#Fast Wound Care Solution

[majinbangus]

I literally just wanted a sugar daddy/mama!au. Maybe I'll talk about sugar daddies!141 x sugar baby!reader after this. I am not an expert in sugaring, so bear w me here. readers age is not told either, but i imagine reader to be younger than price.

Times are tough; the 141 need funding the government isn't willing to cough up. Price's solution? Getting them a sugar mama.

-

You never expected your profile to be picked. It was a silly thing you signed up for in a moment of weakness when you were feeling sad and lonely, wallowing after a messy break up. You even forgot about it after a week, throwing yourself in your self-made business, working when you didn't have to, but you needed to bury yourself in it. It's no surprise you forgot all about your little profile, but it is a surprise when you see a missed inquiry from a Mr. John Price about a day old.

Hello, darling. I've never been on this side of the message before, but my boys and I don't have many options, and I needed a solution fast. I saw your profile and I think you'd be a good match for us. We're a package deal, the four of us. You don't have to pay us exactly, we just need some funding for our work. My boys and I are willing to provide you with any type of company you desire. We don't mind sharing and we take care of what's ours. There are other little details we can go more in depth later, although I might not be able to tell you everything. I'd like to hear what you have to say and any questions you may have. Hope to hear from you soon, Capt. John Price

Everything about the message is... strange... to put it kindly, but you can't help but feel this Capt. John Price is being sincere. Maybe that's a naive, lonely part of you that's convincing yourself that the message is real and not some scam. Maybe you're desperate enough to believe someone- four someone's!- actually have an interest in you.

For what you can give them, but you're not entirely innocent either. This Captain Price- you assume he's military- said he and his boys will give you what you need, and if he's a man of his word, maybe they can distract you from all the noise in your head.

You stare at the message. It wouldn't hurt to take a risk, would it? You can always block the man if he ends up being a creep.

It takes you an hour to finally work up the nerve to craft a small message back to the man. It takes less than a minute for him to respond.

Glad to hear from you, darling. I'll tell you everything you need to know.

-

The rules are simple.

You fund them with enough money each month they need it for however long they need, and they'll give you all the companionship you want. Whether that's sexual or not is up to you. It doesn't matter to them, though John informed you that if it is sexual, you would need to discuss any limits with the other men yourself. With him, you got to briefly stutter through your likes and dislikes, and he did the same, after discussing all of the rules and expectations.

You don't know if you should be thankful or not when he listened with such intense focus. Like you were briefing him on a mission or whatever it is captains like him do. It makes you nervous. He makes you nervous. Not quite in a bad way, but you've never done this before. The idea of paying another person, well this task force, in exchange for some company to fill your pathetic void feels kind of... sad.

You almost talk yourself out of this whole crazy thing, but you're also kind of curious what could come of it. If John and his boys will really be able to distract you and make you forget how lonely you are.

Being alone, being lonely, never really bothered you before, but after your last relationship... It opened up some old wounds and this sugar arrangement could be the perfect distraction. If only for a while. You'll take whatever you can get at this point.

You look over the messages John sent you, lingering over the pictures he sent of him and the other three men. Well. Two men. John told you this Simon guy would show you his face himself if he wanted to. You don't know if it's a sexual thing or not or something else entirely. You were too afraid to ask, and you don't really know if you want to know. But the other three are handsome, if the pictures John sent aren't fake.

You're still not entirely sure you should trust him. Trust that you're not gonna get all your money stolen. The site you signed up on is reputable for sugar mamas and sugar babies. You couldn't find a bad review written about it. Only positive testimonies with positive outcomes. That could be suspicious in and of itself. Hopefully, you didn't make a mistake.

John said that he would meet you next week when he had time off. Alone. In a public space, but alone. He said he didn't want the boys to overwhelm you, and you're grateful for his consideration because you would have been overwhelmed if you met all of them at once.

You still have time to cancel, if the nerves get to you and you chicken out. John even told you you could back out any time you wanted. But. You want to do something different. You need to do something different. Get yourself out of your head and focus on anything else that doesn't make your mind feel like static.

These men can help with that. This'll be good for you. Probably.

As long as this doesn't end up with you mysteriously disappearing or getting murdered, you'll be content with whatever happens. Besides, it's good to do something out of your comfort zone, and what better way than becoming a sugar mama to four military men who can give you all the company and care you could ever want? Hell, that sounds weird to think about.

There are still little things you have to work around, such as their schedules, but John promised that at least one of them would always come when you called. Already, that gives you more comfort than he could ever know, and perhaps that's foolish of you, but it truly meant a lot when he told you that.

You scroll down to the last message John sent and feel something in your gut flutter.

Can't wait to meet you, Mama.

-

this might an anthology of sorts. maybe have some loose plot to it. idk.

[satorusugurugurl]

The idea of yandere gojo and geto (both at the same time) plotting against their darling reader using geto's cursed spirits to make her on them gets my mind reeling for nights 👀 wonder if my favorite writer has any thoughts on this

Perfect Prey

Characters: Yadere!Geto Suguru, Yadere!Gojo Satoru,FAB!Reader

Warnings: yandere!Geto/Gojo, manipulation, dub! con read is unaware that the boys are manipulating her! (consent is vital for me!!) double penetration, smut, mentions of wounds, cursing

Word Count: 3,404

A/N: Ah! thank you Nonnie! This made me smile! Oooh, this, this was fun. I loved getting into this! I hope y’all enjoy it!! (I really enjoyed writing for Suguru 🥵)

“I finally got my own mission!” Geto and Gojo glanced up at you as you proudly walked into the first-year's classroom. “Took years, but I think they finally realized I’m fully capable of destroying a curse or two by myself!”

Geto gave you a warm smile, resting his chin on his fist. “Is that so? Funny, I thought we made it clear one of us was supposed to accompany you on any mission.” He shut his eyes, tilting his head slightly to the side.



“Oh, that’s a good one, Suguru!” You excitedly plopped down on Gojo’s desk, kicking your feet back and forth. “All jokes aside, they did want to send one of you with me.”

“Wanted to send one of us?” Satoru questioned, dipping his chin to watch you.

The two men watched you closely as your pretty head nodded. “Yaga said,” you tilted your chin at Satoru, “You were assigned to come with me, Satoru. But seeing as you just returned from your mission, I insisted that I could handle a couple of curses on my own.” Gojo scoffed, his head turning to give Suguru a look of disbelief. “Oh, don't look at him like that!” Sure, the duo were best friends, but their silent communication between stolen glances made you feel left out.

“I don't think me coming back from a mission, which I handled easily because I’m Gojo Satoru, of course. Means I can't come with you. They assigned us this together.” The white-haired man’s time was thick with annoyance. “For a specific reason, I’m assuming.”

You cocked an eyebrow, eyes darting between the two men. “Why would the Gojo Satoru be needed to exorcise a handful of low-grade curses?” Looking at Gojo, you could almost hear the wheels turning in his head. “You know what—why do they even send you both you're Special-grades?” Before you could question them, Geto chuckled, soft and rich.

“Ignore Satoru; he’s just being clingy. Congratulations on your first solo mission.” Pride swelled in your chest at his acknowledgment. You happily kicked your feet faster as Geto reached over, ruffling your hair. “Just promise to be careful, and if you need any help, please know we’re but a phone call away.”

“Thank you.” The condescending tone of your voice has Satoru clenching his jaw. “I’ll get this mission done so fast, you won't even notice I’m gone!”

Geto pulled his hand back, nodding, dark hair swaying as you slid off the seal. “Be safe; we’ll see you at home.”

“I will! See you both later!”

Geto smiled, waving until the door shut, and he could no longer hear your footsteps down the hall. The instant he was confident that you weren't around, his smile fell, eyes narrowed at the door. Gojo was fuming, pulling his blindfold down, letting it pool around his neck. Between the two men, their anger could freeze Hell over.

“This is problematic.” Geto rubbed at the pulsing sensation in his temple.

“Problematic? No, this is a disaster if she gets through this mission, which we know she will! She's going to get more solo missions. Solo missions turn into group missions, with other sorcerers, other men.”

“And we can't have that. No one is good enough to protect her, let alone breathe the same air.”

Gojo sat on the edge of the desk, watching as his best friend tapped his thumb against the center of his forehead. Between the two of them, they would find a way to fix this sticky situation. Their solution had to be clean. They couldn’t have you finding out that they were the ones responsible for your lack of solo missions. The two pulled strings to ensure you were always with them.

Some might call them possessive and obsessive. But they didn't see it like that. They just knew no one on the face of the planet would ever be good enough for you. You were their darling little princess. The keywords are theirs and theirs alone.

“We could tell Yaga to pull her off, tell a white lie like maybe she changed her mind.”

“No, no, that would look suspicious. She went through all the trouble, convincing him to let her go alone. After all that, for us to ask that, she would start asking questions. We can’t have her knowing we’re responsible for her lack of solo missions.”

“Okay, do you have any ideas?” When Geto said nothing, Gojo sighed, exasperated, feeling Geto’s eyes on him. “It would be easier if we showed her how ‘dangerous’ these solo missions can be.”

A lightbulb went off in Geto’s mind. “Satoru~” he purred, “that’s a brilliant idea.” The other man furrowed crisp white brows in confusion. “She thinks it’s just a handful of curses, right?”

“Yeah?”

“It would be a shame if there were more curses than she could handle,” Geto smirked, specks of black forming behind his shoulder, his curses coming to life, revealing his intentions.

Satoru grinned wide with a sharp laugh. “That truly would be a shame, wouldn’t it? Poor sweetheart will have to call us to help.” Geto nodded, motioning for Satoru to follow.

“Come on, we got shit to do.”

Later that night, you were scrambling off the ground, wincing as the fifteen curses chased you around the corner of the abandoned building. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” You screamed, palms bleeding, knees scraped up as you stumbled back to your feet, barely avoiding the sharp teeth of the curse behind you.

This was supposed to be a simple job! One where there would be maybe two or three curses to take out! Three were okay! You were able to handle that on your own. But after you took them out, you suddenly found yourself surrounded by dozens of curses. All of them ranged from different grades, from four to two, but a couple gave off a darker presence, possibly special grades, which was not good.

How the hell did three curses turn into three dozen?! How could the intel be so off?! And how the hell were you going to get out of this?!

A low snarling snapped you out of your frantic thoughts before the curse in front of you swiped at your stomach with very long and very sharp claws. You dodged, falling back onto the ground, watching it close in on you. This was not good, not in the slightest, and it didn’t help that you were all alone!

Scrambling back, you pushed yourself off the ground, ducking into a room, slamming the door. “Goddamn, fuck me.” Pulling your phone out of your pocket, you called the two strongest men of the modern age. Sure, there was a one hundred and fifty percent chance they'd boast about how they were right, how you needed to listen to them, but that didn’t matter right now! “Pick up! Pick up, pick up!”

The phone rang and rang and rang. Just when you thought it would go to voicemail, the line clicked. Gojo yawned on the other line without a care in the world. “Hello~?” He cooed, listening to the raspy breathing.

“Satoru!” You gulped down breaths of air. “Toru, I need help!” You screamed as a curse slammed against the door.

Gojo covered the receiver, snickering as Geto eyed the building you were in. “What was that? You need our help?”

“Yes!” you cried out, “Satoru! Please help!!”

“Are you sure? I mean, I am considered a Special Grade; low-grade curses are something I shouldn’t worry about, right?”

Geto’s curse smashed through the door, dashing at you. He swore he could hear your scream through Satoru’s phone. His poor princess is getting chased around by his curses. This could have been easily avoided if you didn’t insist on taking on this mission alone. Unfortunately for you, the choices you made led to this outcome.

Your heart was hammering against your rib cage as you slipped and maneuvered around the curses slowly surrounding you. This was way out of your league, and you were beginning to regret now bringing one of the boys with you. Plus, Satoru wouldn’t drop everything and come running to your rescue, not after everything you’d said earlier.

“Toru, please.” Pleading was something you rarely did, but Satoru’s ego had been bruised, so you had to do what needed to be done. “Please, I'm begging you.”

Both Gojo and Geto exchanged a look with each other. “You beg so nicely,” Satoru commented, listening to a loud crashing sound followed by your curse. “I suppose I could come, maybe bring Suguru too.”

“Y-Yes! Yes, please!”

“On one condition.”

Despite the fact dozens of curses were chasing you, you stopped dead in your tracks. “Condition?! What fuckin’ condition?!”

“You never take a solo mission again.”

After this endeavor, he didn’t even have to ask you to do that. “Y-Yes! I agree. Just fucking hurry!” In the blink of an eye, the tall white-haired man teleported before you with Geto by his side. The curse that had been charging at you slammed hard against Gojo’s infinity before being forced back as the white-haired man stepped forward.

You fell to your knees, panting heavily as Geto peered down at you from over his shoulder. “Are you alright?” You just nodded your head, glancing down at your bleeding hands. “You don’t look alright.” You could smell the woodsy musk

as Geto knelt in front of you. “Give me.” He gently grabbed your hand, examining the scraps on the heels of your hand.

”Tsk, tsk, tsk.” Gojo chastised as he grabbed you and Geo, teleporting the three of you back to their apartment. “Guess your first solo mission didn’t quite go as well as you planned now, did it?”

There was no retort or sharp comeback because he was right. Even if the intel had been wrong, you couldn't handle this mission on your own. You had failed after you insisted that you could handle this mission without any hiccups. Now, that confidence was replaced with shame and disbelief. You had to call on your colleagues for assistance. After they warned you that this is something you wouldn’t be able to handle.

The two men who had orchestrated this scheme watched you with unreadable expressions—on the outside, their demeanor seemed unnerved, while on the inside, they were swelling with pride and excitement. Seeing you so distraught and broken had their pants tightening at the almost broken, blank look in your eyes.

“Oh, don’t be embarrassed,” Suguru announced, lifting you and ushering you towards the bathroom. “There’s nothing to be ashamed about. You’re not the only sorcerer who isn't capable of handling three dozen cursed spirits on their own. Not everyone is as strong as Satoru and I.”

Suguru moves to the shower, turning it on as you remain still, the events of the evening replaying over in your mind. “Suguru’s right. Not everyone would have handled a situation like that. You should be grateful, though. You’re lucky enough to have us willing to come to your beck and call.” Satoru is moving in front of you, holding your hands over the sink, running hot water over the wounds. “If we hadn’t shown up when we did, you could have died.” The truth of his words had your head jerking up, meeting crystalline eyes.

“I-I could have died.” The monotone repetition of his own words had Satoru’s cock throbbing at the broken throaty words that left your mouth.

“You could have.” He agreed, pressing his lips against your neck. “But you didn’t because we saved you.”

“I-I know.” You whispered as Geto joined your side. “You saved me.”

Hands, hot and rough, ran over the mounds of your breasts, gripping your hips, manhandling you in ways they had done in the past. There had been nights when the three of you had been so bored you just decided to hook up or when they just needed a little stress relief. This time, however, felt monumentally different. Like they were holding their breath, holding themselves back. Their stoic bodies jittered with anticipation, waiting to see what happened next.

To you, it was them being pent up, maybe the adrenaline rushing through their systems. Because if you were being honest with yourself, you felt just as pent up. Almost dying had you wanting to cave into your raw human desires. While the men standing on either side of you shared one of their infamous knowing glances. They weren’t driven by the adrenaline and passion of what had happened. Not in the slightest. No, their desire was driven by pure, unfiltered joy.

They finally had you right where they wanted you. Broken. You had lost a fight you knew you could have won. Due to them, your confidence in your abilities was clouded by a fabricated series of events.

First, you’d be broken, not taking missions alone any further. The next phase would be to distance you from the school slowly. Trying to convince you that you didn’t need to worry about working, the two made more than enough money to provide for the three of you. If all went according to plan, you would be their perfect little live-in girlfriend in no time.

What made all of this ten times better was the fact that you had no idea tonight's events had left you in their web of lust and desire. They were the spiders, and you were the poor innocent fly—a fly about to be devoured in the most primal ways imagined.

“Thank you for saving me.”

”Nu-uh.”

“We did save you, so you need to thank us properly.”

The men pressed lips against you, hands trailing over your body. You melted against them, gasping as hands cupped your breasts, hard cocks rubbing against your hips as they ground against you. They did save you, didn’t they? They went above and beyond to stop what they were doing and come to your aid.

“Y-Yeah, I think I will.” You whispered, turning to kiss each man on the mouth before sinking to your knees. “Please, let me thank you.”

Two thick long cock were suddenly in your face, throbbing and leaking pre-cum from angry, flushed tips. Seeing as your hands were scrapped up and ran, you took turns sucking and licking each man's cock, while they jerked off. Your tongue flicked, swirled, and lapped the two cocks, until their cum spurted over your face coating your lips and cheeks. Your appreciation didn’t stop there. You pulled both fully clothed men into the shower with you, tugging their clothes off and discarding them over the shower door.

Satoru and Suguru both help you, lifting you, your legs wrapping around Satoru’s waist as Geto’s wet, chiseled chest pressed firmly over your back. Both cock’s teased your wet cunt’s entrance, rubbing over against each other as you whined softly, tilting your head back. Their cocks both pressed past the tight opening of your pussy, stretching your walls in a painful yet pleasurable way, leaving your cock drunk the deeper they sunk into your wet heat.

A minute was all they allowed you to take to attempt to adjust yourself to the sensation of having two cocks buried inside of you. They were bullying inside of you. Satoru’s cock kissed your cervix with each thrust, While Suguru rubbed against your g-spot in the most heavenly way. Perhaps if you had been a good girl and just left everything as it was, they would have taken it easier on you. Regretfully, in their eyes, you had almost ruined their carefully constructed ploy to make you theirs in every sense of the word. Due to that, you were going to be punished severely.

Their thrusts were hard, deep, and almost painful. Fucking into you as if you were just a sex toy rather than a human being. Satoru’s teeth dug painfully into your shoulder, leaving indentations in his wake. Suguru’s mouth trailed kissed over the nap of your neck, mouth gentler than Satoru but his hands were as cruel as the white-haired man's. He pinched and pulled at your nipples, yanking them until you cried out his name before releasing his grip. The relief never lasted long; as soon as the dull, stinging sensation subsided, Suguru returned to the painful teasing.

The kisses, touch, and thrusts weren’t the only way they were mean to you. Their words stung just as bad as the scrapes on your hands and the abrasions to your knees. If you hadn’t been crying from the mere overstimulation of pained pleasure, their words might have had your eyes watering just as much.

”Our stupid dirty slut, getting herself into such a fucked up me.”

”Yes, dragging us both out to save her.”

“Then, on top of everything we did. Going out of our way to save her after she blatantly told us she was fine, she still gets fucked good like the whore that she is.”

”Yeah, she might not be able to take on a cursed spirit, but she’s sure good at taking two dicks at the same time.”

Their words had your skin flushing in shame and need, your mouth dropping into an ‘O’ as the abdomen in your lower abdomen started to tighten. “Oooh, fuk, please, ha—ah fuuck.” You were so close, so damn close to either passing out or having the most intense orgasm of your life. If you were lucky, which didn’t seem likely after all the mishaps today, maybe, just maybe, you could experience both. “G-Gonna cum, please.”

”You hear that Satoru, our little cock slut wants to cum.”

Satoru’s hips began to jerk faster, the head of his cock slamming into your cervix thrust after thrust. “Does she even deserve it?” He continued, leaving pain over your skin, his tongue brushing over the marks.

“P-Please, oooh god, please don’t tease”

“Hm, what do you say, Suguru? Nngh fuck—“ Satoru hammered his hips into you, thrust after thrust, drawing you closer and closer to the edge. “Should our precious girl cum?”

