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fraugwinska · 5 months

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Hhggffffffgg… pweasd.. pweasd more Leap of Faith. Part two of them meeting each other in hell. Pretty sure they’d end up in hell since suicide is a sin, iirc?

Uweh wahhhh. Felt it real deep of losing the only meaningful connection, the big sadness taking over. I’m sobbing. My heart—

Your writing is amazing as always. I eat that shit up.

...The people have spoken. I am your humble servant. Please accept this offering...

Heavy themes, religious trauma, mental/physical torture Minors please DNI

❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️

Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

Like a shooting star.

You looked like a shooting star against the purple, starless sky of the pride ring, a glowing gold and teal line trailing behind you like a tail.

Alastor pushed his shadows faster through the streets of the pentagram, not a care who he pushed, sliced or scared out of the way - he had to get to you, had to catch you and not let you crash into unforgiving ground, like it was mundane, like you were any other meaningless, unimportant, goddamned sinner.

He couldn't allow it. Wouldn't allow it.

Faster and faster your form grew shape, and he realized that the big, heavy radio that was still in your arms - still pressed tightly to your chest - acted like an anchor, accelerating your plunge, threatening to shatter you into the hard, stony streets underneath, or worse: Through.

"Let go!", he hissed desperately to himself, pulling and yanking and gnashing and urging his shadows to work to their limit, whipping them into a speed that could break both, him and the damned radio, if need be, if you would just slow down and gain him a few more crucial seconds to get to you. The distance between you and him shrunk until your fall felt close, so close, too close, as though if you'd only be conscious to just reach out and outstretch a hand to him, his eldritch tendrils could grab it.

"Come on." His dark silhouette growled, partly manifesting and elongating himself more to maneuver around the last alley corner. "Almost... THERE!"

As a streak of blinding light, like a lightning bolt, and with the force of a crashing plane, you smashed into his solid, physical demonic form, as Alastor manifested into an extension of flesh and limbs right beneath your descending trajectory, and swallowed you right there in his arms before both of you hit the ground.

***

The void around you was dark. Quiet. Endless and expanding. You couldn't feel anything other than the feeling of nothingness surrounding you, floating but at the same time... not. No ground beneath, no sky above - you didn't even know when you hit the water. Was it even water anymore? Did it matter?

In the blindness, you registered the vanta black around you fading into white, bright and scorching. And that feeling you previously lacked bloomed to the front of your consciousness: Pain. Like a thousand needles poking out from every corner of your skull, making you yelp out and whimper. You shifted your body, or at least tried, only to cry out and curl up into yourself, clutching whatever the big and heavy thing was in your arms, tight as the muscles in your upper body convulsed, twitched and trembled at the burning pain. Where the hell were you?

"𝓦𝓮'𝓿𝓮 𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓵, 𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓭. 𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮'𝓼 𝓭𝓪𝓻𝓴𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓼 𝓲𝓷𝓼𝓲𝓭𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽.""

A voice made out of a thousand voices spoke, and it resonated from within you – amplified through every cell of your body, booming and mighty and utterly inhumane. You screamed out the pressure it put on your brain, cried as it felt as though something was pouring into you and flowing out all at once, burning, devouring and replacing every fiber, every strand of DNA. You writhed in agony, wanting to beg for whatever it was to stop, but you were in the hands of an infinite power above you, and so, all you could do was howl and weep.

"𝓘𝓽 𝓱𝓪𝓼 𝓽𝓪𝓴𝓮𝓷 𝓻𝓸𝓸𝓽 𝓲𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾, 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓪 𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓭 𝓲𝓷 𝓯𝓮𝓻𝓽𝓲𝓵𝓮 𝓼𝓸𝓲𝓵."

It was men and women and children, high and deep and loud and quiet and screams and whispers and it overwhelmed you to listen to it.

"𝓑𝓾𝓽 𝔀𝓮 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓶𝓮𝓻𝓬𝓲𝓯𝓾𝓵. 𝓘𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓽𝓸 𝓻𝓮𝓹𝓮𝓷𝓽, 𝓽𝓸 𝓻𝓲𝓭 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓼𝓮𝓵𝓯 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓵 𝓿𝓲𝓷𝓮, 𝔀𝓮 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓻𝓲𝓹 𝓲𝓽 𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓰𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓻𝔂 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓸 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓮𝓷."

Your throbbing hands cramped around the object in your arms, nails scratching on the surface. Wood. Soft wood, warm beneath your fingertips.

"Alastor...", you sobbed through clenched teeth, memories slowly pushing through the pain to the front of your mind, clawing their way through the thick haze of the booming voice of the entity. "I want to go to Alastor..."

"𝓜𝔂 𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓭, 𝓭𝓸 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓶𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓬𝓱𝓸𝓲𝓬𝓮 𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓸𝓯 ��𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮. 𝓓𝓸 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓪𝓬𝓬𝓮𝓹𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓽𝓮𝓶𝓹𝓽𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓸𝓯 𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓵."

"He's not..." A low moan spilled past your dry, bitten lips as another wave of excruciating pain crashed down your spine. Tears stained your cheeks as the radio in your arms felt heavier and heavier, dangerously close to slip from your grip.

"𝓣𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓭𝓮𝓶𝓸𝓷, 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓬𝓸𝓻𝓻𝓾𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓵 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝔀𝓲𝓬𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓲𝓷𝓯𝓵𝓾𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝓸𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾."

The voice was patient, neutral, not showing any sign of rage or warmth or even condescension. It only held a commanding power, like a pull from gravity, unintentional, elemental, to give in, to accept, to repent. But you couldn't. Couldn't even if you tried. The tears that came to your eyes now weren't out of pain alone, but because you couldn't help the insurmountable longing to leave, to not be held back any longer.

"Alastor isn't evil or wicked...", your cracked voice whispered. "Not to me..."

"𝓓𝔂𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓲𝓼 𝓪𝓷 𝓪𝓬𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓪𝓽𝓸𝓷𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽, 𝓸𝓯 𝓻𝓮𝓹𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮. 𝓑𝓾𝓽 𝓲𝓯 𝓭𝔂𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓲𝓼 𝓭𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓸𝓯 𝓰𝓸𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓻𝓪𝔂, 𝓽𝓸𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓭𝓼 𝓪 𝓽𝔀𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓲𝓭𝓮𝓪 𝓸𝓯 𝓪𝓯𝓯𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷, 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓭𝓪𝓶𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓮𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓽𝔂. 𝓛𝓮𝓽 𝓾𝓼 𝓼𝓱𝓸𝔀 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝔀𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓶𝓮𝓪𝓷, 𝓒𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓭."

Torture. It felt as though someone was physically digging through you with dull claws, sawing into your very soul, bending, ripping, breaking and rearranging, molding the picture you had of Alastor to a villain, a torturer, a destroyer, a greedy animal without reason, feasting upon human despair and wailing screams, wreaking havoc and taking lives laughing along the way as he rips fangs into flesh that looked like your own.

"That... isn't him.", you mouthed breathlessly, forcing yourself to focus. "You're a liar."

You fought to come back, with the sound of Alastor's smiling voice, molten with static and spoken with feeling. 'And I can most assure you... pretty is a well fitting word to describe you.'.

"Liar... liar... LIAR!"

The illusion the entity conjured around you began to shatter, as did the images it showed you, breaking and tearing away like rotten paper from the ones you wanted to hold on to... The hours and days and nights spent together, the long and entertaining conversations over meals, his teasing comments and your quick-wit responses, the little things that made his voice lift an octave and a tiny huff, which you learned over the weeks was him trying not to chuckle at your banter. The softness in his tune when he realized you were drifting into slumber. The way he called you his dove.

"𝓦𝓮 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓽 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮. 𝓛𝓮𝓽 𝓾𝓼 𝓼𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾, 𝓒𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓭."

the entity said, though their tone had begun to waver, echoing withing the faint sound of breaking glass.

"𝓛𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓲𝓷𝓷𝓸𝓬𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓮𝓻𝓿𝓮𝓭. 𝓛𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷 𝓸𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓵, 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓭𝓮𝓶𝓸𝓷 𝓫𝓮𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓭, 𝓪𝓬𝓬𝓮𝓹𝓽 𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓼𝓪𝓵𝓿𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷, 𝓸𝓻 𝓫𝓮, 𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻, 𝓪 𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓽 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓵 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓮𝔂𝓮𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓰𝓸𝓭."

You felt heat creeping up your legs, as if your skin was bubbling, burning and it was hard to speak, as the smell of cauterized flesh and blood filled your nose. Bones were shifting, limbs trembling and twisting as if they wanted to turn you inside out, skin color changing and fading into palish white, nails growing into slender blue talons, something rough and rigid sprouting from your back and shoulders. But you only tightened your arms around the radio, eyes pressed close and teeth grit together.

You've had enough.

"Fuck your lies, fuck your salvation and FUCK. YOUR. GOD."

Gravity returned in an instant, like someone cut a hole through space, the air and heat from your lungs gone as it ripped you from the strange white with unexpected violence – malevolence even - body flaying in the sudden wind of the descend.

Purple and red shades swirled before your eyes, wild strands of glittering golden hair fluttered in and out of your vision, barely recognizing them as your own. The heat of the air and the sight of a black pentagram on a red sun, sinking slowly beyond a tumbling horizon were the last things you noticed before unconsciousness reached mercifully out to claim you again.#

***

“Angel! Get Charlie over here, I found 'im!”

Husk stared down the crater, trying to wrap his head around the sight before him. His ears flicked as he heard Angel shouting something unintelligible to the girls, his footsteps quickly nearing the place where he stood.

“She's comin' in a sec, she and Vagina ran ova' to the maneater colony to get Rosie and... what in Satans left ballsack?!”

The spiders' eyes widened when he saw what Husk saw - Down the deep and wide cavity, right in the middle, was a twitching, faintly green glowing mass of tentacles and limbs. A distorted groan rumbled from below, thick and riddled with static feedback as Alastor's corrupted form slowly receded to normalcy – as normal as he was. He was lying on his back, curled around the motionless form of a naked female demon. Her legs were pulled up, a limp hand with short, teal talons pressed against the side of the radio demons wild, madly grinning face, while the other was trapped and hidden in between both bodies.

Both Angel and Husks hairs stood on ends at the sound he made, not daring to move or draw attention to themselves until Alastor had regained full consciousness and, most of all, reason back. The unknown sinner that was pressed against Alastor's chest had gray, crooked looking wings sprouting from her back, various shades of teal staining the ragged tips. Her skin was white, bordering on cream with some spruce and azure specks that traveled over her neck and shoulders. From where they stood they could see blonde locks tangled in Alastor's claws, shimmering in hell's twilight as if they were made out of real gold.

Angel gave his partner a nervous side glance, as if expecting him to say or do something. "Should we... holy mother of shitballs, this is so fucked up... umm... should we get them out of..."

"̷S̷̷ T̷̷ A̷̷ Y̷ ̷W̷̷ H̷̷ E̷̷ R̷̷ E̷ ̷Y̷̷ O̷̷ U̷ ̷A̷̷ R̷̷ E̷."

Husk had only heard Alastor's voice like this on a few occasions and those instances had almost always ended in bloodshed. He shook his head at Angel in a silent warning, gripping one of his wrists when the blackened pits of the radio demon found his, glaring at him with glowing crimson iris'. It sent a shiver down the cat's back, and Angel, feeling the tremble of his partner and sensing that this was a rare occasion where he should keep his usual, lewd remarks to himself, cleared his throat.

"I-Is a'ight Smiles, we're not movin'. Charlies' comin, and she's bringin' Rosie, so just... chill, okay? No one's gonna hurt y-your uh... girlfriend?" Angel forced himself to remain eye contact, swallowing against the growing lump in his throat.

Alastor didn't answer for a good minute or two, eyes shifting over Husks' grim, but wary face and Angels worried one, before looking back down, the flames of anger and fear dying as soon as his gaze fell on the woman cradled in his lap. Her pale, motionless face was partially hidden by her hair, but the features he recognized were much like the ones she had before she did the unthinkable. Her breathing was slow and shallow - but, above all, she was here, right here, next to him, unbroken from the fall, safe in his arms...

He brushed a few stray strands of her golden mane aside, watching closely as her chest barely heaved and fell, transfixed at the movement, the guarantee that she lived. He lifted one his hands to caress her cheek, the motion much more careful and tender than either Angel or Husk thought him capable of, wiping off tiny pieces of debris from the radio she had carried like a lifeline. It had been burst by the impact, splinters of mahogany wood and shards of metal wiring scattered around them both. The top of her left wing had suffered some damage, no doubt the result of the force of his grip as he caught her, little cuts and smears of dried blood covering her sides.

"My dove. My foolish, silly, lonely girl.", his strained voice breathed, his usual filter missing, as he turned her unresponsive face gently with the tip of his claw, hoping to see any indication that the girl that he had driven to the lengths of sheer, reckless stupidity was still here with him.

The sound of steps on the broken concrete made his head turn with a sickening crack. Alastor was now curled completely over you, his arms wrapped tightly around your figure, hiding your vulnerable and exposed body from view. Rosie had arrived alongside the princess and her partner, all of them short of breath and as shocked and confused as the other two demons to find the radio demon and a freshly fallen sinner, locked into an awkward embrace.

He watched her kneeling next to him, her expression was best described as compassionate curiosity. When he didn't move, didn't talk, didn't acknowledge her presence around him, his form only slightly moving to shield your motionless frame away, Rosie, ever the understanding and pragmatic lady she was, carefully reached over to him and set a gloved hand onto his shoulder in reassurance. Her razor sharp smile was soft as she held his blackened gaze for a heartbeat.

"Seems like I will meet your little dove after all, my dearest friend. But now, let's get you both somewhere safe."

***

You opened your eyes to red. All red. Everywhere red. Warm and bright and comforting.

A sensation tickled your head and nose, feathers, brushing the top of them with a barely there touch. You wanted to brush them away, but your arms felt heavy and warped and strange, unable to be lifted. Slow blinks put your eyes into focus, like the lens of a camera that was getting adjusted on it's intended shot.

You were looking at a red painted ceiling, and when you strained your aching head to tilt a little your eyes slowly wandered over luscious, ornate wallpaper in burgundy's and scarlet's, morbid looking horns and skulls mounted on the walls next to slightly askew, empty picture frames. A heavy, dark bookcase on your right was full of tattered tombs, books and magazines, small models of twisted looking skeletons and an old, vintage... radio...

Everything clicked back into place.

Alastor, gone.

The bridge, dark over the water.

The black and the white.

The voice and the pain and the lies and the fall...

Your breath hitched, and your heart started to pound faster and louder, thrumming violently in your ears as you fell into panic, eyes frantically forcing your body to move, to search, until you realized you were stuck underneath the weighted presence of a head that rested upon your sternum, tufts of soft black and red hair draped over your chest, slightly covering a face hidden away in the crook of your neck. A low, quiet hum of white noise came from the person the head belonged to, sitting at your bedside and upper body half-slumped over you... a sound resonating deep within you, stirring up all too familiar feelings.

He was still, but clearly breathing, and he hadn't moved even though your pulse must've skyrocketed. A raspy gasp of relief and astonishment escaped you. It had worked. You really had done it. And Alastor...

You started to sob, loud and violent, your chest burning and heavy, but not out of fear or panic anymore but the impact of a thousand feelings of pure happiness. The sounds woke the creature slumbering on your shoulder, his shoulders twitched, and you could see him lift his head to slowly look up, dark circles under his crimson eyes.

Your name rolled over this demons lips, not a word, no greeting, only a longingly whispered name, spoken with a broken, ragged, familiar voice. It made you finally cry, tears spilling from you uncontrollably, unable to stop, unable to think. You heard him call your name again, saw the widening grin of his mouth through watery eyes, his arm reaching out to brush your tear-stained cheek. He didn't manage to even fully extend his fingers when your shaking hands reached out to grab his lapels, pulling him into you so that you could finally touch him, feel him instead of just hearing him. Finally tangible, finally underneath your fingers as well as your skin.

"It's you... i-it's you right?", you stammered breathlessly, voice wrought with tears of happiness. "A-Alastor. I found you, I'm not dreaming, You're Alastor..."

"At your service, my dear...", Alastor shushed softly, one hand gently caressing your hair as you leaned into the warmth of the touch. His wide smile wavered for a moment, gaze shifting to something sad and mournful as he pulled himself away to look at you.

"But you shouldn't be here, my dove." He sighed, but as he looked back to you and saw the frightened, horrified expression on your face he shook his head, leaning his brow against your own, a gesture of assurance.

"I never intended for you to be here. You didn't deserve this death, and hell doesn't deserve you."

"H-Heaven can take a long walk off a short pier..." You tried to speak with a steady voice, but failed, as your whole body began to shudder in bubbling anger at the mere implication of this cursed entity. The one that claimed to be merciful salvation but had no problem with cruel manipulation. You blinked a couple of tears away, drawing a trembling breath, before meeting his tired eyes.

"I was... in some strange place. I was offered redemption, if I..."

You frowned, sitting up slowly, careful not to make him withdraw more, holding onto the sleeves of his jacket with stiff, aching hands.

"They wanted me to denounce you. If I renounced you they... would've let me enter heaven. When I didn't want to, when I said I wanted to go to you... They showed me things while hurting me. Horrible, disgusting lies."

Your breath quickened and the corners of your vision darkened, and you realized with a shuddering panic that you were close, way too close to breaking down into sobs again. Your claw-like nails dug into the material of his sleeve as you struggled to compose yourself, ripping tiny cuts into it. You took a deep breath, pushing through the memory, reliving it until...

Your shoulders shook. For a moment, you felt him shifting, as if he'd expected you to burst into tears again. Instead, you laughed. You laughed despite your chest hurt, and even harder when you saw his floored, surprised face.

"I basically told god to go fuck himself."

For a heartbeat or two, silence enveloped both of you. Alastor blinked once, then twice, the third time his grin fell slowly. Another beat later he buried his face in the crook of your neck and...

...the boisterous, unmuted laughter, roaring, insane cackling, so deep and resounding, you could feel it in your stomach, erupted from him. Alastor almost toppled over as he tore himself from you, raking a hand trough his hair as his head shook, a manic, wonderfully impish grin tugging on the corners of his mouth.

"You know I don't think you were honest with me about your name, dove. Your initial answer of 'crazy' seems much more fitting."

Alastor was laughing so hard, his whole body was trembling with the effort. You felt yourself giggle, then unrestrained laughing along, but it died in your throat when his lips found yours in a sudden swift moment. It was full of everything. Full of curiosity, of promises and hope, it was the saving grace you sacrificed heaven for. You smiled into it, moved your lips against his, gentle and chaste, before he pulled away too soon and pressed his forehead against yours. You could feel his warm, slow breathing against your cheeks.

"How fortunate for you that I work best with 'crazy'."

Your beaming smile slowly faded, your hands finding his face to make him look at you. There was one more weight you had to lift off.

"I'm sorry.", you whispered, closing your eyes. “I'm sorry for...”

