'm not a monster, sweetheart. But if you poke me like that, I don't mind putting a little discipline inside that pretty little brain of yours. Try to stay on my good side, yeah?” Andy stands to his full height, buttoning his suit jacket as he stands up, casually tugging the hem of his shirt and his tie. After tiding himself up, Andy lifts his hand to caress your jaw.

You jerk your head on instinct but his fingers dig into your neck, reminding you, painfully, of the night that he went overboard and fucked your throat.

His grip softens when he feels you freeze on spot. Tracing his thumb on your jawline, he murmurs, “Remember, sweetheart? I'm your Dom. I tell you something, and you do it.”

“You're not my fucking Dom.” You grit out.

“Still bratty, I see. You're a handful but I doubt there's anything that can't be solved by some punishments.”

His thumb forces you to lift your chin, even so, you refuse to look at him.

It takes you a few seconds to regain your voice, “You can't expect me to whore out myself.”

If that’s what he’s asking.

Andy presses a small kiss to your temple, whispering by your ear, “I don't really mind, sweetheart, as long as it is you.”

Some sense finally comes to you, your body shakes like a leaf in both fear and fury, you try to sound tough, but it comes out no better than a whimper, “I could report you to the board of malpractice.”

“And I have a lawyer friend, honey. He's the best in town. God knows how long a lawsuit can take. 18 months? 24?”

“Honey” was usually meant for Laurie, but he is beyond caring which endearment belongs to whom at this point.

“You're ... evil.” You want to move, but you cannot, not when he’s still having an iron grip over your neck.

“Maybe.” Andy shrugs, letting go of your neck, “Now run along before I do something evil, like fucking you over my desk.”

You pack your things as fast as you can, leaving the place without another word.

The rest of the term time passed in a blur. He attends your graduation ceremony with a heart-felt smile, knowing well that he black-mailed you into accepting his supervision and that you have an impeccable dissertation as he almost looked through every word of it, which probably violated ten faculty rules, if not twenty.

He is still clapping when you receive the graduation certificate from Joanna Klein, while he stands on the side. The next thing he knows, you are rushing towards him with a knife in your hand, carving his chest almost in half and he dies before the ambulance can reach the hospital.

His soul floats in mid-air as he watches everything pans out.

Laurie takes over everything, every property in their marriage.

You are charged with murder, serving your life-sentence in a max-security prison.

And Laurie… Laurie divorced him and marries the man she was having an affair with, decorating Andy’s house into a shit-yellow color, laughing and doesn’t have to worry about the rest of her life since she has all the money, cars, and houses that she could get their hands on…

Andy wakes up screaming.

Panting.

Taking a few seconds to realize that he is not in a ghost state and that he is still alive.

Alive. Awake. In his home. In the middle of the night.

Everything in the dream felt so real. Like it actually happened.

Andy touches his chest, where the skin and flesh are intact.

He is still alive.

He sweated through his sheet.

Another few seconds pass and he stays up, hands over his face, recalling the horrible dream.

The absolute nightmare where he told Joanna to switch you to his-

Shit.

He pulls himself over the bed and snatches his phone from the nightstand, checking his email.

The sudden blue light from his phone has him cursing. After flipping over his inbox and finding that he received the email of supervising students yesterday, but hasn’t made a move yet, he lets out an exhale of relief.

He groans and lies back to the bed. His heart still pounding frantically.

A string of curses flies out of his mouth.

Rest assured that he is not going to pull a favor and get you assigned to him.

But he wants you so bad.

How can he live when he wants you so bad and he pissed you off by saying the most harmful things that could be ever said to you?

Tag List: @geminiflanagansblog @wintasssoldier @sapphire-rogers @nouk1998 @sarahdonald87 @charmed-asylum

#andy barber #andy barber x you #andy barber x reader #andy barber x female reader #defending jacob #professor andy barber #student reader #dancing in the daydream #wishful thinking #andy barber fluff #andy barber angst

[imeternallylove]

Come on, bride - S.Strange

Stephen Strange x Reader

genre: angst

warning: mom spoiler

words: 1.2k

"We should move on."

You nod at the kid, America. Then look around tiredly, wiping the blood from your cheek, which the woman name Wanda caused this wound by directly attacking you. Even though she has no idea who you are, America looks at you with a soft smile.

You approach closer to Stephen, who is on one of his knees on the ground. Something had slipped your mind before you could reach his side. His memories play out in front of you; the beginning of your toxic relationship. The night you both graduated. He was an intern at Metro General, and you were a fresh software engineer at Stark Industries. It was the night when you were both buried in heavenly passion.

You were taken by your memories when you decided to walk away from him; downright atrocious, the worst memories.

Evening, rainfall.

"There is a new procedure in Tokyo. They culture donor stem cells… and then harvesting them and then 3D printing a scaffold." Stephen's trembling voice and hands as he spoke like a prayer have come to your eyes. You looked at the mess of paper on the floor. Knew that repairing his bone-broken hands was out of the question, and no one would take the risk of treating his hands. It would be best if you were by his side through this darkest hour. "If I could just secure a loan…"

That's when you were pushed to the rock bottom, "Stephen." You placed his meal, repeating his name in a serious tone. "Stephen-" And then you were cut off by him.

"A small loan, Y/N. Just $200,000."

"You've always spent money as fast as you could make it, but now you're spending money you don't even have." You took a few steps closer to Stephen after staring intently into his tear-streaked eyes, and your voice softens. He attempted to write his own name on the paper, but it did not work, and the pen was flung to the wall. "Maybe it's time to consider stopping."

The desk smacking caught you off guard. "No, now is exactly the time not to stop," he says as he rises up, his gaze fixated on yours and his hands swung to face you, "because, you see, I'm not getting any better!"

"But this isn't medicine anymore. This is mania!" You had always done your best to soothe Stephen, but not this time. He squandered too much time on his route. He left you talking with his back form as he stopped and looked out the window. "Stephen, something just can't be fixed."

His cracked voice is a hammer and your heart is like a fragile glass. "Life without my work…"

"Is still life! This isn't the end. There are other things that can give your life meaning."

You had no idea Stephen was heartless until he turned around and asked you a frigid question. "Like what? Like you?" In the lower and annoyed voice he made, there is no trace of regret after just hurling his foolish rage at yours.

"Now this is the part where you apologize." And his reply just nothing but only saddened you. "This is the part where you leave."

Your breath was hitched, certainly was firmly impacted, so you shied over the apartment door without hesitation. "Fine, I can't watch you do this to yourself anymore." Leaving all plans you had outlined that he couldn't handle on his own, even shaving.

Then Stephen spoke up behind you, "too difficult for you, is it?" Just when you were turning back your feet and nodding in response, prepared to fight back. "Yes. It is. It breaks my heart to see you this way."

"No, don't pity me."

"I'm not pitying you."

"Oh, yeah? Then what are you doing here… bringing cheese and wine like we're old friends going for a picnic?" He strolled like a drunk, moved near to where you were standing; where you remained mute and still as he began to insult your feelings. "We are not friends, Y/N. We were barely lovers. But you just love a sob story, don't you?"

His rough voice was like a metal hammer and your heart was shattered glass.

"Is that what I am to you now? 'Poor Stephen Strange, charity case.' He finally needs me. Another dreg of humanity for you to work on. Patch him up and send him back into the world… heart's just humming."

Your arms shivered as you held yourself, your jaw clenched. Tried to shake your head, forcefully inhaling, this is way too much to merely watch him shout at.

"You care so much, don't you?!"

The apartment has become thunderously quiet. All you could do was seek for his sorrow for what he'd done, even if it meant peering into his light blue orbs, which he didn't. You dared to hope he'd overcome his ego one day, but surely you weren't there to witness it. 

"Goodbye, Stephen."

When the reality around you reappears, you strain to swallow, as if your ripped heart wound had added salt on. Your gaze is fixed on the ground.

Stephen places his hand on yours and says, "Y/N." America had opted to move ahead, leaving the two of you behind. "I'm so sorry for treating you like that."

"I'm so happy that you could say the word." A sorrowful grin appears on your face, as the tear falls, you begin to go faster, but Stephen is quicker and holds your waist to turn to face him. His both palms traveled up the length of your shoulder to your cheeks, tilting your chin and wiping away your tears with his thumbs. His eager blue eyes followed every breath you took, every second your gaze averted from him.

"I made a mistake and now I'm losing you, Y/N."

"It's okay," you gently brush your fingertips along his palms and attempt to ease his guilt. "You'll be alright."

Stephen has been saying what you wish to hear for over 10 years, but it comes too late. "I love you, Y/N… I never say it, but I love you." That has caused your tears to flow. "It's not that I don't want to care or that I don't want you to care for me," he whispers softly as he leans against your forehead. "I'm just…"

"Scared… It's okay to be scared sometimes, Stephen." When he stroked a stray strand of hair away from your eyes, you sighed. "I'm sorry for not waiting for you."

He gradually steps back, holding your hands, and lifts your left hand. A weak Stephen was gone in an instant, his gaze concentrated on your wedding ring. He cracks a joke with his trademark smile. "I'm sorry for ruining your wedding day and bringing you here with me."

"Well, you two were just showing off my guests on the balcony," you tease playfully, turning your head to narrow your eyes at his swing back and forth cloak. You cast a downward check at your dirty bridal gown. "We can't go back anyway."

"We can!" America and her star-shaped portal come unexpectedly, and the two of you are startled. Stephen's hand clutches yours once again. The girl yells at you both. "What are you guys waiting for?"

You were taken aback by his magic to transform your gown into something more appropriate for the chaos that surrounded you. "Thank me later," Stephen gives you a warm grin, attempting to conceal his pained voice, and you know he did his best. "Come on, bride, let's find the way to get back to your husband, I'll protect you."

You answered him with a smile and a shivering voice. "Copy that, Doctor Strange."

#doctor strange #dr strange x reader #stephen strange #stephen strange imagine #stephen strange x reader #doctor strange imagine #doctor strange x reader #mcu imagine #mcu x reader #stephen strange angst fic #multiverse of madness #doctor strange in the multiverse of madness

[sativa-misery]

"is so hard to love me? is it?" and "trust me." for yandere bruno?

cw / yandere, kidnapping, mentions of self harm, potential mindbreak. [1.0k]

prompt / “is it so hard to love me? is it?” and “trust me”

yandere content below the cut: minors don’t interact !

silent and dark is the house. aside from the heavy wind breathing in gusts and the strong rain showering against the windows, there is little to no movement inside. once lively and warm is now dead and cold.

that would be the description of the relationship between bruno and [y/n]. dead and cold.

what once was the beginnings of a beautiful, heavy relationship flourishing was now shrivelled up. toxicity seeping into every word spoken bruno’s and cracks appearing in his genuine and loving way of nature. becoming possessive and abusive was something that happened slowly, but then suddenly came out all at once, how at first it was the concern of your safety, then the accusations of cheating and all the way to be isolated from the world. ‘it was too dangerous’ he said, but if anything was dangerous it was him.

bruno’s heart beats to protect you- to love you like no other man could and your obvious distress would discourage him from doing his “job”. not even the cries for help and the pleas to stop.

in the silence, the creaking of the front door can be heard. the sound alone sends shivers down your spine and your heart only exhilarates when it slams shut, “amore?” bruno’s melodic voice calls out. you can’t find the courage to respond, fear still embedded into your bones and you clutch harder onto the blanket wrapped around you.

it smells like him. the blanket.

how could something that smells like your worst fear bring you so much comfort? the same thoughts plagued your mind when bruno left the apartment. maybe it was the loneliness of being trapped inside all day and all day with no one but him. where were your friends right now? did they even care enough to look for you? maybe if they had, you would be safe in your own bed rather than being curled up in a closet.

“amore, where are you?” his voice is closer this time, followed by the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway, “i went shopping and bought you something, why don’t you come out so i can show you?”

bruno always got like this when you had a particularly bad fight, even when things were normal he would come back a few hours after arguing with you, with a bouquet of flowers or a dessert from one of the bakeries that was always busy and sold out.

before drowning in woes about the time you once cherished bruno with a full heart, you snap out of it when there’s a gentle knocking on the closet door, “i know you’re in there, gattina.”

you don’t reply. not when there’s tears threatening to spill your eyes and not when you’re choking on your own breath.

a small sigh is heard on the opposite side of the door before it’s opened wide. there, bruno stands holding the doors open with a gracious smile on his face. he only stays standing for a few moments, crouching down to your level and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. there’s a split second where his gaze hardens, looking up and down your body for any injuries- it wouldn’t be the first time he’s had to do that, having had come home to see your limp bleeding body with a shard of glass gripped tightly in your hands. he truly does worry about you.

“what’s wrong? tell me, darling.” you shake your head, still not wanting to speak but the hand that had tucked hair behind your ear was now holding your shoulder tightly, a threat that if you weren’t going to speak, there would be a problem.

“i don’t wanna be here anymore, bruno.” your confession is nothing but a whisper, so small and fragile. if he weren’t so close to you, bruno wouldn’t have heard it at all.

“why? you have everything you need here.” while you do have everything you could possibly need, the mafioso is obvious to what you actually want. to him, he is your everything.

“i miss my family… i miss the sun kissing my skin, i miss people watching, i miss going out whenever i wanted with my friends and i miss you!” you cry out, body trembling at your own sudden outburst.

“i’m right here, amore.” he whispers, trying to soothe you. you don’t miss how he’s ignored everything else you’ve said, only focusing on the part about him.

hysterically you begin to rock back and forth, grip on the blanket tenfold stronger as if you were afraid it being ripped away would expose you, “no. no, you aren’t. you’re different now, i just want the old bruno- the bruno i loved.”

“you don’t love me?” the air in the room completely changes and bruno’s eyes go blank, staring straight through you. his hold on you has gotten tighter and he begins to chuckle, “i give you everything you need. i protect you and love you, and time and time again you show not an ounce of appreciation. is it so hard to love me? is it? what else do i need to do for you to love me?” he exclaims shakily before recovering his composure, “just- just trust me, amore. we can work through this together, okay?”

“bruno… i don’t know if i can.” burying your head into your lap, rocking gently back and forth, you miss the sharp, malicious and angry look that bruno gives you. while he would never force himself upon you or do anything too drastic, his tolerance to your behaviour was creeping up to its limits.

“bambina,” he starts, voice firm and sure of himself, “you can and you will.”

standing up over your body, bruno watches you lift your head up to stare at him. those lovely eyes of yours have begun to dry up, maybe you were finally learning that crying would do nothing but exhaust you and cause more issues, whatever the reason he was glad to see you nod softly and wipe any stray tears away.

“now,” he says, suddenly cheerier with a hand outstretched towards you, that charismatic smile shining so brightly on his face, “let’s go see what i got you today.”

it’s not like you had a choice anyway.

tagging / @dragons-and-skulls @hoestarave2 @jotohei

#[ 1k event ] #[ prompts. ʚ❤︎ɞ ] #bruno ❥ #jjba x reader #jjba imagines #yandere ❥ bruno #yandere ❥ #bruno bucciarati x reader #bruno x reader

[bentobarnes]

『𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭-𝐦𝐞-𝐧𝐨𝐭』

note : my requests are OPEN! Feel free to send me story requests

pairings : bucky barnes x reader

word count : 1.2k

request by @pez3639 (thank you!) : Mr.Bucky absolutely PINING over the local flower shop owner and the owner doing the same? 🧡

warnings : tons of fluff and flowers

*feedback is appreciated. please reblog so it can reach more people♡

After the events surrounding the shield, the Flag Smashers and Nakajima Bucky never thought he could find people who can be called family. However, Sam came into his life again absolutely spinning the dynamic around him. He accepted him as a friend, a family he never had since the 40s.

Bucky was walking down the street. He needed to go and get a cake for the party, Sarah and Sam were throwing in Louisiana. He loved that place. It was peaceful and beautiful away from everything. While he was walking and thinking about what kind of cake he needs to get, he saw a cozy flower shop under a cherry blossom tree. He didn’t come here much often but for the first time, he saw the cherry tree and the small flower shop. In front of the showcase, there were placed shelves with all kinds of flowers. You could probably smell them from miles away. “Why not? I can get some flowers for the women.” He told himself and pushed the front door.

The moment he opened the door was also the moment he wanted to never leave this place. It felt like someone brought a garden from a fairy tale and placed it into the shop. He looked around. It was full of flowers, plants he didn't even know the names of, small trees, and plant accessories. He was turning his head from left to right until something caught his attention. A girl was sitting on the counter, arms placed on the open book, eyes full of adoration. She was looking at him, which made him hold his breath.

