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cicidarkarts · 1 year

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Entwined, Always: 24 - Escape Attempt

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“All right, y'all wanna stay alive here, we’re gonna need t’ discuss some things,” was what Lucas had told her the day after her encounter with Jack. Since then, he’d been going over what to say and do around his folks and Eveline. If she could get them to trust her, she’d never have to worry about them again. So she memorized signals, triggers, and some interjections he suggested she use, though overall he told her not to do much talking.

“And y'all don’ gotta eat that nasty shit, just slip it t’ Diane, she loves it.”

It was dinner with the whole family that night, and a woman that she’d never seen. She was skinny, young, with black hair unruly in her face. Persephone sat between her and Lucas, forcing a straight face when Eveline jumped into her lap. She quietly held the young girl as Eveline bounced on her legs and chattered about her ‘new big sister’ — though she was having trouble pronouncing her name as anything other than ‘Persepenny’. Eveline took a liking to her long, thick hair and braided it as they waited for dinner.

“Your hair is so pretty, Sis!” “Thank you,” she replied, blank eyes staring at the table. “Why don’ ya come over here, Evie?” Lucas said. “I think yer big sis is a little tired.”

Eveline smiled wide and switched laps, giving Persephone space to breathe. Marguerite soon arrived with the food and handed out bowls and spoons. She dropped a good sized portion of the food into the bowl in front of Persephone. She felt her throat clench up and stomach lurch when the acrid scent of death hit her in the face. Looking away from the mess of organs (and a whole finger), she swallowed back the bile.

When dinner started, Eveline got to her seat between Jack and Marguerite, who kept touching her hair and calling her precious. They didn’t notice Persephone spooning as much ‘food’ as possible to Diane, apologizing internally for giving such vile crap to the poor creature. Diane did seem to eat it right up but it didn’t make Persephone feel any better, knowing she probably would’ve gobbled down shit had it been given to her.

“So, Persephone,” Marguerite said. Persephone’s heart jumped, and she tightened her lips to keep it from showing. “You and my son, together again. You better be treatin’ my baby right.” “Of course…” She paused for a moment, staring down into her lap. Jack slammed his fist on the table, dinnerware rattling. “Dammit, young lady! You look at’chur mother when she’s talkin’ ta ya!” Persephone’s stiff gaze landed on Marguerite’s saccharine smile. “Well, I for one am glad my son’s got such a nice girl,” said Marguerite. “Ooh, I wonder if we could have a weddin’!”

Wedding? No. No, no, no, no — Persephone would not let herself be wed to Lucas, not under these circumstances and certainly not ‘till death by insanity or this crazy house do they part. She glanced over at Eveline, who clapped and bounced.

“I’ve always wanted to be in a wedding! I wanna be the flower girl!” “Oh, Evie,” said the black-haired woman, her eyes lighting up, “you’d look so beautiful with a little flower crown!” “All right, let’s not get too ahead a’ ourselves,” said Lucas; the only one making sense in the whole room, scarily enough. “We wanna make sure our newest family member is nice n’ comfy first, right?” “Of course,” Jack agreed. “Best not to rush these things, you know.” Eveline frowned and crossed her arms tight. “But I want a wedding! Don’t you, big Sis?”

Her large, childish eyes looked Persephone over. Persephone’s gaze darted to Lucas. Lucas reached up and tapped his cheek twice, then pretended he was simply itching his jawline. Persephone held back her grimace. It would probably be the only answer Eveline would accept, otherwise a major tantrum could come on.

“Yes,” Persephone said, emotionless eyes locking onto Eveline’s. “I’d love to have a wedding one day.” Eveline giggled and squealed. “Yay!”

If she was going to plan a wedding, Persephone was going to drown herself in the bayou.

Silence rested over the table, with just the sounds of eating and utensils scraping. The woman with the tangled black hair chowed down on the food and Lucas kept slipping it to Diane in secrecy. Marguerite smiled at everyone, but her brows clenched.

“That girl still thinks she’s too good for us?” She asked no one in particular. Jack tore through the organ meats with his serrated knife, then he said, “Zoe’s prob’ly in her trailer again. Someone’s gonna need ta teach that girl a lesson.”

He put down his utensils, wiped his mouth, and stood. The screeching of his chair against the wooden floor made Persephone’s heart jump. It was the first time she realized she hadn’t seen Zoe at all, and now Zoe was in deep shit. She looked to Lucas, who was smirking and trying not to laugh. His sociopathic ass wasn’t going to do shit about it, so she shot up.

“I’ll do it.” The entire family looked at her, including Eveline. She continued, “You know, as an honorary member of the family. I think I should prove myself, and— uh—” She cracked her knuckles. “—‘teach her a lesson’.”

Jack’s eyes scanned her, then he sat back in his seat. She took that as permission and, after stealing one last glance at a confused Lucas as he unhooked her leash, Persephone jogged to the trailer. Uncertainty toward Zoe’s mindset made her think she should just walk away, but considering Zoe rarely, if ever, showed up for dinner — and because she shuddered at the thought of Lucas’s potential punishment — she decided to check if something else was going on.

When she approached Zoe’s dwelling, she caught sight of a silhouette darting away from the window. If Jack often ‘taught her a lesson’, it would be no wonder Zoe was on edge. She knocked on the door.

“Zoe, it’s me, Persephone. You in there?” “I have a shotgun,” Zoe warned. “I’m not here for trouble but aim it at me if it makes you feel better. Just open the door.”

Zoe’s shadow peered out of the window, then the door opened. Muzzles of the double-barrel shotgun pointed in her face and Zoe glared at her from around the gun. She backed up and motioned with a jerk of her head for Persephone to enter, then she slammed the door and locked them both inside.

She demanded, “Whaddaya want?” “I needed a break. They’re pretty pissed at you for not going to dinner, you know. Jack was about to come over here. Figured I should instead.” “Yeah?” Zoe sneered. “Tryna get me ta put my guard down, are ya? I ain’t fallin’ for it.” “Whatever makes you feel better.”

Zoe’s finger rested upon the trigger, her arms quivering. They looked into each other’s eyes for a moment, Zoe probably searching for a good reason to put her down right then and there. Persephone didn’t plan on giving her any reason but if Zoe shot her dead, then so be it. To ease the tension, she showed Zoe her empty hands.

“I can turn out my pockets if you want,” she offered. “Do it.” Persephone did so, her empty pockets on full display. Zoe sighed, face falling. “God, Persephone. You’re real dumb for gettin’ messed up in all this.” “Yeah, I know. Speaking of, why don’t you join your family for dinner?” “Don’ call ‘em that.” “What should I call them, then?” “Dunno, but they’re not my family. Whatever Eveline did ta Momma n’ Daddy, they ain’t here anymore. N’ Lucas…” “Yeah, he’s a real asshat.”

A small smile threatened Zoe’s features but she quickly dashed it, still holding the shotgun up to Persephone’s face.

“Gonna shoot me?”

They stood in silence for a moment as Zoe scanned her. Eventually, however, Zoe lowered her gun, finger now off the trigger.

“No. Just hard ta know who ta trust anymore.” “Don’t trust me just yet,” Persephone said, pointing to her collar. “Got this baby ‘cuz I go berserk just like everyone else.” “Lucas put that on you?” “Yep.” “Christ. If he’s treatin’ you like that, he must really be far gone.”

Zoe set the gun aside and gestured for them to sit at her small dining table at the back of the trailer, two booth-like seats on the sides. Persephone sat on one side, moving the cigarette butts that lined the table so she could rest her arms atop it. Zoe sighed, sitting on the other side as she lit a cigarette with shaky hands.

It was the first time Persephone’d gotten a good look at Zoe’s trailer. Small and cramped, but appeared to have once been cozy. Dirty clothes lay sprawled on the floor, ashtrays filled to the brim covered the table, discarded cigarettes were scattered at their feet, and a layer of grime coated everything. A scent of flowers and sweets tried to mask the body odor and cigarette smoke that filled the trailer, but whatever sprays or candles she was using weren’t working.

“How you holdin’ up?” Zoe asked and Persephone’s gaze came back to her. “Well, I’m not dead. That’s something, I guess.” “Ya never shoulda come here.” “Maybe not, but… It’s weird. If knew what was here, I still would’ve come back.” “Ya know that’s crazy, right?” “Yep. But I didn’t have any reason to keep going. Dad’s dead, Terry killed herself, I had a shit job, and I’m pretty much a surgeon already — just two years left and I woulda been in.” She leaned over the table, chin on her arms. “But I didn’t give a shit. About anything.”

There was a brief silent reprieve between them. Zoe took such a long drag off her cigarette that it burnt down to the filter. She snubbed it out in the crowded ashtray and reached for another, then smoked more before finally speaking.

“Wish I didn’t give a shit. Wish that I stopped lovin’ Judith, missin’ school, wishin’ I could grow up n’ do somethin’ with my life. But that’s all gone now. I’ll never get any of that back. Especially not Judith.” “I’m sorry, Zoe. I’m sure Judith still loves you.” Zoe breathed deeply. “I miss ‘er so much.” “You two were together for a long time.” “Yeah.” A small grin broke Zoe’s lips. “Funny. She n’ I got together ‘round the same time you n’ Lucas did.”

Persephone forced a listless smile, still leaning across the table. She could only watch as Zoe's eyes swam with emotion. Zoe's lips quivered against the cigarette, and her brow was upturned wrinkling her forehead. A tear slipped from her eye.

“How can we talk about you n’ Lucas, n’ me n’ Judith, n’ you not shed a single tear? Aren’t you sad, too, Persephone?”

Persephone paused. She was sad to know her old life with Lucas was over, sad to know that her sanity was slipping away and she’d wind up just as crazy as everyone else. Yet equal parts of her were numb to it all. Rather than dumping all of that onto poor, stressed Zoe, she replied simply,

“Just dumb as hell, I guess.”

Zoe chuckled at her response but it soon turned into more tears and sniffling. She stood up and threw herself into Persephone’s arms, sobbing. Persephone’s lips tightened, a single hand patting Zoe’s back. She tried to hold Zoe and let her cry. It was difficult to see Zoe, who seemed so strong to resist Evie and brave to go against her family, break down that way.

Persephone sat at dinner, examining all of her twisted ‘family members’, some glowering, some smiling. Marguerite gushed more about the wedding and Eveline clapped and sang about being a flower girl. A protest tried to erupt from Persephone’s lips but her jaw wouldn’t move, try as she might.

She rubbed her eyes in hopes it would snap her out of her trance, but when she opened them again, the table had been replaced with a black void. Her body fell into it, and a bubbling, moldy mess awaited her. She tried to scream but her jaw wouldn’t open. A hoarse and shrill screech tore at the back of her throat, its sound the herald of the beast within the void: Lucas, dressed in a ripped and musty tuxedo. He reached out for her with a huge, pale hand. His fingers wrapped so tight around her body that it ripped open her jaw and her scream finally came through.

He tore her into the void and her feet hit solid ground. She wore a white, yellowing wedding dress, dirty and fetid, a bouquet of dying flowers in her grasp as she stood before Lucas and his soulless eyes. He took her hand in his and she heard their disembodied voices agreeing to be wed. The wedding band slipped on her left ring finger. She stared down at it with trembling, sweaty hands.

“No,” she whispered.

The audience comprised of people crying and smiling, as if it was the happiest moment of anyone’s life. Persephone kept repeating, “no,” over and over, louder each time until she screamed it. The members of the family, all dressed in dirty formal clothes, laughed at her. Monsters lined the outside, dripping black mold onto the ground, cackling. Her mother and father’s decaying corpses sat in the audience, roaring with malicious laughter alongside her featureless dead aunt. They laughed at her struggling, laughed at her torment, laughed as Lucas forced her into the finalizing kiss.

Persephone gasped awake, breathing hard and dripping sweat underneath the covers. A nightmare — another crazy fucking nightmare. Felt so real. But was the waking world any better?

Persephone laid on her side and stared at the opposite half of the bed where Lucas had fallen asleep, phone in his lap. She watched him sleep. Images of that dream — the dirty wedding dress and the musty tuxedo — flashed across her mind. Their wedding would be spent with those mold monsters sitting alongside the fucked up members of his family, and her mother, aunt, and father’s corpses. Eveline would be their flower girl, the black-haired woman her bridesmaid.

Persephone’s heart raced. She needed to get the fuck out. She didn’t know what she’d do once she left — get out of town and never look back? — but she couldn’t stay.

Gently, silently, she sat up. Her hands quivered as they rose toward her collar. She felt its phantom tingles of electricity along her throat. She held her breath as she unbuckled it and laid it across the bed with her attached leash. Her breath returned slowly. She tiptoed out of the room, to the left through the kitchen, and toward the security door. Her hand grasped the handle, shaking, sweat making the metal slick as she pressed the lever with her thumb and pushed the door open.

Persephone’s heart fell when she heard the vibration of his phone and a small, second-long alarm chirp from the bedroom. She broke through to the barn, heart pounding in her head and chest.

The door that led to the barn was open and she rushed through it. Something was being constructed, tools and wire fence laying in the middle of the floor with a short barrier of wood Persephone had to leap over. She ran to the barn doors, seeing some construction in the front; a metal box not quite finished and more tools inside that she nearly tripped over.

The barn door beyond had been chained shut. She yanked at them, wishing she could tear the doors off their hinges. All these fucking chains and locks and shit keeping her confined — she couldn’t take it anymore!

“Pers,” she heard Lucas calling softly, stopping her. “C’mon, Pers, I’m not mad, just come back t’ bed.”

His gentle voice sent a sharp chill down her back. She hid behind the wall of the metal box, pressed against a dead pig. The putrid stench pierced her nose. Lucas searched around the barn. She tried to think, sidling along the walls and sneaking behind rotting hay bales with thoughts flying through her mind. If she could make it to the guest house, she could climb her way out into the forest.

“Ya can’t leave, Pers. Trust me on that.”

She saw him scouring the construction area. There was no cover from her position to get across to the door she came in. Persephone breathed deeply, anticipation of her next move making her skin crawl.

She dashed out of her hiding spot, ignoring Lucas calling out to her. When she was through the door, she slammed it behind her. Rather than run back down the hall where he’d surely catch up with her, she dove into the small storage room at the corner and hid behind the half-shut door.

A dirty, square window in the door let her see out and she crouched down as low as she could, praying he wouldn’t notice. He stopped in front of the door, back facing her as he inspected the hall.

He turned, then opened the door farther, peeking inside. Her breath caught in her throat as the door nearly hit her feet. If it had, he would’ve known for sure and she wouldn’t stand a chance.

Lucas scanned the room. She put her hands up against her mouth to stifle her breathing. Just don’t look behind the door, she chanted in her mind, just don’t look behind the door. She shut her eyes tight in terror that accidental eye contact would give her away. It took so long for him to be satisfied with his observations that the lack of oxygen to her racing heart made her lightheaded.

“Hmm,” he grunted and shut the door behind him.

His soft footsteps faded away to somewhere in the house. She released her suppressed breath a few moments later, panting to catch up with her pulsating heart. Now that she wasn’t sure where Lucas had gone, getting to the guest house might not go so well. She carefully stood on quivering legs, peering out the window. The hallway was empty down both ends, as far as she could see.

She opened the door, cursing its creaking. Each rasp threatened to give her away. Her legs felt like lead as she trekked as quickly and quietly as possible back to the barn. There had to be something she could do, something she could find amongst the tools to help her, something on the upper level — she didn’t know.

When she slipped into the barn, her blood ran cold at the sight of something in her peripherals. Her legs froze, neck straining to look. Lucas had been leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

“‘Sup. Thought ya could trick me, did ya?”

She tried to run, making it only to the fence in the middle of the room before he grabbed the back of her shirt and ripped her into him. His arms locked around her, keeping hers by her sides. She flailed, back of her head slamming into his collarbone, feet kicking his legs and anything around her.

“Let me go! I can’t do this anymore! LET ME GO!” “Ya can’ leave! If ya leave, Evie’s gonna kill you!” Persephone stopped thrashing. Her lungs heaved. “Wha—what?” “That’s what I been tryna tell ya. Ya can’t leave, Pers.” “Y… You’re lying! Lemme go!” “I’m not lyin’! I told y'all I didn’ want ya here fer a reason!”

She didn’t know how Eveline would find out that she left, but with everything else that’d happened, it could very well be the truth. That’s why he’d been so adamant on her not leaving. She thought it was just his way of controlling her, keeping her locked up so he could use her (though, that undoubtably was part of it). But now… Now she wasn’t so sure. Zoe was right. She was real stupid to get herself mixed up in all of this. She let exhaustion overtake her and fell into his chest, hopeless and trapped.

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lemon--law · 10 months

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TASK 010. THE INTERVIEW

Her shoes made her walk funny. That was the main takeaway Augie got from the outfit that had been forced upon her. The fabric might be itchy or very much not her style, but it was the walking funny that made her the most uncomfortable. At least with the chariots, she didn’t have to walk. She leaned against the wall now. It was nearly her turn. Her palms were sweating.

“Friends, lovers, annoying next door neighbors, please welcome to the stage Miss Augusta Byon!”

Calix Crystal’s voice was, unsurprisingly, crystal clear, as were his instructions. Augie straightened, wobbled, then straightened again, and then, forcing a smile and a wave but still still not having gotten used to the height of her shoes, she awkwardly made her way over to the empty chair that Calix was gesturing toward.

Augie had been so focused on trying to keep her walk even that she didn’t even notice the spotlight until it was too late and she was already settled in the too-high chair, and she winced. On camera. The entire Capitol, and the Career households that had television, had all just seen her wince. She needed to breathe. Was she breathing?

“...time in the Captiol been so far?” Calix was asking, and Augie was relieved that she’d managed to snap back into the moment to catch enough of the question to answer.

“Oh, first of all, please, you have to call me Augie,” she said, referencing his introduction and, hopefully, his reiteration of her name at the beginning of the question. She grinned and swung her legs slightly to appear more enthusiastic, and Calix gave a silent nod of either approval or acceptance of her request. Augie was channeling her older sister here - her popular, perfect older sister. It wasn’t quite lying to be more interesting. She wasn’t lying about anything. Just…pretending to have a different personality. It was the best she could come up with after her conversation with Link. “And it’s been wonderful. There’s so much to see here. And the food!” Well, Augie at least didn’t have to pretend about the food. Calix laughed, and Augie beamed.

“And has the food been your favorite part of being a tribute so far?” he asked. “Or has the training process had even more exciting things in store?” Augie sucked in a dramatic breath, her grin spreading impossibly wider. She focused on keeping her jaw relaxed as she spoke, trying desperately not to sound forced.

“Oh, no, my favorite part has definitely been meeting all of these new people and truly see the beauty and diversity that exists throughout Panem,” she said. Her words tasted like bile in her mouth, and she had to add swallowing that down to the list of things she needed to remember to do as she spoke. “Honestly, home is lovely, and I love to be able to put in a hard day’s work, but when you’re at work you’re at work, and sorting scraps isn’t exactly conducive to jibber jabber.” Augie leaned toward Calix, conspiratorially. “Here, I’ve overheard the most incredible bits of gossip.” Calix’s eyebrows raised.

“Care to share?” he prompted.

“Oh, they might kiss, but I won’t tell,” she said, throwing in a giggle. But that one was too forced, and she was too far forward, and before she even had time to remember to breathe the wind was knocked out of her, and she was flat on her face. A collective gasp shot through the audience.

“Are you alright?” Calix asked. He had gotten up immediately, helping her to her feet. He looked her in the eyes and Augie saw genuine concern reflected in them. She took a breath and nodded, her true face now, not her approximation of her sister’s. He seemed to believe her, even though she wasn’t sure if she did. As she settled back into the chair, Calix turned toward the audience. “It’s fine, it’s fine,” he reassured everyone. “Augie, honey, don’t even worry. No one saw that.” He winked dramatically and everyone laughed and the show was on again.

Augie smiled, an awkward laugh escaping her lips. She couldn’t get her sister’s face back now.

“Now, why don’t you tell us about what you bring to the table, rather than the floor,” Calix continued. It earned him a laugh from the audience and deep shame washed over Augie. “Why should people bet on you?”

They shouldn’t, not if that spectacular display was any indication of her Arena performance. But Augie couldn’t say that. She bit her tongue and took another breath. Breathing. She was at least good at breathing.

“Um, my grace, clearly,” Augie tried to joke. It came out sideways somehow. It didn’t land, the audience was silent, and Augie had to fight every instinct in her body from wincing again. No, she had to do this. She had to. She couldn’t let her family see her like this. And she couldn’t let Link down. “Um, I don’t let people down,” she said, quieter. It was a half-truth - she usually didn’t promise anyone enough to let them down in the first place - but she meant it. Every word. All five of them. Six if you counted the “um.” It wasn’t the charisma she’d managed to fake for forty five whole seconds earlier, but apparently, it was enough to give Calix something to work with.

“So, if you could tell those people watching, the ones you won’t let down, anything at all, what would it be?” he asked her. His smile was soft, and maybe she imagined it, but some of the genuine emotion had stuck around in his eyes. Maybe some of these Capitolites really did care. Augie took a final deep breath.

“I would tell them not to worry,” she said. “I’m going to fight. I’m going to make them proud.” She didn’t know how she’d do it, but she was going to try. Calix nodded again, and stood up, offering her a hand as she got down from her chair and back onto her funny feet. He turned her toward the audience, and Augie hadn’t even realized that she’d started to cry until she licked her lips, a nervous habit, and tasted salt. She wanted to make everyone proud. She wanted to go home.

“Augie Byron, from District Three,” Calix concluded. “Give it up, everybody.” And everyone clapped and cheered, and Augie forced that grin back on her face, waving until she was back out in the hallway. Then the tears fell in earnest, and Augie fell to the floor, on purpose this time, practically ripping her shoes off of her feet and throwing them down the hallway with a silent scream that she was certain everyone could hear.

#mtotask #133 #interview133 #self para

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marvelslut16 · 3 years

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The one with two Pietro’s

Pairing: Pietro x reader, Wandavision!Pietro (Peter Maximoff) x reader FORCED

Synopsis: you find yourself in Westview living with Wanda, Vision, the boys, and your boyfriend Pietro. But happens when you start to remember your Pietro and figure out what Wanda’s doing to you and everyone else?

Word count: 1.4k+

Warnings: Swearing I think. Angst. Fluff if you squint. Mind control. Forced relationship. Briefly mentions the idea of a forced magical pregnancy. Bullet wounds. Death. Grief I suppose. Mentions pmsing. The over use of italics. Kinda feel like I make Wanda a psychotic asshole. SPOILERS FOR WANDAVISION!