"Don't be, dear. I was at fault, fearing our connection would... weaken me." He sighed. "You might not understand it right now, but I will tell you everything, once you're fully recovered. Can you wait for that?"

You nodded, a small, grateful curl forming on your lips. You opened your eyes to stare into his, crimson, bright and intense, and yet soft and affectionate. Eyes you always tried to envision, although nothing you imagined came close to the real thing.

"Do you... still think it?", you asked, voice shaking slightly.

Alastor hummed a questioning noise, prompting you to continue, which you did, after a second of hesitation. "Me, weakening you. Do you still think it?"

His quiet laughter resounded in your ears, filling you with warmth and making your heart skip a beat.

"My silly, darling dove. With the woman on my side who dared to throw curses at the face of our very creator - What could ever stop me now?"

And, as Alastor's smile grew wide, and your own mirrored it, you were claimed by red claws and a hot, eager mouth once again, kissed again by those soft, sinful lips, the lips of your friend, your savior, your love - the devil himself, whispering the answer to his question unspoken through your skin right into your heart.

Nothing could stop the both of you now.

Nothing at all.

Taglist for the most awsome people that walk the earth: @littledolly2345 @sleepywritersworld @crescentparadise @rapturenyx-blog @phisen @alastorsgirl48 @mullet-mother @sirens-and-moonflowers

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fraugwinskawrites #angel dust #charlie morningstar #hazbin husk #rosie hazbin hotel #angst #fluff #happy ending because WE NEEDED IT #TW: dark themes #religious trauma #for the frauchen #I almost died writing this what even is sleep

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brynn-lear · 17 days

Text

Prompt: Yandere!Dottore x Reader... But make it a House MD au. A/n: this idea has been rotting in my brain for such a long time... Yeah no I won't budge, Pantalone is our beloved Wilson lol. Word Count: 600 (this is a throwaway drabble)

You HATE working for Doctor Zandik’s diagnostic team.

No, that’s a lie. Everybody lies. You don’t hate working for him— you’ve grown desensitized.

The doctor’s “methods” are deeply rooted in misanthropy. Yet, his eloquent and annoyingly charming way persuasions act as a get-out-of-jail card for (most) instances of ethical and medical malpractices. Your colleagues, Dr. Sohreh & Dr. Krupp, remain equally tired of being in their positions. However, the Fontainian tragedy to all this is the screwed-up fact that none of you considered resigning. You three need him.

Krupp swallows his anger each time Zandik orders him to break into patients’ homes. As Zandik loves to remind the dean of medicine, there will be no ethics committee dilemma if all his people clean their tracks right. Why Pierro keeps him in his hospital despite being a significant liability to Morepesok Teaching Hospital? Your morals will never understand. Prioritizing genius over following proper procedure didn’t sit right with you. Then again, you were only hired because of your family’s connections, not merit…

Work for Zandik until you hate him; once that threshold is passed, work until you start vomiting out the evil you’ve done for the greater good. That’s the only thing other staff members had for advice. There’s nothing after step 2. Your soul WILL fight with your body. It was only when you started feeling bile rise to your throat on random occasions that you realized there must indeed be something broken in your psyche after years of working under him. You thought the advice was played out in dramatics. It wasn’t.

“(L/n), need a little help here,” Krupp called out as he rummaged through the patient’s trash. “Can you pass the gloves?”

After you did as told, you leaned by the patient’s piano. “Fever, fatigue, and a persistent cough. Standard symptoms for most of our patients, but—”

“This is Zandik.” Sohreh shakes her head, finding this situation wholly amusing. While you and Krupp scavenged through Zandik’s trash and forgotten candy wraps (he is unsurprisingly disorganized), she had her eyes set on his documents. “The patient is our boss. We just broke into our boss’s house like we’re actively pushing his own medicine down his throat.”

Pierro ordered you three in secret to investigate if Zandik has been ill, which opened the gates of let’s-all-break-into-his-house-for-fun for coworker bonding exercise.

“What if this isn’t anything serious?” Krupp muttered, absolutely disgruntled. “Maybe we’re just overthinking this Zandik Is Sick conspiracy theory.”

“If it’s not serious, it’s boring.” You paused. “And he doesn’t do boring.”

Sohreh breathed in.

“Hey, guys? You might want to check this out.”

Upon hearing Sohreh’s grim tone, you and Krupp immediately grabbed the file she was holding and skimmed through it.

…

“This is his medical history. There’s blood work and imaging tests here… showing elevated white blood cells, and— a biopsy?” Krupp raised an eyebrow.

“Cancer,” Sohreh spoke, letting out the thoughts Krupp was too afraid to say. “He thinks he has cancer.”

“No, no, that’s not it.”

Sohreh and Krupp turned to look at you.

“What do you mean?”

You shifted uncomfortably. “Look at the name.”

“What name?”

“Name of the patient.”

You let go of the file as Sohreh and Krupp eagerly found that they had somehow missed the person.

The two paled.

“(Y/n)—”

“It’s mine.” You sighed. “Those are my tests. I’ve been hiding it from the rest of the staff except Doctor Pantalone from Onco.”

“You have—”

“But why?” You looked down, unsure as to how you felt.

“Why does Zandik have these files?”

#yandere dottore x reader #dottore x reader #dottore #genshin impact imagines

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nuttytani · 2 months

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Oh no! My suicidal big tiddies man got isekai'd

fandom: honkai star rail

characters: blade and gender neutral reader

tw: none except- maybe not proof read?

a/n: a silly birthday gift for my lovely friend here @tsubaki3192

It was currently 2 AM and you have been playing video games for hours now. Looking at the time made you instinctively yawn and stretch those stiff arms. You were interrupted by a strange gurgling sound coming from somewhere…. Actually, it was just you and your hungry tummy. Since it was super late to cook anything (and risky because it might wake up the entire house), you quickly sneaked into the kitchen and rummaged through the fridge.

There were no leftovers. Just some sauce bottles, pickles, butter and milk. The fridge was positively empty of any food. There wasn’t even bread. What were you going to do with sauce and pickles? That didn’t sound appetising at all.

“Awe… There’s nothing,” you said while closing the fridge. Then you opened it again and finally grabbed that milk. That was your only hope.

At least it’s good for my bones, calcium and shit yeah?

Your legs and particularly knees have been creaky and making weird popping noises recently. Maybe those bones might be thanking you for the milk. Chuckling to your silly thoughts, you head back to your room, with a cup of milk and proceed to turn your computer off.

A weird green horizontal line appeared on your screen and your wallpaper surrounding that line turned pixelated. The speaker connected to your computer emitted creepy static-y noises like those really old radio. Something was not right and that something would land you in shit because this wasn’t some cheap ol’ computer. You painstakingly saved up for this bad boy after hours of part time jobs here and there while also struggling with your uni life. The model wasn’t anything new but it was good enough for you and it was your baby. That very baby was dying in front of you. You needed to fix it. You instantly scrambled back into your chair and tried to check for cables. Maybe some cables were loose. Before you could even touch a wire, the entire screen turned green and turned black. The static noises stopped as well.

“Well… Guess I’m doomed.” You slide your hands down your face and slump down like that Shinji in a chair meme. If this was some horror story though this would be the perfect timing for a hacker or weird murderer to send a message like “I see you” or something of the sort. Actually, what if some weirdo dark web hacker was onto you and wanted to kill you for whatever reason?

Okay, that’s it. This was sleep deprivation talking. You need sleep. Like right now. There’s no hacker that wanted to murder you, it’s probably the lack of sleep frying your brain cells. You were a normal college student, trying to survive in this cutthroat dog-eats-dog world. Even if something does happen, it won't happen to you. Well, your computer dying aside…. NPCs such as yourself don’t get “fun privileges”.

That’s what you thought about 5 minutes ago when you didn’t have a razor-sharp blade pointed at your eye and you laid in your bed wondering what wrongs you committed in your past life that was happening to you. Did you steal a priest's robe? Did you offend some god by swearing at them? Fuck you past life self.

The person holding the sword was still hunched over you and didn’t move their sword. Not even a single centimetre. One wrong movement and you could lose your lovely sight once and for all!

“What is this place and who are you?” asked the person. Judging by their deep voice they were probably a man. They sounded really familiar. You squinted your eyes at the person. Hmmm, bluish-black hair, red highlights… He had some… Real nice assets... Meaning nicely shaped tits…. Hmmm.

“W-what are you doing!” the person raised their voice in surprise and took a step back.

Oh, they must have noticed you ogling. Was it that obvious? You keep staring at their assets because who knows when you’ll have the chance next time? And then your attention finally falls on his sword, it was a deep black that slowly turned into red towards the end and the shaft of the sword had golden crack patterns, you assumed it’s kintsugi.

Wait hold up, that sword looked too familiar. You have seen that many times.

“Holy shit! Are you Blade? Like the Stellaron Hunter Blade?” you exclaimed at the person.

“....Yes. Don’t you dare call the IPC. Or you will face my sword.”

“Well, I’ve been facing your sword for 10 minutes now…. Oh my god, I can’t believe I’m talking to THE Blade. One and only Blade. Like actually from Honkai Star Rail? Who is basically lovers to enemies with Dan Heng? Can I touch you? Actually, I always thought your hair was pretty, can I please braid it?”

Blade was speechless and looked like a fish out of water and slowly sheathed his sword.

“Am I dreaming right now or is this what you call a sleep-deprived hallucination… I can’t tell.”

You were met with silence… He didn’t reply.

“I guess it’s a hallucination. ‘Mkay, goodnight, Mr. Dream-slash-hallucination-Blade.”

Just like that you slumped back into your bed, closed your eyes and snoozed.

Blade was left terribly confused.

Well, he was a Stellaron Hunter, you should be scared for your life. He kills people for a living. Most people would just have one glimpse of him and go running down the hill while screaming for their lives. But you didn’t? Even when you knew his identity? And his not-widely-known relationship with Dan Heng?

Clearly, you didn’t see him as a threat. He also noticed the way your eyes lingered around his chest.

Silver Wolf did say that he had “some big tiddies” for a man. Whatever that meant. And he’s currently stuck in this room. He had no idea how he ended up here. Just that he was speaking with Kafka about their latest “script” and the details given by Elio. And poof. Some strange glitch happened, and he ended up here. In this tiny room. A huge mess of a room. It was devastating to look at. The desk was covered with stacks of unorganised documents and some random trashy novels. There were also a few strange items that looked nearly identical to him… he tries to recall Silver Wolf’s terminology sessions… Merch? Clothes were all thrown over the office chair like it was some cover. And the bookshelf was a wreck. An absolute wreck. He could even see how your closet wasn’t even fully closed! How many things were just packed in there?

Looking at the room triggered his migraine. He needed to do something about the state of this room, as soon as possible. Since he basically had nothing to do, he decided to clean stuff up. He organised your shelf– the books were in the order of the genre as well as the titles. He folded and hung your clothes and lined them up according to colour, as well as length. Cleaned up your desk, put away your documents into your drawer, hung up the merch on your cork display, vacuumed and mopped your floors and everything else that he noticed that was out of place.

By the time he was done it was already morning.

The birds were shining– no, hold up, that’s wrong, it was supposed to be the sun was shining. Yeah so, the sun was shining! The birds were singing! But why was your favourite game character in the flesh, right in front of you. Were you still dreaming? That’s impossible. You were definitely 100% awake. So you decided to simply stare at the video game character, who was acting like a total malewife cleaning your room. Your mind quickly flashed a Pikachu surprised face at the scene. You were sure that your face was looking like that too.

After what felt like an eternity of staring, you finally spoke, “So you’re real….?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Blade replied in a deadpan voice and a straight face.

Ok so he was real. That was established. Here’s the issue though. How were you going to keep a used-to-be-a-bunch-of-pixels-but-isn’t-anymore man in your room and your house? How were you going to explain this strange man being present in your room overnight to your family? Although you loved your suicidal big tiddies, man…. He needed to go. All those isekai stories and novels you read never talked about what to do when a fictional man just poofs into your house that you share with your family. How does one handle the situation? Someone better make a novel on this now… How does anyone even expect to cope with something like this? What to do now?

You muttered under your breath while thinking and paced around the room like a manic and started, “Should I hide you under the bed? No, you’re too huge for that. My closet doesn't have enough space for you either…. Oh, maybe you can hide in the bushes? Like jump out of my window and stay in there… for some time till I call for you.”

Blade motioned to you to shut up. Fair enough. You guess you were being too loud. Suicidal man needed some quiet time, you supposed.

“No need, I can simply do this.” Blade snapped his finger and he disappeared into thin air. There was another snapping sound, and he came back.

“This is a high-tech feature made by the Stellaron hunters that helps us to appear as if we’ve become transparent,” Blade explained.

“Cool. You should have just told me that sooner.”

And that is how your daily life with the suicidal big tiddies man started. Well it started-ish. He needed to go back to his universe but he said that the Stellaron Hunting could wait. Blade decided that he was on a paid vacation. Thankfully he could still converse with his colleagues, and they were figuring out how to get him back, although they assured you and Blade both that it wouldn’t be a difficult task except it might take a few months till Blade could reunite with the Stellaron Hunters. In the meantime, however, you were tasked to take care of Blade by Kafka and Silver Wolf.

You and Blade had lots of fun, or at least you think he did. Every day was like a sleepover. Having facials and putting on face masks on each other while watching movies. Or playing some multiplayer games. Blade sucked at gaming, so you had to teach him a bit. You also read him trashy romance novels and even some funny fanfics to him. One day you two even went out to go shopping for some clothes because your big tiddies man could not wear the same pair of clothes every day. Plus, he needed some variety and those cowboy jeans needed to go. Immediately. He looked funny with them on, and no one wore bell bottom jeans in this era.

Though Blade was very sad to part from his fanservice clothes, he fell in love with hoodies and sweatpants. He said they were soft and comfortable to wear. He also wore his hair in a high ponytail or a low bun to blend in with others. You suggested him to get his hair trimmed but he didn’t like that suggestion at all. Blade even gave you a nasty glare for that.

Meanwhile, your family thought you were getting too lonely because they kept hearing you talk to yourself or “someone”. They tried to gently poke you about it every now and then since they were concerned for your mental health, but you would always brush them off.

Recently they saw you holding hands with thin air. Your family definitely knew something was going on now. They even considered calling an exorcist because that was so weird. They even heard a man’s voice speak.

That’s a whole different story though. Maybe for another time!

Until then, Fin <3.

a/n: yeah this was very crack and not serious lol.

here's my taglist if you ever wanna get notified about my fic/hc posts!

#tani writes!!#genshin impact #blade #honkai star rail #blade hsr #blade x reader #blade honkai #blade x you #hsr x reader

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spider-stark · 1 year

Text

A DARK AGE pt.2

previous part -

series summary - it's been nine months since you watched your best friend, Gwen Stacy, plummet to her death; an event that ultimately caused new york's hero to abandon the city entirely. now that he's finally returned you find yourself being forced to confront the ugly truth you've been running from.

chapter summary - desperate to get Harry Osborn out of your head, you find yourself following a lead that sends you straight to Peter Parker.

series warnings - 18+, minors DNI, series will contain depictions of violence, sexual content, dark themes, and more. please read at your own risk.

word count - 12.8k

// a dark tasm!fan fiction // masterlist // send me your thoughts // newspaper headline //

YOU HAD been worried that the ice-cold stare of Harry Osborn would remain stuck in your brain for the entire cab ride back to New York City.

Fortunately, by the time you’d made it to Yonkers, about thirty minutes out from Ravencroft’s facility, the distressing imagery in your head faded as your ears were suddenly blasted with a series of rushed ding-s from your cell phone.

You welcomed the noisy distraction, even if it only further agitated the throbbing headache you felt coming on.

All the messages were from Betty Brant and likely could’ve been summed up in one long message rather than a dozen short ones. And, for the most part, all the texts did were confirm your fears: her search for Peter’s whereabouts had been a fruitless effort.

Well, almost fruitless.

You couldn’t quite give Brant credit for the one lead she’d received given the fact that it had essentially just fallen in her lap, but you still typed back a simple—good job, nonetheless.

While you were off pointlessly torturing yourself behind Ravencroft’s iron gates, a woman had called the Bugle and had the misfortune of being answered by Jameson himself.

According to Brant, the lady asked for you by name, and when Jameson told her you were busy and she’d need to call back later, she turned frantic. He said she sounded as if she were on the verge of tears, begging him to get a message to you ASAP.

Please tell her to stop by my house! Tomorrow afternoon! She knows the address already, I promise! Tell her it’s May Parker, okay? M-A-Y P-A-R-K-E-R!

Of course Jameson knew who the crackpot (his words) was once she said her last name, having spoken to her once or twice during Peter’s limited time at the Bugle.

What he hadn’t told Brant was that it took everything in him to bite his tongue, to not tell the woman every horrible opinion he held in regard to her nephew. Jameson knew that it would do no good. He also knew that it wasn’t her fault that Peter hadn’t shown up to the hospital that night.

Still, he couldn’t help but find himself seething with rage, speaking through gritted teeth until he could finally hang up the phone. He had absolutely no interest in finding Peter Parker, even if he was the only one to ever get a clear shot of Spider-Man.

Good riddance had become his motto when it came to both Peter and Harry. You were one of the few things in this world that mattered more to Jameson than a good lead, which was exactly the reason why he had no interest in Peter’s whereabouts when he first went awol and left the Bugle without notice—he didn’t care. Even if Peter had come back to work, he would’ve just been fired anyway. Jameson had no interest in keeping him around, regardless of the quality of his work.

But despite his hatred for the boy, he knew you were looking for him. While Jameson was unaware of Peter’s secret identity, he knew for certain that Peter had connections to Spider-Man, given that it was the whole reason he had employed him in the first place. You figured there was likely no one in this world that Jameson wanted to keep you from more than Spider-Man. But in what was surely not an easy choice to make, he begrudgingly passed the message from May along to Brant, messily scrawled onto a Doughnuttery napkin that had been stained with chocolate frosting.

He refused to withhold a lead from you.

Of course, when first deciding to track Peter down, you had considered going to his aunt, but she was always meant to be a last-ditch choice. After all, rumor had it that Peter had abandoned her too, moving out shortly after Gwen’s death. You didn’t see a need to add to her grief unless it felt necessary, yet it seemed she wanted you to.

A part of you hoped that the mystery surrounding why May was so adamant about speaking to you would serve as a distraction for the night. You didn’t want to think any more about Ravencroft, and certainly not about the boy they kept locked behind those iron gates.

Deep down, though, you knew that wasn’t possible. Try as you might, there was nothing in this world capable of distracting you from the thoughts of Harry Osborn.

He was a plague, one that you had been fighting off ever since that night; and seeing him in person seemed to have only granted him the opportunity to further sink his claws into you.

You often found yourself reliving the moment you first saw him—the Green Goblin. A monster composed of distended veins and spindly bones, appearing so completely and utterly inhuman—so unlike the boy you knew that you didn’t even recognize him at first. At first, there had just been fear, a sense of pure unbridled terror.

