#its a quiet end to a series full of yelling

[white-poppie]

𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇 ⎯⎯⎯ s.suguru x fem!reader (part 1/3)

SYNOPSIS: You were young, dumb and so in love. There was always this adrenaline rush when you and Suguru were together; harmony, romance and protection. Fate, you called it. Our youth ⎯ you cherished it. But every high ends doesn't it? When Suguru left; the sorcerer society and you, Shoko and Satoru. And you were left with the weight of more than what you could carry. Decisions of your youth, testament of your love. TW: sexual intercourse <not really explicit, but I'll tag it as smut>, Satoru and Shoko being super depressed, heartbreak, abandonment, !!mentions of teen-pregnancy and abortion!!, crying, smoking, suguru being cruel, panic attacks

Series masterlist ── Chapter 2 : Moon Child

"This is the last time." He whispers, his voice hoarse, his lips pressing against the nape of your neck. His large hands grip your waist tightly, his hot breath fanning on your skin as he looks at you, and you feel your chest tighten into knots. "I won't be able to see you again anymore." He says, deftly pulling on the hem of your top.

Your lips part, a shaky breath leaving the warm cavern. You knew this was coming. The way he was spiralling out of despair. His long lashes flutter against his cheek, eyebrows scrunched ever so slightly at the centre of his forehead. His teeth are clenched tightly, a muscle lightly feathers on his jaw. Little lilac veins bedeck the expanse of his pale neck, its a strange hue. Starting with a purple undertone it fades into a soft greenish-blue.

You gulp and remain silent as you wrap your arms around his neck. Shaky breaths, and the rustle of the sheets is the only sound that echoes with the walls of the room. You are hyperaware, as if your brain is wracking hard to absorb every single sensory detail of tonight.

Slowly, he lays you down on the bed, his large and calloused hand coming to cup your cheek, his eyes taking in the sight of you underneath him. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip, a silent command for you to look him in the eye. "I hope you hate me." He whispers, his chest rising and falling quickly. "If the last thought you have of me is disgust and disdain, I could die a happy man."

You look up at him, your hand clenching the sheets as he removes your t-shirt. Your skin feels frigid under air con, cold blood washing upto your head; your throat is parched. You just wish the world would swallow me down, burn your body with lapping tongues of fire...at least then you would be warm. "I could never hate you..." you manage to croak out, your eyes blankly looking at the ceiling, anywhere but him.

"You're a fool." He whispers quietly, his mouth trailing down your neck, and you can feel his warm breath ghosting over your skin, his fingers dancing along the lace pattern of your black brassiere. "You're so foolish," he whispers again, his other hand grabbing your thigh and pulling you closer. "To love someone and expect them to love you back."

"I know...." You whisper out, its like an invisible hand is constricting your heart. A cruel reminder that it's written in the stars to be an ominous little thing undeserving of any love from anyone.

His voice is quiet, but you can still hear his words ringing in your ears as you feel his hot breath fan over your skin as he whispers in your ear. "You should hate me for leaving you like this, you should scream and yell, you should curse my name," He says, and you feel his teeth gently biting down on your earlobe.

A muffled gasp leaves your mouth at his nibble. You look up at his eyes, a watery smile making its way on your face as he tells you to hate him. "Suguru." You whisper out so lovingly, in a worshipping way, yout eyes so full of devotion and reverence. Even when tears line your eyes, even when his words rip you apart. "Suguru, my love."

His eyes go wide at your soft whisper, and you can feel his hands tighten on your waist as he lowers his head onto your shoulder, his face buried in the crook of your neck. "Fuck" He whispers out his voice so heavy, you almost think he would cry. "You're so beautiful," He tells you, his voice choked up. "You're the prettiest person I've ever seen." He whispers, feverishly moving to unclasp your clothes, throwing it on the ground. His jaw trembles just a little, a shaky breath leaving his mouth.

He buries his face between your chest, fists clenching the fabric of the sheets, just inhaling sharply, you can feel the rough pads of his fingers trail up your sides. His breath is hot, his kisses searing your skin, you feel warm now. Its a given under his smouldering gaze as he looks up at you.

You can't help but whimper softly, hands weaving into his dark locks. His finds purchase on the smooth flesh of your hips, his fingers squeezing gently. "Pretty girl," he whispers under his breath as a strange sensation runs down your spine like you had walked into a lukewarm bath, the water rising till your tailbone. Its a sickly feeling.

His hand trails down, till all your clothes are discarded somewhere in the void, the corners of your eyes are blurry, you can't exactly see anything but him.

You shiver and peer at him, watching him discard his clothing. he's so pretty, you think, like some dark seraph who's wrath was a but too much for the pearly gates and so he fell down....into your bed. A sudden dread claws at your ribs. There would be other woman who would see him like this. Others who he'd use for his vendetta, but regardless they'd see him in all his glory.

His eyes a dark like pools of tar, dripping down and defiling your cherub-blood. You want to sink you teeth into his skin and rip his heart out, cradle it to your chest and never let go. You need him to be yours. Its so unfair.

He pulls you up towards him, his hands settling under your thighs as he spreads your legs on either side of him. A low grumble leaves your mouth as your eyebrows furrow. Your heart hurts in a way that makes you dizzy. Your throat runs dry with this sudden tsunami of emotions that hits your so hard that your ribs hurt.

His breathing is heavy and loud, his eyes staring down at you intently as you look up at him. You can hear his heart pounding in his chest as he moves slowly, his hands gripping your thighs so tightly it almost hurts, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

You let out sharp, shaky whimpers. Trembling as your nose reddens, your heart feels like it’s breaking. You are never gonna see him again, feel him again. The world should cease to move.

He holds you close to his chest, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his breath coming out in a hot, heavy puff, fanning your skin with each passing moment.

Your hands shiver, and throat becomes so dry that its hard to breathe. You can't breathe. You can't let him go. The stoicness you had maintained to not look pathetic, to not cry in front of him when he was abandoning you. Its all crumbling down at this intimacy. This warmth has you feeling so vulnerable that you want to curl up and burrow to hide myself. A soft sob leaves your mouth as tears melt down from your eyes at the slightest bit of his warmth, breathlessly.

He freezes at the sound of your sob, his body stilling completely as he looks down at you. His hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb wiping away the tear that threatens to fall. His eyes soften as he looks at you, his breathing slowing down as he gazes at you in wonder. His thumb trails across your skin and wipes another tear that threatens to fall, the look in his eyes heartbreaking as he looks at you.

And beyond that, you can't help the stream of soft sobs that you try so hard to stifle. You rest my arm over my eyes to stop looking, to stop feeling. Your shoulders tremble as all the indifference you were putting up, shatters down painfully.

His eyes go blank, and it’s as if everything comes crashing down around the two of you. He tries to stay strong, he truly does - but watching you cry like this, hearing the sounds you make as you try and hold it in, it’s almost too much. He pulls you up towards him, his arms encircling around your waist as he buries his face in your neck.

You cry out against his skin, your fingers tremble as your arms firmly wrap around him, afraid to let him go. Your stomach churns, and body burns. You want it to be a terrible dream. "Don't go." You cry out pathetically, sobbing. "Please don't go."

He stiffens, his arms tightening around your middle as he hears you say that. Your plea is like a knife in his heart, and he can’t help the way his arms tighten around you, as if trying to cling on to something that’s about to slip away. "Don’t…” He whispers out, his voice rough. “I told you… don’t make this harder than it already is," he says, his voice choked up. The pain in your voice is enough to break his heart, and he can’t help but feel utterly horrible as he holds you in his arms - but he can’t change his mind, he can’t stay with you, he can’t allow himself to get too attached to you. He already is, but he refuses to admit it, to even acknowledge the possibility of it.

And before you know it, your eyebrows furrow as you are lain back down again, a feathered gasp of pleasure and the pain that grips your heart leaves your throat.

He gasps as he looks down at you, your moans making his heart flutter with something almost akin to love. He leans forward, his face mere inches away from yours as his breath fans over your skin, and in a moment of weakness, he leans down and presses his lips against yours in a soft, gentle kiss.

And you unravel. He feels his heart ache as he looks at you, unable to stop the feelings that flood his chest, making his emotions go into overdrive. He leans down and presses his lips against your skin, kissing a trail down your neck as he whispers soft words of praise into the crook of your neck.

You pant as your eyes flutter in tiredness, hand coming to tuck the strand of his hair behind his ear. You can't sleep...you are scared to sleep. He'll dissapear.

He slumps against your body, his breathing coming out in heavy, laboured pants, his heart racing at a rapid pace in his chest. He stays like that, his fingers trailing up your back aimlessly, feeling the smooth expanse of your skin under his fingertips. For a moment, he imagines this is their life, that he could have the privilege of waking up next to you, caress your skin and whisper sweet nothings in your ear. But that can’t happen. He knows that, no matter how hard his heart is beating or how loud his mind begs him to stay.

You sniffle softly and he shifts, letting you bury face in his chest, your tears hollowing him again. He's leaving you, Satoru, Shoko...its all memories now. He has a greater purpose, he'll raise a Jujutsu only world. The world is far too cruel for people like you...its his way of protecting you.

He lays in bed for a long, long time, holding you close to his chest. He watches you for hours, his heart pounding in his ears as he listens to your breathing, the way your eyelashes flutter against your cheek, the way your mouth opens just a bit when you breathe. He memorizes every inch of your face, the way you look when asleep, the way your face softens when you’re in your most vulnerable state. He looks at you for hours, before gently untangling your hand from his arm and getting out of bed.

You wake up hours later at Shoko's phone call. Your eyes fluttering as you answer her sleepily.

"Hm?"

"Y/N, Suguru's killed 152 civillians, including his parents. He's left." She says and your breath hitches. You look around the room, heart racing when you don't see him. It wasn't a dream. He was here, he left. You could've stopped this massacre from happening. You could've convinced him. You could've killed him. It was your duty as a sorcerer when you knew what he would do.

You end the call and sit like that for hours, crying and sobbing into the sheets that still smell like him, the faint trace of his cologne sticking to the sheets long after he's gone. You stay there, unable to move, unable to bring yourself to get out of bed and face the empty apartment without him in it, facing the fact that he's gone. You cry until your throat is raw, and your eyes sting, and you can only hiccup and sob quietly into the sheets. Suguru Geto is a cruel, cold-blooded murderer.

Days turn to weeks, you feel yourself get paler, wearier. It was pathetic in some way to be this despondent after a heartache, but here you were. You try to get on with your life; you, Shoko and Satoru; working as Jujutsu students during the day, but no one talks about the loneliness that claws at the three of you during the nights. No one even mentions him, its painfully obvious how the topics are shifted at the slightest mention of him...

You sigh, resting your head against the wall of the infirmary tiredly as the smell of the nicotine and smoke from Shoko's cig permeates through the room. Its nauseating.

"Shoko, can you not smoke?" you grumble in frustration and Shoko briefly glances at you, before continuing to smoke.

You take a deep shaky breath as you look at her with your eyes furrowed. "Shoko. put the cigarette down." You punctuate and she frowns but either way puts the cigarette down on the ashtray with a scoff.

"You are being a bitch right now." She scoffs as she walks towards you, leaning against the wall where you are sitting down.

"Well I am sorry if the smell is making me feel sick." You sigh, running your hands through your hair and she hums, her eyes briefly flickering to the wallpaper on your flip-phone, a picture of you and Suguru she herself had clicked on his last birthday.

"Did you eat since the morning?" she asks casually and you close your eyes, shaking your head.

"Didn't feel like it." You mutter before you feel her cool hand against your forehead, seeing if you are warm.

"I do not have a fever Suguru-- I mean Shoko." you correct yourself, but your voice dies down a whisper at your error. Her eyes soften lightly at your words and she sighs, plopping down on the floor next to you.

The two of you sit in silence for several minutes. The faint whirr of the infirmary fridge and light ticks of the wall clock being the only dominating sounds in the room.

"Have you ben sleeping?" she asks quietly and you let out a mirthless snigger.

"Can't remember the last time I did." you say and she breathes out.

"Me neither," she says, shifting her hands and resting them on her knees

"Shoko..." you croak out, gulping slightly. The sound immediately draws her attention as she whips her head towards you. "I missed my cycle..." you say and your voice wavers like a little sapling underneath a harsh storm.

Her eyes widen, slowly, gradually as it hits. She sucks a deep breath about to say something before the infirmary door opens harshly, Satoru holding two dango sticks in his hand, on the door sill.

"Yo." he says and you sigh, looking back at Shoko. Satoru's smile falters slightly as he looks at the both of you, noticing the tense atmosphere in the room. He looks at Shoko with a questioning look, his eyes then flicking over to you. Satoru had always been a brilliant observer, almost too brilliant. He frowns slightly at the way your face looks as you look at him, the look on your face making his heart feel heavy. "What's wrong?"

"I think I have kept some spare pregnancy tests in the infirmary." she says and Satoru's eyes widen he feels this strange sense of dread wash over him as he looks at you, his heart dropping into the pit of his stomach. "Wait...what?"

You look at Shoko get up and fetch them from the drawers. Satoru looking between the two of you anxiously. His blue eyes softened in worry.

You take the kits from Shoko and shakily gulp, looking at her as you sigh. It felt dystopian, taking a few deep breaths you walk into the washroom and follow the instructions, waiting for the three sticks to turn out.

Your breath seemed logdged in your throat. No matter how much your tried, it felt stuck. Suguru...you needed him. You needed your lover to take care of you, press you to his chest, whispering sweet-nothings. "Everything will be okay. Whatever decision you make I am going to be by your side, forever."

You gulp and look at the three sticks. Positive. All of them. Not even a single a negative one. Its always said these sticks are not a good measure for pregnancy test, but here there are all of them positive. Even if one turned out to be erroneous, the majority still said positive.

You felt your world shift in its axis...no- it stilled, completely. Your pbottom lip trembled as a soft hiccup left your throat, and as soon as that, a harsh knock rebounded on the door, making you flinch.

"Y/N?" Gojo sounded. He seemed frantic, panicked, worried. "Is everything alright?" You couldn't speak, little cries taht you tried so hard to stiffle left your mouth.

You could hear Satoru take a sharp breath outside, followed by Shoko's muffled voice. All at once he opened the door, his cerulean pupil shrunken as he looked at the three tests on the slab.

"Shit..." He gasped, his hand flying to his mouth as he hesitantly looked at you. His heart shattering at the sight of you so small, crying, shaking. Immediately he envolved his arms around you, pressing you to his chest...

"Its okay, its fine," he whispered but his own voice was shaky. Never in his life had he momentarily detested Suguru so much. He wanted to search every corner of the world, slap him and bring him back to you.

Shoko frowns slightly, her fingers clenching and unclenching at her sides. "Do you..." She hesitates for a moment, looking at you and Satoru before she continues. "Do you want to keep it?" She asks you softly, her eyes flickering down to your stomach for a moment before looking back at your face. "You know it's your choice...it's your body. No one can force you to keep it if you don't want to."

You gulp sharply, your shoulders shivering against Satoru's broad chest. Your baby, you and Suguru's baby...you couldn't possibly give it up! You were a healer, your job was to save lives! How could you give on the testament of your and Suguru's love?

"No...I am keeping them." You whisper with an anguished look, parting from Satoru.

Shoko sighs softly as she looks at you with a conflicted look on her face. She knew that deep down, that's what you were going to decide. She knew that you could never get rid of the one thing that was keeping you tied to Suguru forever. No matter how hard your heart will ache every time you look at the child growing in your stomach, the child that looks or acts like him, the one thing that can keep him in your life forever. Shoko can tell from the bittersweet look on your face: you are going to keep this baby.

Satoru's heart aches at your words, the reality of the situation crashing down on his shoulders all at once. Here you are, pregnant with Suguru's baby, and Suguru isn't going to be here to see the baby. He isn't going to be here to help you with your cravings and your hormones, or to be there by your side, holding your hand as you scream and cry during birth. He isn't going to be there to see the baby's first steps, or the first time they say 'daddy'.

You couldn't help but look back at your phone's wallpaper, only to be interjected by Satoru.

"That kid is going to know how to curse people before they even know the times table." He says with a proud grin. Shoko sighs softly at Satoru's ridiculous declaration and rolls her eyes. "I'll teach them to get on your nerves before they're even born."

You let out a shaky breath and nod, tears rolling down your eyes. It was going to be terribly hard, you know that, but the burden would be slightly less with Shoko and Satoru on your side.

"Don't cry..." Satoru murmurs, wiping your tears with his thumb, "It'll be alright, you'll be a great mom." He says, his big cerulean eyes pooling with adoration as he looks at you.

Continued.

11 months later.... ── Chapter 2 : Moon Child

- FANFICTIONS

Let me know in the comments if you want to be tagged in part 2. If you wanna be added to the permanent list:  Taglist   (lmk in the comments in case you wanna be added and the link doesn't work!

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Tags for 'our youth': @ibukiaa, @yu22tas

[hola-didi]

🕸️ Saints and Spiderwebs — a slow-burn Peter Parker x Reader series. Post NWH events.

Y/N has officially landed in New York City—jetlagged, starving, and already regretting everything. Luckily, her cousin shows up with balloons and zero boundaries. As Y/N settles into her new “cozy” apartment, she’s greeted by mismatched mail, questionable environment, and a surprisingly soft-eyed neighbor who’s supposed to be quiet and cryptic—but mostly just looks like he hasn’t slept since the events of the blip.

It’s her first day in motion after everything fell apart. Oh yeah, and Spider-Man has already made a special greeting.

Welcome to Queens, baby.

Prologue: Mail Mixup

Time has erased everything in my heart Every memory left by heartbreak My wings grow from the root Because I blindly believe in you

– RBD

---

You landed at JFK ten minutes early, which meant absolutely nothing.

Because those ten minutes? You spent all of them—and would undoubtedly spend more—pressing through the suffocating line to escape. It took thirty-five minutes just for your gate to open. Another fifteen to shuffle through the jet bridge like cattle, blinking under the fluorescents like you were being rounded up.

Then came the slow, buzzing shuffle through customs. The artificial chill. The TSA agent who looked at you like you’d smuggled three bricks worth of your life in your carry-on. Your suitcase came out last, obviously. The baggage carousel sputtered like it was on life support. A toddler vomited near your shoes in the rideshare queue, and no one bothered to help.

By the time you finally emerged into the terminal, the air smelled like burnt coffee, bleach, and whatever hope had been left behind by the last flight. Someone coughed behind you—deep and wet. Someone else was already shouting into their phone like the world was ending. You adjusted your hoodie, hugged your backpack to your chest, and muttered the smallest of affirmations that you’re almost out—not even full words. Just a rhythm in your throat.

You had forgotten how loud New York could be. Not the honking taxis or the man outside Terminal 4 yelling someone’s name—but the kind of loud that settled inside your chest. The kind that pulsed behind your ribs like the city was trying to rewrite your heartbeat in its own tempo. You didn’t feel ready. But then again, you hadn’t felt ready in over a year.

Estella, your cousin, had texted you something vague—“still stuck in traffic sorry ily”—so you stood there alone, hugging yourself like it might anchor you. She’d said something about an extra shift the night prior. You didn’t blame her. You didn’t blame anyone, really.

Except maybe yourself—for thinking this move would feel different once you got here.

It didn’t.

This was just for school. Maybe two years after. Long enough to collect some adult experience, maybe stop crying every time someone mentioned your life in Los Angeles like it hadn’t been carved out of you piece by piece with everything that happened. You were here because it was all you could do. You were here because going back wasn’t a real option.

You barely made it ten feet outside of arrivals when a girl bumped into your shoulder, muttered a distracted “sorry,” and kept moving. You waved her off with a tired smile, even though you weren’t sure who you were waving at.

And then you saw it.

A flyer. Slapped onto one of the terminal columns like an afterthought—cheap black-and-white ink, curling at the edges, starting to fade. A woman was missing. Not much older than twenty-seven. Pretty, with tired eyes and rose earrings you’d probably compliment if you saw her in real life. You stared longer than you should have.

Your mom used to say, “When people go missing, the world doesn’t stop. It just learns to step around the issue of the person. But it’s always a good virtue to keep an eye out. Even if it means it’s only you.”

You hadn’t understood that when you were little. You thought it was a saying about virtuous saints. Or about lost dogs. Or about watching your cousins in the grocery store.

Now you did.

You stepped back into the current of bodies—tired travelers, screaming toddlers, the scent of cheap perfumes and colognes—and let yourself be carried toward the exits, toward Queens, toward whatever version of yourself was still waiting on the other side.

You slowed near the arrivals corridor, adjusting your backpack, suddenly aware of how long you’d been standing still. Your shoulders ached from the flight. Your ankles throbbed with that dull, airplane-born stiffness. You hadn’t eaten since Denver. Even then, barely. A single bag of trail mix and a coffee that tasted like burnt paper. You didn’t feel hungry, exactly. Just…off. Like your body hadn’t caught up with where you were. Like you left something vital in the proces of coming here. You were two seconds away from shedding tired tears for no reason at all.

And then—

“THERE SHE IS!”

You flinched. A few heads turned. Then came the unmistakable thwap-thwap-thwap of balloons slapping each other into cartoon-like chaos as they bobbed above the crowd like a floating punchline. Curly hair—courtesy of being half Puerto Rican from her mother—pulled into a loose ponytail. One balloon read WELCOME HOME, another one had YOU FUCKING DID IT, which didn’t make sense in any practical way, but of course it did. 

Of course she would.

Estella.

“Move! Excuse me! Family emergency! Five-year reunion coming through!” she bellowed like she had diplomatic immunity, hauling a floral tote roughly the size of a ukulele case. You stood there—half amused, half mortified—and didn’t even get a chance to brace yourself before she crashed into you in a full-body hug that knocked every molecule of air from your lungs.

It wasn’t just a hug. It was a homecoming in human form.

“I thought you’d be taller than me,” she said, pulling back and inspecting you with all the gravity of someone inspecting a priceless statue in a poorly lit museum. Then she beamed. “Nope. You’re perfect. Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

You rolled your eyes, trying not to smile. “And I thought you’d listen when I said no surprise gifts.”

She scoffed and handed you the balloons and a suspiciously heavy bag. Of course. Estella had always been a gift-giver, even when you didn’t want gifts—especially then. Even as kids, when she visited for holidays, she was the one handing you a glittery lip gloss or a beaded skirt from Marshalls, even if it didn’t fit. Even if you fought about it later. That was her love language: small rebellions disguised as generosity.

“What’s the point of picking up my cousin after a year of not visiting and five years of being literally blipped from existence,” she said, deadpan, like she hadn’t just punched you in the chest with that sentence.

It struck a nerve. You wished it hadn’t. You blinked it off like a contact lens out of place.

“Girl, we weren’t even aware of it until we came back,” you replied, voice too casual to be real.

Estella clicked her tongue. “Yeah, well. Time is of the essence. I’m not wasting another second. I missed you.”

She kissed your cheek and looped her arm through yours like she’d never stopped doing it, like no years had passed. Like the space between seventeen and eighteen had been a nap. You barely had time to breathe. Her perfume hit you—soft, sweet, and a powdery violet fragrance. Something citrusy underneath. It smelled like memory. You couldn’t name which one.

It should’ve made you cry. But Estella, in her typical chaos, didn’t give you the room.

“Welcome to New York, bitch!” she grinned. “Come on. I parked illegally. We’ve got, like, fifteen minutes max before the car gets towed or ticketed or hit by a bus.”

You let her steer you toward the sliding doors, half-laughing, half-floating. Something inside your chest began to unclench. Not heal. Not fix. Just…shift. Like breathing with one lung after holding your breath for too long.

Outside, New York howled. Car horns. Muffled music. The screech of tires on wet pavement. The scent of hot grease, exhaust, and possibility.