A/N: This was so much fun to write! Probably the darkest thing I’ve ever written, if you can really call it dark. Writing for Wandavision was a fun little challenge. Takes place in the 90′s so my title is a reference to friends, and so is a tv show character I use in the one shot. Pretend Evan Peters’ hair isn’t that blonde cause I will always see him with the silver he has in xmen and wrote him as such.

"Vision, that's not my Pietro," you mutter in horror to your friend as the two of you stand in the kitchen.

You’re not quite sure what makes you say it, but you’re glad you do when you glance at the new Pietro in the living room, he's been playing video games with Tommy and Billy for close to an hour now. He's sweet and funny, but he's just not your Pietro.

"I'm afraid not, (Y/N)," Vision's voice is sullen, but he's glad you're not in on Wanda's mind games. Unless you are, and this is just another way for Wanda to mess with him. He’s not quite sure what’s happening, but he knows from what you’ve reminisced in passing to him about Pietro on nights when Wanda isn’t in the room, that that’s not the Pietro you know and love.

"Oh my god," you murmur, hand coming to your mouth as little bits and pieces of memories race through your head. The genuine pain, horror, and sadness that cross your face make it obvious to Vision you're being manipulated like everyone else, even if you are Wanda's oldest friend. "My Pietro, he had an accent."

Your knees buckle when you hear his native accent saying his catchphrase in your head, 'you didn't see that coming.' Vision rushes to your side to help you stand more firmly.

"His face was longer, hair a white blonde not silver, his body more toned, and he had gorgeous blue eyes- bluest eyes I've ever seen," you grip onto Vision's arms as you imagine moments with your Pietro.

You grew up in the cell beside his and Wanda's, immediately forming a sisterly connection with her at a young age while Pietro hated you. He would tease you, pull on your pigtails, and steal some of your food on the off chance you three were eating outside of your cells. Over the years the teasing turned to flirting, and your dislike for him turned into a huge crush.

One night-a night you can normally remember with full clarity- after Hydra fell and before Ultron, the two of you were out on a walk, much to Pietro's chagrin. You were telling him about this new book that you were reading and how the characters annoyed you so because they were obviously in love but wouldn't admit it. Pietro zoomed in front of you, causing you to smack into his chest and almost fall to the ground, you would have if not for Pietro's arms wrapping around your waist and bringing you close to his toned chest.

The wind was blowing his hair into his eyes ever so slightly, so without thinking you reached up to move it out of his face and away from his eye. The small act of tenderness that you had displayed caused Pietro to give into his desires, he leaned in and his wind chapped lips descended onto yours. You melted into the kiss, clinging tightly to his biceps to ground you. One of his hands slipped down from your waist to squeeze your ass, the other wrapped more tightly around your waist and kept you anchored to him.

"I love you, Printesa, I have since we were kids," he admits when you pull apart for air, leaning his forehead on yours.

"I love you too, Quicksilver," you use the superhero nickname he gave himself when you were twelve. He grins before attaching his lips to yours once more, it was an unforgettable kiss that filled you with warmth and hope for your future.

"(Y/N), are you okay?" Vision's voice brings you back to reality, or whatever this is.

"No," your voice cracks as you remember the last kiss Pietro planted on your lips, right before he protected Clint. The memory that still haunts your dreams, seeing him with all those bullet holes and knowing there was nothing you could do to save him. "What kind of person forgets the love of their life? I'm a terrible person Vis!"

"No you aren't (Y/N)," the sincerity in Vision's voice makes you really believe him. "Wanda's doing this, she didn't want you to remember."

You gasp as another memory floods your mind. You had agreed to go on a road trip with Wanda after being resurrected from Bruce's snap and defeating Thanos. You both wanted a break, or so you thought.

Wanda had stopped right when you had passed the entrance into Westview, she claimed to be checking her directions when you asked why she had stopped in the middle of nowhere. And no matter how weird it was that she chose to stop at the border to the town and not at a gas station, you believed your best friend and sister in law because she had no reason to lie to you.

A moment later her eyes and hands were glowing red as she touched your temple. She pushed all your memories behind a wall in your brain, then filled your head with memories of a happy life with her and Vision in Westview.

She did it again when 'Pietro' showed up on your guy’s doorstep, this time filling your head with memories of him. Memories of a different first kiss, but an eerily similar first date to the one you and your Pietro had. It makes sense to you now, you and Pietro had never told Wanda the real story of your first kiss, instead telling her you had it weeks later on your first date. You had tried to keep your relationship a secret for a little because you didn't want to make it awkward for Wanda if it didn't work out.

Another thing she didn't add was your engagement and subsequent marriage to her brother. In this reality you and 'Pietro' are just dating. You have to assume that it's because it happened weeks before the battle against Ultron and she doesn't want to remember anything that close to her brother's death.

The thing about the new Pietro is that he seems to rub Wanda the wrong way, something your Pietro never did. He makes comments that you know yours would never, and Wanda always tenses up near him. This Pietro likes to show you off more than yours did, which is saying a lot because your’s used to cling to your side, praise you, and show you off in town when girls would flirt with him. Every time this Pietro kisses you it doesn’t feel right, it’s nowhere near the earth shattering kisses that you had somehow managed to remember from the deep parts of your brain.

"My ring," you shudder in horror when you realize the diamond ring that your Pietro stole from the jeweler in Sokovia is no longer sitting delicately on your left ring finger like it was before entering Westview. You hastily search your body for your most prized possession, sighing in relief when you find it hanging from a simple silver chain around your neck.

"(Y/N)," Vision says gently, resting a hand on your shoulder, it’s one of the few times he doesn’t know what to say.

"He's dead," you cry, knees buckling under your weight again. This time you catch yourself on the kitchen table, before sinking in the seat to your right.

"Who's dead?" Wanda appears in the doorway out of nowhere. She has an innocent, concerned expression on her face, but the tilt of her head tells you she'll come take your memories away again if you slip up in the slightest.

"Dr. Drake Ramoray on Days Of Our Lives, the soap opera I was watching this afternoon when you and the boys were out. He fell down the elevator shaft, and I'm apparently taking it harder than I thought I would. I must be pmsing or something."

"Or maybe you're pregnant," there's a red glint in her eyes that scares you to no end.

"Oh," you swallow the lump in your throat, and hold back the bile rising up your throat from anxiety. "I don't think so, I'm not ready to be a mother yet."

"It would be so fun though," 'Pietro' zooms behind your seat, leaning down to place a kiss on your cheek. "Little mini me's and you's running around the house with Billy and Tommy."

"I think two super human children are enough for the house right now," you let out an uncomfortable giggle. You and Vision side eye each other, both very aware that you'll probably be as pregnant as Wanda was a few days ago within the week.

#pietro x reader #pietro x you #pietro x y/n #pietro imagine #pietro one shot #pietro maximoff x reader #peter maximoff #marvel #marvel one shot #marvel imagine #wandavision #wandavision spoilers #wandavision imagine #quicksilver #quicksilver x reader #marvel fanfiction #pietro maximoff imagine #pietro maximoff one shot #pietro maximoff fanfiction

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jadequeen88 · 3 years

Text

Smart Girls Make Fast Learners

NSFW 18+ ONLY. MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!

My contribution to the BNHarem’s monthly collab. The theme was SEx work. ⛓This piece is a first real deep dive into darker themes and was actually really, really exciting to write. 🖤 A massive thanks to my dear friend @libiraki for beta reading this.

TW: yandere behavior, toxic relationship, degradation, non-con, dub-con, degradation/praise kinks, mind break, oral (M and F receiving), over stim, loss of virginity, mentions of physical violence.

DISCLAIMER: I do not condone this type of relationship. This is a work of fiction and if this happens IRL please get out of the relationship!

There is a very specific type of dread that occurs when you discover that the person you built your world around has been lying to you. Tamaki Amajiki was experiencing this brand of betrayal for the first time in his twenty-one years on a rainy Tuesday in October in the dim lighting of your dorm room. His grip tightened around the open laptop as he stared at glimpses of flesh in the thumbnails of the many, many videos posted to the site. Previous live streams with thousands of views. He gulped down the bile in his throat as he scrolled through the videos. His shock and disgust morphed into a pure rage as he counted up the live streams that you’d had since first kissing him. 12. There had been twelve. Three times a week for the past four weeks.

Those big doe eyes that looked into his eyes as you tentatively licked the tip of his cock for the first time… mere hours later they were rolling in the back of your head as you got off for strangers on the internet. He couldn’t take it. You were his first… everything… he knew that you hadn’t been innocent in your past. The way your tongue expertly wound around his when you first kissed him amongst your plush pillows and goose-down comforter reminded him of the fact. The low violet LED lighting of your bedroom made him feel like the two of you were in your own ethereal world. He could forgive you for not waiting for him as he’d waited for you.

For the past four years, he kept to the shadows. He was there when the football player from freshman year cheated on you with one of your terrible friends (and when it happened the second, third, fourth time). He was there to binge your favorite shows with you (“*insert current guy you were fucking* just doesn’t get it, he’s not into it. I’m so glad I’ve got you to watch it with!”) He bit back the heartache that would wash over him when you’d pet him and coo over him… you didn’t see him as a man. He wanted to bend you over and prove he could fuck your brains out. He KNOWS he’d be perfect for you. But he never rejected the attention. He smiled and accepted whatever crumbs fell from your table. Whether it be helping you study or letting you complain about your shitty friends or your shitty jock boyfriends or your shitty parents… He gave and gave and gave… until that one day, 35 days ago to be exact, a shift in the tide occurred.

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“So why don’t you have a girlfriend, Tama-kun?”

“Wh-wha?”

Tamaki dropped the pencil he’d been using and before he could bend to get it himself, your hand was on his thigh and he was putty in your grasp. You giggled and cooed over him like you always did, but this time you did it while assaulting his mouth and neck with your skilled tongue. This time, for the first time, you made Tamaki feel like a man. Like YOUR man.

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Over the next few weeks, Tamaki had become quite skilled in pleasing a woman. It only took a little guidance to have him sucking at your clit with just the right amount of pressure. He learned on his own how to couple that with his long, delicate fingers twisting and pumping in and out of your slick hole. You’d cling to his silky hair, pulling him closer as a constant stream of praise tumbled from your lips:

“No one has ever made me feel this good.”

“Your fingers are perfect Tama-kun”.

“I love your mouth on me so much, baby.”

The first time you came on his face, Tamaki knew there was a god because he’d found heaven between your thighs.

But that was gone now… ripped away with one mouse click on the night he was going to finally give you his virginity. He had held on to it like it was a treasure. A treasure he’d present to you one day wrapped up in life-long devotion and worship... But Tamaki wasn’t in heaven anymore. He wasn’t going to worship you tonight. For the first time since laying eyes on you, Tamaki wanted to hurt you.

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You turned the shower off and dried yourself. Wiping the condensation from the mirror, you couldn’t help but smile at your reflection. You felt like this was going to be the first time giving your body to someone. Tonight was a redo. You were wiping the slate clean. Your first time would no longer be underneath the football captain in the passenger seat of his truck, left feeling sore and unsatisfied. It was going to be with the guy you should have noticed long ago. It would be soft and slow… passionate and filled with sweet words and caresses… limbs tangled in soft sheets that smell like lavender and vanilla.

You applied your lotion and moisturized your face. The red lace adorning your body was arranged perfectly, accentuating the soft swell of your hips and chest. With one last glance in the mirror and adjustment of your bra, you opened the door to the cool air of your dorm room…

...And saw Tamaki looking murderous.

His eyes slowly left the screen to meet your gaze. His tear-stained face had never looked this harsh. His normally sweet eyes were narrowed and red from crying. The sweet lips you’d licked and sucked with such tenderness were hard and cold as they pulled upward in a grimace.

The only thing he said before rising from the bed and setting aside your laptop was your camgirl username. Then he was on you before you could draw a breath to explain.

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Tamaki always thought he liked you best on top of him showering him with kisses and threading your fingers through his hair, but he had to admit… having your arms tied to a bed frame with the silky sash of your bathrobe cutting into your skin was doing things to him. When you sniffled, face stained with tears and snot, his dick twitched in his boxers. The whines you were choking back behind the silky red panties stuffed down your throat sent chills up his spine. You had to learn the hard way not to spit them out after a harsh slap echoed against your skin when you fought back the first time.

Tamaki stood back to survey the mess of skin, spit, and tears for a moment. You were a blank canvas for him to mark up with his rage and lust. You tried to hide away your bare pussy by clenching your thighs together. It only spurred him on.

“Do you have any clue what you’ve done?” he hovered over you, sleek muscles rippling over your own soft body, “I waited, and waited, and WAITED,” he bit down on the side of your exposed neck and you screamed behind the silky gag, trying your best not to expel it from your mouth and receive more punishment.

“I want to give you everything, Y/N,” he licks over the bite, almost apologetically, “I don’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want it to happen like this… FUCK, why?! Why did you ruin this?” his long fingers dug into your cheeks as he forced you to meet his fiery gaze. You couldn’t help whimpering and sniffling back more clear runny snot. You were so humiliated at how disheveled and disgusting you must look. His head ducked into the soft spot between your neck and shoulder and you felt him sob.

Despite the abuse he’d inflicted upon you in the last ten minutes, you nuzzled your cheek into the top of his head in an attempt to comfort him. And he let you… he hated himself for it and he hated you for making this all so hard for him.

“No… no, no, no,” he rose from the bed to set up your ring-light and laptop, ice running through your veins at the sight. Your mind couldn’t accept what was about to happen.

“I’m... I’m not letting you get away with this,” he shook his head and pulled at his hair as he finished setting everything up, “If you’re insisting on being a slut, you’ll be MY slut. And everyone will know…” he jerked your ankle to force you flat on your back.

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Maybe if he’d let the gag out of your mouth, you’d be able to tell him this was just a job to you. That it was clinical… that he was the only one who had ever been able to get you off, that his face was the only one you’d come on… that you needed the money since your parents had disowned you…

But you only laid there, accepting whatever he was going to dish out. You knew he was hurt. You weren’t stupid. You overlooked him while knowing how he felt about you. It took years of horrible one-night stands and countless frat parties pretending that whatever guy you’d picked that night was interesting for you to come to your senses. You hated yourself for being so blind for so long… You adored Tamaki, truly. And you hated yourself for all the times you’d hurt him… so you swallowed your fear and tried to prepare yourself for whatever came next.

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Any soft parts of Tamaki that you’d grown to love were gone, hardened by heartache and desperation. After angling the laptop to get the perfect shot, he started the live stream countdown. Subscribers started trickling in, commenting on how this was a pleasant surprise since it wasn’t one of your regularly scheduled streams. You shut your eyes to pretend this wasn’t real.

Without fanfare or warning, Tamaki ripped apart your thighs, exposing your bare slit. A raw shrill was pulled from your lungs, your back arching from the sting of an abrupt slap. Neurons fired off in your brain… were you in pain? Was it pleasure?

“Since my girlfriend likes to keep secrets from me, I can’t trust what comes out of her whore mouth,” he emphasized his point by stuffing his fingers past your lips, pushing the soaked silk further into your throat, “So she’s going to keep this gag right here until I can fuck the truth out of her,” he trailed his fingers along your reddened folds. Were you getting wet? Horror and shame blossomed in your chest. The fact that you were growing aroused wasn’t lost on Tamaki. His foreign, sadistic grin was back… aimed directly into your soul.

“So that’s what you like, huh?” His nails bit into your thighs leaving tiny crescents behind, “I’ve been too nice? Too soft?” He pushed your thighs impossibly wide, the stretch causing you to moan. He hovered over your core, onyx orbs blown wide with a mix of hate and lust. Tamaki looked like the devil himself and you wondered just how fucked up you were for wanting his punishment.

He opened his mouth and lolled out his tongue, never severing the desperate gaze you both shared, his intertwined with hunger, yours with fear. You’d never noticed how long and thick his tongue was and couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel caressing every ridge and crevice of your inner walls. He flattened the warm, wet muscle and pressed it along your slit. As he slowly slid it closer and closer to your burning clit, you whimpered and bucked your hips chasing the pleasure you knew he was capable of giving… but this was not your sweet boy and he wasn’t doing any of this for your pleasure.

He slung his arm over your lower stomach and growled into your drenched lips. You were pinned down, helpless against his torturous tongue. Fresh tears pricked at your eyes as you remembered how he’d let you pet him and buck into his face, how sweetly he’d ease you into a gentle release. Not this time… it was all teeth and sharp sucks, his tongue forcing you open violently. You were being shoved over a cliff and despite the horror and violence of what was happening to you. You were approaching an orgasmic state at record speed. Tamaki caught on and doubled down. The arm that wasn’t pinning you into the mattress pulled your leg down straight, your knee in a death grip. The new angle made the sensations even more intense. His face pressed harder into your core and you noticed that at some point, he’d started weeping, small sobs vibrating against your skin. The overwhelming mix of emotions and the vigor in which he was eating you shoved you over the edge.

He kept going along at the same speed with the same determination through your orgasm until it became painful. You pushed past it as best you could, allowing him to sob into your over-sensitive skin until he had his fill. As the pain started intermingling with pleasure, your legs shook and the gag couldn’t hold your screams back any longer. You released against his tongue once more, both of you sobbing. He laid against your thigh for what felt like an eternity before he lifted himself to lay on top of you, his hip bones digging into your soft thighs. You could feel the bulge through the thin material of his boxer briefs. Your hips rose to meet it, a pleading gesture filled with the desire to comfort and please him. Your eagerness encourages his mercy, there’s a meek cry that leaves your lips when the damp silk slips from between your teeth.

“Please baby… I’m so, so sorry I didn’t tell you…” your voice was as weak as a kitten’s cry and Tamaki couldn’t deny it made his heart (his dick) clench.

“Say it…” his lips were close enough to kiss, but you resisted… fearful of what he’d do if you did.

“Say what, Tama?” your eyes were wide with concern and confusion. You were desperate to please him.

He turned your face to the camera that you’d forgotten was there and the gravity of the situation crashed around you again. New tears leaked from your stinging eyes as Tamaki whispered into your ear.

“Say that you’re a lying whore…”

“I..I’m a lying whore…”

The last syllable broke as your abused throat grew accustomed to speaking again. He rewarded you with a soft kiss to your cheek and your eyes closed at the tender gesture. The familiar pain in your chest welled to the surface causing even more tears to escape.

“And tell everyone that you’re my own personal slut”

You repeated the phrase to the audience behind the screen and he hummed with approval, trailing one finger along your wet cheek.

“Good girl…” the praise sent shivers through your wrecked body.

“And tell them from now on, your boyfriend will be the only one making you come… that they only get to see you be HIS slut.”

You noticed the chat going absolutely haywire at your announcement. Before Tamaki shut your laptop, you realized you’d made three times as much as you’d ever made before and a twisted sense of accomplishment filled your cloudy mind.

“Please,” your voice came out in a croak, “Please untie me. I wanna make it up to you,” his clothed bulge was burning into your core and you could tell he was close to breaking.

“Please let me make you feel good. I’m so, so sorry,” the clench of your thighs around his waist made him whimper.

He reluctantly pulled away to sit on the foot of the bed. The way he curled in on himself hugging his knees made him appear so small, so fragile… a complete change from the man who’d just manhandled you into restraints.

“You’re a liar…” you almost didn’t hear the whisper, his face buried into his knees.

“Please!” you were losing feeling in your hands and all you wanted was to be free to comfort him.

His eyes met yours and it was your Tamaki again... Your sweet boy… the snarling, green beast that threatened to devour you was sleeping now after it reached its fill of violence. He crawled over your body and released your restraint. Before you even regained feeling in your hands, you wrapped your arms around him. You littered his collarbone with sweet kisses and apologetic sobs. He began to melt into your affectionate gestures and you wrapped your legs around his waist pulling him impossibly close. Wet lips met and your tongues fought against each other for dominance. Hips began to roll against each other, increasing pressure until you both gasped.

The violence was gone, but this was still not a gentle coupling like you’d been planning. Tamaki pulled away and freed his straining cock from his boxers. The skin-to-skin contact made your eyes roll back into your skull. You felt his long fingers grasp your throat, squeezing to remind you just how powerful they were. You shuddered in response, arching upward into his touch, chasing that high his dominance was giving you.

With one swift motion, Tamaki speared you onto his cock. With the minimal prep he’d given you, the stretch was agonizing. This was by far the largest cock you’d ever taken and it stole your breath from your aching lungs. You moaned earning a visceral reaction from the boy on top of you.

Tamaki stayed as still as he could. He refused to come so soon… not when he’d waited so long for this. He tightened his grip on your throat and tentatively rocked his hips into yours. It didn’t take long for it to progress into the most frantic love-making you’d ever experienced.

There was no other way to describe it, he was hate fucking you… biting and sucking your chest until blood bloomed under your skin… hammering into your sore, sticky cunt with total abandon… he was using you like a toy, taking out all his frustrations on your body.

It was ecstasy.

When his hips stuttered as he met his release, the spasms of his tip against your gummy walls sent you into a painful orgasm. You were spent and it seemed like he was too. Your fingers twitched over the crown of his head, wanting to run your fingers through his hair but too scared to initiate any contact with him. As if he could read your mind, he grabbed your hand and placed it on his head. You sighed and began carding through the tangles, gently undoing them. You felt a stream of tears running down your chest as you worked your fingers through his strands. Lifting his face gently, you met his teary gaze with your own.

“Don’t…” he drew in a shuddering breath, “ever lie to me like that again…” the monster behind his eyes stirred quietly, a malicious glint in his eye, before shifting back into your gentle boyfriend.

“Never, I swear to you, baby…” he lets you lift his chin gently to meet your lips. His eyes close and he sighs into your kiss. His muscles relax and when his eyes open again, his warm, adoring expression falls over your face. The hand that wanted to choke the life out of your eyes minutes ago now caresses your jaw tenderly,

“I trust you…” his lips turn up into a grin that’s just a little too wide, “Because you’re a smart girl, aren’t you?” his top lip brushed against your still trembling bottom lip…

“Y-yes…”

You were fucked. This whole situation was fucked up and you weren’t blind to the fact. But as Tamaki nuzzled into your neck placing soft kisses and whispering praises into your skin, you let yourself bask in the gentleness of the moment…

Because you were a smart girl and smart girls learn their lessons quickly...