But then, once he spoke, you knew. You knew what he had done, recognized him in spite of the monster the serum had transformed him into. Bile instantly stung at your throat, threatening to spill past your lips and onto the asphalt beneath your feet. You couldn’t stop thinking of how much it had burned, swallowing it down over and over again, as many times as it took before your body finally stopped trying.

You fought so hard against that visceral reaction, the sensible part of you that had seen this new form he’d taken on and screamed at you to run. You wouldn’t let yourself do that. You couldn’t bear the thought of turning your back on your friend, even after seeing what he’d turned himself into.

But then he grabbed Gwen and once she was in his arms you realized that he wasn’t the same anymore. Then once he’d finally let her go, once you’d watched her take her very last breath, you swore you’d always hate him. Harry Osborn was not your friend; it was a simple fact that you still stood behind.

But trauma was a peculiar thing.

Usually when Harry haunted your thoughts, the Green Goblin was always the focal point. Flashes of Gwen’s lifeless body dangling from Spider-Man's web, the sounds of squelching flesh and cracking bones. You would remember the metallic taste that filled your mouth as you looked over at him that last time, just before everything went black.

Tonight, though, you’d found yourself thinking not of the Goblin, but of your friend. The friend that had once been good as dead to you. Memories that had once been shoved aside in favor of sinking into the tragedy you’d experienced, only to be brought back to light after seeing his face today.

You tossed and turned in your bed, your head pounding as thoughts of posh charity events, late-night talks, and inside jokes fought to keep you awake. It wasn’t until the next day when you’d finally arrived at Aunt May’s house that you received a much-needed break from him.

The thick plastic covering on the couch crinkled loudly beneath your weight as you sat down. You used every ounce of effort in your body to try and appear calm as she moved past the coffee table, sitting across from you in a sage green armchair.

It was new.

“I’m so glad you came, y/n.” May offered you her sweetest smile, the gesture accentuating the thin lines around her eyes. She looked older somehow, even though it hadn’t even been a year since you last saw her. “I was worried that bitter man at the newspaper wouldn’t tell you I called.”

You barely stifled your laughter, then immediately wondered if she could tell that even that sliver of emotion was fake. It was second nature to put on an act, especially when it came to work matters. To appear excessively friendly, using it as a tool to quickly build some sort of rapport with someone, hoping it would get them to spill whatever information they might have.

It didn't seem necessary to put up an act around May, but you found it difficult to turn it off.

“Jameson can be a little… testy, at times.”

She immediately snorted at your words, believing them to be a drastic understatement.

“But I’ve gotta say,” you continued, trying to steer the conversation, “I was a bit surprised when he said you called.”

Guilt settled over her soft features, dusty pink lips settling into a thin line as she stared down at her lap, watching the steam rise from her cup. “I know. I meant to call sooner, more often, but I just...” she sucked in a breath, lifting the cup to the edge of her lips, “I didn’t want to make a big fuss of things.”

She was drinking chamomile tea. You knew this because you were offered some as soon as she opened the front door, cheerfully telling you that she’d just boiled a fresh pot of water. While you didn’t consider yourself an expert on May Parker, you couldn’t help but make note of the fact that you’d never seen her enjoy herbal drinks before.

You leaned forward a touch, your elbows resting just above your knees as you did so. “What would you make a fuss over?”

This meeting was different than Ravencroft.

At Ravencroft you were a sheep grazing among lions. Showing weakness would gain you nothing, save for failure and potential death. But in a place like Aunt May’s home, the roles immediately reversed.

Here, you were the lion. And, to gain the trust of sheep, you needed to come off as if you were entirely transparent. Wear your heart on your sleeve, bare every emotion you had, and express as much concern as possible, fooling them into believing that you were truly on their side.

But this time was different, you tried to remind yourself, working diligently to ensure your emotions didn’t come off as fake or exaggerated. You could be genuine. You really were on her side, right?

“Peter’s been...” She hesitated as her wedding ring clinked against the porcelain cup in her hands as she nervously tapped her fingers. She never took it off, even after Ben died. “different.”

Your chest tightened, elbows digging further into your thighs. “What do you mean?”

“He changed after what happened to Gwendolyne.” she began to explain, though she remained hesitant. “It started off small. Quitting the newspaper, refusing to finish his college applications. And maybe that’s when I should’ve stepped in, tried to snap him out of it or something. But after what he’d gone through... what he had lost...”

There was a knowing look in her eyes, a sense of understanding. It was then that it fully clicked for you, realizing that May had been through something similar to what Peter went through. She knew what it was like to have your entire world change in the blink of an eye. “I just hoped that with time it would pass.”

“And it didn’t, did it?” You guessed, painfully aware of the answer.

If it had changed, if he had gotten better, then you wouldn’t be sitting here right now.

May shook her head. “No.” She uttered, her hooded gaze still avoiding yours, remaining fixed on her cup. “It got worse.”

There was something in the way she spoke, the solemn tone you’d never heard her take before, that sent chills running down your spine.

“How so?”

"Little ways, at first.” Her voice broke, clearing her throat before taking another sip of tea. “He started acting out. Getting mean. Rageful.”

Your heart ached for the woman, fighting the urge to reach out and hug her as you watched her hazel eyes turn glossy.

“He was almost never home anymore, and then one day he just... didn’t come back.”

She wiped away the unshed tears, lightly shaking her head and muttering an apology.

“Where is he?” You asked her, instinctively looking towards the old staircase that led to his bedroom.

Years had been wasted in there, sitting cross-legged on his worn-out rug and exchanging complaints about Flash Thompson or Miss. Ritter. On good days, the two of you would build Lego sets and eat your fill of junk food. On bad days you’d both tuck yourselves away in his bed, hidden underneath a stack of blankets as old movies played from his laptop.

It had been a while since you’d let yourself think of those memories, and you hadn’t quite expected it to hurt as much as it did to acknowledge that those days were gone.

“Columbia.” She spoke.

Your eyes widened as your head cocked to the side. “University?”

Warmth spread across your cheeks as embarrassment settled in, feeling a bit silly for speaking the thought aloud. Of course she had meant Columbia University. Still, it shocked you a little when she nodded, confirming your thoughts. Given the way she spoke of Peter’s decline, you hadn’t expected him to be attending college.

“So, you still talk to him?” You quickly followed up with another question, this one less painstakingly dumb than the last.

May scoffed, the loose hair framing her face swaying about as she shook her head. “I don’t know if I’d call it talking. But he checks in on occasion, just often enough to keep me from having a heart attack.”

You glanced down at her cup of tea, willing to reason that maybe Peter had been the reason for her sudden interest in herbal drinks. After all, they were known to reduce stress, and Peter seemed to be causing a great deal of it.

There was another sound of disapproval, a click of her tongue as her voice went low again. “You raise a boy for over ten years,” she started, the smallest spark of anger burning within her, “only to end up getting a postcard in the mail every month.”

“A postcard?” You wondered aloud, likely looking as puzzled as you felt. “You don’t have his phone number?”

She snorted. “I don’t know if he even has a phone anymore.”

For a moment neither of you spoke, and you found yourself studying her features, looking for any sign that she might be lying. You knew that there was no point in it, that May had no reason to lie to you. There would be nothing for her to gain, plus she had reached out to you for help. Still, it was second nature for you to remain apprehensive.

It was hard to believe that Peter had all but completely cut ties with his aunt. May had raised him, practically given her entire life just to ensure that he had everything he could ever need, only to up and abandon her out of the blue—just as he had done to you.

Nothing about it made any sense to you, and the thought alone was enough to fill you with not only rage, but also fear. Was Peter that far gone?

You didn’t want to think about that right now, instead focusing on the sharp pain sneaking up your left side from sitting hunched over for so long. Forcibly relaxing your muscles, you leaned back against the couch cushions, listening to the way the plastic squelched as you shifted.

“Is that why you called?” You finally asked, pressing a hand to your ribs and rubbing over the sore area. “To see if I could help Peter?”

May took another long and thoughtful sip of her tea. Then, once she was finished, she leaned forwards and placed it on the coffee table that stood between you both. “No.” She stated firmly, only for her eyes to narrow and then go back on the declaration, “Not entirely, at least.”

You frowned at her, confused.

“I wanted to call because I realized that you needed someone, too.” You froze instantly, suddenly feeling as if the air had been knocked from your lungs. “I’ve been so caught up with Peter and trying to find a way to help him that I nearly forgot he wasn’t the only one who lost someone.”

May glanced up for perhaps the first time in this whole conversation. You couldn’t help but feel as if the roles had changed, sinking further into the cushion behind you. She took note of everything, your stiff posture, the subtle bouncing of your leg, the timid look in your eye. You had become the sheep, being carefully discerned by the lion.

“I never got a chance to tell you how sorry I was—still am, for your loss, y/n. You didn’t just lose Gwen that night, you lost all three of them.”

Her heedful words landed the final blow, feeling like a piercing knife against your throat.

Suck it up, you kept repeating to yourself, change the subject.

Scrambling to compose yourself, nearly choking on your own tongue, you tried to ignore the look of concern she gave you. You didn’t need sympathy. “I’m managing.” You told her roughly, only able to conjure a barely believable smile. “It could be worse.”

“Sure,” May tentatively agreed, “but it could also be better.”

You decided it was best to not acknowledge her words.

“You said not entirely.” You reminded her, working hard to ensure that your voice didn’t shake. You weren’t sure why it was shaking in the first place, torn between naming anxiety or anger as the culprit. “When I asked if you wanted me to help Peter, that’s what you said. What makes you think I can help him?”

May’s face screwed up, staring at you as if it were obvious. “Because no one else can. The three of you—you, Harry, and Gwen—were the only ones that could ever get through to him.” She paused, considering her next words. “And you’re the only one left.”

There was a weight that settled on your shoulders, shoving you further into the couch. You didn’t like the way that it sounded, for more reasons than one. There was too much responsibility that came with it.

“Columbia’s campus is big.” You told her, void of any emotion. “Do you know where he’s staying? Anything that might help me find him?”

This time it was May’s turn to sink back into her seat, shoulders slouching forward as she turned apologetic. “I know he’s living on campus, but I don’t know which building. Whenever he writes he always keeps the details to a minimum.”

As much as you appreciated any information she offered, it wouldn’t help you much. You had been right in your earlier statement; Columbia was a big school with at least two dozen residence halls. Finding Peter amongst those students was comparable to finding a needle in a haystack.

You knew that you could enlist Betty Brant’s help, but even then, it could take days before one of you happened to find him.

Finally, a bit exasperated, you dared to ask. “Anything else?”

May smiled, weary and filled with regret. “Just be careful, y/n. I’m not sure what Peter had gotten himself into, but I’ve seen the news.” Her hands trembled as she spoke. “I know what they think he did. What Spider-Man might have done.”

She spoke the vigilante’s name like a forbidden word, as if it were one she had sworn she’d never speak aloud, and your eyes grew wide as you just barely breathed out, “You know?”

May’s smile remained despite the somber gleam in her eyes as she told you simply, “No one washes the flag.”

You found the students at Columbia University nauseating.

Most of them were pretentious assholes that stunk of cigarette smoke, not because they actually smoked them, but instead because letting them lazily hang from their fingers matched their desired aesthetic.

They were all desperate to give off the same vibe as a fifteen-year-olds dark academia Pinterest board, leaning against a wall with a copy of Allan Ginsberg’s Howl tucked beneath their arm. You wondered if any of them had ever read it, snorting to yourself when you thought of how they’d likely dogeared a few pages to make the book look worn.

“This place is huge.” Betty Brant marveled from beside you, spinning in a circle as she took in its vastness. When she was done making herself dizzy, she looked at you. “This is gonna be impossible.”

You smiled at her inept observation, challenging her. “Why?”

Her brows snapped together, a single hand incredulously waving around the two of you. “Have you looked around?” She quipped. “There are literally thousands of people here! If we find him today, then it’ll just be dumb luck.”

You didn’t judge her for her innate pessimism. After all, you felt just as overwhelmed as Betty Brant did currently when sitting on Aunt May’s couch, listening as she told you that she had essentially nothing to offer in terms of helping to find Peter. It was easy to assume the worst in a field where you’re so often dealt the shittiest of hands—but Jameson and the other seasoned reporters at the Bugle had taught you well. There was always a way to turn things around.

“Know your target, Brant.” You lightly chastised, a teasing smile that Brant felt looked out of place on you. While she still didn’t know you well, she’d seen you around the office a lot, and she struggled to remember a time when you didn’t have a permanent grimace etched on your face.

Your fingers delved into your bag and reached for a few papers that you’d printed off at the Bugle, just moments before you’d snagged Brant up by her arm without warning and forced her to come with you to Columbia University. You held one of the papers out to her, which she swiftly took and began reading.

"There are only two programs offered at Columbia that Peter would care about: photography or biochemistry.” You explained to her. “I went on their website and got an idea of a mock schedule for both and copied down the names of the buildings they’re in. It’s still not a sure shot-”

“But it gives us somewhere to start.” Brant finished your sentence, her big eyes flickering back up to yours as she lowered the page you’d given her.

You grinned. “Exactly.”

“So, we’re splitting up?”

She was nervous about that idea, clear by the way she started to tug at the edge of her royal blue cardigan. If it were someone other than Brant you might be concerned, but Brant always came off a little antsy, making it easy to brush it off; although it did leave you wondering why the girl stayed so high strung. One day you’d ask her about it, you thought, but not right now.

"It’s better that way. We'll cover more ground.” You told her, your pitiless statement doing little to quell her nerves as she gave another sharp tug to her garment, anxiously looking around at the swarm of students passing around you both.

You did your best to look sympathetic, “Just call me if you need me, alright?” Brant stared back at you, resembling a small child whose mother was dropping them off on their first day of school. It was pitiful, and you nearly groaned as you forced yourself to say, “If you call, I’ll answer. Promise.”

Brant hesitated for a second before nodding, still uneasy but far more willing now to leave your side. As you turned away from her you reminded yourself to never have children, desperately hoping and praying to any God who might listen that Brant would not call you.

As you started to meld into the crowd, falling into step with a group of girls around your age, the thoughts of Brant and her child-like anxiety were replaced with something far more juvenile. You had just barely glanced at the girls walking next to you, at first only giving them a quick glance. Soon, though, as you continued towards your destination, you found yourself fixating on them.

They smelled like cloves and bergamot, probably the scent of some over-priced perfume you’d never even dream of taking off the shelf and their clothes were nicer than anything hanging up in your closet. One had a Tiffany’s necklace dangling around her throat like a collar and another had pin straight platinum hair. In short, they looked expensive. But, at the same time, they looked incredibly beautiful.

It made you hyper aware of yourself, of how different you looked in comparison. You weren’t wearing any nice jewelry, and your hair was messily tied back, making you feel as if you were the opposite of both the girls that had caught your attention. Realizing this, you looked around at the other girls surrounding you, noticing that all of them looked that way. Posh, put-together, and completely and utterly gorgeous.

A strange feeling crept up your spine, one you hadn’t felt since you were in high school. Self-loathing.

There was a time when you prioritized your appearance, or at least more than you do now. You could still remember what it was like to stroll into an Oscorp charity event, dozens of eyes glued to you. Men would watch with bated breath as you passed them, silently dreaming of a day where you’d actually notice them.

That would never happen, of course.

You always went to those events with either Harry or Peter, and they often left you with little reason to acknowledge anyone else in attendance. Even so, you remembered the power you held. Remembered what it was like to feel desired by someone, even if it wasn’t by who you wanted.

After the accident, though, you’d stopped caring about how you looked. It felt so trivial to put any more effort than necessary into your looks, often throwing on the same outfit several days in a row to save time in the mornings. But in this moment, you found yourself feeling differently, insecurity slipping into your mind. Had you let yourself go? Surely not...

It didn’t matter! You suddenly shouted at yourself, fists balling up at your sides as you tried to silence the thoughts that were fueled by foolish insecurity. Despite believing every word of the statement, it didn’t help to make you feel any less self-conscious.

Passing by the mirrored windows of the mess hall, you found yourself slowing down, falling behind the group of girls as you hesitantly turned to catch a glimpse of yourself. You cursed yourself for looking, hating that you even cared about this sort of thing right now. But once you looked into the reflection you froze, realizing that it wasn’t yourself that you saw in the reflection. It was Gwen.

“It’s not that bad!” She would lie to you, her voice jumping several octaves as she did. A hand would reach out, sage green fingernails combing through the frizzy mess that framed your face, trying to flatten it. “It just needs a little...” her head cocked to the side, teeth exposed as she sucked in a breath, “work.”

Gwen was always a terrible liar. She wasn’t like you; she never had been. She was completely incapable of hiding her hand, always living with her cards exposed for the world to see—for them to take advantage of. It was what you’d always admired most about her, her willingness to trust in everyone, to see the good in anyone. It was also what you despised the most about her, and you tried not to dwell on the complexity of that.

“You know what? It doesn’t even matter!” Gwen’s shoulders lifted exponentially, a mess of blonde curls violently swaying as she shook her head about. “You still look hotter than half the girls here, alright?” She grinned at you, the same sweet smile that you missed more than anything. “I promise!”

And she meant it every word of it, but rather than offering you any comfort, the words just filled you with envy. You envied Gwen far more than you liked to admit. You wanted to be like her, even now, to be able to see the good in every situation, to be even half as lovely as she was.

You tried to swallow your guilt, though it only made your stomach hurt. You had promised yourself that you were done envying Gwen.

But you weren’t done missing her.

Still entranced by her doe eyed stare, you felt your phone begin to buzz in your pocket, distracting you enough that you turned your gaze to your bag, instinctively going to dig for the device. By the time you thought to look back up, the vision of her was gone and you were looking at only a reflection of yourself.

You wasted no time in looking away.

When you sobered up enough to read the caller ID, you groaned loud enough to turn a few heads of students passing by. Now, in an interesting turn of events, you wished that Brant was the one calling you, staring down at Director Samson’s name flashing across the screen. You silenced it.

Not today. You started walking again, effectively trading your thoughts of Gwen for ones of Ravencroft and Harry Osborn. Or ever again.

Dodge Hall was the first stop on your list.

You were willing to bet that of the two programs you listed to Brant that Peter likely picked photography, which was precisely why you had delegated the biochemistry labs to Brant.

There was a chance that you were wrong and that he’d decided to major in biochemistry, maybe in some desperate attempt to be like the father he swore he hated, but you held out hope anyway. You wanted to believe that even in whatever odd stage of life Peter was in he was working to forge his own path, rather than following the one he’d once considered his birthright.

Stopping in front of the building that housed most of the University’s photography classes, you grimaced. It significantly lacked character, offering nothing more than a bunch of lifeless bricks with boring cement pillars on either side. You had yet to see anything about this school that made it seem worth the astronomical tuition students paid to attend.