And Estella—Estella was humming “Shower” by Becky G like you weren’t standing under a slate-colored sky with half-zipped luggage and seventy pounds of uncertainty. She hoisted your bags into the trunk of a rust-colored Camry, kicked the back door shut with the heel of her boot, and climbed in like she’d been rehearsing this day in her head for years.

Perhaps, to her, this wasn’t a welcome. It was a declaration.

As the car pulled away, you glanced back through the window. The interior smelled like Amarige perfume and old coffee, warm and oriental and somehow comforting. The seatbelt clicked with that gritty resistance all old cars have—like even the mechanics were tired. The windows fogged slightly at the corners where cold air met weak heat, a halo of condensation softening the outside world.

The city moved like it was always running late. Cabs honked in aggressive harmony, sirens wailed somewhere distant, and the sky hung low and gray like a blanket of grey and blue  watercolors. In the cupholders, two half-full water bottles splashed with every bump. A tiny Smiski bobblehead was glued to the dashboard, nodding with unbothered consistency like it understood the rhythm of chaos better than you ever would.

You shifted in the passenger seat, trying to find a position that didn’t make your spine throb. Queens rolled past your window—rusted stairwells, crooked scaffolding, laundry clinging to cold railings, pedestrians in heavy coats darting across intersections like they had somewhere to be at a certain time.

“So,” Estella said, flicking her turn signal even though no one in this lane gave a shit, “how’s your brother?”

You blinked out of the window’s blur. “He’s okay,” you said. “Still trying to get the shop up and running again. Business is slow, but…Diego is Diego: working hard. We both are.” She nodded, glancing at you for a second too long before returning her eyes to the road. “You two got closer after the world went to shit, huh?”

You shrugged. “It’s only the two of us now. So, yeah.”

You didn’t mention the way he’d packed your bag for you, folding each item with the quiet desperation of someone trying not to cry. You didn’t mention how long it took to save up enough to afford this flight—and how you weren’t sure if it meant freedom or abandonment. Or how you’d both pretended the hug at the airport was just a normal goodbye. All you knew was that five years vanished like a sleight-of-hand trick, and now time felt like a dare you weren’t sure you wanted to take.

You rubbed the edge of your thumb, a nervous habit you’d inherited from someone who wasn’t here anymore.

“He told me to go,” you said. “Said I deserved a restart.”

Estella smiled, but it was the soft, almost sad kind. “Considering he’s one of the only ones who didn’t fucking evaporate, I’d say that says a lot coming from him.”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

She swerved into the left lane evading a brief collisison and muttered something under her breath about drivers not knowing how to merge. The Smiski bobbled like it nodded in agreement.

“What about you?” you asked, mostly to change the subject. “How’s work?”

Estella rolled her eyes in slow motion, no venom behind it whatsoever. “Same as always. Twelve-hour shifts, aching feet, and zero thank-yous. I’m on nights most of the week. Trying to squeeze in classes between rounds.”

“You’re still in school?”

“Yeah. Picked up where I left off. Almost done now. Another year and I’ll finally be an RN. Until then, I get yelled at by old men and clean things I won’t describe in polite company.”

You laughed—real, full-bodied—and Estella grinned like she’d just won a personal bet with herself. “I don’t know how you do it,” you said. “Well,” she replied with a dramatic toss of her curls, “someone has to. Besides, the patients are sweet. Most of them. And I get free pudding from the cafeteria when no one’s looking.”

The light turned yellow. Estella floored it anyway. You barely noticed. Outside, the city shifted. Queens giving way to Midtown. The buildings got taller. The shadows longer. People moved quicker, like they’d been born walking with purpose. You leaned your forehead against the window. “How’s the city been...you know. Since everything?”

Estella exhaled like she’d been waiting for someone to ask. “Worse,” she said flatly. “For a while, it felt like things were getting better. Like maybe after the Blip, the Snapback, the cleanup—maybe we’d get a second chance. But eight months later, Spider-Man got blamed for blowing up half a block and everyone lost their goddamn minds. Again.”

You turned to her. “What? Wait—what happened?”

“Girl, do you not keep up with the news?” she said, snapping her head toward you.

“There’s always something about New York popping up on media. I can’t keep up with everything,” you shrugged.

She honked aggressively at the car in front of her. “People saw him take down, what, five villains in one night? One of them launched a bus through a window. And still, half the city calls him a menace. The other half thinks it was staged. Like he planned the whole thing for PR or something. I’m exhausted just listening to people argue about it.”

“Do they know who he is yet?”

“No,” she said, eyes narrowing as she switched lanes again. “That’s the weirdest part. There’s this weird collective d��jà vu going around—like people sensing they used to know who he was. Like the name and face were out there. And then, poof. Nothing. No articles. No mugshots. Not even a bad Photoshop on Reddit.”

“That’s weird,” you said.

“Right?” she leaned in, like spilling gossip. “And it’s not just my tía’s Facebook conspiracy page. My boss—two master’s degrees—swears it’s a government cover-up or some multiverse shit. One of the patients said Spider-Man’s a clone. Another said he’s secretly a Skru—OH YOU DICKHEAD!”

She leaned on the horn as a Lexus cut her off. You chuckled.

“Anyway,” she huffed, straightening in her seat. “I think he’s a hero—granted, also a part-time walking traffic violator. But what do I know? I’ve only lived here my whole life.”

You looked up just in time to see the city open up before you—Manhattan rising like a hallucination from a Hallmark movie. Glossy glass windows. Sharp angles. That anxious, brilliant skyline that always looked like it had somewhere better to be. You hadn’t been to New York since you were fourteen, back when visiting Estella’s family meant summer break, bodegas at midnight, and trying not to look too touristy. Back before everything cracked.

Estella let out a low whistle. “Still looks the same, huh?”

You weren’t sure if she meant Manhattan or the city itself. This strange machine of people and traffic and sirens that didn’t stop moving even when half the world did.

“Yep,” you said, tugging your hoodie tighter around your face. “Same as always.”

And then—something thunked across the hood of the car.

Estella screamed. You jolted sideways, banging your knee on the glove box. Outside, through the windshield, a blur of red and blue flipped midair and landed—actually landed—on the crosswalk sign like gravity was a suggestion.

“Are you kidding me?” Estella groaned, slamming the brakes. “He does this every damn time I’m driving!”

“Sorry, ma’am!” came a cheerful voice from somewhere above the Camry, light and annoyingly sincere.

You blinked. “Is that—?”

“Speaking of,” Estella muttered, jabbing a thumb toward the windshield, “Spider-Man. As much as I think he’s a hero, I stand by what I’ve always said—he’s a part-time traffic hazard with a full-time Spider-God complex.”

Across the street, the webline snapped forward like a rubber band. You followed the motion—someone was weaving recklessly through foot traffic on what you assumed was a stolen CitiBike, a glittery pink Hello Kitty backpack bouncing against their shoulders. The thief barely made it half a block. Spider-Man swooped low, kicked off a street vendor’s cart, and yanked the bike sideways mid-air. The rider tumbled—mostly unharmed—into a nest of trash bags with a yelp that sounded like “I’m sorry!”

A few people clapped. Someone cheered. The guy behind you honked, obviously.

Estella sighed like this was a weekly inconvenience. “Anyway. What were we talking about?”

You didn’t answer.

You were watching him. The way Spider-Man knelt beside the kid—probably saying something dumb but honest—and then, without an outro, disappeared straight up the side of a building like it was second nature. Like he didn’t have to think about how to move. 

“The city,” you said finally, biting back a laugh. “Not changing.”

– – –

The apartment building was exactly as Estella had described it: dingy, rustic, and the living embodiment of crushed expectations.

It was the kind of place that made you laugh softly under your breath—not because it was funny, but because if you didn’t laugh, you might start asking what the hell you’d done.

It wasn’t so different from what you’d seen in L.A.—those chipped stucco walkups in Venice, the weirdly artistic duplexes in Echo Park, the closet-sized apartments in Los Feliz where “quirky” meant the plumbing screamed in the middle of the night. Still, some part of you had been hoping this one would feel…homey. A little lived-in. A little warm.

But so far, all it felt was tired.

Estella was still in the process of decorating your shared flat, and you appreciated that—but you already knew no amount of throw pillows could cover up the dread of the faintly haunted vibe leaking out of the stairwell. The walls looked like they’d seen things. Probably smelled them too. 

You followed her up two narrow flights, wheezing halfway thanks to your overstuffed suitcase and the stamina of someone who hadn’t walked more than a block in two weeks. “So how far’s the nearest station?” you huffed, grunting as you dragged your luggage one step at a time.

Estella, already halfway up the stairs and pulling your other suitcase with slight more ease, turned with a shrug. “Five-minute walk. Tops. I still gotta buy you a taser, though. Crime’s a never-ending musical out here, and girl—there’s Broadway but it’s not Broadway.”

You nearly topled over laughing, handing off the heavier bag. 

You were grateful for the help as the second landing finally came into view. The door to the first apartment opened just as you reached the top. A woman stepped out—maybe mid-twenties, blonde wavy hair cut into a stylish bob, the kind of cheekbones people paid good money to contour around. She had piercing blue eyes and the kind of face that instantly gave you the feeling she baked for her neighbors but had no problem keying a car if crossed.

She smiled brightly. “Stella! Hi! This a friend of yours?”

Estella waved. “Hi, Bambi. No, this is my cousin—Y/N. She’s moving in with me.”

Bambi grinned and stepped closer, her keys jingling in her hand like she wanted you to feel instantly included. “Nice to meet you, Y/N! I’m Bambi. I live down here with my two girl friends and my maniac toddler. Jordan’s three but thinks he’s thirty.”

“Nice to meet you too,” you said, reaching for the handshake. “I’m from South El Monte—California.”

Bambi blinked. “Huh?”

You smiled. “Los Angeles.”

“Oh my god—no way!” Her eyes lit up. “I’ve always wanted to go. Like, ever since I saw La La Land. I mean, I know it’s fake or whatever, but like—dreamy, right?”

You laughed—soft and genuine. “Yeah. Dreamy.”

“So what brings you all the way over here?” she asked.

“I’m starting classes at SUNY.”

Bambi gasped. “Holy shit, congrats! That’s big. You’re gonna be slammed for sure. We’ll have to do a girls’ night sometime—me, you, Stella, my roommates. Maybe when Jordan’s at his dad’s and we’re not all crashing from our day jobs.”

“Yeah,” you said, still smiling. “That’d be cool.”

Behind you, Estella let out a not-so-subtle grunt as she hoisted the last of your bags up the final step. Bambi winced in sympathy. “Alright, I’ll let you girls get settled. Welcome to the madhouse!” She waved as she headed toward the stairwell, her keys still jingling.

You watched her go. For the first time since landing, something in your chest lightened. Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn’t be a total disaster.

“She’s nice,” you murmured, grabbing one of your bags.

Estella nodded, breathless. “She’s the most tolerable one out of the three. Especially on a Friday night when the hallway turns into a tequila-fueled soundscape of crying and trap music.”

You laughed again.

“Anyway,” Estella said, motioning toward the far end of the hallway with a tilt of her chin, “we’re over there. Third door past the mail slots. Hope you like yellow.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

She grinned. “You’ll see.”

You spotted it before she even said a word—the fall wreath hanging crookedly on your new apartment door. The kind with fake orange and yellow leaves and a little wooden sign that read “Welcome Fall,” in swirly script. You smiled. Not because you liked it, exactly, but because it made everything feel a little less anonymous. A marker. A tether. You were here. You had a new home. 

Estella stopped short in front of the wall-mounted mailboxes and groaned like someone had just personally offended her.

“Seriously?”

You rolled your suitcase to a pause and leaned over her shoulder. Two envelopes stuck out of your unit’s mailbox—one yellowing credit card preapproval, one with a mere name, a pizza coupon, and a tri-fold pamphlet about GED opportunities. Estella yanked the stack free like it owed her money.

“They always do this,” she muttered. “You’d think apartment numbers were rocket science.”

“Why, what happened?”

She held the stack out for you to see. “This guy’s mail keeps getting thrown in with ours. Happens at least once a week. I end up walking three flights up just to shove it back in 187’s slot.”

You raised your eyebrows, then nudged your luggage toward her. “Here,” you offered, reaching for the mismatched envelopes. “I’ll bring it to him.”

Estella gave you a long, flat look. “Y/N, you’ve been here for like—an hour and a half. You’re gonna get lost between here and the hallway.”

You rolled your eyes and wiggled your fingers in a give-it-here gesture. “I need to get familiar with my routes somehow. Might as well start now. Besides, it’s just a door number, not a maze.”

She snorted. “Regardless. I wouldn’t go making first impressions on this guy. Might scare you more than him.”

You tilted your head. “Why? Is he a grump?”

“No, not exactly,” she said, hesitating. “He’s more like…how do I put this without sounding mean? Uh—kinda…serial killer quiet.”

You blinked. “Wow. That was not not mean.”

“I’m just saying,” she huffed, tucking the rest of the mail under her arm. “Every time I run into him, he’s the same. Doesn’t talk. Doesn’t wave. Just nods, smiles maybe a bit, and disappears. Like he has nothing else to do. Super quiet.”

You shrugged. “I’m quiet.”

“Yeah, but you’re like college student quiet. He’s possible recluse hiding bodies in his closet quiet.”

You raised a brow, unconvinced. “So are you giving me the mail or not?”

Estella groaned dramatically and handed over the envelopes like they had germs. “Whatever, nena. I’m just trying to spare you the jump scare.”

You grinned at the nickname. Nena—the one she’d called you since you were nine after her mom referred to you as such when you were trying on her heels during summer visits. It was affectionate. It was patronizing. It was deeply Estella. You wouldn’t change anything about it. 

“Thanks, but spare me, Stelly. I’m eighteen, not two. I can handle myself.”

“Famous last words,” she muttered under her breath as she juggled the keys and unlocked your new apartment door with a soft click. You turned toward the stairwell with the mail in hand. “Okay. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“A minute, tops!” she called after you. “And if you’re not, I’m grabbing whatever I deem self-defense worthy and dragging your ass back down here.”

You waved a hand without looking back, already making your way down the hallway toward wherever the hell apartment 187 was—equal parts curious, tired, and just stubborn enough to commit.You walked up three flights of stairs—past peeling walls, humming radiators, and the faint smell of wall paint and something faintly burnt. It was the scent of everyone else’s homes mixed with each other. Familiar, in an odd way. Like the background noise of a city you inhabit as you walk in it.

You stopped at the landing, eyeing the identical wall of mail slots. Most were dented, rusted, or stuck with years-old stickers. You scanned them for 187 and, ironically, found it directly in front of you—close enough for it to be chest-to-chest.

You reached for the slot.

Then—

“ S’cuse me, Miss—are you dropping something off?”

You turned, half-startled, expecting Estella’s infamous serial-killer intro to come true.

But it wasn’t a grumpy old man. Or a Dahmer copy. Or anyone half as ominous as she’d made him sound.

Instead, it was a boy.

Your age, maybe a little older. Brown curls, one falling into his eyes. Warm, fast-moving eyes—quietly restless, like they were used to scanning rooftops or exits or people’s tells without meaning to. Wiry build. Runners’ body, not a lifter’s. A gray sweater hung a little loose around his frame, sleeves tugged down to his wrists. Sneakers, jeans. Nothing threatening. Just...something that suited him.

You held up the mail awkwardly. “Sorry—wrong delivery. These were in our box by mistake. Are you apartment 187?”

He glanced at the envelopes, then back at you. For a moment, it felt like he was trying to remember you from somewhere. Like he was looking through the letters, not at them.

Then he blinked and offered a quick, sheepish smile. “Yeah, that’s me. Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

You laughed once, quietly. “You didn’t. I just wasn’t expecting anyone to actually appear. My cousin said you were, like, a cryptid.”

He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “Let me guess—Estella?”

“Guilty,” you nodded, handing him the mail. “She said your mail ends up in our box a lot.”

He nodded with exaggerated tiredness. “Constantly. I’ve been trying to figure out if it’s a sorting issue or bad luck.”

You laughed again—less nervous this time. “I figured I’d deliver it before it stacked up to a legal dispute.”

“Well,” he said, eyes brightening just a touch, “I appreciate it.”

You shifted your weight on your feet, suddenly aware of how empty your hands were. “I just flew in about an hour ago. Traffic was hell and we got Spider-Manhandled on the way here.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Spider-Manhandled?”

“Thunked our car. He was chasing some dude with a glittery Hello Kitty backpack. I don’t think it was a high-level threat situation, but he made it dramatic.”

He barked a laugh. “Sounds about right. Honestly, that’s probably the most New York welcome you’re gonna get.”

“I’m not sure if I should feel honored or deeply unsettled,” you said, grinning.

“Both. It’s tradition.” He paused. “Where’d you fly in from?”

“South El Monte. Just outside of L.A.”

“Damn. So how are you not jetlagged right now?”

You blinked. “Who said I’m not? I’m planning to pass out with one shoe still on.”

He laughed, genuinely this time, and extended a hand. “I’m Peter, by the way.”

You shook it without hesitation. “Y/N,” you said. And it came out with a strange kind of relief—like the name was something you’d been holding in too long for the time the two of you spoke.

Then—

Frantic footsteps from the stairwell.

You turned just in time to see Estella appear on the landing, one hand clutching the railing, the other brandishing pepper spray.

“One minute, I said!” she cried, panting. “Do you know what happens when a Native-Californian gets lost in a New York apartment complex full of—”

She stopped mid-rant, eyes locking on Peter. You froze. The horror set in like syrup.

Your face flushed hot. Tomato red. Firetruck red. Embarrassment in its final form.

“Stelly,” you hissed, “I told you I’d be down in a few—oh, forget it.”

Peter, for his part, looked like he was either trying very hard not to laugh or bracing for Estella to mace him. Maybe both.

You didn’t dare meet his eyes.

You untangled your hand from his and backed away. “Nice meeting you, Peter! I gotta go...unpack!”

Your voice cracked upward like it had just hit puberty.

Peter smiled, polite but amused. “Bye, Y/N. Bye, Estella.”

You shoved Estella down the hallway. She was still gawking between the two of you.

“Not even an hour here and you’re already flirting with the neighbors?” she stage-whispered. You slapped a hand over her mouth, throwing you both off guard. “I am not!” To your unknown relief as you were both walking back, no one but the two of you heard Estella’s comment. 

By the time the both of you were past the door, Estella had already begun flinging open every curtain and turned on every light like she was warding off potential ghosts who could’ve very well been haunting the place. She was barefoot, balancing a box of assorted mugs in one hand and her phone in the other, yelling at her Bluetooth speaker to “connect already, you little shit.”

You dropped your bag by the door and exhaled slowly, letting the aroma of faint lemon-scented cleaner and Estella’s rose-scented diffuser ease you back into something that almost resembled calm.

“This is the living room-slash-everything room,” she said, gesturing like a proud real estate agent while nearly tripping over her own slippers. “I still haven’t gotten the futon cushions delivered but that’s coming Tuesday. The kitchen works but the oven hates me. And your room’s a shoebox but I put up twinkle lights, so it’s legally cozy now.”

You smiled with a roll of your eyes and pulled your suitcase toward the hallway. “Legally cozy. Wow, thanks.”

Unzipping your luggage, you began unpacking slowly—folding shirts into half-empty drawers, stacking jeans on the bare shelf, pulling out the small bag of toiletries and navigating which door was the bathroom and closet. You heard Estella clattering around in the kitchen, muttering about needing to buy salt and how the olive oil might actually be expired.

“So,” she called out from somewhere near the sink, “important things to remember as a new New Yorker: Don’t look tourists in the eye, bodega cats outrank you, and if someone starts singing on the subway—just ignore it. Do not ask questions.”

You snorted, setting a framed photo of you and Diego on the nightstand. “I grew up in a tourist hotspot too, y’know. What else?”

“Oh, and if the guy—specifically the one at the corner store across our street—calls you ‘mami,’ that’s a compliment. Not harassment. At least from him. You’ll get used to it.”

“I’ll brace myself.”

“I’m also redoing the bathroom shelves this weekend and adding more hooks in the entryway because I know you’re gonna have a hella lot of jackets. Also we’re doing brunch with my mom’s side after church. And tonight, I’m ordering pizza. But tomorrow we’re hitting up this deli to celebrate our big milestone of moving in together or I will scream.”

You smiled, the corners of your mouth twitching with something unfamiliar. Maybe comfort.

As you tucked the last sweatshirt into a drawer, you turned toward the half-covered window that overlooked the shared stairwell balcony. The city was beginning to blur into dusk—gray bleeding into dark blue.

You leaned against the wall. “Peter didn’t seem cryptic like you said,” you brought up casually. Estella poked her head around the corner, eyebrows raised. “Girl. Did we not just have this conversation?”

You shook your head. “No, I mean…yeah, maybe he’s kinda quiet. But it’s not creepy. It’s something else.”

She didn’t laugh or scoff like you half expected. Instead, she leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely. “Yeah,” she said after a beat with a hint of realization. “I can maybe see what you mean. I mean, I think he has no one...Like, literally, I don’t think anyone ever comes by for him. He lives alone. No roommates. No friends. No family. No mail except junk. No packages. Just...him.”

You nodded.

The window glowed faintly now, the sky behind it tinting the stairwell in shades of steel and a lavender highlight from the street lamps. You let your fingers press lightly against the frame of your drawer where you still lingered.

“I wonder he lost someone, too,” you said, quiet and unsure if you meant it out loud.

Estella stood for a moment longer, then turned back toward the kitchen. “Well,” she said, voice lighter again, “On the brightside—that’s the first I saw him smile in the last few months I’ve been here! Maybe you showed up at the right time!”

You smiled softly.  “Anyway—are you in the mood for meat lover’s pizza, or meat lover’s pizza? Those are the only acceptable answers.”

You laughed. “Meat lover’s pizza.”

“Good. Tomorrow, we feast on Mr. Delmar’s magic sandwiches and maybe I’ll let you buy your own MetroCard like a grown-up.” 

You sat on your bed, cross-legged, as Estella rustled through the drawer for the takeout menus. You watched the light spill softly against the railing of your fireescape balcony and let your thoughts settle, for once, without rushing to fix anything. 

Outside your apartment, the stairwell stayed still. Quiet. 

Upstairs, out of sight, three floors up. Peter’s door remained closed. He was laid back on his bed, the unopened mail now tossed to the side. One envelope—thicker, familiar—he tore open slowly. Inside were photos. Ones he’d ordered weeks ago. Printed on matte paper. Grainy, imperfect, tangible.

He sifted through them.

One of May, her smile sunburned and mid-laugh with him at the corner in the familiar form one takes when taking a quick selfie. It was the day she picked him up from the airport after Europe.

The last one he ever took of her.

Peter traced the edge of the photo with a finger. Something clenched and burned behind his ribs. He didn’t let himself think past May. Not to Tony. Not to Ned.

Not to MJ.

He clenched his jaw and looked at the clock.

5:00 p.m.

Time to go. Spider-Man could start patrol early tonight.

He always could, when he didn’t want to remember.

---

a/n: Thank you guys for reading !! Stay tuned for chapter 1 !!

EDIT: I was contemplating between two songs to attribute this fic to, as well as the NAME. Originally, when I posted this, it was to Bad Bunny's "DtMF" with Saints & Spider-Webs as the Title—BUT—"Another Day That Goes," by RBD (my literal childhood) was the song I was also on the verge of choosing for both title and name. After showing this to a friend, she told me that the upcoming Spider-Man Movie's rumored to be called A Brand New Day (And the RBD song sounds almost identical to the meaning)—SO, I'm changing the song, but we're still keeping this title OG 😎

That's all folks!! Stay Tuned !!

[nightshadehoney]

I never watched James Somerton's shitty Killing Stalking video because I was trying to be good to myself and avoid something that I knew would make me very angry. In fact, I never watched any of his stuff because the fact that he made a video like that was enough to discount any thing he ever had to say (also I heard about the Celluloid Closet plagiarism).