“Aaahh yes~ let her cum, make her take both our loads, then once she catches her breath, we fuck her even more.”

Reaching between your bodies, Satoru rubbed your clit, making your walls twitch around the two monster cocks inside of you. Their pace matches the others, working in harmony to send you over the edge. A scream, one that had never left you before, echoes inside the steamy shower. “C-Cummin! Cumming!” You screamed over and over until both of you stiffened, ropes of thick hot cum filling you.

“Take it bitch, take every last drop, milk me dry.” Satoru was always more vocal, nipping and sucking at your ear as his whiny groans invaded your mind.

“P-Princess, mmmhm, fuuuck.” Unlike Satoru, who was all about talking and heaving his voice, Suguru was softer, moans deep and feral, but he didn’t feel the need to announce it to the entire apartment complex. “Fillin’ you up so good~”

They both did; their hot cum leaked out of you, running down their softening shafts. In the shower, you hummed, listening to the tittering splatter in the water washing over you. The peaceful moment lasted for but a second as both men pressed kisses on your shoulder.

“You belong to us.”

“Do you understand?”

As their wandering hand dug into your skin, you nodded. Rocking slightly against them with a helpless whine. “Yes, yeah, I belong to you both!” The two friends shared a cold, knowing smirk as you began thrusting into you harder, making your eyes roll back into your head as loud moans wrecked through you. Little did you know how serious they both were.

You belonged to them in every way, shape, and form, whether you liked it or not.

[truevedicastrology]

Your Emotional Superpower 🌙

Your Moon sign reveals your inner world, emotional needs, and instinctive reactions. Discover your lunar superpower

♈ Aries Moon:

Lightning-fast emotional processing ⚡

Courageous in facing feelings 🦸‍♀️

Passion that ignites inspiration 🔥

Emotional honesty and directness 🎯

Resilience that bounces back quickly 🦘

Enthusiasm that lifts others 🎈

Instinctive leadership in crises 🚀

♉ Taurus Moon:

Emotional steadiness like a mountain 🏔️

Comfort-seeking nature 🛋️

Deep appreciation for beauty 🌹

Patience that weathers any storm ⛈️

Loyalty that lasts a lifetime 🤝

Grounding presence for others 🌳

Ability to find joy in simple pleasures 🍓

♊ Gemini Moon:

Emotional flexibility and adaptability 🦎

Quick-witted responses to feelings 🧠

Curiosity about emotional experiences 🔍

Skill in articulating complex emotions 🗣️

Youthful spirit that uplifts 🎈

Ability to see multiple perspectives 👀

Emotional intelligence and communication 📞

♋ Cancer Moon:

Intuitive understanding of others 🔮

Nurturing nature that comforts all 🤗

Deep emotional memory 📚

Protective instincts for loved ones 🛡️

Ability to create a sense of home anywhere 🏡

Empathy that heals wounds 🩹

Emotional depth like the ocean 🌊

♌ Leo Moon:

Warmth that brightens any room ☀️

Generous heart full of love ❤️

Dramatic expression of feelings 🎭

Natural ability to uplift others 🎉

Confidence in emotional authenticity 💪

Loyalty that stands the test of time 👑

Creativity in emotional expression 🎨

♍ Virgo Moon:

Analytical approach to emotions 🔬

Ability to find practical solutions to feelings 🛠️

Attention to emotional details others miss 🔍

Desire to be of service when others are down 🤲

Skill in emotional problem-solving ���

Modest but deep feelings 🌱

Perfectionism in emotional care 💯

♎ Libra Moon:

Diplomatic handling of emotional conflicts ⚖️

Charm that soothes ruffled feelings 💫

Desire for emotional harmony 🕊️

Ability to see all sides of an emotional issue 👁️

Natural mediator in disputes 🤝

Appreciation for emotional aesthetics 🎭

Romantic approach to life and love 💖

♏ Scorpio Moon:

Emotional intensity that transforms 🦋

Ability to dive deep into feelings 🏊‍♀️

Intuitive understanding of hidden emotions 🕵️‍♀️

Passionate approach to emotional life ❤️‍🔥

Resilience through emotional extremes 💪

Loyalty that borders on possessiveness 🔒

Power to emotionally renew and rebuild 🏗️

♐ Sagittarius Moon:

Optimism that brightens dark moods 🌞

Philosophical approach to emotions 🧘‍♀️

Adventurous spirit in emotional exploration 🗺️

Honest expression of feelings 📣

Ability to find humor in emotional situations 😂

Freedom-loving emotional nature 🦅

Inspiring enthusiasm for life's journey 🚀

♑ Capricorn Moon:

Emotional self-control and maturity 🧘‍♂️

Responsible approach to feelings 📊

Ability to stay calm in emotional storms ⛈️

Determination to overcome emotional challenges 🏔️

Practical wisdom in handling emotions 🦉

Long-term emotional planning 🗓️

Quiet strength that others rely on �oak

♒ Aquarius Moon:

Unique and unconventional emotional style 🦄

Ability to detach and analyze feelings 🔬

Humanitarian approach to emotions 🌍

Innovative solutions to emotional problems 💡

Friendship-oriented emotional needs 👥

Open-mindedness to new emotional experiences 🌈

Visionary emotional intelligence 🔮

♓ Pisces Moon:

Boundless empathy and compassion 🌊

Intuitive understanding of others' feelings 🐬

Artistic expression of emotions 🎨

Ability to emotionally merge with surroundings 🌌

Dreamy and imaginative emotional life 💭

Spiritual approach to feelings 🕯️

Healing presence for others' emotional pain 🌿

[ponderingmoonlight]

JJK men after hurting (y/n)

Pairing: Choso x reader; Gojo x reader

Word Count: 4,7k (Gojo's part is huge)

Warnings: this is drama over drama so be prepared, injury in Choso's part, mentioned pregnancy and breakup in Gojo's part, also Geto is an a-hole in here and it isn't 100% accurate to the original story-timeline, it's getting veeeery heated my lovelys, but also comfort but mostly hurt

As usual, I am very thankful for every little like, comment or reblog (thank you anon hehe). Let me know what you think of this, I literally poured my heart and soul into these two parts <3

Tags: @sanicsmut I just know you'll like this girl, @chilichopsticks

Choso Kamo

„(y/n), this is nothing I will discuss with you right now. Just stay here.”

“I can’t let you kill him, this isn’t right. His death won’t bring back your brothers!”, you shout urgently, hands desperately trying to keep him from walking away.

“I always appreciate your opinion and support. But this is something I have to do for myself. Don’t get in the way.”

With one last glance back he’s gone, lost in the neon signs around you, shadow immerged into darkness.

Your brain goes into panic mode immediately, palms sweaty just by the thought of him haunting that boy down. How strange it is that you are able to call Choso your boyfriend. Choso Kamo, a reincarnated curse that is over 150 years old. Choso Kamo, who seems cold-hearted to people when he first meets them. Choso Kamo, who loves his family more than anything else.

You know this isn’t him, that killing Yuji Itadori is nothing but an act of revenge for him that he hopes will make him feel better.

“But how does killing someone else solve your problems?”

He never answered this question. He didn’t have to, given the fact that he just stared at you with furious eyes. You know all too well how it broke him to lose his brothers through the hands of some random jujutsu sorcerers. Fuck, you were just as heartbroken as he was. But if revenge is the only solution, wouldn’t this little game go on to infinity?

This isn’t the way, this isn’t the man you love. And you won’t let him go berserk only to regret what he did later on.

There is only one thing you can you now.

Your feet start moving on their own, following his shadow through the dark hallways of Shibuya’s train station. You aren’t a very gifted jujutsu sorcerer, maybe a grade 2 in sorcerer terms. But maybe your presence will be enough to stop him. Maybe his love is greater than the hatred he carries in his heart for that Idadori boy.

After all, it is a miracle in itself that he really loves you, a human being. Instead of killing you right on the spot he decided to safe you and even take care of your multiple wounds back then when you first met. You are not only hopelessly in love with him, but owe him his life. It’s time for you to give something back.

The only thing that echoes through the hallways are your very own rapid steps and sharp breaths. Please let him be okay, please let him still search for that boy. Your forehead glisters in sweat, the area only illuminated by the changing neon signs.

Finally a sound. You stop in your tracks immediately and close your eyes while holding your breath. It’s far away, but those are steps and dampened rumbling. It has to be him. And he’s definitely not alone. 

You can’t waste any time. As fast as your shaky legs carry you, you run down the hallway, eyes roaming around to catch a glimpse of his dark messy hair. Did he found Yuji Itadori? From what you’ve heard, Sukuna’s vessel is a quite skilled jujutsu sorcerer himself. But despite that, you know how much power Choso holds. If they meet, there will definitely be a fierce fight and your boyfriend might get hurt in the process.

But Yuji gets killed.

Suddenly water starts to soak into your shoes, pooling the surrounding area entirely. You furrow your brows. Where the hell is that coming from? Aren’t you underground? And also, it wasn’t raining outside…

Instinctively you follow the stream, noises growing louder and louder. Your heartbeat picks up, eyes wide open in realization. They have to be in there, in that toilet. The only think you are able to do is run. Water splashes around you, completely taking your already dimmed sight under the purple neon lights.

Until you see your boyfriend. Bending over the severely injured body of what looks like Yuji Itadori, fist ready to hit him with his last shot.

You don’t know what has gotten into you. Before you are able to even think about a plan you sprint forward and shield the boy’s body with your own.

Only to get hit in your stomach with full force by your own boyfriend.

For a moment you forget how to breathe, the only sound being the constant ringing in your ears along with a silent cough. Are you dead? You can’t tell with your sight completely turned black and your empty head.

“(y/n)”, is all Choso is able to breathe out.

It happened so fast he couldn’t react anymore. Within the split of a second, he was only able to direct his fist away from your head into your stomach.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

A trail of blood escapes your lips along with a cough, gaze completely empty. Did he kill you? His guts turn, he feels like fainting away. Oh god, what did he do?

“(y/n).”

You shouldn’t even be here in the first place. He told you to stay out of this, to leave this to him. Why on earth did you throw yourself in front of Yuji Itadori? How could you risk your life so reckless?

“(y/n)?”

You don’t react, glossy eyes wide open, directed into darkness. His shaky hands pull up your shirt, revealing a huge bruise. He broke a few of your ribs, that’s for sure.

“(y/n)!”, he begs again, repeating your name over and over like a prayer.

His hands grab your body and pull you away from Itadori while all he can do is kneeling next to you. Are you even breathing? Fuck, you are so cold and completely soaked in water that still pours down without mercy.

“(y/n)…”

His hand caresses your cheek gently. You just have to wake up. This is a bad dream, right? He didn’t just punch you with full force, he isn’t responsible for you laying here with broken bones and bruises. No, he didn’t just hurt the love of his life, his precious girlfriend.

Are those tears running down his cheeks? He can’t tell. The water pouring down on him makes it hard to see.

“Don’t…kill…him…”, you suddenly mumble.

Choso feels like flying and dying at the same time, relieved by hearing your voice while being absolutely crushed be the fact that he is responsible for your poor state.

“Why did you throw yourself in front of him, (y/n)? I never wanted to hurt you. I would have never hurt you…”, he stutters, pressing your upper body against his.

You cough violently, feeling as if your spilling your guts out every second. God, you feel terrible. If you move a single inch you’ll faint away into darkness.

But despite the pain that rolls over you like a tsunami, you force your eyes to look at him? His beautiful screwed up face, his glistening eyes. Is he crying? This might be the first time you’ve ever seen him like this.

“I know you didn’t wanted to hurt me. Did you kill him?”

Your voice isn’t more than a fade away whisper, almost too distant to get under the pouring water. But the second your words reach his ears, Choso can’t hold back any longer.

He’s crumbling in front of you like a piece of paper, hands holding onto you for dear life.

Choso almost killed you. The love of his life, the only thing that’s worth living. And for what? Because he was seeking revenge.

“But how does killing someone else solve your problems?”

Your wise words repeat themselves over and over in his head. Fuck, if he only listened to you. He shouldn’t have agreed to work with Geto in the first place out of sheer rage. No, he could lay in bed with you at the moment, hearing about what is currently happening at Shibuya in the news.

Then this wouldn’t have happened. Then you wouldn’t lay in front of him severely injured.

His whole face is screwed up, trembling fingers clenched to tight that they bleed while a sob escapes his lips.

All of this is his fault.

“I’m so sorry, (y/n). I’m so so sorry”, he cries out, placing his head on your chest.

“Is he dead?”, you croak out, tired eyes wandering to the boy’s unconscious figure leaning against the wall.

“Yes…Yes he does…”

A weak smile forms on your lips. So this wasn’t in vain. After all, you reached your goal.

“Thank god…”, you mutter.

Choso’s guilty conscience eats him up from the inside. Why? Why the hell did he think killing Yuji Itadori is a good idea in the first place? Despite the deaths of his brothers, despite all the pain he’s been through, despite the fact that he isn’t even human.

He loves you with all his heart. Your gentle disposition that is the opposite of his cold-hearted one. Your friendly smile that outshines his emotionless expression every time. The way you love him although he didn’t even know what love is when he first met you.

You showed him so many facets of life and he tramples on all the things you taught him.

“I will get you out of here. And I promise will every fiber of my being that I will change, that something like this will never happen again”, he blurts out.

“You don’t have to change, darling. You just need to decide on your perspective of life.”

Everything hurts, you feel like dying from the inside. Although you don’t seem to bleed externally, the stinging taste of blood in your mouth tells you you are severely injured. A load moan escapes your lips when Choso gently lifts you off the ground, body screaming out in agony.

With a gentle kiss on your forehead and tears still running down his cheeks. Something like this will never happen again. Not through the hands of others and especially not his.

God, never again will he ever hurt you.

Satoru Gojo

Your fingers tremble uncontrollably as you try to figure out what you hold in your hands. Is this…positive?

Are you really pregnant?

Two lines. Two clearly visible lines. You feel like fainting and flying at the same time, your thoughts are racing.

Is this really happening? Are you dreaming?

No, the proof lies visible in your hands. You are pregnant. You are expecting a child with Satoru Gojo.

“Listen (y/n)…I’ve been thinking about this for a while now…Have you ever thought about having a baby? I mean, you’ve been my girlfriend for more than 6 years, my fiancé for half a year. I’ve never seen me as a father and I know this isn’t the best timing considering what’s going on in the word at the moment. But the thought of you with a precious baby belly, a child with your eyes…This thought filled me with so much joy recently that I wanted to talk about this with you.”

You couldn’t find words, his sudden outburst caught you off guard. But oh how much you thought about that too, how it would feel to have a child with the man you love more than anything else on this world, to start a family with Satoru. Tears started to sting your eyes, arms wrapped around him tightly.

“I would absolutely love that!”, you cried out, face buried against his broad chest while he stroked your hair just the way you like it.

“We don’t have to rush anything. Just living like usual without protection”, he mumbled against your head.

“I love you so much, Satoru. Nothing makes me happier than being with you. And maybe next year there will be three of us.”

He smiled down at you the way that always makes you see stars. God, how much you love that man. The thought alone to spend the rest of your life with him and your little family filled your heart with nothing buy warmth and joy.

“I love you too, sweetheart. More than anything else”, he mumbled.

Satoru. What are you supposed to do? Call him, text him, drive to Jujutsu High? You’re on your day off while he told you this morning that he’ll teach the new student, Yuta. As much as you’d love to get in your car immediately and meet him in person, you shouldn’t disturb him right now. No, this is something special. This needs time, a calm evening and privacy.

A little message can’t hurt though.

Hey babe, can’t wait to see you tonight. I’ve got some exciting news. Love you <3

You let out your shaky breath, eyes darting to the test again. Is this really your life? It surely can’t get any better than that.

-Satoru’s POV-

“I hate so say it, but I guess there’s no way out of this”, Shoko comments.

But there has to be. After all, he’s the strongest, he’s the only one who’s able to protect you right. This shouldn’t be the only way to save you, there has to be more.

“I will find a way around this”, Gojo hisses through gritted teeth, hands so tensed up that his veins pop out.

“You can’t. There’s absolutely no way to keep her save. She’ll insist on going with you if you tell her. And if you don’t she’ll find out and come to your place. Or worse, someone else will find her. She is the safest when she’s gone.”

Fuck. Satoru slams his fist against the table, blood squirting. He knows she’s right. Deep down, he is very aware of the fact that no matter how he twists and turns it, you’re in danger. Suguru made that very clear. He has to make a decision now, even if it breaks his own heart.

“So what’s the solution then, huh? Breaking up with her?”, he barks at Shoko.

“If you really want to make sure that she’s safe and gone, yes. Aren’t her parents living far away from here?”

That’s not what he wanted to hear. Thick rage crawls up his spine and takes his sight. He’ll kill all of them. Every single one of these curses and Suguru’s accomplices. This shouldn’t be the only way, he shouldn’t have to break the heart of the women he loves most.

Fuck, how much he hates to see you cry. Just a few days ago, he told you that he wanted to have kids with you, to start a family, he proposed to you. This will not only break your heart, but shatter you into million pieces.

“I get that it’s rough and that you don’t wanna do it. But if you want to make sure that (y/n) is safe, you have to make her believe that it’s over.”

“What if I’m hiding her somewhere at Jujutsu High? What if I’m staying by her side?”

“She’ll never allow that and you know it. (y/n) would rather die herself than letting other people suffer because you aren’t there.”

She’s right. Deep down Satoru knows that every word Shoko says is true.

- Later that evening –

You almost fall off the couch in excitement when you hear keys turning in the lock. He’s finally home! It must have been a pretty rough day if he wasn’t even able to reply to your text. Your fingers hold onto the test in your hands for dear life, heart jumping up and down in joy. How will he react? Will he laugh, will he cry? You don’t know. But he’ll surely be cheerful.

“Hey babe, I need to talk about something with you!”

The sound of your joyful voice alone makes him want to break down. Fuck, you don’t deserve this, none of this is your fault at all. So why does he have to break your heart so violently? He shakes his head, blindfold covering his already glossy eyes. There’s no way out of this. He needs to hurt you in order to save you.

“Oh, there you are”, you breathe out when you catch a glimpse of him.

Satoru looks as breathtaking as always, albeit a little drained. It must have been a rough day for him. But your news will definitely brighten up his mood.

“Babe, there’s something absolutely exciting I have to tell y-“

“(y/n)”.

The harsh tone in his voice quiets you down immediately, the grin on your face washed away in the wind.

“I have something to talk about”, he announces.

Why does he have to be so cold? What has gotten into him? Worry lines disrupt your face.

“Oh, did something happen?”

The innocent tone in your voice kills him right on the spot along with your stunning glimmering orbs…No, he needs to do this. After all it’s for your well-being. You’ll see that too, hopefully.

“I’m breaking up with you.”

You hold your breath, eyes scanning over his stunning face for any hint of sarcasm, for an emotion. But no, all he does is staring down at you with stone cold orbs, arms crossed in front of his chest.

You feel like fainting, world collapsing around you. No, this can’t be true. He can’t be serious. Not long ago, he told you he wants a child with you, he asked you to marry him. Your heart clenches, tears start glistering in your eyes. This has to be a nightmare.

“No”, you breathe out, shaking your head in disbelief.

“I’m breaking up with you, (y/n)”, he insists.

This isn’t a joke or a dream. You can tell that he’s serious, that he means every word he says.

“Why?”

“I don’t love you anymore.”

You can’t believe your ears.

“Just yesterday, you told me over and over how much you love me, you…you had sex with me, Satoru. Just a few hours ago.”

You can’t stop your tears from falling anymore, the feeling of this indescribable loss pulls the ground from under your feet.

“It meant nothing to me.”