#bnha #bnha smut #yandere tamaki #tamaki amajiki x reader #tamaki x y/n #tamaki amajiki #tw:dubcon #tw: noncon #tw: injury #tw: toxic relationship #tw: dark themes

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fruitydiaz-archived · 3 years

Text

safe (with you)

s5 speculation based on the new bts because idk how to be normal about this

3,049 words

AO3 link

By the time they pull into Eddie’s driveway Buck’s hands still haven’t stopped shaking.

He vividly remembers that day he spent driving around Los Angeles with Abby, searching for her mom, the day they saved the little girl in the pool. He remembers the way he lined his hand up with hers and told her that the first couple of weeks on the job he couldn’t keep his hands from shaking with the adrenaline. But Abby was good at compartmentalizing; her hands never shook.

Buck still hasn’t learned how to do that with the people he cares about. He’s beginning to think he never will.

Eddie had been held hostage for under two hours and made it out unscathed, and yet Buck couldn’t get his fucking hands to stop shaking. He felt like a wire with the coating stripped off, ripped down the middle, frayed open, ready to spark and catch fire at any moment. But he’d been feeling like that a lot lately if he was being honest. Not that anyone asked.

And he didn’t expect anyone to because everyone else had their own problems and it was his job at the moment to just pull his shoulders back and keep it together. That was all he was supposed to do. He could do that.

“Uh, let me get your bag,” Buck mumbles as Eddie opens his side door to climb out. He switches the engine off and jumps out before he can see the glare Eddie shoots in his direction.

He still feels it anyway.

“I can get my own bag,” Eddie says, his tone flat. He feels too tired to argue but there’s an energy vibrating under his skin that he hasn’t been able to shake since they pulled up to the scene and he found himself staring down the barrel of someone else’s gun. It’s making him irritable and jumpy and all he wants to do is climb into bed and forget.

Buck doesn’t even grace him with a response, pulling both of their bags out of the back seat and slinging them over his shoulders, glancing once at Eddie before marching towards the front door.

“Nothing even happened to me, Buck,” Eddie calls after him, following on his heels. “I’m fine.”

Buck still doesn’t say anything as he pulls out his ring of keys and unlocks the front door. He slips off his shoes in the entryway and drops both of their bags by the couch. Eddie follows him into the kitchen.

“Buck - Buck, come on man you don’t have to take care of me I’m-“

“Stop telling me that you’re fine,” Buck growls suddenly, spinning around to face Eddie. “I am sick and tired of hearing it. You got shot, Eddie, okay? Five months ago you got shot and you started having panic attacks and you hid it from me.”

Eddie blinks at Buck for a second, shocked, before his brain kicks back on. Being around Buck is one of the easiest things for Eddie to do, but the moment Buck starts to care too much, when he starts to push - either with wide eyes full of nothing but love and care that make him want to crawl into himself and never come back out - or like this, with venom and anger that coat the underlying fear and worry, it becomes hard.

He defaults to anger. He wishes it wasn’t so easy but it’s the one thing he’s been prepared to do his whole life; fight.

“I wasn’t hiding it from you. I was managing it on my own.”

“You’re my partner.”

“Yeah, and it wasn’t about work,” Eddie stresses, feeling antsy. He turns away from Buck and takes a couple of steps around the corner. He needs to put some space between them. “It was personal, okay? And I dealt with it.”

“Right,” Buck said, voice dripping with the kind of bitterness that Eddie can feel creeping onto his own tongue. “Because you don’t panic anymore, right?”

Eddie’s eyes flick down. The familiar sensation of bile laced with the accusation of liar rises in his throat and he struggles to swallow it down. He still panics; he just didn’t think anyone noticed.

“I can handle it on my own,” Eddie says quietly.

“When are you going to realize that you don’t have to?” Buck pleads, leaning against the counter opposite Eddie. “When are you going to let me help you?”

“I don’t need help,” Eddie says, retreating back and looking anywhere but at Buck. God, he was just trapped at gunpoint for nearly two hours can he catch a fucking break? He feels like he can’t breathe.

“Eddie.”

“I’m fine.”

“Eddie, you got shot.” Buck is begging him to talk about it, screaming practically. And he’s been screaming for weeks, months, doing all but dropping to his knees in front of Eddie and begging him to open up and talk to him about it and Eddie gets it but ultimately. Ultimately.

Eddie wishes Buck would shut up.

You got shot, remember?

He wishes he could make him shut up. He wishes he could make Buck leave his apartment and get back into his jeep and drive to his own place and never fucking talk about any of this again. Because of course he remembers getting shot. He remembers all of it.

He remembers standing out in the middle of the street thinking about hopping into the ambulance with Charlie right before a bullet ripped through his one good shoulder. That’s four times now. He remembers hitting the hard cement and feeling the blood pool under his body, remembers the familiar sickly feeling that comes with the realization that you’re losing too much blood, before you start to lose your grip on the world around you. He remembers staring across the pavement at Buck and thinking it would be okay, because Buck was okay.

He remembers waking up in the hospital, drugged up and confused and searching for blue eyes and a blood-splattered face. He remembers waking up to Ana smiling down at him with watery eyes and he remembers the way she barely concealed her disappointment when he immediately asked for Buck - but he was passed caring at that point. He remembers the day he had to wait, slipping in and out of consciousness, Ana making occasional small talk, until he was finally cleared for more visitors, and Buck came rushing into the room like a vision of something holy, his face clean, his smile bright.

He remembers the moment Buck said he wished he had gotten shot instead and when Eddie slipped back into another drug-induced sleep the only words on his mind were no, not you. Never you.

He remembers sitting on the edge of the hospital bed with Buck, the distance between them too much and not enough at the same time. He remembers struggling to find the right words, fumbling to find his footing, feeling stripped bare as he told Buck that he loved him. But the words came out you act like you’re expendable, but you’re wrong instead.

He remembers never feeling so cracked open and vulnerable in his entire life and it was terrifying. So he did what he does best and he retreated into the shadows and licked his wounds in private and put himself back together as best he could so that the next time someone saw him they didn’t look at him as if he were about to break.

And maybe it was a shit job and he still felt like he was barely held together by string most days but he was doing fine. He was back at work and Christopher was still happy even without Ana around and he was making it work.

So he didn’t give a damn if Buck thought he wasn’t doing enough. He didn’t want to relive the shooting again, he had moved on. He was fine.

He was fine.

Or at least, he was fine up until 7 hours ago when they got a call to an office building that turned into a goddamn hostage situation and Eddie spent the better part of an hour with a gun to his head.

He was fine.

“Eddie, Eddie,” Buck’s voice is loud and sudden in his ear and Eddie startles, staring up at him. He blinks a couple of times before he realizes that he’s on the floor and that Buck’s kneeling over him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Buck’s saying over and over again. “I shouldn’t have pushed you, fuck, I’m sorry.”

Fuck. Another panic attack.

Maybe he can’t pretend that he’s fine anymore.

“Buck,” Eddie says. Buck’s eyes fly to his and Eddie feels the bile rise again when he realizes Buck is crying.

This isn’t the first time tonight that Buck has cried. Over him.

“I’m so sorry, Eds,” Buck says again, his voice worn, and Eddie remembers him screaming. For him. “I just almost lost you again and I’m so fucking sick of it. I can’t keep doing this.”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says because he doesn’t know what else to say.

Buck stares at him for a second, eyes wild, before he squeezes them shut and stretches his legs out in front of him, settling down on the floor across from Eddie.

It’s dark in Eddie’s apartment, the only light spilling in from the entryway, cloaking the two of them in warm dim light.

Eddie always found it easier being honest in the dark.

“I’m scared too,” He admits quietly. Buck’s eyes look too blue in the dark.

“I know. I’m sorry I’ve been so pushy. I just…I never wanted to make what happened about me…but I can see you struggling and it’s like - the only thing I know how to do is push. I can see it eating away at you.”

“I want to forget it ever happened,” Eddie says quickly, honestly.

Buck licks his lips. Nervous. “I get that. But…ignoring it doesn’t mean it never happened, you know?”

“It just…feels easier.”

“It’s killing you, Eddie.”

I was never meant to live this long anyway, is on the tip of Eddie’s tongue - but that’s too dark. Too much. Too honest. He shoves it back down.

One day something’s going to take him. Maybe it’ll be a bullet, maybe it won’t. Maybe it’ll be the crushing guilt he’s carried ever since he was a kid, too young to learn what that kind of guilt felt like.

“At least Chris will be taken care of if it does,” He says before he can stop himself, before he can remind himself that that’s something he shouldn’t say out loud. The pained look on Buck’s face feels like a slap in the face.

“What about you?” Buck grinds out, voice still hoarse. “Who the fuck is gonna take care of you - now?”

Eddie shrugs, “I can take care of myself.”

“Bullshit,” Buck snaps. “Full offense but I’ve seen the way you care for yourself.”

“It’s what I do, Buck,” Eddie says, leaning his head back against the cabinets and squeezing his eyes shut. “It’s - I can handle myself. I can’t…do this to anyone else. It was too much for Shannon - hell, even as a kid I was too much for my parents. I can’t.”

“Let me take care of you,” Buck says quickly and earnestly and the words shoot straight through Eddie’s heart. He couldn’t.

“No,” Eddie starts, sitting up straighter.

“Eddie, I can’t lose you,” Buck says with enough conviction to shut Eddie up for a second.

Because some part of Eddie has always been aware of the lengths to which Buck would crawl through fire and rain for him - because that’s who Buck is. Buck is the guy who puts everyone else before him, who will always put his life on the line first. Not because he wants to be the hero - but because he never thinks his own life is important enough to stop and consider the consequences.

Or at least, that’s what Eddie thought. But Eddie’s seen him hesitate more lately. He’s seen him pull back, actually listen to Bobby. And Eddie thought it was the will that was holding him back. And that was almost enough to soothe the constant ache in his chest.

But then Eddie got taken hostage. And it was like they were on that street again. And Eddie watched the fear strike Buck like a bolt of lightning, lighting him up from head to toe, nervous electricity in his veins. He saw the raw determination in his eyes, the devotion and instinct at war with responsibility and promise.

For a second, among the buzz at the base of his skull and the shrill ambiance of police cars, swat, and the ambulance, it hit Eddie. It wasn’t Buck being Buck. It was Eddie. It was Eddie that turned off every switch in Buck’s brain but his inherent instincts. It was Eddie in danger that broke him.

Eddie had never seen it before. And he’s been trying his damned best to shove it in the box labeled DO NOT TOUCH along with all of the other shit he’s been ignoring for the last five months.

It seems like it’s all coming out tonight.

Buck continues, “I don’t. I don’t want to do this without you. I can’t. Five months ago you sat with me in the hospital and - everyone always tells me that I’m reckless, you know? Or that I’m dumb or that I don’t think or that I want to be some hero. But you…you didn’t say any of that. And - and you made me feel like I was important. Like my life…was important. Is important. And I needed that, Eddie. So bad.

“Let me do the same thing for you,” Buck’s on the edge of begging again. “What do I have to do for you to realize that you’re important? That I need you? Because I do. God, Eddie, I need you…”

Eddie stares at him, wide-eyed and frozen in place. He’s never been loved like this before, has he?

Because that’s what this is. There’s no denying it anymore. That’s what Buck and Eddie do. They love each other. With some sort of deep-running unbreakable devotion that wraps around them constantly and pulls them closer and closer together.

That’s what Eddie’s been fighting all these months. The closeness.

Because it was easy before - to keep getting closer to Buck because it was safe, it meant they cared about each other, it meant that Buck would do his best to get Eddie home to his son and if all else failed Chris would have someone who loved him, who would look after him. That was good. That was safe.

But when the shooting happened and I have your back turned into I can’t live without you and Eddie realized that what he thought was a contingency plan that he had been slowly and methodically setting up was actually a living breathing family that they’d built - and all of a sudden the only way he ever wanted to live his life was with Buck and Christopher safely by his side - it wasn’t safe anymore. It was dangerous.

Eddie had been fighting so hard to keep Buck at arm's length so he could protect this system that he had come to rely on. Because now when he looked at Buck all he could see was the love and devotion reflecting back at Eddie. And that was terrifying.

Because Eddie had opened himself up to being loved before. And that ended in years of separation, divorce, and ultimately Shannon’s death. Maybe Eddie didn’t believe in signs - or maybe he just wanted to keep pretending the signs weren’t there. Because he was fairly certain that if the universe did send signs then Shannon’s death was the ultimate sign of them all, a symbol of what Eddie did to people.

He didn’t want to let Buck love him because he didn’t want to risk losing Buck.

But he is risking losing Buck the more he pushes him away…he’s risking breaking Buck. And ultimately he’s risking breaking himself. Because he can’t do this without Buck either.

“I need you too,” Eddie says, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to - I’m sorry. I’m just - I’m scared, Buck. I’m so scared.”

He’s crying. It’s like a dam broke loose with the quiet admittance and now it’s all coming out. He’s scared. He’s frightened. He’s terrified. He’s in love.

Buck’s crowding into his space, shoving himself up onto his knees between Eddie’s legs and crushing their bodies together, his long arms wrapping around Eddie and pulling him into his chest, tucking his head under Buck’s chin until he feels safe, protected, in Buck’s arms.

“I’ve got you,” Buck whispers into Eddie’s hair. Just a couple of hours ago they were in this same position, on the grass outside the office building, just after Eddie was released and SWAT rolled in. Eddie thinks that the safest place on earth might be right here in Buck’s arms.

“I can’t lose you either,” Eddie croaks, hands clawing at Buck’s back. “I can’t.”

“You won’t,” Buck says with the stubborn confidence that’s inherent to Buck. And Eddie believes him, he does. “Whatever you need, I’ve got you, okay?”

“I need you.”

“You’ve got me. You always have, Eddie,” Buck whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of Eddie’s head.

I love you is what he wants to say. He wants to say it every day; when Buck walks into the locker room and greets Eddie with a private smile like it’s not 6 am and he’d rather be anywhere else, when he bumps Eddie’s shoulder as they walk to the truck, when he pulls his helmet off after a tough call and holds eye contact with Eddie just long enough to communicate are you good?

Maybe he can’t say it just yet.

Maybe this isn’t the right time or place.

But he thinks Buck knows. And he thinks - no he knows, Buck feels the same.

Maybe one day they’ll get there.

But tonight it’s enough to just hold each other, to feel the solid, warm reminder that they’re alive.

It’s enough, for now, to just be together.

#all i do now is write speculation #911 spoilers #my fic #if this is all over the place it's bc i was all over the place while trying to write it all day yesterday #if it's riddled with errors no it's not <3 #my other wip that i was almost done with before this consumed me: am i a joke to you?#google doc titled: oh boy

163 notes · View notes

niksfics · 3 years

Text

↬ FATE

↬ PAIRINGS: kenma x f!reader (side aka rebound mention) miya atsumu x f!reader

↬ WARNINGS: a whole lotta angst, breakup, it’s an online relationship, kenma is cold and hurts ur feelings

↬ SUMMARY: your relationship with kenma really had felt like the last one. He was it, turns out he didn’t have similar feelings.

↬ A/N: alright loves!! This isn’t proofread at all it’s 2 in the morning I’ll edit when I wake up, butttt Thanks to my lovely ex girlfriend you are now being graced with this steaming pile of trash. (Lovely was not meant sarcastically at all she is in fact very lovely.) Ngl almost, if not all of this story is about my relationship with my ex gf. This is how I cope people. ￫ It’s taken me awhile to actually be able to right something that’s why things kinda stopped. Tbh after she broke up with me it’s been very hard for me to write so hopefully this helps! And I hope you enjoy!! I would also just like to say if it feels a lil weird it’s cause these are things I’ve actually written in my notes I tweaked it a little to fit the story but it’s straight from the source 😩

WC | 2.5K

You sighed as you opened your notes app. Your eyes scanning over all of the little facts and quirks he had told you about himself. All the stuff you’d wanted to remember. The stuff that had seemed so important to you before. Now it was meaningless, almost like facts about a stranger. Almost as if you hadn’t spent four months learning about and growing with eachother.

You scrolled down a little bit right under, how his favorite marvel character is Spider-Man and you chewed on your lip. Your fingers hovering above the keyboard on your phone. You looked over the facts again. The things he dislikes and the stuff he adores, the things he likes to collect to the way he feels passionately about a certain topic. You begin to type.

Friday June 25th 2022 12:22 Am

I cried again tonight, because I still love you. It’s been a month and six days since we broke up. It feels like there’s a hole in my chest. You seem to be doing fine though, so I’m happy for you! This is the second time since we’ve broken up that I’ve felt actual physical emotional pain in my chest. Remember when I told you how bad it hurt after we broke up? Remember how you didn’t even ask if I was ok? Didn’t even bother to answer. Do you remember that? I remember. I’ve thought about it every day since. I remember it being so bad I genuinely thought I was having a heart attack. Wasn’t until I’d called tetsu crying that he’d told me it was just emotional and I should probably try to relax.

I read through our old messages. I’ve never wanted something back so bad. Never wanted to beg anyone to stay till now. I wish you loved me like I love you. I wish I hadn’t grown so attached, wish I hadn’t fallen so deeply into love with you. I wish it wasn’t my fault that we broke up. I wish I wasn’t so fucking scared. I wish I was fearless. Wish I could rise into love bravely. I wish I was brave when it came to you. I keep telling myself it was me. It was me not you. You didn’t love me anymore. You don’t love me anymore and you’re just too nice to say that. So you told me in the only way I could handle. Except you hadn’t used the words you should have. You got bored. We both know it’s true. You were bored of it, and I don’t blame you. I know we’ll never talk again, and part of me is so glad. Another part of me forces myself to read through all our messages though. I wish I could just tell you one last time. I love you.

You sighed saving it before closing out of it. Tears you hadn’t known were falling finally became known to you as they streamed down your cheeks. Your eyes puffy as you wet your lips, the salt of them coating your tongue. You were bitter and so were your tears. I briefly wondered what he was doing right now. Probably playing a video game. You knew his schedule all to well by now. Probably testing out a new game for his stream.

A new set of fresh tears fell as you remembered how you used to call him right before he went on. Being lulled to sleep by his occasionally curses and the clicking oh his controller or his keyboard.

You never expected things to end this way. You really thought he was the last one. Yes it had only been four months, but the way he made you feel. The way that it had felt. It had felt final, and you’d been friends before you even started dating.

You sniffle moving yourself to the kitchen to poor yourself a glass of water as you remembered how nervous you were when you first texted him. You had acumulated quite the crush on him back in high school. As Inarazaki’s manager you were required to go to the games, and even after your team lost you had stuck around. Watched him play and cheered him on. Two weeks later you had begun to text, as friends of course. It wasn’t until four months ago that you’d gotten together.

Your anniversary was only two days prior to your break up. You both had never been one to even care about that stuff. You had agreed early on in the relationship that we wouldn’t do anything due to the distance, and the business of our schedules. You were never one for remembering things like anniversaries anyways.

He really did feel like the one. Sometimes you just know. Sometimes you can just feel it. Like, you know that feeling you get when you know something is off or you know for sure something is about to happen even without being told it’s going to. That’s what it felt like to be with kozume kenma.

You thought you knew, you thought this time, this time its for real. You thought it was finally safe to say, that he was the one. You both had even admitted to looking for each others initials in those stupid soulmate tik tok videos.

You were finally in a mature relationship with someone you could talk about anything to. You had gotten so caught up in it, that you didn’t even see the end creeping up on you.

↝

You’d finally gained the courage to text him again. Unfortunately it was in a drunken daze. Your hands shaking as you fumbled with your phone typing things you’d come to regret in the morning. You’d sent him a series of texts telling him how much you missed him, how you didn’t understand how he was so okay. You had been a wreck that night. One of your friends puking in her toilet as you cried. You were happy of course that he was doing so well, but you’d been a wreck for so long and he hadn’t even changed. You told him you wished you could be okay.

When you’d awoken the next morning hair knotted in a complete mess and wiping drool from your chin your heart had sunk even lower. His response was cold. You knew that kenma could be cold. You knew that it was just who he was, but this particular text had felt so unfeeling and unfamiliar, it was as if he hadn’t even sent it himself. He had only ever talked like this to you once and that was when you first became friends all those years ago.

Kozume ❤️

Hey, it’s okay. And yeah you see what I choose to put up. I could be better. But I choose to stay optimistic and busy. Sorry that things are this way.

You had never seen so many periods in a text before. He only used grammar like that when he was peeved, and maybe you were wrong, maybe he’d done that on purpose, but it had hurt so bad. It had caused an ache so deep in your chest that you weren’t sure if you’d ever even dated him at all.

Yeah.

It was the only thing you could bring yourself to respond back with. How were you supposed to respond to that? You’d stared at it for so long and after you’d sent it you wished you had said more. Wished you would’ve said something more insightful than a simple, heartbroken, “yeah.”

Not too long later there was another ping and you held your breath. His name briefly appearing across your screen.

Yeah. I could be better. But I hope you do well soon. I’m sorry that I can’t really do much to help out

And of course you did the only thing you could do. Deflect. Pretend like you hadn’t said what you’d said not even fourteen hours ago.

No it’s fine. I’m fine. You don’t have to apologize. I’m sorry that you could be doing better.

He left you on seen. You knew you sounded like an asshole. At least to you, you felt like an asshole. Why couldn’t you have come up with something else. Why couldn’t you tell him the truth. Tell him how you felt. Tell him that you didn’t think you should be broken up anymore. That the month long cruel joke was over and you were ready to spend your nights falling asleep to him playing video games again. You didn’t though, and you never would. You’re not brave enough, too prideful to even try.

You swallowed down the bile rising in your throat as you realized even if you did beg him. Begged him to take you back. Tell him that you still love him. You were too late, and you just couldn’t be selfish when it comes to him. He is over you and it was so plainly obvious. You know that deep down. Know that he’s moved on, and it kills you inside. So you did the only thing you could do. Try and put it into words.

So as you lay in bed the warm body you let occupy your space sound asleep beside you, his toned blonde hair tousled slightly and you sighed. Finally away from the shenanigans of your friends you took a deep breath before you closed your eyes.

You opened up your notes app again and scrolled past the last entry. You swallowed again as you blinked the tears out of your eyes. Your thumbs beginning to move before you even gave them permission.

Wednesday June 30th 2022 1:39 Am

Here I am again. Stuck. Stuck in the same place I’ve been for so long. You know, I write so beautifully when I’m broken. I’m most of my best work is written when I’m being torn apart. But I just, I can’t seem to find the words. I can’t seem to put it into a document and turn out little story into a different story to cope. Can’t seem to write it out. Can’t seem to move on.