But man, is the James Somerton discourse bringing a lot of Killing Stalking-related feelings back up for me. Because I'm mad; I'm still so mad. There are a suprising amount of people on social media who are saying they never watched any of his stuff except for the Killing Stalking video. I'm annoyed not just to find out that the vid had that sort of reach and influence, but also because Somerton's unmasking hasn't seemed to make people reasses the validity of the kind of thing he was saying. People are just now being like "hmm I think this guy might have Issues With Women" but that doesn't warrant any reflection on what exactly the motivation is of people who complain about women enjoying a niche webcomic? Because I don't actually believe you're concerned about the influence of some obscure piece of media when you advertise its existence to your large audience many of whom had not heard of it and would never have heard of it but for your transparent outrage porn video. It's rage bait and the target was women that are perceived as straight. A big channel has publicized the fact that they excised a section that endorsed the opinions in this video from their own because they became aware of Somerton's plagiarism and dishonesty (presumably; if it was actually because they recognized his views were coming from a sexist place I would welcome a clarification). And you know, I don't think that's a good look actually. That you needed to be told he was a bad person and couldn't idependently put together that the misogynist man was saying misogynist things.

The comic ended years ago and the fandom has gone mostly quiet, but to this day people are still the peddling the"fujoshi/stupid teenage girls who don't know what's good for them are shipping these characters because they are too braindead to realize it's not a romance; it's a horror, two things I believe are mutually exclusive. I am smarter than all of these cringe degenerates" bullshit. It's in the comments of the hbomberguy video even; one comment was such a gross misrepresentation of the series that my friend needed to talk me down from getting into a pointless youtube comments argument (bless him) because these people are officially making me lose my marbles.

This narrative is full of shit, it's demonstrably not fucking true. You can go on the artist's twitter right now and its full of her retweeting shippy fanart of that pairing readers were apparently never intended to ship.

(I don't think Koogi knows or cares about James Somerton; she just reblogs the works of fans who tag her. This made me laugh though).

Now this is all speculation because he died decades before social media existed, but I think if Nabokov was alive today his twitter would not be full of Humbert Humbert x Dolores Haze fanart. And yet, I have unironically seen people compare shipping Sangwoo and Bum in Killing Stalking with the misreading of Lolita as a precocious sexual temptress more than once.

And this isn't me saying that Killing Stalking is the disgusting"pro-sexualized abuse" comic that tumblr purity police used to characterize it as either. One of these days I'm going to go truly bonkers and end up banging pots and pans on the street corner, yelling at random innocent passerbys about how stories about romantic and sexual relationships are not required to be Hallmark movies. You can make art about the negative, dark, and troubling parts of these feelings and relationships without creating a pat morality tale. You don't need to approach media analysis like your 7th grade teacher has assigned you an essay on explaining what a novel's "message" is.

Nobody, not the author and not the fans, genuinely thinks that Sangwoo and Bum have a healthy or aspirational relationship. This hypothetical person that does not understand the relationship is toxic doesn't exist. Because girls and women, even the ones having cringey fandom fun on tiktok or whatever, are not so stupid and naive that they are unware that breaking someone's legs and locking them in a muder basement is bad. The type of concern troll rhetoric Somerton employed in his video is directed near exclusively at women interested in men and there's a reason for this. Women are not responsible for abuse that men do to them; nobody is responsible for their partner abusing them. If I never saw people spit this bullshit again it would be too soon.

[sailtomarina]

Kinktober Day 20: Breeding | hermione x draco | cw: sex, sex toys

Keep It In

He pounced on her the moment the door closed, before she’d even had time to drop her purse or remove her coat. Hermione found herself pinned to the wall, one shoe on, one shoe dangling with its laces just undone.

“Draco, let me—oomf, mmmm!”

He silenced her in the best way he knew how. It was all lips, possessive heat, theft of breath and voice. Large, calloused hands gripped her hips. She was wholly engulfed by him, drowning in his taste and crisp scent.

Ever since she’d shared her readiness to expand their family, Draco seemed to be on a mission to fill every free moment with cock and cum. He took to the idea of fatherhood with a voracity that almost shocked her.

Hermione knew the day would come, of course. They’d talked about it years and years ago after the urgency of their early couplings had barely cooled to a gentle roil. That fire had never gone out, even after ten years together.

Draco had made it very clear that, despite his upbringing, he would accept whatever decision she made regarding parenthood. The necessity for a Malfoy heir called to him, but it was one he was willing to ignore given, well, everything. They hadn’t even been sure Hermione could still have children after what she’d endured.

And she’d loved him for his understanding.

She wasn’t ready to have kids then, and she hadn’t been ready or even interested in the years following. Hermione had goals.

Despite that, the wanting crept up on her at family gatherings and when visiting friends on their travels abroad. Bumping into Cho and her hunk of a beau in the U.S. was something of a revelation. Their baby girl, a perfect blend of the two with her wild dark hair, pudgy cheeks, and sparkling eyes, moved something in Hermione.

What would a child of Draco’s look like?

Would they have Draco’s coloring and her stubbornness? She started dreaming of babies with white blonde hair and large, chocolate eyes. Little boys with platinum curls. Little girls with grey eyes.

It was post-coitus, her body curled around him, that she braved the darkness and told him.

Thinking back on it now, it was probably the fact that he faced away from her that aided her confession. She had a feeling he’d be happy, but what if he wasn’t? What if disappointment, not joy, filled his eyes?

Foolish Hermione.

He’d immediately rolled over to wrap her into his arms and made love to her long and slow, whispering gratitude and praise the entire time. That night replayed itself often in her quiet moments. It also came up unbidden in the middle of meetings and she’d end up squirming in her seat hoping she wouldn’t leave incriminating puddles behind on her seat.

“Ahh!”

She finally had room to cry out when he’d pulled back and dropped to his knees, rucking her skirt up and lifting her legs over his shoulders to devour her. Silver glinted up at her from between her legs as he checked on her reactions to his far too clever tongue.

When he finally stood, her legs wrapped around his waist, and slid home into her throbbing heat, Hermione’s eyes nearly crossed from the perfect angle of his cock. Each thrust shoved her just a little higher up the wall. Thank Godric for silencing charms, because anyone walking by outside could never mistake the sounds pouring out from her mouth as anything else but what they were.

He came, unable to resist after feeling her explode in a series of strangling constrictions, with a hoarse yell, hands spasming where they cupped her arse.

He set her down carefully, keeping one hand cupped over her cunt. To keep even a single drop from escaping, is what he’d said the first time. He summoned a special plug he’d obtained and, before she could even take the time to remove her other shoe, slipped it in, patting the handle fondly.

The fullness of the soft silicone against her still-swollen walls made her throb with want all over again.

“Mmmm, you’re insatiable,” he said with a smirk, catching her whimper. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and helped slide her skirt back into place. “Be a good girl and keep that in until I fill you up again.”

She grumbled in her response. “Aren’t you the insatiable one? I’m constantly wet!”

“And you’ll stay wet until it takes and you’re round with our child,” he said, voice hot in the way it was whenever he felt particularly possessive. He steered her towards the hallway to their bedroom. “Go ahead and lie down like I know you want to. I’ll come get you once dinner is ready.”

Always so perceptive and anticipatory to her needs. Always thinking of her first. She felt seen, pampered, and so, so wet.

Hermione stretched out across the mattress, moaning as her sore muscles sank into the welcoming softness. She always enjoyed watching Draco work his magic in the kitchen, but he was right—a nap was definitely in order after the day she’d had at work.

At least, a nap was the idea.

Unfortunately, the toy inside of her made it impossible to relax. Every movement she made jostled the bulbous head against her sensitive walls. Rather than drift into sleep, she writhed above the sheets, knees rubbing against one another in her frustration. She imagined a puddle spreading beneath her, soaking through several layers of fabric. One hand slipped down, fingers reaching to grab and remove the offending object.

Too perfectly timed, the plug vibrated.

“Fffffuck!”

The bastard had magicked the damned thing. The moment it stilled, she reached again, determined to remove the plug and take her well-deserved rest. The second she held the base, her grip tightening, another round of vibrations rendered her helpless.

Was it growing bigger?

“That isn’t what I’d call being a good girl.”

Hermione froze, her hand in an incriminating position.

“I charmed it to react if anyone but me tried to remove it,” he said nonchalantly, slowly approaching the bed. “Don’t worry about dinner. It needs to simmer for a bit.”

She jerked as his hand landed on her ankle. “Wh-why did you—”

“Why did I charm the plug?” he asked innocently. Fingers trailed up the inside of her thigh and danced along the rim of the garish pink base.

“Yes. It’s too much—”

“Is it?” He cut her off in that same infuriating voice, calm and amused.

He moved up to hover above her, caressing her cheek with his free hand. She nodded frantically, still pulsing from the pressure deep within her.

“How about now?”

She gasped as the hand between her legs grabbed the plug and pressed it deeper into her. One incantation from his lips later, and the phallus swelled even larger. It wasn’t nearly big enough to compare to him, but she still felt so full from earlier and the never ending tightness of her walls squeezing around it.

“D-Draco, please!” It was too much; it was too much and not enough. She wanted him.

“Please what?” His heel ground down into her clit. Tears escaped as she cried out in frustration. “Tell me what you want, Granger.”

She hadn’t been a Granger for many years now, but he still liked to hit her with her maiden when she least expected it. Hearing the word spill from his lips was akin to a curse that made her want to do filthy, filthy things to him, for him.

“You, I want you,” she panted, nearly mindless with her desire.

He tsked, shaking his head in disapproval. “You have to be more specific than that.” He twisted the base of the toy and she wailed at the new sensation. “How do you want me?”

“Your cock in me, I want your cock in me, please, please, Draco.” The words came out all in a jumble. She didn’t care anymore about how she sounded, how cockhungry she looked. She was hungry for the singular experience that only he could give her.

“Hips up, love, keep it all in.” At his encouragement, she lifted her knees as he pulled the plug out with a squelching sound that would have made a more lucid Hermione blush. All it did right now was pull the trigger on her impulses.

Draco burst into laughter as their clothes vanished after one sharp command from her, but she shut him up with her teeth on his bottom lip, her hands grabbing onto his bum and impatiently yanking him against her. There was no question as to her readiness with how drenched he immediately became just brushing against her. He took himself in hand to line up and, with one jerk of his hips, impaled her once more.

They moaned together, relishing the real thing just as much as they had the first time. Hermione hated that plug, but she had to admit that it did a fantastic job of keeping her ready for him to take her at any time.

“Gonna—fill—you—up,” he panted as he slid repeatedly into her. The sounds his cock made inside of her were obscene. His eyes fixed on her bouncing breasts. “Fuck, they’ll get even bigger, won’t they?”

She managed a weak chuckle amidst the gasping and groaning. “That’s what they tell me.” She did not look forward to leaking nipples, but she did like the idea of the rough pads of his fingers massaging the swollen flesh, his lips nibbling the distended tips.

“You’re already everything to me, but imagining you carrying our baby some day, it drives me mad.” He growled out the end of the sentence, speeding up his movement, shifting his grip onto her shoulder for leverage as he drove himself harder at an angle that rubbed against the spot deep inside of her she could never touch on her own. “Come on my cock, Granger.”

As if she could deny him, not when he mapped out her body as intimately as he knew his own, not when he got off on visions of her pregnant, not when he called her ‘Granger’ in that tone of possession.

She screamed at the force of her climax, ripped from her body without remorse. He followed shortly after, bending to bury his face in her curls, his body shuddering as life expelled into her.

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.

“Draco, I think that’s the timer,” Hermione murmured, somehow managing to roll him off of her out of concern for their dinner.

“Mmmmmm.”

“Draco, dinner.”

She gasped as he sat up without warning. She expected him to get up and pad towards the kitchen. Instead, he turned to her and held up the pink monstrosity.

“First things first.”

WC 1795

@hpkinktober Prompt Day 20: Breeding

Cross-posted on Tumblr and AO3

I didn’t really know about vaginal plugs until very recently when I started researching them specifically for this short. I knew about vibrators, dildos, balls, and anal plugs, but somehow the obviousness of a vaginal plug just didn’t even occur to me. There are even cups women use for the actual purpose of aiding in conception. THE MORE YOU KNOW. I kind of love the idea of a practical Hermione and a Draco with a breeding-kink joining their knowledge for the shared goal of baby Granger-Malfoy.

[ask-team-misfit]

[ previous ]

As for Rue, Adam tended to her at the table she was seated in.

Adam: "Is the water to your liking, miss?"

[ ID: A grayscale bust drawing of Rue slightly angled away from the viewer towards the left. She’s smiling bashfully. Rue's appearance is as described here. End ID ]

Rue: "Yes. Thank you so much."

Using both front paws, Rue drank from the glass cup full of icy water. She caught a glimpse of Fenninkou and Eve over at the counter, and paused her drinking to give an apologetic look to Adam.

Rue: "I'm sorry about Fenninkou. She's really passionate about this…"

Adam: "Yeah. She sure is."

He laughed a bit, whereas Rue only looked more embarrassed.

[ ID: A grayscale drawing of Rue similar to the previous image. She appears fairly nervous, looking off to the right. End ID ]

Rue: "I'm worried about her. I keep wondering if she will do something really reckless. Get herself injured, and…"

Another series of light rattling occurred. Adam paused what he was doing as he noticed it; the wobbling glasses on the table, and the weak vibration beneath his feet. It lasted a "blink and you miss it" moment, but the look on his face suggested he found it hard to completely ignore.

Then it happened again–another weak vibration similar to the last.

Adam looked more nervous, forcing a smile as he saw Rue look his way.

Meanwhile, Eve re-emerged out front to hand Fenninkou her food, placing a jar of jelly before her, accompanied by a silver spoon. In turn, she took the bundle of Poké Fenninkou left sitting out for payment.

Eve: "Here you are, one order of honey apple jelly. Again."

Fenninkou: "Thanks~!"

Without hesitation, she dug right in to eat directly from the jar.

Eve shook her head, but smiled at Fenninkou. Then she heard the shelf and its contents rattle again, and turned around to straighten the dishes. They shook before she could turn again, prompting her to raise the cap again with an annoyed grunt and squint at them.

She watched as they shook much more visibly; not only that, she definitely felt the floor shake that time.

Eve: "What in the…?"

Fenninkou, previous preoccupied with eating her favorite treat, perked up from where she sat with a bit of jelly stuck to her nose as she heard it.

In fact, it caught the attention of everyone else in the café.

Outside, the same Pokemon that had been casually going about their lives a moment ago were now running frantically in the opposite direction; futher uphill and deeper in town. They were running right by the café, some even tripping over themselves and stumbling in a frenzy to get indoors.

Rue: "What could be causing that...?"

[ ID: A grayscale bust drawing of Adam directly facing the viewer. He's fairly scared, looking off to the right. At the left are a couple of floating sweat drops. Adam's appearance is as described here. End ID ]

Adam: "Erm... o-one moment, miss."

Struggling even more to keep it together, Adam stepped outside to ask. He raised his voice to be heard among the crowd.

Adam: "Excuse me, please. Wh-why are you all running?"

As he stepped out further and tried to get a word in edgewise, an especially frenzied Pokemon grabbed onto his shoulders and screamed loud and clear:

"IT'S A GIANT, GODS DAMN YOU! A GIANT! IT'S GONNA STOMP THROUGH THE SQUARE!"

As spontaneously as the Pokemon grabbed onto Adam and halted him, they let go to run for the hills.

[ ID: A grayscale bust drawing of Fenninkou slightly angled away from the viewer towards the left. She looks excited and eager, with big and wide, sparkling eyes. There’s other, smaller sparkles at the left and right of her face. Fenninkou's appearance is as described here. End ID ]

Fenninkou: "Whoa! Did you hear that?!"

Eve: "Oh no. Don't even try it. You better stay your little butt right here, or so help me..."

The strength of the tremors increased very slightly, but noticeably. Panic grew among the Pokemon eating here.

Eve yelled to address her anxious customers.

Eve: "Get down, and stay quiet! Keep away from the windows!"

Fenninkou jumped away as Eve was talking, right before the latter could grab her. She bobbed and weaved between a mess of shuffling feet, further blocking Eve from chasing her.

Though distressed at losing Fenninkou, once she saw the sorry state Adam was in, Eve rushed to his side.

Back with Rue, she was quick to duck underneath the table she had been seated at. She called for her partner not long after, trying to spot her among the fumbling Pokemon ducking underneath the other tables.

Rue: "Fenninkou–!"

Hearing her voice at last and then seeing Rue underneath that table, Fenninkou rushed to join her.

[ ID: A grayscale drawing of Fenninkou similar to the previous image. She's especially cheerful, her eyes closed with a wide grin that shows her pointed teeth. End ID ]

Fenninkou: "Rue!! Guess what–!"

[ ID: A grayscale bust drawing of Rue oriented similarly to the previous image. She appears fairly nervous, looking off to the right. End ID ]

Rue: "I-I know. Keep your voice down…"

Eve: "Adam!"

Upon reentering the café, Adam had froze where he stood, shaking like a leaf. His claws still grasped the door knob with an iron grip, having yet to get over the shock of the news.

His voice was much quieter when he spoke again, almost sounding like a whimper.

[ ID: A grayscale bust drawing of Adam directly facing the viewer. He's especially terrified, his eyes shut tight. At the left are a couple of floating sweat drops. End ID ]

Adam: "O-ok. That's what I feared it was…"

Eve: "Adam. Adam!"

He jumped a bit as Eve touched his shoulder, nearly letting out a frenzied scream were it not for Eve covering his mouth and ushering him away from the door.

Aside from the noise of shuffling tables and chairs, glass falling and breaking, and the remaining sounds of the rustled customers taking shelter here, the café soon fell silent.

The only noise that could be heard was a low thoom, accompanied by more minor quakes.

No one stuck around outside by the time Pikavee showed up.

[ ID: A grayscale bust drawing of Pikavee slightly angled away from the viewer towards the left. She appears somewhat concerned or timid, and her eyes are downcast. Her ears are drooped down. Pikavee's appearance is as described here. End ID ]

Pikavee: "N-no one's here, Lief."

Lief: "Huh. They’re usually all out here. Well that was quick."

Pikavee: "They're not hiding from me, are they–?"

Lief: "Oh, I doubt that. They totally are."

[ ID: A grayscale bust drawing of Lief oriented similarly to the previous image. He's smiling cheekily, resembling the ":3" emoticon, and otherwise looks relaxed. Lief's appearance is as described here. End ID ]

Lief: "They're probably just doing one of their drills. Watch, I'll handle this."

Lief fluttered ahead of Pikavee a little, presumably to seek the Pokenerd in question, grumbling to himself as he did.

Lief: "She's so wishy-washy… gods forbid I have to babysit her any longer. The sooner I find Livingston is the sooner we can go our separate ways. Things will finally go back to the way it was BEFORE she–"

Fenninkou: "BACK TO WHERE YOU BELONG, GIANT!"

The two looked towards the yelling and proceeded to watch as Fenninkou, all by herself, charged right at Pikavee's toes, her ears tufts and red markings blazing with an orange light.

Pikavee: "H-huh–??"

[ ID: A grayscale bust drawing of Fenninkou oriented similarly to the previous image. She's really riled up, her eyes narrowed in an angry glare. End ID ]

Fenninkou: "In the name of Victoria, I'll defeat you right here! I won’t stand around and do nothi–"

The terrain being somewhat uneven, she tripped over herself. The two proceeded to watch as she tumbled head over heels, out of control, the rest of the way downhill.

Fenninkou: "–IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING?!"

It was like using Flame Wheel, without knowing Flame Wheel.

Pikavee cowered away from the tiny Fennlin with a cry, expecting to be hit.

Instead, the pure Fire-type rolled to a stop a foot or so away from contact, landing face first.

The size difference really could not be reiterated enough. Fenninkou was roughly one twentieth of Pikavee's height.

Pikavee realized at this point that nothing happened, and she tentatively glanced down at the brazen Pokemon before her. Seeing Fenninkou lying there dazed made her fret.

Pikavee: "A-are you ok? Please tell me you didn't hurt yourself…"

Lief meanwhile, continued to gape with shock.

[ ID: A grayscale bust drawing of Lief oriented similarly to the previous image. He looks shocked, or fearful. A couple of sweat drops are present on his face. His mouth is somewhat agape and shaky. End ID ]

Lief: "You again, kid?!"

[greetingfromthedead]

C41: Truth Unfurled

For more information on the series (tags, CW, etc) click the banner!

Series Rating: 18+ / Explicit

Chapter: 41/84

Words: 1.9k

Warning: This chapter is about a suicide attempt (at least closest thing to it for an immortal being)! You'll find a chapter summary in the end.

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"Cause I want to shoot my brains out, Vash." The words slip over your lips as the madness tangles into your thoughts. You are tired, the voices are driving you to insanity, you don't feel like yourself, you haven't for a while; and you just need to clear your head. It feels like a physical itch that you can't rip out with your nails alone. It needs forceful stimulation, at least that's what you're convinced of.

Your hand pulls out from his grip to reach between your bodies to take the gun, you've been feeling it press into your thigh for the whole evening. You don't think too much, head consumed with the voices and your twisted desire, but Vash is fast and grabs hold of your hand.

"No! What are you saying?!" His voice is raised and full of panic before grabbing your other hand too.

"Let go!" You yell back and try to pull your arms free. His grip tightens, and you end up tackling him instead.

"Stop this!" he cries out as his back hits the sandy ground. "Don't do this! Talk to me!"

As you sit up on top of him, you use the extra leverage to rip your arms out of his grip, your raw strength surprising him again, and you bend to grab the weapon. You can almost taste freedom, silence from the voices, peace, and quiet, just for a little bit. That's all you want—to be able to think, to reason, and to love the man currently pinned under you.

The fight you put up makes Vash realize that he needs to step up to keep up. One of his arms smacks away your hands, giving him the extra second to grab his gun himself and throw it over his shoulder.

"No!" Your body lunges forward, trying to reach for the firearm, but his arms wrap themselves around your waist and pull you against him. As you land over his body, his face is pressed into your chest. Your arms push against his shoulders and the ground. "Let me go!"

You thrash against his grip, trying to force yourself loose. One hand tries to reach for the weapon, but it's too far. This is torture—the restraint over your body, the pain in your head. You're back in the lab, tied to the table with nowhere to run, no way out, just pain as you are ripped apart.

"No! Let me go! Set me free!" The raspy shriek escapes your throat, you're no longer fighting Vash, but your past.

"Iris! Calm down! Wake up!" Vash calls out to you as you use all your strength to struggle against him. He can barely hold on to you as you kick against his legs, your fingers digging into his shoulder.

He knows this is not you, your heart and mind aren't currently with him, it's the sickly part that has been driven to its limits. You keep screaming wordlessly, your hand still reaching out, but it seems less like towards the gun specifically and more like you are looking for someone to pull you out of your misery.

Vash uses his legs to get some momentum and rolls both of you over. He holds you to the ground with his body weight, but your arms try to push him off you or at least struggle out from under him. His hands grab yours tightly, and he pulls up to sit on top of you.

"Iris! Look at me!" He shouts out as your eyes are not focusing on anything in particular while your whole body is trying to throw him off. He pins your arms to the ground as he looms over you.

"Let go!" you hoarsely scream, wiggling in the sand. "Set me free! Save me!"

Your words sting him, you are asking to be rescued from your torment. For the first time you speak up like this, you beg for release. He doesn't know what to do, how to save you.

"Iris! Wake up! You're here with me!" His voice isn't as loud anymore, but it continues to be insistent, trying to reach you.

Your eyes meet his, and the fear and mania in them is momentarily replaced with recognition, but it doesn't last long as your head rolls back to look over the sand towards the gun. He feels your hand trying to move towards it, but there's a lot less force behind it.