“Are we looking for a bouquet for the girlfriend?” Your voice was soft like honey and your smile was more deadly for Bucky than everything he had fought during his life.

“Actually no. I’m going to a party in Louisiana and I figured it would be nice to get some flowers for the women.” How he managed to form words while you were looking at him like that, he didn’t know.

“I got it. I would suggest getting more gentle flowers.’’ You stood up from your position on the counter and planted yourself next to him looking in the direction he was looking at. While both of you were looking he turned his face to you. Your side profile was the most beautiful thing he had seen. Your hair was carefully flowing free and in a few places, there were small braids. Just like a fairy. He didn’t remember staring long until you looked at him small smile adoring your features.

“And what are “gentle” flowers?” He asked. He was truly interested. Bucky loved plants in general since he was little but he never got the chance to think about it now that he was free.

“Tulips will be the best for the occasion. They represent perfect love but the yellow ones are a symbol of thankfulness for someone’s efforts.” You turned your head and locked your eyes with his. For a moment, you felt as if you were drowning in them. They were blue like the ocean.

“Why are you staring like this?” He said throwing the most gorgeous smile you could ever imagine. You felt like an ocean wave flipped you over on the sand.

“Sorry. Your eyes reminded me of a flower.” You broke the eye contact feeling slightly embarrassed of your actions.

“What kind of flower?” If he thought, he was interested in the first place well now he was even more.

“It’s called forget-me-not. Back in the 15th century, there was a legend saying if someone wears this flower with them, their loved ones will never forget them. Nowadays most people think they are poisonous because they often mistake them with the Chinese-forget-me-not, which is very toxic. That’s sad. Such a beautiful and pure flower.” A sad tone was painting your voice.

“I want to be her forget-me-not flower.” Bucky said to himself while gaining the courage to make something very dangerous.

“Come with me in Louisiana.” The words echo within the small space. You were standing there for a few moments, which scared him the most because he thought he made a mistake.

“I would love to! But we have to get the flowers first. Come!” You replied after a while. Excitement taking over you while you talked to get the flowers. He was following you after.

At this moment Bucky was entirely pinned in love with you. He wanted to be able to call you family. He knew he would be happy with you. He knew you only knew each other for like an hour but he had that feeling in him telling this is the right thing to do.

You were both in the car listening to some soft 40s music. The sun rays coming from the window made your skin glow under them. You looked at him. He looked happy his eyes gathering all of the bright oranges of the sun in them. “Forget-me-not flowers thrive under the sun, too.” You thought.

“What’s your favorite flower?” Bucky asked breaking the silence. You broke the contact with the window view and looked at him.

“I have two. Lotus and asphodel.” You were happy that he asked you. No one cared about this stuff.

“And what do they mean?” He was curious and it showed.

“The lotus flower means rebirth and enlightenment. They grow in the mud and die at night just to bloom again in the morning. It lives only three days. You should see them on the first day while they are still freshly bloomed, otherwise with each day their petals start to fall and in the end, they lose all of them. The asphodel is the flower of death. People say they are the flowers that cover the endless pastures of Hades. He is the ancient Greek god of the underworld. If you give it to somebody it means that your regrets will follow them into the grave.” There was a reason why these flowers were so special for you and why they had such a tragic meaning.

“You are an interesting woman Y/N. You look happy, you smile and you are kind but hearing the meaning of your favorite flowers makes me realize how much I’m interested in you. We should do this more often, huh?’’ Those eyes were seeing straight through you.

“We should.” You simply told him reaching for his hand, which was placed on the gear shifter.

*a few months later*

“Bucky! Come back here!” You were running after him losing your breath while laughing. Suddenly he came out of nowhere almost crashing your bones when you both fell onto the mattress. You giggled when you felt his breath onto your neck.

“Thank you for everything you gave me and continue to do so. You are my family. My only one.” He whispered into your ear sending goosebumps down your spine.

‘’I love you, Buck. You are my forget-me-not remember?’’ Your nose caught the smell of this cologne. You loved that smell.

He let go of your neck and looked you in the eyes before crashing his lips into yours for a passionate kiss. At this moment he finally felt free. Free to do everything with the love of his life. He remembered the day when you both exchanged promising rings, symbol of your love for each other. They were made of resin and inside them were placed little forget-me-not flowers. Nothing was strong enough to take you away from him.

Tag list: @littlecanadianlani , @lovie-barnes

#bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #40s bucky #bucky fic #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #bucky fanfic #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes #bucky x female reader #bucky fluff #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #james barnes #james buchanan barnes #fatws bucky #winter solider #sam wilson #james buchanan bucky barnes #buckysam #bucky barnes x you #bucky barns x you #bucky barns x y/n #bucky barns x reader #bucky barns imagine #marvel #bucky barnes x original female character #bucky barns fluff

[sirthisisa-wendys]

Ungodly Hour: Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: Suguru doesn’t know the meaning of “relief”, and neither will you. 

words: 1779

tw: nsfw (light smut) 

Slam! 

Your head hits the desk - well, more accurately, the book on the desk - and you jolt back up, hoping no one heard your head crack against the pages. Shoko eyes you over the divider in the carrell, frowning deeply. 

“Are you getting any sleep?” You don’t answer, giving her a sheepish glance before looking back down at the shapeless words. “You need to tell him to stop keeping you up so late.” 

“Huh?” You look back up at the brown eyes still staring at you and roaming around your high-necked sweater, looking for any evidence to use against you. 

“Suguru. Don’t be afraid to tell him to let you sleep once in a while.” Shoko chuckles, then closes her book and stands. “Anyways, we should get back to the dorms. With those two dimwits off campus right now, maybe you could get some sleep.” 

You walk back to the dorms in silence, taking in the fall air with appreciation. The crisp smell of falling leaves and fresh rain settles over you like a warm embrace, and you think of the long, black haired sorcerer who resided in the back of your mind at all times. You used to think that Suguru was like the spring: fresh, and energizing. But now, he felt like the fall… comforting, warm, and familiar. The furnace for your fire. The threads for your sweater. The cup for your tea.

“Hey,” Shoko nudges you when you get to her room. “Draw that line, girl.” You laugh a  little at her cheesy words, then walk the few hundred feet to your room.

Silence greets you when you open the door and walk to your bed, which is neatly made from the previous week. You never really spent time in your bed anymore; Suguru liked to sleep with you in his arms, in his room, under his sheets. You thought you would feel a deeper sense of longing when he was gone, but your body reacts only with relief as you collapse on the bed. You need to shower the day off and wash your face, but the exhaustion drags you down and soon, you’re asleep on top of the covers, arm tucked comfortably under your head. 

When you wake, you realize dreams elude your memory. It had been like that for some time - this dreamless sleep. You were grateful for the lack of dreams, because it also meant the lack of nightmares. You hadn’t yet mentally recovered from the incident with the special grade curse, and neither had Suguru. One month wasn’t enough to wipe away the foul smell or the taste of blood out of your mouth, and you were sure that your hyperfixation on your studies would only drive your ability to deal with the trauma into the ground. 

But you couldn’t help it. 

You watched Suguru throw himself into the books when he couldn’t figure out a solution, so you did the same. When you went out with him on any given night, you two would get drunk or high (or both) and then fuck each other’s brains out. Deep down, you know it’s not the best way to cope with things, but the inherent toxicity of the cycle only draws you deeper. 

The second thing you realize is that it’s impossibly dark. 

A glance at the digital clock on your nightstand informs you that it’s eleven seventeen, which means you slept through dinner and possibly even Suguru’s return. You roll onto the edge of the bed to reach into your backpack to fish out your phone. There are no messages on the empty screen you note. He must not have made it back yet. 

As you sit up and rub your eyes, the thought to shower comes back to you. Ignoring your grumbling stomach, you step off the bed and take two steps in the direction of the bathroom, the trip over something hard and large laying on your bedroom floor. 

“Shit!” 

As you precariously hold on to the edge of your desk, you hear a groan and a figure shifting up from the floor slowly. Taking two books off your desk and yelling, you toss the thick volumes at the rising figure and grab another book to throw, the previous makeshift weapons thumping to the ground after hitting their mark… at least, you think they hit their mark. 

“Y/n, it’s me!” The sound of Suguru’s voice first shocks you, then enrages you. Gripping the third book in your hand, you flick on the lights and see Suguru tenderly picking up the volumes you tossed at him. 

“Your dictionaries? Really?” You’re not sure if you throw the third book out of embarrassment or anger, but Suguru picks it up after it hits his chest and stacks them on your desk anyways. “Sorry for scaring you, kitten.” 

“Don’t ‘kitten’ me!” You huff, running a hand through your hair out of frustration. “What were you doing sleeping on my floor?” 

“You looked so peaceful, and I didn’t want to wake you. So I thought the next best place to be near you would be the floor.” Suguru grunts, rolling his shoulder. “In hindsight, I should’ve sat in the chair instead.” You squint your eyes at the sorcerer, frowning, but choose to leave the argument where it is and go into the bathroom. You leave the door open while you wash your face and brush your teeth, letting Suguru eye you over the dictionary he had picked up out of boredom. “Yeah, the mission went well,” he finally called out over the sound of running water. “Thanks for asking.” 

“I didn’t,” you reply, turning the shower on and taking off your clothes. 

“I would like to shower, too.” The dictionary thumps back onto the desk, but you turn to kick the door closed before Suguru can even enter. Sighing, you run a hand under the warm water then step into the shower, feeling your muscles relax. Despite your obvious rejection, the door opens, and you hear the rustling of clothing. Suguru entered into the shower behind you, his spindly fingers trapezing around your body without a care. You instinctively relax into his grip, and his lips find your neck, pressing into the wet skin tenderly. 

“Su…” You whine, but he doesn’t relent. “Suguru, please…” His hard length rubs against your ass, and for once, you pray that he’ll give you just a few moments to shower before railing into you like a sex-starved man. 

“You need to be taught some manners, sweetheart.” The way his lips trail past your earlobe and across the minefield of hickies makes you shudder and lean into the hand cupping your neck. “Luckily for you, I’m the perfect disciplinarian.” You jerk at the feeling of his hand running across your stomach and to your ass before lifting it. But instead of smacking your flesh, he grabs your bar of soap and rubs it between his hands in front of you. 

“Sh-Shoko said I need to get more sleep.” You rush out, and Suguru pauses. 

“Oh?” His soft tone doesn’t betray his true feelings, but you know he’s tabulating all of the times he’s kept you from sleeping. “Why did she say that?” 

“I fell asleep in the library while I was trying to study,” You admit, feeling heat rush to your cheeks. “She noticed the hickies, too.” At this, Suguru gives a derisive snort. 

“Who doesn’t notice them?” You had to admit that he was right; the purplish-blue splotches are his way of marking you as his, warning the other snooping males to stay away as if you were a poisonous toad with yellow and blue coloring. As if to prove his point, he makes another one, this time running his teeth along the previous markings. 

“Seriously, Su.” Your voice makes him straighten up behind you and his soapy hands rest on your shoulders. 

“I’m sorry, y/n. I should’ve been more mindful of making sure you aren’t kept up too late.” You look over your shoulder at his face- which is serious, unflinching, and with a tinge of red around the cheeks - and he presses a feather-light kiss to your cheek. “Let me clean you up and get you back into bed.” 

Surprisingly, Suguru kept his promise, only touching you if he needed to reach past you or help you with the tangled mess that was your hair. As you climb into bed, Suguru tucks you in and presses another kiss to your forehead before turning on the small lamp at your desk.

“Goodnight, y/n,” he murmurs, then takes his familiar place at the desk, hunched over one of his books. 

That next morning, the warmth of Suguru’s body envelops you comfortably, and you wonder how he climbed into bed without waking you. Feeling unusually refreshed, you slip out of his arms and press a hand to his cheek, kissing the skin in thanks. Once in the bathroom, you stretch and yawn, hearing your bones crack - early in the morning and not late at night, for once - satisfied you deeply. You turn away to reach for your facial soap, when you hear it slide open unceremoniously. 

Fuck. 

A very alert Suguru leans against the doorway, observing your unclothed figure with a sinister look in his eye. 

“Early bird gets the worm.” And that’s how you found yourself staring at your reflection with Suguru’s hand holding your shoulder while he plowed into you from behind, his other hand rubbing circles on your clit. 

“You thought I’d let you get away…” he breathes into your ear, kissing your earlobe. “If not late at night, I’ll make sure you’re satisfied before you leave for class.” You can only moan his name, looking at your wanton reflection. “You look so perfect, kitten…” he groans. “All worked up so early in the morning for me…” 

“So, did you do it?” Shoko asks later, smiling widely when you nod slowly. 

“If I don’t want to be late, I have to get up earlier,” you mention, feeling the slick between your thighs that reminded you of how the morning had ended with you rushing out of the door. You barely had enough time to clean yourself up, which made for an uncomfortable two hours of squeezing your thighs together so Suguru’s seed wouldn’t stain the seat beneath you. The lecture was completely lost on you, you realize with acute self-consciousness. 

“Huh? Why?” Shoko eyed you carefully, then realized what you meant a second later. “So much for trying to help…” she muttered, looking away from you, embarrassed. So you walked on to class, and Shoko never suggested another thing when it came to Suguru.

#geto x reader #jjk geto #getou x reader #jujutsu kaisen #shoko ieiri #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen getou #jujutsu kaisen imagines #geto smut

[mythicalninjas]

A Hard Choice To Make - Part 1

"Go talk to him. It's the only way to wash your emotions away." April, the reporter of Channel 6, advise you.

"No!" Your eyes went wide "No, I won't!"

"Then do you want to live with it stuck into you for the rest of your life?"

You lower your head, not knowing what kind of response you should give besides this not-desired possibility. April is right.

Since you met the brothers—three years ago—you have created a strong family bond with all of them, specially with the fearless leader in blue who your heart shines for. You knew that something within you is brougth to life every time Leonardo is around, and it is kind of torture because you literally fell in love with this terrapin.

But there's a doubt haunting you: Is Leo with the same feelings about you? The objection behind it is almost invalid in your point of view. He is the leader of his group, known as being the only one who tries to keep his brothers in line, making decisions for each time they are out for patrol, dealing with the most heavy and difficult choices and moments throughout their adventures. And you... You are just a human as you always say.

You sigh, turning your eyes back at April "Ya know, I have no idea if he feels the same about me. I'm afraid of how he'd react from my declaration."

April leaves her desk, and sits next to you on the sofa in the living room of her apartment. "Y/N..." she said softly, landing her slender hand on your shoulder "Soon or late he will know; but if I were you, I would go talk to him. He won't figure it out alone". You nodded, staring at the floor again with your mind lost in an ocean of thoughts and emotions. "Try, Y/N. Do not let it consume you; or it will get worse" the reporter rubs your shoulder and embrace you in a comfort hug.

"Would you like me to talk to him?" She offered herself.

"No! No... I must be prepare myself first."

April let's out a soft giggle "Okay. Take your time, sweetheart. Call me if you need help." She smiled.

You let the comfort of her embrace take you completely as a help to try to kick out your anxiety, but your nervousness insists to stay. How would you say to the most respectable man that you're in love with? How would he reacts? Will he treat you in a bad or good way? You knew he wouldn't treat you like an idiot or something but even that you are not secure.

A few weeks has passed since April's advice.

You and Casey Jones were called by Chief Vicent to attend a meeting at NYPD police station for a debate about Shredder after his sudden disappearance in the day that Technodrome has appeared in the sky. And for your surprise you're not the only one who were invited.

Your mutant turtles best friends are there.

And speaking of them...

"Hey Casey and Y/N!" Mikey was the first one who came up to welcome you both as you enter in the police station. "Finally you're here! Chief Vicent is waiting for you" the young brother pointed at up stairs of the building.

You and Casey went quickly to the second floor.

Arriving there, Mikey pointed at one of the several rooms throughout the large corridor. From outside you could see three shells facing the only door of the small space, and your eyes shone. In the middle of the three massive terrapins, a blue and well-written kanji with a pair of katanas.

"Y/N? Are you coming or...?" Casey called, noticing your behaving.

You froze, desperate about what you would do with that handsome man a few steps away from you—actually standing on the other side of the table.

Gulping, you walked behind Casey as you both enter the room.