I hovered over the unfollow button on your page today, to keep myself from scrolling through your things again. To keep myself from getting hurt. So I don’t have to be reminded. I want to delete it. Delete where we officially met. On a chat through my screen. I wanna wipe the messages clean. And I’ve tried. Oh how I’ve tried. But I can’t.

I want to delete our conversations. The hours long talks we had, but then, what happens afterwards? What keeps the memories alive. I’d never been so in love with someone before. I’ve never actually…. Been in love before. I thought I’d been in love, but it didn’t feel like that, and losing them never hurt like this. Losing someone has never hurt this bad before.

I’ve never felt the emptiness you left so deep in my very being with anyone I’ve ever met before. I can’t seem to pull myself together. And it’s pathetic I know. It’s pathetic that I’m still here. In the same place I was a month ago. It’s about to be two months we’ve haven’t been together. I’m hurting. Hurting so bad. It’s painful to look at you.

I haven’t deleted the photos even though I probably should. They’re still tucked away in an album in my camera roll labeled “us <3” the one one I made specially just for you. The way I’d been so excited when I was finally ready to tell my friends. I even have this stupid notes folder from when we were dating where I wrote all the little things about you that I never wanted to forget. I find you so endearing. Everything you do. I just couldn’t help but right it down to keep it safe so it never leaves my mind. So that I never forget. But now, forgetting is all I want to do.

I never thought there’d be a time in my life where I was more emotionally stunted that I normally. So stunted I can’t even put this, our split up, into words. Make it something entertaining for somebody else to read. Write a book about it. My publicist keeps asking when the sequel for my book will be done. I don’t know if it’ll ever be finished. I can’t do the one thing I’ve always been good at. I’m crying as I write this.

And I wish it would just end here in this little notes app. Wish the love would die in here. I always think I’m over you and then I see you again, and nowadays your everywhere. A very big hit and I’m happy for you and your success, but seeing you makes my heart squeeze in my chest.

I think I’m over you until I play that stupid fucking game that causes me to scream at my phone, or my laptop in frustration, but I just can’t seem to delete it because I know it’s something that you love. That show we used to talk about. I know you know which one, I can’t seem to watch it without thinking of what was. You’ve ruined it forever cause now it only reminds me of you. I know you’ll never see this, but I like to imagine you can. That my time for closure has somehow come.

When you told me you were sorry that things were this way, it was a real slap in the face. It stopped my false hope. My wishing. It all came to a halt. I’m glad. Glad that you’re happier. That you’re better without me. But god, now I’m so fucked up and I can’t even talk to you.

You were the only person I had left. The only one who understood me. And now you’re gone. You took a part of me with you that night. A part that I’ll never get back. I should’ve known that you would leave. I’ve never been able to get someone to stay for longer than three to four months.

I thought I could let my guard down though. I thought we were in the clear. I’d thought finally. Finally someone is gonna stay. I thought you were my person. I still think that to this day. I thought we were gonna make it. And now I’m with this guy I don’t even like. He’s not you, he doesn’t act like you. He doesn’t like video games like you do.

He doesn’t talk to me like you do. Like you did. But you know how it ended I don’t need to put it here. Unfortunately I’ll always love you even if you don’t love me. This is so scattered, I’m sorry I couldn’t make you happy.

With that you closed the app and put down your phone. Plugging in it and as it dinged miya atsumu rolled over in his sleep. He reached for you his hands wrapping around your waist to tug you against his strong body.

His gravely voice whispering through sleep, “mmm finally decided to come to bed?” You hum moving an arm under on of his to wrap around his thin waist. “Mhm, thought you might need the company.” You began to draw little shapes and letters against his back as he chuckled, “oh yea? How thoughtful of you princess.”

Suddenly it was quiet and your closed eyes opened to his wide brown ones, his eyebrows furrowing .

“Did you just spell kozume on my back?”

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

Fully Complete 6

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), violence, mutual irritation, harassment, general hatred, allusions to death, toyplay, binding/restraint, whipping.

This is dark!Loki x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: There’s a new face in Birch and he’s come to haunt your door.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown, When the Weight Comes Down, and Little Bones

Note: Think we got one chapter left after this one but don’t worry, we will eventually have more Birch beyond that.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 6: Wait and you'll see

💀💀💀

Your ankle bent for the fifth time as you entered the small county hospital. Loki kept his hand covertly on your elbow after you jabbed him several times in the ribs on the drive over and noticed the way your eyes searched around. You couldn’t help it. Even if Jerome’s life was in the balance, you wanted nothing more than to be away from this man; if you could call him one.

The halls were sterile and the bright lights added to the sting in your eyes as you were shown to your brother’s room. A motorcycle accident, the nurse said, but Jerome’s bike was destroyed with everything else in your shop. You knew what happened was far from an accident.

His eyes were closed and tubes ran down his arms and across his face. It was a sobering sight. It reminded you of your father’s last months. You dreaded seeing anyone like that ever again. Even if Jerome was a cowardly weasel, even if he let those men trade you like livestock, he was still your kin and he was all you had left of your father.

You wiggled away from Loki and he let you as he pinched you in warning. You went to Jerome’s bedside and glanced over at your escorts. Korg actually showed an ounce of empathy as he stared at the bed.

“Can I have some privacy?” you snarled.

“We’ll be right outside. Don’t think of trying anything,” Loki reproached.

“I just want to be alone with my brother,” you curled your lip, “not everything is about you.”

You waited until you stepped out and you leaned on the bed rail. He looked so frail just laying there with machines pumping life into him. The nurse said he might wake up but they were still waiting. The only good news she had was that the surgery on his spine was successful.

“I don’t forgive you,” you whispered, “I never will but I love you.”

Your eyes pricked and you rolled them to force away the tears. The machines beeped and fanned. You shook your head and gave a grim smile.

“I want to ask how we got here but we know. We knew life would be like this. Daddy said it would. He knew you were gonna be a club man like him and he told you to hold onto your soul. He’d be so disappointed.” You sighed, “Do you know what that man is doing to me? What he’s gonna do?”

You looked away and huffed. You were angry, hurt, but not broken. Not yet.

“I can’t stop him, I know that,” you confessed quietly as you reached for his hand, “I was stupid to think I was different from those other girls. To think I’m above them. No, these men are all the same and we just gotta deal with it.”

You swallowed and pushed yourself up.

“Yeah, yeah, we know what happened to mama. Same thing’ll happen to me now,” you said, “and you’re gonna go see daddy. I hope he’s at peace, I hope you find that too.”

You turned and wiped your wet eyes. You wouldn’t let Loki see you cry. He wouldn’t have that pleasure. You would play along until you could act. You would pretend that you believed Jerome would live. You would fake, you would take, you would survive.

💀

The car ride was silent as you stared out the window. You were quiet, still. Even as Loki’s fingers wandered to your skirt and played with the fabric, you did nothing. You were tired and fighting wasn’t doing nothing but draining your energy. You leaned back and played with the button of the jacket. The clothes were entirely impractical against the winter.

The main road of Birch passed outside your window and Korg drove by the sidestreet where the Victorian house stood. You saw the moniker with Cleopatra and you didn’t need to ask where you were going. You didn’t even wonder why. You knew.

“You think you can behave?” Loki asked, “for your brother’s sake?”

You turned to him and resisted a snarl. You nodded and tensed as he squeezed your leg.

“Darling, I mean it. You go in there and you show the boys how tame you can be,” he smirked, “show off your new clothes.”

“I got it,” you said through gritted teeth, “but you touch my brother again and I will never stop. I won’t stop until you kill me too.”

He raised his head in triumph and flicked your chin with his finger, “we have an understanding, don’t we, darling?”

You turned and reached for the handle. He let you and followed you out smoothly. He was quick to hook his arm around your waist as Korg led the way to the bar and opened the door ahead of you. You entered and focused on keeping one foot in front of the other as your instinct told you to throttle the man at your side.

Your breath caught in your throat as your vision cleared. Steve sat with his girl and Bucky with that waitress he was fucking. You saw in her eye a feeling you knew well. Her and the mousy one shared that brittle complacency. Your sights narrowed at Bucky as you got closer and time seemed to slow.

When you reached the table, Bucky looked over and stood. He smiled between you and Loki, the amusement plain on his face. You felt the flicker inside of you. You couldn’t hold back as you slipped quickly from Loki’s grasp and around the side of the table. You latched onto the front of his jacket. You hit him across the jaw with your fist and were ready to lay another as someone caught your fist.

The voices rose around you as you kicked out and caught him in the stomach as you were wrenched away. You looked up as you growled a slew of curses and found Steve and Loki both clinging to your arms. You continued to flail.

“You fucking piece of shit,” you grunted, “I swear to fucking God, I’m going to end you!”

“What did I say?” Loki hissed as they tried to rein you in.

Bucky was just as fast as he approached you and drew his gun. You didn’t still even as he aimed the muzzle at you and stared down the barrel.

“She’s fucking rabid,” Steve uttered, “Christ.”

“Do it, you fucking bastard!” You spat.

There were no thoughts, no fears, only pure rage as you stomped your feet and tried to wriggle free. You glared back at Bucky as the gun hung before him. He exhaled loudly and put it away.

“You gotta put a leash on that bitch,” Bucky said, “I told you it wasn’t going to be easy.”

“Darling,” Loki said as you yanked against his hold, “that’s enough. Surely you didn’t forget so quickly that yours is not the only life in the balance.”

You looked over at him and blinked. You unballed your hands and stilled. You were stiff as the anger tensed your entire body but you tamped it down with effort. The men slowly released you. You peered around as you seethed, the two women at the table watched you in shock but beneath, you saw intrigue.

You raised your hands in surrender and looked at Bucky. Your jaw locked but you forced the words out. “I’m sorry.”

“Huh?” he raised his brows as his own anger receded, “what was that?”

“I’m sorry,” you enunciated, “alright?”

He laughed and looked you up and down dramatically, “didn’t think you’d get this far,” he said to Loki, “she looks like a woman.”

It took everything you had not to try again. You backed away as Loki removed his jacket and you mirrored him. He pulled out a chair and pointed you down with sneer. He sat beside you and rolled his shoulders as he fixed his blazer.

“Apologies for our lateness, we did have to make a detour,” he said, “I promise, I will keep her in line for the rest of the night.”

Bucky poked his cheek with his tongue and sucked his teeth, “you better,” he grinned.

You looked to your lap and unbent your fingers as your nails dug into your palm. You peeked around and caught the eye of Bucky’s girl and for a moment you just stared back. She was pensive and tilted her head before she looked away. You might not be entirely alone.

💀

“I am unimpressed with that scene,” Loki hissed as Korg clung to your arm and angled you up the stairs ahead of them, “but I will give you a choice. Do I punish you or your brother?”

You reached the top and turned down the hallway. You entered the bedroom without resistance as the burly toady kept his grasp on you. You turned with him and watched Loki enter.

“I’m sorry, really. I deserve… punishment. Not him,” you said stiffly as you swallowed. The words were like bile in your throat.

“Oh, darling, that is the smartest thing I’ve heard you say,” he slithered, “Korg, get her clothes off.”

You blinked and looked up at Korg. He returned your gaze doubtfully and glanced back at Loki.

“Sir?” he asked.

“You heard me,” Loki said as he went over the chest of drawers and pulled the top one out, “get her naked and put her on the bed.”

“I can do it myself--”

“No, Korg, do as I say and hold her down,” he turned as he held some leather straps and you scrunched your nose as you tried to decipher all the crisscrossing.

“Sir, I--”

“You know I don’t like to repeat myself and I’ve already done so once,” he snapped, “so do it.”

Korg let you go and you bent quickly to undo your boots. He watched you take them off and you put your back to him, “the zipper,” you said quietly. He pushed it down and you held your arms straight as he tugged the sleeves past your wrists. He jerked you unintentionally as the dress gather at your waist and apologized.

You steeled yourself and stepped out of the fabric as it fell to your ankles. It felt like giving up but it was the only way. It was a means to an end. You bit down as Korg fumbled with your bra and stuttered. You reached back to help him and the cleared his throat.

“Hurry up, you fool,” Loki growled.

Korg hesitated as he pushed down your stockings one at a time and then slipped your panties off your hips. He stood and gripped your arm, lighter than before. You let him move you to the bed and Loki stopped him.

“Raise your foot, darling,” he bent and opened the leather straps.

You obeyed and he nodded to the other. You lifted your other foot and put it back down. He pulled it up your legs and zipped the harness up to your waist. The leather straps wounded around your pelvis and thighs but offered no cover, just a strap along your cunt.

“Put her arms back,” Loki demanded as he rose and came around you. He pointed behind you and your wrists were buckled into the cuffs attached to the thickest strap on the harness, your arms bound behind you. “Very good, now on the bed… face down.”

Korg gently guided you down and you wiggled onto the mattress. Loki dismissed him curtly and the door closed, marking a stolid silence. You kept your face away from Loki and tested the resistance of the harness. Even if you could get free, you wouldn’t get far.

“What is the matter, darling?” he taunted as you heard the rustle of fabric.

“You know, trying not to wretch at the thought of you touching me,” you snipped.

“Oh, is that what you think your punishment is?” he mused and the air was cut with the bite of leather before it lashed across your ass, “you’ll be begging for my touch when I’m through.”

You held your breath as he laid another strike and another and your body jostled on the bed with each. You knotted your fingers and every muscle in your body was rigid. You felt the welts rising on your skin but you focused on the pain. It kept you from crying, from thinking. It kept the humiliation from drowning you.

Was it worth it? Could you live with the shame when it was over?”

He stopped as you panted shallowly. He snickered and you heard him moving around again. He tutted and the mattress dipped as he pushed your legs apart. He pulled on the strap along your cunt and slid a smooth, slightly curved object between it and your skin. He tightened the buckle at the back of the harness so that the silicon was snug to your clit.

He poked his finger along it and it began to vibrate. You sucked in your breath as your body responded to the pulsing. He retreated off the bed and you pushed your legs together. That only made the sensation more intense and you tugged desperately at the cuffs as you rolled onto your side.

“It said about twelve hours battery if kept on low,” he said, “just enough to keep you awake but not enough to do much else.”

You bared your teeth as your eyes threatened to roll back and growled. Your feet arched as you bent your legs slightly and tied to shift the vibrator. You crushed your hands as you wiggled onto your back and dug your heels into the mattress.

“I am patient, darling, you’ve helped in that,” he taunted, “but oh, it is worth the wait to see you squirm.”

“Oh, you prick, why don’t you just… get it… over with?” your breaths caught as the toy buzzed against you.

“Where is the fun in that?” he ran his hand down your thigh and you flinched, “and you kept me waiting long enough. You will know the same pain.”

“I fucking hate you,” you sneered as you rocked back and forth and pushed your head back into the bed.

“I know,” he said gleefully, “it makes it all the better.”

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #birch #fic #series #dark fic #dark!fic #fully completely #biker boys of birch #mcu #marvel #thor #captain america #avengers #bucky barnes #steve rogers #sequel

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extasiswings · 3 years

Text

That episode left me a broken woman. Here, have a continuation of the boxing scene. Also on ao3.

Buck hits the bag a few more times, but it’s harder without Eddie there to keep a foot on the edge of the frame to hold it down. The bag swings wider, the punches don’t land as strongly. And Buck finally just catches the bag and holds it in place until it stops rocking, feeling...feeling…

Tired.

He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. That for all his bravado not five minutes earlier that he could punch his way to clarity or healing or justice—for the kid he was, for the man he is—he can’t even keep it up. Can’t keep going. He doesn’t want to fight—not really. He’s not even sure he wants to try. He just wants to fucking sleep, to crawl into bed with a flashlight like he’s ten years old again and pull the covers up over his head and make his own little cave. Pretend that nothing can touch him there. Hide until it feels safe to come out again.

He’s so. Fucking. Tired.

Tired of not being good enough. Tired of trying. Tired of backsliding every time he thinks he’s finally in a good place. Months of therapy and he just—

“Hey.”

Buck looks up as he steps away from the bag.

“Thought you left,” he says quietly.

Eddie shrugs and holds up his hand to show off the two wrapped protein bars he’s procured.

“Haven’t seen you eat all day. Thought you should,” he replies. He nods at the gloves on Buck’s hands. “You can take a break. The bag will still be there later...if you really want it to be.”

There’s the faintest edge of concern and disapproval in his tone, an echo of I’ve been down that road, I don’t recommend it. But it doesn’t feel like judgment. It doesn’t sting.

Buck sighs and strips off the gloves, scrubs his hands over his face as he collapses onto the bench. His eyes burn and he bites his cheek, swallows back the tidal wave of emotion threatening to drown him.

(There’s another piece to it as well—the nasty whisper that he needs to run away, that he’s too open, looks too honest, that he shouldn’t be showing it, sharing it. But thankfully, he doesn’t seem to have lost everything from months of therapy in one fell swoop, because when Eddie sits down next to him, close enough that their shoulders press together, he doesn’t shy away.)

“They asked what I expected them to do,” he confesses, leaning into that pressure, the warmth and solid muscle of Eddie’s arm. “I said things I’ve been keeping inside for years about how I’ve never been good enough for them and they asked what I expected. Like it was my fault. Like it’s still—like it’s always been my—even when I was a kid, Eddie, I was never enough, and I don’t understand why they don’t—”

Buck takes a shaky breath and lets it out. “I didn’t think it was too much to expect your parents to give a damn. I definitely didn’t think it was too much to expect them not to blame you for it when they don’t.”

“It’s not too much,” Eddie says firmly. He presses the protein bars into Buck’s hand and although he doesn’t feel at all like eating, Buck tears one open anyway.

“It’s not too much to expect your parents to love you,” he continues. “Or to expect them not to be hypocrites. It’s not too much to expect them to apologize when they’ve hurt you.”

“They’re never going to do that,” Buck interjects, bitterness clawing up his throat like bile. “They won’t use the name I want them to, and that’s not even difficult. God forbid they ever actually admit they were wrong about something.”

Eddie’s quiet for a moment. Then, he says—

“You know, I’m not a therapist—although, for the record, you should probably call yours about this—but I’m pretty sure if they don’t apologize, you don’t have to forgive them. Pretty sure you don’t have to forgive them even if they do.”

“They’re my family.” It feels trite and hollow, an argument that Buck doesn’t even feel connected to, but is somehow compelled to make anyway. An echo of the words he’s had thrown back in his face a million times over the years.

Eddie just shakes his head. “They’re people you’re related to. This place, here? Bobby and Athena, Hen and Karen, Chim and Maddie...me—me and Christopher. We’re your family. The family you made. The family you chose.”

Buck’s eyes burn again and he glances away as he clears his throat roughly.

“Is it—is it stupid that I still want them to care anyway?”

Eddie shifts, moving away in favor of curving his hand around the back of Buck’s neck, his thumb pressing gently into tense muscle and working in small circles to dig the tension out.

“I don’t think it’s ever stupid to want someone to love you.” His voice is soft—it matches the look in his eyes, a look that Buck hardly feels worthy of. “But if they never do, that doesn’t mean you aren’t still loved. That you aren’t worth loving. All it means is that they fucked up and missed out on the best opportunity of their lives. And that’s their loss. Not yours.”

Buck’s stomach squirms but it isn’t uncomfortable exactly. More like he’s being pulled in two different directions—the one that’s still a mess, spiraling down into the dark, and the one that wants to press back up into Eddie’s touch, to drown in his eyes instead of that ocean of grief. The one that wants to upend everything and risk it all, that wonders if he knocks whether Eddie will let him in just like this.

The one that wants Eddie to love him back.

The one that wants.

“Worth loving, huh?”

Eddie’s lips quirk up. “Yeah, I guess.” His tone is light and teasing, but his thumb strokes gently down Buck’s neck in a way that makes him hold back a shiver.

Buck wets his lips and glances back at the bag.

“It really doesn’t help. Does it?”

Eddie follows his gaze and shakes his head.

“For a little while,” he admits. “For a few minutes, an hour maybe—it can help you get some tension out. But at the end of the day, whether you’re fighting a bag or even another person, you’re not going to solve anything that way. Especially if you’re not even fighting the person all of those feelings are directed at. But, I know something that works a little better.”

His hand withdraws and Buck bites back a sound of protest. Eddie stands, holds out a hand to pull Buck up as well.

“Come on,” he says. “Shift’s over anyways--you’re coming home with me, and no, you don’t get to argue. Chris and I started a new puzzle last night and barely managed to get the border together. On god, I’m pretty sure it’s a lost cause without you.”

Buck’s startled into a laugh. For the first time all day, he smiles and doesn’t feel like he’s faking it.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

#chapel writes #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie fic #911 fic #911 spoilers

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lokidoki-imagines · 3 years

Text

Red String of Fate Part 2

Sooo I had a lot of fun writing this part, the dynamics are slowly starting to come into play, even though not a lot happened in this one. I hope I’m managing to capture Zemo’s cheeky side!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader, Zemo x reader, Sam Wilson x platonic!reader

Word count: 1315

Warnings: None for this part I don’t think?

“You can’t be serious,” Pinning your arms to your side, your hands fisting the hem of your dress, you couldn’t help but grin at the sight before you. “There’s no way I’m getting on that death trap.”

He patted the seat behind him, that cheeky smile you loved creeping onto his handsome face. “You’ve ridden dangerous things before.” He fake flinched as you swatted him with your handbag, “I didn’t mean it like that!” He laughed, the sunlight making him squint behind his sunglasses.

You eyed the motorbike, if you’d had known you wouldn’t have worn such a short dress. “Though you have ridden dangerous things before.” You couldn’t help but laugh at the suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows behind his glasses as you took the helmet from him, swinging your leg over behind him.

“You think yourself dangerous then Baron?” You teased as he wrapped your arms around his waist, silently praying to whoever was listening that your dress was at least long enough to cover your dignity.

He revved the engine and kicked the stand, “You know I am, Y/N.”

You woke to someone shaking you. Your eyes snapped up to meet Sam’s, “Hey,” Rubbing at your eyes you sat forward “we there already?”

He nodded, “Jeeves has been out and got our fancy dress outfits, get changed and meet us out on the tarmac.” His outfit had only just come to your attention, a brightly coloured 3 piece suit tied together with a gold pocket watch to match. He caught you eyeing his suit, “I look like a pimp, I know.”

Grinning as you grabbed the only bag remaining on the chair opposite you, you headed towards the back to get changed. “I wasn’t going to say a word.”

It turned out that Jeeves had pretty good taste. It was just a little black dress, simple in its design, made to hug your hips and chest like a second skin; but simple none the less. Slipping into it quickly you shoved the heels on that were at the bottom of the bag and made to go, grabbing the clutch on the side.