"Just... shoot me..." Your voice has gone quiet, just a breath carrying the words, "Set me free."

"I won't do that!" his hands still holding onto your wrists. "I could never do that!"

"Please!" he sees tears collecting in your eyes, pooling in the far corners. "I won't die anyway... Just grant me a moment of silence!"

"Love..." His voice trails off, the struggle in your body is gone, it's just sorrow and tears in your eyes. All of your fight has left.

"I give up..." Your eyes trace back to his, and his heart is shattering. "I can't do this anymore! It's not fair!"

Vash gets off you without letting go of your arms, he uses them to gently pull you up and into his embrace. He holds you, one hand on your head, the other wrapped around your body. His breathing is just as heavy as yours after this struggle, and he hears little whimpers escape your lungs occasionally.

"How can I help you? I can't stand seeing you suffer! There has to be something..." He hugs you tighter and feels your hands gripping his shirt.

"Let me have it... Let me blow out the cobwebs from my head... Maybe it will grant me just a bit more time..." Your voice is choppy and quiet. "Or return me... Be free of me... Help me to go away... You deserve better, I'll just be a burden... one that doesn't go away... I don't want to make you sad... You've been so sad."

He hears you start to cry, and he puts his cheek against your head, his hand grabbing his coat from next to him and putting it over you before returning to your back and rubbing circles on it.

"I refuse..." He knows what you're asking him—the same thing you asked him when he first met you. "There has to be another way."

"I am so grateful to you, you made me so happy... I prayed I had more time... These few months haven't been enough... Not nearly enough time to know you..."

"Few months?" The words shock Vash and make him look at you again. "How long do you think it has been?"

"What do you mean?" Your voice is careful, with a note of confusion, "We left Calamity J like what? Two months ago? And before that... just a few more months... I wish I had a lifetime with you... or at the very least a few happy years..."

"It's been 8 months since Calamity J... It's been nearly a year since I found you." He sounds neutral, like the information has been simply too much.

He feels you stiffen in his arms, you don't even seem to be breathing. You stay like that for a moment before pushing a gap between your bodies to look up at his face. Your expression is a mix of horror, disbelief, and sadness.

"This is impossible. Tell me it's not true..." Your mouth stays open as your eyes look for confirmation that he wasn't serious.

"Love... Do you really only feel like a few months have passed?" Vash forces his voice to be calm.

"I..." you pause, looking off and thinking back, "I only remember enough to fill a couple months... A lot has melted together, the days spent in the desert have disappeared..."

"You mentioned it has happened before... the voices."

"It has never gotten this bad." Your heart is beating heavy in your chest, and the fear in your soul has cleared your head enough. The voices are pushed into a far corner. "They started decades after the Fall and they slowly got worse to the point I couldn't think straight, they tired me out, and I did feel close to losing my mind. That's why I wanted to end my existence, to slide into the silent unknown... I didn't know what would come of me. They started almost immediately again as soon as you woke me, compressing the process that took many years last time into one night, but it wasn't as bad. I think somehow you suppressed the worst of it. I think you did that for a long time. What would have driven me crazy before, you made bearable. But there are limits even to that."

His hand moves from your hair to your cheek, gently cupping it, the fingers stroking over your skin, wiping away the tears.

"I don't understand completely what they are—the voices. They feel like a river trying to push through a dam, the force behind them growing stronger with time. I wish I could just remember—remember everything, maybe then... maybe they would stop tormenting me. But there's a blockade, something is keeping it back."

"That's why you seem to be so distant... Maybe that's why the voices were quiet for a short period... Your brain is trying to protect itself by simply shutting off." Vash looks at you with sorrow. "Oh, Iris, I would do anything for you to get better."

"Except for what I ask..." There's a hint of amusement in your eyes.

"Yes, except for those things..." Vash stays serious, "Cause they wouldn't help you get better. Just potentially temporary fixes, but not nearly enough. Love, I..."

He bites his tongue. He wants to tell you that he wants to spend eternity with you, however long he is given on this planet, he wants to spend it all with you. Years, decades, centuries, or millennia, he wants you by his side. Your brilliant smile and loving eyes are brighter than any sun for him. Your banter and wordplay could fill his every day with joy. But he can't say that, he can't admit that, because while it is all true, he knows full well that he will bring you pain and suffering.

"Love, I want to see your fire again," he changes up his sentence. "The life in your eyes, I want you to be well, present, and ready to take on whatever this world throws at you. I know you have so much to give, so much to experience. Don't give up quite yet, please, hold on a while longer."

It hurts to hear him pleading with you like this over your life and well being. You realize he puts a lot more value on you than you yourself do. With that, the two of you are the same. You would never want to see him hurt while he is ready to jump in at any moment to save someone else at the expense of himself. The only difference is his mortality. You use it as an excuse to hurt yourself—that you are expendable, that you will regenerate while he doesn't—but in reality, you wouldn't want him to get hurt even if he were immortal. You realize just how much he is hurting over you, how hard it must be for him to see you in the state you are in, knowing you are hiding it from him unsuccessfully. He has taken care of you for much longer than you had thought, so hearing you give up now must be hard.

"Alright," you say resolutely, looking into his eyes. "That said, I am doing it for you. I will fight for as long as I can bear, but you always have an out. I don't want you to suffer over this, if I become too heavy of a burden, then leave me with no guilt, with no looking back."

Chapter summary: The voices overwhelm you and drive you to insanity, all you want is a moment of peace. While you assure Vash that you can't die of this, he refuses to let you have your way in this matter and stops you from hurting yourself. He talks to you and you uncover that you have lost a lot of memories regarding your time with Vash, for you only a few months have passed, while in reality it has been a year. Vash doesn't know how to help you, but refuses to give in and pleads for you to hold on for a little while longer. You give into his demand with the caveat that he always has an out if you get to be too much, he can leave you without a hint of guilt.

For more information and chapters, check out the MASTERLIST.

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[philip-the-nickel]

-As someone who had severe hypersomnia before, so far this seems accurate to the whole "oh shit Im hallucinating oop nope I just was having an Ambien Moment™" experience when your body's awake but your brains asleep.

-Honey how are you not redirecting patients to other hospitals if Dr. Malpractice has sent the whole ass staff home? You should be on the PHONE-

-"She died in her sleep" there's the hook.

FIRST IMPRESSIONS:

(Bear in mind, my degree is actually in film)

Pros:

The premise is intriguing, and Im definitely watching more of it.

The dream sequences are wild, and the effects in this show are fantastically done.

Always a sucker for good lighting, and the acting is pretty good!

It doesn't feel like "a series with Markiplier in it", it feels like a proper series. Mark isn't stealing the spotlight from his co-actors, and Im equally invested in all the leads.

Cons:

The jokes fell a little flat for a suspense series.

connors hat

Very limited, straight on camera angles, and too many long take wide shots that should have been quick cut bust shots. (ex: the nurses outside the hospital, the fight scene)

The sound design was lacking in a lot of places. An empty ER is still noisy, but an ER that's supposed to be full and in crisis mode should be loud as fuck. There just wasn't any Foley for most scenes, which makes them feel half-done. Never skimp on Foley.

The sound design as a narrative tool was 50/50, hit or miss. Opening song? perfect. Driving music? great. Sleep Counter slate? nothing. Not even a boom, or a ticking clock, or an organic sound from the setting that hints at the next episode, nothing! Its a slate! They always have a sound, to make people look up! Closing song over the end credits? Good song, but I'd argue the shots would have been stronger if there was nothing but natural sound, especially if it was put after a cut from how loud an ER should be. (You know, like how they did it in a Quiet Place.)

There was nowhere near enough research put into that hospital scene before writing and filming. It didn't operate like any ER would be allowed to operate, and I did spend a lot of the episode yelling about it, as you can see.

Not gonna lie, my biggest complaint is that the script is choppy and the pacing is weird. It didn't build suspense, and what suspense it did build was undercut by calm scenes going after high pressure scenes and then back.

A good example of this is the hospital intro. I'd have put the Doc leaving scene outside right when Dave and Matteo get to the hospital, and then the leads have a conflict with the doc there in the parking lot. The nurse could have said "well, Im staying. Bring them in." and then we go to the waiting room scene. It introduces the nurse character to the leads right away, introduces the situation as they're walking in, gives the nurse a chance to do some exposition, etc etc. As it is in the show, the intensity of dropping off dead friends is followed by an empty hospital that isn't explained for another 5-10 minutes, with a waiting room scene that feels stapled on. Plus, that final line was a weak reveal. "she died in her sleep" could have easily been "She died in her sleep... they all died in their sleep." One person grieving a friend is bad, but a nurse grieving her friend who just died like everyone else in the ER that night is spooky.

FINAL VERDICT:

Im invested enough to overlook first time TV series creator mistakes, so its a net positive.

THE EDGE OF SLEEP -

LIVE REACTION:

Ok so here we go lets see what this series is about, cuz I did NOT know it was a book and a podcast.

[graceofagodswrath]

Humans Are Feral

Alright, this my first post, and possibly a part one in a series of humans are feral story arcs. As well as being something that I constantly think about and wonder why no one talks about it. Maybe I just haven’t found the specific post.

Have we ever talked about how vicious humans can be? Especially in scenarios where something we care about it threatened? And I mean “bared teeth and snarling” type vicious. Beast mode activated. I’m talking about how we basically turn into animals in certain situations and rely solely on primal instinct.

Take mothers/fathers for example. You ever see a parent react to a situation in which their child was dancing with death? They will risk life and limb for that kid. My dad dove into a pool full speed after my two year old sister fell in the deep end. Clothes and all. Have you ever seen a woman after just giving birth and her mind is just straight hormones? And something happens that she perceives a threat? Someone picks up the newborn without consent, she jumps out of bed after a fucking cesarian to snatch the kid and full on snarl at them? Friend’s aunt did that shit. And don’t get me started on the super strength thing humans can do when someone is in danger and adrenaline kicks in. Then there are the people who will protect some random ass kid. A toddler or small kid with no parent around and suddenly something dangerous is about to happen? People will jump in parent or not.

Imagine:

It was a quiet day in the streets of Kuratz. The market paths usually bustling with people of races only had a small stream of customers bouncing from stall to stall. Tourists or natives of all sorts. Ky’lio, a young Avalanghar, watched from his mia’s stall, long ears swiveling this way and that to pick up on what conversations he could understand.

Then they caught his eye. The strangers you’d never see in such a place. Humans. What looked like a family unit. Ky’lio couldn’t help but lean forward to stare. He recognized the tallest as a male and the slightly shorter one a female, as he had watched some interactions between his mia and her human customers. But those humans were always soldiers or neighboring colonists. These humans were different.

There was a third party. Ky’lio had never seen a human child except for the few pictures shared from other humans. It was notoriously well-known that humans were extremely protective of their younglings, so few were seen away from human colonies. So the small, bouncing creature Ky’lio watched tug on the adult humans’ paws didn’t register as a baby human until he really stared and saw the round features.

It kept trying to dart away from its parents, but the adults held vice-like grips onto the little one’s paws. Until the stopped at a stall, Hadi Midas’s stall selling sweet fruits from the Dolor Jungles. The male let the little human go and the female took hold of the little one’s free paw. But the wild thing tugged and cried out, like a prisoner chained to a wall. It wailed and cried out in its native tongue, no doubt begging for release from its mia’s iron laws. The scene reminded Ky’lio of when he saw Kaloway serpent at a traveling exotic zoo. It too thrashed and screeched in its chains the same way the little human was. Then the female leaned down and whispered something to the child, making it go limp in her paws, hanging like a dead thing. The female only snorted and turned back towards her mate, who was speaking with Hadi Midas.

What happened next would always remain burned into Ky’lio’s memory. The little human twisted strangely and suddenly they yanked themselves from their Mia’s grip. It screeched triumphantly and dashed away. The female yelled and ran after it, but it was no use. The little human was fast and determined. As it ran down the street it neared the alleyway next to the Damik stall. Ky’lio felt the fur along his spine stand up. The alleyway was a known ambush site for younglings separated from their parents. A human child would be a great prize.

As the human youngling ran past the alleyway, a giant Oyiadin stepped out and grabbed the skinny, hairless arm. The little human screamed, a sound that had every fear feeling surging through Ky’lio’s body. Others in the street turned and stared, but none dared do anything. Oyiadins had a reputation for smuggling and trafficking, their muscular stature, claws and jaws full of sharp fangs scared away any possible help. It wasn’t the first time Ky’lio witnessed a kidnapping and helplessly watched as the kidnapped youngling’s parents shrieked in despair and fear, never daring to fight such beasts. So they would lose their child.

But these were humans. And humans were known for strange, impossible feats. That fact still did not prepare the young Avalanghar to witness the female human slam into the giant Oyiadin, tackling the muscular biped to the ground. The male human swooped in and snatched the small human, now crying and clinging to its parent. The female stood atop the giant, snarling like a wild fangher. Her lips were pulled back to reveal small, white teeth that were nowhere near as intimidating as the Oyiadin’s, yet the expression was somehow more fearsome. She growled something in her native tongue, standing menacingly over the Oyiadin that hadn’t tried to stand up. It’s ugly face was strangely empty of menace, it’s six eyes wide and staring at the human it easily dwarfed. Yet the female held no fear, spitting and snarling, her body tensed for a fight. But the Oyiadin offered no challenge. She spat something in her language once more, then turned and walked to her mate and youngling.

“That is why you must not provoke humans.” Ky’lio jumped, turning to see his mia behind him and watching everything. She looked down at him. “They are dangerous and unpredictable. Especially when they’re protective.” She looked up to watch the trio of humans pass by. “Never underestimate their willingness to fight for their own.”

~~~~~~

Kids are one thing. Then there are pets. I have personally felt the willingness to kill if anyone threatened my dog or cat. That pack bonding stuff is no joke. No, I don’t care if you hear me call my cat a fat, no-rent-paying bastard, he’s my fat no-rent-paying bastard. And I won’t just die for him. I will kill you and cut you up in pieces and summon satan to dine with me on them for that fat bastard.

~~~~~~

Imagine:

Galar was a puvarra, and deserved xis comeuppance. But the crew never expected for their human crew mate to be the one to do it.

Oakley was a good crew mate and most of the team had high opinions of him. He did his work, turned in reports on time, socialized and was overall very kind. The crew was grateful that the human was one that presented the better side of his species. However some were not fond of humans. Galar, the Yunagi from the helix system 1-4b, was one of this opinion. Xe was unabashedly cruel to many on the crew, and only got away with it because xe often blackmailed xis victims to not report to the captain. It was irritating how xe knew certain things. But xe’d finally gone too far.

Oakley had a pet aboard the ship. The creature humans called a cat, a furry thing on four legs that was a master at contortion. While the crew had been hesitant about the creature at first, hearing stories about Terran animals, many grew to like it. Oakley’s cat was named Jambo, a black and white pattern on its fur and a long, skinny tail. It would rub against their legs or jump upon counters to watch them at work. Sometimes it would doze off near them. Only Oakley and Jabari, Oakley’s partner in work, had been selected as thrones for the creature to doze upon. Many on the crew came to feel honored when the creature would approach them and rub its cheek against an outstretched appendage, a sign Oakley had explained to be affection and a demand for “pets.” Jambo got many pets.

Then one day, as the crew drew together in the dining area for a meal, Galar chose his hill to die on. Jambo had approached the tables, padding towards Oakley, but stopping as some crew began making chirping and clicking sounds, trying to intice Jambo toward them for pets. Then Galar walked by, the blue finned Yunagi’s eyes landing on Jambo. And before any could do anything, xe pulled back a long leg and kicked the black and white cat. Jambo let out a loud screech.

Then Galar was flying back and Oakley was screaming in his native language. He wailed on Galar, his fist connecting every time. At one point he tried to choke xim. Several crew jumped upon them, pulling the human way from the Yunagi, but the damage was done. Purple bruises were already evident upon the Yunagi’s blue-green hide, scratches and crescent shaped marks on xis neck were leaking dark blue blood. Nothing serious, but enough to rattle everyone.

Oakley didn’t bother staying to explain to the captain. He immediately left to find his cat, as did some of the others. Many could care less if Galar was injured, because the stupid puvarra deserved it. They worried for Jambo. The cat was later found and inspected. Luckily for Jambo, he had some light bruising. Very lucky. Oakley even cried, the clear wetness on his face a strange sight for many.