"Good evening, Casey Jones." the blond-haired woman nodded from the other side of the rectangular table, facing you both "And Y/N" she nodded again, sharing a polite smile. Other three pairs of eyes landed on you while you stand beside Casey "Hey, guys" Donnie waved with that cute grin he has. "Hey..." Raphael said with a neutral voice; and finally Leonardo who, as Chief Vicent, shares a nod and a smile.

Oh God, that smile makes your bones shiver.

"So what are the news, Chief?" Casey asked, leaning above the table to watch papers and pictures scattered above it.

"We got a prove that Shredder must be still alive" she continued "We have captured Karai who was with him in the day that Kraang has arrived on Earth for the first time, and has confessed that Shredder was teleported into Technodrome. It was the last time she has seen him" she finished, glancing quickly at Shredder's picture on her right side and then looked up at everybody there present.

"Wait, wait..." The hot head turtle interferes "Last time? But how? Karai and Shredder used to work together all the time! Perhaps she is laying-"

"We don't know, Raph." The leader cuts his brother, then Mikey continued "Or maybe Shredder is working for Kraang.", Donnie moved his body a bit to stand face-to-face with his brothers and continued "We do not know if all those suggestions are valid, but I fear what Mikey said. Shredder must be working for Kraang."

Chief Vicent nodded positively, leaning above the table "I wouldn't discard this possibility."

The idea of Shredder working for Kraang freaks you out. Shredder is known for being dangerous, and Kraang is known for being deadly; and the two of them together is a nightmare.

After a few minutes of silence, Casey questioned "So, what are we gonna do now?"

"Wait. For now." Chief Vicent responded, not breaking her eye contact with the Shredder's picture beside her, and the room was filled with Raph's indignation voice "Wait?! How much time of wait?!"

"Raph, more respect!" Leo punch his brother's arm, murmuring and shaking his head in disapprove by his brother's behaving.

You tried to not giggle by their brotherhood behaving.

"We don't know..." Chief Vicent replied "but all we can do now is use what we have available to find Shredder; and Kraang. I'm highly doubt that Shredder isn't on Earth. Maybe he was brought back by Kraang. As you said before, Donatello" she pointed "the atmosphere in Technodrome is toxic for those who have a normal cardiovascular system. Hardly Shredder would survive in that thing out there".

"There's an interesting point" Leo continued "But It's been months since his disappearance and till now no one has seen him. For sure, if someone have, they would warn us."

"Or they would help him" Raph participated one more time "We don't know if someone is his follower."

"You mean a new Shredder?" Mikey asked, surprised.

"I would freak out if it is true." You said.

"Me too." Chief Vicent agreed, sighing.

The worst nightmare of the boys is that another (or other) person ended up like Shredder. For sure someone out there have inspired themselves on that horrible assassin and perhaps will keep on doing his dirty work as a next generation of the Foot Clan. It must be happening in any city, state or country right now.

After two hours of debate, Chief Vicent has decided give a break, and then back to the reunion.

You are checking out your Pinterest in another small room of the building to spend some time. But your is mind busy thinking more about Leo than paying attention to the pics on your social media. You just scroll down, the pics passing through your phone screen quickly; then your mind focused in flashbacks of your conversation with April a few weeks ago.

You want to confess your love for Leonardo. You want to face him and say how much you love him.

But why are you feeling something negative inside you?

You sighed, without knowing what to do. Your eyes lift from the screen and scanned the small room around you. There's a desk with a deactivated computer in the left and a cupboard on the right. Cupboard? Why is it here in a office? Maybe this room is used like a kitchen. And speaking of it... where's the coffee machine and other stuff used by workers?

You shrugged, ignoring it and paying attention to your phone again.

"Y/N?" A familiar deep voice called from the door frame. You jumped and quickly looked up at the person.

Actually, at the turtle.

"Oh, hey Leo" you smiled, pretending you didn't got scared by his sudden apparence. But he was giggling a bit "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you" he came in, picking up a chair and sitting beside you.

Butterflies started to fly wildly in your belly.

"Come on, Y/N! Say something!" you thought. "So... How's things going?". "Really, Y/N?! Is it all you can say?!" You coursed at yourself.

Leo glanced at you and says confused "Um... Things are great. Thanks." he smiled.

Now is the time. You have to tell! You want to tell! But you're fucking afraid.

Your thoughts says to do not do it but your heart says yes. You took a deep breathe, rubbing your hands on your thighs nervously and finally looked up at him.

"Leo..." You called softly.

"Hm?" He looked back at you in the eyes. It seems that your heart will get out of your chest, and you could feel your cheeks burning.

"I...".

He just tilted his head, waiting for your answer.

"I... am gonna take some coffee. W-Would you like some?" That's it. You wanna punch yourself in the face.

He lift an eyebrow—at least you could see.

"Um... Yes, please". He answered, still suspicious about why are you acting that way. You got up from the chair where you were and walked out of the room, but before you could leave, Leo grabs your arm and makes eye contact with you, worried "Are you okay?"

"Why? Yeah! Why wouldn't I am?" You tried to act as normal as possible, but you couldn't hide it from him. This man can notice if something is right or not. And you fear that. You don't wanna mess your moment. You just want to relax with him, and not put more worry into him. Leo and his brothers are already dealing with Shredder's disappearance which is shaking them inside out frenetically. And the last thing you want is bother him with your love.

"I'll be right back." You gently released from his massive hand and left the room, leaving him alone.

"Damn, Y/N! What's wrong with you?" the whisper leaves your mouth and suddenly you bumped with another woman, hitting your shoulder with hers.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry! Are you okay?"

"Oh, no. It's okay" the red-haired waved, grinning "I must apologize, I was distracted".

"Don't worry, I was distracted too." You giggled, then kept on your way to find a coffee machine which you have no idea where it is.

For sure your thoughts are torturing and preventing you by something you wish to do. You've been hiding your love for Leo for almost three years.

After ask a cob where to find a coffee machine you finally have found it in somewhere on the third floor of the police station.

"Okay, Y/N. You can do this" you whispered while you fill almost to the top two cups with the dark liquid. "You can do this. You can do this..." You continued to repeat, trying to fill you with courage.

"I'm ready. I can do this!"

Picking up the two cups with dark coffee youheaded back to the small room where the handsome man is waiting for you.

Stopping beside the door frame—you can't see what is happening inside the small room—you took a deep breath and get yourself ready for the long-awaited moment of your life.

Smiling, you walked in.

And froze.

Leo was there, as you expected, but he was kissing the woman who you accidentally bumped early on your way to get the coffee.

Your heart broke like someone has ripped it out from you.

It seems that the world has fallen under you; your body falling into an precipice.

You prepared yourself for three years for nothing. All the worries, expectations, and hopes you used to have, all that moments you've spent practicing what you would say to your best friend, all the great moments you and him spent. Three years of your life were wasted.

Leo and the red-haired woman broke the kiss and directed their eyes on you, surprised. You have to admit that you saw a light blush covering on his cheeks.

"Oh, Y/N." He said, smiling "Allow me to introduce you my girlfriend".

You felt a knot forming in your throat.

"Y/N, this is Melissa. Melissa, this is my best friend, Y/N." He used his hand to mention you and his girlfriend while introduce you both.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N." Melissa waved.

"Nice to meet you, Melissa..." You shares a small smile, hiding your frustrating, and waved back.

You take a step forward to place the cup on the small desk next to you. Some drops of the dark liquid slipped out from the object "You should drink before it gets cold, Leonardo." You simply said, trying so hard to not cry. The leader got surprised when you said his full name. It's rare to you do it. Since you both got intimate—as best friends—you started to say his nickname as you do with the others. He doesn't understand very well the reason of your sudden change.

"Um... Yes, I will". He pronounced every single word slowly, tilting his head a bit as he looks at you. Melissa noticed your uncomfortable expression and asked worried "Are you okay, sweetheart?"

"No!" you screamed mentally. "Yes! I am. I gotta go. Sorry." You whispered the last word, turning and heading out of the room, leaving the woman and your best friend together. Your eyes starts to get warm and a wet feeling of tears disturbs you completely; you refuse to cry in front of important and serious people from this place. So you forced your legs to walk fast towards the exit.

You were so distracted that you almost bumped Chief Vicent. You gasped.

"Hey, Y/N. We're going to back to our reunion right now. Have you seen Leo? I can't find him anywhere." the blond-haired woman asked.

"He-*deep breath* He's in that room." You pointed at the door in the end of the corridor. C. Vicent lift an eyebrow, studying your facial expression.

"Are you okay, Y/N?"

"No, I'm not!" You gulped as see Chief Vicent's eyes going wide by your anger, then you immediately completed, "I'm not feeling good..."

But before Chief Vicent had a chance to talk to you, you lower your head and ran away, the knot in your throat and the pain in your heart growing up wildly.

You couldn't stay in that building anymore, not with Leo there. Not with the news of his sudden dating with someone. All you want now is go home, lay down on your bed, bury your face into a pillow, and cry like there's no tomorrow—well, actually there's no tomorrow for you.

How much time Leonardo is dating? And why April didn't tell you about it? Or any of his brothers? Do someone know about his dating? Or does he didn't tell to anyone yet?

You don't wanna know.

Actually you couldn't blame him because he has no idea that you are in love with him.

And now you have to deal with a new reality.

#tmnt #bayverse tmnt #tmnt bayverse #tmnt x reader #tmnt 2016 #tmnt 2014 #tmnt leonardo #tmnt leo x reader #teenage mutant ninja turtles #teenage mutant ninja turtles out of the shadows

[zealous-whispers-of-us-redux]

a different kind of song

(A/N: no one ever asked for this, but there isn't enough merman!Bucky/reader fics out there, lol. Also, her song is basically "Siren Song" by Margaret Atwood)

Warning- allusions to sexual assault. Do NOT read if that bothers you!

Summary: The sea swallowed her whole, and she was reborn with saltwater on her tongue and webs between her fingers.

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She did not remember her life as a human. All she remembered was the war, and the hunger, and the men raiding her village. She remembered the sweat-soaked skin of a warrior snatching her up as she cried out for help. She felt the slide of his body, his blade against her throat. Then when he had finished, she remembered being thrown away into the deepest part of the sea, left to die. But she was blessed by the primordial sea god Phorcys, a child of Artemis, and was allowed to live again. Her new body was formed from misery and blood, and the reward for her suffering was eternal life with the chance to kill as many humans as she wished with no divine interference. The killing of human men, for men were the chosen victims of any siren. Women were not drawn in by their song, and if, by chance, a woman stumbled across a siren, that siren would leave her alone.

Slowly, she began to forget the trappings of humanity, the sound of her mother's voice, and the taste of human food. She aged with the world, hidden deep beneath the waves. Countless men fell prey to her beautiful song, and she learned how to kill quickly. She grew to love the taste of flesh, the sound of someone drowning. She forgot what it was like to be lonely. 

Now, she only knew starvation.

An all-encompassing hunger clawing at her belly made her whine with pain. Humans had avoided this part of the sea for a few years, and she last ate three months ago. She'd had to survive solely on fish, which, while technically food, were not filling nor even tasty. She was beginning to hate fish.

There were no boats; she checked three times in the past hour. It was dangerous for her to be so close to the surface because the air outside was toxic. There was also a very likely chance that she would be spotted by anyone who could harm her. But she was so hungry that she forgot herself. She floated just beneath the surface and sang, letting her voice ring out through the water, enticing any man into approaching. The setting sun shined down on the outcrop of rocks above her.

And there! A flash of something!

She sang louder, opening her eyes underwater. There was a man with darker hair than she had ever seen lying on a gigantic rock. He was acceptable, she guessed. She barely knew what that meant.

He had yet to notice her, dumb as he was. She could see her song was affecting him as his eyes started to close, and his hand inched unconsciously closer to the water. His finger just barely skimmed the surface before she lunged, yanking him into the sea with her. He began to fight back as she dragged him down to the sandy bottom. Thrashing against her hold, he scrabbled to gain purchase on her body, but to no avail. Her skin was as hard as stony coral and difficult to cut. She sang her trumph, mocking him as she brought him up to break the surface, only to bring him right back down.

But this man had a tail, and she did not realize it until it hit her in the face. She squawked in surprise, her song cutting off. The merman twisted out of her slackened grip. She snarled, baring her teeth as she swam at him. Sirens were stronger than mer, especially in deeper waters, so it did not take much to grab him again. They wrestled, flipping over each other. She sliced his side with one of her nails; his tail knocked the wind out of her. He pulled her lure too hard, and she made a pained sound, biting at his hand. He cried out as she ate clean through one of his webs. Blood leaked into the water, making her ravenous.

"This is the one song everyone would like to learn: the song that is irresistible," she began, "The song that forces men to leap overboard in squadrons, even though they see the beached skulls!"

The merman ceased struggling. He stared at her, his eyes growing vast and dreamy. She grinned toothily. She had only had mer meat once before. It was harder to draw in mermen than human men, so because of that, she was only able to entice a single merman. But that was years ago, and he wasn't nearly as delicious to look at as this mer.

She dropped the tone of her voice to a seductive curl. "This is the song that nobody knows because anyone who has heard it is dead, and others can't remember. Shall I tell you a secret? And if I promise to, will you come nearer? I will tell my secret to you, to you, only to you. Come closer, closer to me."

She lifted her finger, tempting him to come over so that she could take a bite. The merman swam closer until their chests were pressed together. He said something in a language that she had never heard before.

"This song is a cry for help, my dear. Help me! Only you, only you can, for you are unique!" she cried sadly.

His tail curled around hers, and she frightened at the gentle touch broken out of her song. She spat and gnashed her teeth, but still, his tail stayed where it was. He opened his mouth and said something, but she still could not understand. She went to bite his nose off, but he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers so plainly that she stilled. She was not sure what was happening. She was not sure what she was supposed to be doing. She floated there, letting him mash his mouth against hers. His mouth tasted bizarre.

Finally, the merman stopped. He pulled away only minutely, still looking spellbound. Strange. Her song had ended. Why did he continue to look at her like that? He reached out and lifted her chin to meet his eyes. His own were darting back and forth across her face, searching for something. He spoke more things that she didn't understand.

"Uhh-h- hello," the merman said in a language she could understand. "Hi."

"Why were you crushing your mouth onto mine?" she asked.

"What, never heard of kissin' before?"

His smile was much too pleasant. That was unacceptable. Food was never supposed to look nice. She wanted to claw the smile right off of his face.

"Kissing?"

"Yeah, touchin' lips. Usually done as a sign of love or, you know, desire."

"Desire?"

"Sweet Thetis, you're fuckin' gorgeous," said the merman, ignoring her confusion.

His hand shot out to touch her lure, but he thought better of it and withdrew.

"What does that mean?" she asked.

His smile grew bigger, how funny: "Beautiful. Pretty."

"Pretty? What's that?"

"You know, like when you find a shiny thing, an' you wanna keep it forever?"

"I do not know," she grumbled (How dare this mer make her feel unintelligent!). "I have never had shiny things."

"Never had… Hold on, my pretty one."

Mystified, she waited just as he'd asked as he ruffled through a pouch that she had not noticed before. She had never seen anything like it and wondered where she could acquire one. Of course, she never had a reason to have a bag since she had no use for possessions. Perhaps it could hold weapons! Or bones to snack on!

"Ah-ha!" the merman said, thrusting something in her direction.

She stared at the thing in his hand.

"Looks even prettier underneath your lights," he said, avoiding her eyes.

"What is it?" she replied, her hand darting out nervously to touch it.

She pulled back almost instantly, but the merman grabbed her wrist.

"It's called gold," he explained, tipping it into her hands. "The humans use it to get other shiny things. D'you like it?"

"I am not sure. I do not know what I like."

"You can keep it."

"What kind of trickery is this?"

"No tricks. As I said, you're beautiful, and beautiful things should have beautiful things."

"No tricks, certainly, but what do you want in exchange?"

For the first time tonight, he looked sheepish. She noticed that his stomach was turning pink, but for what reason, she was unsure. She wondered what he was trying to work up the nerve to say.

"Well, er, matin' season is comin' up," he began.

"Not yet."

"Right, it isn't for a few months yet, but I was taught to woo the mer, er, the creature that I choose with shiny things. It's my first matin' season, you see."

"Mhm."

"An' the wooin' part takes a while. An' then there's the courtin' stage, which takes even longer."

"If you need a mate, there are mer all around this area during this time."