His words hit you with full force, pushing you to sit down in order to not collapse onto the floor. Was all of this a game for him? And what about…?

Oh god, you feel like throwing up.

“I’m pregnant, Satoru.”

His heart stops. Your voice isn’t more than a fade whisper, almost too low for him to understand. Did you really just say that?

“What did you say?”

“I’m pregnant!”, you suddenly scream on top of your lungs.

Pregnant… You’re pregnant. You’re expecting his child, the child he told you he wants. You’ll be family! This is absolutely fantastic, you have to celebrate-

No. Satoru stops the seed of joy in his heart immediately. Now is not the right time for that. After all, he’s about to break up with you at the moment.

“I don’t care.”

His word cut through his very own heart like a knife, your face twisted in agony simply takes his breath away. You don’t deserve this, you don’t deserve any of those venomous words he spits at you. But he does it so you are safe. Yes, over and over he tells himself that this is for your best, that at least you’ll be out of the firing line. You’ll be safe and sound, you and his unborn child.

“Leave this place, stay with your parents or something. I don’t want to see you here any longer.”

In this moment, you feel like dying. Your past, present and future plays itself in front of your inner eye, reminding you of all the precious moments together. Was all of this a lie? Does he even care about you?

Like in trance you get up, grabbing nothing but your wallet and phone. You need to get away from here before you break down completely. If this is how he feels, he doesn’t deserve to see your grief.

God, he wants to break down in front of your feet, completely mesmerized by the way you carry yourself so well after his harsh words. Hopefully you will understand that he did this for you. Even though he broke your heart, you’ll live. And this is all that matters…

“Goodbye then, Gojo.”

The venomous sound of his last name out of your mouth makes him collapse onto the couch the second you close the door behind your back, tears glistening in his eyes.

Why? Why on earth did this just happen? Why did he have to hurt you like this? God, please let you understand it when all of this madness is over. Please let you be okay…

- Day of the night parade –

“Oh dear, look at this”, your mother breathes out while turning up the TV volume.

You gaze at the flickering pictures without any emotions, dark circles surrounding your eyes from all the nights without any sleep.

Satoru? You haven’t heard a word from him since that evening. That evening that altered your brain chemistry forever. That evening that showed you his real face. Since you’ve had nowhere else to go and wanted to be as far away from him as possible, you stayed with your parents ever since.

“What is going on at Tokyo?”, your father mutters.

Huh, looks like absolute chaos. Your eyes widen at the sheer amount of destruction, the reporter whose head gets ripped away by…

Your heart sinks.

This was a curse, without any doubt. What about Satoru?

No. You shake your head vehemently. This isn’t about him. What about your students, Nanami, Shoko, all the others? Are they okay? What is going on there? Suddenly you feel like standing up, too excited to sit.

You swore to never step a foot into Jujutsu High again, to start over somewhere else. But this…You can’t just sit here in silence with all your powers while your friends might die through the hands of curses.

“I need to leave”, you announce.

“What? But you said you want to stay here. (y/n), if this is about him…-“

“It’s not”, you interrupt your mother immediately.

“I need to watch after my friends.”

Yes. Screw Satoru and whatever he’s up to. Mindlessly your hands caress your little bump. This is your responsibly, the least you can do.

- At Toyko –

“Gojo-sensei, (y/n) is here”, Maki announces through her communicator as you walk through the barrier with ease.

Impossible.

His eyes widen in pure horror. All this pain and grieving over the last few weeks, all the nights he cried himself to sleep because he missed you, the countless thinking about your precious little baby.

And now you’re right here where you shouldn’t be, running into the arms of Suguru without even knowing it.

“Oh, I didn’t expect he’d be so dumb”, a painful familiar voice behind you suddenly speaks out.

You turn around, taking in the appearance of none other than Suguru Geto.

“Are you responsible for this whole mess?”, you question.

He steps forward, a satisfied grin plastered on his face. Fuck, this isn’t good. Suguru is a special grade, he could kill you without even trying. Are your students around? Maybe they are at Tokyo, maybe they are safe.

“Did Satoru send you here? Apparently he doesn’t care about you”, Suguru’s voice comments dryly.

Your heart immediately stings in agony, fingertips trembling. Just a few innocent words that break you completely after weeks of pretending you’re okay.

“He broke up with me a few weeks ago”, you clarify.

Suguru breaks out in hysteric laughter while all you can do is stare at him and hold back your tears. How is he able to laugh about your feelings? Before he went berserk, you and Suguru got along pretty well. What happened to him?

“3 weeks ago, maybe?”

You tilt your head. Why that question? And why…why is he so accurate?

“Yeah”, you mutter.

“How ironic.”

“What’s so funny about that, asshole”, you bite back.

His figure comes to a stand so close to you that you can feel his breath creeping across your face.

“It’s funny that he tried to save you and now you’re standing right in front of me, (y/n).”

His words pull the ground from beneath your feet, thoughts racing so violently that you feel like throwing up. What did he say about Satoru trying to save you? What is all of this about? You lose your cool completely.

“What the hell are you talking about?”, you yell into his stupid smirk.

“I gave him an ultimatum. But now that you’re here already…Let’s get this over with.”

You aren’t able to properly understand a single word as he hounds a curse your direction.

“Why are you even here?”

Where is Satoru? What is going on here? Where are your students? So many unknown variables, so much pressure. You need answers.

“I’m here to kill Yuta Okkotsu.”

Your heart sinks immediately. Yuta? Suguru is probably on the hunt for Rika. No, you can’t let him get away with this.

“Over. My. Corpse.”, you hiss through gritted teeth.

“Oh dear (y/n). I always liked your charm, but nothing better than that.”

It’s hard to keep up with him without any weapon. Where is your dagger when you need it? You only have your powers and your combat skills to attack him. But Suguru isn’t dumb. It’s almost frightening, the way he keeps distance between both of you.

Your baby. Fuck, you need to be careful. After all, stress isn’t beneficial for your pregnancy.

And dying too.

-Satoru’s POV-

He runs as fast as his feet carry him, vision clouded by thick fear. He did all of this for you, to keep you out of grip for Suguru. And now you’re facing him alone, his students not able to help you. What about the baby? He needs to hurry. If Suguru harms one single hair on your head…

“Get away from her. Now”, he barks at his former best friend, positioning himself in front of you just in time before one of Suguru’s curses hits you.

“Ironic, isn’t it? That you even scarified your relationship only for her to run into my open arms.”

“I never thought you would go this far. She’s not only a jujutsu sorcerer, but my girlfriend. I thought you are better than that. Keep your hands off her or you’ll regret it.”

All you can do is stare at his broad back with tears glistening in your eyes. Is this why he broke up with you three weeks ago and left you alone pregnant? To keep you out of sight from Geto?

“Leave this place, stay with your parents or something.”

These three weeks of torture, of asking yourself over and over why you weren’t good enough and where you went wrong…because he was worried?

“Why didn’t you fucking tell me?”, you cry out, slamming your fists against his back over and over.

“Why did you just leave me like that? Why did you not leave me any choice? Why would you leave me standing in the rain pregnant? Why did you do this to me-“

“(y/n)”, he interrupts you, glossy eyes darted at you in a way you’ve never seen before.

Satoru grabs your hands and pulls you closer to him.

“Because I couldn’t stand you getting hurt”, he breathes out.

“Because I knew you wouldn’t watch out for yourself. Because I knew this was the only way to keep you safe, even though it meant breaking both of his into pieces. Trust me, I hated myself every single day over the last three weeks, wondering every miserable second how you’re doing. It made me lose my mind, (y/n). And now you’re here, right here where you shouldn’t be.”

“I’ve got hurt the second you broke up with me just after I’ve told you that I’m expecting your child!”, you scream into his face.

All the pain, the grief, the longing, the waiting. Everything crushes down at you and swallow you whole. All of this was in vain.

“I never stopped loving you, (y/n). On the contrary, my love for you is greater than my longing after you.”

For the first time since you’ve met him, you can see him cry. Tears roll down his face uncontrollably, the ocean blue of his eyes disrupted by rough red.

“I don’t mean to interrupt your little moment here, but now that you’re already here, I can kill you, right?”

As if in slow motion Satoru turns around to his former best friends, hands clenched into fists so tightly that blood spills.

“I will make you pay for every tear (y/n) spilled, for these weeks of torture. You will regret your threat for every single fucking day.”

“Let’s get it on, then”, Geto remarks dryly.

...

Hope you're doing fine. If you're still able to, feel free to tell me whenever you want a part ll of this and with you. Thank youu <3

[jamespottersdaisy]

Dulcet

Peter Parker x fem!reader

in which it's a game

part1| part2| part3| part4| part 5| 11.1 k

a/n: let me know if there are mistakes, more notes at the end &lt;3

Shallow breaths echo around the forlorn silence. He keeps a distance. You endure pain.

He doesn’t talk much. He doesn’t want to. He brings you water when you ask and carries you from one room to another. He ensures your pillow is high enough while you eat,and your TV show is amusing enough while you lie. But he doesn’t talk.

You can’t speak, either. You don’t dare. Besides the meek requests and whispered gratitude, your lips fail at words. You want to ask him if he is angry with you and if he hates you as he attends to your wounds. You want to know if he counts the minutes until he leaves you to bed and if he’s been sleeping enough because his eyes are red most of the time. But you can’t speak.

Peter’s hands are shaking as he pressures your wound, his vision blurry, his ears ringing. Mark is dead. Soon, you will be, too, if he doesn’t find a way out of this. 

He needs to think. Fast. He needs to stop crying your name and calm down. He has to get it together, he has to stop trembling, and he has to calm down, and he has to–

He can't breathe, so he takes off his mask. He hates the garment on his hands that prevents his touch. They are shaking as he moves your shirt up to see the wound. Curses echo in your ears.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, I told you not to–” he moves around, estimating the safest way to hold you. “Why didn’t you listen? Why don’t you listen?!”

Your mind is foggy, the ability to move your limbs lost on you. You hear Peter’s complaints and pleas, feel his firm grip on your weak body. 

“Peter…”

“Why? Why?! I told you! I told you to- Why don’t you never listen?!” he holds your hands and brings them on his. “Pressure the wound. Don’t move your hand, you hear me? Just, just- just hold them tight–”

So you do. You put all your strength left into your wound, feeling your hand get wet and red, all while Peter gently places his arms around you, careful not to move you too much. He elevates your legs while carrying you. He doesn’t know what he is supposed to do.

He doesn’t know where to take you.

You listen to the faucet running as your nails dig into your palm. It is lamentable how the only sound ringing in your ears is either water splashing or footsteps thudding when he is around. Heavy words have soared akin to a mountain between you two, one that is painful to climb. The high walls of unspoken cries refuse to crack now that neither of you dares to speak. 

He exits your bathroom, head down, hands wet. You know the routine; he’ll dry his hands with his shirt, pad to your kitchen, and make you a sandwich. He’ll ensure you eat it and then leave to come back late at night to attend to your injury again.

He stops midway to the kitchen and turns around. You watch him enter your room and avoid eye contact with you. He frowns and moves his eyes from one corner of the room to another.

“What is it?” you ask, voice hoarse.

“It’s time for the,” he gesticulates carelessly, and then he nods to your desk as if he found what he was looking for. “the thing that you always watch at five.”

He grabs the remote from your desk and places it next to you. You wish he hadn’t moved his hand so fast before you could touch it. “Thank you.”

He glances at you for the first time in that hour and quickly averts his eyes.

You let him walk away. What can you even say?

“Peter, it hurts.”

“I know, I know, I know, just hold on, trouble, come on,” he prattles, all while holding you in his arms. He doesn’t know if he can swing you in this position, but it is the only solution.

Where was the nearest hospital? He swings around the sky all the time; why did he never pay attention? What was he thinking dragging you into this? Why does his heart sting as your whines pierce his mind?

He shakes his head. 

Standing still is no help to you. He needs to move. Thus, he shoots one web after another, flying with you in his arms, searching for a place that will keep you safe. Safe from danger, safe from hurt, safe from him.

You are clinging to him the hardest you can, eyes closed, face in a frown. He wonders if you feel sick or dizzy. If you do, it is his fault. 

All of this is his fault.

You are bleeding on him, and it is his fault. It should have been him. It should have been him staining your shirt red, not the other way around. This is not how it goes. You are not the one crying from agony. You are not the one in need of saving. You are not the one whom he gets worried over; you are the one that does the worrying.

If not, then it’s his fault.

He thinks of the possible replies to doctors' questions.

You would think the female lead would understand that the boyfriend is lying and that the right person for her is her best friend, but for some reason, she keeps ignoring the poor guy’s pure love. You would also think that Peter would have the same opinion as you.

“He is not stupid. He is in love.”

“Which made him stupid,” he murmurs as his eyes trace the bloody scar on your torso. It’s one of the few sentences he has given you that day. “Sit straight.”

“How is wanting to be near the girl you lo–” 

You sit straight after Peter shoots you a harsh look. He places a pillow behind your back, and you let him slowly take care of your wound. 

“As I was saying,” you start again. This is a mere attempt to have him talk to you more than usual, one that is very uncomfortable for you. “He just wants the girl he loves to be happy.”

“He should leave her alone then,” Peter glances at you when you hiss at the burning sensation of the antiseptic. 

“Why?! She loves him, she just doesn’t know it yet.”

He doesn’t reply, and you know no more words will leave his lips until he is done with his work. Thus, you talk no more, letting silence dawn per usual.

If only one of you broached the subject that’s growing heavier day by day, this could have been easier.

He lays you down on your bed, careful not to wake you up. When you whimper as he does, he curses under his nose. Stepping back, he stares at you for a moment.

He thought he was late.

He thought all the flying in the air had made things worse. He thought your wound would not close, your bleeding would not stop. He thought he’d have to–

Peter feels faint. His limbs are weak, and he remembers he hasn’t eaten all day long. He also hasn’t drank any water, which explains the headache. His body is sore, rightfully so. After getting you to the hospital, he has flown back to his house, changed into something he now realises is wrinkled, and ran back to you as Peter instead of Spiderman.

He drinks your water and nibbles on your bread. He falls to his place by the window and stares at the carpet. 

He knew this day would come. He knew he’d have to wait by your bed, count the seconds, and listen to your heavy breaths. He knew he wouldn’t be able to protect you from harm.

Nothing is new.

Moonlight shines and glazes as Peter watches you sleep.

He has no idea what and how to say when you wake up. He doesn’t know how to act. All he knows is that he will take care of you until you are strong enough to slap him when he leaves.

"I can do it myself," you protest.

"The hell you can," Peter grumbles, face in a grumpy scowl as he grabs your arms. You refuse to lean to him, determined to carry yourself around with as much grace as possible.

By around, I mean the toilet.

It is embarrassing enough that Peter helps you shower; you don’t need him to know your bowel movements.

“How am I supposed to heal if you keep coddling me?” you murmur.

Peter stops in his place, snaps his head towards you. He doesn’t say anything, and yet the look in his eyes is enough words to your heart.

You know you strike a chord each time you mention anything regarding your wound, healing, hurt and pain, but he needs to grow up. He needs to handle this without his emotions, ones that he refuses to communicate. 

You seize the opportunity and enter the bathroom yourself. 

“Call if you need help!” you hear Peter yell behind the closed door. 

“Don’t spy, you creep!”

You hear him step away from the door; he must have really pushed his whole body to hear your movements. 

“It’s not spying,” he calls back. “I was just making sure–”

“Peter!”

“Sorry!” he says, steps fading away. 

It takes time, but you manage to leave the bathroom without a call for help. Bittersweet, that is. A few days ago, you would groan and whine with each movement, trying to stifle yourself so that Peter wouldn’t hear you. As of now, you are slowly gaining your strength back, and the only reminder of the unfortunate incident is the occasional sting and Peter’s distant mannerisms.

“I think I want to make my own sandwich today,” Peter’s back greets you when you enter the kitchen; he’s been going through your fridge in the hopes of ingredients.

"I was gonna make you pasta," he turns around, and you suppress the urge to smile.

He wanted to cook for you.

But again, he's been doing that for some time now.

"Are you hungry?"

When he nods, you slowly walk up to your shelves. Another thing you have noticed is that since Peter has been living in your apartment part-time, your fridge and shelves are full of groceries.

"You shouldn't be walking around," he opens the shelf next to yours.

"I'm sick of lying in bed," you shrug, stretching your hand to take the pasta. 

The sting strikes, almost knocking you over; you shouldn’t have pulled your arm that swiftly. 

Peter hisses your name, “Mule,” he utters before taking down the pasta himself as his other hand rests on your bicep. 

You scowl at him while recovering, “I’m fine.”

“Sure you are,” Peter bends over to find your pan. He’s looking at the wrong places.

“I can handle myself, you know.”

“And I’m Spiderman.”

“You are Spiderman,” you hand him the pan, which he takes without glancing at you.

You notice the subtle curl of his lips and the effort he wasted to hide it. You are doing the exact same; bickering with him has always been fun, even if he is distant and you are injured.

“How about you make yourself useful and sit on a chair?” 

“How’s that any useful?”

“It helps the worrying.”

“I see no reason for worrying.”

“That’s because you are slow,” he turns around once he has put the pasta to cook. You feel his arms around your limbs, firm but gentle not to push your body to its limits, and let him lead you to the chair behind the table.

“You look pretty without being a hindrance,” he says when you sit down.

You don’t think you look pretty at the moment at all. “Mind you, you are the one in my apartment.”

“Preparing you a meal,” he nods and starts making the sauce.  

“One that I’m perfectly capable of making.”

Peter scoffs. “Uh-huh. You as in you who whines every time she moves her arm.”

He finds it amusing that you are willing to banter even in a state like this.

“Oh, I wonder why.”

“Probably because you are so intent on hurting.”

“I am just strong enough to handle it,” you shrug playfully, pretending not to feel his burning stare piercing through your forehead.

You know what he is thinking; you can almost hear his thoughts. You haven't forgotten the fights roaming in your room, his harsh looks and raised voice against your aching body and breathless words. 

He doesn’t remember when the silver hues of the moon abandoned their place for the golden light of the sun to take over. His mind has fled from the grasp of time, running amok with the perilous thoughts between its palm. 

Its games have been played. Deceptions toward self, fear and rage dangling from the ropes it clutched have triumphed in gaining  power over his heart. 

The sound of his heart has been drowned, its echoes only blurring the clarity of the past, staining the white flames of apathy. 

He has made up his mind.

A low whine averts his darkened eyes from his bruised knuckles to your frame on the bed. He slowly rises from the floor, staring at you, gaining consciousness back as the sore muscles and agony of your injury kick in.

It takes time for you to fully focus. 

You are confused, in pain, and uncomfortable. 

Memories of red, blue and black flashing like pictures in your mind, sounds echoing around, but none of them makes sense. Not yet.

You can’t move around. Your eyes look for water and find Peter instead. Maybe he can bring you water.

He’s standing a bit far away.

“Peter,” you say, but your voice doesn’t seem to reach him. Or you. 

You clear your throat as he steps forward, hovering over you beside your bed. “Good. You’re awake,” he nods.

His voice is far, or maybe that’s just the ringing in your head.

“What happened?” you manage to ask. “I need water.”

He turns around and leaves, coming back with a glass of water.

“Thank you,” you whisper, attempting to rise from bed. He helps you.

“How are you feeling?” he asks. 

Now, they all make sense. The cure and your running. Peter and Mark, the excruciating pain in your bones, Peter’s distressed calls. You remember now.

“Hurt. What happened? Did you cure Mark? What about the–”

“Mark is dead.”

You look up to him, your face in a grimace and your breathing shallow. His face has no indication of feeling. His eyes are shrouded. “You couldn’t cure him?”