When asked by the captain why he attacked Galar, Oakley point-blank said it was because he kicked Jambo. And anyone who dared hurt his cat was going to get hurt themselves. He said it so casually the captain blinked several times. While humans were known for their protectiveness of packmates, this aggression was unexpected. They went on to scold Oakley and told him that they would have to write this on his personal report for future jobs. Oakley only nodded, still unswayed. The captain sighed and dismissed him. They knew they probably should have done more for such heinous action. But unbeknownst to others, the captain was also fond of Jambo. They were the only other person Jambo chose to nap on.

~~~~~~

This was written really fast, so I apologize if the writing is a little scrunched and there are mistakes. It physically hurt to write about a cat getting kicked, I wanted to vomit. Ugh. I wanted to go off on a tangent about humans taking on giant beasts for their kids because wouldn’t we? I personally don’t like kids, but I admit that I’d fight a bear for that one-year old that smiled at me in a Walmart checkout line, then offered me her animal cracker. I mean, wtf. I’ll save that for the next post tho.

[gh0stlyfixation]

Winter

Part one

Paring Simon Riley x fem winter soldier reader, uses she/her, using Y/N.

Warnings: none? Let me know. May have put you inside of she/her in some spots haven't written like this in a while.

A/N: This is set after End Game, Nat and Steve are still around. This does not follow any of the MARVEL plot and it's move of a love story than action-packed. Not sure how this will play out, may be a mini series or another longer series if y’all like this part. This is just a test run really, so please let me know what y’all think.

Winter master list

“By the United Nations, we hereby pardon James Barnes and Y/N Y/L for all forced crimes committed. Both parties have agreed to court-mandated therapy and the court place of residence. James Barnes will reside in New York and Y/N Y/L will reside in her chosen place of Manchester England. Each party will be allowed to resume work with SHEILD, the newly founded organization after the HYDRA overthrow.”

That’s how she found herself here, alone in an unfamiliar town with unfamiliar faces. She hated it but as part of her pardon, she’ll stay as long as she needs to. She looks up at the three stories building full of apartments. She didn’t have much but the money the government gave her, would help. After all, they did provide a place to live with the necessities she needed.

“Door 102.” She says quietly to herself as she twists her head each way. Her eyes land on the number 102, she searches for her keys, and in the corner of her eye she sees a masked man doing the same with his door. She doesn’t question it though. The tenant told her of her neighbor, a masked man, quiet and reserved, in the army never really home much, but Jesus he could pick a better mask.

It didn’t help she was an ex-criminal, all her red alarms signaled in her brain, but she was able to ignore them. The words have been wiped from her memory, she now holds her notebook of herself in her bag so she can lock it away and never see it again. She realizes she’s been staring too long and mumbles a sorry to the man before hastily unlocking her door and shutting it.

The man recognizes her from the news he’s watched, an ex-criminal that was tortured and granted a pardon but also a hero who brought down Thanos. What in the hell is she doing here? Now that he was retiring, forcefully, medically discharged, he had nothing to do. The girl intrigued him, he wanted to know more about her kind, not that she’s a different species, just the serum and its effect, but he knew damn well that was classified and personal.

Simon showers and sits down on the couch and pulls his laptop out and sees if he can find any information on her, why is she here, this is creepy, he thinks, fuck what else can I do? He yells at himself but he continues to look her up.

The winter soldiers, James and Y/N have been pardoned following specific guidelines made by the United Nations. Those have been kept confidential but we are glad to see they are free as the crimes they have committed were forced by brainwashing, manipulation, and other tactics of fear. We know James “Bucky” Barnes was captured during World War Two and Y/N Y/L during the 50s, both in and out of a cryo freeze preserving their body’s as if they haven’t aged a day. Congratulations and may the rest of their lives be peaceful. A news person spoke.

Simon scoffed, her life will never be peaceful, she’s been through hell and back. He doesn’t know what to expect of his new neighbor, the last ones were quiet, and he hopes she will be too. He knows the walls are thin so when he hears the phone ring he thinks it’s his, but stops when his phone doesn’t light up.

“Hello?” her voice spoke, it was on edge, “I’m fine Fury. I'm supposed to be at the base tomorrow morning to meet Natasha … yes, thank you for letting her come, it certainly makes things easier for me … Fury? Really?” He hears the slight humor in her voice but knows that her face is stoic, it had to be. “We’ll tell Steve and Bucky that I’m fine and to stop worrying. They can call me a whine..” You grumbled, “okay bye.”

Fuck these walls need to be thicker, Simon thinks. What base is she talking about. It certainly isn’t the British base. Is there a SHEILD base? There was, about 20 minutes from here know that he remembers.

She glances around her apartment, it’s furnished, at least. Needs a few decorations. Maybe Nat can help with that, not now though I need to sleep, it’s late. She wonders to the bedroom and thank the heavens there were sheets and a comforter. After changing into a pair of leggings and a t-shirt she hops in and quickly falls asleep.

Simon sat in the quiet reading a book he picked up from the shelf, this shit is boring, he says to himself. That’s when he hears faint quiet screams, mumbled almost. His ears start to perk up and realizes it’s the new neighbor. Fuck these thin walls! Something could be wrong. Simon argues with himself but when the noise starts getting louder he runs to her door and knocks, but no answer. He twists the knob and thankfully it opens, she needs to fucking lock her door, what is she stupid?

No, because she can kill someone in point two seconds. But he runs to the screams and finds her sweating in her bed. A night terror. He knows how to wake one up properly without a fight or struggle, he nudges her arm hard a few times then lightly once she starts to calm down, “wha-what- who are you?” She scrambles to her feet, pissed that she let her skills out the window. She tugs down her sleeve and Simon sees metal flash by her now covered hand.

“You had a night terror. The walls are thin and the door was unlocked. I’m your neighbor Simon.” His voice was soft and deep.

She stands there for a moment, embarrassed at herself. “I’m sorry.” she tells him

“It’s no problem, um, I have them too. I'm ex-military. It happens.” He says, trying to relate himself to her.

“Oh, well maybe we can help each other then.” she shyly says. What the fuck is wrong with you! Why are you getting shy? She yells at herself. Simon smiles slightly under his mask, she doesn’t notice though, “you know when we start to scream? So we don’t wake the rest of the building.” She explained clasping her hands together in front of her.

Simon looks up at her and nods, “it’s probably best. Do you have an extra key?” He asked. She nods and looks for it on her nightstand that she threw her wallet and essentials in. She hands it over to Simon and he takes it in his hand. He pulls out his ring of keys and picks off the extra key to his door and hands it to her.

Ig’s silent for a moment but you sit back down on your bed. Does he know who I are? Who doesn’t, I’m all over the news. “Do you know who I am?” she quietly ask. She needed to know.

He looks into her eyes, “You're Y/N. I’ve heard about you.” He tells her honestly.

“Are you scared of me?” She thinks it’s a ridiculous question,

“What they say on the news, what your crimes were, what your capable of, doesn’t make you who you are. We both killed hundreds, but it doesn’t make us who we are. You’ve saved the world, give yourself the credit for that.” Simon tells her.

Who knew i’d be getting a pep talk from a stranger. You think. “You don’t know me though, what the news says, you don’t know the half of what I’ve done. I’m dangerous. Unpredictable.” She say.

He does not doubt that she's dangerous and unpredictable, he doesn’t know her and she’s right. “Well now that we’re neighbors and I no longer have a life, I hope to get to know you. Your the only interesting person around here anyways, besides that old man who’s constantly screaming at the kids down the hall.” Simon tells her.

“What? Don’t have any friends?” she tease, your face still stoic.

He rolls his eyes and gets up. “Go back to sleep.” He walks out the door back to his apartment, what the fuck was this feeling? Happiness? No, I rarely feel that. Is he a friend now? Fuck. What the fuck?

[cosmos-coma]

Metal’s Delicate Touch- Part 3

A/N: Muahaha, this was probably my most excitedly typed chapter when I was typing this series up. Have fun and feel the angst!

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Words: 1,383

Summary: A team of armed men comes in search of Bucky... and Bucky comes too late. 

Warnings: Guns, Held at gunpoint, blood, Injury/broken bones (not extreme), angst, language, general intense situations, Bucky slipping into the winter soldier

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

____________________________

You stayed in the apartment a few days more, both not knowing what to do next and... hoping he might still come back. After some days though, your mind finally rolled around to accepting this loss, even if your heart did not. 

You tugged Bucky’s jacket tighter around your shoulders, taking in his scent as it embraced you with warmer memories. You had just finished putting the dishes away when you heard a heavy knock on the apartment door.

Your heart skipped as you looked toward the sound, “Bucky..?” you whispered, your words full of hope as you quickly padded towards the door. Your hand excitedly reached out for the handle when you paused, ‘But… Bucky wouldn’t have to knock,’ you thought to yourself. 

Another heavy-handed knock rattled the door, much more impatient this time. You pulled your hand to your chest and backed away with soft steps- This wasn’t Bucky…. Your stomach dropped like a stone in the ocean as a terrible feeling washed over you. 

Multiple voices spoke from beyond the door, ‘three of them… no-six?’ it was hard to get an accurate reading with your heartbeat rushing in your years. With no answer to sate them, the people outside grew quiet for a moment.

Your breath caught in your throat, forcing you into a shaken silence. Your whole body was rigid with a fear your brain didn't understand, but the rest of your body did. You were a prey animal hiding in its den, playing a game with the predators outside called ‘Are you still there?’.

Your conscious mind told you to back away from the door, that maybe you could escape from the balcony. Your bare feet stepped backward carefully, your eyes never straying the door until…

Clang.

Your mug falls onto the hard surface of the table as you back into it- it didn’t break, but it didn’t matter. That single noise was almost deafening in the absolute silence of the room and your eyes squeezed shut in anticipation of the predators outside. 

A few brief seconds passed before your door was rammed in, wood splintering into the room, and four men dressed in all-black military fatigues filed in. They held their guns at the ready and you suspected there was only more of the same standing outside. A patch saying ‘STRIKE’ with a blocky-looking eagle adorned each person's arms, but you couldn’t recognize the logo. 

“Where the fuck is Barnes? Where is he?” the leader of them shouted at you as you got down on your knees. He pulled his tactical mask off, but you still didn’t recognize him from anywhere. “I said, WHERE IS HE?!” He pressed once more, raising his gun until you were staring right down the barrel.

“I DON’T KNOW..!!” you yelled back as tears streamed down your cheeks and your hands raised up. This was the second time in your life, only months apart, that you were being held at gunpoint and the fear was becoming overwhelming.

 “I don’t know! Honest! He- He left days ago!” you said as you wiped your eyes and watched the other men in tactical uniforms search every inch and corner of the apartment before finally seeing that Bucky wasn't here and giving the word to stand down. 

A shaky breath left you as the guns lowered, taking some of the anxiety and giving you a little resolve in return. You weren’t out of the woods yet- not by a mile- but at least you weren't staring down the wrong end of a gun.

“Hey, Commander?” one of the men said, “take a look at this.” Ice ran through your veins as the soldier held up a series of photo booth pictures, all images of Bucky laughing and kissing your cheek as you made funny faces at the camera. As much as it hurt to see the memories of your shared past, you knew that men like this would use anything to get what they want. 

“Well, well, well… It seems our dear Winter Soldier has developed a soft spot.” said the leader, looking over the small line of photos, “I think we can use this… SHIELD won't like us coming back empty-handed anyways.” he said and dropped the photos without care. Your hand shot out to grab them as they fluttered to the ground, but the weight of his boot quickly intercepted you as he stepped down on your fingers with a sickening crack. 

“Ah..!” You winced, retreating your hand back to your chest.

The Commander only held a smug look on his face as he snorted in vicious laughter, “get her into transport. And don’t make me wait.”

The hair stood up on the back of your neck as he turned to leave. The three soldiers left had already put their guns away and now pulled out zip ties and a dark bag instead. 

You felt your breath quicken as you slowly got to your feet, looking at the figures that surrounded you. You may be outnumbered and you may not be as strong as them, but damn it- you weren’t about to go out without a fight. 

----

Reticence haunted the building as Bucky made his way up the stairwell and back to the apartment you shared. No radio playing music or people chatting in the walkways, even the apartment was silent as he took the final step into your hall. No song, nor heartbeat sounded from the little room, so he had to assume you finally left. But why did it make his chest hurt so much to think about; after all- this is what he wanted isn’t it?

Isn’t it..?

A frown pulled at his lips as he came to the door, kneeling down to get a better look at the large circular indent at its center. “Someone forced their way in…” He mumbled to himself, fear and worry steadily rising in his chest. As he opened the door his worst fears were confirmed. 

The apartment was completely trashed, plates smashed in the kitchen, books and papers thrown about, even- 

Blood. 

Blood spattered here and there around the room, not big enough for a gunshot, but maybe for a vicious hit. At least he knew you hadn’t gone down without a fight. 

‘Dried. It has to be days old,’ he thought silently, something dark and ferocious stirring in him as he looked further at the scene. His breath quickened as his shoulders began to hunch as he paced about the living space, a deadly determination he only knew as the Winter Soldier began to fill him once again. 

Crunch.

He paused, glancing down as he moved his foot away from the sound's origins, finding the shattered radio underneath. Kneeling to pick up its broken body another object caught his eye. Drops of blood ran over the hand-sized column of photos, covering your smiling face and blotting out his shining sun. 

His jaw clenched as his teeth ground against themselves, a quiet rage coursing through every muscle, as he began pulling on his old gear.

He didn’t know why he kept it around- he swore he would never wear it again, never let himself slip back into that mindset. But desperate times called for desperate measures. He tucked the line of photographs into his jacket, right over his heart where it belonged. 

He picked up his hidden stash of weapons from all over the apartment, filling his bag for a new sort of mission. He didn’t come back expecting to go to war- but he had no problem doing so. As he picked up his bag to once again leave a torn-off black and white patch jumped out at him. A blocky depiction of an eagle stared back at him with the word ‘STRIKE’ arching overhead. 

He had seen this logo before, back when Hydra had still been controlling him. He pulled his mask on as he dropped the patch without care- he’d need the rest of his senses dulled if he was going to have the focus to find you.

His heavy footsteps chased out the quiet of the building, causing neighbors to peek out of their doors in frightened curiosity. But he didn’t pay them any mind as he headed out with both rage and direction.  

It was time to visit SHIELD.

__________________________________

Taglist: @writingmysanity @browneyedgirl22

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[mirthlxss]

Off to the races

Chapter 11: Swimmin' pool glimmerin', darling

“Hallelujah, finally, that must be my hanging shoelaces!”

master list

price x oc, series.

a03: pricescigar, Off to the races is posted in full.

taglist:  @deadbranch , @jxvipike, @smoggyfogbottom, and very very big thank you to @bubuslutty for beta reading this!!! She has lots of amazing writing on her page so make sure to check that out too!

warnings: alcohol.

a/n: "Is that all you want to be? Liked? Wouldn't you rather be passionately and voraciously desired?" - Margaret Atwood.

“Let them try.”

“They already have, Simon, and succeeded.” Price bites out, barely keeping himself from chewing out the end of his cigar. “Need I remind you of the mess we’re in now?  Little miss smart ass is down the hall and I sure as hell don’t remember taking on new recruits.” 

“Sure.” Ghost leans back in his usual chair, pupils void of any discernible emotion, palm flat against the round meeting table they all sat around. “Did say I’d take care of it, you said no.” Pointed, the thrum of Ghost’s matter-of-fact tone only made the Captain twitch more.

“Can’t just kill a civilian.” 

A beat passed between them, the air felt stale. Both knew what hung over them, the resounding answer that welled in Simon’s throat, he’d keep quiet but his general distaste was evident. What makes this different to all of Price’s sacrifices? 

The Captain had made split-second choices before, left a man to demolition to save the greater group. To save Garrick. The one real mistake Simon had made in years and it nearly cost him his life, seeing Lily flit about the hallways of their base and hearing her cackle echo around only served as a living reminder of what he’d done. A living, breathing reminder that he had fucked up. She berated him with her presence. 

What was worse, he could still hear her panic. The shrill stutter of a feminine voice, the shaking grasp on his soon-to-be corpse, the pressure on his wound. Simon wasn’t fully conscious after the attack but he was sentient enough to feel her there, the fearful attempts of ushering his sopping blood back into his body did not go unnoticed. He loathed her for it. Why not finish the job? Why follow him here? He was the spectre and yet, she haunted him. 

“Makarov has clearly found his way into the system, someone amongst us has supplied the ultra-nationalists with information, otherwise the races incident would not have happened. This we know.” Price leered over the ancient laptop in front of him, several photos and reports splayed across its screen, a never-ending scroll of nuisances, fires he’d have to put out. 

“Captain?” Soap piqued, tired of trying to get Ghost’s attention, most of the meeting he’d spent nudging the other beneath the table, only now piping up as the Lieutenant clearly wasn’t in the mood to entertain him. Price rose a brow, wordlessly answering the sergeant. 

“Had a funny feeling about the intelligence lads we disposed of.” Gut instinct, it had saved each one of them more than enough times, the general churn of dread that grasped at the sides of one's stomach often spelt out the answers long before any real evidence did. 

“One was Russian.” Kyle pointed out, walking round the table to hover beside the Captain, waiting for permission to take over the computer, pulling up the profiles of the past intelligence team, signalling out one man in particular. 

“Pavel.” Venomous, drastic rumble. 

John looked upon the screen with distaste, the same slimy boy that had taken so much pleasure in unearthing Lilith’s photos, the same child that felt so sure in sharing them. “You think he’s capable?” 

“Cannae’ see why not, squealed like pig when we smashed him in, wouldn’t surprise me if he’d been sniffing around the ultras” Soap shrugged, distinctly remembering the high-pitched yells and bloodied snorts. 

“Just cos’ he sounds like a pig, don’ make him one.” Ghost grumbles, distinctly uninterested in chasing up a stale lead. Not when Makarov had gotten so close already. 

“I don’t mind playing butcher.” Gaz offered himself up, looking down at Price ardently. He’d tried his best to conceal the pang of urgency in his proposal, quietly wanting to bestow another heavy-handed gravel of justice atop of Pavel’s stunted head. Ultras or not. 

“Steady Kyle, this is delicate now, if they got the better of Ghost you can’t just expect to waltz in alone.” 

Garrick rocked back on the heels of his boots, hands now firmly planted on either side of his hips, clutching at his belt with a tight-lipped frown. “Doesn’t it make you suspicious how fast they got all that data? I mean, the sheer amount of it as well, we’ve had targets before and it’s taken ages for a data mine.” 

“It’s not like she’s taken any care in protecting herself.” Simon scorned. 

“Even so, if the Russians wanted to know if Shepard had any soldiers out, they’d be pushing for intel quick.” Kyle kept to his point, not fully ready to look Ghost in the eye but still addressing the room. 

Worn, crinkled, distinctly unorganised.

It had presided in her dreams, her nightmares, in every waking moment since she’d come across this wretched thing, the ledger from hell had loomed over her like the end of days. Much to the Captain’s glee, Lilith had naturally fallen into the mess of numbers like it was her duty, only truly taking time away to awkwardly run after the team in early morning P.T., suitably embarrassing herself with each exercise. 

The unruly accounting itched at her more than anything else, felt like mites burrowing down into her psyche, gnawing at the only parts of her brain she really knew how to use. The hours of the day spent buried in the financing felt a lot like university, harked back to her usual days spent holed up in the library, buzzing off of numerous coffees and whatever freebie pastries the societies would try and entice naive students in with. 

Weighted clunks and taps resonated from her steady typing, eyes scanning from screen to paper as she straightened out another accounting statement, the first couple took a lot longer. Lily had a tendency to fixate on the detail, and this book contained many. More and more insight into their world, handhelds and airstrikes, who knew you could pay for such things? Who knew Captain Price even had the connections to do so? 

Obviously, everyone but her. 

The ledger felt like her bible, deciphering the scriptures would lead her through, tell her how to navigate the scathing desert of the 141. She’d repent, sooner or later, to whom she did not know. That felt irrelevant when she was knee-deep in holy water, wading toward the north star. A mirage no doubt, she’d wake soon, find herself stuck in sand. 

The symphony of work halted as another joined the choir, Lily craned her head back, swivelling quickly in her seat as she took in Ghost’s figure filling up her doorway. 

“Got no survival instincts.” Statement dry, Price’s apostles weren’t known for embellishment. He’d been lingering behind her for minutes. 

“God forbid I’m not looking over my shoulder every second.” Caustic comment flew from her as she swiftly returned to the screen, her rapid typing ranking up in hostility with each pointed jab of a key.  

He hovered, glowering down at her hunched position, suspicious of the resolution shown toward some stupid ledger. “Why’d you try stop the bleeding.” 

A question, it was unnatural for him, and so it was barked out as a statement. Rough and demanding, if he was a stray he’d have been put down long ago. Her fingers twitched over the keyboard, hesitant now, shoulders scrunched toward her neck, instinctively covering her jugular. 

“I don’t know.” She breathed out steadily “It just happened.” 

Her back twinged, his unyielding glare boring into her from behind, unwavering pools of darkness consuming each crumb of information she’d unwittingly give to him, every twitch and shift of her body analysed. His lack of response dragged the strain out for much longer than she cared to bear, tiptoes slowly angling her to move around in the chair to face him once more.  

His jaw ticks at her subtle mocking, molars grinding slowly as he chewed through what he’d say. She stares through him like the lieutenant before her was nothing more than numbers, columns on another page she’d itch to organise, decipher and file under ‘completed’. Ghost looks at her much the same, though his dentition of ‘completed’ varied vastly. 

“There’s a delivery for you out front.” 

“Hallelujah, finally, that must be my hanging shoelaces!” 

Clink!

Ruby red swirled around the glasses, liberal pours nearly spilling over as they toasted for the fourth time. Squinty-eyed and wine-flushed, Lily pooled over the carpet whilst Johnny and Kyle lolled haphazardly on her bed, all airy giggles and smiles. 

“Can’t believe Cap’in actually got you everything you asked for.” Another choked laugh leaves Johnny as he rolls onto his front, eyeing up the mess they’d all made unpacking her boxes and packages. Plastic wrapping covered every inch of the floor, kids on Christmas day, it was carnage. Amplified cries carried down the hallway despite her door being closed, over-excited cheers and shouts shaking from the room with each rip of cardboard. 

“I was half joking about most of what I wrote down!” She cackled, unabashed delight clear as the woman gripped her wine in one hand and a pile of new products in the other, practically vibrating as she couldn’t even hold it all, most of the items had been spread around the room, small heaps surrounding the boys as they continued to ogle. 

“What’s this one for?” Kyle held out a black tube, he’d let himself lean into the fever that Soap and Lilith seemed to share whilst unpacking everything. The Brit had to soothe himself at first, loudly proclaiming that he’d stick to watching, that he’d grab a beer soon and leave them to it. 

“That’s mascara, it makes your lashes longer and just, ten times nicer-“ She shuffled toward the bed and took it from him, twisting the wand out and showing him. 

“It’s no fair you didn’t even really want all this.” Soap whined, picking up the package the tube had come from and emptying the rest out onto the bed. “Share?” His pitched query came with a hopeful yet cheeky grin, obviously enamoured with the plethora of shiny new things. 

“I did really want this stuff, just never actually believed he’d get it, was just tryna’ piss John off.” Lily took a heavy swig from her glass, letting the chalky liquid coat her tongue before she swallowed harshly. “I actually feel sort of guilty…” 

Kyle surged forward, shaking his head adamantly, the hard swinging motion making him dizzy for a moment. “Think he’s the one feeling guilty.” 

He suppressed the urge to hiccup, the yen to protect his masculinity faded pretty soon after he’d been roped into the first glass of wine. Soon after that, it felt strangely uplifting to play along, sit cross-legged and paw over products. It helped that Soap was here, though the other seemed so natural, Kyle had always been slightly jealous of Johnny. He fit in everywhere and got on with everyone. Even now, laid across the bed with one of Lily’s new bras clasped over his pyjama shirt, beckoning her over so he could see the mascara. 

It seemed like some abstract rocky-horror slumber party. He was partially thankful just to be involved, used to watching Soap and Ghost saunter off to do whatever they do together, he’d often find himself trailing along after Price like a lost dog. 

Admittedly, despite how deeply selfish he knew it was, the soldier enjoyed visiting Lily in the hospital. A twisted sense of appreciation sprouted from her captivity, enclosed and wanting people on her side. He was happy to oblige, enjoyed the reciprocated companionship even if it was shrouded in exceptional circumstance.   

“Don’t gotta be guilty if you share huh hen, then it’s good for team morale.” Soap balanced his glass precariously on his chest once he flipped onto his back, scooting so his head hung off the bed as Lilith instructed him to close his eyes, both broke into another round of hilarity without a beat, barely able to keep still or serious for a second as she hovered over him with the mascara brandished like a weapon. They had all gotten through quite a bit of wine. Kyle knew better, knew better than to glare at his teammate for getting on with someone. 

But he was drunk, and determined to keep just this one friend. Just this once, he’d be first.

“Do me, do me-“ Kyle almost threw himself down onto the floor, fumbling down with a loud thud before he positioned himself, eyes screwed shut with determination. The flurry only spurred the two on further, howling with laughter as Kyle kept his eyes shut, inching closer and closer to Lilith, drunkenly shimming around. 

“Come here you silly sod.” She guided his head onto her lap, softly coaxing the man to relax his eyes enough so his lashes wouldn’t fold up, delicately drawing the wand through them. “Keep still.” Her voice dropped to a whisper in concentration, he lay smug, happy for the attention. 

“There, now open!” 

It felt slightly heavy on his waterline, almost akin to when their tactical paint clung to his eyes despite several face washes. Eyes flickered from Lily’s face peering down at him then at Soap’s. 

“I think it’s very pretty.” Johnny hummed, nodding down at him.