"Well- heh." The merman rubbed the back of his neck. "I-I'd like it to be you."

"Why?"

"Because you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"Ah."

"I have more shiny things if you want 'em," the mer said, reaching for his pouch.

She shrugged. "I have no use for them."

"You don't gotta have a use for 'em. Where's your home cave? I can bring 'em there."

"I do not have a home cave," she said.

"Oh, right, where is your family's cave, then?"

"I have no family."

"No family? You mean, you're out here all by yourself?"

"Yes."

"Aren't you lonely?"

"What is lonely?" she asked.

"Sad, because you have no one with ya."

"What is sad?"

"Whaddya mean, 'what is sad?' It's sad! Don't you know what that is?" the merman twisted his face up like he was in distress, though what kind she was not sure.

"I only know hunger," she told him.

His eyes lost some of their shine. "Oh, yeah, right. How long's it been since you ate properly anyway? You don't look so good."

"I have not caught a human in months."

"D'you need help huntin'?"

"Can you ensnare a human with your singing?"

"No, but I know some good spots for fish."

"I am not in the mood for fish," she said.

"You just haven't found the right kind," the merman replied, closing his left eye.

He turned tail, swimming away from her before glancing back to see if she would follow him. The hunger in her belly was making her act quite strange in that she was willing to go along with this merman. She felt, oh, what's the word, she knew this, like mer, she was curious. She decided to follow him, keeping a bit of distance between them until the merman flipped around in an impressive display of tailfins and long dark hair, and decided they would swim side by side. His hand kept brushing hers, trying to grab onto her fingers for some reason. She tugged away, unsure of what he was trying to do. She still had not yet decided if she wanted to mate with him anyway. Sirens did not mate in the same way that mer did, that much she knew. They called it breeding, and it was over in a frenzy of teeth and claws. There were no gifts of shiny things or "kisses."

"What's yer name?" the merman asked.

The question stunned her. She could not remember her name before the sea took her in, and she had no use for a name now. No one else called to her. Her name was simply another memory, another casualty to add to her list.

"I do not know," she said.

"You know what a name is, right? Like, I'm Bucky, for example."

Her fingers drifted up to her lips, searching for her name. If she remembered the shape of her mouth as she spoke it aloud, perhaps she could remember the correct sounds. She thought back as far as she could, to the feeling of water filling her lungs, to the sounds of screams, to the smell of a fire burning down her village, to her blood staining her tongue. She wanted to remember her name. She had not even realized this was something she had lost until she needed it.

Then there was a flash of memory, jagged and cutting. Her heart began to race. In her mind, she heard it. Her mother had been crying. Her mother had been screaming at the men to stop. Her mother had been shrieking to let go of her, let go of my daughter. Her mother yelling at her to be brave, hold her breath, be strong, my love, my dear. Her mother. She remembered her mother.

Her lips parted, and she whispered the name into the water. The merman, Bucky, repeated it.

"Again," she said.

He did, and oh, she felt something new, something besides hunger. A hole opened in her chest. Her lower lip wobbled, and then she was singing a new song, never before heard from a siren. It echoed around her and Bucky, reaching out to the farthest depths of the sea. It was filled with desperation, isolation, and salvation, but it was hope and home too.

"Is this what sad is?" she asked Bucky once her song was over.

"Yeah, it is," he answered, curling his tail around hers.

When he went to wrap her up in his arms, she let him, falling into his embrace.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mermaid au #angst #fluff #merman!bucky #siren!reader

[annmarcus63]

He wanted to say "I love you"

Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion

Here's on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34237159

Injured Jaskier

"Blessed silence"

"Would you shut up, bard?"

"If you don't stop within the next two minutes, I swear, I'll break that fucking lute and shove it down your throat"

"Jaskier, shut up!"

"Alright! I'll stop, there's no need to be such a brute" replied Jaskier while tucking the lute, currently on his hands, on the brand new case he bought a couple of days ago to a retired musician living his last days on White Orchard. It's gorgeous, orgasmic, almost as sexy as the lute.

The music notes slowly fading in Geralt's ears, leaving a weak hum behind. Geralt sighed relieved, and a suspicious feeling that may resemble guilt. But there's not time to dwell on it. He's trying to sort the potions and required ingredients to complete the contract which he needed to follow up  that same night. Witchers were trained to tune out every sound to be able to concentrate. He could meditate for days with not a single thing to bother him, but Jaskier's chatter is a powerful contrary spell to the calmness he was used to. It's a possibility that Jaskier fell upon his path with the sole purpose to test his limits. He is good company but sometimes Geralt wonders if it's worth the trouble.

He needs Arachnomorphs' venom and Griffin's feathers and blue mutagen to brew the antidote to the potent venom of the Endrega warrior he's goin to face. Methodically he starts with the preparation, grind and mix, smell, taste, it hurts...it's ready.

Three weeks ago he received a letter from Eskel asking to meet for pressing matters. Geralt doesn't know what he may want, it maybe a problem with a powerful beast or just a call to drink, which is unlikely because the message seem urgent. So Geralt had to hurry if he wanted to catch him on time, he was two days late and if he doesn't kill the Endrega he'd be three days late. Traveling with Jaskier prevent from a fastest pace, and the reason of those two days were, of course, the bard who asked him to stay longer on White Orchard to wait for his new lute case. Geralt ponder all this with an edge of bitterness towards Jaskier, it's unfair and uncalled for. He feel like shit. He ponder it still.

Jaskier is capable of recognizing when he's being a nuisance. Or well...he can recognize when someone has reach their limits regarding him. He can be too much, he speaks too much, he moves too much, he whines too much, he thinks too much. He's considerate you see, when Geralt snaps at him he understands. He can't help it. Is what he is, and he's not going to change, he tried once for his father. It didn't work, Jaskier was giving too much away for the acceptance of one person, he conclude it didn't worth it.

He understands really, but today Geralt has been a little over the edge, and has crossed the line between banter and plain rudeness.

So the logical response is to be more annoying.

Jaskier can be awful too when he wants.

He prod the wild and stressed animal with meaningless chatter, why does the fire moves like that? is the color of my fingernail normal? have you ever wonder how it'd be to become a fish?

the wild animal spill one or two drops of the antidote while pouring it from the small wood plate in which the ingredients got blend. Jaskier swear have saw how the vein on Geralt's forehead pop.

Ups…

"Would you SHUT UP for once in your fucking life?” ok he seen that coming “I can't even hear my own thoughts, bard. When we reach Velen you're going to stay there. Do you understand? Not following me around anymore”

To be fair he has caused this. It's what he does, always, being and idiot with and incessant mouth. He has push too far this time, even so that tone on Geralt's voice put him on edge, angry even. That ungrateful witcher and his never ending foul mood. What would he give to see him smile more often?

Everything.

A heavy atmosphere settled on the camp, Geralt's angry and now Jaskier's too, offended to be more accurate. Jaskier hated these often-occurring moments, as if the bard were a stranger and not a years friend.

Are you though?

Whoever sent the letter is Geralt's friend. What give it away? the eagerness to travel fast for instance. Jaskier send a letter once, asking if he wanted to meet at Novigrad, he never received a response nor Geralt went there.

Geralt packed his things, secure the sword straps and with a particular tenseness on his shoulders he turn to Jaskier.

"You're going to stay here. HERE Jaskier. I don't want you anywhere near the nest, the poison..."

"I know"

"Then I want you to repeat it"

"What? Really? I'm not a child, Geralt" but the Witcher kept his stance, waiting, and Jaskier's a sucker for pleasing.

"I'm going to stay here, quiet and still. If I get near the nest there's a high chance to get poisoned, even a small dosis could kill me. And get my body back and bury it would be a big hassle for you Are you happy now?"

"Hmm. I'll be back by midnight"

Geralt disappeared between the trees and Jaskier watch him go with a big lump on his throat. Not five minutes later he started cleaning the broth pot to fill it again with clean water to drink to warm up his bones. How he wish to have tea or coffe to add.

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Wind's howling, Jaskier reflected, feeling the chill colouring his cheeks and breaking his lips unpleasantly. Besides the wolfs living on the wind, there was silence, a sepulchral silence that caused him feel unsafe. Even Roach looks in distress. An hour ago she was lying on the grass getting ready for a good night sleep, and now she's looking everywhere as if she can sense something lurking in the shadows, and that is scary. By the position of the moon Jaskier could guess the time, one and a half hour past midnight. That idiot witcher should be here by now. He knew that, Roach knew that, so why he's not here?

He couldn't think straight, the worry was eating him up from the intestines and it wasn't fair or unnormal, worrying for Geralt is like worrying for the sun to never come up again. It may happen but is unlikely, impossible.

Geralt is fine, he is, or at least is what he kept repeating himself for the past hour like a mantra that no one would ever listen.

Something went wrong, I'm sure. He'd be here by now so why he's not here? What if the Endrega chew his head off? that's sudden and crude Jaskier, what's wrong with you? He can't be dead, I mean I didn't even get the chance to apologize, to clean his wounds, to buy him breakfast, to tell him I love him with all my beating foolish heart.

Agh, but he's not dead, so stop that train of thought right this instant, young man.

For some reason the voice sounded like his dead mother.

"I need to go there only to see if he's safe" said Jaskier to Roach

"But he said rather rudely to you to stay put and not bother him." replied imitating Roach voice like a tired housewife.

"I know what he said" said with an air of petulant child. "And what about you come with me to keep me in check"

"It's dark you can't see and it's dangerous"

"But you can!"

"Fine, hop on me" he loved winning arguments.

He saddled Roach efficiently, Geralt rarely let him do it but he was a quick learner. He put out the fire with a kick of dust, took a small blade that Geralt kept at the bottoms of his bag just in case, he also lit the only torch they carried for emergencies, a beacon of light that Geralt could see if he was in trouble and rode Roach towards the clearing next to the main road from which people get disappearing and getting eaten.

He trusted Roah to guided him, she was a clever one who also worried for her master.

The cold kept biting his skin even under the small fire, he left his cape at camp in case he needed to run, but they're getting closer. A wooden statue with flowers and canisters at it’s feet appear by his right, the notice board said the location of the insect was near that god statue.

He stoped Roach and dismount then he took the short blade wishing he didn't have to use it, before leaving he remembered the possibility of encounter with poison, according to Geralt Endregas not only spit venom but also exuded poisonous gas equally lethal. So he took his undershirt to cover half his face, this might prevent breathing it.

The turned out the torch because the light would attract the Endrega and distract Geralt.

He walked slowly to north realizing how much he was trembling, it wasn't that cold. It was fear and the soft hum of the adrenaline waiting on his brain for being triggered.

And then a rancid and potent smell reached him despite the undershirt. There. A thick unnatural mist and a series of small mountains piled some meters away. No, not mountains, bodies, Endrega bodies lying on the ground slaughtered with efficiency. A witcher’s work.

He almost missed it because of the mist, but there he was, Geralt, lying on the ground in a tragic pantomim of his foes. Jaskier hurried to him almost tripping in the process, he kneel by his side and got shocked by the hardened veins on the witcher's forehead, his levels of toxicity must being dangerous high. But he wasn't dead and if Jaskier wanted to keep him like that he needed to take him away from the mist to help his body fight the secondary effects of the pocions.

He looked the number of bodies surrounded them, more than six when the contract said one Endrega.

He have to be quick so he wrap Geralt by the armpits and with all his strength started to drag him towards Roach, he couldn't risk bringing her here in case of the poison or another insect near by. Geralt was a big guy, he has always being attracted to that, now not so much. Sweating, weary and scared.

Sweating, weary and scared the bard dragged the witcher to Roach when he started to feel dizzy followed by an annoying scratching under the skin. Roach stamped her feet two times before getting closer, she nosed her master while Jaskier catch his breath, then the lovely girl crouched down and wait patiently.

In a matter of a blink, his head started to pound violently and his vision to get blurred. That wasn't good.

The poison, it's the poison.

With all the strength he got left he pull Geralt on his belly over Roach, the position wasn't ideal but it was all he could do before collapsing on his knees.

"Go Roach. Go" She stood with must carefulness, Jaskier watched her go feeling a rush of pride and victory, he saved Geralt, he'll be alright and that was all that matter.

Jaskier fell backwards hitting his head with the ground, his body started convulsing or at least that's what he thought before lose consciousness.

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An insistent poke on his ribs brought him to wakefulness followed by a fall and a sudden sharp pain on his side. A few seconds later the witcher take in his surroundings. Roach neigh by his side, he had fall from her. The heavy cloud from exhaustion and toxicity still rested on his brain.

He felt the bitter tang on the back of his tongue of venom running thru his system and the hollow pain that remained. There were eight Endregas...yes, the Endregas, he had fainted on the clearing knowing well that he might not woke up again if he kept on breathing that mist. How did he get there? Roach answered with a distressed stump of her foot.

"What?" he asked the horse, and she neigh.

Jaskier

"Fuck."

he search on his pouch for White Honey to swallow it in a big gulp.

Awareness returned quickly and despite the injuries and aches on his lef side he took Roach's reins and guided her back to the clearing.

Back to Jaskier, he hoped to not be late, please let him be on time, he begged to no one in particular.

The contract said one Endrega, imagine the surprise and horror he felt when encountering a nest with full grown ups monsters which position were stronger and their hunt abilities an excellency when attacking in pack. He drank the three vials of antidote he carried and a dose of Swallow that burned his stomach and shot the toxicity levels to a mortal point. The Endregas were all dead, but tired and injured he collapse defeated. The position of the moon indicate that was dead for at least two hours during which he continued to breathe the poisonous gas, half and hour more and he'd be dead for good. Jaskier went for him, he could smell him on Roach, his fear and urgency. Idiot, that idiot.

Geralt tried with all his might to not think him dead.

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At the feet of the statue was Jaskier, body bent in an awkward angle. Geralt removed the undershirt on his face, recognizing it as a clever tactic. The mist did not reach that area but the purple and green tone on the bard's skin indicate high levels of poison, he must have went thru the mist to reach Geralt drag him back to Roach.

“Fuck, Jask”  said Geralt with a trembling voice and without thinking carried Jaskier to Roach, there'll be time to check for injuries for now he have to take him back to safety. Jaskier's heartbeat was slow, very very slow. Geralt fret but he did not relent.

He laid Jaskier's frigid body on the bedroll and with Igni he started the fire, he located the water Jaskier used for tea and used to clean his hands of the grime and dirt. A choking noise alerted him and Roach who was nosing the bard.

From Jaskier's nose a dark liquid started to flow, he was drowning from the inside which meant that he had breath the poison and it was filling his lungs with thick mucus.

He put Dandelion on his side and encouraged him to vomit with his fingers to clean his airways as soon as possible. Jaskier throat convulsed on his fingers followed by a steady dark flow. Geralt reached for the pot by the fire to put it under his mouth, which soon was filled to the brim.

"That's it Jask, that's it" Geralt whispered even though the bard couldn't hear him. With a clean cloth, he wiped the bard's mouth once the flow stopped and her lungs sound clear. It was then that Geralt noticed with overwhelming fear that the other had stopped breathing.

"No, no, Jask come on come on"

He acted fast by lifting Jaskier's chin and placing his clasped hands in the center of his chest and began to push down hard more times than he could count.

“Jaskier come back!” he growled when his shoulders felt like jelly, he was getting tired and Jaskier wasn't breathing. He wasn't breathing. He remembered Renfri choking on his arms a reflection of what was happening here. Not this again, not these again. Jaskier's mouth opened follow up by a weak gasp and a weaker heartbeat.

But he came back, and Geralt almost cried right there and there, but he didn't know how. There's nothing else he can do, he had no medicine of herbs for poisoning that could help humans, everything he had was lethal. He instantly regretted overlooking the possibility of this happening. He was traveling with a bard and the most responsible and considerate thing he could do was prevent and buy at least herbs just in case. But he didn't. They were at least a day and a half away from the next town and being that far from the capital meant fewer healers. Jaskier wouldn't survive the travel, not on this conditions.

If the poison hasn't killed him by now then it means that he could survive on his own, or at least that's what Geralt hope.

He put Jaskier in one of his shirts and covered him with all the available clothes they had, his cape and even the blanket with which he covered Roach.

Exhausted he started removing his armour to clean the now faint slashes on his chest and abdomen, then he walked like death to Roach to remove the saddle and pet her gently thanking her for her help.