“I had to kill him.”

It means the same thing; you know it does. But it doesn’t feel the same.

“What happened after,” you look for the right words. “You know, after I–”

“Almost bled to death?”

He is angry. Not the screaming and yelling one. The silent one. 

“Peter, look,” you try to move up, but the pain arises. “I’m sorry, alright? I know what you said, and I know what I did, and I’m truly sorry. It won’t happen again–”

“No, it won’t.”

His tone is curt, and so are his eyes.

You put the water glass away. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He doesn’t say anything at first. 

“Nothing, really,” he shrugs. “It just won't happen again.”

You don't like how that sounds.

“Peter–”

“You should lay down,” he cuts you off. “Don't tire yourself out.”

This is not right. This is not how you left things. You are too weak to play games.

“What the hell is wrong with you? If you're mad at me, just say so–”

“If I'm mad at you,” his eyebrows shoot up as he scoffs. “If I'm mad at you?”

“That's what I said, yes.”

Your eyes watch him pace around, his face changing with every thought his mind produces.

“You could've died,” he says, mostly to himself.

“I–”

“You could've died there. In my arms, from a wound that I caused,” he turns to you. 

You finally see it.

The anger. Fear. Desperation and exhaustion. All have painted his countenance into something unrecognisable to you. Something strange. Distant.

“You didn't cause anything,” you decide to reason.

“Oh, I did. I did, and I won't ever again because this,” he gestures the distance between you two. “Is not happening again.”

Your heart drops. You don't try to hide the feeling. 

“What are you even saying?”

“What I'm saying is after I make sure you are okay, that you can walk and talk without groaning from pain, I'm not seeing you again.”

No. 

You shake your head, albeit it makes you dizzy. You want to reach out to him, but you are not sure you can stretch your arm without hurting.

“That's not fair,” is all you can say between the pain and hurt. “That's not fair, you can't punish me like this–”

“I'm not punishing you, I'm protecting you because clearly, you can't do that yourself when I'm around.”

You abhor the way he composes himself.

“No, you're punishing me, you're punishing me with your absence, you know damn well it was an accident–”

“Accident or not!” he raises his voice this time. “Accident or not, you could’ve died, alright?! I’m not betting on that again.”

“It is not up to you, Peter! I can die walking on the sidewalk, too!” you match your tone to his regardless of how much it’s agonising. “You can’t protect me all the time!”

“I can try.”

He is not thinking properly. This is not right. You need to make him understand that this is not right. 

“Peter, please, listen to me–”

He shakes his head and takes the glass you’ve put aside. “No, don’t. Don’t, okay? You need to rest. Rest and heal, exhausting yourself won’t do any good.”

Maybe it is not so nice for you to start healing. To start not needing Peter as much as you used to do. 

He can see it. He can see that you are getting back on your feet, and it absolutely terrifies you that he will leave.

You don’t think he’s changed his mind. 

Otherwise, he would talk to you. Not talk to you as if you are a civilian he is responsible for taking care of, but as if you are his friend. Yet, he refuses to. 

“How are you feeling?” He enters the room with bags in his hands. The flex of his biceps under the shirt distracts you, and you wonder if he chose the shirt on purpose, as the weather is far from welcoming this kind of attire.

It’s late; you figure he must’ve come back from nightly patrols, which means he’ll leave to sleep in an hour or so.

That makes one visit a day.

You avert your eyes from him to the laptop screen. “Is that pizza?”

You hope it is; you’ve been too lazy to prepare yourself a proper meal.

“Have you eaten today?” 

He knows you haven’t; he knows you too well after caring for you all this time.

“Coffee?”

He nods with an ‘ah’ to your sheepiness. “No wonder you have a headache.”

You do not want to miss this, him worrying over you in a teasing way. You don’t want to miss him.

“And I’m–”

“And you’re cold, yes, I know,” he puts the pizzas next to you. “Plates?”

“Nah, we can eat without.”

“All right, loafer,” he nods but still heads towards the kitchen.

“I’m sure I said no plates.”

“How many glasses of water have you had today?” his voice echoes from the kitchen, and you start to count in your head.

“Two?”

“So, two glasses of water and coffee, am I right?” he returns with a bottle of water, aiming it at you. 

Your eyes widen at the ominous possibility, your hands already in the air to shield yourself. “Yes, but– hey, DON’T THROW IT!”

He does and you fail at catching it.

“Yeah, you’re a hopeless case,” he nods before taking a slice of the pizza. 

“You need to stop throwing things at me,” you take the bottle from the ground, noticing the absence of pain. You are indeed healing.

“Someone has to train those reflexes, you can’t catch a ball to save your life,” you watch him pick the mushrooms on the pizza and eat them separately.

“I’ve got you for that.”

“Not always.”

“I don’t understand!” no matter how hard you’ve tried not to raise your tone, there you are, getting irritated by your own voice.

“What is there to not understand? We’ve been over this for a hundred times by now,” he says calmly. 

He is not wrong. 

No other words have been heard in the last twenty-four hours.

“It’s bullshit. Leaving me for my own good. If you don’t want to see me anymore–”

“Nope. No, absolutely not,” he abruptly stands up from the chair, shaking his head. “I’m not playing that game.”

“You can’t make a decision on my behalf!”

Your name leaves his lips in a whisper. 

“I’m tired of this, trouble,” he leans to the counter with a disappointed look on his face. “You know why I’m doing what I’m doing.”

You know. You do know, and yet knowing does not make it any less painful.

“You are a selfish jerk, Parker.”

Your heart beats in your ears as you try not to make it obvious that Peter’s every touch sends shivers down your spine. You wonder if you’ll ever feel his touch again after this, ponder what to say, how to behave to not break the already strained thin string between you.

“It’s healed,” he reclines, dropping his hand to his knees.

It takes all the vigour in you to keep your face still, to not let him know how much you are devastated to hear the words. 

“Thanks to you,” is all you can say, and he leaves it unanswered.

Peter doesn’t think he deserves thanks for anything he has ever done. He watches your dismal eyes and knows he doesn’t even deserve a smile anymore. Especially not from you.

He’s been acting distant to the best of his abilities, breaking your heart into a million pieces, readying you for his decision. 

He hates himself for that.

He absolutely abhors himself for being the reason for your gloomy countenance, broken laugh, and moments spent ruminating on the things he renders no control from you. 

They falter him, placing doubts in his mind, pushing his mind against its limits and his heart down its cliffs. He often finds himself contemplating if this is the right choice. If cutting ties with you will indeed save you from future disasters. If speaking how he actually feels towards you will put you in further danger.

Sometimes, the words push against his lips. They threaten to spill over, to relinquish every hold he has over his heart to you, to divulge all his soul’s secrets to yours.

Then, he remembers.

He remembers the red in his hands. He remembers the echo of your whines in his ears. He remembers the unconscious moans haunting him all night long.

“I better get going,” he stands up, dusting himself off, attempting to remove the image from his mind. 

“Where?” you ask, eyes following him around. 

He doesn’t know how to answer. He can lie and tell that he has things to do. He can avoid any reply.

“Home.”

But he doesn’t. Instead, he watches your smile waver, sees your exertions to hold everything together. 

“This soon?”

“Yeah.” he nods, not noticing his tone lower to match yours.  

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

There it is.

There goes the hope you’ve been holding onto, and he is about to strip you off from it. 

Peter whispers your name and the light in your eyes ebbs. The sofa you’ve been sitting on shrinks, suddenly unable to hold you. You rise from your seat, hoping to be close to him as if it would help.

“Peter, come on, you know this is ridiculous,” you try to reason once more. “Don’t toss this away just because you’re afraid.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t get it, do you?” he stares into your eyes. “This has put you into danger so many times that I’ve lost count.”

“Peter–”

“Sweetheart,” he takes a big step towards you, holding you by the arms. “Don't make this any harder than it already is.”

Peter feels a lump in his throat as you shake your head and squirm away from his hold. 

“You have no right, no right to do this,” you say, this time firmer than before. “You can’t decorate your own decision as ‘protecting me’, Peter.”

“My decision is to protect you!” He steps forward, hovering his hands close to your body. 

“I don’t want that!”

Peter tries to calm himself. He knows exploding won’t do any good. He reminds himself that this is a lot more agonising for you than it is for him– he is the one making the decision while you are not allowed any control over it.

“It is not about what you want–”

“Peter, do you even hear yourself?!” your tone raises, and he can feel the anger burning in your veins. Anger from being desperate, from failing to change things, from not being able to have a say in this. “Do you even fucking hear yourself?!”

He knows this is his cue to leave. He can not stay any longer. 

“That’s it, I’ve overstayed my welcome,” he looks around to find his jacket. He doesn’t see you run a hand through your hair or hear you mutter curses under your nose. 

You don’t try to persuade him any longer. He is not sure if he is grateful or resentful for that, but he knows you won’t lose further dignity to get a boy to stay.

He takes his jacket, throwing it around his shoulders, and striding to the door. The door creaks open, and he, despite all the protests of his mind, spares you one last look. 

“Take care, trouble.”

“You are a coward, Peter Parker,” you shake your head and dash to your own room, shutting its door. 

He knows you are right.

x

You’ve become bitter. Easily irritated and grumpy. Tired most of the time from overthinking.

You brush your teeth and think this is taking too long. You’ve never noticed how much time you've been putting aside for this.

You sit to study and find your thoughts fled to him. You believe your attention span has declined since the last time you studied. Either that or he has become the only thing you can think of.

You walk to campus and expect to run into him. You never do, and yet, you wait for it. 

In the class, you notice you don’t take notes any more. Instead, you doodle so you don’t stare his way. 

You return home with him in your mind, leave the room with him in your mind, and eat and drink with him in your mind.

And when you get in bed, that’s when the real nightmare begins.

That’s when not only your mind but your heart wreaks havoc as well. 

Your feelings stain the sober thoughts, fogging your brain, deeming you unable to probe the facts. 

Most of the time, it’s rage.

It’s the rage of being deprived of a say. It’s the rage of having all the ropes clutched off your palm. It’s the rage of being tossed aside in the name of love. 

It burns in you. 

It consumes you whole, blinds your senses. Its poison reigns in your veins, conquering your heart over his image. You rally no longer, welcoming the safety it provides.

Sometimes, however, it’s the heartbreak simmering under it. 

It’s whys and ifs haunting your nights. The questions you want to ask him meddle in your mind no matter how well you know their answers will make no change.

You detest the sorrow of it– of losing someone you loved. Someone you love.

You struggle to tolerate it. The moment the tears prickle your eyes, you remind yourself of the rage, sheltering under its wings.

You run, and run, and run to escape the heartbreak’s crushing heft. Some days, you prevail. Some nights, the tears do.

You miss him. 

You miss the evenings that dimmed into nights with him by your side. You miss his weight on your bed when you’ve just washed your sheets. You miss the light things around your home being thrown at you because he wants to train your reflexes. You miss the food he makes you eat.

You miss his laugh echoing around your heart.

You hate him for that. 

You want to slap him across the face for keeping your favourite person away from you. You want to kick him in the stomach for marking every inch of your room with his memory. You want to hit him in the chest for rendering your body yearn for his touch.

You want to make him regret your absence, and you want to drive him crazy while doing it.

You simply don’t know how.

It’s midnight, and he’s not swinging in your room any more. He hasn’t been for a week. You shouldn’t wait.

Just close the damn window.

In the end, Peter is not visiting, and your room is cold.

x

Dusks turn into dawns, each hour a torment inflicted upon you. A day becomes one of the many others, yet he doesn’t become one of the others. 

He is still there, alive and well. 

And away.

Stolen glances are each a sharp knife in your heart. Clandestine yearning pulls you down, drowning you in his memory. 

Nothing happens, but your heart beats as if it intends to abandon your ribcage.

You don’t talk, you don’t banter, you don’t even acknowledge each other.

He passes through you like the wind when you encounter. You don’t look him in the eye when you have a professor putting you two through a painful exercise together. He hides his wounds from you, and you don’t ask about them when you catch a glimpse of the bruises.

People pick on quickly. 

They feel the loss of dynamic between you two in the class. Whispers arise behind your back, as well as the questions before your face. All of them get left without a reply.

“Please drop it, Ash,” you shake your head, sighing in annoyance. Not only in annoyance, but you can’t dwell on the other feelings in public. “Or ask him, not me. I’m tired today.”

“Okay, sorry, honey,” the redhead smiles, helping you with your drinks as you carry the meal to your table. “It’s just he also acts a bit off, you know?”

“He does?” you can’t help but ask as you two sit. 

“Yep, it’s as if he’s not there. It’s not really productive for the project.”

“He must have a lot on his mind,” you say, playing with your food. You should eat it before it gets cold, as the weather is not forgiving these days. Or you simply shouldn't have chosen to sit outside. “Anyways, how’s the project going? We’re struggling a bit.”

“We can do better if Parker gets his shit together,” Ashley frowns, taking a bite from his burger. “Other than that, just the same old–”

A scream soars in the distance. Not a long time passes before it gets accompanied by the gunshot, wicked echoes of instructions. You see the silhouette of the people running around in the hopes of hiding.

You definitely shouldn’t have chosen to sit outside.

You don’t think; holding hands with Ashley, the first thing you do is to leave the table and flee to the inside, and if you are lucky, hide inside the bathroom.

Inside of the building is crowded to its limits, but there’s no turning back. You have to hide; that’s the only thing your mind instructs you to do.

“Ash, quick,” you drag her to the left, running the length of the corridor. If you remember correctly, which hopefully you do, there needs to be stairs.

Your heart beats in your ear, silencing every scream and yell echoing around the building. You don’t feel the push and pull of each person bumping into you, all of them rushing into some other place their mind decided. 

Apparently, most of them indeed trust the building’s bathrooms enough to run there, blocking the stairs. 

“Holy shit!” 

“It’s okay, we can–” You look around to find something and fail to see anything. 

“What about the classrooms?” Ashley asks, and you shake your head frantically.

“Too out in the open.”

“We are out in the open here too!” 

You feel your body shaking in terror, mind operating too swiftly to regulate your breathing. “The other stairs! If we can circle the building–”

“You go,” she lets go of your hand. When you see what she’s doing, you find her boyfriend stretching out his hand towards her. It turns out he has a place for one next to him. “You go and, and, and text me when you get to safety, alright?”

When she leaves, you feel the sheer panic run down your spine. You waver between the two decisions. You wouldn’t think of leaving if only…

If only you weren’t the last person in the crowd pushing each other at the stairs. If they make it to this point, you’ll be the first one to get hurt.

Maybe it’s better if you run and circle the building. You turn around to take off, charge to the other side. 

Instead, a taller figure crashes onto you, holding you by the arms as firmly as possible.

“Stay here! Don’t you dare move!” Peter orders with a stern expression. “You hear me? Stay here!”

He doesn’t give you much of a chance before taking off. Next thing you know, while you try to make your place between the frenzied crowd, a loud crash before the building hurts your ears.

You see Spiderman swinging around, and that is the only thing you see.

He blocked the main entrance by wrecking the billboard against the door.

Which gained you enough time to hide.

Your mind reflects his image only while your body runs for safety. If you look back to those moments, you wouldn’t remember a thing–how you pushed through the crowd in enough time to hide, how the shooting blarings got only closer and closer, how Spiderman’s fight only echoed in the place as descriptions from the girl close to the door.

You hoped he wouldn’t get injured in the process. You wondered if he’d visit in case of an injury or if he already had someone to ask for help. You scolded yourself for creating jealousy in your head in vain when he can be in pain out there.

You don’t know how the time passed.

All you remember is the shake in your legs as you followed the crowd outside after the announcement, according to whom criminals have been disarmed and neutralised. Only then you notice your phone being gone, left forgotten on the table you were dining at an hour ago.

You need your phone back.

If the announcement is true, there shouldn’t be any problem with you going back to the yard.

Checking your surroundings, you decide to make a turn and head in the opposite direction once you’re sure no one has their eyes on you.

You hope no one has touched your purse. Not only your phone but also your wallet and ID card are in there. It would be a big headache if you were to lose them all at once for a bunch of criminals–

“Where you going? Everyone is going that way.”

Your heart skips a beat at first, thinking one of the professors caught you, and then takes the pace after recognising the voice.

You don’t turn back.

“My purse is out there, I’m not letting it get stolen,” you continue walking, hearing Peter’s footsteps following you. “That is if it’s not already stolen.”

His hand grabs your arm and turns you around. “I’ll go get it, you get back to the others.”

“I can get my own purse, Parker, it’s not like there are any other bad guys running around–”

“There is one I haven’t caught yet, they just didn’t mention it in the announcement. Now, will you please get back to the others?”

You frown, forgetting the history with the guy before you. 

“Then why the hell would they want us to expose ourselves? Are they crazy?”

Peter scoffs, letting you go. “They didn’t expose you, they asked for you to gather in the Hall, did you even listen?”

“I must’ve missed that part,” you murmur. “Anyhow, I need my purse. Take care, Parker.”

“No, absolutely not,” he grabs you by the arm once more when you turn around. “You go to the Hall, I’ll find it and bring it to you.”

“Such a gentleman,” you pull your arm from his hold, and walk to catch up to the crowd. 

As you enter the Hall, your eyes look for Ashley or her boyfriend, and it doesn’t take much as there are only a handful of redheads around.

“I thought I told you to text!” she hugs you for a short moment, and you smile at her.

“You had the chance to take your phone?”

“Oh, honey, my phone is always with me.”

Looking around, you focus on people’s faces–distraught, confused, worried, and angry ones. For some, it still doesn’t feel real, for others it was shaking to the core. You still don’t know how you feel; you’ve been through worse. 

Still, it doesn’t mean the worse doesn’t show up in your dreams. It does. It wakes you up in a cold sweat and obliges you to turn the lights on for a few moments. It gets better with time, but again, you’d wish there was nothing to get better in time.

“There you go,” Peter interrupts your thoughts, your belongings in his hand. “Nothing was stolen.”

You take them from him, relief washing over you. “Thanks.”

“Are you alright?” he asks, eyes wandering around your body, checking for an injury. You miss the feeling of his hands on you. “You didn’t get hurt, did you?”

“I didn’t,” you say. “I’m fine.”

He averts his eyes up to yours, and at last, the feeling hits you in the gut. 

Who would’ve thought a pair of brown eyes could drown you to your death? You would laugh at yourself once if I told you your heart would cripple under his brown eyes, your breath would hitch, and your core burns in yearning for him.

And yet, now, there you stand.

Ready to ignite under his touch.

“Right,” he drops his hands. “Nice.”

He nods, like he always does, biting his lips. “Just follow the crowd, alright? Don’t- don’t change the route or something.”

With that, he turns around to leave. 

The feeling sinks back.

He finally acknowledged you when he thought you were in danger. This was the first time after that day that he actually held a conversation with you. 

Suddenly, a lamp lights in your brain. 

You know how to drive him crazy.

x

Peter narrows his eyes, trying to decipher your intention. This is the third time this week– not to mention it’s been ten days he’s been babysitting you from the air– yet you are determined to die.

At least, that’s how it looks from the roof of a skyscraper.

Yes, he is following you. No, he is not stalking you. 

In his defence, you are proving to be more of a challenge than any other criminal he has ever fought; he needs to keep an eye on you.

It was rather confusing at first; how all the bad luck seemed to greet you only. However, later on, the realisation has hit him like  lightning, shedding light on your clandestine intentions.

In the beginning, it started with small clumsiness.

Peter felt the ache hammer his temples as if thorns were prickling against his eyes. He needed to sleep. Three hours were simply not enough for every day of the week.