You paused, a black velvet box placed neatly next to the bag on the table. A silk white bow sat atop it, along with a small envelope. You knew who it was from, and you knew you should just ignore it and leave, meet your friends out on the tarmac sans whatever the box contained. That would convey your message the loudest. You should leave it, untouched and unwanted.

You opened the envelope.

In neatly looped cursive that you’d recognise anywhere, it read:

‘My dearest Y/N, you were never the whore. Yours, H.Zemo’

Shoving the card to the bottom of the clutch as your stomach began to bubble, you opened the box to reveal blue diamond earrings and matching necklace; jewellery fit for a baroness. Swallowing the bile in your throat, you quickly put them on and looked at yourself in the mirror.

They suited you. Ice blue contrasting with your hair. You’d worn similar before, before you’d pawned it all to pay for your one way ticket to the states, before everything erupted around you. Plastering a smile on your face, you left the plane.

Sam let off a low whistle as you began to descend the steps. Rolling your eyes at his antics, Bucky nodded as you joined them on the tarmac. “You don’t whistle at ladies Sam.”

The bickering started. Again.

Sam squared his shoulders, “Sure you do man, ladies need just as much love. Perhaps if you tried it you might-”

You stepped sideways and Bucky moved swiftly to Sam, slapping his shoulder with a bit too much force to be anything but a warning. “I’m just saying man.” He breathed, his hands up in surrender as they held a silent conversation.

No matter how much you teased them for it, you knew they’d have each other’s back in a pinch, no matter how much they fought like an old married couple. Zemo was stood off to your right, observing the situation with a quiet calculating gaze.

His eyes met yours. Chocolate skimmed over your dress, lingering at the necklace and earrings with a small smile. You frowned, turning back to the bickering men.

“If the children would like to stop fighting,” Zemo announced, his arm braced on a car door. “It’s time to go.” You rolled your eyes as Bucky shoved Sam, who’s only response was to shove back just as hard.

Bucky held the door open for you as you gave him a small thanks, shuffling into the centre seat. To your annoyance, Zemo was sat on the other side, while Sam occupied the front. He winked, ‘that bastard’.

Pretending you hadn’t seen it you shuffled closer to Bucky, looping your arm through his exposed metal one. He tensed for a moment next to you, you hadn’t thought about what you were doing, just wanted to be as far away from Zemo as possible when you’d shuffled so close into Buckys side that your thigh was pressed tightly against his.

He relaxed after a beat, your hammering heart filling your ears as the smell of his cologne filled your nose. Listening to Zemo drawl on about keeping in character, you hadn’t forgotten who Bucky was soon to be playing. He was looking down at his lap, or rather, your arm around his. The blush crept back.

“It doesn’t change how far you’ve come.” You mumbled, his lips pulling taut and his head bobbing slightly.

“I know.” Sliding his right hand over to where yours rested against metal, he linked your fingers together tightly. “If you need out, at any point, I’m there.”

You looked up into his blue eyes and you swore, if you weren’t sat in a full car that you’d kiss him from the intensity that was pouring out of them. You didn’t realise how close you were to him until you could feel his breath against your cheeks. You’d fantasised about this moment for months now, and now it was here-

“I’ll be there too.”

Closing his eyes in frustration, you and Bucky turned to look at the Sokovian next to you, who gave a small wave. “If you need anything, Y/N. I’ll be there too,” His stared at Bucky for a moment, “even closer than your super soldier.”

The car pulled to a stop outside a walkway, illuminated by the neon signs you remember so well. “Hey if you two are done, we’re here.” Sam announced from the front, already halfway out the car.

Zemo nodded, his gaze never leaving Bucky’s. “Don’t forget your role James.” The door slammed behind him.

“Asshole.” You muttered, slouching in the space he’d occupied moments ago. Bucky remained silent next to you, one hand still linked with yours as he stared forward.

“I don’t...” Bucky started, his voice quiet. “I don’t want you to look at me different after this.”

Feeling your heart split in two you grabbed his other hand, squeezing both of them quickly as he looked at you. “Nothing,” You shuffled, your knee bumping into his, “Nothing, could change the way I look at you.”

But would my secret change the way you looked at me? You wondered silently as a small smile crept onto his face. Your brows furrowed, “Just the way nothing would change the way you looked at me, right?”

It was selfish, getting him to agree to something without providing the truth. But you needed it, needed to hear him say that he’d still be Bucky to you if he ever found out about your past.

He chuckled, “Of course it wouldn’t,” He opened the car door and began to get out, shooting a wink over his shoulder “I’ve only got one doll in case you haven’t noticed.”

I know, you thought. That’s what I’m afraid of.

#Bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #Zemo imagine #zemo x reader #bucky barnes #zemo #baron zemo #james buchanan barnes #love triangle #bucky x reader x zemo #tfatws imagine #tfatws #helmut zemo

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cryptids-and-muses · 3 years

Text

Blood and Bonds: Chapter 1

Ao3

The field was lit by the last rays of daylight. Just enough so Sypha could see the warlocks doing this perfectly. There were 10 or them, all in matching cloaks. Most of them gathered around the stone altar in the center of the field. The altar sypha was tied to.

“Oh Valefor! Duke of Hell! Come forth with your many heads and many limbs….” the warlock chanted as sypha struggled against the bonds tying her to the rock. They limited her magic but she struggled anyway, refusing to just give up.

“You’ll regret this.” She spat, but the cultists paid her no mind.

Trevor thrashed, restrained by two of the cultists, “If you so much as touch her I’ll rip your arms off and shove them up down your throat!” He shouted.

The head warlock didn’t listen, instead rising an ornate dagger to the sky, “Oh lord of thieves! I Beseech thee, accept this offering! Fill our bodies with her strength! Fill our veins with her blood! Fill our minds with her knowledge!”

A hiss escaped Adrian as he tried to stand. Struggling against the invisible weight pressing down on him. The mage in front of him smirked, and Adrian felt the weight increase. His vision blurred as he tried to breath under it. Tried to do anything.

Sypha tried to call her magic. Tried to slip her hands out of the chains. Hell, she even tried to kick the man leading the ritual. But nothing worked. The head warlock’s chanting reached a climax, “Valefor! Steal this offering’s power and make it our own!”

He brought the knife down.

Sypha screamed.

Something in Adrian snapped.

Trevor heard a snarl and the room exploded into chaos. A flurry of movement Trevor’s mind couldn’t keep up with. Just a red blur and the sounds of an animal attack. Claws tearing through flesh. Screams. The wet sound of bodies hitting the floor.

Then, just as suddenly as it started, everything went still, and Trevor could see the aftermath of whatever just happened. Blood drenched every corner of the field. Limbs and other bits of gore were scattered around in some grotesque display. The two men who had restrained Trevor were heaps on the floor. One had been torn open from collar to stomach. His intestines hanging limply outside of his body. The other’s heart had been ripped out, along with several bits of rib that had gotten in the way. But Trevor barely noticed. All his attention was on Adrian.

If he could even call the thing in front of him by the same name.

He stood by the altar, at the center of the carnage. His white shirt had been stained dark red, and was speckled with chunks of gore. Some of it even hung in his hair. Bits of flesh hung from his claws, still posed to strike at a moments notice. And his face…..Trevor felt nauseous looking at it. There was no humanity there. No concern or recognition. No trace of the man he loved at all. His lips were curled into a snarl, exposing bloodied fangs. His lips and chin were smeared with the stuff. Solid red eyes stared at the corpse at his feet. The man who’d stabbed Sypha. His throat was torn out, and around the wound were the tell-tale impression of vampire teeth.

Trevor’s hand fell to the morningstar, “......Adrian?”

There was no response.

Trevor's grip on his weapon tightened.

But then Adrian blinked, and the red cleared from his vision. What happened? He’d been pinned and then he heard sypha scream and then....

Rage.

He remembered rage. Like nothing he’d never felt before.

But everything else was blank. A sea of red and adrenaline.

He shook his head, trying to clear the remaining fog. That’s when the smell hit him. The smell of blood hung thick and choking in the air. Adrian looked up in panic, and finally got a good look at his surroundings. His eyes widened at the carnage laid before him. The butchery.

He staggered back.

What. Had. He. Done.

Adrian covered his mouth. His hand came away wet. He realized there was blood on his lips, on his fangs, that he could feel it sliding down his throat-

He fell to his knees and vomited. Bile and freshly swallowed blood splattering the grass below him.

Sypha knew something was wrong, but the world swam around her. The only thing she could make out clearly was the searing pain in her stomach. Her boys, she needed to get to them. Something was wrong and she needed to find them. She tried moving, but heat shot through her body, making her cry out.

“Sypha!” Trevor ran to her. He could see the blood soaking into her robes. She whimpered as he tried putting pressure on the wound. “Shit,” they needed to do something, fast. He looked over at their third, who was still staring in horror at the destruction around him.

“Adrian!” Trevor snapped, this time more forceful. They didn’t have time for this.

Trevor’s voice broke Adrian out of his spiralling. He looked over at the altar and it hit him. Sypha . He scrambled to her side. Those horrible chains were still around her wrists and ankles. He snapped them, and tried to not think about how much easier it was than usual.

Trevor looked around the field, “We need to leave.” There was a brief hesitation as he glanced at Adrian, “Can you carry her?”

Adrian was shaking. He ran a hand through his hair, god it was in his hair, but nodded. Focus on now, on what he needed to do. He could worry about what he’d done later. He scooped sypha into his arms and began to walk back to the town they were staying at. Pointedly not looking anywhere but ahead.

Trevor didn’t let go of sypha’s hand. He was silent as they walked, unable to get the image of Adrian with blood red eyes out of his mind.

------

It was silent as Adrian tended to Sypha in the cramped inn room. She fell asleep part way through, Adrian continued to clean her wounds. Trevor watched him from across the table while holding sypha’s hand. Neither met each other’s eyes. The tension in the room was palpable.

Eventually Adrian puts the cloth down, and lets out a shaky breath, “She’s going to be fine.”

Trevor nods, finally letting go of her hand. The silence stretched on.

“Are you going to tell me what that was?”

Adrian looked at the floor, “I don’t know.”

Trevor’s jaw tightened, “You killed ten people in the blink of an eye. You bit a man’s throat out.”

“I don’t know!” He shouted back, he hugged himself, “I’ve….I’ve never lost control like that before. I didn’t even know I was capable of that.”

Trevor sighed, “Do you remember what was going through your head?”

“Barely. I just remember sypha screaming. Then everything went red.” Adrian didn’t meet his gaze.

That oppressive silence fell again. This horrible distance between them. It took a while for Trevor to build up the courage to speak again, “I still love you, and I swear to god I always will. But.....”

Adrian gave him a sad smile, “But you can’t trust me.”

Trevor opened his mouth, then closed it again. He could still see specks of gore tangled in Adrian’s hair.

“It’s okay,” Adrian looked at the floor, “I can’t trust myself either.”

It was painful to see him like this. So distraught and scared, but Trevor forced himself to keep talking, “We can’t just ignore this. Pretend like it can’t happen again.”

A sob tore out of Adrian,”I can still fucking taste him. Can feel his blood giving me strength. I feel like a monster . If this happens again….” He was shaking, “I-I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

Trevor took Adrian’s hand, “Don’t worry. I won’t let you.” He gulped, “If this happens again-“

Adrian’s eyes snapped to Trevor, “No.”

“But-”

“ No.” Adrian squeezed Trevor’s hand, his still teary eyes full of determination, “I know what it's like to have to kill someone you love. And I refuse to put you or Sypha through that. I would take myself out before I made either of you do it.”

Trevor’s throat was dry.

But what if, he wanted to say. What if you’re so far gone I don’t have a choice.

But he didn’t, he just stared at Adrian with sad eyes, “Okay,” he pulled the dhampir into his arms, hugging him tightly, “Okay.”

He wanted to say something reassuring. To tell Adrian it would be alright. But He couldn’t. So he stood there, holding Adrian as his love cried into his shoulder.

#castlevania netflix #blood and bonds #castlevania #trevor belmont #adrian tepes #alucard #sypha belnades #trephacard #trevor x sypha x alucard #trevor x alucard #trevor x sypha #sypha x alucard #trevorcard #my writing #fanfiction #chapter 1

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mrs-han · 3 years

Text

Warning. This piece contains sensitive materials regarding eating disorders. Please proceed with caution.

~~~

You pressed your hand firmly against your forehead and rubbed vigorously.

Your headache still wasn’t going away.

“Hey,” Jumin cooed, reaching over the dining table and caressing your arm. “What’s wrong?”

“O-Oh,” you smiled sheepishly, patting his wrist. “I just realized I forgot to fix my eyeliner at home. Do you mind if I go to the restroom?”

Jumin stood from his seat and extended his hand to you, his expression soft and kind. “Of course, darling. You don’t need to ask me such things.”

You lightly pinched Jumin’s cheek and made your way to the ladies’ room... while desperately trying to ignore the never-ending booming sensation taking over your entire head.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Shoving a stall door open, you caught yourself from reeling over the toilet. “Oh my god,” you muttered, grabbing your stomach and closing your eyes tightly.

At the time, a couple of grapes seemed to be enough. You had a huge dinner the night before. And the night before that.

No matter. The longer you stayed in the bathroom, the more Jumin would worry. And he would more than likely storm into the ladies’ room himself.

You pushed yourself and tried to balance yourself on your heels — but your back slammed against the stall door and your head began to swim. Your vision swirled and, to keep yourself from lurching forward, your hand clumsily clung against the wall.

You prayed silently, hoping nobody heard you. A distant toilet flush subdued those fears and you tried yet again to regain control over yourself.

There was no way you could make it through the rest of the night. Guilt flooded your senses — this was your first date with Jumin in weeks. But you couldn’t manage putting on a smile, nor could you manage to continue to pretend that you were all right.

Your stomach growled loudly, deafening your thoughts and making you curl your hands into fists.

You were in so much pain.

Blundering out of the stall, you wobbled your way to the sink and, with shaky hands, turned the cold water on. Yes, cold water would give you some of your senses back.

Patting your pale cheeks, your eyes glanced toward the mirror... and you stopped. Unconsciously, you reached and squeezed at the extra skin under your chin and your shoulders — already pink from your abusive self-pinching. The shoulder straps of your black dress dug further and further into your flesh the longer you stared at yourself. You stood up straighter and winced at the dull sensation in your lower back.

So much needed to be worked on still. There was still so much you needed to change.

You glanced back at the toilet as your stomach growled louder.

No. Jumin was waiting.

You swallowed at the bile climbing up your throat and quickly popped a breath mint before leaving the bathroom. Jumin sat regally, patiently at the table, and his eyes lit up as soon as he noticed you. He stood - ever the gentleman - and he pulled your chair out for you.

You strode towards him as best you could, your legs wobbling with each step. Jumin wasn’t an idiot. He noticed your gait slowing down, your body steadily failing you.

“MC...!”

You couldn’t take any more. A sharp pain ripped through your ankle and you felt yourself falling, your headache muffling the sharp gasps and concerned glances.

Boom. Boom.

Boom.

“My love?”

Jumin’s voice pulled through. From all the chaos in your head, only your husband’s voice came through and reached your brain. Your heart.

“Hey... hey, look at me,” Jumin spoke, trying to keep his worry under control. “I’ve got you. I have you, my love.”

Jumin’s familiar warmth and scent allowed you to relax — to close your eyes and try to ease your troubled head.

Frantic voices ran rampant, and you could faintly hear Jumin bellowing orders... before you slipped off.

~~~

“... hasn’t been eating for at least seven...”

“... keep her on this strict diet when...”

You faded in and out of consciousness, too exhausted to be alerted by the stranger’s voice. Soon enough, Jumin’s voice pulled through to your subconscious, allowing you to weakly open your eyes.

His familiar footsteps allowed you to open your eyes further, and as you felt him sit beside you, you offered him a diffident smile.

One he didn’t return.

“You’re awake. I’m glad,” Jumin exhaled, grabbing your hand and squeezing it firmly. “How are you feeling?”

You looked away. “Crappy.”

“... Look at me.”

Mortified. You were absolutely mortified as you lifted your eyes and met his.

“Have you stopped eating, MC?”

And just like that, your walls crumbled. Tears puddled your line of sight and you covered your face. Choked sobs escaped you as you tried to answer him and you struggled to take in any air.

“Come here,” Jumin’s voice broke as he opened his arms to you and lightly ushered you in with his fingertips. “Please, let me hold you, my love.”

You didn’t have it in you to refuse him, though you knew how ugly you were. How horrific you looked and felt. You tried to speak his name, but all that came out were gargled gasps.

“I’m here,” Jumin’s cracked voice spoke, his warm, tender arms your refuge. “I don’t know... what it is you are going through or feeling, but I want to understand. I will come to understand. And I will help you. Oh please, darling, let me help you.”

You sobbed. You clutched onto him, finger nails digging nearly piercing his sleeves and going into his skin. Your makeup coursed endlessly down your chin, burning your eyes and making you cry harder.

And your husband, in his strength... cried with you.

#TW: eating disorders #mystic messenger #jumin han #mein schatz #Take Care of yourselves my little bunnies ♥️🌺🌻#I want to get through these hardships and hold your hand...

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spideytingle616 · 3 years

Text

Five Months [5]

Part 4 / Masterlist

*based on the five stages of grief*

Pairing: Peter Parker x Female Reader

Warnings: angst, death, mentions of anxiety/panic, possible implications of sexual activity, blood/injury, swearing

Summary: The first time you touch your soulmate, you’re able to see a glimpse into your future. What happens if your future is also your end?

Word Count: 12.7k wow wow (bold and italics are thoughts, scenes following a +++ are a flashback)

A/N: Thank you all who have read this story! I have had this planed for almost a year, and I’m so happy it actually became a thing, though I apologize for taking so damn long with this part. I hope you enjoy. This chapter features a lot of flashbacks, so buckle up.

Chapter Description: Maybe the universe isn’t so bad…

Month Five, Acceptance: Love, and Never Forget

A new day. A new month. A new semester.

The subway ride feels extra bumpy today, most likely due to the large pit in your stomach. Going to school is never something you looked forward to, but when you got there, someone was usually waiting for you.

Someone that made the grueling day a little easier.

You sigh and slump into your seat. How does a train full of people make you feel so alone?

A completely different person could be seen in your window reflection. Or maybe you were just so numb at this point, your body was nothing but luggage you were simply dragging along.

Fuck, you were exhausted. Beyond the undereye bags and the dry hair, your frame looked like it was ready to buckle down and rest. It was already curling in, prepared to do so when given the chance. Your eyes shut tight as you clenched your fists, trying your best to quiet the anxiety that flowed through your body.

When you open your eyes, you look at your reflection one more time, ignoring the cold stare that met your own. The world keeps going, and so should you.

Everything was more or less the same at Midtown. People were alert after their long break, but they still dreaded the upcoming classes. Friends were reuniting with one another and chatting, and everything seemed normal.

But it wasn’t, at least not for you.

You close your locker, and as you turned away from the wall you were met with familiar faces coming your way. The two friends kept looking at one another as they walked toward you, and it was clear that they felt unsure about approaching.

It wasn’t like you were purposely avoiding them, so to speak. But their worried texts were plentiful, and with everything that has happened, you pushed away from their coddling. Your responses were short, usually, something along the lines of “I’m fine” and “doing good”. Whether or not they trusted that you weren’t sure, but it kept them off your tail long enough for the time being.

Fake it till you make it, right?

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” you joke, opening your arms wide. “Come here.”

MJ and Ned smile at the gesture, quickly accepting the hug. It was definitely something all of you needed. You buried your face into their shoulders, happy to be with them again. Guilt pooled in your chest.

“I missed you guys… and I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting” you sigh.

MJ tightens her grip on you, snuggling her face closer to yours. “It’s okay. We get it. We were just worried is all.”

“Still, it was selfish of me to do.” You pull away, looking between the two. “This whole thing is not just about me. I should have been there for you guys too instead of pushing myself away.”

“Well, we’re here now. Whenever you’re ready, to talk or hang out, we’ll be there.” Ned offers, and a smile reaches your face.

God, your friends were amazing. You couldn’t bear to hurt them even more with your doom and gloom. They deserved someone that would be there for them and listen to their concerns, instead of hiding in their own pool of guilt.

You quickly shake your head before speaking. “Thanks, I think I’m gonna be okay, though. If you guys need more time that’s totally fine, but I’m good. Nothing has to be weird between all of us, we can just hang out like old times, you know?”

Your friends glance at one another, their eyebrows pulled slightly tighter.

“Well, if that’s how you feel, then I’m glad,” Ned says, looking back at MJ for reassurance. “But you know, it’s totally cool if you still need time. After all, it’s been a rough month.”

You bite your tongue back from replying, your jaw suddenly tense.

Yeah, no shit…

+++

He’s gone.

Oh my god he’s gone.

He’s actually dead.

If someone came and ripped your heart out of your chest, it would be painless compared to how you felt now. You continued to stare at Peter even after his eyes closed. If you continued to look at him, maybe you could still pretend that he was alive.

When the police showed, everything was a daze. The flashes of red and blue sirens drew a queasiness deep in your stomach. As the officers forced you to let go of the boy, their voices muddled into the air. You felt completely disassociated from the scene in front of you, and all you wanted to be held in Peter’s arms. There, you could pretend that everything was okay.

“They’re still breathing!”

The shout draws you back into current time, their words shooting a current throughout your body. It couldn’t be…

“Airways are clear, but his respiratory rate is dropping. Get him on the stretcher now. Don’t let him go into shock.”

Were you hearing all this right? Too many things were happening right now, and no one bothered to tell you anything. The police were pushing you away from the scene as if you were a random pedestrian, and you were ready to grab them by the throat and scream at them. When you see Peter getting lifted into the ambulance, his suit now more red than blue, that was the last straw.

You push your way through toward the paramedics. If they were taking him, you were going too. You were right behind the red and white doors before a hard shove comes to your chest, stopping you from coming any closer.

“Excuse me miss, this is private business,” what looked like an EMT said. “Stark Industries does not want anyone seeing this. I’m going to have to ask you to go back with the crowd.”

You stare dumbfounded; at least Ned was able to get a hold of him, but the fact that they were acting as if you weren’t a witness and Peter’s friend angered you even more. “No, you don’t get it, that’s my friend in there. I- I need to be with him if he’s still alive. Please I-“

“Look, as much as I’d like to believe that we were not told anything about other parties being involved. So, to keep this under wraps, we cannot let you ride with us. If you actually do know the patient, you can follow us and figure out your clearance there,” they finalize before walking away and jumping into the vehicle. You don’t even get a chance to breathe before they’re gone, and the only remnant of Peter was the stain on the street.