It was an hour before dawn, but Geralt did not rest, he could not even if he wanted to. He sat next to Jaskier to check his breathing and keep the fire burning.

The fever hit the bard a couple of hours later, he was burning dangerously high, Geralt dipped a cloth on clean water to place on his forehead, from time to time raised Jaskier's head to feed him with water.

His heart didn't stop again which was a blessing amongst the terrible situation. Jaskier didn't deserve to die like this, not for Geralt or monsters.

Then the hallucinations began, feverish and confused, Jaskier babbled under his breath while trembling furiously. He smell like sickness and decay and in that exact moment the witcher missed the natural perfume of the bard's skin. Like sea breeze and orange tree. Like Jaskier.

By day two Geralt got assaulted by an all consuming wave of guilt. He had yelled at the bard for being...well, himself. He was so upset and it was so easy to insult and threaten to leave him in the next town.

Jaskier hated to be left behind.

"Why did you came for me, you idiot?"

"I don't deserve it" whispered before taking the now warm cloth to dip it once again on cold water. Instead of improving, Jaskier's condition began to deteriorate. Painful spasms convulsed his body for hours, the fever did not subside and his breathing were shallow and slow. Geralt lay next to him that night to keep the tremors at bay, he hold him carefully alongside his body.

"You do remember the night after Posada when we make camp and you asked me to cuddle you because you were cold?" He whispered into the night "I didn't. If you were awake I'd never hear the end of this. You'd love it"

The bard moaned softly and shook slightly under his grip. "Come back to me, Jask." He meant to say how sorry he was, he doze off instead.

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First he felt heat on his face, then a relentless pressure on his head as if a heavy stone was on top of it Little by little he maped his body and the multiple aches that alarmed him. On his chest underneath the skin his ribs screamed with fire as if he have been kicked hard multiple times, also his lungs burned like hell, his shoulders were stiff and sore, his belly hurt faintly.

What happened? Where is he? What, what, what, what

"Jaskier Jaskier. I'm here, breathe thru your nose, I'm here." Suddenly he realized that he was sitting up and wide-eyed. It was noon. "Jask" kneeled next to him was Geralt with a worried frown and a canister fill of water. He snatched it from Geralt's hands and drank as if a desert was kept inside his lungs.

"Easy"

“Not…your…horse” Jaskier flinched at how raspy his voice sounded. Beside him, the witcher chuckled and then stretched out his hand to put it on his forehead. Before Jaskier could react at the soft touch tha hand was gone.

"Fevers down" uh, did he sound happy?

"I had fever?" Geralt looked at him with such intensity, a expression he had never seen and therefore didn't know what it meant.

"You almost died" he answered softly. She saw Roach grazing without a mount a few feet away, she also noticed that Geralt was in his small clothes. The camp was a small mess like when they stay on the same place for more than two days.

"The Endrega"

"Endregas, yes"

"I went..."

"Yes"

"I... i'm sorry"

"No, don't be, you saved me" It was a shock when Geralt straightened a lock of hair from her forehead. His fingertips were warm.

"Are you hungry?"

"I don't know. I don't think so"

"You have to eat. I cooked rabbit broth, it'll do you good"

He could only swallow a quarter of the broth before starting to feel nauseous, Geralt said he had vomit enough for the past days before taking the pot from him. Roach came to say hello and Jaskier felt his heart swelled with affection. He wanted to do and ask more, but suddenly he felt tired, very tired, his eyelids fluttered and when Geralt saw him, he helped him lie down and put his cape over him. He was soft and calm, tender even. At that moment Jaskier knew that he must have been in a bad shape if Geralt was acting like this, like Jaskier always imagine on his wildest dreams.

He wanted to said thank you but it felt so meaningless at the moment, Geralt didn't look that good, slump and with drop shoulders a clear sign of exhaustion. if Jaskier still breathed, it was all thanks to Geralt, despite how defeated he was from the contract, he took care of him.

I love you seem something meaningful to say, every feeling and thought Jaskier have had of the witcher, taking form into three little words.

Sleep took him away before he could have the courage to say it.

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The next morning Jaskier insisted he was fine and he wanted to travel to the next town , of course he was a liar Geralt always knew when he lied, because he wrinkled his nose in a cute but irritating way. With a small smile, he pinched the bard's nose back to normal.

“No, you’re not ready” Jaskier let out a laugh as he smack the witcher's hand away. and before Jaskier could protest Geralt added "But we need go there to get you to a healer and reastock"

"Your letter Geralt, don't forget about your letter"

"Uhmm"

Before setting off on the journey, Geralt made sure that Jaskier could endure the journey. He applied what was left of a soothing balm to Jaskier's chest for the pain and bruises that remained after the compressions. Riding would be painful, but they have to get to the healer in case of a relapse or permanent damage. Jaskier let him applied the balm and he couldn't believe the patience and care the witcher put on his motions as if Jaskier could break if enough force was used. He was crumbling in tiny little pieces, melting, but from a different source. The witcher is going to be the end of him one day of these.

I love you, we wanted to said. He put on one of Geralt's shirt instead, it smells like onion and Roach and Geralt and smoke and safety. It smells like home.

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Riding Roach was painful and tiring, walking was out of the question He kept waiting for Geralt to get upset by the multiple stops they made but that never happen, in fact the witcher was the one who plannified and suggest to rest every one or two hours.

Something has changed between them, but the bard does not know what to name this new atmosphere, but he sure welcomes it. For the first time in all the years they have travel together Jaskier felt wanted, cared for, treasured! With a rush of happiness and satisfaction, Jaskier acknowledged that the walls Geralt has built around him to keep him out and stranded, have collapsed. He finally was someone to hold on to. Jaskier was sitting on the bed roll with a warm tea canister on his hands while the witcher set up camp to sleep the night. A day and a half away from the next town has become two days, they'll be reaching the inn (if it were any, Jaskier hope there would be) by night fall.

Geralt was stoking the fire when a mad idea occurred to him, he crawled to Geralt and before he could voiced his displeasure the bard embrace him in a tight hug. Two seconds later, Geralt hugged him back almost urgently, nuzzling his face where Jaskier's shoulder and neck met. He withdrew with a goofy smile on his face and his heart hammering on his bruised ribs, he couldn't care less. But he didn't get any far, he was a selfish man. Geralt was smiling too, a soft and crooked smile, when he straightened the bard's hair over his forehead and ears, he then, like under a spell trace his thumbs over his eyebrows and eyelids. Jaskier could die right here and then from happiness.

Their faces were so close. I love you, Jaskier wanted to say, he took Geralt's hands instead to place a kiss on each dirtied palm.

"You reek" of course Geralt would know how to break the moment.

"You too, mister. For once Roach smells better than us"

“She always smells better tan us” Jaskier snorted getting back to the bedroll pondering on how lucky he was despite the near death experience, he was a lucky men.

By the next afternoon Jaskier was beyond exhausted, every single one of his bones scream with pain, he felt as if he was about to pass out at any moment.

"Geralt..."

"We have to get going, Jaskier, only for a few hours and we'd get there"

"I can't"

"Please, Jask, I'll take care of you when we get there"

Please, what a strange word to express how much you care.

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Geralt practically carried him up the stairs to the room, Jaskier fell face first on the bed already half sleep. Geralt was placing his things when the bard murmured “Wake me up before you go in the morning." The thing is that even if he were on time to reach Eskel, Geralt didn't want to go anywhere.

Jaskier woke up sometime in the night when the mattress sagged next to him.

followed by a strong arm curling around his belly.

"Grlt'?"

"Sleep"

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Jaskier woke up to the chirping of birds on the windowsill, it was still early, the sun was not up yet. Not even the drowsiness could prevent the joy he felt and finding himself tuck to Geralt chest, they're facing each other naturally as if they have sleep like this forever.

And like a bucket of cold water thrown over him he remembered the letter "Geralt" he called softly "Geralt it's morning"

"Hmm, I can see that" came the sloppy reply, but instead of getting up Geral cuddled him more, practically tucking his face against the other's.

as if sensing his distress Geralt added "I'm not going anywhere"

"But your contact..." he withdrew (a few inches) to make a point. Geralt opened his perfect eyes and hold him under them.

"Eskel, my brother. I already send a letter, he'll understand"

"I'm sorry" a kiss was place on his forehead

"Don't be, I want to be here"

"You...you didn't want to" Geralt sighed ashamed

"I know and i'm sorry. Now I know where i belong"

"Here?" replied Jaskier with a snort

"With you"

"With me?!" Now was Geralt's turn to snort happily, resembling Roach when they feed her apples.

"You risked your life even though I was an asshole to you, even when I told you that the poison would kill you if you got anywhere near the place. I...I'm sorry"

"You were an asshole, yes" Geralt gifted him with a smile full of teeth "To be fair i was behaving like a brat at the time"

"You are a brat, yes"

"Hey"

Jaskier wanted to say I love you, instead he kiss Geralt's lips softly.

Geralt wanted to do better, so better he did.

#geraskier fic #geraskier #jaskier #hurt jaskier #injury #jaskier x geralt #the witcher #geralt of rivia #geralt x jaskier

[itsagrimm]

Imperial!Tech 2

Is it even romantic without murder?

Imperial!Tech is a delight and I am worried why I have fun writing a murderous lost nerdy boi. will likely do a part 3.

about 2.000 words

part 1

Part 3

CN insults, violence, murder, discriminatory behaviour, very toxic behaviour, soldier life in a fascist state, tiny bit of fluff or Manipulation depends on your perspective, blood, pain, talk of injury. imperial!Tech is a bit of a tease but he will come around

Imperial!tech X they*them Y/N reader

“This will not suffice. Repeat.”, Commander Tech ordered.

His command was calm and detached, a contrast to the exhausted and heavily panting Elite Squad soldiers.

They looked at each other. None of them having the strength to continue their practice. But also none of them having the will to argue with their commander.

Y/N looked up to the observatory deck. Commander Tech was up there, his black armour contrasting with the white walls.

“Is there a problem, ONCE?”, the voice of the commander echoed in Y/N helmet, using the moniker the elite squad had given Y/N.

“No sir. Can we get a short break before a new try?”

The commander glanced down before looking at the holopad in his hands again.

“The elite squad endurance and recovery time is miserable as expected. I calculated your performance to be at least on par with regular clone troopers. I see now that it was a mistake, and I will have to lower my expectation further & readjust my strategies to your … lacking skill level.”

“I am sorry, sir.”

“It is not your mistake to be born inferior.”, the commander stated flattly, “Your next round will be in 5 minutes standard.”

The Elite Squad looked at each other. Their commander was in a mood. Since his injury on Bracca the Squad had not been in action and commander Tech worked them into the ground with his bone breaking practice runs.

“It is impossible.”, ES-02 said using a private chat without the commander, “Who is he comparing us to? The commanders’ expectations are inhuman. Only some kind of super squad could execute his mind-boggling plans in the time he gives us.”

They nodded in agreement.

“He expects us to be at least as good as the regular clone troopers.”, ES-04 stated.

ES-03 laughed: “Yeah we are better than thosemeat droids. And what does he mean with regular clones? Is there even fancier cannon fodder out there?”

“Commander Tech is noticeably different from other clones. Maybe there are more like him out there?”, Y/N pointed out.

“Oh maker, imagine more copies of that pretentious smart mouth up there.” ES-03 rolled his eyes.

“Get in position and execute plan 8C.3 .”, the commanders voice cut through their chatter. ONCE felt as if they got caught bad mouthing Tech.

“Yes sir.”, they replied and got into position.

A ping from a private channel ringed. It was ES-03.

“You are quiet protective of our commander Tech, my dear ONCE. Is there something I need to know?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, … it is always ‘yes sir’ and ‘of course sir’ and sometimes you are both gone in the night. And our dear commander got a lovely visit in the med bay when he was wounded. You even bring him caf somet-“

“ES-03, mind your business.”

“No need to get so aggressive. I am sure it is nothing. And I am sure it is just a coincidence that he leaves you out of punishments or giving you the safest positions in his strategies…”

ONCE said nothing.

Since that time in the hangar the commander had some allure and to admit that meant a defeat ONCE could not afford.

“Well my dearest ONCE, got nothing to say about that? I-“

Static cut through their transmission.

“ES-03, I must inform you that I am very disappointed by your unprofessional behaviour within the Elite Squad which I will not tolerate anymore.”

“Commander? Is that you?”

“Yes of course, who else did you expect?”

ES-03 turned around and looked up to the observatory deck.

Commander Tech’s expression was unreadable, his eyes hidden by the reflecting glasses.

For a moment none of them moved. Then ES-03 took of his helmet and started shouting.

“Are you spying on us? Are you listening to all our private conversations???”, he screamed with a red head.

The commanders lips moved but up there and without his helmet ES-03 could not hear the commanders answer.

“Calm down”, ES-04 tried to defuse her squad member’s anger.

“I am NOT calming down! The sick dirty clone listens to our private channels!”

“Mate, it is not worth it to start a fight like this now.”, ES-02 added, “put your weapon down and think about it.”

“Are you serious??? Do you think I am a threat with this crappy old DC-17? A danger to any of you?! No, it’s this meat bag of a clone who should be afraid of me!”

ONCE flinched at ES-03’s words and readied their weapon.

He was out.

An angry man was a dangerous man.

ONCE former life as a bounty hunter had taught them this lesson well.

Static cut through their helmet again before ONCE heard commander Techs voice.

“Tell ES-03 that the Empire has issued an order to all commanding officers to listen into all communication of their soldiers. It is also very much encouraged to record it.”

“Are you sure that will calm him down, sir?”

“I don’t care about that. He either learns how to live with imperial command or he does not.”

“You are testing him.”

Tech paused.

“Follow your orders, soldier.”

He cut the transmission.

ES-03 was still shouting. His spit landed on ONCE helmet when he turned toward them.

“What did that clone say, my dearONCE??? You two just talked, didn’t you?!”

He sounded furious. His eyes burning like laser blasts into ONCE body.

“He said, checking all communication between soldiers is the new imperial standard to which the commander simply has complied.”

“Fuck that!”

ES-03 stepped closer, his DC-17 blaster still in his hands.

“Fuck that! Fuck that clone! Fuck the Empire! Fuck YOU, you little imperial whore!”

He raised his blaster, aiming for ONCE.

ONCE got cold. Trained instincts kicking in. They rolled sideways behind one of the training blocks to avoid the shot.

A blue blast slightly grazed their helmet, but the adrenaline made it impossible to tell whether or not ONCE got hit.

“ES-03! Stand down!”, Tech’s voice commandeered from somewhere close. He must have left the observatory deck.

“HA! What are you going to do, little nerdy boi? Do you want to protect your little pet over there?! Don’t even try! You are not even a real man!”

Another blue blast shot through the air.

ONCE could hear the Tech and other Squad members taking cover.

“He really did go full rage.”

“Not everyone is cut out for the soldier life.”

“Not everyone is cut out for the Empire!”

“What do we do?”

“Cut the chatter, soldiers”, Tech commandeered, “Take ES-03 out. Shot to kill.”

“Sir?!”

“We can stun him!”

Instead of an answer Tech jumped over the training block he was couching behind and kicked ES-03. ONCE heard the blaster slide over the floor and the sound of fists colliding with skin.

Over and over again.

The sound got wetter.

ES-03’s screams turned into pleas before going silent.

XXXXXXX

Another rotation on Kamino. Another dark night in the bunk room of the Imperial Elite Squad. Another nightmare.

Y/N woke up and looked around. Everything was calm except for the rain knocking at the window and the slow breaths from their fellow soldiers. Commander Tech was missing as always.

Weeks since the Commander had been hurt on Bracca. Days since ES-03 s death. Hours since he – since Tech – had looked at y/n. Why was that such a painful thought? He was a horrible man, a murderer!

He is just a good soldier, he follows orders. Just like you.

Y/N closed their eyes. Pictures of Tech beating ES-03 to death flashed before their eyes and with them the realization that whatever crimes and murders Tech committed, Y/N committed them alongside him. Two monstrous beings in service of a monstrous Empire.

The door to the bunkroom opened silently, only a light draft giving away the silhouette in the door frame. Y/N glanced to the door. It was the commander. He looked at the sleeping elite squad members and through the room as if he was searching for something.

Y/N got up on their elbows and looked at the commander.

Their eyes met.

“ONCE”, he whispered, “Come with me.”

Y/N got into their boots and followed the commander. The long white halls of Tipoca, the kaminoan capital, were empty and quiet. Tech lead the way but surprisingly they passed the hangar and soon arrived at his little office.