He would sleep if only the haughty professor giving the lecture would stop scrutinising him the moment his head hit the desk. Thus, there he is, attempting at his best to force his eyes open. 

He stares at the board. Takes in the numbers and denoted letters, notices how none of them mean anything to him. He must’ve stopped listening a long while ago.

He glares at the lecturer. Notes how he glares back and that the green of his eye is extremely vibrant. Wonders if he is indeed human.

He focuses on the lecturer’s lips. Thinks the professor might not be the cleanest person on earth because of the beards surrounding his lips. Decides he is too sleep-deprived for this. 

He looks around. Doesn’t understand how and why his eyes land on you. You look bored as well. And dismal. He’d know; he has looked at you more than anyone else. 

He wonders if you are upset because of him or if something happened in your life that he is not allowed to know any longer. He’d hate to drag you back into the same hell of a place as he did before everything went south. To have your sleep poisoned, your smile broken, and your heart shattered.

He wishes he never agreed to your help; it ended the same way regardless– him without you on his side.

He wonders whether your hair still smells like heaven, whether your phone screen is still cracked, and whether you bought a new kettle for your home. 

He doesn't see the yearning in the brown of his eyes, but he can feel it in his heart. The crave to reach out and touch you. Feel your skin aflame under his touch. He has always, always, felt it, felt you melting under him. It filled his heart with something greater than he was willing to admit.

Losing it– losing you– was the hardest decision he has ever had to make.

He averts his eyes before yours can find them. 

He closes them for a moment– just for a moment– and lays his head on his arms. He will raise it back in a few minutes. He will.

When he does, he realises the lecture has ended, everyone has left, and his spider senses are tingling. 

Almost everyone except you. 

You are on your tiptoes, reaching for a globe almost your own size, dragging it by your fingertips. The black plastic base makes a low screeching sound, and Peter grimaces.

“Stop that, what are you doing?” he asks, standing up and shoving his backpack to his shoulders. 

“I need that,” is all you murmur as you drag the base closer, not minding the fact that the heavier part of the globe is facing you. 

“Let me,” he says as he advances, but before he can approach you, you shoot a nasty glare in his way. 

“I can do it myself,” you say and drag the base swiftly.

The globe falls with your force, aiming at your pretty head, threatening to break it in two. You are too late to protect your skull from it. Peter is not.

A silver web of Spiderman sticks to the sphere and pulls it away from you, right beside your feet. 

You flinch at the sound of the impact, and Peter frowns. “Where’s your head at? Did you really think you could carry that around?”

“I hoped. Is it broken?”

Peter scoffs, almost laughing genuinely, but stops. “Would be surprised if it wasn’t.”

He doesn’t wait for any reply, moving past you to the door. 

Peter didn’t denote any meaning to it. It was an unlucky accident and a lucky coincidence that he was there. He had to admit, he did panic when he saw your frightened face, trying to cover yourself from the blow, but that is how he always felt when something happened to you.

Thus, by the next day, he had forgotten about it. That is until he took notice of the bandage around your dominant hand.

His eyes were narrowed, trying to figure out how you’d managed to harm yourself. There was no way for it to be broken, and yet it was a mystery to him how you managed a gash that deep to be bandaged. 

It was none of his business.

Yes, of course. None of his business. He shouldn’t wonder, as there is absolutely no reason for him to worry. He shouldn’t give in to the urge to walk up to you and question you. Or get mad at you for not being careful like he used to do.

He put distance between you for a reason. 

Albeit you are indeed with an injury, it could have been worse with him around. Or he could have prevented it. You could have been captured, or tormented, or gotten into another accident trying to save him, and even though your hand must have bled again, you are better off, right? You could’ve been—

“What happened to your hand?”

You look up, eyes nonchalant grey and countenance indifferent towards him. He glances at the papers before you, deducing that he must have intervened with your studies. You shouldn’t have studied in the canteen anyway.

“Nothing serious,” you wave off your bandaged hand, which only makes Peter more uneasy. He doesn’t enjoy seeing you injured– no matter how small and insignificant it is.

“You cut it?” his brown eyes never leave yours, and he feels heartburn inside his chest at the sight of you. This might not be the best idea. 

“Yeah.”

You are cold. Distant and indifferent. Unlike the first days, when he’d drown in your sorrow, cursing himself for your every shed tear, and burn to ashes at the sight of you, you now have a nonchalance painting your visage shadowed with a confidence he is not sure where you’re getting from.

“Knife?” he nods. 

Your eyebrows raise, and Peter feels strange in his own skin. What is he doing? He has no right to this.

“Worried much, Parker?”

“Just want to make sure it’s nothing–”

“Nothing serious, that was the first thing I said,” you cut him off. 

Peter feels himself falter. “Alright, that’s-that’s good.”

You nod, lowering your gaze back to the letters and numbers before you.  Peter takes the cue and turns around to leave.

He looks back and sees you smile to yourself.

Going back, all of many things made sense, except that one. He didn’t think you’d be crazy enough to inflict pain upon yourself. 

Peter shakes his head, jumping to another roof to have you in his vision. You are walking out of a coffee shop with a boiling hot one in your hand. He wonders if you’ll somehow manage to spill it and burn yourself again. 

He watches your hair get wet in the rain and knows you deliberately didn’t take an umbrella with you. It is absolutely frustrating.

You are absolutely frustrating.

The birds that are chirping at this time of the year must be a simulation, Peter thinks. Or robots. He remembers the game that had android birds. Although he never understood their purpose, he supposed it was one of the ways to signal the player that twenty years later, androids will–

“Parker!”

Ashley’s call startles him and he turns around. Oh, she has dyed her hair purple. And you are there with her.

“Hey, Ash, what’s up?” he cracks a subtle smile after failing to catch your gaze. You are staring at the hot coffee before you. He thinks it is hot– who would want an iced coffee in winter? Maybe you, he’s not sure.

“Wanna sit with us?”

No, he doesn’t. Not with Ashley around. “Uh, actually, I was just about to leave.”

He wasn’t. He was going to think of the game and its complicated flowchart. Maybe guess how other choices may lead to totally different endings.

“Didn’t you just come?” She raises a brow.

Five minutes doesn’t count as just. “Yeah, for a change of air.”

Peter smiles and gets up from his seat to approach yours. “You ladies need me to bring you something?”

You don’t cast him a glance, toying with your coffee cup. He’d tell you to stop doing that unless you want to burn yourself, but he bites his tongue. It’s not his business.

“You’re gonna burn yourself.”

“No, I won’t. Thanks for the warning, though, Parker,” you continue to do it nonetheless.

Ashley is talking, and yet Peter can’t hear; his eyes are on the cup and the steam that hovers over it. Another blow that is a bit stronger than the one before, you’ll spill it and burn yourself–

Peter sees you hit the cup harder, and in a swift moment, he pushes the cup towards himself in the hope of not burning you. The dark liquid spills over, its steams soaring slowly.

“You alright?” his eyes check for anything wrong like they always do and rest on you when they don’t find any.

“Did you just spill her drink?” Ashley laughs. 

“No–”

“He totally did,” you nod, determinant in your movements.

Peter scowls in confusion, staring into your eyes. You tilt your head in response. You still are so pretty, he realises. He thinks it is not the right time to miss the taste of your lips against his. He never got to kiss you the second time, did he? If the first one even counted as a kiss.

“You owe me a cup of coffee, Parker.”

He watches you leave in perplexity.

As he follows you from the air, the irritating regret fills him for not kissing you the second time, but he shuns the thoughts away. He doesn’t know what this game will result in, how hard the limits will get pushed into the verge of the break, and he certainly doesn't want any new ideas to get to his head now that he sees you frequently.

What goes through your head with your each escapade is still a mystery that he has yet to solve. How you dare to face the most ridiculous circumstances without even a tremble in your hands is a wonder to him. 

How much more any of you is willing to go…that’s another story that Peter can complain about for hours.

His shoulders sulk with his idle steps. Gray stains the weather and his heart. He thinks of Mark. How he had to kill him. How the rage had blinded him, numbing his senses. What worries him sometimes is the fact that he does not regret Mark’s death, unlike all the other criminals who had to die in the battle against him. 

All he could think was you when he was face to face with that man.

He wonders if that makes him a bad one as well. 

He only wants to get back home and sleep. 

He looks around the campus, finding the best route out of all the busy chatterbox students and couples who are about to have sex out in public. 

He recognises your frame a few steps ahead from your backpack. He notices your limping state, frowns, and, without a second, thought approaches you. 

“Why are you limping?”

“I sprained my ankle,” you don’t seem surprised to see him as the reply flows smoothly from your lips. 

“Where?”

“The stairs.”

Peter’s heart stings with every one of your winces as you step on your feet. “Don’t you have a ride home?”

“I sprained my ankle after I turned down the ride.”

He checks his surroundings. “Let me take you to a doctor.”

You shake your head while Peter practically drags your backpack from your shoulders and carries it on his own. “It’s just a sprain.”

“Maybe, but you are walking on it, at least let me swing you home,” he keeps his tone as reserved as possible, not wanting to give away how this situation annoys him.

“What’s the worst that can happen?”

How would he know? He is not a doctor. “I don’t know, but I do know it’s not good to walk on it. Don’t insist, come on–”

“Peter,” this is the first time you’re calling him by his first name after everything. “If you weren’t around, I would still walk on my sprained ankle.”

“Yeah, but now that I’m around, let me help you,” his tone changes to irritation, and surprisingly, he knows you enjoy it.

“Oh, no,” you frantically shake your head before wincing again. And yet, a smile climbs up to your lips. Not a happy or a genuine one. One that resembles a smirk. “See, you being around has a big possibility that I’ll end up hurt.”

Peter’s frown deepens as his heart skips a beat. His mind runs amok with many interpretations of your words. “Is this what this is about?”

When you don’t answer, time fills in the gaps. He finally makes sense of every little bad luck. Pieces merge together like a puzzle. 

You’ve been putting yourself in trouble on purpose. 

He doesn’t plan to confront you about it yet. He has some thinking to do. 

“What?” you ask, genuinely confused.

“Don’t torture yourself, let me carry you home,” he ignores the question altogether. 

“I said no.”

He could not change your mind that day, just like you could not change his once. Yet, he did not have the heart to leave you alone unattended. 

Thus, he followed you home from a distance.

From that day on, he's made sure to keep an eye on you. 

Of course, there was no way of always being around you, and yet when he was, he’d have to prevent a disaster, whether from happening or from hurting you.

It was flattering, truly. To know you have placed enough trust in him to put yourself in ridiculous situations. It even drives him to actually not help you once, but his heart just won’t let him.

His night was mostly done; all he needed and wanted to do was idly check around the neighbourhood and make sure everyone was safe. He had a nice night– no big fights, just a few pickpockets and drunk potential dangers. 

On his way home, he decides to pass through your street for the last time just to make sure you are indeed safe.

To his luck, you are not.

At first, he struggles to recognize you from the tiny silhouette and almost passes through you swinging in the air. Something, however, stops him in mid-air. 

His eyes squint under the white cloth of the mask, and he jumps to the ground.

“It’s three in the morning, trouble,” his tone is indifferent, but what he feels is far from indifferent. 

“Didn’t ask for time, Spider,” you don’t cast him a glance, shrinking to your coat instead. He turns around, walking backwards. 

“Only homeless people and criminals wander around alone at this time. Which are you?” 

“Just a girl,” you disregard. “You should leave me alone.”

“It’s not safe,” he shakes his head. “You gotta stop this, sweetheart.”

He can feel the shift in the air around you. Your confident walk wavers only for a second, and yet he notices. 

“Stop what?” you ask, pretending that the name had no effect on you.

“Whatever game it is that you are playing,” Peter stops in his tracks; so do you. “Cut it out. It’s not safe.”

You look at him and shrug. “I can’t take you seriously with that mask.”

He takes it off with a quick movement, tousling his hair in the process. He would pay a heavy sum to know what you were feeling in the moment. He catches the change in your gaze and the quick glimpse at his lips. 

He murmurs your name, “I know why you are doing this.”

“Pray tell.”

“You are trying to prove that you can get hurt without having a Spiderman in your life–”

“You said it, not me.”

“By jumping at every damned opportunity to get hurt,” he finishes the sentence ignoring your interruption. 

When you don’t say anything more, Peter feels the frustration slowly climb up his core. He is tired from worrying about you every day. For a few days, he exhausted his own mind for a glimpse at yours to understand the logic behind all this. 

He doesn’t know what to do. 

“How long do you plan on keeping this up?”

To his surprise, you finally look him in the eye. His heart skips a beat. He forces himself not to dwell on how much he misses you. 

“Until you stop the ‘for your own good’ bullshit.”

“Trouble, it was for your own good,” his tone has changed, growing tender now that your eyes rest on him. 

They remind him of the glow he's been admiring for the past months. The laughter echoing in his heart, the light shining in his soul. The heat and desire and lust burning to ashes in his veins.

Maybe it is late. Nothing good happens after 2 a.m.

“Then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, Parker,” you stride forward, and Peter hurries after you. He can’t leave this conversation like this.

He has to show you how insane it is to hurt yourself deliberately for his attention.

“Are you seriously that mad? That crazy enough to cut your own hand?” he demands when he catches up to you. 

“When the hell did I cut my own hand?”

You sound truly confused, and he is only a step left to madness. 

“The bandage!”

“Oh, no, it had nothing under it. But it did work, didn’t it?” you laugh, and Peter’s body ignites in so many colours. “Did you really think I would hurt myself for someone?”

“You burned yourself and dropped a globe!”

“No, I didn’t,” you laugh again, and not only Peter feels the desperation mingle with anger, but he also feels the self control slowly slipping between his palms. Ah, that laugh.

“You did–”

“You prevented any of that happening, remember?”

“And you bet on that chance?!”

When you giggle again, Peter’s eyes fall to your lips. He drowns the urge. It is neither the time nor the place. 

“Yeah, I did. You should try the same thing sometimes instead of running like a coward.”

He has no idea what you said. The only thing he can hear is the dulcet tone and the lips singing the tune. Would you slap him if he slammed his lips to yours?

You’d have a right to.

“Trouble–”

“Stop calling me that, Parker,” you beckon with your hand. “And goodnight.”

Peter does not think he is a coward. Not when it comes to being the hero. When it comes to his heart, however, he is not so sure.

All he knows is that the obligation to keep you safe is growing heavy on him. 

Its stress is straining his nerves thin, his feelings elevating the unease further. He can’t handle this any longer, and yet here he is, wanting to make sure you cross the road safely.

Watching you from afar proves to be more difficult than he had guessed initially. 

To have you in sight all the time and yet not be able to hear you, talk to you, or touch you is pushing him to the verge of madness. Your memories start to haunt him, your smile before his eyes, your touch on his skin, and, oh sweet Lord, your lips hovering over his lips.

He curses every interruption ever hindering your lips away. 

The feelings he has buried deep dig their way up to the surface with every strand of your hair wavering in the wind. Every laugh that is not presented to his ears taunts him. Every touch lingers on a skin that isn’t his burdens his chest. 

He feels like he’s going crazy.

Lost in thought, he misses how you don’t check the road before walking. How the cars won’t stop for your sake.

He was afraid that you’d spill your hot coffee and burn yourself. No, you’re going to kill yourself in a car crash.

His heartbeat picks up as he stands up in a second, sticking a web to the roof after jumping off it. The cold breeze would not usually hurt him; thus, he is sure it is the adrenaline that spills cold water down his spine. 

When you enter his vision, so close to a car that’s speeding as if it’s going to fly, he opens his arms and grabs you by the waist.

Your coffee spills on him, burning his skin, yet he clenches his jaw at the pain. 

Swinging over the cars, his ears sting from your screech. He carries himself up by the web and lands on the rooftop.

Leaving your waist empty, he takes off his mask in rage.

“Are you out of your mind?!” he yells. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Your nose is red from the bone-shattering weather, but your smile radiates sunlight enough to warm hearts. “Oh, hey, Parker.”

“No! Don’t ‘hey, Parker’ me, you hear me?! Just-just stop this madness!”

Peter is frantic, which amuses you more. His face is red, and you are certain it is not from the weather. The vein in his neck bulges, but it does nothing to scare you.

“What madness?”

“Stop trying to kill yourself to prove a point, trouble, or you’ll actually die one of these days!”

Your smile widens. Your plan worked. It took a terrifying amount of fear to implement it and much more trust in him to act on it, but in the end, it worked, and you are so close to what you want now.

“I can die any time of any day.”

“Yes, but no,– fuck!” Peter curses roughly. 

You know you just have to push him a little bit more. Make him face his fears. Just a little bit more, and he’ll break. 

“I can jump from this roof, you know, you are practically encouraging me.”

He lets out a frustrated groan. "Alright! Alright! Fine, fine! Stop this! You win," he screams, hands in the air, eyes wide with fear and defeat. "Hell, you're gonna be the death of me!"

“I win?” you ask, eyebrows raised. "So, you’ll stop the 'for your own good' bullshit?"

Peter stays silent for a moment, the only indicator of his distress being his swiftly heaving chest.

Your shoulders sulk at his hesitation. 

If you’ve gone through all the trouble and still failed to change his mind, then maybe it is not worth it. Maybe it was easier for him to endure your absence than it was for you to endure his. Maybe he has already accepted the situation, unlike you, who was simply tolerating it for a change to betide.

Defeat and desperation grow heavy on your shoulders. It carries to your eyes as well. 

You shake your head and turn to leave.

Peter’s hand grabs your wrist before pulling you into his chest. His thumb raises your chin, and before you can react, his lips crash with yours.

Your heart hammers against your ribs. The last breath leaves your lungs as Peter’s hand travels to your waist and lower. This time, you don’t hesitate; you don’t let the shock confuse you.

You kiss him back. 

You welcome his lips over yours, letting your hand touch his soft skin. 

God, you’ve missed it.

It is soft and tender. The reminder of the affection you once had, of the tension you never lost.

It is not enough, and yet, nothing ever made you feel this at peace. 

You draw a sharp breath when he slowly breaks the kiss.

"You owed me one,” he whispers against your lips. You flutter your eyes open, gazing at the brown you’ve missed. 

He parts his lips to talk, "And yes, I will... stop the- the thi–”

You don’t let him. You know what he’s going to say anyway.

You don’t want to hear it. Why would you wish to hear it when you can feel it, taste it?

This time, the kiss is sloppy, hungry, filled with a yearn radiating from your lips to your hearts. It is rough and firm, just like his hands around your waist. You didn’t know there was any distance left between you two, and yet he managed to pull you closer by his hand on your lower back. 

His other hand climbs up your neck, cupping your cheek. 

It was cold outside, and now you are sweating under your coat.

You play with the hair behind his neck and let his tongue between your lips. The deepening kiss feels wrong out in the air, but his body against yours numbs any morals.

You forget frost, the traffic, the spilled coffee.

He forgets the mask, the roof, rain falling onto you.

There is nothing and everything, and both of them are you.

x

“How about you tidy up your place from time to time?”

You step on Peter’s shirt on your way to his bed. 

“This is the tidied-up version,” he lays next to you, a cookie plate in his bed.

“You sure you’re okay with the crumbs?” you involuntarily smile and take one, but instead of biting it, you divide it in half.

“Yeah, it’s seen worse,” Peter watches the crumbs fall to his bed and averts his eye back to you. You look disgusted.

Instead of denying it, he smirks.

“Ew, Peter!”

“Ew yourself, missy. My bed is cleaner than your room.”

“There is a sock,” you point to the corner of his bed. 

“Does it smell?”

“No, but it has a gap,” you laugh and don’t notice Peter staring at your lips. “Can you wear it?”

“Later,” he murmurs before moving you by the chin to face him. You smile against his lips as he kisses you.