“You have lovely long lashes, boys always get the nicest lashes, it's unfair.” Lilith peered closer, admiring the way his seemed to curl with the product. Kyle felt strangely timid, the alcohol diluting his usual reactions, quick to open the capillaries in his cheeks to make way for a deep dusting of rouge. It forced him to shrink into her lap, frowning slightly at how vulnerable he felt, the emotion bubbling over so quickly it flustered him. Wanting for some kind of reprieve, the soldier jumped topics, drunken alarms of his disposition drowning out the sound of sense. 

“You’re gonna have a hard time packing all this up by tomorrow.” He drawled, sitting up from her lap and pointedly ignoring the wide-eyed look from Soap. Lily tensed, her body crookedly bent in the shape of a question mark as she cemented into position, eyes drawing forth the same query in which her body folded. The soft lull of music carried on in the background, cushioning the steely silence between the three. 

You and me, always forever. 

Clawing digits centred themselves around the milky column of her wrist, brown eyes doughy with a needy sense of amicable obligation, Kyle preened over the implications of him being so advantageous as to warn Lily of the change. A clear way to solidify his position. 

We can stay alone together.

“By tomorrow?” She lingered, his fingers pulsed around her in anticipation. Johnny faded into the background, his disgruntled whispers to quieten his comrade falling upon death ears. 

“Going away, all of us, chasing a pig back to its pen.” 

[alostlovergirl]

Pregnancy hours: part 3 to come back to me.

Summary: becoming pregnant has begun to ruin your life.

Warnings: impregnation, brutal birth, manipulation, confused feelings, abuse, taunting, verbal abuse, crying, custody problems, pain, slight gore, blood warning, violation, Stockholm syndrome ( kinda?)

Note: This is it. The end. The last part. I made this the longest one to wrap it up. I hope y'all enjoyed this little series. I'mma take a tiny break because I am really stressed out and had a mental breakdown this morning. I love you guys!

When my eyes opened, my body felt weird, like someone violated me. I lift myself up from the floor and my lightheadness hit me, making my head pound in pain. The birds were chirping and the sun was shining, but I felt like crap. I turn towards my lower body and nothing was altered; the pants were on and still tied up in the little knot that I did, but something still felt off. I felt slightly full and my tummy ached. I just try to ignore the feeling because nothing was altered and nothing was wrong. My window wasn't open and nothing had been touched whatsoever.

So, I go about my life, not worrying since it seemed like Tony had left me alone and continued on with his life. I let myself heal and enjoy life again without the threat on my lively hood. It all seemed to be going good until one day when me and Ethan were shopping at the local mall after work.

I hear been feeling sick and throwing up for the last few weeks. The pains in my gut was getting worse and worse everyday. I ended puking in a public toilet. I felt really bad because everything was hurling and my stomach felt like someone was tanking at it as I puke my breakfast up. Ethan stood outside, concerned for his best friend, pacing the ground like we were in the hospital and they told him I was dying. " hon! You alright in there? " he yelled, his voice echoing through the public bathroom and making my head hurt more. I sit against the stall door, panting as beads of sweat falls down my face from my eyebrow. " What the hell is going on?" I asked to myself, still panting.

I reach over and flush the toilet, shakily standing up with tears in my eyes. " Fuck...”, I stumble my way out of the bathroom, looking at Ethan. He looks back at me with concern all over his face.

"My God! You are paler then the moon. We need to get you to the hospital." he grabs my cold, clammy face. His warm hands calmed my nerves down and I nodded, grabbing his hands. Ethan nods and grabs my hand, pulling me to his car. I laid myself in his backseat, curled up in the sticky leather seats. Probably sticky because of the summer heat. My head was spinning so much that it seemed like time was going slower and slower.

I pass out in the back of his car.

....

When I finally wake up, the knot in my throat was tight and left a big lump right in the middle. My vision was completely blurred up and when it stops, Ethan pacing the floor comes into view. " Eth... What is going on?", my raspy voice rumbles my chest. He stops and looks at me. The fury in his eyes scared the hell out of me and his red face made me coward in fear.

"You are....pregnant...." he spoke, the quiet being penetrated by his firm voice. My boats goes numb with the coldness of the room being the only thing that crawls its way under my thin blanket. Tony... He.. He... I throw up on the floor by the bed. Ethan immediately rubs my back, trying to comfort me as I begun to shake. I put a hand on my stomach and start to scratch at it, screaming. " Hon! Calm down-DOCTOR!” he runs out the room, screaming that I was not well, but really I was trying to get this baby out of my body. His fucking baby.

I clawed at my stomach, crying and hiccuping. " Get it out! Get out of me!" I scream, breaking the skin of my stomach. I punch myself over and over, yelling at no one to get this baby out of me. At one point, I break down, heaving. " W-why...", tears run down my face as Ethan comes back with the doctors and nurses. The doctors tells me that I was already a few months along and that I was basically stuck with the baby that was invading my body. He apologizes over and over as he has to prescribes the prenatal vitamins. Ethan refuses to leave me alone again and takes me to his house with his teenage cousin that he had legal guardianship over, Thomas. Thomas was literally making himself a BLT when Ethan came in with our bags and a traumatized women following after him.

" Umm..should I go to my room..." he held his sandwich as his monotone eyes follows his upset cousin and his friend, who looked like she had been crying. Ethan looks at him and shakes his head. He pulls me towards an fully furnished bedroom. When I am fully set up and Ethan leaves, I drop on the bed and cry. I am pregnant with his baby. How did he do this and when did he do this? Did he rape me? What am I gonna do? I can't take care of a baby. I can barely take care of myself. I am in between jobs that don't pay enough and I live in a tiny studio apartment that has been invaded by an insane man. I try harder, burying my face into my pillows.

Maybe I should've never left him.. All this would have never happened if I didn’t leave him. I put my hand on my baby bump, whimpering. My body hurt and my head hurt. I need a nap. I kick off my shoes and crawl under the thick, comfortable blanket. Once my head hit the pillow, I knocked out.

....

....

....

‘Flash... flash...flash'

A camera flash wakes me out of my sleep. I shoot up in my bed with sweat beading down my face. " What the hell?!" I immediately got scared, looking around the dark, hot room. My head was pounding, droolaried on my lips, and something sticky on my face. I touch my face and- " Tony! I know you are here!" I yell out, holding out my cum stained hand. " p-please, leave m-me alone..... I don't want to be with you" I begged with tears in my eyes. I just wanted to be left alone.

.....

.....

"You really think you can care for that baby by yourself. You are in way over your head, darling" I knew I smelt him. I go to tum on the lights, walking slowly along the creaking floor board. " Turning on the lights, darling? Go on. See what you are missing", he spoke, a condescending tone in his voice. It felt like he is taunting me, like I actually missed him. I turn on the lights and the first thing I see is his lifeless, red and yellow suit standing there. My eyes travel to a deshelved, shirtless Tony in red pj pants. My breath caught in my throat as he smirked at me, twirling a packet knife in his hands. I can't lie to my self because he looked amazing. His body still tone as ever and his happy trail leading down under his pants. His prominent bulge sat inbetween his legs. He had let his hair grow out a little bit, but kept his beard trimmed. He stands up, towering over my small frame. He walks over to me, putting his warm hand on my small baby bump. It angered me that this man could still make me wet for him. I am still under his complete control.

"Look at you. You look so damn good carrying my baby. We had been trying for so long, darling.", he spoke as if we were still together. He almost had me in his grasps again, but I push him away.

" No! No... I don't want this. I don't want you. You won't be apart of this baby's life!", I spoke with as much courage as I could muster up. I move away from him, already shaking. He looked shocked, but he laughs and laughs and laughs.

"Darling. You need me. You need my money. You can't take care of you and a baby. " he grabs my shoulders, squeezing it hard. He taunted me with a big smile on his face. " You will come back to me, princess. You are still my wife, no document will change that". Tony walks away from me, leaving finger print bruises on my shoulders. He gets in his suit. I watch as he opens the window and leaves, the smell of motor oil lingering in my room.

I am not telling Ethan about this.

.....

.....

.....

My body was being rearranged from the inside as tears run down the side of my face. I couldn't get an epidural because my blood pressure was dropping and they needed me to get this baby out of me. " Push! One more big push!" the doctor shouted, holding my legs open. Her gloved fingers was slightly digging into my thighs, her stressed out because my blood pressure kept dropping down. I give them one last push and scream as I feel myself tear as the infant comes out, screaming and crying. My body was gushing blood that I started going into shock. The nurses takes the baby and the wheel my bed out the room. I was in and out of this world as my sheets were soaking in my blood. Finally, I pass out.

While I was in operation, my baby boy was placed in the nursery.

...

...

...

When I wake up, connected to blood bags, I look around in the bright hospital room. My head was light and I was completely nauseous, but what caught my attention was a very familiar voice talking and cooing at something. When I gathered enough strength to turn my head, I feel tears well up into my eyes at the sight of Tony holding my baby son with Ms. Pepper Potts next to him and his bodyguards outside the door to give us privacy. " what are you doing here?" my raspy voice fills the room and he looks up, smiling.

" Hey there, sunshine... Such a handsome man." he smiles, standing up with my child. I coward in fear as he gets close to my bed, chuckling. " mmm are you ready to come back to me or maybe I need to threaten your maternal instincts." he hums, staring me down. Was he planning to kill our child?

"How would you threaten my maternal instincts?"

"I'll fight for full custody. And I promise I will win. "

What?

He can't do that. That's my baby... That he forced me to have. I look at him. " Give me my child.", I look at him with fear in my eyes. He chuckles, humming. He looks at his son and shakes his head.

"I rather not have my child grow with you and your poor situation..."

"You can't do that", tears begun to well up in my eyes, the knot in my stomach getting tighter and tighter. "please don't take my baby..."

My pathetic whimpering caused him to laugh, holdingthe child secure to his chest. " You will have to come back if you ever want to see you child again, dolly.", that day, my child that I almost lost my life for was taken away from me. I wasn't able to see him. My heart ached for a child that I didn't want in the first place. It hurt because I knew I would betray Ethan if I went back to him. I would reverse all my hardwork in therapy if I went back to him. Every day and every night, I sat in my hospital bed for two weeks straight thinking about how to get my baby back. He even got cps on me, saying that I was poor and an unfit mother to care for my newborn.

This corrupted city agreed that I couldn't see or have visitations until our marriage license was renewed. They completely ignored the evidence of abuse he put me through for the exchange of money. They rather have big bucks then actually look at the facts.

Ethan tried as hard as he could to get my custody back, but he couldn't fight the older and richer man. He apologized over and over to me, but I was stuck in my thoughts about that night. I still have feelings for Tony and I shouldn't. He was an controlling and abusive man, but he used to be so sweet. He was so attractive and the sex was amazing. I don't want him back...I think.

Do I want him back? Do I only want him back cause he has my child? Ethan leaves my hospital room and I just stay there in my thoughts, laying down. He has me wrapped around his finger. He has manipulated me and beaten me and forcibly impreganated me, but I still want him. That night, I realized how much I wantedhim back. How much I actually missed him. I missed his hands all over me, missed the good moments, missed the sex, I missed everything about him. Maybe I need him back in my life.

....

"Please don't do this..", Ethan begged me, but nothing could change my mind. I missed my baby and I missed my... husband. As soon as I got out the hospital, I was cleaning out my room in Ethan's house. I had the renewal form, but Ethan was holding it, begging me not to leave. He was holding my legs, as I was scratching my arm. I felt really bad because he helped me get out of the situation and now I am going right back to it, but I can't be away from my baby and I can't get over my feelings towards Tony.

"I will get your child back..."

"No... Its okay. I will be fine..." pulling my legs away and snatching the form from him, I grab my suitcase. I hug my crying friend and sigh. " I should've never left him. I put you through so much...", he just tightens his arms around me, sniffling.

"Can you just call me to make sure you are okay."

I nodded, pulling away from him. I grab my suitcase, pulling it along the carpeted floor. I walk out the house and Ms.Potts stood there by a black car waiting in the driveway. " good evening, Mrs. Stark", A shock goes through my body at that name. Oh, I've missed the luxury life. Even if I was an abused housewife, he still allowed to do whatever I pleased with his money. I walked past Ms. Potts and get into the car. I scoot over to the further left, putting my head on the window. " You made a good decision", Pepper spoke as she closed the door and the car started to move.

I say nothing and allow myself to be whisked away.

....

I am woken up by Pepper and I am met by the giant penthouse/ tower. I still remember when I left, running across the grass. Now, I am back after almost 3 years. Everything moves quickly as I am taken upstairs to the penthouse. The elevator opened and I walked into the warm penthouse seeing my son, now named Spencer, was sitting in the middle of the floor, in a playpen, playing with his toys. Tears well up in my eyes and I go, scooping him up. " baby!” I wisphered-yelled, but Spencer gave me away as soon as he started giggling and squealing.

Tony walks out the kitchen, wiping his hands on a rag. He smirks. " Renewal form?".

I pull the crumpled piece of paper out my back pocket, handing it to him. He reads the paper and smiles.

"Welcome back home, Mrs. Stark."

[scrumptious-delusion]

murder on the dancefloor

series masterlist

summary: you're ecstatic to learn that your next mission involves a 70's themed party. your partner however, is not.

pairing: bucky barnes x agent!female reader

warnings: swearing, murder, a bit of fluff, a lot of humour, mention of: guns, knives and alcohol.

length: 4.1k

a/n: *thanos voice* now [canon] can be whatever i want. don’t hold the accuracy of the russian against me, i just used google ✌. written for my 3k celebration, the prompt is bolded.

Bucky Barnes is your opposite in almost every way.

He’s quiet, grumpy, and generally comes across as if he’s over the whole life thing.

Which, with his past – not to mention his age, you figure he has every right to be.

You also figure it’s these two things that have made him impossible to shock. Something you quickly learnt about Bucky on your first mission together was that literally nothing fazes him.

Nothing.

Essentially, Bucky acts every bit like the old man he is.

On any given mission you have no doubt he’d rather be sitting on a porch reading the paper – or whatever it is old men enjoy doing.

Then there’s you with your sporadic bursts of energy and ability to talk aimlessly for hours.

Your light-hearted disposition means you’ll joke about something before you take it seriously, even if it’s at your own expense.

You’ll admit that’s not always a great thing.

Despite your differences however, the two of you make one hell of a duo.

You used to be an agent who spent more time behind a desk than in the field, and what missions you could get were far from thrilling.

Then along came Bucky.

His charming personality had sent the government scouring down a long list of agents, trying to find someone who wouldn’t refuse to be his partner after one mission together.

Let’s just say your name wasn’t at the top of that list.

Everyone was surprised and relieved when Bucky didn’t send you running for the hills.

Everyone except Bucky, because he of course gave no reaction, and you.

You couldn’t see what all the fuss was about.

Though truthfully, the man would’ve had to have done something horrific for you to turn down an opportunity to leave the office every once in a while.

The department only used Bucky for specific missions. Usually the so-classified-every-word-in-the-file-is-blacked-out kind.

In order to be granted a full pardon, Bucky had to work for the government to “demonstrate his commitment to the nation’s safety and wellbeing” until they were “satisfied and confident of his standing as a faithful American citizen”.

Basically, during Bucky’s trial the government heavily implied that it couldn’t be proven that he didn’t still have some allegiance with the Russians or whoever as a bullshit excuse to get the Winter Soldier to do some of their dirty work.

Since Bucky was now three years into his “demonstration” – only one of which you’d spent working with him, you were starting to wonder how much longer it would be before the government was forced to hold up their end of the deal.

Until that day arrives, you eagerly await the phone call that signifies another mission.

You stroll across the aircraft hangar, duffel bag hooked over your shoulder as you approach the familiar figures of Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson.

“Hey guys.” You smile, dropping your bag at your feet.

Sam greets you with a grin while Bucky grunts his version of a hello.

You like to think you’ve become somewhat of an expert at understanding Bucky’s mostly silent way of communicating.

Recognising the meanings behind different grunts and stares. Understanding the words expressed through the rise and fall of his eyebrows.

It’s truly a language of its own.

“They’re still pairing you up with this grandpa, huh?”

Shrugging, you jokingly sigh “I’m the only agent with aged care experience.”

Bucky doesn’t entertain either of you with a reaction, he simply picks up your bag and walks away without so much as a nod towards Sam.

Twisting to watch Bucky as he strides off, Sam yells “You’re welcome for the lift!”

There’s no response.

Rolling his eyes, Sam ribs “Have fun with him.”

Already trailing after Bucky, you call back “I always do!”

You catch up with him outside the hangar bay, in front of a cargo plane where the usual well dressed and important looking person with a manila envelope waits.

It’s never the same person and they never give their name.

You’ve coined them all as Charlie.

“Sergeant Barnes, Agent.” Charlie greets before getting straight to the point. “This is Jeremy Fitz.”

Reaching into the envelope they pull out his photo. “We’ve just received information that he’s been hired to kill this man,” They pull out another photo “Simon Miller, within the next seventy-two hours.”

“Fitz has been on our radar for quite some time but tracking him has proven difficult. However, Simon Miller is an active member in society and easy to shadow. You’ll stick close to him and wait for Fitz to reveal himself. When he does, you are to eliminate him, but only after he’s taken out Miller.”

Sliding the pictures back into the envelope, Charlie holds it out to you.

Just once you wouldn’t mind being told why.

“There’s to be no evidence of U.S. involvement, get caught and you’re on your own.”

Yes, yes. The usual spiel.

Refraining from rolling your eyes, you take the envelope.

“This cargo plane will take you to a base in London where you’ll change and be driven to the hotel Miller is currently staying at. You’ll have a room there that’s been set up with the appropriate means for the mission. Understood?”

“Got it.” You confirm.

Bucky nods once in acknowledgement.

Charlie doesn’t spare a second. Spinning around, they make a swift departure to an awaiting car.

You and Bucky stride up the cargo plane’s ramp and despite there being numerous places to sit, you take a seat right next to Bucky.

“How ya been?”

Almost five weeks have passed since you last teamed up. You rarely saw each other outside of missions, though the two of you did occasionally call one another.

Okay, you occasionally call Bucky when you’re bored or have had a drink to unwind and feel chattier than usual. You talk, he sometimes grunts, and then you eventually say goodbye.

“Fine.” Bucky answers, resting his head back and closing his eyes.

He doesn’t need to prompt you in return, you’re already speaking the moment he finishes his reply.

“You know all those plants I bought?” You ask rhetorically. “Dead. All of them.”

During the last mission, your latest Pinterest phase had convinced you that your apartment would look amazing covered in greenery. Which it did, the numerous plants had looked fantastic for the short two weeks they lived.

“I felt bad about it, but I mean, I watered them.” When you were actually home to do so. “Gave them light.” Though you weren’t sure if they all needed it, or how much. “What else was I supposed to do? I probably should’ve just started with one.”

Too late now, you were over plants.

Flowers would be nice.

You could buy a bouquet each week, but the closest florist charged a fortune, even for a basic bunch. It would be a much more expensive endeavour than the plants you paid a collective ten dollars for at a yard sale.

“Do you think I should try a fish?”

“No.”

You sigh in response to Bucky’s instant shutdown. “Yeah, I’d feel a lot worse about accidentally killing an animal.”

There’s silence as you consider possible alternatives. It’d be nice to come home to something.

“Anyway,” Looking down at the envelope in hand, you flip it open. “I’m just glad to get away for a bit, my new supervisor is driving me insane. I don’t think it’s legal to make me do as much paperwork as I have and he keeps picking me up on every minor detail, even though the asshat has me doing all of his reports.”

You blame the death of your plants on said asshat. Because of him you’ve barely been home during the weeks, always starting work early and finishing late.

“I’ve spent every weekend watching Pride & Prejudice.”

It’s one of your favourite movies and a go-to comfort film, something Bucky’s well aware of because you’ve mentioned it, oh, only a thousand times.

In fact, one of your favourite memories is when you first spoke of it with Bucky during your third mission together.

“I’m definitely watching Pride & Prejudice once this is all over.” You pant, bending over with your hands on your knees. Squinting up at Bucky you ask, “Have you seen it?”

The only evidence of exertion on the super soldier is the more prominent rise and fall of his chest, otherwise he appears fine.

You, however, feel like you’re on the verge of passing out.

Bucky shakes his head.

“I love it, it’s one of my favourite movies. The tv show’s also good, but it’s long and I don’t always have the time, you know?”

Wow, even gasping for breath you just keep talking.

“It’s based off a book, I thought you might’ve known it, you would’ve been a kid when it came out.”

Bucky raises a cautious left eyebrow, his deep voice questioning “When?”

You shrug, standing up and moving your hands to your hips, still huffing. “Early 1800’s.”

The sigh that passes through Bucky’s lips is powerful, dredged up from deep within his tired soul.

Turning around, he resumes jogging through the forest.

“Wait!” You call out, fighting the smile on your lips as you stagger behind him. “Bucky! It was a joke!”

He slows enough for you to catch up.

You’re absolutely drenched in sweat.

Once you’re by his side, you say “C’mon, I know that was a good century after you were born.”

You laugh, a very unattractive sound as you struggle for oxygen and Bucky takes off in a proper run. You merely fall to the forest floor on your hands and knees, still laughing to yourself as you try and regain some energy.

An hour later you finally stumble into the old cabin, clearly a long time after Bucky has, as he lies showered and asleep in bed.

Heading straight to the bathroom for a soothing cold shower, you don’t emerge until a good half hour later.

Despite your strong desire to sleep, you’re craving something sweet, so you venture into the tiny kitchen for the cookies you made sure to bring, to break up the bland meals of tinned food.

It’s with great horror you discover that Bucky has eaten every last one.

“Okay, this is the best mission yet.” You announce, inspecting the giant hotel room.

Previous missions have seen you sleeping in seedy motels, mould ridden apartments, or even on the cold ground, so this five star hotel room is heaven sent.

You’re so happy Simon Miller is a man with expensive taste.

Waltzing over to the king sized bed, you collapse on top of it, revelling in the softness beneath you.

There’s only one, but it won’t be the first time you’ve had to share a bed with Bucky.

You’ll be taking turns in it anyway, since someone will need to be monitoring the camera feed of Miller’s room.

Forcing yourself back up, you walk over to the desk where everything has been set up. Glancing at the camera feed you see Miller watching tv before shifting your focus to the papers containing more information about the mission.

Your eyes fall to a brightly coloured invitation for a party tomorrow night that Miller will be attending. The words you read have you rushing over to the wardrobe that holds your mission provided clothes.

Bucky watches you curiously from where he assesses the weapons, keeping an eye on the cameras.

Flinging open the doors, you turn to look at him over your shoulder. “It’s a seventies themed party!”

Stepping to the side, you let him see the two very sequined outfits hanging inside the wardrobe. “Fitz better not kill Miller before tomorrow night.”

Frowning at the orange suit he’ll have to wear, Bucky huffs.

Smiling at his obvious disdain, you tease “Better get those dance moves ready, Barnes.”

“We won’t be going.”

You zip up your white go-go boots before giving yourself a once over in the mirror. The skirt of your silver, sequined dress falls just above your knees, while the bell sleeves swish with your every move.

It’s perfect.

Stepping out of the bathroom, you’re greeted with a wonderful sight.

Bucky stands in front of the desk, the orange pants he wears flaring out around his feet which are covered in simple black boots. His matching orange, sequined jacket is fitted tightly to his large build and unbuttoned, showing the white shirt underneath that has a deep v cut, exposing his chest and a light smattering of hair.

He’s left his brown hair down, the ends just passing his shoulders, and his beard is neatly groomed.

You’re caught in an odd predicament of wanting to laugh and swoon.

“Don’t even think about it.” The threat is spoken gruffly as Bucky’s dark blue eyes quickly dart to the phone in your hand.

“What?” You ask, eyes wide. “I’m just checking the time.”

The shake of Bucky’s head tells you he doesn’t believe you one bit.

I’ll get a photo later.

“Miller’s on his way out.” Bucky states, stepping back from the desk. “Gun?”

Due to his well-fitting suit, you’re the only one carrying a weapon – sorry, a gun.

Bucky himself is a weapon and even without the metal arm he’s hidden by wearing a pair of black gloves, you know there’s at least a dozen knives strapped somewhere on him.

You’ve settled for just the gun, which is secured in the holster around your right thigh.

“Got it.”

It’s like something out of a movie.

The moment you step through the doors of the party, the iconic sweep of piano keys that starts off Dancing Queen rings out as you’re washed in the glow of multicolour laser lights and the shimmering of the giant disco ball hanging above the crowded dancefloor.

Not one person has half-assed their attire, they’re all dressed so well you’re having a hard time remembering what decade it actually is.

“Control yourself.” The low tone of Bucky’s voice holds humour, making you realise your mouth is open.

“This is amazing.” You murmur, continuing to assess the party.

Most of the light is focused on the dancefloor, leaving the rest of the room relatively dark, particularly the second floor – a balcony that stretches around the entire room.

A good hiding spot.

Bucky leads you over to a dark edge of the party, where you can clearly see Miller as he talks with a group of people, accompanied by the two women he arrived with.

“I hope he dances.” You sigh longingly.

You really, really want a reason to go out on that dance floor.

Bucky’s muttered response is lost amongst the noise.

It’s two hours in and you’ve finally moved to the dance floor that Miller also occupies.

There’s been no sign of Fitz, much to Bucky’s annoyance.

He hasn’t even committed to at least appearing like he’s dancing. Instead he’s just standing still, gazing around while you stand opposite him, putting in some effort.

You’re swaying to the beat of each song, bopping your head, and mouthing along when you know the words.

The two of you barely look like you’re together, so you can’t blame the guy who swaggers over, clearly wanting to dance with you.

However, the glare that Bucky levels him with has the guy swaggering right on by, like he never even saw you in the first place.

“So, how does it compare to the real thing?” You ask over the Fleetwood Mac song, gesturing to your surroundings.

Bucky raises an eyebrow that says, “Why should I know?”

“You were alive during the seventies.” You shrug.

“HYDRA wasn’t exactly letting me out to attend discos.” He deadpans.

The image his words conjure is unavoidable. All you can picture is Bucky decked out in the Winter Soldier attire you know from the photos, standing in the middle of a disco, Saturday Night Fever-ing it.

“The groovy soldier.” You snort.