“I know that look-” a high-pitched voice filled the air, the grating sound intensifying your already sour expression, “Dodge might not have the most intricate architecture on campus, but for what it lacks in appearance it makes up for in its rich and extraordinary history!”

You didn't want to turn around, fully recognizing the chirpy she-devil by diction alone. Still, you forced yourself to do it anyway, realizing that there was no possible escape route. “Mary Jane!” The vile taste of her name in your mouth left you feeling queasy, “what’re you doing here?”

No, seriously, what the fuck was she doing here?

A perfectly manicured hand flew to her overly plump lips, packed full of filler and overlined with a red lip pencil. An exaggerated gasp somehow managed to slip past them. “Oh my gosh!” The copper-haired beauty squealed, sounding as if she had inhaled at least a few liters of helium. You forgot how much you hated her voice. “y/n! I didn’t even recognize you!”

“Yeah, it’s been a while.” You droned, likely appearing just as displeased as you sounded. It was difficult for you to sound pleasant around Mary Jane.

Mary Jane had always been a thorn in your side. For the most part she was entirely harmless, but her ever-so-perky attitude always left a bad taste in both your mouth and Gwen’s. On top of that, she lacked morals, made clear by the last time you’d seen her.

It was immediately after Gwen’s funeral, and you’d just happened to find Mary Jane and a few other reporters from the Daily Globe swarming the Stacy family, pining for an interview. It was disgusting, and if you’d been in better shape, you swore that you would’ve knocked her square in the face that day.

Mary Jane reached out and touched your forearm, giving it a firm squeeze. “You look so good!”

You didn’t even bother thanking her, instead deciding to brace yourself for what might be coming next. You had known her long enough to know that all her compliments were a double-edged sword, an insult waiting just around the corner.

“After Genna’s funeral you looked so thin and sickly,” her button nose scrunched up as she looked you up and down, “it’s so nice to see you look far more...” a slight tilt of her head, accompanied by a sickeningly sweet smile as she squeezed your arm again, “plump!”

The smile you gave in return was far less pleasurable than hers, bearing a closer resemblance to a snarl. “Gwen.” You pointedly corrected, choosing to ignore her weak attempt at insulting you. “Her name is Gwen.”

She only waved her hand, dismissing your correction. The simple act made your blood boil, teeth grinding together as you fought to stay silent. You didn’t have time to start a fight with her.

“Ugh, silly me! I’m so bad with names!” She pretended to laugh it off, playing it as an innocent slip of the tongue. You could see the malice behind it, though, her emerald eyes glistening with spite. Mary Jane was a journalist, which meant that remembering facts was quite literally her job. Pretending to forget Gwen’s name was just another idle attempt at getting under your skin.

It worked.

“Did you check out the Globe yesterday?” She started right back up, trapping you in another conversation and preventing you from finding an excuse to slip into Dodge Hall and start your search for Peter. “Who am I kidding! Of course you did!” Mary Jane twirled a strand of red hair around her finger, her egotism on full display as she beamed. “Dozens of newsstands sold out within the hour! Amazing, right? To sell out physical copies in this digital age!”

You only hummed in response, aware that she only wanted to hear herself talk. But God, you hated the way she spoke. Her constant need to enunciate every other word, her squeaky voice filled with false sincerity, always searching for validation in every conversation.

”Bushkin agreed that we only sold out because of my story on the front page! He said my talent for writing could be enough to revive print entirely!” Her chest swelled with pride; hands clasped over her heart as nonsense continued to spew from her.

Barney Bushkin was the publisher for the Globe, which made him Mary Jane’s boss. He also had a reputation for being a sick old pervert with an affinity for girls that were far too young for him. His opinion meant nothing to you since you knew that he would say absolutely anything if he thought it would increase his odds of getting a quick look up one of Mary Jane’s too-short skirts.

”I’m not surprised you sold so many copies,” you egged her on, taking immense pleasure in the way her smug smile grew at what she mistook for praise, “fear mongering has always been a useful tactic for sales.”

For a moment you could’ve sworn you saw her eyes turn as red as her hair, fiery rage coursing through her veins at your comment. But it was gone nearly as soon as it had appeared.

”Well,” she cleared her throat, smoothing the wrinkles out of her white blouse, “I’d hardly call my article fear mongering. I just presented the facts.”

You couldn’t deny that Mary Jane was a pro at composing herself, remaining collected even when you knew she wanted to explode. Image was important to her, meaning she couldn’t ever afford to let her nice girl act falter.

”You called Spider-Man a murderer.”

You didn’t always share her skillset, willing to let yourself come off as brash and plain-spoken.

”And last I checked there’s an active warrant for his arrest.” Mary Jane retorted sharply, the only sign she was willing to give that you were annoying her. “So, like I said, I presented the facts.”

You sucked in a breath, holding back your argument. You wanted to tell her that her facts were skewed, that she was reporting with only one source and effectively trying to demonize a man who had saved the city countless times. But you didn’t. Fighting with her would be a waste of time, and you had better things to do.

"Yeah, well, I should really get going.” You gave a curt smile, nodding in the direction of Dodge Hall. “Always good to see you, MJ.” You took care to place extra emphasis on the nickname, fully aware of just how much she hated it.

Still, she barely let it get to her, hiding her own scowl as you started to edge towards the building. You noticed the way her left eye twitched, though, showing that she was nearing a breaking point. If you had more time, you’d likely try and push her over the edge.

“Why are you here?” Mary Jane suddenly mimicked the question you had first asked her, the one she had never actually gave an answer to.

You paused, only having made it less than a few feet away from her. “Visiting a friend.”

If all went to plan, that wouldn’t technically be a lie.

“Peter?” She blurted his name out in a way that left you feeling strange. There was a hesitant look on her face, almost as if she were afraid that you’d say yes. You didn’t like it.

“Yeah, actually.” You frowned, watching her face drop at the confirmation. “Why?”

She refused to meet your stare, staring past your shoulder at the entrance of the Hall. “He’s not in there.”

In all the years you’d known Mary Jane, you’d never heard her sound so uncharacteristically dispirited. Her perky persona seemed to vanish in thin air, leaving behind someone that was entirely unfamiliar to you.

It was incredibly uncomfortable.

“Wait, do you know where he is?” You asked.

“Of course I do.” She quickly answered, cutting her eyes at you. “But if you’re the one meeting him then shouldn’t you know where he is?”

Jealousy settled in. Why did she know where Peter was? Mary Jane and Peter had never been particularly close, likely due to the lifelong rivalry that you and Gwen had held with her. The idea of him even interacting with Mary Jane left you feeling unsettled.

“Well, we were supposed to meet here.” You lied, turning a tad defensive as you shrugged a shoulder in the direction of the building. “But it’s been a busy morning. He might’ve forgot.”

You paused, debating whether you wanted to continue. There was a good chance that you didn’t want to hear the answer to the question resting on the tip of your tongue, and yet you made yourself ask it anyway. “Were you just with him?”

Please say no-

“Yes.” Her answer came quickly. “We had plans to get dinner but-um,” she suddenly became extremely focused on her own feet, awkwardly kicking at the sidewalk, “he had to... cancel. Said he was gonna be too busy developing photos all night.”

Her too-perfect face screwed up in an unsightly sort of way. You almost thought that you should feel guilty for accidentally making it seem as if Peter had ditched her for you. But you didn’t. Instead, you felt sickly satisfied, taking pleasure in her sorrow. You reveled in it, finding it easier to focus on that than the idea of why she and Peter were going to get dinner together in the first place.

”Mm, that sucks.” You let out a disinterested hum, taking a page from her book as you continued without waiting for a reply, “Is that what he’s doing now? Developing photos?”

Mary Jane gave a stiff nod.

”Great.”

Despite how painful it had been to sit through what felt like a never-ending conversation with her, Mary Jane had ended up being of vital importance. If Peter was developing images today, then that meant he had to be in the darkrooms. And, thanks to your Google research, you knew exactly where they were—Watson Hall, just a brief walk from where you were now.

You wasted no time with stepping around Mary Jane, having no intention of even wasting a goodbye on her as you started towards your destination. But, as you moved around her body, she reached for you, her thin fingers once again wrapping around your forearm. She squeezed harder than last time, your head snapping in her direction, eyes narrowing in a threatening stare as she held you there.

Surprisingly, she gave you a threatening look of her own.

“Before you go,” you found it eerie the way her voice remained syrupy sweet, a sharp contrast to the menacing expression she wore, “I just wanted to tell you how much I adored that little sympathy piece you wrote for your friend in the looney bin.”

You pulled your arm from her grip, your body going tense at the mention of the article you’d written to try and sway the public during Harry’s trial. Jameson hadn’t allowed it to go to print, reminding you that your judgment was still clouded by grief. He didn’t understand why you were so desperate to keep Harry out of Ryker’s Island, but he had hoped that by letting you at least post the article on the Bugle’s website that it would offer you some sort of closure.

It hadn’t. It was shortly after publishing the piece that you had went straight to Harry’s lawyers, giving them all the information they would need to plead insanity.

Mary Jane stepped closer, ignoring your effort to create distance from her. She was close enough that you could nearly feel the heat radiating off her body. You didn’t like it, but you refused to let yourself back away from her.

“I can’t say that Peter agreed.” Her lips curled into a cynical smirk. “I mean, honestly, after the reaction he had to it I’m shocked that he can even stand to be in the same room as you!” The sound of her laughter infuriated you. “I suppose it’s true what they say about time, yeah? That it heals all wounds—even a knife in the back.”

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t blink, couldn’t think.

All you could do was stare at the devilish woman in front of you, seething with a type of hatred that you were certain could eat you alive. Your nails sunk into the heel of your palm, an effort to refrain yourself from using them to claw that nasty complacent look right off her face.

Mary Jane noticed this and decided to take your silence as a sign of her victory.

“It really was great seeing you, y/n.” She gushed, the false tender statement only fueling your anger. As she turned to walk away, she glanced over her shoulder, winking at you. “Don’t be a stranger.”

One day, you swore to yourself with a particularly loud huff, spinning on your heel and stomping in the direction of the darkrooms, you would kick Mary Jane’s ass.

When you posted the article—the one you hoped would sway the public’s opinion of Harry—you knew Peter would see it. More than that, you knew that he would be adamantly against it.

Unlike you, Harry hadn’t given Peter a reason to care whether he lived or died.

If anything, he had done nothing but give Peter motive to kill Harry himself. You hated that thought. While you didn’t believe that Peter had murdered Sytsevich, you worried that if given the chance he would have killed Harry that night. You wanted to believe that he wouldn’t have been capable of following through with it, though. Just as you weren’t capable of sitting idly by as Harry was sentenced to Ryker’s Island, knowing that he would be as good as dead in there.

Maybe you’d been stupid not to consider that the article was one of the reasons why Peter had never bothered to reach out to you, even once things had settled down. Maybe it was your own fault that he’d abandoned you, that the article had been the final nail in the coffin of your friendship.

Your stomach ached, your mind still reeling as you shoved open the large doors of Watson Hall. A rush of frigid air washed over you, goosebumps erupting against your skin.

Was it possible that Peter hated you as much as he hated Harry?

No. It couldn’t be. What Harry had done was beyond abominable, something that could never be forgiven. You hadn’t done anything nearly as bad as him.

Yet, on the other hand… is the one who comes to a monster's defense just as bad as the monster? You weren’t sure of the answer to that question, though you started to rationalize it to yourself anyway—you weren’t defending him, you just didn’t want to watch him die if there was something you could do to stop it!

But why not? Gwen wasn’t a monster, yet you still watched her die, standing on the sidelines and doing nothing to try and stop it.

There was nothing I could’ve done! Your mind screamed in defense of itself as you approached the staircase leading to the second floor, roughly gripping the rail as you started climbing up.

Why had Peter talked to Mary Jane about the article in the first place? That question was easier to think about than the others, infuriating but still less emotionally taxing, so you let yourself fixate on it. As far as you knew, Peter hadn’t liked Mary Jane any more than you and Gwen did, always keeping his distance from the she-devil.

When did that change?

At the top of the stairs, nestled in a corner of the left, there was a single door with a large black sign hanging off of it. The words DARKROOM IN USE were written in bold letters. You stared at it for a moment, your mind finally going blank as you did.

Peter was behind that door—your best friend, Peter.

Your palms started to sweat as memories started flooding back. Instantly, you bit your cheek, trying to ignore them. Now wasn’t the time for a trip down memory lane, especially not when you could still recall the bloody way that road ends.

A knock echoed through the somewhat barren Hall as your first collided with the door, your nerves growing with every passing millisecond. All you could do was focus on the different feelings fighting to consume you, the thudding of your heart, the slickness of your hands, the churning of your stomach.

“Peter?”

Saying his name felt wrong, but you said it anyway as you knocked again, a bit harder this time. “It’s y/n,” you told him, as if it were even possible for him to forget the sound of your voice, “can I come in?”

Once again you were met with silence.

You considered turning around. Maybe Jameson had been right in thinking that you shouldn’t chase this story. After all, it wasn’t your job to prove Spider-Man's innocence, and if Peter wanted your help, then he knew how to find you. You could call Brant right now and tell her that today was a bust, or even lie and say that Peter didn’t want to help with the story. You could walk away.

But you didn’t let yourself do that, once again feeling that weight of responsibility that May had unintentionally placed on your shoulders. There was no one left in Peter’s corner, no one that would be willing to dig him out of whatever dark hole he’d landed himself in.

You had fought to save Harry’s life, and so it only felt right that you tried to do the same for Peter.

Without bothering to knock again, you reached for the knob and twisted, hastily slipping inside the room, trying to limit the amount of light the leaked in behind you. You didn’t know a lot about developing photos, but you’d never forgotten the way Peter would groan whenever you’d come in unannounced, accidentally letting the light ruin his work.

The door clicked shut behind you as you looked around. It wasn’t a big room, just large enough for two or three people to comfortably fit inside. Any more than that, though, and they’d likely be bumping elbows the entire time. There was a table in the center of it, lined with tubs holding various chemicals that you’d never learned the names of. A clothesline hung around the perimeter of the room, a few newly developed photos lazily dangling from it. On the far wall there were two desks, various images and tools scattered across them.

Everything in the room looked sinister, courtesy of the red tinted light that hung overhead.

”Fucking creepy.” You muttered to yourself, crossing your arms over your chest as a chill inched down your back. This room felt significantly colder than the rest of Watson Hall, only adding to its unsettling vibe.

The darkroom was empty, despite the sign on the door saying it was in use. The realization nearly made you breathe a sigh of relief, a part of you finding comfort in the thought that you wouldn’t actually have to confront Peter right now. But as you stepped further into the room and towards the twin desks, all your newfound relief dissipated.

Resting against the leg of the desk was a fluorescent yellow bookbag, decorated with a variety of cheap pins ranging from local bands to images of outdated memes. You remembered the first time you ever saw that bag, lying on the floor of Peter’s bedroom just a week or so before the start of Junior year. He threw a fit when Aunt May had come in, tossing the ugly bag on his bed and raving about how she had gotten it on sale just in time for back-to-school.

You made fun of him for months, always making note of the way its vibrancy clashed with his darker style. Secretly you had loved that bag, silently appreciative for how easy it made it to find Peter in the crowded halls of Midtown High. He would always beg Aunt May to get a different bag, but she refused, saying that they shouldn’t buy another until he had worn the yellow one out.

Looking at it now, it seemed that he had finally achieved that goal. The yellow fabric was a touch duller now, though not by much, and there was a noticeable tear in the seam of the front pocket. Kneeling beside it, you traced your finger over a trail of blue thread, having been carefully used to stitch the fabric back together.

You wondered why he had decided to fix it instead of just replacing it like he had always wanted.

Straightening back up, you scanned over the rest of the desk. There was a black reusable water bottle perched on the edge, a set of keys attached to a Deftones lanyard lying beside it. A bit of sweat trickled down the edge of the bottle, collecting on the surface of the desk. You reached for it, shifting it just enough to hear ice knocking against the metal walls. It had barely melted, meaning that it hadn’t been long since Peter had gotten here. Still, you had no clue where he was now.

Closer to the center of the desk was a neat stack of already developed photos. A girl graced the top of the stack—pale skin with bleach blonde hair, neatly pushed back by a black headband. You reached for it without hesitation, a single digit tracing along her grinning face.

Peter took pictures of a lot of people, you included, but it was undeniable that Gwen had always been his favorite subject. Looking at this photo, you couldn’t help but understand why. She was effortlessly beautiful, capable of taking your breath away without even trying.

You could never blame Peter for always trying to capture that beauty, fully aware that if you were him, she would’ve been your favorite too.

Without much thought you decided to slip the image into your bag. Peter had dozens of pictures of Gwen, while you only had a measly few. He could spare one.

The other images were far more recent than the first, with only one or two others featuring Gwen. There were snapshots of random Columbia students, a few cityscapes, and even one of the devil herself—Mary Jane, posed in front of the same mess hall that had ensnared you earlier. In the reflection you could see Peter, smiling from behind his camera.

You gritted your teeth and rolled your eyes at the image. Were they really friends? The picture seemed to serve as enough of an answer, but you still couldn’t help but hope that you were wrong. Had Peter truly traded you in for Mary-fucking-Jane?

You roughly shoved that photo to the back of the stack, doing your best not to think about it as you continued to snoop through the rest of them. None were particularly interesting, save for the last two. Their dark composition offered a stark difference from the rest, while simultaneously making it difficult to tell what Peter was even photographing.

Taking one in each hand, your eyes darted back and forth between them, squinting as you tried to make out the subject, a task that was made all the more difficult by the rooms dim red lighting. You brought one closer to your face, making out a few trivial details. At the far edge, there seemed to be a street sign's corner, and in the middle a few streaks of dim light reflecting off a rain puddle.

Moving it away from yourself, you shifted your focus to the other one, thinking it appeared to be just a close-up of the first image. Then, slowly, you realized your mistake. It hadn’t been just a zoomed-in shot, as the reflection in the puddle made it something else entirely—a self-portrait.

But it wasn’t the warmth of Peter’s familiar brown eyes being reflected in the hazy liquid. Rather there was an outline of the two lifeless white lenses that belonged to his other self, the version of him you sometimes wished to forget.

The sight made you feel sick, sweat starting to form along your neck as you hastily flipped the photo over, desperate to avoid his sickening stare. However, what you saw on the back of the image was almost as bad as being forced to stare at Spider-Man's reflection. Scrawled in Peter’s barely legible handwriting was the date APRIL 2ND.

A new panic quickly trickled into your veins, fully replacing the one that had been born from the lifeless gaze of his mask. You read yesterday’s date over and over again, as if it would suddenly change. It never did, and a sizable knot formed in your throat as you slowly began to look up, shifting your focus to the forgotten photos pinned to the clothesline.