The EMT did have a point. If you wanted to keep Spider-Man’s identity a secret, you couldn’t draw attention to yourself. Slipping under the newly posted yellow tape, you’re swallowed into the shadows before the police even notice.

Now here you were, in a dirty subway car at ten in the evening. Being a teenage girl, this situation would normally terrify you (Seriously guys, no means no. Why are you even near us to begin with?), but luckily the murder scene on your dress and the hollow glare in your eyes drove most passengers away from you.

Staring into space, your brain tries to process everything that just happened in the past hour. You sprinted across the city to find your dying soulmate, only to find out he isn’t dead? Or at least, not yet. Based on his current state, it could still go either way.

Shouldn’t you be feeling hopeful? Or at least some sort of relief knowing that Peter has a chance? Your body internally cringes at the idea. Getting your hopes up wasn’t great; part of you always hoped for a happy ending with Peter and look where that got you.

All you could feel was dread, and it wasn’t much better than the heartbreak prior.

The car slows down as the rest of the passengers stand and walk toward the doors, but not without giving you a worrisome stare. You ignore their eyes as they pass by; you couldn’t care less about what they thought.

You look down at your hands and focus on blood caked under your nails, trying to rub the residue away. Some looked like it came off, but the red-brown still pigmented your skin. Chest tightening, you lean back in your seat and let your head knock back.

Peter’s blood was on your hands, both figuratively and literally.

---

A chill travels through your spine, bile working its way upward.

Was that really only a month ago?

The bell sounds, its ringing bringing you more despair than usual. Your conversation was brought to an end, MJ and Ned giving you a nod to signal their departure. They forced a smile your way, and you keep your calm composure even after they turn away.

Pulling the straps of your backpack closer, you take a deep breath before walking to class.

---

“First order of business: team captain. Miss Allan’s parting was unfortunate, but both she and I believe this team will do amazing at the international competition this summer. We just need a new captain.”

“Mr. Harrington, I’m honored-“

“Not you, Flash.”

You and Ned snicker under your breaths, earning your partner an elbow from Betty. MJ rolls her eyes at the two of you, but her smile gave away her amusement.

Decathlon was supposed to be done for the school year, but your team’s win at D.C. earned Midtown a spot at its international competition in Paris. You didn’t expect the school board to approve the trip, especially with the large expenses it ensued. But apparently, they found an anonymous donor.

Though no one could figure out who would willingly spend tens of thousands of dollars for a kids’ trip to Europe, no one was complaining either, especially when they were paying to include an actual vacation with it. As ecstatic as everyone was about the opportunity, it also meant that you would soon be back to frequent practices. And as much as you enjoy this club, more work is never fun.

“After careful consideration of each of your prior performances, I’m happy to announce that our new captain will be none other than Michelle Jones.”

Harrington continued his announcements, but you already stopped paying attention. You nudge MJ after the scattered applause, mouth still agape.

“You didn’t tell me you were gonna be captain. Congrats!” you whispered.

“Well, to be honest, I didn’t know until just now. But I would have been pissed if I wasn’t.”

“And I would’ve had to listen to you complain about it, so it’s a win-win… can your first order be to rearrange the seating? I love Cindy, but sometimes she smells after gym.”

MJ scoffs. “Done, but it’s your fault if this all goes to my head.”

“Oh, I think it already has,”

“Yeah yeah, whatever. Just be quiet so I can listen.”

You roll your eyes as you let her turn away from you, grabbing your phone in the process.

You: Guess who the new captain is…

Liz: It better be MJ, I put in a good word for her and everything

You: It is lol. Good choice by the way, she’ll probably be a better captain than you

Liz: whatever 🙄

In the past month since she moved, the two of you found comfort in one another. Both of you fell in the direct line of fire, and as brutal as that was, it also meant that you weren’t alone.

+++

Lately, it seemed that your timing was nothing if not impeccable.

You speed walk to the cafeteria, breath getting heavier with each step. You’re usually one of the first in there, trying your best to beat the rush of students, but you just had to go to the bathroom beforehand. Amateur move, honestly…

Once you turn the corner, you stop in your tracks. Just ahead was Liz and her mom, both with boxes in hand. Her mom takes a right, most likely heading toward the office. All that was left was you and her, and the ten feet of tile in between.

“Hey,” you call out, gaining her attention. A tint of regret coats the air around you as you walk closer.

Where do you start, after everything that has happened?

“Liz, hey. What’s up?”

“Oh, hey. Nothing much, I’m just packing things from my locker and whatnot. My mom’s grabbing my file from the office, and after that we should be good, or whatever.” She sighs, looking down at her things.

“Wait, packing? Are you… are you going somewhere?”

“Yeah, my dad doesn’t want us to see him in trial. We’re moving all the way to Oregon tomorrow. My mom has family there… nice area apparently, or whatever,” She purses her lips. “New York allows prisoners to call as often as they want, so no worries there, plus I’m all set for college so I can more or less breeze through senior year.”

You nod. Though you suppose the situation could have been worse, it was evident that Liz was hiding all the struggles she just got handed. Maybe if you were closer, you’d be able to comfort her, or tell her what she needed to hear.

“Liz, you’ve probably gotten this a lot, but I’m really sorry about what went down. I can’t even imagine what that’s like.”

There’s a pause before she finds your face again. “I think you do though. Maybe not exactly the same as me, but you were part of this too.”

You tilt your head, confused at her words. Setting her things down, she slings her backpack around to her front, unzipping it to find what she was looking for. “Peter left this in my dad’s car, but something tells me it was meant for someone else. It’s a little wilted now, but I still think it looks nice.”

In her hand was the rose that Peter had the night of the homecoming dance. You were so annoyed when you saw it. However, this time was different. You were not sure what you felt, but you were grateful nonetheless.

You take the flower from her, admiring the purple-red petals. Underneath, a card was tied around:

A rose for a rose.

You might not be my date, but can I SWING BY for a dance?

You let out a quiet scoff. If the pun didn’t give it away, the web doodles might have.

“You think I would’ve figured it out sooner,” Liz shrugged.

“If it’s any consolation, I didn’t realize until it was right in front of my face," you joked back, earning a smile.

“I won’t tell anyone, by the way. He was just trying to do the right thing, and it’s not my secret to tell anyways.”

You nod at the gesture, relieved that things were not getting any messier. Not as much as they could, at least.

“I’m sorry too by the way…” she starts. “if I got in the way of you and Peter.”

You shake your head. “No no, it’s fine. Really. That was Peter’s choice to do that. I even told you we weren’t soulmates, so…“

“Yeah, well, I could tell that wasn’t the whole truth. Or at least, I couldn’t believe that it was the truth.” When you don’t reply, she continues on. “Obviously, I don’t know the whole story, or maybe even half of it, but almost everyone thought you two were soulmates before you even said anything. That’s gotta mean something, right?”

You pause for a moment. For someone who was only two years older, she was a lot wiser than you imagined. “Yeah, maybe it does… I don’t know, it’s just so complicated, you know?”

“I can only imagine.” She offers a smile. “But assuming he’s okay, wherever he is, I think it’d be a lot less complicated if you were in it together.”

With that, the conversation seemed to be over. You both knew that you weren’t really friends, but there was still a connection there. What happened homecoming night created a bond between you, a burning ember in a pile of ash. Everything died down, but there are still remnants that continued to burn.

If you guys chose to, you could let that memory die with the rest of the fire. But you could also choose to keep it alive and learn something from it.

Liz clears her throat, breaking the silence. “Looks like my mom’s ready, so I should go catch up. Thanks for saying goodbye.”

“Well, thanks for the mini therapy session. Hopefully, Oregon treats you better. If you wanna, you can text me once you’re all settled. We can talk, or whatever you want, really. Doesn’t even have to be about this.”

Her eyes light up at the offer, surprised at the generosity. “Yeah. I’d really like that. Thanks.”

You watch as she grabs her stuff from the floor and walk down the hall. The two of you send each other one last wave before parting ways, but you don’t move from your spot. Not until she was fully out of sight.

When she’s completely gone, you think about her words again. Maybe it would be easier.

Or maybe it’s just a faster route to trouble.

---

“You, me, Catacombs of Paris. It’s been on my list for years, and we are not missing out on that.” MJ declares, interrupting your daze. You didn’t even realize the meeting was over, most of the group already filing out of the library. “Jeez, how deep was your conversation with your pen pal? You look like you just woke up.”

You huff as you stood up from your seat. “How do you even know it’s her? Could’ve been my mom checking up on me.”

“Well, whenever you and Liz text, which is pretty regularly now, you get that weird crease between your eyebrows, and something tells me you’re not thinking that hard when you’re answering, ‘how are you’ from your parents.”

“You know, I think someone’s a little jealous that I have other girl friends to talk to.” You joke, checking her shoulder. “Any other creepy spots you’re forcing me to go to?”

Your friend’s face lights up, relishing at the opportunity to talk about her interests. You knew she had hours' worth of knowledge on the subject, and it gave you the chance to avoid talking about yourself. It wasn’t easy to distract MJ, but you had your ways.

It was easy to distract yourself from your current situation with Liz. After all, she was more or less doing the same thing. Your relationship was symbiotic; One of you would talk about your problems so the other could take their focus away from theirs, and vice versa. Mutual therapy, as you both called it.

The bonding made you feel safe. You made a friend and found someone that would need time to heal too.

At least, that’s what you thought.

For the last few conversations or so, the tone has taken a rather lighthearted turn. Liz started her new semester at Oregon a week earlier than Midtown, and she was already coming for the title of Ms. Popular. Though, with her being a hot, new senior, you shouldn’t have been surprised.

She was using her mom’s name for more privacy and was basically starting fresh. Liz even said she could still go to NYU if things died down after the trial. You were ecstatic for her, of course. She was incredibly strong for taking her life into her own hands and making the best of what happened, yet deep down you still couldn’t help but feel frustrated. In the end, even the people that have it worse still find ways to turn it around.

Your stomach turns. Maybe it wasn’t time that was the issue.

Maybe it was you.

---

Life’s kind of funny. Less than a year ago, you thought meeting the Avengers would be impossible. The only time you ever saw them was on the news or some badly edited PSA. For you, they seemed more fictional rather than real.

Now here you were, in the same car that Tony freaking Stark uses, being driven to the one and only Avengers Facility.

Despite the news about the Sokovia Accords, and the infamous “Civil War”, as they coined it, the building continued to stand tall and proud. The squeaky-clean windows and trimmed hedges were simply another reminder of how this lifestyle was beyond you.

Peter has been staying here for the past few weeks so the doctors could track his progress in private. With his mutated DNA and dangerous alien technology, they wanted to make sure there was not any permanent damage to his systems. Though this caused him to miss the rest of the semester, he knew it was for the best.

Despite taking a nasty hit, his super healing got him back on his feet, more or less. Just a few hours of physical therapy and some tests were enough to get Peter back to full mobility. However, he was still advised by the doctors to take things slow. Just because he could move doesn’t mean he should so soon.

This was the fourth or so trip here, yet every visit still felt like the first. All of this was so overwhelming, but you try not to let it show as you walk through the glass door. When you couldn’t find Peter in his room, your panic started to become visible.

Finding one guy in a 300,000 square foot building? How hard could it be?

Answer: not impossible, but still rather embarrassing.

After a few wrong turns here and there, you eventually made it to what seemed to be your destination. You wound up in a gym twice the size of your school’s. It had every piece of equipment one could need to train for a life-or-death mission, and you were struck with awe once again.

Your attention quickly focuses on the sounds of leather on leather. Across the gym was a boxing ring, holding none other than Tony Stark and your best friend.

The two didn’t notice you yet, so you took your time heading closer. Peter was in deep focus, his grey shirt tightening around him every time he threw a punch. Sweat covered the top half of the fabric as his curls brushed his forehead, and you could feel your throat drying up at his appearance.

You would have shown up earlier all those other times if you meant you got to see this…

“Y/N! Hey!” Peter greets when he finally sees you. “Sorry, I should’ve texted you that I was still in here. Guess I lost track of time.”

You wave it off. “Don’t worry about it. Looked like you were doing some good work.”

“Yeah, I sure hope so. Did you know the only fighting knowledge he had before this was from movies?” Tony interrupted, pointing a glove at the guilty party.

“Hey c’mon, Rocky is a solid resource,” He defended. “You ever seen it?”

The billionaire paused, mentally going through the five stages of grief. “Yeah kid, I think we’re done here. He’s all yours.”

“Sounds good,” You respond, turning back to Peter. “Something tells me you might need to freshen up before we start studying, so I’ll just meet you in your room. If I can find it, that is…”

The boy nods, feeling extra gross and sticky now that you brought it up. You send the two a small wave before walking out of the gym, trying your best to retrace your steps. Peter watches you until you vanish, to which Tony raises an eyebrow.

Maybe it was just him, but the spiderling was rather obvious with his emotions.

“Normally I’d say, ‘don’t do anything I wouldn’t do’, but clearly you don’t listen to that,” He says, snapping Peter back into reality. “Just keep it in your room, alright? Last thing I need is to spray this whole place with disinfectant.”

Peter’s mouth parts, slightly uncomfortable at his mentor’s words. “What? No, it’s not like that at all. She’s just helping me with all the schoolwork I’ve missed.”

Tony immediately stops, punching pads half on. “That- that’s it? You get a second chance at life, and all you’re doing is studying?”

He shrugs. “Well, you know, I haven’t taken my finals yet-“

“Finals that you can pass if you just study the night before like a normal kid.” He walks closer to Peter. “You escape the jaws of death and the one thing you want to do is study? What happened to you teenagers and wanting to ‘live a little’?” He mumbles the last part, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t use this experience as an excuse to shy away. I’m not saying go off and be reckless, but at least have a little fun, yeah? Do what you want.”

From one man who had a near-death experience (or several) to another, maybe he had a point. But then again, if you try to sacrifice yourself multiple times, you must be more than okay with the thought of leaving this world and the people you care about.

Tony finally finishes packing up, while Peter was still in the ring, contemplating.

“She’s a good one,” he shouts to the boy, getting his attention. “Might even like her more than you.” He pauses, realizing how that sounded. “No offense, of course.”

The boy’s face sours as Tony keeps walking. “Some taken… oh and hey! I know it was you that paid for the Europe trip!”

“Nope! Wrong billionaire!” He swings the door open, turning around to look at Peter. “But uh, I think there’s a light festival the same weekend you’re in Prague. You should check it out.”

“Uh-huh…” he grins, playing along.

+++

Thanks to his powers, Peter’s hands always got extra sticky when he was nervous. So, when Mr. Stark called him to come to his office a week or so after the incident, he tried his best to keep his hands to himself.

“Hey, Mr. Stark. You wanted to see me or something?” he asked, awkwardly shuffling through the door.

Tony looks up from his phone and nods at Peter. “Kid, hey. How you feelin’?”

“Oh, well I’m actually doing pretty goo-“

“That’s great,” Tony interrupts. “Anyways, here you go.”

He slides a paper bag toward the boy, to which Peter responds by checking his surroundings. Was this a test? Because there are some major drug deal vibes happening right now.

“What the heck are you doing, kid? Just take the damn bag.”

Peter snaps back to the man and quickly snatches it off the desk. He peeks inside and is shocked when he sees the bright red and blue suit. He clutches the bag closer, afraid it would be stripped away from him a second time.

“You- you’re giving it back to me?” Peter grins.

“Well, it didn’t really teach you anything when I took it away, so I might as well just give it back. Plus, your other one looks ridiculous compared to this.”

His smile falls a little, and Tony quickly backtracks for clarification.

“What I mean is that you did good work. I didn’t believe in you after the ferry incident, but you were determined. You followed your heart and ended up catching the guy. However, you also ended up getting shish kabobbed and almost died, which isn’t as good.” Stark mumbles the last part, getting a little off track. “I told you before that if something happened to you, that it would be on me. But if you won’t listen to me then… I guess I have to mentor you, and make sure you know what you’re doing.”

Peter’s eyes widen. “As in…”

“Training every morning. We can practice using all your suit’s abilities along with combat in case you’re stuck without it. We’ll track your health and progress to make sure you’re not pushing it. Last thing we need is you showing off and hurting yourself.”

“Yeah, got it.” He replies, mouth agape. “I- thank you, Mr. Stark.”

He couldn’t believe it. This was all happening so fast. A few days ago, he thought he was supposed to be dead on the sidewalk. Now, everything seemed to be going well. Maybe too well? How was Mr. Stark so calm about it?

“Well, to be honest, you shouldn’t be thanking me. It was your girlfriend that pretty much convinced me to do this. Y/N or something?”

He cocks his head. “Wait, Y/N? What do you mean?”

“We met at the hospital when you were under surgery.” He shrugs. “Kept telling me how you were a good kid who was going to help the city at all costs, that you were soulmates and this was doomed to happen, you should get another chance, etcetera etcetera,” He dismisses with his hands. “It was pretty moving, really. She really believes in you, so I thought I should do the same.”

Peter tries to keep a neutral face, but this information made his mind go even faster than before. You never mentioned that you met Mr. Stark, much less had an actual conversation with him. With all the crap he’s pulled on you, you still said all that. And to an Avenger, no less.

He doesn’t comment about Mr. Stark’s confession, only giving him another thanks followed with a goodbye. From the looks of it, Tony was rather done with the conversation anyways. He leaves as awkwardly as he came in.

As Peter walks back to his room, he notices the air around him feels lighter. Fresher, even. He smiles at the thought.

For the first time, in a very long time, Peter was optimistic for the future.

---

Never mind, maybe he should have died that night.

Studying was a far worse punishment.

Peter groans and buries his face deeper into his pillow, a string of obscenities following shortly after. You turn and frown at the sight. Sure, you weren’t any better during finals week, but this was just sad.

“C’mon dude,” you said as you shook his shoulder. “Get up. We’re almost done with this.”

He groans louder at your comment. “Too much work. Math isn’t even real.”

You shake your head in amusement. “Yeah okay. Tell that to Gonzales, I’m sure you’ll keep your number two spot after that.” You snort, not registering Peter’s shock as he propped himself up.

“Two? Don’t you mean one?”

Shit. “I mean, not exactly. Finals week happened a little bit ago. Grades change, you know?”

“Okay…” He gives you a look. “Well, then who scored high enough to beat me?”

Your lips tighten, but your silence, in turn, answers his question.

“No…” Peter realizes. “You- no….”

“Pete-“

“You’re first now? You took my freaking spot?”

Your mouth hangs open trying to think of a proper response and your friend scoffs. “Wow,” he says, shaking his head. “After all this time, I didn’t realize my best friend would become my enemy. Now I actually have to try.”

“Ouch. A nice congrats or something would have been nice, you know,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “Whatever, at least I’m being nice and trying to help.”

“Help? Or sabotage?” Peter smirks, sitting up. Stiff from his previous meltdown position, he clasps his hands together and stretches his arms upward. He doesn’t get very far before he flinches back down, hands now gripping his side as he quietly whimpers.

You immediately assume the worst as you turn closer to Peter, but he shakes his head, a sign telling you it’s nothing serious. He takes a few more deep breaths before looking at you, now sheepish.

“Sorry bout that. I think I overdid today,” he explained, gently rubbing his abdomen.

“Peter…” you pout. “Thought the whole point of you being here was so that you wouldn’t overdo it.”

“Yeah yeah, I know. I didn’t think a late-night workout would cause too much trouble,” he says, and your eyebrows furrow, disappointment evident. Peter slumps further down, throwing his hands up. “I won’t do it again, okay? It’s my last weekend here, anyways. I’ll take it easy for the next few days. Promise.” He then offers his pinkie to you, and you accept it with a sigh.

Your eyes wander down his chest, stopping at the top of his waist. You’ve never actually seen it, the wound and the scar that it left. At least, not since the incident. Your chest tightens at the thought. It was so bloody, and dirty, and just plain gross.

It was supposed to be the end of him, the end of everything you had. And now here he was, studying for a calculus test.

How was all that a month ago?

“Does it always hurt?” you ask before you could stop yourself. Peter follows your stare before looking at you again.

“Nah, just sometimes,” he starts with a small shrug. “It’s usually a dull ache every now and then, but it hurts more right now, cause, you know…” He looks away in shame. “Speaking of, I need to put this cream stuff on before I forget, supposed to keep it clean and help with the healing. I forgot to put it on after training.” He leans forward to grab the tube off his desk, and you could tell the easy motion was rather painful.

“I could do it if you want,” you offer, eyes widening immediately afterward. The two of you have been keeping physical distance between one another, and now here you were, basically asking to caress him. “I mean- if you think it would be easier.”

He takes a moment to think before giving a small nod, not saying anything as he hands you the cream. You both seem unsure of this, but you slowly grab the tube anyways. You take your time unscrewing the cap, giving Peter a chance to change his mind. When you look back up, he’s already staring at you, waiting for your next move.

You scooch closer toward Peter, and the air starts to get thicker. Tense. One wrong move could ruin this whole thing. You cringe at the thought. It’s not that deep, you tried to rationalize.

But this was Peter. Every small action meant something more.

Fisting the bottom of his t-shirt, you bring it to his chest to reveal the scar. You let out a shaky breath, looking at the newly exposed skin. It was the same as the last time you saw it: You could still see the tinges of pink under the lights, and his chest was still firm. But now all that was blemished with a horrid red line on his right.

That fucking scar. If looks could kill, your stare could probably reopen the wound that was once there. It makes you so frustrated to know the memory still stains his body. Peter once mentioned that his powers speed up his healing process, but marks like these last a lifetime for normal people, so you imagined that if it were to go away, it wouldn’t be for years.

You shake the thoughts from your head as you squeeze the cream onto your fingers, using your thumb to warm it up. Shifting your weight forward, you lean in even closer to him and gently touch Peter’s skin. The contact causes him to tense at first, but he eventually softens under your touch as you massage in the substance.

Peter doesn’t take his eyes off you. He watches how softly your fingers graze his scar, and how his skin was burning at the contact. It reminds him of that weekend: The hungry kisses, the skin on skin after you took your shirts off. Even when you were pulling him for more, you were never rough. You let him dip his toes first, making sure he was doing what he wanted.

Mr. Stark’s words come back to him. Live a little… have some fun… do what you want…

And right now, Peter thinks he wants more.

He sits up straighter (or at least as much as he could) and brings his hand up toward you, tracing your jaw with his fingertips. His thumb rubs the center of your cheek, bringing your focus away from his scar. You don’t realize how close the two of you are until you face him again. Peter’s stare flickers between your eyes and mouth, and you swallow hard. Though his touch was warm, your mind was frozen.