Bucky levels you with that look. The one that’s just a blank stare, like he’s completely dead inside. Like there’s literally nothing he could say even if he wanted to because what you’ve said is just that stupid.

It’s a look you’re familiar with.

All you do is smile innocently back at him.

The sound of chatter rises around you as the current song fades out to be replaced by another.

You’re not the only person who gives an excited gasp as Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! starts playing.

“I love this song!”

Bucky quirks an eyebrow at you again, and you’re unsure if it means he knows the song or not, but you don’t care to ask as you start really dancing.

This song always seems to possess your body whenever it comes on.

Your hips twist in time to the beat, your arms, hands, and feet moving along with it as you put on a show you’ve performed a million times around your apartment.

Bucky’s watching you intently as you dance in front of him and you move in closer, wondering if you can entice him to somewhat move along with you when you notice a red dot on his white shirt.

You frown at the dot that doesn’t quite seem like the other laser lights and say, “You’ve got red on you.”

It’s gone before Bucky can even look down at it.

“Oh.” You realise, meeting Bucky’s gaze.

Processing things much faster than you, Bucky looks over to where Miller is dancing with the two women.

“Find Fitz.” He orders you.

Before you can say anything, Bucky tugs you forward, holding you to him as he dances the two of you through the crowd and closer to Miller, all in time with the lively song.

You force yourself to focus on searching along the second floor, knowing from the angle of the red dot that Fitz has to be somewhere up there. You figure he must be moving around, trying to find his best shot amongst the dancing bodies. Something he could do easily in the darkened area.

If only you could –

You squeak as Bucky’s hands suddenly grasp at your hips, lifting you up and giving you an unobscured view as he spins.

Damn he’s strong.

The ease at which he picked you up makes you feel something.

“Oh, found him!”

Bucky loosens his grip, allowing you to slip through his hands until your boots touch the ground once more.

“In the corner to your left, beside the yellow dress.”

His gaze travels up to the spot and you can tell when he locks on Fitz.

“Gun?”

“Right thigh.”

You feel Bucky’s left hand gingerly pressing at the spot, feeling the gun over your dress, his eyes not leaving Fitz.

“He’s lining up his shot.” Bucky tells you. “Tell me when Miller’s dead.”

Over Bucky’s shoulder you focus on Miller and watch as the red dot reappears on his forehead, seeming like another laser light to the other partygoers.

Then the dot is replaced with a hole, the bullet silent.

“Dead.”

You give another small squeak as Bucky spins you in his arms, pushing your back to his front while his right hand glides up under your dress to wrap around the handle of the gun, all before the first scream is produced.

In a quick succession no average human could ever achieve, he pulls the gun from your holster and fires with perfect accuracy at Fitz, who doesn’t even get the chance to take a step before his body crumbles to the ground.

The loud gunshot causes chaos to erupt.

“Nice shot.” You compliment, feeling out of breath as everyone runs for the exit.

It has absolutely nothing to do with Bucky’s warm body pressed up against you or his metal arm that’s wrapped tightly around your waist.

Bucky grunts in thanks over the terrified screams.

The feel of warm metal on your thigh makes you look down, and you watch as Bucky uses the tip of the gun to lift your dress and expose the holster. Placing the weapon back, he grabs the hem of your dress with his gloved right hand and covers the holster once more, brushing your skin in the process.

Stupid fucking gloves.

You blink at your own thought.

Where did that come from?

Before you can dwell on it, Bucky’s arm drops from your waist and whatever trance you had entered is broken as he steps back.

Clearing your throat, you turn around, the room now completely deserted.

You follow Bucky’s gaze to where Miller’s dead body lies on the dancefloor. You’re both staring at it when the music fades out again, automatically transitioning to the next song which just happens to be Stayin Alive.

You know your giggle is unacceptable enough to quickly slap a hand over your mouth, but it does nothing to hide it.

Bucky smiles.

When you exit the bathroom refreshed from your shower and dressed in pyjamas, you find Bucky already in bed. As always, he’s taken the side closest to the door.

You fall onto the bed, bouncing from your momentum and release a relaxed sigh.

Another mission done and dusted.

Crawling under the sheets where Bucky’s warmth already radiates, you smirk devilishly.

Once you’ve settled into a comfortable position on your side facing Bucky, you slide your cold feet across the bed until they come into contact with Bucky’s nearest ankle and foot.

He growls your name in warning.

You merely laugh, not moving your feet.

“не испытывай меня сегодня вечером маленькая птица.”

It wasn’t unusual for Bucky to speak Russian around, or to you.

Curiosity makes you relent and remove your feet as you ask, “What does that mean?”

You knew nothing of the language and google translate was of no help to you. You recognised words he often used however, like those last ones.

If you had any patience you’d try to learn the language.

“It means, I killed the last person who put their cold feet on me.”

Sure it does.

“Consider me terrified.” You mock.

Bucky grumbles something under his breath.

Smiling, you fluff up the pillow beneath your head, eyelids already feeling heavy as Bucky flicks off the lamp beside him, shrouding the room in darkness.

“Night Bucky.”

Small streaks of light from the city outside sneak through gaps in the curtains, and joined with Bucky’s enhanced sight, it’s easy to see you beside him in the bed.

You’d fallen asleep around an hour ago, not long after saying goodnight.

She always falls asleep so damn fast.

Bucky recalls the first time he had to share a bed with you, on your third mission together.

Like tonight, you’d found sleep quickly, the day’s events tiring you out. Meanwhile, he’d lain wide awake, uncomfortable and unfamiliar with the close proximity.

It had taken time and a few of the tricks he once used to help himself fall asleep during his recovery years, but Bucky eventually managed to doze off - though it was short lived.

He was awoken a couple of hours later to the feeling of something on his right arm.

While Bucky laid as close as possible to the edge of the bed, his right arm was somewhat outstretched from his body, towards you on the other side.

You had shifted closer to him in your sleep, perhaps chasing his warmth unconsciously, and during your move you’d found his right arm and grabbed it. You cradled it against you like one might a stuffed toy, your hands wrapped around his bicep while your cheek pressed into it, and –

Bucky had squinted at where your mouth rested against his bare skin, but the slight wetness he could now sense told him that yes, you were in fact drooling on him.

The weird girl I’ve known for less than two weeks is drooling on me, he’d recapped to himself.

Bucky had simply stared and stared at you until the sun rose the next morning.

Ever since then, whenever the two of you have ended up sharing a bed, a similar routine has always ensued.

You fall asleep first, Bucky a little while later - either before or after you migrate over to him in your sleep, and in the morning he slips from your grasp, always the first one to wake.

Drool was occasional and a dead arm was guaranteed if you were sleeping on his right side.

Once you managed to wind up flush against him, and he’d woken up to you curled around his body.

Tonight, Bucky decides he’ll wait until you find your way over to him before falling asleep, reasoning that you’ll only wake him up when you eventually do anyway.

Besides, maybe this will be the night you turn that once into twice.

[alovesongshewrote]

Woof | Eddie Munson x Reader

Plot:  You're the calm horse to Eddie "the Freak" Munson's chaotic dog. Or you were. [Eddie Munson x Gender Neutral!Reader]

Word count:  1,797

Warnings:  drug use at the end, the reader is kind of having an existential crisis, but i don't go into it. n*zi mention in the disclaimer below.

Disclaimer: Uh, yeah, fuck netflix, and fuck whoever came up with having a "stranger things experience" in a former n*zi prison where jewish and romani people were exterminated. that's an incredibly fucked up thing to do, and i do not support or endorse it.

A/N: alrighty, well, consider this a concept piece: if you want more, let me know, and i could make this into a series. i could make it extra tragic if eddie dies in volume 2, which i think he will. anyway.

Tags: @blixeon ur getting tagged bc i yelled about this to you at like, 1am and you liked the idea

Y’know how sometimes teachers will put their more chaotic students next to the calmer ones in a desperate attempt to bring some peace to the classroom? And it’s kinda weird because those are both students, so it’s kinda like getting a horse to watch your dog, but they do it anyway either because they’re underfunded or because they’re just bad at their job or what have you?

Yeah. For a solid chunk of your public school experience, you were the calm horse to Eddie “The Freak” Munson’s chaotic dog.

And quite honestly, that plan fucking backfired.  

In their efforts to get Eddie to calm down and stop causing scenes, they had put you in the perfect position to 1) become his friend, and 2) get corrupted into chaos. No surprise here, you did both of those things.

Though you never truly matched Eddie’s level of audacity, you did manage to get up there by the time you graduated. Your personal havok included, but was not limited to, releasing a horde of hamsters onto your middle school in the seventh grade, causing mild damage to several lockers, and “spilling” milk on Tommy H. because he was just getting on your nerves more than usual that day. 

As you blossomed from a standard calm horse to a chaotic dog-horse hybrid, Eddie remained by your side, just as you remained by his. Your loyalty to each other never wavered at any stage. There was no one else you’d rather have on your team, no one else you’d rather talk to. Even when his hair was buzzed, and when you were on the quiet side, your bond (forged by a shared set of desks and a shared status of “the weird one”) was nigh unbreakable.

Things even got borderline romantic in the end - not to say that a romantic relationship is better than a platonic relationship, by the way. Platonic relationships are valid as fuck, and they’re just as good as romantic relationships. Romance is just the way it went with you and Eddie- at least for a moment. It was full-on friends to lovers, 600k words that I’m not going to bore you with. Long story short, you ended up kissing him by Skull Rock, and he gave you one of his rings. It was cute. It was sweet.

And then you graduated. And he didn’t. And then you left the state for college.

You didn’t speak for two years.

It wasn’t intentional, it just kind of happened. It was harder to keep up long-distance friendships in the days before the internet. Still, you missed him. He was your person, and then he was gone. You made your way through life, but he always stayed in the back of your mind.

And then, bada bing, bada boom, 1986 rolled around. You had taken a sizable bite out of a legal studies diploma, and in doing so, you burnt yourself all the way out. You were lost, and tired, and you really didn’t know what you were doing with your life anymore. So, you did the only rational thing you could think to do- you ran right home. Cursed or not, at least you didn’t have to deal with citing your sources in Hawkins.  

The town was more or less as you’d left it, just a bit more traumatized. Everything and everyone felt on edge as if the town was holding its breath, waiting for the next tragedy to unfurl itself upon them. Your parents were welcoming, happy to have their pride and joy home from school, and also happy to have you safe where they could see you. You couldn’t blame them for that one. The longer you spent in Hawkins, the more you understood the anxiety that came with your loved ones going unaccounted for.  

Overall, you were pretty good at keeping track of the people you cared about- but there was one person who you couldn’t find, no matter how hard you searched. It was almost like Eddie was actively avoiding you. Of course, you couldn’t be sure, but you still weren’t lovin’ it.

That fun bundle of anxious thoughts combined with the existential stress that followed you home from school kept you up at night. You didn’t sleep well at the best of times, but with all of that on your plate? You kind of just stared at the ceiling for eight hours at a time, stressed as hell and bored out of your mind.

So eventually, you just decided to go out and do something. Anything. Anything at all, you just needed the stimulation- you required enrichment in your environment, goddamnit.

Of course, everything was closed, so you ended up driving circles around Hawkins every night, waiting for some kind of plot to happen to you.

And then it did! The plot fucking rear-ended you like a bitch!

You almost didn’t want to blame the plot- it was raining pretty hard that night, and the roads were a little slick. Unfortunately, the plot drives like a fucking madman, and he always does this, and he always has.

Even so, when you climbed out of your car and saw the face of the man that hit you- or rather when you heard the voice of the man who hit you- you couldn’t find it in yourself to be mad.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!”

“Munson?” 

Eddie looked like a deer in headlights, which, in some ways, he was. The man barely got a word in before you had him by the shoulders.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere! Where have you been, man?”

Your smile was bright enough to light up the storm around you. Eddie tried to ignore that, and in doing so, he ignored your question altogether.

“I- I’m sorry about your car?” The way he says it makes it sound like a question, even though it’s very much a statement.  

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry about it, I- Huh- oh, fuck, it’s wet out here, come on-” you grabbed his arm, confusing the hell out of him as you all but dragged him with you, “Get in my car, it’s dry.”

He wonders, briefly, why you decided to climb into your newly damaged car instead of his relatively undamaged van, but he doesn’t stop to question it. Instead, he just followed you in and out of the rain.

The two of you fell silent the second you closed the doors behind you. You sat like that for a few minutes, both of you waiting for the other to start the conversation. Eventually, you snapped. 

“Ok, but seriously man, where have you been? I was kind of getting nervous, to be honest-”

“In my defence, I did not know you were back.”

You shrugged, “Fair enough. I mean, I’ve only been back for like, five minutes.”

“And you didn’t come to find me? Tsk, tsk, (Y/N), I’m disappointed.”

“I tried!” Your voice was half a whine and half a laugh, “I genuinely couldn’t find you, it sucked. I mean, shit man, you live here, you have to be aware of what people say, right? Hawkins is cursed, people go missing, monsters lurk in the shadows, blah blah blah,” you wiggle your arms around as you speak to accentuate your point, “Things are weird here, y’know? And when you can’t find the people you care about, it’s possible that something bad happened-��

He scoffed and tried to ignore the fact that you still cared about him, “Yeeeeah, I don’t think you have to worry about me. Depending on who you ask, I’m a very big part of the curse.”

You raised an eyebrow, “Why? Oh, no, wait, is it because of Dungeons and Dragons?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s about Dungeons and Dragons.”

“Jesus Christ,” you let your head hit the steering wheel, “Small towns are fucked, I swear to God.”

He nodded in agreement, and the car returned to silence. The only sounds were the rain hitting the roof and the sounds of your breathing.  

“Hey, y’know what?” You sat back up, “You should come with me. Like, when or if I go back to school, you should come with me.”

“Yeahhh, that’s not gonna happen. I still haven’t graduated, so… yeah, it’s not- it’s not gonna happen.”

“Huh. Well, shit, do you wanna swap places?”

He didn’t answer that question, he just kind of looked at you like, “???”

“Yeah, I mean, I think I’d kill to just go back to high school? I didn’t have to worry about tuition, or where my life is going, or citing my fucking sources,” you leaned back, your hands running over your face, “And yeah, the food was shit, and the people were generally awful with you being the exception, but I- I just feel so lost now. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with my life anymore, man.”

For a moment, you’re lost in your own mind. Then, you feel a hand on the side of your face. And another hand on your face. Eddie Munson held your face in his hands. His grip was gentle, much softer than anyone else would expect it to be. His fingers were rough against your skin, but you really didn’t mind it- if anything, it was a feeling you’d missed.

“(Y/N), babe, I am still in high school. I also have no idea what I’m doing with my life!”

You shut your eyes and leaned into his hold, letting yourself relax for the first time in ages. One of your hands wrapped around one of his wrists, just to feel a little closer to him. Eddie tried to fight off the butterflies in his stomach. He failed miserably.

“We should form a union,” you whispered, “A union of people who just… don’t know what they’re fucking doing.”

He nodded along with you before taking his hands from your face and slapping his thighs and pushing the door open, “I don’t know what we’re gonna do with our lives, but I know what we should be doing right now. Come with me!”

It was your turn to follow in confusion- which you did. You let him pull you out into the rain and into his van, where he promptly threw a bag of weed at your face. He didn’t mean to throw it in your face, but it hit you there anyway. The two of you proceeded to hotbox the shit out of Eddie’s van.

You weren’t entirely sure if it was the drugs or the fact that you finally knew your dear friend was safe, but you were finally able to sleep that night, safe and sound.

And then a teenager got murdered in his living room like a week later, but let’s not worry about that.

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 2,952 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: The prison (Season 3) Warnings: language, that's it! A/N: Kintsugi, aka "golden joinery" is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with precious materials like gold and it is strikingly beautiful. I think you'll understand why I titled the fic this at the end! Summary: After Daryl leaves with Merle, he return to the prison to find that Y/N is extremely angry with him...

Your name: submit What is this?

Your face went through a rapid series of emotions as soon as his familiar broad shoulders came into view. First was shock and surprise, and then relief to see him again and to see him in one piece, and then just... anger. Daryl shifted his weight anxiously from one foot to the next, watching over everyone crowded around him as you simply stood up and turned your back on the room and left. You walked straight out and into the row of cells, disappearing through the heavy metal door. Daryl caught Rick’s eyes and the sheriff simply tilted his head and gave Daryl a knowing look. Daryl’s attention was pulled away as Carol grabbed him into a tight hug.

He was surprised when you didn’t come back out to join in the discussion of what the hell to do next about Woodbury and the Governor. He worked up the courage to try to talk to you, knowing full well it may just be an exercise in futility.

You easily heard the familiar cadence of his steps approaching your cell and the doorway darkened as his frame stopped in the space. He gripped the edge of the cell door and anxiously chewed his bottom lip.

You were sitting on the edge of your bunk, determinedly not looking at him. “Go away, Daryl.” Your voice was quiet but there was an unfamiliar edge to it.

He shifted uncomfortably but didn’t leave. “Just—would ya just talk to me?” he ventured. He saw the muscle in your jaw tense as your teeth clenched. “What is there to talk about?” “I—’M back now. I came back,” he said. He felt sick. He wasn’t used to you being angry with him and it was completely twisting him into knots.  “Yep,” you said, standing and going to the doorway. You pulled the hanging sheet in the doorway, a makeshift door, closed right in his face. “Leave me alone,” your voice came out from the cell and then he heard the springs of your bunk creak as you sank back down on it.  He stepped back from the fabric and dropped his hand from its grip on the doorframe, heaving a heavy sigh. Carol stepped out of her cell, just a few doors down and looked at Daryl staring at the closed sheet in front of him. He turned at the sound of her soft footsteps.  Carol’s brow was furrowed low over her eyes and she tilted her head in the direction of the staircase that climbed to the second level. Daryl’s hand clenched and unclenched in a fist and he gave your cell one last parting look before turning away to follow Carol up the stairs. She peeked at Judith in her makeshift bed and smiled. Daryl stopped beside her and looked down at the little sleeping bundle. His heart warmed at the sight of her, but his expression was still dark. Carol glanced over at him. He chewed on his bottom lip anxiously again. “She won’t even talk to me,” he drawled. “Give her a little time,” Carol said gently. “She’ll come around.” Carol sounded very sure of her assertion, but all Daryl could think was that he’d ruined things for good. “I came back,” he said, leaning back against the railing. His heart was aching with regret. Going off with Merle was stupid in the first place. Almost as soon as he’d done it he knew it was a mistake.  “You being back doesn’t change the fact that you left in the first place,” Carol pointed out. “You really think she doesn’t have a right to be upset? Think about how she’s interpreting you leaving.” He gave her a questioning look. Carol straightened up and stared at him. “I understand why you did what you did. He’s your brother. He’s blood. But you leaving with him... to her it means she wasn’t worth staying for. You chose Merle, a racist asshole, over all of us, and right when we’re sitting on the edge of war against the psychopath Merle worked for. I know that isn’t really what happened. It’s not that simple, but that’s what it feels like. She thinks you leaving means that... whatever there is between the two of you wasn’t worth anything. It wasn’t enough to make you stay.”

He gulped and shifted uncomfortably. “But that ain’t true...” Carol shrugged. “That’s how it seems to her.” 

Daryl ran a hand over his face and sighed again. “I really fucked up,” he growled. The grit and gravel in his voice was heavier than usual. “You did what you thought you needed to do,” Carol said, giving his shoulder a light squeeze. “Just give her a little time. She’ll cool off.” But the rest of the day, you stayed in your cell with the doorway covered. Daryl hung around hoping you’d step out so he could try to talk to you again, try to apologize and explain. He was sick with regret and guilt and worry, but you never stepped out. “Who’s on watch tonight?” Daryl asked Rick. He was thinking about offering to stay up and take both shifts because there was no way he would be sleeping that night anyway. He was too anxious. “Y/N first and then Glenn is taking the second shift. He gave Daryl a knowing look. The archer looked miserable. Rick sighed. “I’m just glad you’re back,” Rick said.

Daryl nudged his nose up in nod. “Yeah... thanks...” You’d be on guard first. You wouldn’t be able to hide in your cell forever. You could, however, still tell him to fuck off, but he had to try. Just waiting around was agonizing and he kept thinking about how in this world even the next minute wasn’t a guarantee. He had to make things right as soon as he could.

Night fell and after scraping together his courage, Daryl got up, knowing you’d be in the guard tower by now. He went to the little stove and heated up some water, pouring it over a tea bag in a mug and staring down at it. Yeah, bring her tea, dumbass. That’ll fix it. But regardless of that derisive voice in his head, he grabbed the mug and headed out to climb the narrow stairs of the guard tower, curls of steam wafting off the surface of the amber liquid. You turned when you heard the metal door from the stairwell creak open, thinking maybe Glenn couldn’t sleep and was coming to keep you company early. Instead you saw the broad shoulders of the archer coming through and you turned away and fixed your eyes on the darkness blanketing the prison yard. “What?” you asked sharply. Daryl gulped. Obviously you hadn’t cooled off enough yet. “I just—uhh.” He rubbed his hand awkwardly over the back of his neck. “I brought ya some tea,” he drawled.  You kept your back to him and said nothing. He edged closer and set the tea in front of you on the table. It was then that he noticed the bandage on your upper arm. He hadn’t noticed it before, probably because you’d been wearing a jacket. Without thinking, he reached out and gently grabbed your arm. “What happened?” 

You glanced at his hand on your arm and then up to his blue eyes. You felt your resolve crumbling as soon as your eyes met his. It was like some involuntary reaction you had no control over, but you tugged your arm from his grasp and shifted away from him, averting your eyes back toward the outside again. “I got shot,” you said. “What?” he urged. “The hell ya mean ya got shot?”

His voice was tinged with deep concern. “By one of those Woodbury assholes. You know, when you were off running around with Merle,” you replied. Daryl’s stomach twisted. How could he have been so stupid? If he’d been at the prison where he was supposed to be he could have protected you. What if it hadn’t just been your arm? He hadn’t even said goodbye to you... he’d just left. The hell was he thinking? You must have sensed his sudden panic because you looked over at him again and studied his face. “It’s just a bullet graze, Daryl.” Your tone was flat this time, but it was an improvement over the previous anger. “I’d rather be alone,” you said quietly. You hesitated. “Thanks for the tea.”

He gulped again. This distant tone you had was eating him alive and he felt his blood pressure rising. “Would ya just look at me at least? Gimme a chance to explain!”

You were a bit taken aback by his tone, which was now a little angry too, and you did turn to stare at him, your brow furrowed heavily now. “Explain?” You scoffed. “What the hell is there to explain? You made your choice. Your priorities are pretty damn clear. So, just—just leave me alone...”

“Nah,” he growled. “Not ‘til ya listen to me.”

You glared at him and he watched the muscle in your jaw tense as you clenched your teeth. “Actions speak louder than words, Daryl.”

“I fucked up, alright? I ain’t denyin’ that! I wanted to come back as soon as I left!” he roared. “‘M sorry!” “Sorry?” You stared at him, bewildered. “You’re sorry,” you repeated. “Yeah, well, so am I. Sorry I was stupid enough to think that maybe—” You broke off and shut your eyes, breathing in a tense breath. “That maybe what?” Daryl pressed you.

“That maybe I actually fucking meant something to you!” you yelled. There were angry tears in your eyes now and you fought to blink them away. “But if you could just leave then clearly I’ve deluded myself, because I could never do that to you. So, I guess I don’t know what this—” you gestured to yourself and then to him, “—is. Was. Whatever... apparently it’s nothing.” The archer stared at you feeling like his heart had split open. “That ain’t—that ain’t true. And it wasn’t that simple. S’not that simple.” He took a hesitant step toward you. 

Your jaw was still set. “Forget it. You don’t need to explain anything to me. It’s not like we were.... together. I was stupid to read into anything. I’m—I’m done. I’ll just send Glenn up later,” you murmured, trying to storm out of the guard tower, ready to race down the stairs and leave the whole mess behind you. But Daryl’s hand gently caught you as you tried to move past him, landing lightly but firmly on your arm.

“Nah. Don’t do that! Don’t just—just dismiss this!” he growled. 

You stared up at him, caught off-guard by his hand on you, by him physically stopping you from leaving. You were trying to think of something to say but your mind was suddenly blank. His hand finally dropped from your arm but instead of backing off he stepped closer to you. “This ain’t nothin’!” he argued. “And ya weren’t kiddin’ yerself. Now just stop bein’ so damn stubborn and talk to me!” You felt your resolve crumbling a little.  “I—I don’t have anything else to say!” you retorted angrily. “Now let me by!” You tried to brush past him again but he stepped right in your way. “Daryl,” you growled. “Get outta the way.” “Nah,” he said shaking his head. “Ya wanna be stubborn? Fine, but so will I.”

“Move!” you yelled at him again, feeling a flush of angry heat in your face. “No,” he said again, this time catching your eyes with his blue ones.

Your chest was heaving with angry and nervous breaths. “Let me go,” you said, and this time even you were surprised by how weak your own request sounded.

Daryl stared down at you, his posture defiant, obstinate. His heart was absolutely racing in his chest and he finally couldn’t suppress the urge any longer. He clasped your face in both hands and kissed you urgently, something he’d wanted to do for so long, but even more so since he’d tried to leave. It was all he could think about. A moment later he was sweeping you into him with a hand on your lower back.

You let out a noise of surprise and stumbled back, away from him, staring at him standing there with his chest heaving. “Wh—what the hell are you doing?”

Daryl gulped. Oh shit. Had he just fucked things up worse? He gestured vaguely with one hand. “This ain’t nothin’,” he drawled, breathless from his lips on yours. He stepped toward you cautiously again, half expecting you to move away or brush past him for the exit, but you didn’t move. He anxiously licked his lips, and you felt butterflies flit to life in your stomach. “‘M sorry,” he said again.

You stared at him, a quizzical expression on your face. You wanted his lips on yours again. “Say it again,” you said softly. You stepped closer to him. 