He turned around.

“I require your assistance, ONCE.”, he explained in a calm voice, using the moniker the elite squad had given Y/N.

“Now?”, ONCE answered.

“Yes, now.”

They looked at each other. Tech looked horrible. He had dark circles under his eyes so prominent, that even his glasses couldn’t hide them. His head wound from Bracca had left severe, still bloody scars and his hair was unkept and in patches from the burn he survived.

“What is it, commander?”

Instead of an answer he opened the door to his office. It was a little room, full of unfinished projects and gadgets, a wall scribbled with complex formulars ONCE was not in the mood to fathom and a littered table with various unfinished reports.

The workspace of the commander surprised ONCE. It was a stark contrast to the thoroughly planning and executing commander they knew.

“Can you cut my hair?”

“Sorry, sir?”

ONCE turned away from the room and faced the commander. His face was reserved but his voice had a telling neediness in it. The commander, Tech, he needed help.

“Well, I cut my own hair. I can try cutting yours. But I am no professional.”

He nodded.

“I noticed.”, he paused and smiled apologetically for his ambiguous phrasing, “That you cut your own hair, I mean.”

ONCE was speechless. He had smiled.

“I have my personal reservations towards the imperial service corps and their droid hairdressers. And the other option is to ask another trooper since I do not have the skill to cut my hair. But quite frankly the thought of trained regular soldiers having blades near my throat and more importantly my still healing wounds being opened up by some well meaning yet bad practising self-learned barber, is distressing which is why I require you to cut my hair.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“I was not aware of the need for sunlight in order to cut hair. Can you elaborate?”

ONCE suppressed a smile.

“I am sorry, sir. The circumstances are just a bit unusual. But I can try cutting your hair. And I do not plan on cutting your throat.”

“Good to know.”

He nodded casually, satisfied with ONCE’s answer, and produced a hair clipper from somewhere before seating himself on a chair with his back towards them. It was a captivating moment. ONCE looked at the hair clipper in their hand with its tiny blades and the commanders turned back to them. He had defined yet narrow shoulders for a soldier and a muscular back, visible through the thigh blacks. His bare neck was visible, and his occipital moved under his skin when he turned and looked at ONCE.

“It is alright. Feel free to give me whatever hair cut you choose to be fitting. As long as it is functional, I am content.”

ONCE breathed in. That was the commander. And they were about to cut his hair like they were good ol’pals or family. Like they were more. It was a sign of trust so unusual on Kamino, yet he had asked for it.

“You will need to take your glasses of.”

He complied and waited.

ONCE touched his hair to feel its texture before cutting. It was soft. Like a child’s.

They started cutting both sides to even out the burned parts and help with the sensitive skin around his scars before shortening the rest. Burned curls after curls fell on his shoulders and he brushed them away with his hands.

His hands. His murderous hands. They were large and had long fingers with little cuts from tinkering around. How did it feel being touched by them?

ONCE finished cutting, walked around Tech to look at the commander and squatted to see him from an even perspective. He looked good.

“This will work, sir.”

Instead of an answer he stretched his arm out and grabbed ONCE’s jaw.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

He got up and turned away.

Part 3

#imperial tech #the bad batch tech #tbb toxic tech #tbb #tbb tech #the bad batch #swtcw #order 66 #clone x reader #good soldiers follow orders #tech x reader #tech x y/n #tech x you #clone force 99 #clone commanders #slow burn #romatic murder

[nanasparadise]

“Your musketeer in a blue tunic” Yan! Polnareff x female reader (musketeer AU)

Hiya everyone! As promised, here is a Yan! Polnareff writing, since he was in the top four of the poll for the special but hasn’t reached the top three. I thought it might be a fun idea to make him a musketeer and now I’ve realised this fic turned out to be low-key a Belle and Gaston situation from Beauty and the Beast lmao. Anyway, there might be historical inaccuracies in the story, I’m sorry for that.

Summary: You’re a farmer woman in 18th century France and a certain musketeer keeps crossing paths with you…

TW: toxic relationship, noncon kiss, low-key harassment, forced marriage, MATURE AUDIENCE ONLY/MINORS DNI

I do not condone any yandere behaviour in real life.

Word count: 3900

“Just about half an hour and I’ll be there”, you mumble to yourself. 

The pouring rain drenches your whole form, an icy cold having already nested deep in your bones. But you can’t stop now, even if it’s raining cats and dogs. You know you have to arrive to the main market place, which is located a good three hours from the farm you live in. If the wool – which you hope isn’t too wet, knowing the burlap bags aren’t protecting it well from the rain – won’t be sold today, you don’t know how you could afford some bread for your family. You think of your little siblings, how they always stare at you with big eyes, expecting at least some crumbs of stale bread in order to satiate their hunger a bit. Your heart aches painfully at that mental image. No, you’re going to sell the wool at all cost, no matter if it means you get sick due to the weather. You owe it to your loved ones, needing to protect and provide for them as the oldest sibling. 

A chilly wind blows intensely into your face, making you shiver even more. Lucky for you, no other person is currently on the road, meaning you’re in safety. You’re aware about how many sketchy men lurk in these streets by the countryside, just waiting for a young woman like yourself to pass by and to do God knows what with her. As a protection measure, you always carry a knife with you, hidden in your boot. Fortunately, you haven’t needed to use it, yet…

Suddenly, you hear the footsteps of a horse approaching you, the characteristic sounds of its hooves drawing closer to you. Your first instinct is to immediately pull out your knife, but you refrain yourself. 

“It’s probably just another merchant who wants to go to the market, too”, you think, comforting yourself. And even if that shouldn’t be the case, it would be wiser to take your possible aggressor by surprise with an attack if needed. 

The steps are now dangerously close to you, too close for your liking, until they come to a halt. Surprised, you stop your walking as well and look up to the person on the horse. Next to you on his steed is a man around your age, probably a few years older, with peculiar silver hair and bright blue eyes. Through his uniform, consisting of a characteristic blue tunic with a white cross on it, you immediately recognise the stranger as a King’s musketeer. You hastily curtsy and meekly avert your gaze, given that he’s of a higher social rank. Why would a musketeer want from you, a farmer? 

“Good day, Monsieur”, you greet the musketeer politely. 

“Good day, Mademoiselle”, the stranger answers jovially. “Please forgive my intervention, but what does a young lady like you travel alone on such a dangerous road?”, he asks you, sincere concern marking his voice. 

Why would he care? And why would he refer to you as a lady when you’re clearly just a commoner? You get the sudden urge to grab your knife again, but of course your rational brain side hinders you from doing so.

“I’m only going to the market place, good sir. I’d like to sell some wool”, you explain shortly, your eyes still not meeting the stranger’s. 

“All alone?”, the Frenchman wonders. 

“I’m afraid I don’t have much of a choice, Monsieur. My father has to work on the farm and my mother looks after my younger siblings”, you reply truthfully. Honestly, you’d prefer not giving too much information away to the stranger, but lying doesn’t seem like a safe option either. 

“I see, Mademoiselle,” the musketeer utters politely, “in that case, I’d be pleased to escort you to the market place. After all, my heart couldn’t handle if something happened to a damsel.” 

“Thank you for your generous offer, Monsieur”, you answer civilly, curtsying gracefully again. Though internally, you sigh and roll your eyes at the Frenchman’s words. 

“More like his ego couldn’t handle getting rejected by a common woman”, you ponder cynically. You’re about to continue your walking as the stranger stops your action abruptly. 

“Wait a moment, Mademoiselle,” he shouted hastily, “I’ll take your bags and settle them on my horse.” The silver-haired man dismounts from his white horse and takes the bags filled with wool from your hands, placing and tying them on the animal’s back. 

“You are far too kind, Monsieur”, you say with an overly sweet voice. Lucky for you, the stranger doesn’t seem to notice the hint of sarcasm hidden in your tone. Instead, he smiles brightly at you, revealing a row of impeccable white teeth. 

“As a musketeer, it’s my duty to help a lady in need”, he boasts proudly. Again, you fight the urge to roll your eyes. “Ah, how rude of me, Mademoiselle, I haven’t properly introduced myself. My name is Jean-Pierre Polnareff, I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss…?” 

“Y/N L/N”, you reply meekly. 

“What a lovely name, Milady.”

~

The pair of you have been walking silently side by side for a while. You simply wish to arrive as fast as possible to the market place, wanting to get rid of Polnareff’s present. After some time, the stormy weather has changed into a brighter, more pleasant sky. Though some sun rays peek through the clouds, the cold from the previous rain remains. Upon seeing your slightly quivering form, Polnareff offers you a blanket he has in his supplies with him. Politely, you decline his offer. You certainly don’t want to be more in the debt of such a high ranking man. 

“I apologise if this may come across as rude, Mademoiselle Y/N, but I couldn’t help but notice that there isn’t a ring on your finger”, the musketeer suddenly mentions. The hairs on your arms stand up at his observation and you instinctively straighten your back. If Polnareff has seen your discomfort, he still chooses to continue speaking. “And you’ve said previously you’re living with your family on a farm. How come such a fair maiden like you isn’t married yet? I reckon you must have many suitors.” Something about his tone and the dangerous gleam in his blue eyes sets you on edge. 

“Oh, I do have had some suitors in the past,” you answer truthfully, but cautiously, “but I’ve chosen to not marry. My family needs me and I don’t wish to let them down.” Polnareff gives you a tender glance, the prying shimmer being replaced with sympathy now. 

“Maybe you’ll soon find a wealthy man who’s able to help your family out”, he mumbles softly, though you still could hear his words. 

“I’d rather not base my life on such an improbable dream. After all, I’m just a common farmer,” you say, slightly amused. “He doesn’t have a clue how life’s for a commoner, does he?” 

“So you’d like to marry? It’s your dream, didn’t you say that, Mademoiselle?”, Polnareff counters, hope swinging in his voice. Why is he hopeful? But you decide to not voice this thought. 

“Well, that’s quite a difficult question, Monsieur Polnareff,” you retort,  feeling unsure now “it would be the wisest choice for me to marry, but at the moment, I feel content to take care of my family.” For some reason, the musketeer’s face falls at your last sentence. Disappointment takes over it instead, his lips turning into a bitter, thin line. 

“Ah, I see”, he replies wearily. You immediately notice the change of atmosphere, though you don’t comment on it. Instead, you two continue strolling in silence.

Eventually, the pair of you arrive at the market place. During your travel, none of you spoke further, the mood being too tense and awkward. You settle your burlap bags on the floor on a free spot after the silver-haired man has removed them from his horse for you. 

“My sincerest thanks, Monsieur Polnareff.” You bow politely. Even though your eyes have been trained on the floor for only a matter of seconds, some stealthy thief has been able to snatch one of your bags. Immediately, your head leaps up. 

“Hey, this belongs to me! Give it back!”, you scream angrily. You wouldn’t let some trickster take your wool, not after working so hard for your family! You’re ready to run after the knave, but a hand on your forearm hinders you from doing so. 

“Let me handle this, Mademoiselle Y/N,” Polnareff says confidently, “you’ll have your merchandise back in no time. Just wait for me here.” Quickly, the musketeer dashes into an alleyway after the thief. Confused, you’re left alone at the market place, the man’s horse being your only companion. A sigh rolls off your lips. 

“Guess I’ll have to do what he says if I ever want that wool back”, you exclaim exasperatedly. This is the last thing you’ve needed today. First, you’ve been drenched by the rain, then a weird musketeer has started following you and asking you eerily invasive question and now your precious goods have been stolen. In the meantime, you try your best to sell the remaining wool.

After half an hour, you still haven’t sold any wool at all. Though you were definitely drawing attention on you by shouting out some offers, no one has seemed to be interested yet. No one even cared enough to look towards your direction. 

“I guess I’ll just have to stay all day, then”, you think gloomily. From the corner of your eyes, you notice an all too familiar form approaching you, though this time with a bag in his hand. 

“Mademoiselle Y/N!”, Polnareff shouts excitedly, “I’ve retrieved your bag from the thief!” A sincere expression of gratitude appears on your face. Yes, the man is more than annoying to you with his clingy behaviour, but at least he was chasing the trickster for you! 

“Thank you so much, Monsieur Polnareff!”, you exclaim happily, relieved to have your wool back. Now there’s only the matter of selling it left… 

“Of course, nothing to thank for, Mademoiselle! I’d never want to see such a charming lady like you in need.” 

Purposefully, you ignore his statement, an awkward feeling bubbling up in you. Instead you’re thanking him again. All the while, the Frenchman keeps staring at you with a look of fondness, a huge and proud smile adorning his face. In his mind, he’s just proven to you how capable he is of taking care of you and your family. How could you refuse him now? He’s literally your knight in shining armour! Or your musketeer in a blue tunic. It doesn’t matter, he’s practically your hero! 

Polnareff’s grin only widens at the thought of you swooning over him. The silver-haired man doesn’t know why he feels like this towards you. Maybe it’s because you just looked so pitiful when he saw you on that road, soaking wet from the rain. Maybe it’s his pride that doesn’t let him relent. Maybe it’s the way your eyes sparked with determination and love when you talked about your family. Maybe it’s your radiant atmosphere, which draws him in like a moth. Maybe you’re secretly a witch who put a love spell on his poor self, making him a fool for you after having only met you. Maybe, maybe, maybe…  

Polnareff quickly stops his pondering. “It’s not of importance,” he muses, “as long as she’ll realise I’m the best choice for her.”

“I see you haven’t sold any of your goods yet”, the musketeer says, trying to sound casually. Though in his thoughts, he already has a plan schemed. 

“No, unfortunately not,” you reply, an exasperated sigh following swiftly, “but there’s still some time left until I have to return home. Surely, I’ll be able to sell some.” 

“You know, Mademoiselle Y/N, I’d rather not see you standing here all day, maybe even for it to be in vain,” Polnareff utters, concerning coating his voice, “let me help you, I’ll buy the wool.” Your eyes grow big at his proposition. Even though it’s more than a generous offer, especially after all he’s been through for you today, you can’t help but feeling alerted. Why would he go all these lengths for you? He can’t be that kind, there must be something he wants in return. 

“You’re far too generous, Monsieur Polnareff. I can’t accept such an offer”, you tell the musketeer, hoping he’ll actually drop his suggestion. But the Frenchman remains stubborn as a mule. 

“Ah ah Mademoiselle,” he tuts you condescendingly, “I’m a man of my word. How much would you like? Are two livres enough?”

Your eyes widen so much at his offer, you wouldn’t be surprised if your eyeballs fell out. Two livres? Is that man insane? The wool is hardly five sous worth! 

“I think you must have meant two sous, Monsieur Polnareff,” you answer him, still shocked. 

“Pas du tout, Mademoiselle. Two livres is what I said and what I meant. Or would you maybe want more?” 

Vehemently, you shake your head. Two livres… That would feed your family for at least three months! “No Y/N, you can’t take this offer!” Your thoughts interrupt you suddenly. Not only does your conscience forbid you from doing so, your parents would also wonder where all that money comes from. They might assume you’ve stolen it as no one would believe a stranger to be so kind to just give a random farmer way too much money. 

“Monsieur Polnareff,” you try again to change his mind, “I really don’t think you should-“ 

“Ah, there’s my pouch!”, the silver-haired man exclaims happily, ignoring your previous words. Eagerly, he takes two shiny coins out of it, pressing them in your palm. Admitting your defeat, you curtsy and express your deep gratitude again. Though a small part inside you does enjoy the fact of getting provided for.

After your exchange, Polnareff insisted on bringing you home again. You dislike the idea of him knowing exactly where you live, but that man’s stubbornness and pride is bigger than the Palace of Versailles. Which is why the two of you are walking back to your farm, the wool resting on Polnareff’s horse’s back. 

“What are you doing with all the wool, if I may ask?”, you say with a questioning look on your face, “Surely, a musketeer doesn’t need to fabricate his own clothes.” The Frenchman rubs sheepishly behind his neck and offers you a smile. 

“Ah Mademoiselle, you see, I might just donate it. I’ve just wanted to help you out, I don’t need it myself.” Even though you still cannot bring yourself to trust him, your heart warms at his statement. 

“That’s indeed very noble of you, Monsieur Polnareff”, you reply candidly. The musketeer sends you another bright grin, a subtle blush forming on his pale cheeks.