Were you supposed to do something? What did Peter want? Your questions were soon answered as he started to close the distance between you, ever so slowly. And though a part of you wanted to meet him halfway, memories cloud your head.

Blood.

Rubble.

Tears.

Peter holding on for dear life.

Fear shooting through your veins.

With a sharp inhale, you put your weight on your palms and back away. Peter stays where he is, his body a few seconds behind. After a few seconds, he lowers his hand down as concern floods his eyes.

“I- I should go,” you announce. Pushing yourself off the bed, you quickly pack your stuff away, not bothering to check if you got everything.

“I thought we were going to study more-“

“Just look up some practice problems online and you should be good. The curve helps a lot too.” You zip your backpack. “You’ll be fine without me.”

Peter fumbles for an excuse. “Well, it’s getting late, though. Wouldn’t you rather spend the night like last weekend?”

“No, it’s cool. Happy said they always have a driver on call just in case. Might as well put use them,” you shrug. “Anyways, bye!”

You quickly slam the door behind you, and Peter cringes at the sound. What the hell just happened? He brings his palms to his eyes with a heavy sigh. The last thing he wanted was for things to be awkward, yet he still managed to drive you out of his room and onto a two-hour car ride instead. Did he misread the situation that bad?

Meanwhile, you were still on the other side of the door, eyes wide. Did you really just do that? You were always so upset when Peter didn’t communicate with you, but now you were no better. You turn back to face the door, hand on the doorknob, yet the turn never came. Eventually, you let go and back away, and pull out your phone before turning the corner and out of the hallway.

At that same moment, Peter decided to stand up and follow you. Even if you wanted to leave, he didn’t want all his feelings to go unsaid. He pushes through the soreness and reaches the door, yanking it open.

He sticks his head out into the hall, but he doesn’t see you. Peter’s frame shrinks. A big part of him wanted to chase you, to see if he could catch up before you had the chance to go, but if you were already so far gone, it must be for a reason. With a frown, he slowly shuts his door, hoping that maybe you’ll come back before the click.

You never do.

Sleep never comes to you that night, thoughts about a brown-haired superhero circling your head. You knew that leaving was not the best idea. And not turning back when you had the chance was also not the greatest call. But at that moment, the idea of confronting your fears and worries seemed so much worse.

Grabbing your pillow, you smother yourself as you let out a quiet scream. By the time you uncover your face, you can already see the sun.

---

Neither of you mentions that night. Not that you were purposely avoiding the topic. In fact, you wanted to apologize for your abrupt exit, and maybe talk about what was going on between you two, but there was never a good time to do so.

Peter’s reappearance was not going as smooth as you thought it would. No offense to the boy, but you didn’t think many people would notice he was gone. But with the lack of Spider-Man sightings, and all the chaos surrounding homecoming weekend, people were chatty.

The first day he came back to school, Flash kept asking what happened to the friendly neighborhood hero. Poor Peter tried his best to blubber an excuse about him having a mission out of the country, but that just confused his classmates even more.

Others were asking why he missed all those weeks of school, which caused him to create an elaborate lie about having an extended family in Europe. It took everything for MJ not to outright laugh at the scene, which you later scolded her about.

Combine that and all the work he needs to catch up on, you thought it would be best to wait a little longer.

Eventually, Friday rolls around and all of you have survived another week. You, Peter, Ned, and MJ were talking around your locker before school when Ned claps his hands together, a lightbulb turning on in his head.

“Oh, dude! Now that we’re all here, we should all play some D&D!” He grins, getting giddier by the second. “We finally have a good amount of people, plus it’ll be a good way to have Betty get to know you all better as a group. I got this new book for Christmas and I’ve been planning a campaign for weeks. Spoiler alert: it’s awesome!” He quickly spits out, looking toward the group for a response.

Turns out Betty and Ned were soulmates, though no one knew until recently. Except for MJ, of course. When she gossiped about it homecoming night, Ned spilled all the beans.

They found out a few weeks after D.C., but though the two of them were pleased with the pairing, Betty didn’t feel ready to go into a relationship. Ned was accepting of this, being the sweetie he is, and the two of them are slowly building a friendship, though they are quite affectionate with one another. It was adorable, and slightly jealousy-inducing all at once.

MJ crinkles her nose. “I suppose I could try it. No promises that I’ll enjoy it, though.”

Ned, Peter, and you all stare at one another before bursting into laughter. Your amusement confuses MJ, but she doesn’t interrupt the moment.

“Oh Michelle,” you begin, grabbing her by the shoulder. “You are in for a world of fun.”

“Does that mean you’re in?” Ned points to you.

“Of course, dude! You’re the best Dungeon Master around. That, and your mom always has tons of snacks for us whenever we play.”

“I’ll take what I can get, I guess,” he scoffs. “Should we plan for tomorrow or something? I need to add a few more details and Betty should be free then too.”

“I’m good.”

“Same here.”

“Actually, I can’t. I’m busy.”

The three of you turn to Peter, who shrinks down in size and offers a shy smile.

“C’mon Pete. I get you have a lot of catching up to do but I’m sure a small game break wouldn’t kill you,” you said.

“No no, I get that.” He shakes his head. “It’s just that I was gonna start patrolling this weekend… “ he explains, and your blood runs cold. “But you guys go on and play without me, I promise to join next time.”

Ned nods, the three of them continuing to talk like normal, but you stay silent, keeping your eyes in Peter’s direction. Patrolling? How come he never told you about this?

It’s five minutes before class when MJ and Ned decide to leave, heading to their first period history together. Peter decides to go to class too, but you grab his arm before he gets the chance to turn away.

“Are you seriously going out? What happened to taking it easy?” you hissed. Though your tone was rather snippy, deep down you were terrified for Peter. Sure, he was fine now, maybe even better with all his training, but was he ready to go back out?

Were you ready for him to go back out?

“I’ve been taking it easy for a week, and people are starting to get suspicious. I don’t know if I can make it through another one of Flash’s confrontations without getting caught,” he sighs. “Look, can we just talk about this later? Class is about to start.”

You scoff. “You’re just trying to avoid the subject.”

“No, I’m not. I just don’t want to hear you lecture me when I’m already heading to one. And besides, I already know what you’re gonna say so what does it matter?”

“You literally just described ‘avoiding the subject’,” you bite back, concern turning into frustration. “Nothing good happens when we don’t talk, Pete.”

“Oh really? Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah dude, I’m pretty sure. That’s kinda how a friendship works.”

“Right. Friendship…” A pause. Peter’s face hardens as he looks at you. “Fine, let’s talk: why didn’t you kiss me?” he asks, jaw clenched.

Your hand lets go of his arm and falls slack. When you said you wanted to bring up the almost-kiss, you didn’t mean now. Why was he turning this on you?

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, if I can’t avoid the subject, then you can’t either.”

You shake your head. This was not the time to talk about this. He takes your silence as an answer and moves a step back.

“I’m going out. Tonight,” he announces. “I’m not waiting around.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to reply before he turns around and walks away. The action surprises you; Peter was never the one to walk away. If he was, it was because there was a danger that he needed to tend to.

This time, he willingly chose to.

You mull over what he said before he left. I’m not waiting around. He said it with such conviction. It almost sounded like he wasn’t talking about Spider-Man.

He was talking about you.

+++

You didn’t realize the Avengers had their own private hospital section, but considering their job description, you shouldn’t be surprised.

The stale, air-conditioned air of the hospital welcomed you the minute you entered. Goosebumps prickled your exposed arms as the atmosphere around you shifted.

Yeah, you really didn’t like hospitals. Especially now.

The nurses didn’t know anything of you or your involvement either, so they couldn’t let you go past the designated waiting room, leaving you all alone in a stuffy room. You’ve been staring at the fish tank for the last five minutes, waiting for someone to at least come in and talk to you.

Ugh, fuck this.

You texted MJ and Ned the news about Peter, which was a rather chaotic conversation. You promised you would let them know the whole story soon, but now didn’t feel like the time. Not when your other half may or may not be alive.

When you left the school, Ned spammed Stark Industries with emergency messages, which finally got Tony Stark’s attention. You overheard some nurses at the desk talking, and apparently, he was somewhere in the building, talking down a woman. You had no doubt that it was May.

God, if you thought you’ve been through it, you couldn’t imagine how she felt. To find out your nephew, who was basically your son, is a crime-fighting superhero is one thing. To find out he was almost killed and is currently fighting for his life all in one night is another. You were surprised her head didn’t explode right then and there.

Another ten minutes pass by before May comes out from the patient area, eyes red and completely distraught. Tony Stark was close behind her, holding the door open as May’s crouched figure passes through.

You stare at the two of them and accidentally make eye contact with the billionaire. He sends you a nod before heading back to the hospital rooms, like it was the only safe thing to do. The anger from before quickly disappeared; at least you weren’t the only one in shock.

“Oh, Y/N,” May says when she spots you. “I didn’t know you’d be here. It’s super late, I think it’s safer if you went back home. I don’t want your parents to worry. Do you need me to call and talk to them? I can take you home if you need me to.”

“May, you don’t-“

“I mean it’s probably best if I go do something. I don’t think I can sit here for very long without pulling my hair out.”

“May-“

“This is all just hitting me so hard. I mean, how did I not even realize this? I feel so stupid. God, the nerve of Tony to pull this. I should have never trusted him-“

“It’s my fault, May.” You snap, ceasing her rambles. “I did this… I fucking caused all of this. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what to do and one thing led to another and… I killed him. I killed Peter. I am so sorry, May. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

May doesn’t respond right away, still processing everything you said. Her shoulders slump down slightly as she cocks her head. Out of all the news she got tonight, this one confused her the most. But as she focused on you and your shivering body, she realized she wasn’t the only one that had a rough night.

She takes your hands. “Let’s talk, alright?”

The next fifteen minutes were spent by you blubbering about everything. The soulmate memory, his Spider-Man secret, how you tried to keep apart, and how you found him downtown. You skip over the rather intimate parts, knowing it was probably not going to help May. Your face is red and splotchy by the end of it, and a handful of tissues covered the small table next to you.

May doesn’t say a word until you’re done. Though a nice gesture, her silence was more due to her complete shock.

“I am so fucking sorry, May,” you whisper at the end. “I should have told you, or someone, at least. It’s just that, it was Peter’s life on the line. I didn’t want to do anything and hurt him. I thought it was best if he made the call, but look where that got us.” You wipe your eyes and look away. The guilt was unbearable. May was nothing but caring to you, and you repay her by killing her nephew.

“God... I knew Peter was having a rough time, I always heard him at weird hours of the night, but I thought it was just school or something. I’ve always checked on him, but he would always say he’s busy.” She shakes her head. “I don’t blame you, though. I mean, I’m not exactly happy this all went down the way it did, but I can’t be mad at you for at least trying to save him, even when it hurt to.”

You sniffle at her words, trying to suppress any more tears. “He still got hurt, though. Peter being my soulmate cost him his life…” you whisper the last word.

May offers a sympathetic smile as she smooths your hair. “You know, people say the reason for soulmates is to be with someone you love forever, but it never takes into account some people’s forever is shorter than others,” she explains. “When Ben died… I was so angry at the world. Why give me this amazing person if I only got them for a short time? Sure, the world can give me another soulmate or something, but it almost defeats the purpose… makes it seem that I had to have this one soulmate before I had to a ‘real’ soulmate. Even after all this time, part of me will always want him…

“But even if Ben isn’t with me forever, I was with him for his forever, and I found a way to be okay with that. I gave him all the love I possibly could have, and I have no doubt in my head that it was worth it.”

You smile and nod at her words, but she could tell you weren’t completely getting the point. “You and Peter are great together, friendship or more. There’s no way he regrets spending his time with you, and I don’t think you do either. The two of you always had something special. Don’t push away from that, even if it might seem easier.”

You find May’s hands and give a firm squeeze, a silent way of saying thanks. For months, you have been trying to go for easy: less drama, fewer risks… but it was still a whole lot of pain. And for what? Never getting to be with your best friend in the way you truly wanted? May made it seem like the choice was obvious, and you wondered if it actually was.

A few quiet minutes pass until Tony Stark steps into the waiting room and approaches the two of you. You and May quickly stand up, waiting for the worst. You already experienced Peter’s “death”, you didn’t need to go through it again, especially if it’s real this time.

“Is he going to be okay?” May quickly asks, hands close to her chest, protecting herself from any hidden blows.

Tony’s mouth tightens before answering. “More or less…” he starts, looking down before continuing. “The wound was deep, and if he couldn’t heal as fast as he could, this would be a different story. However, it was still caused by dangerous, alien hybrid technology and he was already in a rough state prior to the… stab.” He cringes at the word. “Scrapes and bruises, a broken rib, some significant brain injury… Dr. Cho is doing the best she can, but as of right now, he’s in a comatose state.”

You gulp at the news. “So, what does that mean? When will he wake up?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“But- but he will wake up, right?” you clarify.

A pause. Tony’s jaw ticks. His eyes quickly leave you before blinking and meeting yours again, but you notice it. The doubt behind them.

“I don’t know…”

---

It’s almost midnight, which means you’ve spent the whole night worrying.

You were out on the fire escape freezing your ass off. It would only take ten steps maximum to grab something warm, but the bite of the wind kept you alert.

You weren’t going to leave until you knew Peter was safe.

He barely talked to you since this morning. He sat near Ned at lunch instead of you and took different routes to class. You texted him a few times throughout the day, but he never replied.

So, when you sent a message checking in on him with no response back, you weren’t sure if it was him ignoring you or that he was in danger. You let out a sigh of worry as your breath dissolved into the night.

You never realized how nice your view was. The most use your window got was when Peter came in, but that hasn’t happened for months. It’s crazy that you consider that a simpler time in your relationship.

Your ears focus on the sounds of the city. The bustling noises often brought you comfort, knowing that there were thousands of people going through the motions of life. Tonight, however, it sent a feeling of loneliness to your veins. New York kept going on while you were wallowing and worrying. It didn’t need you, even though you needed them.

A sudden urge to cry makes your throat tightens. You really hope that Peter was alright.

When you check the time again, you saw that a new day began. You decide to shove your phone back in your pocket. Watching the clock every ten seconds wasn’t going to help.

You sigh, maybe you’ll feel different today. Maybe you’ll feel warmer because holy shit is it cold outside. At what temperature does hypothermia kick in? That seems like a question to Google, not experiment.

You’re about to turn back when you hear a soft thwip, and a Peter hanging outside down on the stairs. You weren’t too sure how he was feeling at the moment, his covered eyes not giving any hints, but you send a soft smile nonetheless.

“I’m not a damsel in distress if that’s what you’re thinking,” you break the ice.

Peter turns himself right side up, taking a seat on the railing next to you. He pulls his mask off and drops it in his lap, and you can see his face isn’t as icy as this morning. But his mouth was pulled tight, unsure how to go about this.

“I’d consider frostbite to be a crime,” he shrugs. Luckily, you had your window open this whole time. With a quick webshot, Peter sticks and catches the sweater hanging on your chair before offering it to you. “Especially if Spider-Man can stop it.”

You bite your cheek. Part of you didn’t want to give in, but there was no way you could last another minute out here. Slowly, you grabbed your sweater, your fingers grazing the fabric of his suit. A way of saying thank you.

“Slow day?” you ask, pulling the sweater over your head. The extra layer was already warming you up, and your body relaxes a little.

“Well, considering the biggest thing I did today was helping tourists find their way to the subway, I’ll let you figure that out,” he laughs. “Though I suppose some good work is better than no work at all. At least the city knows I’m back.”

Peter realizes that the last sentence wasn’t a good idea, your face slightly dropping at his words. He tries to keep talking in hopes of distracting you. “So uh, any reason why you’re out here tonight?”

“I was waiting for you. Couldn’t sleep until I knew you were safe, I guess.” you sigh, looking back at the skyline. “I also wanted to apologize, for how I reacted. Even if I didn’t agree with you, I could have at least listened to you.”

Peter awkwardly nods, guilt surfacing at your confession. “I mean, I could have done the same thing too. I was so focused on the dumb rumors I let Flash get into my head. That was my first mistake,” he jokes, causing you to snort. “I’m not trying to get into myself into any death matches anytime soon, but I still want to help out, you know?”

“Always the hero… I learned that back in D.C.,” you sigh. “I guess I’m still trying to figure things out. Everything just feels weird right now, and I don’t think I’m making it any easier.”

He doesn’t say anything and faces back toward the city. He takes a breath of the city, smelling the mix of laundry detergent from your apartment basement and the exhaust from the streets.

For all his life, Peter was dedicated to New York. He loved going to the museums with May and Ben; he always tried to pay street performers with whatever spare change he had in his pocket; he rolled his eyes every time someone brought up New Jersey; most importantly, he wouldn’t take off the suit until he knew his home was safe, even if it was almost morning.

He’s done everything he could to protect his neighborhood and the people who need it most, yet he feels… almost distant from it all. As if Peter was trying to find something more to it. A faint memory passes through his head- what did Ben use to say all those years ago? Something like, “home isn’t a place, it’s a feeling”?

Peter’s brain sticks to the thought.

Suddenly, the last month hits him.

“I thought of you,” he starts, still looking out into the night. “When it happened, all I could think about was you.”

Your face softens as the beating of your heart becomes audible.

“I was so… angry about it all. I was so pissed off at myself. Even if I knew that was gonna happen, even if I knew or thought I guess, that that was the end, I was an idiot for not spending my time with you. I should’ve used whatever time I had trying to be something more to you, instead of pushing away what we already had. At least if I did die, I would be at peace with everything,” he chokes up a little at the end. “You’re my best friend, and one that somehow gets me. This place is my home and I’d do anything for it.” He turns his head closer. “But it’s nothing without you. Life feels complicated, it’s always been complicated… but I think it’d be easier if we were in it together.”

You bite your lip and pick at the skin. They’ve been chapped since you came out, but it didn’t stop you from using it to cope with your nerves. Peter was laying it all out on the table, and you were the one left silent.

“You don’t have to tell me why we didn’t kiss, it’s completely understandable if you rather just let it go. I’ve pushed you away too many times, it’s only fair you get to do the same at least once. But I want you to know this.” His eyes were bright under the moonlight.

The last hurrah.

“I would keep you in any possible way I could. I told myself that I need to be able to do what I want, and I want you, for however long I can get you,” he sighs. “If you’re not ready for that, okay. If you never want that- fuck – that’s okay too. I love you. I will always love you,” he says, passion dripping from his words and into your heart. “If you could wait for me, I can wait for you too. Whenever you’re ready, just say when. I don’t care what I’m doing, or where I am, I’m always going to be here with you. Even if you don’t want me, I’ll be here.”

I’ll be here…

+++

It took five days for Peter to wake up.

Five days of nonstop worrying and utter stress. Five days of you traveling to the hospital first thing after school until your parents texted you to come home. Five days of you not sleeping because you were waiting for the call, and you had no idea what to expect when it did.

The first day was somewhat bearable. May and you slept in the waiting room that night, and when you woke up, which was about four hours later, she took you home. Sitting in a sticky, vinyl chair was not helping you, and if May had to wait there for another minute, she was afraid she’d have another meltdown.

You were still a little numb from it all by the time you got back. It wasn’t until almost midnight that you started to realize, oh shit, you don’t know when Peter will wake up. If… he’ll ever wake up.

That first night you cried in your bed until the morning. Your face was swollen for the rest of the day, and when your parents came back on the second day, they were panicking that you had an allergic reaction.

You told May not to tell them. They didn’t need to know, and they didn’t need to coddle and worry about you. May, who didn’t exactly think it was a good idea, reluctantly agreed anyways. So, when your parents were fussing about your appearance, you laughed it off and told them you watched The Notebook the night before with some friends.

It was just easier that way.

The second day was spent with you wallowing in your room, waiting by your phone for something. May told you she would keep you updated and that you shouldn’t worry, which both of you knew was just empty advice. Hearing nothing was just as bad as hearing something.

Later that day, MJ sent a few news articles about the Vulture and his arrest. Apparently, his suit gave out not too long after he left the scene, causing him to suffer some internal injuries and harsh burns. He got caught by Stark Industries and was arrested quickly after, and is currently awaiting trial. It was likely that Adrian Toomes would be under bars for a while, and that brought you both relief and guilt as you tried to sleep.

The third day sent you to school, and at least gave you something to focus on. The tension between you and your friends was palpable, but no one bothered to address it, not sure where to even go. The only mention of that night was with Liz in the hallway before she left, and that was enough for you.

You went back to the hospital on the third day (after telling your parents you were staying at school for newspaper), and though there was nothing new about Peter’s condition, you still wanted to be there just in case. May was too busy with work to come in unless there was an emergency, and you hope that brought her more relief than stress.

You spent your visiting hours watching Peter sleep, or whatever people did when they were in a coma. You at least liked to pretend he was just sleeping, it made you feel better about his chances of waking up.

His face was so pale and frail under the fluorescents, and you wished he could wake up just long enough to get some actual food in him. You hoped he was at least somewhat at peace right now and resting away all of the stress he’s put himself under. The stress that you were also a cause of.

“I’m sorry, Peter. For everything,” you whisper. Even if he could hear you right now, you’re not sure you want him to. You slowly stand up from your chair and step closer to the boy, brushing his curls back. Gently, you lean forward and press a kiss to the top of his head, brushing the area with your thumb afterward. “I hope you’re doing okay…”

The fourth day is mostly the same. After school, you lied to your parents and went straight to the hospital. You quietly worked on homework while sitting next to Peter, glancing at him from time to time and sending his hand a reassuring squeeze every now and then. He looks the same as yesterday, and you’re not too sure if that’s good or not.

“You know he’s not going anywhere,” you hear from the doorway. Their voice was instantly recognizable. “Dr. Cho says he’s doing alright, though. Still don’t know when he’ll wake up, but he’s alright for now.” Tony Stark says.

You scoff. “No offense, but that ‘for now’ part doesn’t seem so reassuring.”

“Fair enough,” he shrugs, taking a seat next to you. “But considering this is probably my fault, I’ll take that over nothing.”

You shake your head. “It’s not your fault. It was bound to happen either way, no matter what you did, it wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“Yeah, that’s what everyone says, isn’t it?” he mumbles.

“Trust me, I actually mean it. If we’re going to put blame on anyone it should be on me… or the universe or whatever.”

Tony tilts his head. “Universe as in…”

“-soulmates, yeah,” you answer. “In our future, we saw each other after the incident, and I thought he died… now here we are.”