Daryl stared down into your eyes. The regret in his was plain. He slipped his fingers into your hair and clasped your face again. “‘M so sorry. I ain’t ever gonna leave again if I can help it.”

Your expression softened and you grabbed onto the front of his vest and pulled his lips down to meet yours, kissing him heatedly. Daryl’s hand landed on your lower back again and he pulled you against him, pressing forward so you were touching practically from knees to nose. His kiss was urgent, feverish. He pressed into you and you moved backwards blindly until you felt the table behind you. Daryl’s strong hands lifted you, setting you on the edge. You looped your arms around his neck and gently bit at his lower lip, eliciting a chesty growl from him. His hands wandered over your back and smoothed down your sides, feeling the curve of your waist and angles of your hips. They wandered down further and ran over your thighs, sending tingles of electricity up your back. You tugged him into you more tightly, feeling his hips pressing into the inside of your knees as you sat on the table. You slid a hand under his vest, around his back, and scratched your nails over the thin cotton of his shirt, feeling his strong, tense muscles beneath the material. He pulled back from you suddenly and your eyes opened, long eyelashes fluttering, disappointed and feeling the inches between your lips profoundly. “What is it?” you asked him, completely out of breath. He just stared down at you, not lifting his hands from your hips. “Nothin’. Just tryin’ to convince myself this is really happenin’,” he drawled, his eyes flitting between yours and your partially parted lips. 

You ran your fingers through his hair and he leaned into your touch. “It is.”

He looked suddenly nervous again. “Listen, I still wanna tell ya... I can’t entirely explain it. I know Merle’s an asshole. Of course I know that... But he’s my brother. And it was almost like I didn’t have a choice in the matter. I’d already left him once in Atlanta. I couldn’t do it again.” Daryl rushed on, still in vague disbelief that somehow you’d gone from yelling at him to kissing him in a span of a few minutes. “But as soon as we were alone out there... I realized he might be my brother but he ain’t really my family anymore. Maybe he never was.”

You gulped and nodded, pressing your hand flush to his chest and feeling his racing heart beneath your fingers. “I’m sorry I was so hard on you,” you said regretfully. “I was just—hurt.”

He nodded. “I can’t blame ya. ‘M sorry.”

You looped your arms around his neck again and he gave in to the gentle tug easily as you pulled his lips back to yours. The heat built between you again and you let out a small sigh as Daryl’s lips wandered from yours to kiss your neck and the delicate skin by your collarbone, his fingers tangling roughly into your hair. You found yourself arching into him more and more and Daryl was reeling as your fingernails lightly scratched his back, even over the fabric of his shirt. But the building heat was quickly quashed by the sound of the squeaky metal hinges on the door to the stairwell and both of you startled. Daryl spun around and you jumped up from your spot on the table, accidentally knocking the mug of tea to the floor, which of course shattered and sent liquid splashing everywhere. Your entire face flushed as you saw Glenn standing in the doorway with a surprised look on his face, one hand still on the doorknob. 

“Uhhhhh... sorry,” he mumbled. But his face quickly broke into a grin he tried to stifle. “I’ll just—I’m gonna go,” he said jutting a thumb back over his shoulder, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice. Daryl shifted uncomfortably next to you. Glenn turned on his heel and headed right back down the stairs and into the cellblock again. 

Rick, unable to sleep with the threat of the Governor still looming, caught sight of him returning and gave him a questioning look. “I thought you were on guard duty now?” he asked curiously. Glenn smiled and laughed a little awkwardly. “Uhh, yeah, but uhh—Y/N and Daryl have got it,” he said, his eyebrows lifting. “Y/N and Daryl? Isn’t she still pissed at him?” the sheriff asked, looping one thumb into his pocket. Glenn laughed again. “I’m pretty sure they made up... Night, Rick.”

[tendousthoughts]

HQ Boys Thinking Their S/O Left Them Pt. 4

Character(s) included: Kenma & Suna

Requested by: My sibling who doesn't read my work lmao.

Warning(s): Cursing, Mention of alcohol [Kenma]

Song of the day: Tired by Beabadoobee

A/N: First off please check out my announcements post. It has a lot of important Information in it and I would really enjoy it if you checked it out! Next this is requested by my wonderful sibling. Hopefully you all enjoy- also how's my new stuff..? Tell me if its ugly lmao.. I recommend having the palette/theme set to Goth Rave for the best look- I might make a few things a darker purple though! This might be the last part to this series unless anyone wants a few more!

Where to find all the parts!

Where to find all my content!

Tag(s): @chibiiichann & @corporeal-terrestrial

Kenma

Things were rough after Kenma landed his dream gig. Being a full time gamer had always been and always would be his dream. But now it was reality. He finally made it in the big league. He was finally there. It was perfect.. but soon enough flaws started to appear outside of his career. Which soon turned into flaws in the relationship. Kenma was known to be smart, calculated, and quiet. Even though all those seemed nice at times it was hard. Like any relationship things didn’t always work out. One of those being the communication. To be frank, there was no communication. At all.

You liked to drink and party. Hang out with friends and just live life to the fullest.. but even if you did like that, you loved just to cuddle. Which luckily you and Kenma shared. As time grew and his career finally branched into what he hoped it would, your time of physical affection shortened. Which sucked.. you loved physical affection. It was your love language. You couldn’t help it, whenever you saw him you just wanted to lay and be with him. But now that you couldn’t, you slowly branched out to others for what you couldn’t have. When that worked.. you just stuck with it. Getting drunk with friends and cuddling until one of your more sober friends called up Kenma and told him to pick you up. Kenma hated it. He really hated it. He hated to see you holding on to someone else, it didn’t matter what they looked like, what they identified as, or who they were. All that mattered was they weren’t him so they had no right to be that close.

Kenma likes to play games and stay home. He liked to be somewhere quiet and such. So every week when he had to go to pick you up, he sorta wondered if he didn’t pick you up what would happen..? Of course he wouldn’t do so though.. you had so many people eyeing you.. you were popular with everyone and extremely kind. So if he did leave you.. it would be as easy as it was for you to get a new cuddle partner as to get a new place to sleep. He trusted you.. well he kind of did. He wasn't good at expressing how he felt especially when it came to you or something you liked.

You got black out drunk the night before and when you walked into the kitchen you felt the heavy atmosphere. “Good morning baby..” you muttered rubbing your eyes. Your lips felt dry and your throat was raspy. Maybe you were screaming or something.. whatever it was fun.

“I don’t want you calling me that at the moment.” He stated. Which caught you off guard. Looking up your eyes were met with his. Clear confusion all over your face. “What? Did you really get that drunk to not remember being all over your friend last night..?  Calling them baby and shit. If that’s a name you just throw around please just refer to me as my name..” He muttered.

“Oh you know I didn’t mean too baby.. I love you and you know that.. you're the only one who makes me happy… but right now I'm having a headache so do you mind passing me the coffee..?” you muttered brushing everything to the side which only made him more frustrated with you. you did this every time. You pushed everything that wasn’t in your interest to the side.

“Look at you doing it again. You always do this,” he looked at you annoyed and frustrated. “Pushing everything to the side. Do you not understand how annoying it is to get a call at three in the morning that you're drunk. Not only that but that you're all over someone else. Do you not understand or do you just not care because seriously it's getting hard to think that you are just that, your heads just that blank.”

You were caught off guard. Of course you were, he never responded roughly like that. He never acted so upset with you. To be honest you never really thought about how he had to pick you up and stuff. You never thought about what happened the night before to be frank. You were a party drunk. You liked to sing and dance and cuddle and such. All the things Kenma couldn’t or wouldn’t do with you, you did with anyone else when you were drunk. It wasn’t that you wanted to blame being drunk on acting that way, so you just waited till you did get drunk. It was more, when you were sober you tried to get Kenma to do those things with you. Which most of the time ended badly because you would just be shut down again. “You know I don’t mean to do those things.”

“You don’t mean too?” He looked upset, really upset. You saw him upset often, frustrated with how the game was turning out and such, but this was different. He looked more hurt than anything. “You do it every week. Every single week you go out and drink you go out and party and sing and dance and have the fucking time of your life okay? Then when your all tired and cuddled up with a friend. I get a call to pick you up. When I get there you're either on their lap with your arms around them, on their side and holding them tight, or in between their legs as they cuddle you from the back. Not only that but when I try and help you up you more then half the time push me away, and then say you wanna go home with your ‘baby’! I’m getting sick and tired of it. You wake up the next morning and act as if the whole night you were just thinking of me and how you just wanna cuddle and all this shit. I am so fucking sick of you this. I’m so sick of you drinking. I am so fucking sick of you.” He was shouting. He was pissed and of course he was. But this time he just blew up. He didn’t even wait for a response to anything. “I’m going to go stream don’t fucking bug me.” He walked away walking into his streaming room. Once they slam the door leaving you in utter shock.

It took you a moment to take in everything. You messed up. It was your fault. He was hurt. Your lover was in pain because of your stupid actions. You grabbed your stuff, shoving it into your pocket and walked out. It was hard to think of anything but Kenma right now. Slowly you walked to the park. The leaves fell from the trees, when you looked around you saw couples wearing matching scarves and such. The smell of chai and pumpkin in every corner. Meeting your gaze you saw Kenma’s favorite bakery. Slowly you walked over opening the door and you immediately noticed this pie section. You made your way over biting your lip and you looked up at the sudden voice.

“Y/n.. is that you?” As you eye’s met the other you immediately recognized Bokuto.

“Oh hey.. nice to see you again.” You smiled weakly. Unfortunately your eyes were wet and glossy as soon as you walked into the bakery, and you didn’t know if you could handle pushing down the tears anymore.

“Where’s Kenma..? Are you okay..?” He asked softly, gently rubbing your back as he seemed to be alone at the moment. You didn’t wanna cause any more issues but you couldn’t help it, immediately you started to cry.

“I messed up, I really messed up..” you mutter as he gently leads you to a seat.

“Hey everything will be okay.. just tell me what’s wrong. I know you can work through it okay..? We can do it!” he smiled. He had always been a big brother to you. He knew just what to say to calm you down.

“I got drunk again and this time I just was a mess I guess.. and Kenma seems to be getting tired of me and me doing this. Doing all this dumb shit and messing around. But I just.. I don’t know. I wanna cuddle and hug and go on dates. But Kenma just got his dream job and I don’t wanna fuck it up. I know its so fucking selfish. I shouldn’t do this to him. I know I shouldn’t. I deserve to get yelled at and stuff I mean seriously.. he has to pick me up at three every fucking week because I’m to stupid to tell him how I feel and how I just want to be held and stuff. I just wonder sometimes.. Maybe I am not as perfect as I thought I was for Kenma. He needs someone who can be there for him all the time and I know I just know that I will keep fucking up..” You were shaking. “I mean seriously.. I am not even able to tell him I love him much less tell him about how his job is bugging me. It’s the one thing he wanted to do. The one fucking thing he really wanted to do. I just wasn’t able to support him.. I couldn’t.. I just keep hurting him..” tears were rolling down your face.

“Y/n.. hey it's okay, but he will never know anything if you keep holding it to yourself. Kenma has always been like that. He gets bugged by things but won’t say anything until he is at his limit. He never understood the importance of communication.. and he never ever takes the first steps okay? I understand that you're frustrated but you knew when you got into a relationship with him what type of person he is. You knew he was hard to understand. You told me you did. But I don’t think that you would give up this easily. You and him are the same, there will never be an understanding between you too if you guys don’t talk it out. Okay..? I suggest you get some pie and walk back to talk it out with him. I mean to be honest his stream today seems to be a mess. So it must really be bugging him and it would be better to figure it out sooner don’t you think..?” He smiled softly as you nodded. “Good. I have to go but look if you ever need to talk just message me okay? I’ve got your back!” He smiled, getting up and walking out.

You got up and bought two slices of apple pie and started to walk back. It was going to be tough to do this but you needed to. You knew you needed too.

Kenma couldn’t stay concentrated so the stream only lasted ten minutes before he turned it off and went back out to the living room. Which is when he found out you had left. Sadly his first thought was that you had gone drinking so he called up one of your friends to ask. When he found out you hadn’t he was even more worried. He looked around for a moment before he sat on the couch and held a pillow waiting. Hoping you would come back home. He wanted to fix this. He went too far. He knew he did. He knew he did of course he did. He knew he blew up, he always did and he tried not to but it was so fucking hard.

When you came into the room you immediately saw him lying on the couch cuddled up and crying. “What have I done..” You whispered softly as you made it next to you gently placed the pie down and looked at him. “I am sorry..” he looked up to you a bit and immediately his face changed.

“Oh thank god you're okay..” he whispered softly, “I didn’t me-”

You cut him off, “I messed up. I knew I did and I just want you to listen okay? I love you and I know I rarely say it. For a matter of a fact I can count the amount of times I’ve said it with one hand. I know I need to say it more okay? I know I shouldn’t drink but it is just really hard sometimes.. I just wanna go on dates and hold you and shit and I know it sounds so fucking stupid but sometimes I just get worried that if I do you will get sick of me faster okay..? So I just thought it would be easier to do it with my friends and stuff and get drunk and try to not bug you. You just got your dream job and I just don’t wanna fuck anything up more but I clearly have. I know I’m stupid and inconsiderate and I will think about it more.. just please don’t leave. Please. I will be better I swear.” You tried not to cry but you couldn’t help yourself.

Slowly he pulled you to him and held you tight. “I wasn’t planning to leave you anytime soon.. It is my fault I always don’t pay attention and It ends up hurting you and I know I should try and think about your feelings more. But I get scared to ask about it because I think if I do then you will think something is wrong but clearly that doesn’t work. So I will try to open up more okay.. I love you so much babe.. I love you.” He whispered softly, kissing your forehead.

“I love so so much too.. I love you..” You whispered. It would take time but soon everything would be perfect.. everything would be okay again.

Suna

It was hard to believe that Suna was still playing volleyball. It wasn’t a problem to you at all, to be frank you were glad that he decided to do something he loved. You were glad he wasn’t stuck at a desk all day. It just sucked when he came home all tired and unable to hang out. But maybe it would be the same either way. It just bugged you when he didn’t come home till like twelve and blamed it on practice. You didn’t wanna think that he was lying to you but you never really knew much about volleyball. It could be easily right but it just ticked you off that he came home so late. Claiming that he already had dinner and stuff. But there wasn’t anything you could really do about it. This was his passion. He loved to play volleyball and all you could do was give him your undying love and support.You worked hard, enjoying your job. Though it also got frustrating when your schedules conflicted so you couldn’t hang out but that was just life. There wasn’t anything you could do about it, and that was okay.

Suna got home late again. It was the middle of the night when you heard the shower start. He didn’t even say hello. He knew you were up. He had to know. You always were up when he came in. Mainly because you wanted to make sure he was okay when he got back. You wanted to make sure he got back. You were worried easily but it was going to be okay. Of course it was. You just had to tell yourself everyday and it would be true.. right?

When Suna walked into the room he slowly slipped next to you. “Sorry about the wait angel.. I promise soon I will have time off okay and we can hang out.” He muttered softly as his warm, soft arms wrapped around you. The smell of cherry blossoms radiated off of him. He used your hair wash sometimes, he claimed it made him feel like you were with him all the time and that made him happy. His wet hair touched your back as he held you close.

It was hard to be mad at him when he got like this. He was so soft when he was tired. He always made the same promise. At the beginning you believed him, you waited for it to happen but at this point you just tried to forget that he even said it because it just hurt you more. Of course it did. You were holding on to this stupid hope that he will get more time to hang out. That hope that soon everything would be okay. “It’s okay baby.. get some rest okay..?” You muttered softly. You turned your head slightly, kissing his head as you faced the front again. Closing your eyes you hoped everything would be okay once more.

The morning came quickly. The sun shone through the blinds, then the feeling of coldness hit as you turned over to the empty bed. Heh. What were you thinking? Did you really think that he was going to wait for you..? God sooner or later you really had to realize this relationship was more one sided then anything. That this thing was going to be a forever relationship. But god fuck, this was just as real as a fake relationship. It was only one when it was a relationship when it was convenient. It sucked but none of his teammates even knew about you and him being in a relationship. It sucked to feel like you were being forced to be hidden. It almost felt like he was embarrassed of you. It had gone on long enough. You were so fucking done. This was too hard to hold on.

After packing a bit you got up and grabbed your stuff. Getting up you headed out taking your car to one of your only friend’s houses. It was hard to have a conversation with him let alone try and explain how you felt. So you decided to take a night off from seeing him, and try and clear your head. You didn’t wanna break up, fuck that was the last thing you wanted to do. You decided not to leave a note.. secretly kind of hoping it would make him a bit worried or something. So you knew he actually noticed.. or actually liked you. Suna always had a ‘I don’t give a fuck’ additude and that was one of the big reasons you were drawn to him. He was always so free, he didn’t care what people had to say about him.. Something you wished you could have but it really didn’t matter because he had you back, back then.

After a few hours of hanging out your friend took your phone away from you, being that you had been waiting for a call from Suna. They powered it off and placed it on a shelf gently slipping next to you. They smiled. You and them were alway close. They had been with you for every break up and to be honest you even tried dating, though it didn’t work out it was a great experience and you would still have done it to this day. When night struck instead of waiting for Suna you actually were kind of relieved the fear of him not coming home kind of slipped off your shoulders as you laid down next to your friend. Closing your eyes you hoped for everything to get better. You wished that he would be able to get some free time and such.

On the other hand when Suna came home he did what he always did, take a shower and head to bed. But this time you weren’t there, you weren't waiting for him. He looked around almost instantly running to check if your shoes were there, which they weren’t. Now a bit shaken up he took a deep breath and walked over to check if anything else was missing. Once he did it kind of hit him harder than expected. Running to grab his phone he began to call you. It was too late out and it was pitch black, fear had settled in as he realized what could have happened. All the things that could have happened, might have happened. He immediately put on his shoes, his hair still wet. God even knows he can hear you to dry his hair before he leaves, in hope he won't get sick. He unlocked his car calling you for the third time, unsurprisingly he heard the same voice mail.

“Hey this is y/n! It seems you are trying to reach me. At the moment I might be busy or have missed your call! Please try and call again or leave a message. I promise to get back to you as soon as I can!”

It had been a wet month as the rain hit the floor but Suna didn’t seem to mind. So maybe he was being over dramatic but you never have been away from him during the night from the day you guys started dating. So for you not even to mention that you weren’t going to be home was fucking with him. He did the next best thing, calling your best friend. Lucky for him they picked up. “Hey is y/n there.. they're not picking up and I really wanna make sure they're okay..” he muttered his breath was loud. Almost as if he was having trouble breathing and such.

“Ya, do you wanna pick them up they seem to be having trouble sleeping.. and it seems like you guys need to work through a few things so maybe it would be best if you did..'' They were surprised that he called. It wasn’t that he didn’t love you or anything, it was just that it didn’t always seem like he was that interested in you, as if being convenient to them and such. So for him to call up your friend was quite unexpected.

When Suna arrived he got out and knocked on the door after being met with your friend, “I’m only telling you this once so listen to me. Y/n loves you okay? If you're not interested just let them be okay? There are a bunch of people who would kill to be with them. If you do not have the time for them please just let them be, so they can find someone who can take care of them when they need someone too. Y/n is quiet about their feelings but that doesn’t mean you can only be with them when it is convenient to you, let alone only at night. If you don’t want to step up please just step down and let someone else fill your role for you. They are hurting to much because of your actions and you don’t seem to ever fucking care. Please just let them go if you're done.. This game has been over a long time ago. You won okay. You always will be against y/n..” they moved to the side letting the startled Suna in. “They're over there, if you don’t wanna carry them it is okay just call me over because I don’t want them to be woken up.” Suna shook his head gently. How fucking dare they assume that this was all a game to him. How dare they assume that he didn’t actually love you..? Why did they assume those things..?

Suna picked you up gently, gently you clung to him and his warmth. It was cold in the room and Suna seemed to be the only solution to it. It surprised Suna quite a lot, finding out that you were clinging to him. Being that at night he always hugged you, but you just wanted to give him space so he wouldn’t be bored of you. “Hey angel sorry for making you wait all these nights.. I promise I will be there okay.. please don’t move on I really do love you.. your my everything and I know it is stupid of me to talk to you while your asleep but sometimes I get to nervous to talk to you and I just want everything to be okay with you. Your friend is right though.. There is no excuse for what I am doing to you. I am so sorry.. angel trust me I really love you. I would be so fucking lost without you.” he muttered holding on to you tightly as he grabbed your stuff and carried you out. It was still raining as he tried his best to shelter you from the rain running to the car as he placed you in the front. It took him a moment to get you comfortable or at least that what he hoped was comfortable. He had placed a blanket on you and buckled you up as he moved to the front and started driving. It was a good thirty minute drive, and he knew soon you guys had to go back to go get your car but at this moment all he was worried about was you. “God angel.. I can’t compete with everyone else after you.. why did you choose me.. why are you still with me..?” he muttered. He gently held your hand as he looked out. You were always so cold. Suna on the other hand was like a walking heat source. Maybe because he was so big that he could hold you tight and stuff and it just made it feel warmer or something but it worked better than you could imagine.

It took a bit of time but soon you had arrived, sadly the rain hadn’t eased up. Suna got out first picking you up as he wrapped the blanket around you so you wouldn’t get cold or wet. You shifted around in his arms. “mm..” you muttered your eyes fluttering open with the feeling of his arms again and the feeling of movement. You held on tightly to Suna, “Baby..?” you grumbled softly confused where you were and what you were doing. Why was he here? More importantly, how did he find you.. did he really care? God it felt great to think that he did.

“Ah I’m sorry for waking you angel.. close your eyes I’ve got you now.. that house was too cold. I’ve got you now. We are home so you can be nice and warm again okay..? Don’t worry I’ve got you now so everything will be okay. I am going to take a break from practice for the week okay..? I am going to ease up on the practice so you won’t have to worry. I love you so much. I know I haven’t been a good boyfriend and I know I need to step it up. Will I be okay? Don’t worry I am going to be better for you okay. I am sorry about everything I’ve done to hurt you and I am going to do my best to make you feel better.. and if it doesn’t help I will let go okay. I’m going to finally let you breathe but please just give me just one more chance. I know I love you, and I know I don’t show it but I promise I do. If I didn’t please tell me what was that pain in my chest when I didn’t see you, I know I sound stupid I know I do but I know I really do love you. Hearing what your friend said and I know they're right but it just hit me. I am not ashamed of you.. you know that right..? I just don't want my team to know because last time when word got out I was dating someone the pressure was to muc. on them and the new articles and stuff and I just don’t wanna pressure you. I don’t want us to end because of that. I want everything to be perfect. I know I come home late, I just.. I don’t know. I know it is too much on you and I don't want that I just don’t everything to be over because of an argument that could have been avoided if I just you know.. not came home or something. I know it is no excuse but I am telling the truth please believe me. I can’t live without you.. I love you so much please baby.. fuck. I keep rambling. I am sorry angel. get some rest we will talk about this in the morning..” he muttered softly walking inside and gently placing you in bed as he walked and changed coming back as soon as he could.

You were wide awake.. but you just wanted to wait so you knew he would still be there when you woke up. So you knew he wouldn’t be gone before anything. So you knew he wasn’t lying anymore. “Night baby..” you muttered as his arms wrapped around you.

“Good night angel.. I love you so much..” He muttered, closing his eyes.

When the morning came you were surprised when you felt his body tight around you. “Morning my angel..” he muttered. “Did you get some good rest..?”

“Good morning.. mhm.. thank you for staying.. you don’t understand how worried I was that you were going to leave before I could say anything.. But thank you. I love you so much okay.. and I don’t what my friend said but please ignore him.. I only love you.. I will only ever love you. Please try and stay home more. It is getting hard to handle and I know it is selfish but I just want you to stay longer sometimes. I know you want the best for me but please.. it makes me feel like you actually don’t love me and I know it is wrong but I get scared and I don’t want to be.. please believe me when I say that I can handle it.. I just wanna be with you more. I just want to be what you want. I love you so much..” You were trying not to cry but you were.

“Angel… I love you so much. I will tell the whole world.. I want to. Will I be okay? I will stay with you till you wake up and eat Breakfast with you. I will come home sooner so you're not scared anymore.. I’ve got you and everything I’ve ever wanted so please don’t cry.. I love you so fucking much angel..” he whispered kissing you. This felt good.. refreshing, you felt okay for the first time in a while. You felt happy. You were going to be alright now, he was going to keep you safe and you would do the same thing. You loved each other and that's all that would ever matter because you two were made for each other.

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