Your jaw fell slack, the photos in your hands following suit and landing on the desk below them. When you first entered the darkroom, you hadn’t paid much mind to the photographs hanging up, assuming they weren’t of much importance. Now, though, you recognized them for what they truly were—the sister images of the ones you’d been holding. Flashes of 102nd Avenue, Aleksei Sytsevich lying lifeless on the ground, milky white shards of bone peeking through his flesh. And there were photos of his mask, and those goddamn white lenses, spattered with Aleksei’s blood.

Peter hadn’t just been at the crime scene; he had documented it.

Your palm pressed roughly to your mouth, fingers digging into your cheek as you made yourself swallow the vomit fighting its way up your throat. Your own trauma fought desperately to rear its head as you analyzed the gory images, but you refused to let it take hold, scrambling to keep control as you forced yourself to snap into action.

After grabbing your phone, you wasted no time snapping pictures of the photographs hanging from the line, of the ones sprawled on the desk, of everything you could find. You didn’t know yet what you would do with them, but you refused to leave this room without collecting every bit of evidence you could find.

Once you were certain you had gotten it all, you worked to straighten the stack of pictures you’d gone through, adjusting them so they appeared as if they’d never been touched in the first place. Then, with your heart hammering inside your chest, you darted for the door without a second thought, paying absolutely no mind to the strange looks given to you by passing students as you rushed for the stairs.

You couldn’t stop moving, only slowing your frantic pace once you’d nearly made it to the exit doors. You rounded the corner as you tried to pull up Brant’s contact with shaky hands, wanting nothing more than to call her and get the fuck away from this campus. But, as soon as you went to press her name, your phone went flying from your hand and slid across the linoleum, your body pressing smack against another.

Sugary notes of vanilla flooded your senses, making your thoughts turn hazy. Your palms were flush against the soft cotton of someone’s shirt, and you could feel their fingers wrapping firmly around your shoulders, trying to steady you enough that you wouldn’t stumble back from the impact.

”Oh-shit!, sorry! I didn’t even see you-”

Their voice wasn’t the first thing you recognized, instead you found yourself caught up in the material beneath your hands. They were wearing a black Ramones t-shirt, a barely noticeable tear on the edge of the collar. But you noticed the tear instantly because you were the one who had bought the shirt. You got it at the record store on 6th Avenue—Rough Trade, was the name of it—and the man behind the counter gave it to you for half off all because of that tear.

You only ever got to wear it once before Peter nabbed it off your bedroom floor, never to return it.

”y/n?”

Your body betrayed you, immediately melting as the familiar sound of your name falling from his lips rang through your ears. Your heart had still been pounding in your chest this entire time, yet as your eyes met his for the first time in months, it fell still.

Peter didn’t fully share in your reaction. Instead of appearing as if he were lost in the same nostalgic haze you were caught in, he looked as if he had seen a ghost. His skin blanched, eyes growing unnaturally wide. For a moment you thought he was going to say something else, his lips parting, yet nothing came out.

In your lifetime, you had only known of a few things that could render Peter Parker speechless. You had now become one of them.

”Hi.” You squeaked out, a single hand lifting from his chest and offering an awkward wave that filled you with humility.

This wasn’t easy.

You weren’t sure how to act around him, how to behave. For nine months you had envisioned this moment, conjuring up countless things to say to him, all the insults you wanted to hurl his way. But now that it was happening, you found yourself torn between wanting to hug and choke him.

It seemed best to do neither.

”Um, hi?” Peter’s grip on your shoulders tightened, just for a second, as if he were trying to prove to himself that you were really standing in front of him. Once he seemed satisfied with your physicality, he stepped back and released his grip on you entirely, subsequently making your other hand fall from his chest.

”You’re not-I mean-you don’t go here.” He rasped, laughing awkwardly as he ran a hand through his hair, trying to ground himself.

”You’re right, I don’t go here!” You pointlessly confirmed, voice raising several octaves as anxiety took over. “Very observant.”

You cringed at the statement. Very observant?-you thought to yourself, biting down on the edge of your tongue as you watched Peter’s brows knit together-could've said anything, and that’s what you picked?

He didn’t even acknowledge the useless comment, only letting it hang in the air between you as he continued to wait for a true answer.

“I came to see you.” You choked out an honest answer, starting to shrink beneath his heavy gaze. You tried to step back, instinctively wanting to create distance between the two of you, but all you achieved was pressing yourself against the wall.

There was no escaping him.

He was quick to respond, making it clear just how high-strung he was. ”How did you find me?”

”I’m a reporter.” You reminded him, offering it up as a vague answer to his question. He’d likely expected the response, given the way his eyes narrowed in frustration. “Finding people is part of my job description.”

Peter always said that getting an answer out of you was like playing a game of charades, one that others very rarely won. You were a pro at dancing around the facts, only ever revealing them when they served to benefit you.

It was one of the many reasons you were so good at your job.

“Is that why you’re here?” His question carried a sharp edge, his irritation growing stronger now as his jaw tightened. “For the Bugle?”

Your body became tense, your shoulders squaring off as anxiety once again tried to shove to the surface. As you thought of the images you’d seen, the ones that were hanging just upstairs, your blood ran cold. You did your best not to let it show, instead trying to hide your fear behind a look of confusion. “Why would I be here for the Bugle?”

At first, he only stared at you, his brows raising in an incredulous manner. You forced yourself to stare back despite the discomfort it brought you. Then, finally, he answered. “You wanna talk about Spider-Man, right?”

Your heart sank into your stomach, lips turning dry as they parted. There was nothing good about the way the vigilante’s name rolled off his tongue, and you didn’t like it one bit. The semi-hushed tone he’d spoken in, laced with an essence of bitterness that one wouldn’t expect from the person that donned the mask.

Hesitantly running your tongue along your now chapped lips, you responded in a shaky voice. “Why would I wanna talk about Spider-Man?”

Harry’s advice rang through your mind—the same advice that had been mirrored by Aunt May, to remain wary of Peter—and you suddenly felt lightheaded. There was no way he could know that you found out about his identity that night, right?

No, of course not. It was impossible.

Peter appeared far more relaxed than you, his shoulders lazily lifting into a shrug. He didn’t seem to notice the sweat forming along your brow, making you think that you were doing an alright job at hiding your emotions. “Jameson wants new pictures of him, doesn’t he?” He threw out a guess.

Your shoulders instantly sagged with relief, your lungs aching as you lightly blew out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Given what you’d seen upstairs, you decided it would be best to stick to Harry and May’s advice. Peter didn’t need to know that you were aware of who wore Spider-Man's mask. Not right now, at least.

“I'm right, aren’t I?” Peter insisted impatiently, interrupting your racing thoughts and snapping you back into reality.

“Do you have new pictures of him?” You hastily snapped back.

“No. I don’t.” He lied straight through his teeth, once again running a hand through his already messy hair as he squeezed his eyes shut. It was obvious that he wasn’t planning to share any details of Spidey’s newly developed photoshoot hanging in the darkroom, and it would be against your best interest to press further, so you stayed quiet. When he opened his eyes again, he stared directly into yours. “And I don’t plan on taking any, so if that’s why you’re here then you’re wasting your time.”

You couldn’t recall ever hearing Peter sound so exhausted before. His recent lack of sleep was made painfully evident by the varying shades of purple painting the skin around his eyes. How long had he looked this way? Has it been since Gwen? In some sick way you hoped that you were right, knowing that grief being the cause was better than the alternative—the idea that his lack of sleep related to his involvement with Aleksei.

A part of you still refused to consider the images you’d seen as damning evidence that Peter had been the one to kill Aleksei Sytsevich. You couldn’t let yourself think that, refusing to believe that Peter Parker was anything even close to a murderer. It wasn’t possible.

But, as much as you hated to admit it, they proved that he was in some way involved. An accessory, at least. For some reason, hopefully a good one, he hadn’t stopped Aleksei’s murder from happening.

That came with its own dangerous implications.

You clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth, trying to decide what direction you wanted to steer the conversation in, which angle would serve you best. With a deep breath, you made your choice. “Well, it’s good that that’s not why I’m here then.”

He looked surprised. “Wait,” he laughed awkwardly, “you’re not writing a piece on him?”

There was a thin line creasing the space between his brows, a strange expression on his face. His reaction wasn’t entirely unexpected, especially because you were known for your articles on Spider-Man. But this wasn’t a look that showed he was shocked to hear you were passing up on a story, it was a look of pure offense.

You fought the urge to ask him why he cared so much, curious to find out if he had been expecting you to rush to Spider-Man's defense in the media. The only reason you held yourself back was the fear that maybe you were wrong, that maybe he hadn’t wanted you to defend him at all; perhaps he just wanted more press for his potential crimes.

”Seems like the Globe has it covered.” You told him, trying to sound disinterested. You hoped that he would buy your act. “No need to waste anymore ink on a story that’s already been told, right?”

Peter knew you well enough to know that there was more to it than that. Fortunately, he was willing to reason that your potential avoidance of Spider-Man related to that night, the last night all of you were together, and the events that neither of you wanted to talk about. Besides, even if he did want to mention it, he couldn’t do so without exposing his identity to you, an identity he wasn’t aware you already knew about.

So, as much as he didn’t want to let it go, he had no other choice.

”O-kay.” He stretched the word out, shaking his head lightly as he worked to regain his bearings in the conversation. As he did so, a few strands of hair fell against his forehead. He was quick to push them back. “Well, if that’s not it, then why are you here?”

There was only a second of hesitation, air hissing between your teeth as you sucked in a breath, crossing your fingers behind your back. You hoped Gwen would forgive you for the lie you were about to tell.

”Helen Stacy.”

The first emotion to wash over Peter was pain. It was obvious, showing in the way his shoulders slumped forwards and his bottom lip trembled, wincing as the surname of his dead lover echoed through his ears. It was the second emotion that was harder to detect, having been more cleverly concealed than the first. Anger.

You could see it in his eyes, his pupils dilating as he started to see red. Your own gaze flickered to his sides, stopping on his clenched fists, knuckles turning a pale shade of white. It made you feel uncomfortable, especially since you were the one on the receiving end of that look. You nervously cleared your throat, starting to fiddle with the strap of your bag.

“She called the other day and asked about running a memorial piece for Gwen’s anniversary. Obviously, she thought it would be best if Gwen’s friends put it together—you know, do it how we used to for the school paper. I’ll do the writing; you take care of the pictures.”

It was hard to sound confident as you elaborated upon the fabricated situation, too busy trying to focus on anything other than his heavy gaze. You focused on the floor, mostly, staring over at where your phone still laid on the ground. Still, even without looking at him, you could feel the weight of his attention. The air around you began to grow thin, every breath turning into a battle. You felt like you were being slowly suffocated by his fury, your lungs burning within your chest.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea-”

“You can’t say no, Pete.” You cut him off, forcibly lowering the walls surrounding your own trauma, using it to manipulate him. You didn’t feel bad about it, either. “We both lost our best friend that night, and that sucked. But Helen lost her kid. This is the least we can do for her.”

As the last word fell from your mouth, you forcefully pried your gaze off the ground and begrudgingly met his once again. Terror slid into your veins as you did, your body already preparing itself for that seething look of his—but it vanished. There was no trace of anger on his face. All that remained was the slightest glimmer of remorse.

His fists unclenched, mindlessly cracking his knuckles. Then he sighed, followed by a reluctant nod. “You’re right. She’s been through a lot, and if this will help bring her some sort of... I don’t know-” he waved his hands slightly, looking troubled by his own choice of words, “closure, then I’ll do what I can to help.”

Your mouth curved into a smile.

It seemed like a good sign, you figured, that he was willing to help. It reignited whatever hope you had left that despite whatever mess he had gotten into as Spider-Man, that he was still the same selfless Peter Parker you’d always known. He could still be saved. And, fortunately, you had now crafted the excuse you needed to get closer to him and figure out how to save him.

”Great!” You spoke a little too loud, your excitement coming off a touch too strong. You tried to lessen it, though the uncharacteristic reaction certainly hadn’t gone unnoticed by Peter. “Meet me at Sylvia’s tomorrow at six, okay? We can start going over everything and make a rough outline for the memorial!”

Peter immediately went still when he heard the name of the restaurant the four of you used to frequent. He hadn’t set foot in Sylvia’s since Gwen’s death, too afraid to face the memories hiding within its walls. He tried to speak, tried to tell you no, but he didn’t have the chance as you interrupted him again.

“Here,” You pulled a business card from your bag, thrusting it towards him with a pointed look, “in case you forgot my number.”

You didn’t hide the animosity behind the statement, using it as another tool to play on whatever guilt he might harbor for what he’d done to you. It seemed to work, given the fact that he promptly shut his mouth and chose not to argue. Instead, he cautiously reached out, plucking the cards from your fingers.

“Try not to ghost me for another nine months.” You playfully added on, the words joined by a smile that resembled something of a threat as you reminded him, “After all, I know where to find you now.”

Peter just returned the smile, tight lipped and far less ferocious than the one you’d given him. He knew that eventually you’d want an answer as to why he’d been avoiding you, but not right now. Now wasn’t the time for it.

So, he stuffed the card in his pocket as you skillfully skirted around him, going to grab your phone off the floor. Once you had it in your hand, you started towards the exit, already starting to dial Brant’s number. “I’ll see you tomorrow, y/n.” Peter called after you, watching as you pushed the door open and stepped over the threshold.

There was an eerie sense of familiarity accompanying his goodbye, one that left your heart swelling as the words sought to soothe any of the still-bleeding wounds that remained from that night. The comforting feeling was almost enough to make you forget about the images you’d seen in the darkroom, the ones that now also lived within the camera roll on your phone.

Almost—but not quite.

Brant answered on the first ring, seemingly overjoyed as another lie easily fell from your lips, confirming with her that Peter agreed to help take photos of Spider-Man so you could try and plead his case to the public—the reason she thought the two of you were searching for Peter. She was just as eager as you were to leave Columbia’s posh campus, swiftly agreeing when you asked her to meet you outside of the mess hall so the two of you could head back to the Bugle.

Now, waiting alone in front of the mirrored windows, you stared silently at the reflection in front of you. A girl with platinum hair, neatly tucked back by a black headband, stared back at you with her familiar bright green eyes. They were filled with enough dismay to make your chest ache, ridding you of any comfort that Peter’s familiarity had given you.

”You’re gonna have to see him again.” The somber tone she used was unbefitting of someone that you could only think to describe as sunshine personified; everything you ever wished you could be. “You’ll need his help.” Gwen told you. “You know that don’t you?”

You knew she wasn’t talking about Peter.

When you didn’t reply, she decided she needed to convince you further, tailoring her approach so it had the best chance of swaying you. She reached a handout, and you knew that if you had closed your eyes, you would be able to feel her fingertips brush against your palm as she squeezed your hand.

God, you missed that feeling. You missed her.

And it was because you missed her that you refused to close your eyes. Refused to let your brain mimic something that was no longer real.

Gwen’s doe eyes turned glossy, her rosy lips puckering into a pout that could make even the most unyielding man fold. ”He’s gonna need your help, too, y/n.”

You bit your cheek, thinking of the bottle of pills laying in the bottom of your bag, the ones you hadn’t had to take in so long now. You were getting better.

"You can’t save one without saving the other.” Gwen tried to tell you, although it only served to make you angry at her, unable to figure out why she would feel that way. She shouldn’t want you to save Harry, not when he was the reason she wasn’t here right now!

If she were here, really here, then maybe you would tell her that. Remind her of how well her altruistic lifestyle had ended.

But she wasn’t. So, you didn’t.

Instead, you turned on your heel, forcing yourself to turn away from the reflection. You immediately saw a flash of royal blue in the sea of students as Brant forced her way through the crowd. Fine—you thought to yourself, offering Gwen a silent answer as you started to make your way towards Brant.

”This place is a goddamn maze!” You heard Brant huff noisily once you were in earshot of each other, her bobbed hair swaying manically. She clearly hadn’t had a good time, but you weren’t really interested in hearing about it, either. Instead, you found yourself distracted by her appearance. Her neatly styled hairstyle, sharp winged liner, and stylish outfit. It made you think of the girls from earlier, the ones who had made you so self-conscious, and it gave you an idea.

If you were going to do this—follow Gwen’s advice and save both of your boys—then you needed to try and save yourself, too. And, luckily, you and Brant seemed to be about the same size.

“Do you wanna go shopping?” You asked bluntly, watching as Brant doubled-back, clearly not expecting your question.

She blinked, thinking it over before hesitantly replying, “Um, sure?”

Ravencroft could wait until tomorrow morning.

tag list - @pompeygirl89 @pockyandme

a/n - hi anyone who's bothering to read this! i'm super excited about this chapter for a variety of reasons and i hope that you enjoyed it! feel free to leave any comments or tips, i always appreciate them and can't wait to write more harry & dark!peter content in the next part <3

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fortheloveofwonderland · 1 year

Note

Pick up the phone, I know I’m drunk again. And you know my intentions ‘cause it’s 2am - Ancient History by Set It Off

Hello, could you make one of Spencer x reader, please?

Hello love, hope you like it!

Ancient History

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Summary - After you and Spencer break up, you just can’t seem to stay away from each other. But casual sex with the person you love will only do more harm than good, so you have to decide if you have a future together or if your relationship is fated to be ancient history.

CW - mentions of 15x6 Date Night, breakups, mentions of casual sex but no my graphic, drinking, angst, make ups.

WC - 2.6k

Spencer Reid had never been good at separating the intimate from his emotions.

Maybe it was due to him being well into his twenties the first time he slept with a woman. Or perhaps it was just the fact that his heart was too big for his own good.

Whatever the reason, he’d never been one for casual sex. He didn’t do hook ups or one night stands. He needed to have some kind of emotional connection with a woman before he could fall into bed with them.

And it wasn’t exactly as though that had changed, things were just…complicated.

It had taken months of dating before you and Spencer took your relationship to that level, but once you did it was difficult to keep your hands off of each other.

Spencer had felt connected to you in ways he’d never felt with anyone else before you’d even slept together for the first time. And after, the link had grown so intrinsic it was likely to never break.

He felt as though he was just as in tune with you as he was himself, like your souls were entwined on some kind of cosmic level even his impressive brain couldn’t fathom.

But after you’d had to witness him standing in his doorway kissing a hit woman who had kidnapped his mother and had him locked up, your three year relationship came to an abrupt end.

He’d tried to reason with you, to explain he’d been doing it to save a family and no other reason. But you’d seen the way he’d kissed her, the way he gripped her so tightly as though he was afraid she may crumble to dust. The way he looked completely dumbfounded afterwards, like Cat’s kiss had erased every single one of his brain cells.

There was no denying that kind of chemistry, try as he might. You’d tried to let it go but every time you closed your eyes you saw him and Cat together. And so for your own sanity you had to walk away.

But you never could shake the memories that rain inside. And neither could Spencer.

He missed everything about you but it quickly became clear to him that he desperately yearned for you and your body.

Spencer had never had a sexual relationship last so long, or in fact any relationship, but he felt as though he was dying without your touch.

Once the storm had settled the two of you met up for coffee and somehow you’d ended your meeting with a mutual understanding.