Your days have turned into soft touches with him by your side and your nights into lustful kisses with you on his bed. 

You don’t complain. He still drives you mad, pushes your limits with every study you two ever have to do, but he also encourages you, loves you, and on nights like this where it is only you, the serene darkness and him, kisses you like it’s the first time every time.

A slow, almost non-existent moan escapes from you, and he smiles his mocking smile. You let him guide you to your back as he props himself up by his elbow over you. His hand roams your body and reaches the hem of your shirt to travel under it–

“You guys want anything else?” the door cracks open.

“Oh, come on, May!”

okay, this is the final! i'm so so so sorry that it took almost three months, and thank you to every one of you who patiently waited for me &lt;33

i loved writing dulcet, and i hope you loved reading it with me, please let me know what you think of the series and the final.

if you want, buy me a coffee

tags✿ : @starsval @taylorann2013 @miwagila @just-henny @pepsicolacoochie @teddtheweeb @1ts-izzy @simp-sentral @naok-iyuu @hearttjason @itsfloorcry @olivezgalore @wildestestdreams @patis643 @lovelyweepingrebel @thedavax @qwintlimon7 @delwrites @daddyjackfrost @eddieslooneymoonie @msstillinskimorgan @lilmaymayy @tarzinnia @warrenposts @thehappygrungelife @peridotermine @ihearttities @hitoshislut @sassyrizznerd @aheadfullofsteverogers @booksandfairytales-mainblog @marmie-noir @thelonerlover @ttulipwritezz @unicornforscale @gorillaglue23 @inkthgoat @dinovickydzillarex @simp-sentral @miwagila @adiaz-25 @void21 @pingpongfingfong @just-levyy @mommymortuary @kindlover @turningtoclown @xreaderbooksreads @anuncalledbridge @ezzynf @birdsinmywalls @somethingsmart123 @dreamsarecloserwithyou @sincericida @hollandweather

[twoduelsabers]

helpless

summary -> you don't know why is qimir helping you so often, and neither does he

she/her pronouns, no use of y/n

content warnings -> none

a/n : thank you for the support on my last story<3

"youre lucky it's not deep."

qimir commented, as he finished patching up her injured side. his voice wavered against his own will for the sentence to be lighthearted. seeing her wound made him strangely concerned.

"not lucky. i wouldn't let him close enough to kill me."

she huffed, trying to focus on the pain instead of how his hands felt against her stomach. both burned. she tightened her grip on the side of her bunk to snap herself out of it.

"yeah, you're very tough."

he rolled his eyes. when he was sure the wound is taken care of, he rose from his knees. his soft eyes found her's, and he was glad that she was okay.

her gaze lingered on qimir for a moment. she turned her head to the side, leaning on the wall behind her with a sigh.

"thanks."

qimir raised his eyebrow at the show of gratitude. she almost never thanked him - or well - anyone to be percise. a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, and he turned back to her, crossing his arms.

"hmm, you're welcome." he hummed. "as always."

always.

she pursed her lips. he did always help her. and she didn't like that he did so - if she was to please her master she should be able to handle herself on her own.

there was something more to it. qimir tagged along almost every mission she was assigned with - from as simple as obtaining intel to assassinations. he followed her even when he seemingly had no reason to. a frown formed on her face. maybe it was that her master was distrustful of her.

"yeah. why do you always help? you didn't even need to be here today in the first place." she started, suspicions. "perhaps my master told you to keep an eye on me. did he?"

qimir was caught off guard by the question. he realised that she was right - he did follow her around...but he just wanted to keep a close eye on her to know what she needs to improve. to be able to teach her later. and solely that.

an odd and unfamiliar feeling tugged at his chest. but if so, why did her getting injured affect him at all?

he remained a stoic expression. instead of answering her question, he asked one of his own, trying to be playful.

"did you ever think i just wanted to come? out of my own will?"

"not really."

she shrugged. because why would he? seemingly, it wouldn't benefit him in any way.

the same odd feeling rose in qimir. he was strangely hurt by her words. he was sure that she considered him a friend...and even if she didn't, why would it matter?

"well. if you want me to stay back, just say it." he muttered.

"no- i want you to be with me!"

she closed her mouth as fast as she realised what she just said. qimir's gaze shot up, entwining with hers. a heavy silence hung between them. their relationship was confusing enough as is before - and that certainly did not help the matter.

qimir stood in place not really knowing what to do next, which wasn't common for him. at all. he needed to keep up his act though, and the only solution he came up with...

"oh, do you now?"

she tensed up. his intentions were never clear to her, especially in this moment.

"don't let it get to your head."

qimir made his way back to her. as he sat down, his thigh brushed against hers. he needed to play it well. he needed to be convincing. if they really became closer, he'd have access to her fears, her secrets, everything he doesn't know yet. that was the only reason as to why he wanted to do what he was about to.

the only reason.

he told himself, as his palm gently traced the curve of her jaw.

only reason.

he repeated as his dark eyes dropped down to her lips.

"i'm afraid it's too late for that."

qimir said, as a smile tugged at the corners of his lips, a moment before he pressed it to hers. as much as it all was so sudden to her, she reciprocated, her hand coming over his.

she pulled away after a moment.

"be glad i meant it in that way. otherwise you would be done for."

her teasing voice made qimir smile against his own will. he rose his hands in a surrendering gesture.

"i'm a lucky man then."

and he was.

and when that thought formed in his head, he wasn't sure what were his reasons anymore.

masterlist

a/n : i'm not entirely sure how to feel about this story...😭 hope yall enjoyed it though

reblogs appreciated!

[gyusimp]

🏮𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 🏮

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 𝑵𝒔𝒇𝒘 | 𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒅 𝒔𝒆𝒙 | 𝑩𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 | 𝑫𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 | 𝑩𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒌 | 𝑪𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏 𝑮𝒚𝒖𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒐 | 𝑭𝒆𝒎 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 | 𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒓𝒔 𝒑𝒍𝒔 𝑫𝑵𝑰

🏮𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒐: ❞𝑹𝒆𝒅 𝑳𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔❞ - 𝑺𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒚 𝑲𝒊𝒅𝒔

𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒌, 𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚!

𝐀𝐫𝐭 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐬: @𝐥𝐥𝐥_𝟏𝟐𝟑_𝐥𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

The pain in your abdomen was killing you, the cramps made you feel so weak that you felt like you could pass out at any moment, you even started to feel like throwing up so the best thing to do for now while the pain medicine took effect was go up to your room and lie down for a moment.

Maybe getting some sleep would help you, most of the time when you slept for a while you woke up without pain so this was the solution to your problem. You lay down carefully on your futon and the moment your head touched your pillow your eyelids started to feel heavy until you slowly drifted off to sleep.

It was almost 10:00 pm and after wandering through the loneliest streets of the entertainment district, the upper sixth decided to return to the house where he lived inside his sister after a successful hunt. His demonic instinct to have killed a few people was wearing off but as soon as he stepped foot on your bedroom window to go inside, it was as if his bloodthirsty switch had been flipped up again.

The veins of his entire body stood out under his skin and in the middle of his bones, his muscles tensed and his mouth began to drool uncontrollably causing his saliva to begin to spill between his teeth up to his chin. Gyutaro smelled blood, and not just any blood. It was yours.

As if he were a wild animal stalking its feeble prey, he sneaked into your room making his footsteps inaudible to you while you were fast asleep. He crept through the shadows and darkness and loomed over you in a dangerous and imposing way trying to search anxiously with his gaze for any bleeding wounds on your body but he found none in plain sight.

He wanted to devour you, take his sickles and stick them into your belly to open your abdomen wide and tear all your organs from their place with his own fingers, taste you and lick every part that contained your blood until he reached the bones and to finally feel that you were becoming one with him... but he wouldn't do that. Throughout his time with you, Gyutaro learned to control his bloodlust, though that didn't take away from the fact that he would do anything to taste you.

He examined your whole body with his gaze, brought his face dangerously close to you and sniffed at you like a bloodhound searching for something underground. Gyutaro went down to your neck, then to your breasts, to your waist and when he went down to your pelvis before continuing with your thighs he stopped. It was as if someone had broken his nose with a blow when he suddenly felt that familiar fragrance burst suddenly and without warning through his nostrils. His curiosity was beyond his ability to reason at this point so he took the skirt of your kimono and lifted it up, exposing your panties. It was at that moment where all that perfume invaded the entire room.

You complained when you felt the cold of the night hitting your legs so you moved alerting Gyutaro. You left your face uncovered to reveal to Gyutaro the intense blush that invaded your entire face. You had been awake for a while before Gyutaro entered your room but upon seeing him go into hunter mode you decided that the most sensible thing to do was probably to keep still until Gyutaro's curious hands made you move in place, looking down. You tried to move your legs and settle on the futon, Gyutaro was your lover but that didn't take away from the fact that it was a bit embarrassing that he was staring at your panties, especially these days.

Gyutaro didn't care, he wanted to reach his goal at any cost but suddenly you quickly sat down and stood up pretending you remembered to do something. This made Gyutaro angry, your embarrassment made you act without thinking, and now your wrist was clamped tightly between his fingers. Gyutaro got on his knees in front of you and with a menacing look he ordered you to stay still so you obeyed him.

His hands took your clothes and a smirk spread across his face as he opened your kimono from under your obi exposing your panties again and that gorgeous scent for him. Brazenly, he reached between your legs and inhaled against your skin making your skin freeze trying to stop him by grabbing his head.

"G-Gyutaro, what are you doing!?" you asked, scared and shy. Very nervous too.

Gyutaro looked up and his lazy, carefree gaze met yours. "It's those days of the month, isn't it?" He asked.

Gyutaro didn't doubt it for another minute, if he kept thinking about the matter you would suspect his intentions and end up moving away from him so he immediately grabbed the edge of your underwear and pulled it down.

"Gyutaro!" You claimed, surprised.

When Gyutaro pulled at your clothing, a small red thread stretched out from your core causing it to end up stuck to your inner thigh. Gyutaro inevitably noticed and finished removing your panties to look at the fresh bloodstain that was dripping onto a small additional piece of cloth. His instinct told him to take it straight to his mouth and that's what he did, having one of the most precious things about you come into contact with his tongue, everything became different. Your blood was like a drug to him, once he tasted you he wanted more and more until your taste was etched on his palate.

Gyutaro put your dirty panties aside and placed both hands on your thighs to squeeze them with some force. He pushed your hands away in a clumsy attempt to cover you, bringing his face ever closer to you.

"Don't you feel bad these days? Let me make you feel better…don't be stupid and be a good girl to me, will you?" He seduced you, with his husky and trembling voice.

You couldn't articulate a response as you felt Gyutaro sink his head between your thighs and caress your entire slit with his long tongue. The only thing you could do was moan in surprise and bring the back of your hand to your mouth trying to hide each of your sounds.

The moment your blood was on Gyutaro's mouth, both of you knew there would be no going back. Gyutaro tightened his grip on your thighs and didn't let go of you. His lips adhered to yours and his mouth began to suck every part of your cunt as he swallowed every last drop. The hot feeling between your legs from Gyutaro's breath and feeling his wet tongue running through each of your corners made you feel more and more wet. You knew this would be a disaster and it embarrassed you so much but if Gyutaro really didn't have a problem with trying then neither did you. Actually, you had also fantasized about this moment before, your boyfriend is a bloodthirsty human-eating demon so he would never refuse to taste yours and even more so in this way so at this moment you could be anything to Gyutaro except disgusting.

Many wet clicks sounded in the room every time Gyutaro sucked on your core, his moans were muffled and his gasps were low and hoarse from deep in his throat. Your legs began to ache from the position you were standing in as well as Gyutaro's strong grip on them so you slowly got comfortable and sat on the floor. You thought it would be a bit awkward to do on the cold hard wood floor but it would be so much easier to clean in the end. You thought so but Gyutaro took you by the hips and placed you on the futon where you were sleeping peacefully a few minutes ago.

Your face was surprised to see his. His gaze fixed on you with passion and desire, instinct pushed him to continue. His face was stained with blood, even a little on the tip of his nose, a perverted smile formed on his mouth showing his reddish teeth as he licked the remains on his lips with his tongue. You looked down at your kimono open below your waist and how a slightly red stain was painting your thighs. This would surely be a disaster.

"G-Gyutaro, not here...I'm gonna stain everything"

Gyutaro looked at you as if this was a challenge. "And you think I care about that?"

He took your thighs again and spread your legs wide, having a beautiful view of your entire glowing core painted red, Gyutaro's mouth watered just looking at you and without waiting another second he plunged  his face again between your legs. Gyutaro didn't just limit himself to licking you, you could feel a slight pressure every time he sucked your blood from the bottom causing your back to arch and you began to move your hips in circles instinctively getting closer to his face.

The warmth of Gyutaro's tongue ran through you with complete freedom, he even took the trouble to lick the small red drops that escaped to your thighs and buttocks because of the position you were in. Your moans made him lose what little composure he had left. Gyutaro separated from you with his face wet and stained again leaving a trail of his saliva on your legs, he took your kimono with both hands and urgently got rid of it to leave you completely naked.

Gyutaro loomed over you, his hunched and intimidating figure enveloping you in his arms, he was about to go straight for your mouth but before he could you moved your face to the side causing Gyutaro's lips to collide with your cheek which clearly annoyed him a bit.

"Don't you wanna taste how delicious you are?" he scoffed.

For now he would let it go because he was actually in a very good mood, otherwise he would have forcefully grabbed your face and forced you to kiss his bloody mouth like he has done a couple of times before when he comes back from the kill. Gyutaro laughed against your skin, your eyes were closed so you couldn't help but jump reflexively when you felt a hot, sticky, wet sensation on your cheek. It was Gyutaro's tongue, which left a reddish stain on your skin.

A familiar sensation settled in your belly, moving toward your cunt at the exact moment Gyutaro lowered one of his hands and inserted his fingers inside you, and as he did, he could feel a warm discharge drenching his fingers, trickling down on the palm of his hand. Your face flushed red and your expression twisted in embarrassment as you felt a considerable amount of blood dripping right onto Gyutaro's hand. Your dripping was inevitable and with each passing second your thighs, your clothes, and the futon beneath the two of you began to tinge more and more red.

Gyutaro was amazed by this glorious moment so he took care of taking your face with one hand staining your cheeks so you could see how he licked the fingers that had been painted by you a few seconds ago. His tongue danced between his fingers making sure to take every drop of blood on his skin and then taste and swallow. He didn't say anything, he just looked at you and gave you daring smiles full of desire.

Gyutaro couldn't wait any longer. He grabbed the top of his pants and pulled them down to release his hard, throbbing dick, just seeing how erect he was made you shudder with pleasure eager to feel him as deep inside you as possible. Gyutaro's hand went straight for his tip to pump himself up a bit causing the blood on his hand to stain his cock and turn his fluid pink. He spread your legs to expose your entire pussy to his view and lined up at your entrance between your aching reddish folds.

He didn't give a shit about all the mess of blood that would be created, Gyutaro clung with both hands on your hips squeezing you tightly and began to move his to enter you with light thrusts that intensified with each impact in your center. His lips were kept parted letting thin threads of pink saliva slip between his sharp teeth while the loud and desperate moans that came from the back of his throat showed you how aroused he was. His mouth covered your entire body as did one of his hands, which left red marks of his painted hands on all of your skin as if he were marking you. Claiming you as his in the most passionate way.

In addition to your and Gyutaro's juices, your period made your pussy even wetter than usual so you could hear a cheeky splash every time Gyutaro pushed deeper and deeper into you. Your moans were carefree and grew louder as you felt Gyutaro's tongue begin to run over your soft skin. He filled your neck with wet kisses, licked and sucked your breasts, playing with your hard nipples, leaving some bite on your soft flesh; the intense smell of blood pushed him to be more rude than normal.

His thrusts began to be more violent and hard, you spread your legs more in an attempt to open more your cunt and receive Gyutaro better but you were still very tight for his thick length. You looked down and could only see your reddish and wet thighs and how your cunt connected directly to Gyutaro's cock while he desperately nailed you. His pants were getting stained with the drops that came out inside you, a very wet feeling that wet your butt and began to reach your back began to bother you. This caused some whimpering to leak to your lips between your moans, a part of you wanted to continue until you couldn't take it anymore but the other part wanted to end right now because your period made you feel really uncomfortable.

"Ah-aahh...Gyu-taro, I wanna cum... I wanna cum right now." you asked, with even more provocative pleas.

Gyutaro couldn't refuse at this moment, you didn't know it but he was surrendering at your feet for allowing him to make this fantasy of fucking you real while both of you were covered in blood. There was nothing better for him.

"As soon?" He sneered "You seemed to be enjoying it, babe. You're a slut, you should like these things."

Gyutaro would tease you by making comments to annoy you and humiliate you sweetly. He rocked his hips forward hard making you scream his name, tightening you around him; Gyutaro moved your legs up to your shoulders and licked the inner part of your thighs, sucking the new spots that were painted on you while he squeezed your wet ass and massaged it lewdly causing more moans from you and from him to see you in this weak state.

His hands cupped your ass and his rough fingers went straight to your cunt, his thumb tightening on your clit to start rubbing it causing chills to run through your body every time he squeezed and played with your nub. His other fingers played between your labia causing wet sounds every time he touched you, staining his fingers in a matter of seconds. From the way you squeezed into Gyutaro he could tell that you were about to cum but for some reason you couldn't and that was starting to frustrate you. You started moving and rubbing against Gyutaro to speed up your orgasm, your face contorted with pleasure as your hands clung to the futon and you bit your lip trying not to drool uncontrollably. Gyutaro kept fucking you hard and that helped the feeling of orgasm start to be more intense for him than for you.

That was a bit funny for him so he couldn't help but laugh and tease you as usual.

"Guess who's going to have the most fucking intense orgasm? It won't be your tight, pathetic little pussy, my love!" He said, while laughing.

Gyutaro started moaning as loudly and shamelessly as he fucking wanted, he grabbed both of your shoulders and then caged you in his arms to get as close to him as he could and hug you, leaving stains all over your back. Gyutaro's hips and yours collided with each other in an obscene reddish splash. An incredible sensation formed in Gyutaro's guts causing him to scratch your skin slightly as he leaned his head back to cum to the last drop inside you. Feeling that thick and warm sensation in your slippery pussy you couldn't help but start moving more and squeezing to try to cum too, you told Gyutaro not to stop touching you, he must have his fingers fucking and squeezing your needy clit over and over again until you finally felt it, your waist trembled and when you spread your legs wide your orgasm poured over Gyutaro creating a pink ring around his dick inside of you.

Gyutaro's hips continued to move reflexively as you finished cumming completely causing your juices and his to squirt out of you onto the futon. Gyutaro grabbed your legs and slowly came out of you to allow you to take a breather after having done what he wanted with you. A sticky red thread spread from your cunt following the tip of his dick as he pulled out of you. His entire cock was painted red as was the fabric of his pants that was under your legs.

Gyutaro looked straight ahead and saw how your wide open pussy continued to get wet and dripping even though he was done using you for now, the sight was too tempting so he couldn't help but lean over and start sucking between your folds, separating them with his fingers to reach towards your clit and lick it with need and desire nibbling your cunt a little making that electrifying sensation of your arousal make you wet and make you throb again. You moaned at Gyutaro's dirty actions and to create a little more friction, you started moving so that your clit brushed and rubbed against Gyutaro's tongue and he could taste every drop of you as he got you aroused again.

"Yeah... keep it up, aahh-ah!" You moaned in need, urged to feel him pleasuring your femininity in whatever way it was again.

"Do you like that? I thought you wanted to finish this now..."