The sun has begun to set as the two of you arrive on the farm. With a polite curtsy, you’re ready to finally return home, excited to tell your family the good news regarding the money. But Polnareff stops your goodbye. His hand finds its way to your wrist, halting your movement. 

“Before we must depart, Mademoiselle Y/N,” he counters hastily, “I’d like to be assured that we’ll meet again soon. I find myself enthralled by your presence.” 

Your heart beats faster at his proposition. Suddenly, you realise the dangerous situation you’re in, the big hand capturing your smaller wrist. Could you really deny him without facing consequences? Thoughts like these rush through your head as the man in front of you keeps waiting for your reaction. Still, you’re going to try. If something should happen, you still have your knife with you and your father would surely rush out once he hears your screams. 

“Monsieur Polnareff,” you start hesitantly, “I’m deeply flattered by your words. You are truly an admirable and honourable man whose kind actions shall always carry my most sincere gratitude. Though I must admit, I don’t think it would be a wise idea to meet again.” The Frenchman makes a crestfallen face at your words. You feel almost bad for him. “Ah, I think I should explain myself further. Well, Monsieur Polnareff, we are of two different social classes, continuing mingling with me would put a bad reputation on you. I cannot offer you something of interest. Plus, I like staying with my family so far, this is my home.” 

“Y/N”, Polnareff whispers affectionately, his thumb rubbing softly on the inside of your wrist. You shoot him a surprised look, confused by him dropping the formal title. If anyone would have heard this, they’d turn it into a scandal. 

“I know my offer might appear strange to you, but I wish to marry out of love one day. I’m aware it’s fairly uncommon and even looked upon with scorn to marry below someone’s station, but the matters of the heart outshine the matters of the mind in my case. I have more than enough money, a comfortable estate and an honourable title. So you’re correct by saying you can’t offer me anything. Though you forgot one important thing, dear Y/N: you can offer me companionship, love, a meaningful bond between two souls.” Upon his last sentence, Polnareff tenderly grabs both of your hands in his, admiring how they seem to fit perfectly. Too astounded by his words, you let the man do as he pleases. Quickly, Polnareff catches on with his speech. “Please Y/N, let me see you again. Let me court you properly. I can give you and your family a beautiful life, a life you deserve.” The silver-haired male’s form moves now closer to yours, his blue eyes fixated on your lips. This action breaks you from the spell you’ve been caught in previously as you abruptly rip your hands off his grip and step back. 

“I’m sorry, Monsieur Polnareff,” you manage to say, your voice sounding breathless from the adrenaline rushing in your veins, “I don’t think I’m the right woman for you. I do not wish to disappoint you further, that’s why I’m being direct with you. I’m going home now, please do not seek out for me. Have a good evening, Monsieur Polnareff.” You give him one last glance, noting his furious facial expression, before you eventually walk rapidly the path up to your family’s farm. 

“I’ll be coming back, Mademoiselle Y/N!”, you hear the musketeer shouting behind you, “I’m not giving up that easily!” His sentences only make you pick up your pace as fear makes itself present in your body. Why couldn’t he just respect your choice? You’re sure there are enough suitable ladies in his rank pining for him, so why would he bother you? Finally, to your happiness, you arrive at the front door. Quickly, you enter your home, locking the door from the inside. Still, it feels as if a pair of blue eyes continues burning holes in your back…

The following month had been both positive and negative. Positive, because your family didn’t need to worry about food thanks to the two livres Polnareff gave you. Negative, because the latter had been true to his word and kept showing up at your place. Every time you told him you won’t change your mind, the musketeer only seemed to be more encouraged to prove you otherwise. 

Today isn’t any different. As you make your way to the market to buy some food, you hear the familiar hooves approaching you. Annoyed, you let out a sigh and roll your eyes. 

“Bonjour Y/N! What a pleasant day to see you again, mon amour!”, Polnareff exclaims happily while he dismounts from his horse to walk next to you. 

“Bonjour Polnareff”, you reply politely. In the meantime, you’ve dropped the titles when you two were alone, not seeing the point of them anymore. Plus, the Frenchman even decides to call you pet names, so why showing him respect? 

“Ah, ma puce, no need to be so cold today! After all, I bring some splendid news”, the Frenchman replies excitedly. You eye him suspiciously, brows knitted together. What on earth is he planning now?  

“And that would be?”, you answer matter-of-factly. “You’re finally leaving me alone?” 

“You see, before I came to meet you, I’ve finally talked with your parents.” At these words, you immediately stop your steps. A feeling of dread emerges in your stomach, making you feel sick. 

“Oh no,” you think desperately, “this can’t be good.” 

“Very lovely people, indeed. It hurts my feelings knowing you haven’t invited me to them, mon cœur”, Polnareff continues his talk, a hand put on his chest in mock concern. 

“And why should I have done such thing?”, you reply coolly, though internally you’re freaking out. You already know you won’t like the answer… 

“My dearest, how come you act so cruel? Don’t you think your future husband should see your parents? After all, we’re betrothed now!” 

“No”, you retort without thinking. Your palms grow sweaty, a deep fear manifesting in your body. The silver-haired man smirks at your reaction. 

“Non? I think your parents disagree with you, ma chérie. In fact, we’ve already picked out a date for the ceremony. Can you believe it? In two months, we’ll be finally one.” Panic overflows your mind, your breathing becoming laboured. How could your parents decide on such a matter behind your bag? After everything you’ve done for your family? Polnareff notices your stress as he softly wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you close to his chest. The musketeer tries to comfort you by shushing you and gently brushing over your back, though his actions only fuel your terror. You squirm in his grasp, trying to escape him, escape this situation, but his grip on you only strengthens. 

“Let me go!”, you scream all while tears stream down your cheeks, “I don’t want to be with you! Why can’t you just accept that?” 

“My little Y/N,” Polnareff mumbles calmly, “if you hadn’t  been so stubborn, we could have discussed the wedding plans together. I know you think our union is not favourable, but if even your family agrees to it, it surely can’t be that wrong, hm? You’re so blinded by your little provincial life that you can’t see what’s best for you. And trust me, my dove, I’m the best choice.” The Frenchman grabs your chin, staring lovingly in your by now puffy eyes. “It’s fine if you need some time to realise that. As long as you remain by my side.” With these words, the silver-haired man puts his mouth on yours, his hand now wandering to your cheek. You wriggle harder in his grasp, though your attempts to escape remain futile. Tenderly, Polnareff caresses your face as his lips finally leave yours. 

“Je t’aime de tout mon cœur, mon ange*”, he whispers adoringly, pressing your face against his chest again. Your tears smudge the blue fabric of his tunic, your voice hoarse from screaming. And even though you wish this is but a nightmare, you start comprehending you’re truly trapped in Polnareff’s oh so loving arms for the rest of your life.

*former French currency. 2 livres are about 30 euros, which was a lot of money back then

*former French currency. 5 sous are about 3,70 euros, which was still quite some money back in the day

*”I love you with all my heart, my angel”

#JJBA #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #yandere jojo #yandere jjba #yandere x reader #yandere jjba x reader #yandere polnareff #yandere polnareff x reader #minors dni #tw: yandere #tw: arranged marriage #tw: noncon touching

[kirietown]

With a Smile | Part II

pairing: all might x f!reader

summary: After all, he deserved to be selfish sometimes— and frankly so did you. It came with the wait, didn’t it?

content: toxic relationship, manipulative reader, 18+, size kink, fwb

[part one] [part two] [ao3]

word count: 3.1K

The day he was injured by All for One was a disorienting day for you. There was a weakness to his form whilst he laid on the hospital bed, his hair in disarray and bandages covering his injury. Sir Nighteye had already left hours before you came. You stood by his side and held his hand, and it was only when he opened his eyes and turned to you did you realize how they now sunk into his skull.Your Toshi was a skeleton of a man you once knew. His pretty blues obscured by the shadows of his own face.

He smiled, nonetheless.

You frowned.

“M-my powers aren’t strong enough to help this Toshi,” you said. You couldn’t help but stutter over your words— always a bad habit for you, one you thought you’d outgrown long ago. Once again, he brought out the worst in you even wrapped in bandages and in a state beyond repair.

He smiled still.

“Toshinori,” you had said softly. “How can you smile… Even like this?”

The two of you were lovers only physically, but you were damned to let it stop you from caring for him— even if you couldn’t help but feel bitterness in your heart for his selflessness.

He only looked back at you with an upward tilt of his thick brows and said the words that always managed to dig a knife deeper into your chest whether you heard it in person or through your screen.

“Because I am here,” he said— and you wished he meant it was with you.

A sick part of you hoped that his injury would mark the retirement of the symbol of hope, but he continued his work much to your contemptment.

It made you feel guilty for reasons that you’d never share with anyone.

As the next few years went by, you watched his body crumble. Once big and strong, he’d gone thinner to a point where he was practically skin and bone due to his new diet because of his (lack of a) stomach. Miraculously, he was able to create a muscle form for himself for short periods of time— much to your annoyance. The world didn’t notice any changes, but they were all you could see. His speed was just the slightest bit slower, his voice raspier, and frankly it always seemed he had to punch more in order to knock out a particularly tough villain.

Your bedroom habits didn’t change much, but you felt that he couldn’t bear to look at you without seeing his own mangled reflection in the pools of your irises. His thrusts were still slow and sensual, his breaths more ragged and his hands less adventurous. On some occasions, it was as if he were looking at you with disgust whilst he rutted his hips into your cunt.

At first— it hurt.

But it wasn’t until a few months after his accident did you realize his disgust was towards himself; it took years, however, for the two of you to address it.

Your fingers danced around his narrow collar bones in fleeting touches. Your eyes were shut knowing that if you stared into his drenched face long enough he’d turn his head, dipping it into the cusp of your shoulder. You liked knowing that he was holding himself over you, the feeling of his short breaths and whispers coming from above. It was boring at times, but you loved being encased in his arms. In fact, over the years he became an addiction to you; you prayed that he would suspect such.

A few things had changed now of course, considering his new form. He was still just as tall but tired more easily now. Though now you found yourself able to wrap your legs around his hips and bring him deeper into you— much to both your delights. His narrow hips allowed him to fit more snugly between your legs than in the past which you can admit was always an awkward issue.

You were calm, welcoming the stretch of his cock inside you until you felt him push deeper. A awfully loud moan escaped your lips in an almost surprise and his hips jutted into you harshly for a few strokes. He ceased his movements and pulled out suddenly. You shivered and clasped your legs shut as you felt the cold air reach your wet core.

“Toshi?” You asked tentatively, reaching an arm out to the hero who’d turned his back on you.

“Why?” He asked. A million answers flooded through your mind in response to his question, all under different assumptions of what he could possibly be referring to.

“Because I need you more than they do, and I’ll take you in any way I can.”

“Why what?” Your tone was playful. You moved to lay on your side, the blanket only working to shield your lower half. For a few moments he didn’t reply, instead choosing to gaze towards the window wistfully.

“I’m disgusting,” he said curtly. “I’ll make you disgusting too.”

If you had half a mind, you would’ve said: You already have .

“How can you possibly be disgusting Toshi?” You asked, feigning a miffed tone. You didn’t want to confront this, not today at least— you wanted more time.

You could feel the air stiffen as he stood up, his face obscured from view. His shirt, that he always insisted remained on, obscured his upper body but you could still see his narrow shoulders visibly tense from your question.

“Don’t play coy with me, Y/N,” he whispered. “You know exactly what I’m referring to. I’m barely even a man anymore; I don’t know why you stick around anyways.”

“Where’s this talk coming from Toshi?”

“Just s-stop avoiding it!” He snapped harshly. His tone was lower than you’d ever heard it. Toshinori still stood before you, but his obscured irises were focused only on you. For once you couldn’t tell where the disgust for himself ended and yours began.

You could feel your inner thighs slicken with wetness from his cruel eyes alone.

“What do you want me to say Toshi?” You asked. “Do you want me to mock you? Tell you that you’re no longer good in bed? Or- or would you like me to go off on a self entitled rant about how I wasted my life on a man who’s been reduced to his weakest?” Your words were harsh and perhaps he didn’t deserve it for his words today, but your anger was a build up of emotions you allowed to fester since you were just a young girl.

“Is that how you really feel?” If you had the foolishness to feel more valuable than you were, you’d kid yourself into believing that you’d broken him.

“No Toshi,” you said honestly. Your voice was quiet and soft, on a different night he would’ve compared it to honey; but you knew that the words brushed against his ears like sandpaper. You were standing now. Your breasts pressed against his shirt, hardened and straining against the rough cotton fabric. Your head moved to rest just under his shoulder, even at his lowest he still stood tall. “But that’s only because you were always weak,” and with that your hand moved to caress his stunned face. Your fingers traced over the slopes of his cheekbone and jaw before it descended to his chest, planted fondly over his heart.

Even at your most cruel, you couldn’t help but feign as his lover.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand,” he replied and you wanted to mock him. Your words were daggers and even when you pierced his heart with them, it was as if it was in his nature to take the pain and wonder if it healed your own.

“You’ve never fucked me once,” you whispered.

“What?”

“You always treat me like your fucking lover!” You shoved at his chest, and even in his weak form you knew that the way he stumbled back on his feet was out of respect. “After years and years, you hold yourself back— like you’re afraid of your own passions. No— that’s not it. You want to prove to yourself that you’re not just some force of destruction, and you use our time together as some form of escapism from all the destruction and carnage you choose to deal with every day.”

“I don—“

“No,” you stopped him. “Don’t act like I can’t see it in your eyes— that I can’t feel it inside me; you always held yourself back from me, to feign tenderness and weakness because your strength was your insecurity. And now that that very might is fading, you can’t help but want to prove you’re still that man who can destroy buildings with the flick of his finger.”

“You’ve always been so full of these delusions you’ve had of me, Y/N,” he said calmly but you could tell his words were strained due to the shortening of his breath. “I’m not as complex as you believe me to be… And if your words are true then if nothing is holding me back, what’s stopping me now?”

“The moment you stop the tender caresses, the loving whispers, and slow breaths is the day you admit to yourself—“ and to me “— that that man is dead.”

He left your room shortly after, and this time you were left unsure if he’d return.

His second battle with All For One left a mark on everyone. That was one of the things you had slowly begun to resent about Toshinori; you could never truly mourn him alone. His retirement announcement was what left the most of an impression on you— All Might had stepped down after decades of victories, and five harrowing years of being tormented by an injury that you could’ve dug your fingers into and truly ended his career.

His visit a few days after the victory was what truly did you in, however.

You had only opened the door when his body effortlessly dove down to press his lips to yours. In your state of surprise, you gasped allowing his tongue to push against yours. Instinctively your arms moved to circle around his shoulders. You couldn’t recall a time where his actions were this frenzied, and his shaking so feverish. You felt Toshinori’s hands squeeze your ass and shove you closer before sliding his digits under to cup your thighs. Following his hints, you leapt, your legs moved to circle around his waist, his fingers dug into the back of your bare thighs, your shorts had long since ridden up.

Questions buzzed around your head as he stumbled with carrying you— something that was never a problem for him in the past. You knew that if you spoke anything you said would sway him; you weren’t ready to lose him again. You barely noticed he had managed to hold you long enough to bring you to your dining room. A moan of pain crept out of your throat as he carelessly dropped out onto your wooden table, the thin table cloth doing nothing to protect your elbows as they made contact with the hard surface. You couldn’t help but look to his eyes, as if to check if he was bothered by your discomfort. Typically any form of pain you expressed would be enough to halt his movements; the idea of hurting you in any way was just always too much to bear.

His breaths were shallow when he finally removed his lips from yours. You couldn’t be sure if his ragged pants were from the strain of overworking himself or his rabid need; for now you didn’t care.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” His large hand moved to squeeze your jaw tightly. You didn’t speak— you felt embarrassment at the way your cheeks squished under his fingers. “You just want me to treat you like a whore, don’t you?” His fingers squeezed particularly tighter, and in spite your moan of pain you could feel the familiar sensation of arousal pooling in your lower stomach.

With no regard for your comfort, the retired hero flipped you onto your stomach. Your ass and legs sticking out from the side of the table as he harshly grounded his clothed cock into you. The force caused your pelvis to painfully dig into the wood of the table. Though the pain wasn’t enough to distract you from the feeling of Toshinori pulling down your shorts. With only a shaky sigh escaping your lips, his fingers harshly groped your cheeks, spreading them roughly before shoving his fingers into your core. A gasp of pain shot out of your lips, the intrusion only making your hips to dig further into the rough wood.