You didn’t trust Spencer the way you used to but you both agreed you missed the intimacy. And so the two of you made an arrangement that meant you still got to keep the physical aspect of your relationship without the strings and commitment.

And maybe if Spencer wasn’t so in love with you he wouldn’t have agreed to it. But if he could only have one part of you then so be it. It would have to be enough.

He pretended it was right but deep down he knew how wrong it was. But every time you called he answered. And when he called, you did the same in return.

Spencer tried to stem his loneliness with alcohol, hoping maybe it would take away some of the desperation he felt just to be near you. But more often than not it didn’t work and he would find himself pacing the street with his phone to his ear.

Pick up the phone, I know I’m drunk again, but please pick up the phone.

And of course you always did, and you always knew his tensions at two am.

Maybe you were under thinking part-time thrills, not focusing on the bigger picture because you would both get swept up in the pleasure.

It was hard to think logically when Spencer had you pinned to the bed under the weight of his body, yet making you feel lighter than air with his touch.

He knew how to drive you wild and you knew how to make him smile. Your bodies moved together in such an impossibly perfect rhythm, like a choreographed dance, the moves for which were embedded deep inside your souls.

It was too hard to quit something that just felt this right. Even if Spencer did inadvertently leave a small fragment of his heart behind in your bed each time.

A storm was surely advancing, but Spencer ignored it. Instead he would get drunk and call you at two am and end up between your sheets.

Every time it became more difficult to drag himself away from you. When the haze of pleasure wore off and he had to prize himself out of your bed it often felt like those sheets were holding him captive.

But he would get dressed and take his leave as you whispered from the bed, see you next time.

It was all fun and games until inevitably you would both get hurt. You played with fire because you loved the way it burned. But there was no use patching up a sinking ship, sometimes you just had to know when to admit defeat.

And so Spencer stopped drinking, stopped allowing his lowered inhibitions from picking at the phone again. But then you showed up at his apartment in the middle of the night and his resolve melted.

It chipped pieces of him away each time one of you had to leave after spending the night together. He started to feel used, like all he was good for was sex and it caused indentations on his heart from where it continuously took beatings.

Deep down he’d hoped if he kept this up then things would go back to how they used to be, that you’d forgive him, learn to trust him again.

Perhaps that made him naive, idealistic to believe just because he couldn’t separate the intimate from the emotional that you couldn’t either.

After a while it all just felt like a vicious, self-destructive cycle and he had to break it. As much as he loved you, as much as he’d thought getting to be with you in any capacity was worth it, it hurt too much. It would end up taking too much from him and he’d never recover.

He would never be able to begin to heal while the two of you were still playing this game. Spencer needed you to be his ancient history.

But once again you showered up on his doorstep in the middle of the night and he let you in. He didn’t argue when you started to kiss him or when you began removing his clothes.

He put up no fight when you led him to his bedroom and you both climbed on the bed. He was completely complicit in the activities that followed.

But once it was over and you almost immediately freed yourself from between his sheets and started dressing, Spencer’s heart took the final blow it could handle.

He sat up in bed, pulling the sheets over himself to shield his naked body and watched as you got back in your clothes. And the words seemed to come tumbling out of his mouth before he’d realised he was going to vocalise them.

“This is the last time we do this. This has to be the last time.” He hated the pain in his voice, the way he sounded like a small, frightened child.

You pulled your t-shirt over your head and slowly turned to face him.

“What? Why?” You frowned at him. “Why would you say that?”

Did you really not know? Surely you knew him well enough to see the hurt in his eyes every time you walked away from him. It didn’t take a profiler to see how much agony this caused him.

“This is breaking me, Y/N.” He shook his head. “Every time we do this it hurts me more than the last. I can’t keep watching you leave when all I want is for you to stay.”

“Spencer,” you sighed almost as though you were frustrated. “It’s just sex.”

“It can never be just sex with the woman I love, the woman I thought I would spend the rest of my life with.” He swung his legs out of the bed and hurriedly pulled his boxers on before standing up.

“Spence, come on. It doesn’t need to be complicated.” You rolled your eyes.

“You know who I really am and it’s not this.” He folded his arms over his bare chest. “I know I hurt you and I’m sorry for that. And maybe there is some sick part of me that enjoyed that kiss with Cat. Maybe there always has been some twisted part of my brain that’s never been able to let her go. She's come so close to outsmarting me time and time again and perhaps I like that in a weird way. But you also know that I love you with every beat of my heart. And you seem to know how to break it so well.”

“I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to look at you the same.” You confessed. “The second the endorphins wear off and I’m just laying here next to you, it all comes flooding back to me. All I can see when I look at you is that damn kiss.”

“I think what we’re doing…it’s more damaging than anything. It fools me into believing that we can have more again. And if all we’re ever going to have is sex then I have to end it. It’s not enough for me Y/N. It would hurt less to have nothing from you than only have one small part of you.” His arms fell back to his sides and he turned away from you, feeling the tears burning his eyes.

For a moment or two the room descended into an all consuming silence. Spencer fought against his tears, not wanting you to see how much pain this was causing him. He didn’t feel like he deserved to be hurt, not after what he’d done to you.

You knew as well as he did that this was a foolish idea. Truthfully it hurt you just as much every time you had to leave him. Getting to be close to him filled your heart with joy but as soon it was over the pain set in again.

You wished you could find a way to forgive him for making out with Cat, wished you could foresee a day when you wouldn’t still feel so betrayed by it.

Logically you knew he’d only done what he did to save a family but you also knew on some level he’d enjoyed the excuse to kiss her.

And maybe if it had been anyone other than the woman responsible for putting him in prison and kidnapping his mother it could have been easier to reconcile. But the hardest part of it all for you to wrap your head around was how he could do such a thing with a woman who had effectively ruined his life over and over again.

It said more about his morals than anything. He said he’d done it because he thought it was the only way to get what he needed out of her but you both knew there were other ways. And you were sure you’d never be able to forgive him for it.

After a while you exhaled heavily, knowing he was right as much as you didn’t want to admit it. In the long run this was only going to hurt more than just letting each other go.

“I guess I should go then.” Your voice wobbled a little as you spoke.

“I think it’s for the best.” He agreed without turning to look at you.

You collected the rest of your things in silence and he didn’t once glance at you as you did so. Even when you left the room and headed to the front door, Spencer forced himself not to look, not to speak. He was this close to begging you to stay.

But he said nothing.

And maybe you were destined to be his ancient history.

Except the thing about history was that it had a habit of repeating itself.

Several months of radio silence on both your parts followed that night until you’d bumped into each other at a local bookstore.

The hurt was still there but it had lessened and actually you found seeing one another again was a breath of fresh air.

You agreed to meet again for coffee the following week.

Over subsequent meetings a beautiful friendship blossomed between you. You were able to hang out without falling into bed with one another and although there was still some residual pain, being friends worked out nicely for you both.

But then one day you woke up and all the trust you’d lost in Spencer seemed to have returned; all the feelings you’d had about that kiss with Cat seemingly vanished.

Maybe all you’d needed was time to process it and move past it. And the more you thought about it the more trivial it all seemed.

You loved Spencer, even now you loved him just as much if not more than you had. Letting one stupid mistake get in the way of what could be the best thing that ever happened to you now felt so idiotic.

It had really been second nature when after having lunch together and you walked outside to say your goodbyes, you’d leaned in and kissed him.

When you pulled back Spencer averted his gaze, shoving his hands in his pockets and taking a step backwards.

“Y/N…” he whispered your name under his breath. “Don’t…please don’t.”

“I don’t even know what came over me.” You suddenly felt awash with discomfort. “I’m so sorry.”

“I love being your friend.” He looked back at you, chewing on his lip. “But it’s still hard sometimes. We can’t fall back into that old pattern, it’s too painful.”

“I…I…” you stumbled over your words. “Spence?”

“Yeah?” He swallowed.

“I don’t wanna be your friend.” You shrugged. “And I don’t wanna just sleep with you. I want it all, Spence. I want what we had.”

His eyes conveyed his sadness and he inhaled sharply through his nose.

“So do I.” He nodded. “But I hurt you and you can’t forgive me for that, I get it.”

“See that’s the thing,” you stepped closer to him. “I think I have forgiven you.”

His face contorted into confusion as he scrutinised you curiously. He ruminated on your words, you could all but see the cogs turning in his head.

He didn’t seem to believe you and you didn’t blame him for that. You stepped even closer and removed his hands from his pockets, holding them in your own.

“Y/N,” his voice and his hands both trembled. “Please don’t say that unless you mean it. I can’t go through the pain of losing you again.”

“I do mean it, Spencer. I’m not mad anymore, and I know I can trust you with my life.” You gave his hands a soft squeeze.

“I…I’m so sorry for the thing with Cat. You have no idea how sorry I am.”

“I’ve got a pretty good idea.” You offered him a smile. “I love you, Spence. Some dumb kiss is not a good enough reason for us not to be together.”

“I love you too. S-so much.” He stuttered, tears misting his vision.

“Good.” You laughed lightly, leaning in and capturing his lips once again.

He removed his hands from yours so he could wrap his arms around you, holding you close to him where you belonged.

He knew he’d never do anything to risk losing you again. You were his present and you were his future; not his ancient history.

#milestone celebration #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds

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nalyra-dreaming · 18 days

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Why do you think Claudia never haunts Armand in the books? Is it just because she's a manifestation of Anne's parental guilt and loss & Armand didn't have that relationship with Claudia at all? Do you think if the show does ghost Claudia she'll just stick to messing with Louis and Lestat? Or do you think she'll fuck with other characters connected to Louis, Lestat, like Armand, Sam, Daniel, Lestat's other fledglings?

Oh, good question.

I ... do not know.

I mean... Armand does see ghosts. Spirits. He and a few others can see them, even when they haven't manifested as they have in the last books.

For example:

I fixed my eyes on the tenacious little spirit. "Why do you linger here?" I asked it desperately in a whisper. "Why can I see you?" It moved its little mouth as if it meant to speak, but it only shook its head ever so slightly, piteously eloquent of its confusion. The steps came on. And once again I struggled to catch the scent. But there was nothing, not even the dusty reek of a vampire's robes, only this, the approach of this shuffling sound. And finally there came to the bars the tall shadowy figure of a haggard woman. I knew that she was dead. I knew. I knew she was as dead as the little one who hovered by the wall. "Speak to me, please, oh, please, I beg you, I pray you, speak to me! "I cried out. But neither phantom could look away from the other. The child with a quick soft tread hurried into the woman's arms, and she, turning, with her babe restored, began to fade even as her feet once again made the dry scraping sound on the hard mud floor which had first announced her.

"Look at me!" I begged in a low voice. "Just one glance." She paused. There was almost nothing left of her. But she turned her head and the dim light of her eye fixed on me. Then soundlessly, totally, she vanished. I lay back, and flung out my arm in careless despair and felt the child's corpse, still faintly warm beside me. I did not always see their ghosts. I did not seek to master the means of doing so. They were no friends to me-it was a new curse-these spirits that would now and then collect about the scene of my bloody destruction. I saw no hope in their faces when they did pass through those moments of my wretchedness when the blood was warmest in me. No bright light of hope surrounded them. Was it starvation that had brought about this power? I told no one about them. In that damned cell, that cursed place where my soul was broken week after week without so much as the comfort of an enclosing coffin, I feared them and then grew to hate them. Only the great future would reveal to me that other vampires, in the main, never see them. Was it a mercy? I didn't know. But I get ahead of myself.

I think... Armand killed Claudia because he could not love her.

But in his own mind, in his thinking... he was, at least in the book(!), not trying to be deliberately cruel to her. (Which is not to say that he didn't want to try that experiment, he very much did.)

I mean, he did chop off her head and sewed it onto another's body, and then put her into the sun when it failed.

But, in his way of thinking... he tried to give her what she needed. I think, should the show reveal that Armand did this pre trial as well, tried to give Claudia a new brain (there were hints enough), then this also was in an attempt to solve the dilemma he saw her in.

And... in a (very) strange way? I think Claudia understood that.

I think Claudia knew that the ones responsible for her life - and death - were her parents.

And so she allowed herself to be conjured by/haunted them.

It is never finally said if it was Claudia's spirit btw. In the books I mean. There's always a little element of doubt. I am not sure if the show will follow that, but in any case... I think they'll stay with her mostly haunting Lestat and Louis, and/or being representations of their guilt.

#Anonymous #ask nalyra #amc iwtv #iwtv #amc interview with the vampire #interview with the vampire #ghost claudia #claudia de lioncourt #the vampire armand #book quotes #armand

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cosmosnout · 1 month

Text

KH OC WEEK 20204

Day 3: connections

This took a bit longer than meant, but with the amount of things I wanted to include, it felt important to take my time.

Shiro’s part focusses a lot more on the relationships between them and the canon characters, while Aiko’s, Merin’s, Viktor's, and Tähti’s parts focus on the relationship they have with each other. (And some additional canon characters.)

Also there’s a lot of text here so sorry about any spelling mistakes haha.

Shiro

Xehanort (young)

Helped Shiro to get out of the realm of darkness and is helping them to recover their memory.

I am a firm believer that despite his cold demeanor, Xehanort has the capability of expressing other emotions outside of being a snarky jerk. He just needs to be around the right kind of people to bring that side of him out, and Eraqus and Shiro are exactly the sorts of people to make his brain cells die. /pos

Xehanort’s interest in becoming Shiro’s friend is due to his dreams as a boy of a mysterious child who he believes to be Shiro. (Some lost childish part of him does genuinely wish to be their friend, but he is also quite interested in Shiro’s connection to the keyblade war.)

They spent a couple years peacefully as friends attempting to recover Shiro’s memories, before Shiro uncovered Xehanort's true plans and the two ended up parting ways to fight on the opposite sides. They’re so divorced LMAO

Shiro feels quite betrayed and thinks their friendship was just a plot to get information out of them, while in reality their friendship was still genuine despite Xehanort's hidden motives.

They have a very bittersweet relationship.

Like when you just have that one person who sees right through you and you could just sit in complete silence for forever and still have a good time.

But oh my god do they also just bring out the worst in each other LMAO.

Xehanort is still a snarky bastard 99% of the time, and Shiro is so ready to throw his snarkiness back at him. It is remarkable if they get through a conversation without one of them trying to piss off the other one.

Anyhow they are so doomed by the narrative.

I’ve had a difficult time defining the relationship between these two, but in recent years since becoming aware of my own feelings as an aroace person, I feel like queerplatonic is a really good way to put it. I think that there can be strong emotions and love held between two people without it necessarily having to be romantic, and that’s just as wonderful as any other relationship.

Aqua

The first person Shiro came across once they emerged in the realm of darkness.

Shiro has a lot of admiration towards her and hopes to meet her again!

Shrio definitely has a little crush on her haha

Roxas and Xion

Shiro’s keyblade apprentices!

adopted little siblings

Shiro fought relentlessly to keep both of them safe but ended up failing as they both returned to Sora.

Losing them was a big wake up call to the organization's true nature and Xehanort's sinister plans.

Namine

Little sister<<3

Shiro took one look at her and was like “yup anything happens to her and I’ll make everyone's life a living nightmare”

Got Namine her crayons and sketchbook

Was very devastated when she had to return to Kairi.

Axel/Lea

Pyromaniac besties

Co-paretning Roxas and Xion (platonic)

They became good friends during their time in the organization, and they made an oath to bring Roxas and Xion back after Axel’s recompletion.

Shiro tutors him and Kairi on keyblade wielding, during their time in The Secret Forest.

Ephemer and Skuld

Childhood Bestfriend

Shiro has foggy dreams and visions of the both of them. (They truly haunt Shiro’s life like it’s a full time job)

Even once called Sora “Ephemer” by mistake. They were both extremely confused.

Shiro is actively trying to find them.

Aiko and Merin

The two start off on a bad foot due to a misunderstanding that led to Aiko and Viktor leaving their homeworld. Aiko thought Merin was the one to invade their world with darkness and ended up chasing after her through a dark corridor. In reality, Merin and Tähti were running away from Ansem (SOD) and happened to pass through their world.

Aiko and Merin ended up becoming separated from Viktor and Tähti and end up begrudgingly teaming up to find their families .

During their time together, they end up eventually becoming friends and even end up getting into a relationship together later on.

Their opposite personalities seemed like an issue when they first met, but they grew to love and learn from those differences and they’ve really helped each other to grow as people.

Viktor and Tähti

Viktor was at first very frustrated to be left to babysit a child, but switched into big brother mode pretty much subconsciously.

They’re a funny little duo since they’re both terrible fighters and are pretty much constantly just running for their lives.

Viktor appreciates Tähti’s quiet personality and knows to be patient with them.

Tähti also didn’t care too much about Viktor at first, but seeing him make an effort to keep them safe reminded them a lot of Merin.

Other friends!

Tähti, Namine and Xion!

Tähti met Namine during one of her visits to Ansem’s lab, and after some encouragement from the others, Tähti manages to strike up a conversation with her.

The two have a shared interest in art and like sharing their work with each other!

Tähti also got introduced to Xion through Namine, and despite Tähti’s antisocial nature, the two ended up quickly becoming good friends. (Nothing is as strong as the bond between two neurodivergent teenagers)

I like to think Kairi hangs out with them occasionally, but also she’s kinda busy trying to find Sora :’)

Viktor and Ienzo

Met post kh3 and became quick friends over their similar personalities and shared interest in tech.

Everyone around them was very excited that they were finally making friends. (Ansem and Aiko wiping a tear out of the corner of their eye)

Merin and Vanitas

Weird little brother creature thingy kinda

They met briefly while Merin and Aiko visited the realm of darkness.

They had a short confrontation where they fought with Merin winning.

Didn’t have the chance to talk much outside of that, but I think they have a secret mutual respect for each other due to being similar beings.

Merin and Isa

Got introduced post kh3 and ended up befriending each other as Viktor was spending more time with the apprentices.

They match each other’s tired energy

They like to just kinda sit back and watch as their friends mingle.

@khoc-week

#yap central #AGHH there’s still so many minor relationships that are really cool but this post will literally never end if I keep going LOL #maybe I’ll talk about Sora and the hang some other time #also I’m not even going to go into my lore about xehanorts care giver because that is a whole other mess LMAO #art #digital art #my art #fanart #kh #oc #kh oc #kh oc week #khocweek2024 #kh oc week 2024

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truths33k3r4 · 5 months

Text

CHAPTER 29 - Beginning of Their Nightmares

The hopelessness that had once infiltrated its way into Don’s anxious heart vanished as soon as he heard the sound of his twin’s voice. All his doubts and the many ‘what ifs’ plunged into the forgotten corners of his mind as he called out to his brother.

“Raph, are you alright?? They didn’t hurt you, did they? Do you feel ok? How many fingers am I holding u-”

“- GEEZ DON- You’re makin’ my headache worse! I’m fine, you can stop freaking out now.”