“Right, here we are…” he repeats. “They told me someone else was there at the scene when I got to the hospital, but I wasn’t sure who they were referring to until I saw you afterward. Nice to meet officially meet you…”

“Y/N,” you introduce yourself.

Tony nods. “I’m sorry about how all that went down though. I knew the kid wants his identity to be a secret so I tried to keep everything under wraps as much I could.”

“No hard feelings,” you smile. “I was definitely upset at the time, but I could tell you were just as worried as I was. You wanted to protect him… I do too.” You turn and look at Peter, watching his chest go up and down with his breath. “I’d do anything for him.”

You don’t notice Tony’s faint smile as he watches you and Peter. Young love was beyond him, and watching it happen right in front of his eyes was both sweet and nauseating.

“I should be heading back, I only came here for a quick check-in. Still have some loose ends to tie up regarding press, but nothing to worry about.” He stands up, straightening his jacket. “Glad we got a chance to chat.”

“Me too.” You watch as he walks away, words still at the tip of your tongue. “For what it’s worth Mr. Stark,” you begin, gaining his attention again. “Peter is the type of person who would do anything to save people. He looks out for his family, his friends, me… I can’t imagine someone who’s more of a hero than him, and that includes the Avengers. No offense,” you half-joke. “Whatever you decide to do with him, I hope you give him another chance. He’s really amazing- powers or not.”

He nods, impressed at your words. Tony doesn’t say anything, choosing to offer you a smile before turning away, leaving you and Peter alone. You don’t stay much longer after he leaves, and you follow yesterday’s routine of kissing Peter’s head before heading out.

The fifth day is rainy, perfect to match your somber mood. School decided that today would be a great day to kick your ass and give you tons of homework, even though finals week was already fast approaching. You also forgot an umbrella this morning, and your clothes were still damp from your walk from the subway station. For the cherry on top, no one has had any updates on Peter since he went under, and your hope was starting to falter.

Without thinking, you took Peter’s hands in yours and started to fidget around with his fingers. The cuts on his knuckles were turning pink and gradually healing, while the calluses on his palms were still evident. Much of the skin around his joints were rough, but it meshed so well with the smoothness around it. You were never touchy with other people, but you desperately wanted Peter to squeeze your hands back. At least show some indication that everything was going to be okay.

When you actually felt a squeeze, you almost couldn’t believe it.

You straighten in your chair and turn your head up. A slow flutter of the eyes and a twitch of the lips make your body tense in anticipation. Is he…?

“Peter?” you whisper.

A quiet groan escapes his mouth as Peter’s eyes gently open, taking in the bright lights. You sigh in relief and blink away at the tears trying to come. This better not be a dream.

“Y/N?” he asks, voice dry and scratchy.

“Oh jeez, maybe don’t talk yet. I’ll go grab you some water and tell the nurses you’re up, okay?” you loosen your grip on Peter’s hands, but he squeezes again.

His head does the tiniest shake as he stares down, watching where your fingers touch his. “Stay. They’ll figure it out.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “Fine,” you give in. You’ll be out of here soon enough when they find out, and you wanted to spend time with the boy who came back from the dead. “If I get in trouble though, you cannot play the ‘sick patient’ card.”

Peter lets out a gravelly laugh, his body still trying to figure out how to be awake. “I’ll try my best…” he mumbles.

“You’ll try your best? Seriously?” you scoff. “You finally wake up and your first words are some half-ass promise?”

He takes a deep inhale, both humored and annoyed at your teasing. “Fine. I promise I won’t… as long as you promise to be here.”

You smile at his quiet words, taking his knuckle and forcing his pinkie finger up. You gently wrap yours around it, looking him dead in his tired eyes. “I promise I’ll be here,” you whisper.

”I’ll always be here…”

---

A month ago, you promised Peter that exact same thing, and it feels like you already broke that promise. The world has offered you a second chance, and you were doing the same thing Peter did the first time: pushing away out of fear. Could you really waste another five months doing that again?

Could your heart handle that?

“Sorry if I made you uncomfortable or something,” Peter stammers. “If you need some time alone, that’s cool,” he offers, fumbling to put his mask back on.

“-Peter, wait.”

He immediately freezes, looking at you with wide eyes. The wind was starting to pick up, and his curls gently blew in the breeze. The dry air irritates his lips as he picks at it, waiting for your next response.

You move closer to him, inch by inch on the railing; your hands are almost touching, your pinkie desperately wanting to link with his gloved one. You take a deep breath and let it trap in your chest as you stare at the boy in front of you.

Peter Parker.

Spider-Man.

Your soulmate.

But most importantly, your best friend.

The wind moves through your hair and chills your body, yet it jumpstarts every nerve in your system. Peter was alive; you were alive; and fuck, was it a good feeling.

You wanted more, so you leaned in. Your nose touched Peter’s and your mouths closed the gap. A small, innocent kiss to tell him you want more, and that it was his call to keep going. When you stop, and Peter realizes that yes, you did just kiss him, he comes back for more. And he’s not looking to stop anytime soon.

His hand lets go of the railing and wraps around the small of your back, keeping you close and balanced. He keeps the other one gripped tight to the metal; he doesn’t trust himself to not get dizzy from you.

You cradle Peter’s face and deepen yourself into his presence. Your heart is hammering against your chest and you love it. It makes your body heat up and radiates the air around you. You hum against his mouth as you suck on his bottom lip, making Peter whine at the feeling. Your sweater rides up as you press yourself closer, and his thumb draws circles on the exposed skin. The small action makes you smile; you were only half-sure you weren’t crying at the amount of love that was running through your veins.

It seems like forever until you two are pulling away, absolutely blissed out and breathless. Neither of you go that far, faces still just a space or two away.

You look into Peter’s glassy eyes. If something were to happen to him, if you had to say goodbye to him in the worst way possible, if you had to grieve for a lifetime in order to move on, if you had to spend every day thinking of him and crying until your face was red and dry…

It was worth it. You were grateful to be loved by Peter Parker.

You catch your breath and take a slow inhale. It smells like cedarwood. Home.

You lean forward again and Peter meets you halfway. Your lips are just touching when you whisper into his mouth his new favorite word.

“When.”

Part 4 / Masterlist

Taglist: @eridanuswave @spideylovin @mktravelbuggie @bintfalastin8 @runway-to-my-aid @selfcarecap @peterbenjiparker

#tom holland #peter parker #peter parker x reader #Peter Parker fluff #peter parker fanfiction #Peter Parker angst #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader smut #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #Peter Parker fanfiction #five months #Peter Parker imagine #spider man fanfic #marvel imagine #marvel #Tom holland x reader #Peter Parker series

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once-upon-a-scenario · 3 years

Text

Pretend: Overhaul/reader (Part 1)

You grew up with Chisaki Kai. Your duty is to protect and serve and care for him. You’re closer to him than anybody else in the Shie Hassaikai. The paradox is that sometimes- or maybe since forever ago- you feel as if you barely know him at all. (You still remember being overhauled.) (Part 2 coming...sometime! lol EDIT: Part 2!) Warning: child abuse, abusive/dysfunctional relationships in general, violence, Chisaki Kai is his own warning, references to the Overhaul quirk and its gorier aspects Gosh it has been *so long* since I posted anything??? Thanks so much to anybody who’s still hanging around on this blog;;; feast your eyes on this bad boy tho, I’ve been working on it since literally last year and almost deleted it several times but couldn’t bring myself to! Here’s to hoping I actually finish it this time :,) This fic is also on the darker side of the things I upload on this blog sooo pls do heed the warnings and read at your own risk ;-; -Mod Eve ______ “This is Kai.” The old man’s hand is warm and heavy on your shoulder. “I hope you both get along. Kai- be good to our new family.” You like the old man, the ‘’boss.’’ You haven’t been cold since he took you in. Hunger has become a temporary, rather than a constant thing, and you feel safe, there in the midst of these people with tattooed skin and sharp, strong gazes. But this boy has cold eyes. He stares at you long and hard with them as he nods, silent and unyielding. You shiver instinctively, leaning back into the shadows of the boss’ big, black coat. You do not want to get along with Kai.

__________ Kai is a strange boy. He looks at everybody as if he hates them- everybody except for the boss. He doesn’t talk much. He hates being touched. He scares you, a little, but you learn to stop flinching. Both of you want to please the boss, and the boss wants you to get along. So you do just that. You fold origami together (Kai sits and watches you make clumsy cranes and airplanes, occasionally speaking up to tell you that your corners are mismatched or that he thinks you’ve forgotten a step). You eat meals together (egg rolls are the only thing Kai eats any more than a few mouthfuls of so you give him yours; you’re supposed to be friends and that’s what friends do). You sleep on opposite sides of the same big, bare room (empty on Kai’s side because clutter makes him nervous, compromised on your side because he is also supposed to be considerate towards you). You grow together, centimeters adding up on top of centimeters over weeks, months, years, marking off your heights on the bedroom wall with a pen. Kai grows tall, lanky, pale and golden-eyed, all glass-cut chin and cold charisma. At some point, you get separate rooms, and then you see less of each other. He still scares you, in a sense. He’s always been weird, always kind of paranoid and mean and distant. In all your years of sharing a room and a childhood, you’ve never once touched him. You imagine his skin must feel cold. But cold or warm, cruel or kind, to all intents and purposes- you’re still family. You still offer him your egg rolls at mealtimes. When he visits your room, he tolerates the occasional mess. You can get along, you tell yourself, as the boss smiles at the both you through a wrinkled, careworn mouth. After all, you reflect, it’s not so hard. You can play pretend. _____ By the time Eri arrives, you’ve been playing pretend for far too long. She’s small- painfully so. Small and frightened as she curls into her blankets, eyes wide, lips trembling, the small horn peeking out of her long white hair like a tumor. Boss doesn’t often give direct orders; not to you and Kai, anyway. You’re aware that for children of the yakuza, you’ve both been dreadfully coddled. It’s all out of the goodness of the old man’s heart. Until the day he dies, he only ever enforces two orders on you. One, is that you get along with Kai. Two, is that you protect Eri. You remember being hungry, once upon a time. Hungry and cold with nowhere to go and no one to turn to. There’s an old throb in the pit of your stomach whenever you think of it, of the starvation and pain burning at your nerve endings from the inside out. You never asked to be abandoned. No child ever does. Rule number two isn’t really an order; you choose Eri, choose to love her and cherish her. It’s what the boss did for you. It’s what any child deserves. (You don’t like the way Kai looks at her.) _____ Kai has plans. You are aware of this. He’s smart and good at most things he puts his mind to; it’s why the yakuza respects him, and why you tend to trust his plans, even when you don’t particularly want to. The tired lines on the boss’ face bother you. It’s concerning, the way he often asks for you nowadays, calls you his study only to have you sit and play with Eri, watching the two of you as if he has something to say but doesn’t quite dare to. In the end, he only sighs and thanks you for sparing some time for his granddaughter. That’s nothing, you want to say, you’d do that any day, because the boss is your family and you’ve promised yourself to protect Eri, but the words die in your mouth. You wonder why Kai is never invited to these meetings. Then again, Kai is in charge of managing Eri’s quirk, so maybe he deserves a break from playtime. Time passes, and the white in the boss’ hair grows more pronounced. He begins to struggle, to grow more and more tired, the lines deepening in his forehead like furrows in a field. One late night, after dinner, he gazes at you calmly from over the desert- a slice of vanilla cake that he’s barely touched. His large, wrinkled hand rests gently on his granddaughter’s head. “Take care of her,” he tells you quietly. “Protect her. No matter what happens. That’s all I would ask of you.” You want to ask why he looks so grim, what it is you would need to protect her from, but the boss’ voice drifts off and he bows his head. He suddenly looks very small. “And thank you for your kindness towards Kai. You’ve done much for the boy. I fear, sometimes…” What he fears, you never learn, because he falls silent without finishing the sentence. “I will,” you reassure him, desperate to lift a bit of the burden that seems to rest on his broad, black-clad shoulders; gone are the days when you were still small enough to hide in the folds of his coat. You’ve got to be braver now, show him that all the trust and care he’s given you were not in vain. “I swear. Eri will always be safe with me. And I’ll take care of Kai, too.” This is the last conversation you have with him. ____ Kai calls you to his room the day after the boss falls unconscious. His golden eyes bore into yours and you feel the familiar chill run down your spine. “I’m in charge now,” he says, voice perfectly even behind the black mask that covers his mouth. “I hope that my position doesn’t change things between us. We’re still friends, aren’t we?” Despite all your years of friendship, you still can’t read Kai- it’s strange, to you, the way he spent the entirety of last night downstairs by the boss’ bed, but now talks about his promotion as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Then again, he’s always had different ways of expressing himself. Though it needles at you, you remember your promise to the boss- your last promise, the only way you could ever repay him for his kindness- and convince yourself to nod. “Of course. You can count on me.” ____ Not a day after the yakuza gains a new leader, you fail the boss. Eri looks tense as Chrono leads her off, her favorite teddy clutched in one small hand, her little mouth set in a stiff, frowning line. She doesn’t know where she’s going. You don’t know, either. Not really. Kai has a plan. You must trust his plans. You tell this to yourself over and over, the uneasiness creeping into the pit of your stomach as you watch Eri’s small figure disappear around a bend in the corridor. ____ “He wants you in Eri’s room,” Chrono informs you, hours later. “She feels more comfortable with you.” What happened? The words echo in your mind as you find your way down the corridors to the large, whitewashed room where Eri sleeps with her dolls. And there she is, sitting on the bed. There are bandages around her arms and legs and tearstains on her face. What happened? Your heart’s beating so hard you can taste it, the bile bitter on your tongue as you swallow down your panic. What’s going on? But the words won’t come out. Eri looks to Chrono, and then she looks to you. She stretches out her small, bandaged arms for a hug. She still looks halfway to sobbing. And you don’t question it. Not here, not now. You just pick her up and rock her, smoothing a hand through her long, tangled hair and whispering comforting words, because it’s all going to be ok- it must be. Kai has a plan, and you’re supposed to trust him. “It’s just her quirk,” Chrono tells you, which is vague, but that’s fine; you can work with vague for now, the way you always have. You nod in understanding and keep rocking Eri. (Her small body shakes like a leaf in your arms, and though it’s summertime and the room is warm, both her hands and yours are cold as ice.) _____ Eri’s limbs are always bandaged. Whatever Kai does with her, you’re not allowed to see- and this is fine, too, because you’re not a high-ranking member, anyway. Your quirk is weak, simple telekinesis that just about corresponds to your physical strength, and without the boss, you’re just here by virtue of being Kai’s good friend. Because you are good friends, still, even if he always has you off on minor missions and only ever summons you to occasionally babysit Eri. And Eri’s limbs are always bandaged. “Sickness,” is Kai’s cryptic explanation. “A side-effect of her quirk. We’re just trying to save her from herself.” You know Eri’s quirk is dangerous. You know it caused her father’s death and her mother’s abandonment. You suppose it’s a good thing, then, if Kai’s looking for a way to get it under control. “It’s what the boss would have wanted.” And you are very good at playing pretend, have learned how to lie through your teeth since you were old enough to talk, can fool yourself as well as you fool everybody else- It’s what the boss would have wanted, you remind yourself, cradling Eri in your arms as she dozes off. You will get along with Kai, and you will do what is best for this child. Just as you were asked to. “It’s alright,” you whisper, more to yourself than to Eri. She’s already fallen asleep. _____ “See, Eri? The bird goes whoosh!” You snap your fingers with a little more flair than is strictly necessary, and the clumsy paper crane goes zooming around the room. Eri watches with wide, bright eyes and claps her hands in delight. “I wish,” she tells you later that night as you tuck her into bed, quiet and confidential, “I wish I had a nice quirk like yours.” “Thank you.” You smile in spite of yourself. “But Eri-chan, my quirk isn’t very strong, you know?” “But it’s nice,” she repeats, snuggling under the covers, only the top of her horned head peeking out. “It makes things jump and fly. I want a nice quirk like yours.” There’s a strange note in her voice- a strained, sad sound, too sad for such a small girl. It doesn’t sit right with you. There’s something you should say, but you’re not sure what it is. “You’re a good girl, Eri,” you say instead, pressing a kiss to the top of her snowy white head and wrapping your arms around her. “Go to bed now.” “Will you be back soon?” she asks, big eyes already half-closed, the lids weighed down with sleep. “You go on so many missions...” Her voice trails off into nothingness, soft and wistful, another quiet whisper dissipating into the shadows of the whitewashed bedroom. Pity claws at your heart. “I’ll be back soon,” you promise. (This is, of course, a lie.) ____ “Again, Eri?” Kai’s voice is quiet and controlled, laced with paternal disappointment as he looks down at the quivering figure before him. Eri looks at the floor. Her shoulders are shaking. “You should know better by now. Look at how you’ve inconvenienced everybody. Chrono...me...and,” he glances at you sharply. “your dearest friend.” A beat of silence, and with a patter of bare feet against the cold floor, Eri rushes forward and clings to his leg. “I’m sorry,” comes her muffled voice over and over, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I won’t run again...” You watch, and as you are prone to do in Kai’s presence, you shiver. _____ That night, as she’s drifted off to sleep, you shift the bandages on Eri’s wrist. There’s dried blood underneath. No visible wound. You’re no scholar, neither are you a fighter. You know nothing about quirk science. You know even less about Eri’s ability, or how it would affect her. Maybe, maybe this is normal; maybe this is the problem Kai is trying to fix. But there’s a part of you that remembers what it’s like to be overhauled, and that part of you grows cold as you watch the child sleep. _____ (You were about sixteen when you let Kai overhaul you. Just to see what it would feel like. Just to see what he was capable of. Friends help friends practice things like that. You remember the feeling of disintegration, of flesh being pulled from bone and muscles unraveling into strings, veins dissolving around blood which sprayed into the air and your voice dissolving from your lungs with the liquid. Just like that, gone. And just like that, whole again. Kai looked down at you, sixteen himself, eyes golden as the sun and sharp as a knife. He reached out a gloved hand to help you back up. You still have no idea what he was thinking at the time.) _____ Here is a theory: You’re rarely at headquarters because most of the time, Kai doesn’t want you there. You’re told to babysit Eri because you are a rarely-seen prize- a reward for good behavior. Good behavior is when she doesn’t scream. It’s when she doesn’t try to run away. There are a thousand different things she could be running from, but as you sit across from Kai in his office, listening as he lists off your next set of orders, you suspect that the primary one is right here in the room with you. And whatever he’s doing, he doesn’t want you to know. (When things begin to make sense is when you always end up wishing that they never did.) ___ The next time you leave headquarters, you do so with a feeling of dread. Eri watches you go, and for the first time, you recognize the look in her wide eyes as terror. (Like your family once left you, you leave her behind.) ___ This was once home. You pace the floor of your bedroom, back and forth, back and forth, hands cold, heart colder, shoulders shaking. You grew up in this room- in this place. It is home. It was home. Even as you pace, you don’t know, you have no clue, what is happening to Eri? Where is she? What is Kai doing to her? Why, why, why, You remember being overhauled, the bloodstain of your remains sprayed across these very walls. Kai doesn’t want you to know. You are supposed to get along with Kai. You are supposed to protect Eri. Your hands are clammy, ribs constricting around your lungs as you stare up at the ceiling, wondering. The room spins. Your thoughts are screaming. Boss, what have we done to Eri? _____ You strike deals in the dark, fading underbelly of Japan, gathering information and tools, goods for trading, wares the criminals of this country are desperate to get their hands on. It’s all for the sake of the Shie Hassaikai. While you pass drugs to the next sunken-eyed dealer who wants to get their hands on them, you know Eri is with Kai, and your own hands tremble until you almost drop your cargo. (One of your old clients used to tell you, back when you’d just started in the business- “You ain’t cut out for this work, kid. Better run back while you still can.” You didn’t have anywhere to run back to, and when you told him that, his yellow-toothed grin sagged.) There’s a list of solutions in your brain right now- you’re good at solutions, at formulating plans and calculating possibilities. It’s why Kai trusts you with the business side of the Shie Hassaikai. But your list right now consists of dead ends, of a thousand different scenarios that all end in Kai and his molten-sun eyes, his gloved hand reaching towards your face, his quirk coursing through you and taking you apart piece by piece, and maybe this time he won’t put you together again. Not that you’ve ever known him not to- but you are afraid of Kai, and you’ve learned to trust your fear. Sometimes it’s the only thing worth trusting. (If you want to keep Eri alive, you’ll keep playing pretend.) ____ This time, when you return, Kai is there. He asks you to dinner. “Business is going smoothly. You’re doing good work.” His mask is off; it feels like years since the last time you saw him without it, and the face beneath it has changed. The jaw is sharper, the mouth thinner. This is no longer a child’s face, if it ever was at all. Rice sticks like glue in your throat as you reply, “Thank you- you’re too kind.” You hand him your egg rolls. It comes reflexively- he no longer needs you to feed him, and there’s no boss watching over your shoulders to ensure that you play nice with each other. For whatever reason, he accepts them. (It occurs to you that you’ve never known, and still don’t know, whether he actually likes eggs or not. Whether it’s only the rolls that he eats. Whether he eats them because he enjoys the taste or just for the satisfaction of taking something else from you.) “And you’re too formal,” he says, taking a delicate bite. He smiles, a rare expression, and you wonder if you should treasure it. (Rather, you wish he’d stop.) Dinner almost ends on a pleasant note- as pleasant as it gets with Kai nowadays- but it really ends when Chrono bursts in through the doors, announcing tensely that Eri is gone again. Kai stands. You do, too, and follow him as he silently exits the room, praying that he’ll be too late. (He’s not.) But when you hold Eri in your arms that night, soothing her as you rock her back and forth, back and forth, you listen to her whisper in your ear about a boy she met, a boy with big green eyes and freckles all over his face, a boy who held her for a moment without hurting her. The story seems to shine like a floodlight in the darkness. Somebody out there has seen Eri. Somebody out there knows. Somebody out there cares. You don’t generally depend on the charity of your fellow human beings. The Shie Hassaikai taught you better, and so did Kai. But the boss taught you something a little more than either. You rock Eri to sleep and hope beyond hope for a miracle. Let the heroes pull through. Let them save your little girl.

#BNHA #Overhaul #Chisaki Kai #Chisaki Kai x reader #Overhaul x reader #Overhaul x you #gender neutral reader #scenario #Mod Eve #tw abuse #tw child abuse #tw body horror #I guess?#it's mild but it's there #because of Overhaul's quirk #Eri #bnha Eri #overhaul x y/n

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