You felt like a mess. You were panting uncontrollably as his large fingers fucked into your gushing cunt. To gain some control, you planted your elbows on the table, to lift your skull only for Toshinori to remove the hand that was gripping your hip. He shoved your head down without the slightest sense of hesitation. His fingers were thick around your head, his other one girthy inside your cunt, their speed quick as they dug into you whilst thrashing around in scissor motions. You could feel the familiar sensation bubbling deep inside you, but it was happening too soon, and it felt like too much all at once.

“I-it’s too much Toshi,” you managed to gasp.

Then it all stopped.

Your core was replaced with only emptiness, and all the moments where he halted because he had gone too far and ceased his movements played in your head. You wished you hadn’t opened your mou—

“A-agh!” The stuttered moan tumbled out of your lips repeatedly. You could feel the veins of his cock pulse inside you whilst your hips dug into the table.

“Is it too much now?” He mocked, and you could practically feel him harden more as he drilled himself into your wet cunt. His hips repeatedly knocked you further into the table. The wet slaps of your bodies colliding nearly obscuring the sound of the wooden legs scraping your floor. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

You only moaned, his thrusts only increased in pace, and his hand only held your head down harder as his fingers curled through your hair. “I want you to say it— say that you wanted me to fuck you dirty.”

“N-no,” you managed to say before a particularly hard thrust caused an embarrassingly loud squeal to escape your throat.

“Say it!”

“I ne-needed you to f-fuck me—d-dirty,” you gasped.

“You’re disgusting, ” he raved. “Allowing yourself to be fucked by someone who looks like me… You’re so pathetic.” At his words you could feel his cock reach a particularly spongy spot inside you, tapping and tapping it repeatedly. A familiar bubbling sensation returned as continuous moans jumped out your throat. “I can feel you getting tighter— ack,” he paused in his words to rut deeper into your heat. “You’ve been chasing me fo-for years, hounding me for this, getting fucked by your washed up hero .”

You felt yourself clench, squeezing your cunt around his cock as he kept up his pace. The sensation of your pelvis rutted against the table turned numb, you could only feel him stretching your walls, and the curl of your toes as he brought you closer and closer to your peak.

“You’re more pathetic than I am.” His words were raspy, you could practically feel his tongue on your ear as he had pulled you back by your hair and lowered his lips to say the words you’d been thinking since you first laid your eyes on him. Your cunt pulsed as it squeezed around his cock, sucking him in deeper. Your moans only grew louder as you came, squirting down his balls and likely staining your panties that had only been pushed to the side.

Toshinori had only paused, and allowed for the feeling of your orgasm to clench around him before continuing his thrusts. A low groan bubbled out of his throat from the feeling of your tired cunt milking all its juices. It wasn’t long before he chased his own high, his release shot deep into you. Its warmth fluttered into your lower stomach, and suddenly you were hyper aware of the pain in your abdomen. When he finally pulled out and allowed you to stand on shaky legs, you felt the pain from the table intensify. You groaned before leaning back on the table, pulling your tank top up to inspect small bruising from the repeated slams.

Before you could even think to use your quirk to heal it, Toshinori’s hand gently caressed your lower belly tenderly before bringing you closer to his chest. Rather than shake him off and remind him of your ability, you allowed him to hold you and rub you softly. Perhaps you both shared the same comfort that came with pain.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. His expression morphed into one of resentment, it was as if he gained clarity— or his words were simply out of obligation. “I didn’t mean to go too far… I-I hurt you… and those awful things I said… No woman should have to hear.”

“Well I wanted to hear it,” you replied. Slowly you turned, his hand resting on your hip, “I loved that side of you… Now that you’ve officially retired, perhaps I could see more of it… And of you.” Your (s/c) fingers danced over his chest before wrapping around his neck, pulling him down towards you.

“I-I could set more time aside in my schedule for us,” he stuttered. An adorable blush coated his cheeks as you brought him closer. His nose kissing yours whilst you only hummed in reply. “I want to make up… for all the time we should’ve spent together.” His words were now only a murmur, a ghost of the man who had just fucked you and left bruises over your thighs and stomach from his roughness.

“I would like that,” you whispered.

The words you wished to say were crushed down your throat as your lips met. Gone was the feral passion, and instead in its place were love and words that had long since turned empty for you. It took you years, but you knew, you always knew that one day you’d be the only one he could turn to when it came to little deaths.

As he caressed your waist and held you close to his heart, you couldn’t help but brush your fingers over the fabric that which covered his scar. A swirling tunnel of black and green, your fingers hovered over it for a moment before sliding up to feel his heart beat. Years of patience led to this moment, and the guilt subsided— but you knew it would always eat away at your stomach like a wound, just like his.

“Toshi,” you said. “I should be the one saying sorry,” (because I lied to you all those years ago). He only shushed you, and held you impossibly closer.

“My...” quirk... I thought you would’ve retired... “I hoped...” for it... I’m as selfish as you are selfless...

“Shush Y/N,” he cooed softly. “It doesn’t matter now, what matters is we’re here— nothing holds me back from you... I love you; I always loved you.”

“But,” you paused— you thought better on it. Stilling your ragged breathing, you inhaled his scent before rubbing your cheek into his chest. “I love you too...”

“I know...” He murmured. “I know... It’s okay...” His words caused you to pause— something shifted in your stomach and for an instance you wondered if the pain paralleled his own. A digging in your gut; one you may have deserved. No— he couldn’t have known, and if he did... it didn’t matter now. You finally had him in your arms— even for just this moment.

After all, he deserved to be selfish sometimes— and frankly, so did you.

It came with the wait, didn’t it?

—

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#all might x reader #all might #yandere #all might smut #bnha smut #yandere BNHA #toshinori yagi x reader #kirietownwrites

[my-emotional-self]

Toxic Love Chapter 7

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes

Summary: Finding out your soulmates were Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes was one thing.  But when someone from your past comes back to haunt you, you have to figure out if a relationship with two super soldiers is something you really want to pursue or if you’d rather go back to your comfortable single life.

Series Warnings:  18+, Swearing, Angst, Fluff, past mentions of rape, self-harm, attempted rape, domestic violence, stalking, death threats, possible Dark!Steve?, Steve will be an asshole a LOT in this series but I don’t know how dark it will get, explicit sexual content, mental health issues, kind of A/B/O dynamics but not really (no they are not actual wolves, more like the hierarchy), mentions of suicide, flashbacks of suicide, nightmares

A/N: There will be no taglist for this story!  I apologize in advance!

8 Years Ago – Age 17

“Y/N, do you know why you are here?” the shrink asked from across the large desk.  You looked down at the typical uniform of a patient at a psychiatric ward.  Yes you knew why you were in here.  A few months ago you witnessed your father’s dead corpse hanging in your living room.  The next thing you knew you were writing a suicide note of your own and your foster parents found it before you could do anything.  Now, you were stuck in a psych ward, probably until you at least turned 18.

“Yep,” came your short response.  

The shrink glanced down at her papers in front of her, going through all of your notes.  “We want to help you as best we can Y/N.  You’ve been through some very traumatic experiences in your life and you’ve witnessed a great deal.  We are going to get you all the help you need.”

3 Months Later

“Have you heard of Borderline Personality Disorder Y/N?” your psychiatrist, Dr. Wang asked.  

That made your head snap in her direction.  Here you were, still stuck in the psych ward after three months and you weren’t sure why.  “I’ve heard of that, yes.  But I thought I was just depressed,” you mumbled, chewing on your fingernail.  

You were clinically diagnosed with depression shortly after coming here.  

“Well, that’s what we originally thought at first.  But the longer you’ve spent time here, the more I and the rest of the staff have discovered it is BPD.  You’re intense mood swings, combined with your ongoing feelings of emptiness and the intense bouts of anger you have are all signs of BPD. We are going to switch up your medications and that will really help with your mood swings and anger issues.

~~~

 No matter how hard you tried, sleep never came to you that afternoon.  You tossed and turned all afternoon in your bed and nothing seemed to be working.  Not only that, but you were really starting to get more irritable as the day went on and you knew it was time to change the dosing of your medication.  It was like clockwork, every year to year and a half. The only problem was that you couldn’t leave the tower without Steve, Bucky or an anyone else.  How were you supposed to get an appointment with your Psychiatrist if you couldn’t leave the tower alone?  This only increased your anger and frustration as you got out of bed to get ready.    

You brushed your teeth and put on a some jeans and a t-shirt, not really caring what you threw on. All of the specific clothing you wore for work was in the closet of your game room along with your makeup and accessories.  

Upon leaving your room, you saw Steve and Bucky sitting at the island in the kitchen of your shared apartment.  They both looked deep in thought over some paperwork and you assumed it was for work.

Grabbing a bottle of water from the kitchen, you were about to head into the elevator as you didn’t want to disturb them, but Steve spoke up and caught your attention.  “Where are you off to?”

“Oh, umm, I’m heading down to my game room.  I’m going to work tonight,” you mumbled out as you pressed the button for the elevator. You noticed it was on the ground floor and it would take a few minutes to get to your level.  

“What time do you plan on being done?” Steve questioned.  

You huffed in annoyance, already irritated as anger began to creep through your bones.  “I don’t know.  Whenever I get done,” you snapped.  Immediately you felt regret, but sometimes your emotions got the better of you when you were in dire need of a medication change.  

“Hey, what’s with the attitude?” Steve commanded as he got up from his seat and stalked over to you, hands on his hips.  You noticed Bucky looking at you from his seat with furrowed brows.  They had never seen you angry like this.  You were always so compliant and easy going.  

“Look, I’m sorry.  I’m just tired is all.”

Steve looked at you sharply, his lips in a thin tight line.  “Alright.  Just make sure you get to bed at a reasonable time tonight.  Promise?”

“I promise,” you answered back.  

~~~

In the comfort of your game room, you quickly got to work.  Digging through your closet, you decided on a light pink tank top that said ‘Gamer Girl’ in black letters with two gamer controls on it.  Since your webcam only showed your top half, you threw on a black pair of cotton shorts to be comfortable.  

Next, you put your hair up in space buns, making sure they were situated just right so they wouldn’t be in the way of your headphones.  You put on your typical game night makeup: bright pink eyeshadow with dark smoked out liner, some mascara and blush and you were good to go.  

Turning on your monitor, you began to power everything up and once that was done, you logged in. Immediately your followers started putting in their messages off to the side and you smiled as you read them. You always tried to read as much of them as you could.  

As the night went on, you knew you should pack it up and listen to what Steve said; getting to bed at a descent time and getting rest.  But you were having way too much fun tonight and so were your followers. It was one of the best nights you’d had in months and not just money wise.  

Ignoring the clock you continued to play and interact with your followers with the microphone that was attached to your headphones.  Every so often you would glance to your messages box and see what some of them had said.  Most of them were cheering you on but of course you always had some haters in there as well.  

It was when you noticed the screen name of one of them that made your blood run cold.  JSmith20. ‘It can’t be’ you thought to yourself, trying to keep as composed as possible as hundreds of people were watching you game in this very moment.  

John’s last name is Smith and he always told you how his favorite number was 20, because that was how old you were when you met him.  No, but he’s still in prison.  He hasn’t gotten out.  He’ll be in there for many more years to come.  It had to be one of his friends right?  The same friend that had been delivering those letters to your old apartment.  ‘Yes, that’s right.  It’s just one of his friends trying to torment you’ you thought to yourself.  

Then, the person behind that screen name typed a message into your message box.  

Hey babe.  Do you miss me yet?  I can’t wait to see you – J

Yep, your composure went out the window reading the message.   Then another message from him popped up.  

I see you are no longer living in that little one bedroom apartment.  Did you really think you could up and move and I wouldn’t be able to find you?  Oh babe, how cute.  I will find you and we will meet again soon.  I promise – J

As you stared at the words on your screen, you heard groans from the other players on your team.  You had just lost the game.  

“Shit,” you swore, anger bubbling up inside of you.  “Fucking damnit!”  You slammed your fist on the desk.  

You rarely lost games. Losing always put you in a foul mood. But because of already being irritable and your emotions on over drive, losing just made everything worse.  

Looking at the clock it was just before five in the morning so you logged off and shut everything down.

You took your hair out of the buns, immediately feeling the tension in your head ease.  Ever so quietly, you opened the door and poked your head out into the hallway.  It was bitch black so you used your phone as a flashlight and tiptoed to the elevator. Before pressing the button on the elevator, you paused.  What if the noise of the elevator woke up Steve or Bucky?  You had promised Steve that you would get to bed at a descent time and seeing as it was just about five in the morning, well, you kind of figured you’d be in trouble.  

Instead, you opened the door to the stairs which was situated right next to the elevator.  At least taking the stairs would be much quieter.

You climbed the stairs up a few levels until you reached your living level and you waited on baited breath for a few moments.  Nothing. Nothing but silence.  As quiet as a mouse, you snuck through the door and dashed to your room, thanking your lucky stars that the palm scanner didn’t make any noise.  

You took a nice hot shower, washing off all of your makeup and the stress of the last few hours.  As much as you wanted to forget John messaging you, it wasn’t going to happen, neither was any sleep.  

Rather than even bothering to get into bed and try to relax, you sent an email to your psychiatrist letting her know that you would more than likely need a dose change on your medications.  Frantically typing away at the email, you explained how you were beginning to get irritated and it was harder for you to control your bouts of anger.  

Luckily for you, Dr. Wang was an early bird and she emailed you right back.  She wanted you to come see her for an appointment and your heart immediately dropped.  That wasn’t going to happen as one of your rules was that you weren’t allowed out of the tower by yourself.  And as much as you liked Darcy, you couldn’t trust her to go with you and not say anything to Steve or Bucky.  

Typing out your reply, you explained that you were unfortunately not able to meet in person and if there was anything else that could be done.  After you hit sent, you began to pace in your apartment, clearly on edge with everything going on.  You just wanted to feel better; you hated feeling this way.  It was as if you weren’t in control of your body and you definitely weren’t in control of your emotions.  

A notification came through your laptop and you rushed towards it, almost tripping over your feet. As you read her words, you could have cried right then and there.  She had agreed to a phone call appointment and she had time right now to discuss things with you.  

Grasping your phone, you dialed her number.

“It’s good to hear from you Y/N,” Dr. Wang stated as she answered the phone.  

“Oh Dr. Wang it is so good to hear your voice.”

She let out a soft chuckle. “Yes, it has been a little over six months since we’ve last spoken.  How are things going with you?”

“Where to begin,” you started off saying.  You let her know that you indeed met your soulmates and had moved in with them. You went over the rules that Steve had given you and she made you feel better as she stated she had seen way worse rules.  Hell, she said your rules were like a walk in the park compared to some she has heard.

“Alright, now, let’s get down to business.  How are you feeling these past few days?” she asked curiously.  

“Ugh, not good. Moving was stressful but I have been feeling really irritated over the last few and I’ve had a few bouts of anger rush through me that makes me want to punch something, but I’ve luckily been able to hold back on that.”

“What about any risky behaviors such as reckless driving, spending sprees, binge eating, drug abuse or sabotaging anything positive in your life?”

“Not yet,” you stated. You knew the routine.  She was going over all the symptoms of Borderline Personality Disorder to see what has changed with you.  

“Ok good.  How about any intense fears of abandonment or rejection?”

That question always hit you like a punch to the gut.  The only reason you had stayed with John for so long was because of that right there. He purposely wouldn’t let you see Dr. Wang or he wouldn’t take you to get your medications refilled and because of that, you were starting to feel those feelings; not wanting to be abandoned no matter what.  

“Nope,” you replied.  

“Ok then.  I am going to increase the dosing on your current medications but I want to warn you.  Without you coming in and personally seeing me and without getting some blood work done, I don’t know how well this dosing is going to work, if it will work at all. We might need to discuss changing the medication all together,” she stated.  

“I understand Dr. Wang. And do you think maybe you could prescribe some sort of sleep medication for me too?”

“I can prescribe a one week trial of a sleeping medication for you.  After that, I really need you to try and come see me in the office and we can discuss that further.  Now, did you want me to send these prescriptions into your regular pharmacy?”

“Yes, that would be great. Thank you so much Dr. Wang.”

“No worries at all Y/N. Give the office a call and get an appointment set up.”

“I will.  Thanks again.”

Now that you had your medications all taken care of, you had to figure a way to leave the tower so you could get them.  

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