“I wasn’t freaking out. This is not freaking out.”, Don gestured to himself as best he could whilst being tied down to the floor, “You’re ok? No injuries?”

“Yeah, bro. I’m fine.”

Don recognized the exhaustion laced into his brother’s usual tone, but besides that nothing seemed amiss. All the purple-clad brother had to go by at this point was his hearing, seeing how his brother was still morphed and distorted into nothing but tired and angry pixels.

“What can you see?” Don asked with a hint of ember in his tone, still annoyed with the aching reminder that he still didn’t have his glasses.

“Uhhhh..”

Don heard the whispers of fabric sliding across skin. He quickly connected this to Raph’s mask tails moving as he turned his head to search their new cell. Quickly following was the subtle taps of Raph’s fingers, signifying he was beginning to get anxious. He would always do his little taps when school got too boring, or when he was waiting his turn to join in a sparring session in the dojo; He wanted to move.

“Raph, are you tied down too?”

Don’s ears caught the shuffling sounds of his brother squirming.

“DUH. Otherwise I woulda been over there smackin’ you in the head for letting us get caught like this.” Raph’s voice didn’t burn with bitterness, but instead warmed with brotherly affection. Or at least- as affectionate as the hothead could manage, going against every temper-fueled bone in his body. Don could just imagine the smile gracing his twin’s face.

Even when we’re captured he can’t help himself to tease me. Never change, brother.

“Yeah thanks for that lovely sentiment, dear twin of mine. But we still need to focus on an escape plan. Now you, the only one in this room with proper vision, describe to me what you see so I can calculate a way to get us out of here. Please and thank you.”

Don could tell from the muffled vibrations that Raph was biting his lip as he hummed to himself.

“There isn’t much, brainiac.. Four walls, a roof and a floor..”

“Thank you for explaining to the audience that we are indeed in a room.”

Don still had that same feeling of someone watching him and his brother, so going by that, he theorized there was another camera hidden in the walls of their cell.

“Oh shut up, dude.. At least I’m not blind.”

Don’s countenance fell at the reminder. He knew his brother didn’t mean for his words to become sharp blades, but Raph’s ignorance didn’t negate the fact that his simple sentence drove a piercing sting into the freckled brother’s heart.

Even with the pain of his brother’s words pulling him down, Don still took the opportunity to get some ribbing in as well.

“Well, at least I have a functional brain, compared to your useless, tied-down muscles. Intelligence can’t be restrained.”

“Ha! Yeah right. Call me when someone wins a wrestling match using nothin’ but their brain.”

“Not exactly what I meant- but regardless, we need to find a way out of here.”

As much as I’d love to continue in this lovely banter, we really need to focus here, Raph.

“Are you tied to the floor too?”

“Not exactly.. I’m on a table.”

Raph tugged and yanked, but no rings of chains echoed. It sounded closer to straps of leather, accompanied with a small tink of what appeared to be a belt buckle.

“You’re what? On a table?.. Like a surgeon’s table?”

Don should’ve thought through those sentences a bit more thoroughly before allowing his brother to hear them.

“A WHAT? Surgeon?!”

Don’s shoulders rose as he hissed through his teeth in regret. Raph’s tugs and yanks became far less controlled by the second.

Yeah, perhaps I should’ve thought that through a bit more..

“Raph stop- you’ll dislocate your shoulder or break your wrist- just.. Calm down.”

“THIS IS AS CALM AS I’M GONNA GET, DON. Cause if this is ANYTHING like in the movies, THEN I AM WAY PASSED SCREWED.”

“Yeah, we’re BOTH gonna be screwed if you don’t let me use your perfect little vision spheres to find a way out of here!”

“I TOLD YOU THERE’S NOTHING IN HERE!”

Don could sense the stress building in Raph’s body, like lava filling to the rim of a volcano. Only instead of the raging inferno being fueled by his temper, it was being fueled by something far less predictable: his fear.

If Raph has a meltdown he’ll be more useless than I am. Calm him down FAST. Use facts. They almost always help me in stressful situations such as this, so hopefully it will be the same for him.

“Please stop yelling. A headache will make my brain, the only useful internal organ I have left, far less helpful. And panicking isn’t going to help anyone. You’re only going to further injure yourself.”

“I’M NOT PANICKING, I’M STRESSING THE CRAP OUT.”

Ok yeah- that didn’t work. Try being more real and honest with him. Less facts, more truth.

“Noted. But if you continue like this you’ll have a panic attack, and that will render you either catatonic or inconsolably violent. Neither of which will help us here.”

The constant tugs of leather stopped.

“.. Did you just call me a cat?…”

You know what, I can work with this! At least when Raph’s confused he’s not moving or hurting himself.. Yes, keep him asking questions, it’s helping him calm down!

“You know, catatonic. Comatose.”

The pixelated blurb that was Raphael’s head tilted ever so slightly.

Hehe.. This is fun. I should do this more often.

Don continued on as he began to list synonym after synonym, further deepening his fiery brother’s confused, dazed state. As long as it kept Raph from hurting himself and panicking, then he would be happy to oblige to confuse the heck out of his brother. Don couldn’t help the growing grin on his face as he specifically chose the most convoluted of words; ones that would leave Mikey with his pupils slowly separating. Normally it would annoy him that his family and brothers didn’t understand the meanings to his wide variety of vocabulary. But now the thing that he had been teased and ostracized for..

.. had become his greatest strength. And with this assumedly useless gift, he had been helping to calm down his fearful brother.

“Don, what the shell are you even sayi-”

The melodious sounds of Raph’s confused tone were jarringly cut off with a sharp gasp. Don twisted his head to face the blur which was his brother.

“Raph??”

Don REALLY WISHED HE COULD SEE.

“Raph what’s wrong?? What’s going on?”

Did he see something? Is he hurt?

“Quiet Don, someone’s comin’.” Raph shout-whispered to his brother, as his voice changed to ‘protector mode’.

All Don’s work to calm down his brother vanished before his malfunctioning eyes, as the sounds of footsteps drew nearer to the door of their cell.

Don’s posture straightened as much as he could manage while still being tied down to the floor. Memories flashed behind Don’s eyes of the Man touching and prodding him like some science project.. He had felt so small under the monster’s watchful eye.. The cells of humanity flowing in his veins seemed to disappear as he refused to speak in front of his captor. It was worth it though.

It was worth it to not reveal to the Man just what he was up against.

It was WORTH IT to keep his humanity from being seen by the monster.

The door opened. Don’s spine shivered at the sound of boots.

Ochitsuke. Focus, Donatello. FOCUS.

As the Man walked towards the chained-down mutant, his pixels combined and formed into a crisp image. But for once today, Don was absolutely fine with not being able to see clearly if it meant he wouldn’t have to peer into the ghost’s face again. The mutant leaned as far back as he could as the Man’s face edged closer. The familiar sound of Raphael’s growls echoed from the back of the room.

“Welcome to your new home. Here you’ll form so many new memories.”

Don’s muscles all tensed as he fought with all his might to not back down from the creature of a Man. His stiff form wasn’t helping the growing ache in his wrists from the chains and cuffs, but it was worth it to prove his strength and will to his captor.

I WON’T BACK DOWN, YOU DEMON.

The Man reached out his hand to Don’s face, caressing the fabric of his mask. The purple-clad mutant let out his own warning growl, but that did nothing just as it hadn’t before. The Man’s slender hands brushed across Don’s cheek, making that same awful chill enter into the mutant’s soul.

Don wanted to throw up if it meant the horrible feeling of dread in his stomach would cease.

The Man took both his hands and wrapped them behind Don’s head, fluidly slipping off his purple mask. The Man pocketed it with the smoothness of a master thief.

“You won’t be needing this. Not an inch of you will be a mystery once my studies begin.”

Don’s face being fully presented to his captor made the mutant shrink in discomfort. Sure it was just a piece of cloth with two eye holes.. But he had worn that mask since he was twelve years old. It was part of his identity. But now he watched as the Man continued to deny everything that made him him; Proof to Don that what was coming for him and his brother would test everything they had in them:

Their constitutions.

Their will.

Their faith.

And especially..

..their understanding of who they are.

“These walls have kept many different… creatures at bay, and over time all of them fell. Some to their madness.. Some to my blade.”

Don’s spirit suddenly felt the embers from his brother’s seething flame.

The Man turned to face Raphael, but stayed uncomfortably close to Don’s side.

“Ah yes. Rabid Red..” the Man tsked in a facade of pity, “Seems the surplus of sedatives did nothing to cure you of your infuriatingly pitiful temper. But that’s fine with me.”

The Man reached for his coat pocket, while refusing to break eye contact with Raph. By the sound of his brother’s growls not wavering, Don figured the Man’s intimidation attempt wasn’t so successful.

But then…

All went silent as the Man revealed a syringe filled with a noxiously potent green liquid inside. The Man rose off the ground and began walking towards Raph, a frighteningly bright smile spread across his face like some awful infection.

“.. I want you to be fully awake for every second.”

Don’s pupils constricted as he turned his head to face his brother.

RAPH NO!

The cap of the syringe was removed with practiced hands, revealing the needle shining in all its horrible glory.

“.. I want you to feel every fluid ounce of agony slowly creep through your skin and into your blood. I want you to see the monster I know you are.”

Don’s ears drowned out the sounds of his captor slowly drawing closer to his brother, and instead focused on the shivering breaths and tight gasps escaping Raph.

He’s terrified.

“.. This is what you get for biting me, freak.”

NO! PLEASE STOP!!!!

Don’s heart painfully beat in his chest as the Man creeped into the pixelated shadows, once again becoming the faceless Specter that would forever haunt the freckled mutant’s nightmares.

RAPHAEL!!!!!!

Don’s hearing finally betrayed him as the sounds of his brother’s anguished cries seared into his ears.

Andddd that's it for this chapter!....

.. Is it bad that I truly enjoyed writing for Specter in this-??? Is something wrong with me?... Have I officially lost my shell? Heheh.

To God be the glory!

~ Melissa

MASTERPOST <- PRIOR CHAPTER NEXT CHAPTER ->

#my version of tmnt!!#the strength in weakness #SIW Don #SIW Raph #tmnt #hurt/comfort #angst #captured #tw needles #tw fear

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darkdevasofdestruction · 1 year

Text

Traditionally, I Love You ~ Bakugou Katsuki x Reader ***

Summary: A small, soft and very fluffy story where Katsuki falls in love with a girl from a traditional upbringing who learns about the modern life for the first time when she’s forced to get into U.A. Their relationship develops beautifully, and they take a step further, under the guidance of Katsuki, who shows her that being intimate is for pleasure and connection, not just for heir-making as she was taught. ( It’s going to be mainly female-pleasure focused, and an extremely soft Katsuki x )

Bakugou always prided himself with being the absolute best at everything, the future #1 Hero, and though he didn’t get in U.A. through recommendation like those privileged extras, he rightfully got the highest score at the entrance exam. He played it cool all the time, though even he had to admit, his enthusiasm may have gotten the best out of him at times - He wasn’t going to show his happiness though, of course not, he was above fawning over heroes and being in a hero academy - Unlike that dumbass Deku, he was so ridiculous, he couldn’t only laugh in his face. It was humiliating even knowing they were from the same class, let alone that he considered him a ‘friend’. Ha! As if Bakugou would befriend a Quirkless nobody like him.

Still, after a few weeks in U.A., on one morning when Aizawa was supposed to come over for homeroom time and say his good mornings, he brought over a girl around their age. She was dressed in a traditional outfit, and her hair, too, was long, worn and pinned with a pretty flower accessory, and her make up was white, with a little bit of red around her eyes, highlighting an almost cat-like look. She looked like a traditional porcelain doll. Bakugou didn’t even want to look at her - Too soft, he thought. Why was she here anyway? Surely, there was no way she wanted to be a hero, not someone like her.

But Bakugou’s ears perked up, as though he was some kind of animal - She was their new transfer student classmate. This girl who looked like she was being an actor ripped from a movie set in the 16th century sengoku era... She was supposed to be their new student. What a load of bullshit. There was no way she could have a proper Quirk... Unless she had a healing Quirk? Perhaps so - Apart from Recovery Girl, there was no one in U.A., or at least that he knew, who could heal others. Surely, for healers, there must be better schools, aren’t they? So why was she brought here to begin with?

“My name is L/N Y/N. I am going to be your classmate. Please, treat me well.” the girl bowed deeply at them, so soft-spoken that Katsuki couldn’t even hear her. Was she the shy-introvert type, or was this her whole persona, of a pretty, traditional girl? How clichee. Bakugou already hated her, though he couldn’t stand the overly loud and obnoxious kawaii-bullshit girls either; Their forced, high-pitched voices grated his brain to the point of over-bleeding. It didn’t matter though. Bakugou wasn’t in U.A. to get in a relationship. He was there to learn and train to his body’s limits, and far beyond.

Aizawa then informed them that Y/N was from a village with strict, traditional views, and she needed to be integrated in their society, as she doesn’t even know how to use her phone. The school was gracious enough to provide her with a good enough cell-phone, but there was only so far she could go, all by herself.

Of course, all those stupid extras fawned over her like months to the flame, they were talking to her, all at once even, and they all tried to explain to her things, different things, of different topics. Katsuki didn’t want to bother with her, or with all those fuckers, it was far too much of a drag, and he had more important things to be doing; Though, his eyes wondered of their own accord, lingering from the corner at the girl being ganged and chatted up by more than half the class. She looked overwhelmed having so many people around her, but she tried to keep a polite smile on her face. What a weakling. Yes, he could sympathise with being uncomfortable around people like that, but he would retaliate immediately and fuck them up real good, so they’d know never to bother her again like that.

The classroom was so unbelievably loud that Katsuki’s senses found themselves overwhelming - And they weren’t even in his ear! “SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY YOU FUCKING EXTRAS! YOU’RE TOO FUCKING LOUD - TAKE IT THE FUCK OUTSIDE ALREADY!” the boy slammed his fist into his desk so hard that the others thought it was going to break. Though he was glaring at them, the class now deathly silent, he unintentionally spotted a grateful smile, small yet tender, on the girl’s face. It was addressed to him. What, did she think he did it to save her? What an idiot! Stupid, old-school girl! She better not think they’re friends now or something stupid!

Katsuki slumped back down in his chair, and thankfully, as the class was about to begin, Y/N left, as she was to properly start her curriculum at the beginning of the next week. Of course, the only topic of conversation during the week was the new girl, and how everyone tried to text her, only to get ignored and wonder why. Did those idiots completely forget the new girl was technologically challenged? That she allegedly didn’t even know what a cell-phone was? Maybe that dumbass had no clue how to turn on the damn phone, let alone write and reply to their stupid-ass texts?! What’s so hard to comprehend, for the love of --

Bakugou was so over the whole mess with the new girl, that he hoped she’d never come back to U.A. But no, she did, and now she was wearing their school’s uniform. She had long and slender legs, beautifully sculpted, and the black stockings made them look even prettier, Katsuki noted, and the white shirt with the tie looked good enough on her. Her hair was done just as before, but she wore no makeup anymore, though her nails was rather sharp and painted black, as though she was a cat or some kind of predator animal. Katsuki’s ears widened slightly - Did he really associate ‘pretty’ with this girl? What was wrong with him? Gah, he had to do an active effort to avoid her now, who knows what other stupid things he’s going to think about without realising.

He spared her a quick glance, watching her take the empty seat two spots to his right - Her gaze was down on the floor, and her cheeks were red as her hands were trying to keep her short skirt down. Was she... Embarrassed with the outfit? Coming from a traditional background and having to wear only dresses that cover you fully, and now, a short skirt and a short sleeved shirt... Yes, that made sense, he realised. How was she supposed to focus on classes if she’s fixated on her insecurities. Even worse, that stupid grape dumbass had to fluster her up even more by flipping her skirt and commenting on her behind. Though she remained silent and got herself seated with no comment, Katsuki noticed small tears forming in her eyes. How annoying - She should have made wine out of Mineta. Why isn’t she defending herself? Why isn’t she beating that fucker up? Was she unable to? Did she really have such a stupidly weak Quirk that she couldn’t even fight that worthless fuckass?

Bakugou, and everyone else; They were all going to be left speechless soon. They were all wrong. They needn’t coddle Y/N, they just needed to help her integrate. She didn’t require pity by all means. She just wanted to be a normal person, around many other normal people. That was made fully understood, or at least, she hoped so, once, out of all the people in 1-A, Y/N chose Bakugou to pair up with for the 1v1 exercise.

“Y/N-chan, you shouldn’t choose Bakugou, he doesn’t hold back!” one of them said. “L/N-chan, don’t fight against Kacchan, he’s very, very strong!” dumbass Deku exclaimed in fear. “Y/N, he’s going to kill you!” another one of those damn extras warned her.

Instead, Y/N, now wearing the U.A. training clothes, the jacket zipped up fully, up to her chin - She walked up to Bakugou and bowed deeply at him. “Will you please be my partner today, Mr. Bakugou Katsuki?” The blond boy couldn’t only look down at her, scarlet eyes wide with confusion - Why the hell was she being so overly polite with him, he wasn’t 40 years old or something, what the fuck? “Yo, extra, stop calling me that. One same is enough, no lame-ass honorifics or something.” he grunted, though everyone seemed surprised that he didn’t yell at her at all. His tone wasn’t even raised, as usual, nor was his voice gruff. It almost felt as though he tried to keep his voice at an acceptable level, as to not overwhelm her senses. Was Bakugou being... Considerate?! “Yeah, sure, we can pair up, whatever. But I’m not about to go easy of you, get it?” “Thank you very much, Mr. Baku... U-Uhm... Katsuki...?” the boy found his cheeks warming up slightly, looking away. She was the first girl who called him by his first name like that, how annoying. Still, it was his fault for being so vague, and he didn’t want to confuse the girl more than all these new things already were - Might as well get used to this and suck it up. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” he muttered, shoving his hands deep in his pants pockets and walked away, to the side of the court, where everyone else was standing.

Aizawa had some pairs fight between each other - First, without Quirks, then, with them. Sero with Mina, Kaminari with Kirishima, Jirou with Yaomomo, Tokoyami with Tsuyu, Koda with Sato, Ojiro with Shoji, Iida with Todoroki, Uraraka with Deku, Aoyama with Hagakure; And no suprise, nobody wanted to fight against Mineta, but eventually, one of the winners would have to volunteer to fight him also. What a drag.

Katsuki’s match against Y/N was the last one, but also, the most anticipated... And feared. He unzipped his jacket and threw it on the ground, doing a little warm up. He liked fighting in a tank top only, gave him the mobility he needed. Y/N, also, though she looked incredibly bashful, took off her jacket. “No weapons, Y/N.” she nodded in acknowledgement at the teacher; Katsuki could only look quizzically at her, though he hadn’t the time to question her supposed proficiency in weapons. Perhaps a conversation for later on. “Have a fair fight. No Quirks in the first round. Go.” as with all the other matches, Aizawa spoke the drill, and the two students stepped away from each other.