Your hips didn't stop moving as you felt Gyutaro's breath crashing against your folds, you began to feel very horny from one second to the next. Probably because of the wet and intense feeling of having your orgasm almost at the same time as Gyutaro.

"N-no, just…aah! I just wanted to cum, but I want to keep going, I want you to keep going! I want you to touch me and fuck me until you can't anymore! Mmhh-aah!"

Gyutaro loved that you were so pathetic, ready to beg him to do all sorts of things to you.

"So...do you want me to continue?" He asked cruelly to make you beg. "Come on, if you want it so much, beg me for that, beg me to spread your legs wide and fuck you." He said, licking his lips.

"Ah-Aah! Fuck me Gyu, I beg you! Fill me up as much as you can" You replied, touching your own folds not caring that your fingers got dirty when you pumped your hole and they went in and out of you.

Gyutaro smiled mischievously, took your hand that was kneading and playing with your vagina and pulled it out of you to bring it to his mouth and lick your fingers obscenely, without taking his eyes off of you.

"So, this is just getting started."

[newfallstrangeleaves]

Yandere in the apocalypse

Diving in deep

M!Yandere X F!Reader

Warning: Mentions of both voyeurism and masturbation, there is also stalking, murder and a lot of jealousy.

Summary: While watching you bathing in the lake he slips and accidentally (almost) exposes himself.

He would be hands down horny for you all the time. There was one time that always slips into his mind whenever he allows himself a moment to jack off. His mind keeps going back to that moment, thinking about the curve of your body, the swell of your ass and breasts. 

And that moment is the day you and the girls took a well-overdue bath in the lake. It was a hot day and everyone was sweating bullets. The rays of the sun keep everything still and quiet in the shades. The only sounds that could be heard were the laughter and the joyful splashing of water. 

Aaron back up in a tree, is watching contently. His leg is still hurting and he has half a mind to cause some trouble to the group. Stir things up. But not today. Today he wants to focus on you. Though half of him would have seen you without the shielding fabric of your bra and panties and the other half is happy that you do wear it. He can tell how some of the guys glance your way—especially one of them. 

Xavier. 

Fuck what an obnoxious name for an obnoxious guy. He has been taking charge for some time now. Bossing the group around and making bad decisions. Though he seems to be well-liked by your group, they would never be able to survive in these conditions without someone to tell them what to do. Sheep. 

You too seem to like him. But you're an exception. Where the others are sheep you are a devoter. Through your actions, you show appreciation for your leader. No matter who, and in different circumstances, you would realize the flaws that Xavier possesses and who would be truly devoted to you, care for you and protect you.  

Aaron constantly shifts his position. Things ache and chafe but it's worth it. He can pull through another hour if it means to get the first parquet to the show. You and your friends laugh and play for another half an hour until things start to die down. People keep to themself, wash up and get ready to get on with the day. 

But you're not really ready yet. You get one of the towels that the group had brought on for the swim, wrap it around you and walk back out into the water. Only letting the cool water wrap around your ankles. 

You walk along the shore, finding peace in the moment. Aaron too finds peace for once. Imagine a life just the two of you, how he’ll make you a cottage by a lake just like this, or the sea. Whatever you prefer. He would return home after ‘hunting’ all day to find you've made him a nice meal and after that, the two of you wouldn't leave each other's side all night. 

But then you walk out of sight. As you walk further and further away the branches get in the way. Desperate for just a few more minutes of observing you, he makes the crucial mistake of leaning on the wrong branch. Before he has time to react it snaps and he heads for the forest floor. 

There is no time to be hurt now. He can hear concerned voices growing closer. He gets up and doesn't even look back before he jogs as fast as he can with his limp through the forest. 

“HEY!” 

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

This is not how he wanted to introduce himself to you. Being the creep spying on you while you bathe? Hell no.

“HEY YOU! STOP!”

So despite the pain, the old wounds and the new all of which have to wait. Luckily the forest grows a lot denser here, making whoever is pursuing him slow down. 

“HEEY!”

It's a man. By the sound of the footsteps, it's only him. 

He is getting closer and closer, a fight might be the only solution. But with both a weaker physique and the wounds from the fall, he is the underdog. He won't be even close to taking Xavier in a real fight. 

So he keeps limping forward. The sharp branches whipped his face. 

Until he can practically feel his presence closing in. And he knows even before he grabs hold of Aaron's arm that he does. He janks it back and Aaron wips around before he falls over, sticks and pine cones cutting into his back. 

“Okey…” Xavier fights to catch his breath. “Listen, I'm not here to hurt you, just talk.” He holds his hands up and smiles, trying hard to look peaceful. 

The sentence makes his blood immediately boil. How can he be so passive? Had Aaron not just been spying on them? Is he not considered a big enough threat? How can he tell from this single encounter? 

Yeah, he had just clumseöy fall down from a tree and yes, he was recently shot and had been limping away as fast as he could. 

But had it been any other time he could have taken him. 

He has been spying on them for weeks, memorizing everything about these people. All in the name of being one step ahead of them at all times. All their weaknesses and strengths. None of that was for nothing. 

So it's here it clicks. He knows what he has to do.

“I'm sorry, I… I didn't mean to…I didn't know how to approach.”

“It's okay brother. I know what it's like out there, we are all just trying to keep ourselves safe and if you were checking us out to see if we are decent then that's fine. Totally okay and hey, I'm sure there are no hard feelings amongst the others.” Xaviers smile makes him want to vomit. 

“You think so?” He makes sure his tone sounds more weak than the disgust he is feeling within. 

“I know it! Here, what's your name?” Xavier holds out his hand to help him up. Aaron takes his hand and seizes the opportunity to attack. As Aaron gets on his feet he grabs hold of Xaviers arm. In one swift motion, Aaron takes out his pocket knife and stabs it in his side. Still holding Xaviers right hand he has no way of defending himself. He stabs him multiple times before Xavier falls down wailing in pain. 

“Names Aaron.” He says through gritted teeth. “And just so you know, this is not the first time I've been watching your little group, in fact, I've been creeping around after you guys for weeks. This is my real first time fuck up, but there have been other times when you could have spotted me but didn't. Just another added reason why you're not cut out for this.” 

“You're insane!”

“Am I? I could have killed you just now, but I didn't. Not just yet at least. I wanted to tell you something before I do. Y/N is who I'm here for, the only one I care about and I am going to kill anyone who stands in my way.” Xavier desperately tries to crawl away as Aaron couches down beside him but to no use. Aaron grabs a good chunk of hair to hold him in place, the blood loss weakening him by the moment. 

“Staring here, with you.” 

With a swift motion of the knife to his throat their conversation comes to an end. There is a gurgling sound before quiet fills the forest. Aaron wipes off the knife as he hears Xaviers' names being called in the distance. It's not long until they are here. 

In the following weeks, things started to look up for him. None of the members had been able to get a good look at who the mystic man in the trees where so Xaviers murderer stays a mystery. Next, his wounds are looking better each day. Though your group can only be described as mourning Aaron has never felt so liberated before. Taking out competition always feels nice. However, the only negative part of this is that you seem much sadder than usual. Despite the reason behind it Aaron can't other than want to comfort you, hug you and tell you to forget him. Take him into your heart instead. 

[ebullientheart]

roomies. spencer reid x reader

content — fem!bau!reader. injured!reader. fluff. anonymous request. brief injury description. reader uses conditioner. making out.

when you no longer need your live-in doctor, you find you desperately want him to stay.

you were absolutely fuming when the unsub shot you. just one, clean through the shoulder, that caused you to fall in a twist down the stairs, spraining your ankle. the chances of both of those events occurring had to be low, and spencer assured you of the statistics to back that theory up. just bad luck. fuming.

unfortunately, it also meant your life was substantially difficult to navigate while healing. you could barely shower, cook food, unlock doors, get changed. in fact it wasn’t ‘barely’, you just couldn’t. so the natural solution was to have your best friend move in with you while you were out of action entirely.

“it’s no big deal.” he shrugged. your best friend that you harboured secret feelings for, shrugged. no big deal.

there were some challenges.

“spencer,” you huffed for the tenth time that morning, “i am not swallowing those gross fish vitamins.”

he tutted at you, “they’re cod, and they’re going to help your sprain recover. valid studies have shown-”

awkwardly, you stood and used your uninjured arm to jab him in the chest, “i don’t care if they would grow me a whole new bone, they’re gross.”

it was weeks like that, when he wasn’t on cases. harmless bickering as he fussed over you like a newborn. but despite your teasing, you were not looking forward to the day he’d be moving back into his own apartment. it was nice, having someone to come home to. it took the sting out of the loneliness you felt, and you weren’t delusional for thinking he felt that way too. as your casts and slings were eased off, the both of you looked rather dejected, confusing the nurse tending to you greatly.

spencer nudged your good shoulder, “now you can help me box up my things.”

you’d gotten used to his things, though. his aftershave in the bathroom, his chess set by the couch. even his supposedly mobile library he’d moved into your apartment. you knew how empty it was going to feel.

in fear of that emptiness, you blurted it out on the car ride home from the hospital, “maybe you should stay a bit longer.”

“yeah?” he briefly took his eyes off the road to raise a brow at you, “you think you still need help?”

“i don’t need it.” you mumbled, picking the skin around your cuticles nervously. spencer noticed, and flicked your hands apart as a silent way of telling you not to do that. still taking care of you.

he didn’t push your declaration, just nodding, “okay. how long were you thinking?”

somewhere between a bated breath and a rush of words, you pushed out, “like, forever?”

this time, both his brows jumped and he had to clear his throat to stop his voice from cracking, “really? like roommates?”

no, like lovers, “yes, like roomies. nevermind, it was a stupid idea.”

“i don’t think so. i’d love to be… roomies.” the word sounded strange, too informal, coming from him, and it made you laugh. which made him smile.

after that very spencer-esque conversation, he moved the rest of his material belongings in, and put his flat up on listings. it sold fast, and you had to wonder why he’d agreed so rapidly, considering his place was notably nicer than yours. you had to wonder why he agreed at all, though it didn’t come as a surprise to anyone else that you hadn’t been able to separate. and the rest unfolded like one of the rom-coms you forced him to watch.

you no longer needed him to wash your hair over the side of the bath, which had at first been annoying because he did not wash the conditioner out properly. but now you missed it; it had become almost a bonding experience. that became true of a lot of things you’d adjusted to in the past months. him helping you into bed, you playing the wounded card to make him watch your shows on tv.

one thing that hadn’t changed was the sheer amount of card games you two played. you knew spencer was always going to win, but you tortured yourself with it anyway. one night, you were splitting the deck as you announced, “i’ve got a new game. it’s called rummy version two.”

before he could explain all the deviations rummy had from its origin over the years, making your game not a second version but at least an eighth, you rushed on to outline the rules. you were completely making it up as you went along, and continued adding to it as you played. it was impossible for you to lose, and spencer quickly figured out that you were bullshitting. for a profiler, you had a terrible poker face.

“you’re making this up.” he stated, putting his cards down.

you leant over the table, now able to rest pressure on your arm, and challenged, “prove it.”

there was a thick tension that had arisen suddenly between the pair of you, though the more you thought, the less sudden it seemed. maybe it had been building for a while. like the blush steadily rising to his cheeks as you got slightly closer to his face.

he smirked, “you’re winning.”

“rude. that doesn’t mean i’m-”

what it didn’t mean, spencer never got to hear, because it was at that moment he surged forward to close the remaining distance between your lips. you almost fell when you two collided, but his grip had attached to your upper arm to steady you. his kiss did not relent, demanding and speaking of all the impatience he’d felt recently. you responded likewise, threading your hands into his curls as soon as you got your balance, barely breaking for breath.

spencer’s skin on yours was something you had thought about more than you cared to admit, and with the fervour he was kissing you with, you thought he might’ve experienced the same. he was almost desperate against you, hands trailing to smooth over any section of exposure he could find, before one rested on the side of your face, and the other on your thigh.

“spencer,” you gasped, pulling away to catch air in your lungs, “need to breathe.”

he nodded as though he’d forgotten that, mimicking your heavy breaths, but not taking his hands off you. you rested your forehead against his and blinked. it was starting to sink in, the line you’d just crossed together.

“do we have to tell hotch about this?” you suddenly asked.

spencer frowned, “why are you thinking about hotch right now?”

you laughed and kissed him again, quickly this time, “you’re right, let’s just…”

“yeah.”

thank god he agreed to be roomies.

[anyasathenaeum]

Reader Goes Feral When Trigun Boys Get Hurt - Anya's 100 Follower Event

Pairings: Vash x reader, Wolfwood x reader (separately)

A/N: Thank you to all the lovely individuals who requested this prompt for my 100 follower event! I'm inspired enough to write a joint post with blurbs for this, so enjoy! Also, there are still slots open, so feel free to request something, friends!

Warnings: Violence, blood, mentions of death, reader being badass

Vash the Stampede

"(Y/N)! Run, now! Get somewhere safe!"

Vash's words echoed in your head, but all you could do was stare down at the blood staining your clothing. Vash's blood. You'd felt your heart drop to the ground as you watched bullets tear through Vash, who had done nothing but try to calm the ire of the townsfolk chasing after him.

Your skin burned where Vash's blood stained it, and all you could hear was the thrumming of your blood in your ears as a fire began to spread through your veins. You couldn't hear anything, and suddenly, the fact that bullets were whizzing by didn't phase you. All you could think about was making the people who had shot Vash pay.

They were going to pay for shooting Vash if it was the last thing you ever did.

The world moved around you as if in slow-motion. You felt yourself moving faster than your brain could comprehend, pulling out your pistol and firing off shots to disarm the townsfolk before they could so much as wound you. You watched as the townsfolk realized what kind of rage was coursing through you, you watched as the fear began to register on their faces, but not fast enough to escape the all-consuming fire of your rage.

"HOW DARE YOU?!"

The voice that bellowed those words was not one you ever would've recognized as your own, but you couldn't care less. It was filled with anger and hatred and malice, and before you could stop yourself, you found yourself shooting to hurt, if not to kill altogether.

You found yourself watching as blood bloomed on people's clothes as your bullets found their marks, muted cries of pain and fear ringing out as the wounded slowly fell to the ground and as their fellow townsfolk began to flee, sprinting and stumbling away as best they could. You watched as some trembled in fear, begging and praying for you to spare them, while others dove for cover.

'Why should I spare them?!' Hissed a primal, vicious voice from deep within you, 'I should show them the same mercy they showed Vash!'

But, as your gaze fell onto the crumpled form of the blonde-haired man, curled up in the fetal position around the bullet wounds in his stomach, you suddenly felt a pang of horror and realization go through you.

This isn't what Vash would want.

Shaking and panting from your rage and exertion, you lowered your gun, looking around at the horrified townsfolk as they struggled to get away from you or patch their own wounds. Wounds you had inflicted.

Before the weight of what you had done could really sink in, you quickly turned and, using the extra adrenaline in your system, you gathered Vash as best as you could, supporting him and trying to be careful as you minded his wounds, lifting him enough to get him at least off the ground.

As you lifted him, Vash groaned, his eyes fluttering open weakly and looking around. Once his gaze settled on you, his eyes widened and a look of worry and fear crossed his face.

"(Y/N)? Why are you crying? Are you okay?"

You didn't even realize you had begun to cry, nor did you have energy to answer him, trying hard to block out the cries of the wounded townsfolk. As Vash began to take in the scene and connect the pieces, all you could do was readjust your hold on him and sniffle out before beginning to walk.

"Come on. I gotta get you somewhere safe."

Nicholas D. Wolfwood

This wasn't at all what you had expected to happen.

You knew that whatever solution Wolfwood had been drinking from those glass vials of him had to have some kind of consequence, but for Wolfwood's body to fail him in healing in the middle of a fight? It wasn't how you expected it to happen at all.

"Damn!"

You heard Wolfwood exclaim as he leaned back against a wall, ducking from the bullets being shot at you and him by the police, slumping down to the ground. He was panting heavily and you could see the dark blood seeping through the bullet wounds to his torso. He had already chugged a vial, but nothing had happened. Your eyes widened in fear.

"Wolfwood-"

"Yeah, I know, sweetheart!" He cut you off almost immediately, his tone sharp, "I don't need you to say anything!"

You flinched slightly, feeling the fear building up in you as you watched the blood patches growing bigger and bigger, and watching the light in Wolfwood's eyes get dimmer and dimmer. Then-

"(Y/N)!"

Wolfwood never used your real name unless it was a serious situation or a warning. This cry of your name was filled with panic.

"Hands above your head, or we'll shoot you both!"

You felt a gun barrel press up against the back of your head, and you slowly put your hands up as the officer had demanded. You watched as another three or four officers with weapons ran up, one of them snickering at Wolfwood's state.

"Not so brave now, are you?" The officer laughed, before proceeding to pistol-whip Wolfwood across the face.

All you heard was the impact of the pistol against Wolfwood's cheekbone before your vision went red.

"Nicholas!"

Before you could register your emotions, the officer holding the gun to your head was screaming in pain as you got his arm locked in your grasp and quickly jerked it in a way that the gun dropped from his grip and he clutched his arm in agony.

The officers around glanced over at you only in time for you to strike them hard enough to break noses and jaws, to give black eyes and drop them to the ground before they had time to comprehend the threat you posed to them. Within a few moments, the guards were unconscious or groaning on the ground, their guns out of reach and no longer a risk to you or to Nicholas.

When you came back to your senses, you were panting frantically and your arms were aching from the level of force you used. You glanced down at your hands and faintly registered that your knuckles were bruised and bleeding, some gashes now on your hands from dealing blows. Shakily, you looked back up at Nicholas, who was just looking at you with wide eyes.

"W-What?" You asked, your voice trembling as you tried to calm yourself down.

"Nothing," Nicholas replied, a small grin appearing on his lips as he tried to stand, "You're just scary when you're ragin', doll. Didn't know you could do that. Thanks for defending me."

[sadlynotthevoid]

I'm not sure if I told you guys about the time I dreamed that 20ish Jason Todd died yet again and Death was pissed off because "really? Again? Wtf Batman. The universe doesn't keep reviving your son just so you can see how much he lasts!" And "He has a work to do you know?!". Besides, she's fond of the bright young soul.

So, she calls her uncle to help him. And what you know? Her uncle is the God of Death (because yes, my brain is like that sometimes). They sit to talk and come up with a solution.

First, taking advantage of the effects still present of the last time-space crisis and the spirits protecting the soul, they regress the time of this universe to when Jay had just left All Caste, way before he had came back to Gotham.

Then, Death places Red Hood!Jason's memories on the soul of his younger self. Not too harsh to force his soul to crack, but not too light to let them fall. Just deep enough so he finds them when he meditates.

And by last, God of Death tells the spirits where they should guide the boy to. The perfect place for him.

Where is the best place for a soul who craves for home and safety? Of course, that's with someone who has the heart to care and accept a new loved one and the determination to protect them.

That's how Jason Todd, teenage assassin in an existential crisis, ends up waking up in the softest bed he has ever been in some foreign country. At his side there's a redhead teen sitting in a sofa, a book in his hands and other boy— this one with black hair and pajamas— lying on his lap.

The redhead— Cale, as he presents himself— is mysterious but kind hearted guy. He also knows things. So much so that if he weren't as he is, Jason would suspect. As things are, he knows he's just used to collect information. A bit like a bat, but not quite. A bat would plan how to use it against the possible enemy. Cale? Well, he doesn't even bother to hide what he realized about him. He's also ridiculously casual about it.

Who offers an assassin if they want their hidden weapons back? This guy, apparently.

Jason only knows he's not totally unconscious because at one point an old guy entered with tea and pastries for the three and Cale, the little shit, choose that moment to reassure Jason.

"Don't worry. My butler is an assassin too and we don't treat him different for it."

The old geezer almost let got the porcelain teapot to the floor. Though, points for him for recovering so fast.

"Young master? May this Ron know who you would be talking about?"

"Hm? Who do you think? Hans? The only thing he can kill is Rok Soo's humor. It's you, obviously."

"..."

Rok Soo, the sleeping beauty complex guy pretending to be asleep on Cale's lap, was sweating badly. If everyone in the room weren't already aware he was clearly pretending, someone may had thought he was ill.

Later on, he realizes there was a reason Cale had said that at that moment.

He's looking at the butler subtly terrorize the boys to behave, treating the siblings like two particularly mischievous puppies. Then he turns around and uses the same tune to advise him to be careful with his wounds. And that's when he thinks 'Oh. He doesn't see me as a menace'.

Of course he doesn't. His employer just confirmed he's aware of his identity— at least partially— and his own nature. The biggest advantage of an assassin is their secrecy. After their identity is exposed, the only reason they won't attack is if the assassin believes the risk is worthy. Telling the assassin he knows he's an assassin was his way to show Jason's own intentions: none.

Jason didn't intend to end up in that field where these teens find him. He didn't intend to be brought in their vacation house. He definitely didn't plan that the people to found him passed out would be whoever these rich guys were.

But he didn't have anything against all of this either.

Well, maybe the wound. He could make it without the blood loose and the soon-to-be scar to add to his collection.

Either way, at least he had a safe place to stay and think. Just think. Because, the memories he saw— what is he supposed to do now that he has his answer?

His da— Bruce. Bruce didn't care for him as much as Jason does for Bruce. Bruce obviously didn't love him as he thought. And certainly, Bruce was way more willingly to harm him than he believed.

And Jason— well, Jason couldn't waste a second life on a man who didn't put hin even at the same level than the Joker of all people. But maybe his expectatives were too high? He hadn't planned what to do if his life was meaningless to him.

So, Jason needed time. Time to ponder and heal. Those things are better done in a safe place.

That's what Jason has in mind when Cale offers him to stay with them.

[neon--nightmare]

SO EACH FRESH PARASITE CANONICALLY HAS LIKE,, ONE ‘POWER.’ fresh doesnt have one bc he can use the abilities/magic of the host body, which his other parasites can’t!! the powers also get stronger the more they age, but not only is it rare for fresh parasites to even live long enough to take a host (fresh usually produces them involuntarily, spits them out into a bucket, and crushes them all into powder bc theyre competition and put him directly at risk) they tend to either get tracked down by him later or well. die due to other circumstances bc they were just born and tend not to be the best at subtlety/controlling and using their power with zero experience <- I NEED TO MAKE A FRESH PARASITE OC LORE GUIDE SOMETIME

toffee’s (my fresh parasite oc) power was literal emotional manipulation (e.g. if they touched you they could make you feel what they wanted, not by overwriting your current emotions BUT more just. adding them on top.) but they also had all the subtlety of a steamroller because they were barely a few months old AND could only do the most basic emotions (happiness, sadness, fear, anger)

oh toffee my toffee.. iirc if they lived long enough for personal growth theyd end up with DEBILITATINGLY low self esteem. if someone you cared about was sad and you had the ability to smother their misery out with happiness, calm them down and make it easier, wouldnt it be at least a little tempting to take it?

especially if all your life, that was your gift, your solution to every problem related to others you had, and your ticket to survival in a world that wants you dead merely for existing. you never knew anything else, how to comfort, help, how to be genuine. how to care, when being cared about, any living thing knowing the abomination that you are - it’s terrifying, it’s risky. you’re not very strong, you’re small, and you’ve never known one day of peace in your own short life. never the kind word of a parent, of a friend, of a partner. since the day of your birth, wriggling away like a leech as all your ‘siblings’ were crushed to dust behind you, the only one you’ve ever had is yourself.

and how would the other beings even react if they found out that the whole time they’d known you, any of your emotions weren’t theirs? the joy with you, sadness, fear was magically induced, and you never told them. they can’t trust any of their memories with you. it’s a defense mechanism, but you still did it. you still made the choice, over and over and over again. how could that ever be forgiven? tampering with minds leaves marks, after all.

and if just by being around you the people you cared about felt supernaturally happy, how could you trust that they actually liked you for YOU and not just what you could do for them? they don’t even know you’re a parasite, that the host body you’re forced to take for survival is in constant pain, agony, where the only alrernative is rolling over and letting yourself die. how could you trust if anything they say, the love they profess is true! everyone adores you, but they don’t adore you. they’ll never like you, so does it even matter?

isn’t it easier to shut down, not get attached, not let yourself care? it hurts less that way. treat them all like toys, keep yourself on top. no, better not to think about it at all. you’re just doing what you can to keep yourself alive, to see the sun crest the horizon again tomorrow. distract yourself, take advantage, manipulate, run, run, little thing, and never stop to think. or the awareness of what you are and what you’ve done will destroy you, and there’ll be nothing left.

(slushie’s under the cut so this doesn’t get TOO long!!)

while slushie’s (second fresh parasite oc’s) power was fast regeneration (if their host body was hurt it healed much faster than normal, usually without scars or visible cracks/fractures!) they were very clumsy and developed a very, very high pain tolerance. since unless they were wounded enough to actually lose a limb or something, which they hadn’t yet, there were no consequences besides an unpleasant yet deeply familiar sensation that faded in like, an hour maximum. in their mind that’s how it is for everyone, just a fact of life.

whatever accidents you get in, whatever happens to your host body, it doesn’t matter! you’ll be fine, without a scratch. the idea of a life where you don’t bleed magic every day and wake back up in the morning is nearly impossible to fathom. you nearly die, let yourself be torn apart willingly by those you latch onto with a smile, and get back up, again, and again, and again. you can’t trust anyone who doesn’t hurt you, it’s too unfamiliar, it doesn’t make sense, that’s what you live for. why do others look so horrified when you mention it?

that’s just the way things are, were, and always will be.

[1ntaktak]

—human band-aid (teaser)

pairings. yoon jeonghan x fem!reader (non-idol AU)

summary. a "human band-aid" is a term commonly used to describe someone used as a temporary remedy or solution—a short-term treatment; like a band-aid, it doesn't heal the wound. It just coves it up for the time being.

genre. friends with benefits, unrequited love, angst, smut

warnings. angst with no comfort, explicit smut, unprotected sex, lack of aftercare

minors do not interact.

Hands move, grasping black hair, grasping at sheets, at anything that could be used for purchase.

Names moaned over and over. The sound of sweat-soaked skin and sliding bounced off the wall. The sound of the bed creaking, the head frame knocking against the wall. You're sure a noise complaint from your neighbours will greet you first thing in the morning, but that's the least of your concerns right now.

You don't care if the whole apartment complex can hear you getting your back blown out. You can handle the walk of shame in the morning, the look of disgust your neighbours will send your way; it isn't your fault they lack action in their lives anyway, nor is it the first time it has happened. No, none of that matters right now, not when this is the only time the man above has you as his top priority.

"H-hannie!"

The man above you leans down, lips trailing from the side of your neck towards your nipple, suckling on it like a newborn would to its mother.

Sex with Jeonghan could be messy, passionate, slow, fast, and tender. But it was always great. His movements are perfectly calculated. The way his hips rock against yours wasn't too rough, nor was it too slow. Every buck of his hips against yours made your toes curl. His dick reaching all the right places. You can already feel your stomach cramping up, your orgasm building fast with every flick of his fingers against your sensitive clit.

You know he's close too; after having sex for a year now, you have learned to pick up on the telltale signs, the changes in his tone, his expression looking almost pained from how pleased he was feeling.

Your eyes fixated on him, and his onto yours.

Lust-filled eyes met yours, not a trace of love behind them, and that's okay. Not that you expect him to look at you the way he does with her, tho it doesn't hurt to dream from time to time.

“Inside or out?” He gasped, slowing his pace to let you answer.

“Inside,” you mumbled, legs going slack. Jeonghan speeds up with his ministration, groaning slightly before he cums, stilling his hips against yours as he pants your walls white with his cum. His cock goes soft as he pulls out of you.

You feel the mattress shift as he slides out of bed. Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath from your high, pulling the covers over your body, you turn to face him.

You watched through half-lidded eyes as he shuffled around your room, picking his clothes off the floor with practiced efficiency, his back turned towards you.

“Will you kiss me tonight?” Your voice catches him off guard halfway through him pulling his pants up. He stilled, but he didn't look back, nor did he need to see the pained look painted across your face,

“That’s not what we do.”

note. re-blogs are very much appreciated!

[hoiststowline]

the anchor

red alert x reader ao3 saw it first here!

tw: very brief mention of blood/injury //

There’s no masking such fervent disapproval, lips twitching between a frustrated frown and a concentrated, tightly pursed grimace. A lecture is for certain in the future, yet you can’t seem to tear your gaze away from his face, a guilty expression overtaking a previously calm composure. 

Red Alert isn’t fond of patching such soft skin, reminded of how you wear no armor and parade around dangerous stunts like you are. When he finds himself prodding at or holding your appendages, it's typically because you've come to him with a problem, and sometimes, you're a bit scraped up and afraid to admit it.

It’s not something that happens often, though things you find ‘minor’ are drastically understated in his mind, stretching the truth until it snaps straightaway in your face. He isn't a human medical professional, knowing the bare minimum, and that is just by your vague expertise, yet instead of seeking an organic medic or even Ratchet, it’s always an unforgiving sight to see you in the doorway with the same nonchalant smile.

Likely hiding something behind said smile, rocking gingerly from the heels of sneakers to the very tops, happy to see him nonetheless. If he’s counted correctly, this would be the fourth time you’ve tried to pull a fast one on him, and while it was a facade easy to see through, it still nerves him slightly. 

“Sorry.” It’s hoarse, likely the culprit of no use, especially due to the ongoing stalemate. Perplexity hits second, unsure why his optics flit to meet yours and then back to the wound he was attempting to treat, bypassing your peace offering. It wasn't rude, per se, you were disrupting his focus, though you wouldn't be surprised if he was forcing you to think about your actions in silence. 

Another painful minute clocks by before he ex-vents, groaning when the gauze doesn’t quite sit properly across your palm, the both of you watching it slide downward as if the knot isn't tight enough. 

“Here,” Tiny fingers nudge his insistent digits away, beginning to tie it with the uninjured hand and roping the other end between your teeth. The security director makes a noise of protest, not liking the inappropriate method of creating a solution, but he finds that you never cease to amaze him with the adaptive approach you always take.

When Red Alert discovers the splashes of dried blood nestled in your hand, a sudden jolt of concern beats within his processor, anxiety arising when he can't figure out why. 

Immediately, you rattled off about how it was insignificant and didn’t hurt, vying to keep the injury away from his view. It doesn’t take long until you’re lifted onto the vast dashboard, Red Alert digging around in his subspace for a first aid kit he keeps there for such instances.

“I just wish you’d take better care of yourself,” He finally concedes, registering he’s probably being unintentionally overbearing, compunction building in his chassis. “You have every excuse in the book, y/n, but contrary to what you might think, I do like you best in one piece.”

A warmness tickles the apples of your cheeks, trying immensely to suppress the rising butterflies that swarm at the bottom of your stomach. He likes you. A faraway mind entraps a hurricane of foolish thoughts, nearly about to giggle and kick your feet back and forth at such an offhand declaration. 

It was a silly concept, thinking that he meant it any other way than how he said it, plain and dryly. It was rather obvious that he had enough of your antics, at least for this rotation, and for you to assume he was flirting when he had piles of work to accomplish was downright ridiculous. 

And yet, you continued with the delirious scheme, struggling to wipe the warbled smile off your face. 

“Maybe it’s just an elaborate ruse to hang out with you.” Answered jokingly, perhaps uttered a moment too long after his initial statement, but you don’t get a chance to release a laugh as he shuts that down entirely.

“You can do that anytime without having to lose a digit.” The chair at the desk is yanked outwards, the mech in question all but falling into it as you still stare his way dumbly, even as he taps at random buttons at his front. “It's not a crazy ask, y/n. I don't mind that...” He catches your gaze, losing his train of thought with an instantaneous blip. 

“That what?” You try, blinking owlishly.

“What did I say?" He gravels, shoulders dipping in a defeated manner, trying to recall what he's said in the past two kliks.

You shake your head, carefully running a finger over the bandage. "Nothing. S'kind of you to offer, but I mean, I'm surprised I haven't been a bother to you enough," 

"Bother?" Red Alert scoffs, tugging away from your intense stare to dive back into his work, effortlessly scrolling through a previously discarded datapad. "That's funny. You're funny, y/n."

A sniffle escapes you, reeling in confusion before whispering a reply. "I didn't say anything funny." 

Both of you wager on the other speaking, hoping to change the subject and continue like the entire conversation prior didn’t happen. But you’re too stubborn, and Red Alert is now heavily focused on his responsibilities, not on how his processor can’t shut up about you. When you begin shimming down the top of his desk as if he clicked one button too many, a hum of concern escapes him easily. 

"And just where do you think you're going?" He pulls backward in his seat, expertly trapping you beneath a stern stare. 

You pause, confusion evident. "Uhm, home?" 

Red Alert looks at you, then to the door, then back to his screen, and then his optics land on you once more. "Why? Are you bored?" 

"What?" Shaking your head, you press onward before he can repeat the question. "No. I'm not; I figured I should let you get back to work." 

"I can multitask," Red Alert is quick to halt your actions, a servo landing just at your feet before they go over the edge of the desk. "And would you cut that out? You're not jumping off from here; you'll hurt yourself again." 

A pout appears on your lips, the temptation lingering. "Are you saying I have to stay?" And you mean it as another joke, half-serious, and to your utmost surprise, he teases back. 

"Yes, you do." Not that you'd complain, but that feeling remains in your stomach that slowly creeps into your chest, heart fluttering rapidly. "I'll drive you home in a cycle, let me wrap up some things." 

"Just so you know, I don't want to leave," You ramble, sliding backward until your spine hits the wall, able to address him better this way. "Ugh, I dunno, I seriously think I'm annoying like all the time." 

Red Alert doesn't immediately reply, but it is apparent he's knee-deep in paperwork and is choosing to divert the parley to another time. At least, you hope he isn't actively ignoring you, watching peripherally as he ex-vents softly, as if in contemplation, now typing something on the massive computer before returning to the data pad. 

"No," He answers, nose scrunching as if he was surveying his words before speaking them. "No, you are not."

Red Alert finds himself never in short supply of absolutely certifiable sentences that stumble forth from your mouth, seemingly finding never-ending ways to leave himself completely stunned, unsure of how even to dignify such a query. Most often, it's another self-jest that he always has the patience to refute, however, in this instance, he dissects something within your words, and a deflection likely would do more harm than good. You don't elaborate, a defiant silence overtaking the room once more as an obstinacy he's never known you to have stands firm. 

"Where did that come from?" He rumbles, observing how fingers wringing together timidly in your lap like you were afraid to say anything more. "That's random, even for you, y/n."

Given his profession, if there was one thing he was best at, apart from his security prowess, he was excellent at spotting a lie. He's a damn near expert when it comes to other mechs, but your roundabout ways and unspoken gestures were a bit more difficult to assess, yet ultimately, he believes he's gotten it nailed down, now watching as you try to backpedal, body tense.

"Ah, forget it. It's not important-" You start, tilting your head to the right as your eyes move downwards, hinting that you were not being honest with him. "Sorry. Yeah, I don't know where that came from either."

This is a side of you he has yet to see, partial to always smiling and happily chattering in good company, but it appears this is an answer you don't quite have the stomach to hear but have been wondering for a while. You're being reticent, obviously just having subconsciously gathered the courage to approach him about such a subject but sensing something overlaying in his response, even if it was unintentional.

"Hang on a klik," While silently processing your words, you had already attempted to change the subject, hopefully unnoticed. "We aren't glossing over that. Rewind."

At your withdrawal from the conversation, stiff shoulders jump to your ears, easily finding his abrupt tone. "Red-"

"I'm not arguing about it with you." Even without looking, you could feel his stare, a frown likely deep on his lips. Knowing he is dead serious, you sigh, the cold touch of the metal wall uncomfortable against your now deflated stance. "What do you mean by that?"

The urge to say 'By what?' is almost undeniable, but it's clear that he was extremely adamant, just because it was the two of you alone. "It was pretty straightforward, I guess."

"But the context isn't." He counters, tone dipping into something much softer, a feat you didn't know was possible. "I could understand if I said something that led you to believe that, but it isn't true."

"You didn't. Sometimes I think I am being irritating." You pause, finally meeting his gaze. "Are you sure?" 

"Positive." It's firm but gentle, careful to not lower your spirits more than they already are. 

"Thanks," It's hummed on the back end of a sob, but you do your best to suppress it and keep it to yourself.

"Anytime." A want to bring your smile back emerges, but in this instance, he thinks it's best to leave this here, at least for now. You're the farthest from irritating he's ever met, if anything, he finds himself leaning toward annoying with his constant fears and overthinking tendencies. Patience is a commodity that flows throughout your words and mannerisms, easygoing and always scouring for your company in the darkest corner of the ark, his office. 

Not many tread his way unless it's to add to the never-ending pile of datapads on his desk. It surprised him that you often sought out his solace, bringing your responsibilities or looking for a spot to talk about a previous shift you'd had at work. Hell, the only time he finds himself leaving the Ark is to take you home, and half the mechs onboard find him paranoid, vastly confused on why you tend to flock to his amity. 

He likes you. 

"I'll take you home," He stands, stretching his arms over his head. "I do believe you've mentioned before that you have work today." 

A small smile appears on your face, looking up at him expectingly. "A few more minutes?" When he hesitates, you add a single word that he can never deny. "Please?" 

"Sure." He returns the gesture, pulling the chair rearwards and settling back into it.

[the-s1lly-corner]

Getting into an argument with them (Jeff the Killer edition)

Written as platonic as per usual jeff writing's!! I know I just started a series of character scenarios with the "undressing them to get to a wound" thing but this one hit me like a sack of bricks I need it so so bad anyways imma write this and maybe one more entry for this new mini prompt series thing.... i need to come up with a better name hisshiss... will write more characters in the coming days, hopefully!

it gets nasty really fast, i think... do i think there would be any physical aggression? he might push you a bit when he leaves the room but i think he would storm off before he does anything stupid; i mean youre one of his only friends and hes not about to ruin that

^ ignoring the fact that you guys got into a heated screaming match over something that probably wasnt even that deep in the first place

jeff is not one to compromise a lot of the time, i think, and hes a bit of a hot head so him getting at least a little irritated during conflicts is a fairly common occurence

arguments kind of bounce between him trying to play off the problem and water it down, and him doing everything he can to justify his stance

not likely to apologize first, unless it was a case of him being so deeply in the wrong that even he can pull his head out of his ass

less of a verbal apologizer as he is an action one; will clean up your place a bit (something he never does) or might buy (steal) you some of your favorite snacks

the topic still might be a little sore so be careful if you want to approach him again to try to work on a solution/compromise

overall i think out of all the characters, hes the worst when it comes to arguments simply because hes stubborn on his stance and can get riled up very easily; tends to also leave a sour taste in the air after it

if this were formatted as one of my group posts i'd probably put him in dead last of... idk some list rating each character whos the most calm/understanding during disagreements

he probably also sometimes eggs other people on because he finds it a little entertaining; will laugh in their face, hes already done it before

really most of his anger comes from if you try to insult him or change his plans rather than just being mad at him for like. i dont know kind of being an ass, he knows hes an asshole and he thinks its kind of funny that people get so mad