Bakugou watched as Y/N’s demure visage turned completely blank and cold, and she was staring him dead in the eyes; She hadn’t taken any pose or stance, instead, her hands were held in her pockets, waiting leisurely. He wasn’t going to wait around until Y/N attacked, he hated waiting at all. Despite the gasps from the other idiots, he rushed in a blitz attack, like a bull at the matador, attempting to ram into the small, frail girl that was pathetically standing there - One punch was going to settle it all, no need for an overkill, he thought. The momentum was catching up, and it was time to strike.

But Bakugou found himself flying away, slamming into the ground and rolling pitifully. What happened, he wondered, looking at the girl who was returning back to her laid-back pose. He had to attack again and see what happened - This little idiot was tricky, and he had to learn her patterns. He needed only grab her, and it was over. No matter how tricky she was, her strength was lesser than his - The laws of physics dictated that truth. What he hated though, was that everyone was cheering her name, praising and encouraging her. How annoying.

He lunged at her from behind, only to get surprised once more, as she threw herself to the ground, backwards, and rolled into his feet, making him stumble and fall to the ground with yet another great thud, and watching with blurry eyes as she nonchalantly stepped away.

This time, he actively engaged in a veritable exchange of jabs - She was flawless in dodging each of his fists; And worse, her accuracy as she punched all of his vital points seemed to affect him; Bakugou grunted, his body instinctually stepped away from her. Y/N leapt forwards, kicking his thigh so hard that it made him kneel with a pained growl - She then used his knee as a stepping stool and used her elbows to hit hard on her opponent’s head, followed by a powerful blow to the temple.

Bakugou Katsuki was on the ground.

“YOU GO, Y/N! YOU’RE THE BEST!” Katsuki wanted to shriek with rage at all the praising and the cheers, none of them addressed to him. It was driving him into an unfocused anger, only to hear Y/N’s voice, washing over him like a cool, soothing river. “Please, do stop your unnecessary cheering. I and Katsuki are in a fight, and it is disrespectful and rather unprofessional to meddle with one’s morale. We are doing our best. Please appreciate our efforts and be considerate.” though her voice was soft, her words seemed to have enough of a harsh edge that it made the others stand up. She then stepped in front of him and crouched to the ground, extending her hand for him to take and get up. “Katsuki, let us continue our honorable match, please. I am truly honoured that you are fighting me with all that you have, and I respect you dearly.” Y/N smiled as she felt the boy roughly grab her hand and helped him up. They shared a few brief seconds of eye contact, and she smiled tenderly at him. It almost felt as though they’ve connected, understood each other perhaps. He didn’t know why he hadn’t felt compelled to yell at her, scold her for taking pity on him or making him feel lesser, weaker - Hell, he didn’t even slap away her hand. Why wasn’t he feeling as angry as before? He truly couldn’t understand it, but he found the fog of anger dissipating slowly, and finding his focus again.

Once back in position, Bakugou ran into her close area circle and engaged in another barrage of jabs, lefts and rights, roundhouse kicks and sickles; Still, she somehow managed to predict the moment he tried to charge at her with a more powerful punch - She blocked it with her arm, so well that she only slightly slid backwards. He was able to notice the exact second her face twisted in agony, for just a split second, though she didn’t even whine or cry from the pain - She was silent as a lake.

Katsuki took a step back and got in another stance, making the girl mimic him. Ever since he was in school, he trained himself, following various routines online - Of course he was familiar with fighting styles. He always thought Aiki, the style Y/N seemed to be an expert in, was for weaklings. In a way, he was right. In another way, he was proven wrong, considering how well she was able to counter him thus far. Still, he knew a little bit of everything; Surely, he could trick her into thinking he knows Karate just as well. His fists were tightly held in a basic karate stance, whilst she had a similar pose, though her hands were open. It was the perfect example of a Karate vs Aiki fight, a battle of Strength vs Softness. He almost thought it ironic, how well it described even them as people.

Neither of them move, analysing each other, every tweak of their body, every breathing, every blink of their eyes; Y/N’s foot was sliding forward, inch by inch, and he mirrored her move. Seeing as he, too, was approaching, the girl lunged at him, and he did the same. In a split second, Y/N redirected his own move against him, making him fly backwards, once again. “To think you would fall so far away... As expected of the strongest student in class 1-A. There is no one else with such incredible physical prowess.” Y/N praised him; If they weren’t fighting, he was going to blush furiously, but he couldn’t afford that during a fight. Later, perhaps, when he could blame it on the work out he was getting with this fight.

Once again, Y/N maintained no stance, and awaited Katsuki to lunge at her - He threw what seemed to be a hundred thousand hits her way, all of them at such speed that the others could barely differentiate them; Y/N didn’t flinch. She knew they were all fakes. Instead, as Katsuki attempted a real kick her way, she grabbed his shin, making him lose balance - He must have been expecting that though, as he twisted and ended on his feet. Such flexibility, fascinating for someone so tall and buff like himself. Praise-worthy, Y/N thought.

But L/N used her own hand to roll at the back of his ankle whilst he tried another kick, only for her to slam the heel of her foot into his chin, making him stumble backwards with a grunt. Everyone seemed to be greatly enjoying the fight, it was fascinating and far better than any of them was able to manage - Though they were still internally cheering for the underdog to win, they had to agree that they both were doing fantastic.

"I’ve analysed all your attacks, dumbass. I know your strategy and all your Aiki moves. You need a strong opponent, so you can counter with a move that equals their power, with yours attached to it. You don’t need to be strong yourself. But what would you do if I were no longer an opponent? I'm not going to attack anymore. Let’s see what you do when your weak-ass fighting style gets obliterated." Y/N held her hands in her pockets, watching as Bakugou kept standing tall. She chuckled, stepping around him. "Well! I suppose there's no need to do anything against an opponent who does nothing!" she grinned leisurely. "As a result, there will be no fight! I have nothing to lose, spending the whole match waiting and doing nothing - But you do! You want to win, don’t you? You know, if there is no victory, there is also no defeat. What an idyllic world we live in!" though she spoke, Bakugou had no other word to usher. He wasn’t going to respond to her provoking, especially as he knew she meant none of it. "... However, I suppose this is still a match, in the end. You're trying to come up with a battle of stubbornness. I guess you can say I'm proud that I could make even you come up with such an impertinent strategy, against some weak, inexperienced opponent such as myself. Truly, I'm flattered! Thank you for taking me seriously, despite my physical weakness." she continued. "Your techniques and mine - I'm far too young to say it doesn't matter whose are superior, or that strength doesn't matter." as soon as she found herself behind her opponent, she sprinted at great speed, hoping to reach his spinal cord;

Before she could incapacitate him, however, Y/N felt a pressure in her stomach, strong enough to send her flying a crazy length, and she stumbled over the sand, rolling pitifully on the ground. No amount of damage that she chipped from the boy felt equal to this single punch that connected. She had gasped like a fish on the land, trying desperately to get air back in her lungs. Her hair tie had broken, and her hair cascaded almost gracefully in elegant waves over her body.

As soon as he stepped by her side, Y/N instantly shot to her feet, long hair dancing beautifully around her, almost bewitching the boy with her natural beauty; though she leisurely managed to catch his wrist and throw him away, sending him off with a temple punch also, watching him slam his head into the ground. The girl was panting with exhaustion already, many minutes having passed indefinitely. “It takes a lot of energy for you to pull off such stunts, huh? Throwing me like that only makes you lose strength and stamina. I must be weighting twice your own.” Bakugou let out an amused breath, smirking, though he himself was sweating and needing some air. “You are correct. I am really exhausted. I have never fought anyone so equally before, especially without a Quirk. It is most fascinating. I doubt I could kill you.” the tired smile was enough to charm the boy, though he was confused at her later statement - What was it about killing she said? No matter, he frequently threatened to kill his classmates, it didn’t matter.

With both opponents standing, both taking their stances, Y/N slowly, but steadily inched forwards towards her opponent until their toes were touching each other; Bakugou readied his fist to punch Y/N's face - She managed to dodge, and with her cleavage, shoulder and arm, she was able to redirect his blow, making him stumble before he was punched down into the ground once more.

“Are you done playing around? I ain’t feeling shit from your kitten punches.” Bakugou scoffed tauntingly, and with a well-aimed punch, Y/N was sent flying across the court painfully hard, looking like a discarded ragdoll. The boy continued walking towards her, watching as she was stumbling and struggling to get up; She had a pained expression on her face, holding her head - She must be feeling very dizzy. “Lost your balance, huh? I’m ending it now. You fought better than those fucking extras.” he praised, readying another strike to finish the match, only to find himself stumbling forward as Y/N threw herself at his feet to trip him once more - In detriment of her feeling the vertigo twisting even faster. “What did you accomplish with that anyway? Are ya afraid of losing or what?”

Their classmates were yelling at them to stop fighting - Both of them were covered in scrapes, bruises and blood - But when Aizawa asked if they wanted to declare an end match, they both snapped at them all, a negative answer firmly rasped. Neither was going to take away from the respect they held for each other after such a fight.

Y/N was barely able to turn and flex her arm to receive another one of his powerful punches, though she couldn’t take it anymore. Her body felt broken, and she was barely able to get up and stand properly. She was clutching at her arms and hands, she was hurting dearly; Her eyes were glassy also, no doubt, wet from the pain she was enduring.

Even in that vertigo state however, she was able to dictate the flow of battle, slapping her palms over the opponent’s, and stumbling about, keeping the boy at bay, unable to move further - If he tried, she’d easily evade his move and counter - She even clinged to his wrist, stomping her foot flushed against his own, pushing onto it and making his trip. With the little energy she had left, she used his knee to grapple him, this time, more accurately, with her leg over the back of his neck - She pulled herself up in one move, grabbing a fistful of his hair and jumping behind him, grabbing him down and slamming him into the ground - The boy yelped from the excruciating scalp pain he was feeling, though his body could barely feel any other pain.

Y/N brought him to the edge of his patience, though he couldn’t deny he had been enjoying this fight dearly, but it had to end soon. Even he was feeling exhausted, his muscles aching for some relief. She lunged at him and tried to hit him at the same time he tried to deliver another powerful punch, only for her to somehow evade the hit - He needed a few seconds to realise how she was able to seemingly disappear for a single blink of an eye - She was smart and shrewd, she managed to evade his monstrous hit, simply by shifting her joints just a little bit, yet fast enough to create the illusion of not having moved. But the second hit, she was unable to parry or dodge, and she was on the ground - Y/N saw spots in front of her, and her vision had gone to shit. She was clutching at her head, her arms visibly trembling as she tried to get up from the ground, only to repeatedly fail and fall down. It looked far more difficult than any plank exercise, Katsuki thought, but she hadn’t given up. He was almost shocked, seeing the beautiful porcelain doll girl being so resilient and unbending, though he hated being the one to get her in this state, be the one to bring her such suffering.

Wait - Why was he pitying his opponent? She was worthy of fighting him, she was above those extras - He was praising her, not pitying her. He was strong. Stronger than most.

Once she was finally on her feet, hoping her head would stop spinning already, and struggling to keep standing; One of her knees was hurting so bad, Katsuki could see her leg repeatedly giving up; Despite all her agony, she found some place to muster up strength, and as Bakugou lunged at her, she got in a low stance, leaping at him, grabbing his wrists and pulling him forward, aiming for a barrage of hits at his vitals - When he was too busy blocking her hits, she side-stepped and tripped him, making him stumble backwards.

How much longer was she going to drag this on, when she had already fallen off the shelf and shattered? Had she no regard for her body and health? Hell, he could kill her on the spot, yet she was still fighting. His face must have looked almost demonic to her - He was going to use all of his strength on this last punch; The only way to win this was to knock her out, he realised, her resolve was far too powerful.

Just as they got in each other’s territory however - He stopped, just before his fist touched her face. His eyes were wide and lips parted slightly in shock, as the girl’s body completely gave up, and she fainted in his arms, just as she tried to hit him. She looked so small, so frail, so... Cute? He found himself wiping the dripping blood going down her chin from her busted lip, before picking her up bridal style - His arms were shaking like crazy, though somehow, he still found the strength to carry the flower-like beauty. “Bakugou wins.” Aizawa declared, nodding at the blond to go to the infirmary.

The whole walk to the hospital wing, Katsuki looked down at the peaceful face of the doll-like girl. Who knew she was able to fight so well, resist so long, even faced against someone as strong as him. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder what her Quirk was, and he was almost upset he couldn’t fight her properly either. Perhaps another time; Next time they were to go on a 1 on 1, he was going to choose her, the same way she chose him.

“Did I do well, Katsuki?” an almost broken voice, yet surprisingly sweet, called out. “Hella.” his whole body rumbled with a chuckle, earning a lovely smile from the girl. “I am happy.” the boy hummed in agreement; The sentiment was shared.

That evening, when they were done with classes and Y/N was in a good enough shape, Bakugou offered to walk her back home. He wasn’t all that great at socialising, and definitely, neither was Y/N. Though the walk was rather awkward, they still found each other’s company seemingly comforting, and the tender smile she gave him when she said farewell...

Katsuki found his heart beating weirdly fast, and this time, it wasn’t from the cardio workouts he was doing. During their weeks at U.A., Bakugou had the two idiots sitting between himself and Y/N fuck off and change desks, urging the girl to stay next to him, under the pretext that she needed to be showed how to use a phone and what not. Of course, that was just silly, but he had no clue how to get closer to her, without looking pathetic.

It was shocking how with her sweet voice, she was able to sooth his nerves, lessen his rage and frustration, hell, with a simple touch on his arm, she was capable of making him stop yelling at those other extras, especially the dumbass, 1-braincell ‘BakuSquad’ as those idiots liked to call themselves. He hated them so much, it was unreal. He couldn’t understand - Honest to God, he couldn’t - She was just another girl, a classmate, a person just like any other, so why the hell was he always thinking about her? She was his first thought waking up, and his last, falling asleep.

Love, his parents teased him. Love, his friends teased him. Love, his own heart teased him.

Why the hell was everyone making him feel like such a fool, for having feelings for someone? To hell with them all, damn extras. He deserved better than this. Despite all the humiliation he felt whenever someone taunted him with what he felt, despite his mind yelling at him intently to run away and sever any kind of friendship he had with Y/N... He simply couldn’t resist her charm. She was so pretty, blushing as she had to show so much skin in the U.A. uniform, and even her Hero outfit, it resembled that of a priestess, yet instead of hakama, she had a lovely skirt with large splits that allowed for mobility and agility, giving the impression of being covered, yet when she moved, her legs were beautifully on full display. Her blouse also seemed to highlight her most graceful curves, and her sleeves were technically long, and could be used as pockets - Very practical, she loved that feature the most.

The first time Bakugou saw Y/N wearing her Hero outfit was during the USJ incident - She was so beautiful, he was lost for words, but annoyingly enough, so was Mineta, who continued making her uncomfortable - Of course, until he blasted that fucker all the way to the flooded area, hoping he’d drown.

But what was supposed to be a fun activity, playing as heroes, turned to be most worrisome, and Bakugou felt a spike of anxiety being teleported away and forced to wonder where Y/N was, if she was okay, if she could handle the natural tragedy landscape she had to go against, or even the villains. He had to get the hell out of there and search for her, make sure she was alright. Those worries proved ignorant however, as by the time Katsuki was out of the collapsing building, he, Todoroki and Deku were there, watching Y/N unleashing blue flames and... Killing villains with a long spear. She was aiding Aizawa, though not as anyone would expect. Y/N was definitely not the sweet little angel everyone depicted her as. Instead, she looked as though she was wielding the onibi spiritual fire of a fox spirit - And she looked like a malevolent Goddess doing so. She was ruthless, with no mercy. Bakugou felt a shiver down her spine, seeing all that blood - Only villains killed, that’s what they were all told... And seeing the girl he was crush on doing what villains did, it made his mind spin a little.

That worry completely dissipated once a blue haired freak and some huge-ass beast attacked them. His mind was running a thousand times per second, though his body was simply frozen, watching the small flower being crushed with such brutality, that he felt physical ache, as she laid there, in a pool of her own blood, yet still struggling to get up and save frog girl, grape boy and useless Deku from getting decayed by that freak with zombie hands groping him. Perhaps, if it weren’t for All Might coming over and saving everyone, they wouldn’t have made it out alive. It was completely maddening, thinking that, no matter how much they work, they weren’t anywhere close to beating the villains. How incredibly depressing, just like seeing the mummy-like bodies of both Y/N and Aizawa, as they came to school literally the next day, as though nothing had happened. Nothing changed for them - But it did for him.

How could anyone pretend nothing happened, when they had to be stronger and stronger and even stronger than the strongest, just to get even with those fuckers and ensue the peace of the country. It was pathetic, all of it, and since then, Bakugou began overworking himself to the point of physically collapsing daily.

The occasion to rise up and show how much he improved was given to him when the Sports Festival was announced. He tried to get Y/N not to compete, afraid that her body wouldn’t cope, still damaged - But her dismissive smile managed to convince him without much arguing. He could never say ‘No’ to her, for whatever reason. But he should have. Oh, how he hated himself for being unable to convince her out of it. She pushed herself hard enough with the first task, using the fire boost to get to the finish line, and then, he chose her in his team, to make sure she was fine - They didn’t exactly win, much to his dismay, but they got in the last task of the festival, which was the most important one - The 1v1 fights.

He fought Uraraka and he fought Todoroki, and in the end, he had to fight none other than Y/N, whom he had no idea how was able to get so far. Before the match, he cornered her. “Give up. Your body is failing you.” he trapped her on the wall, but that fox-like smile of hers shattered his resolve. “Don’t worry about me, Katsuki. I want to give you another honorable fight, this time, with out full potential.” he could feel his heart trembling with emotion just by hearing that lovely voice of hers. “What the hell potential, when you can’t even properly stand up straight?!” he protested, only to feel a hand on his face, gently caressing it. “Don’t worry.” that warm smile, and her touch... He couldn’t help but lean into her hand, grunting, his face flushing with love. “I know you will respect me and my strength. Fight me as your equal.” “Don’t go around blaming me if you won’t get up after I defeat you again.” he huffed, pushing her forward toward the fighting court.

Unlike in the match he had with Uraraka, he wasn’t going to be called a villain anymore. Not only Aizawa himself defended him, but even she yelled at the public. She had run on the pitch so shamelessly and started scolding the audience! If Katsuki weren’t so flushed up from the fight, he was going to be from the way his heart was beating at being portrayed as a strong hero. But now, he had to fight for the #1 spot against the girl he was crushing on. It would have been a privilege, were it not for her collapsing body. He hated that he couldn’t properly fight her, and he could see the bitterness she was hiding, hating her own vulnerability. They formed an indestructible bond from that fight - They value fighting, sparring, practicing together, it felt like their hearts connected indefinitely... Alas, there they were, with no choice. Neither of them could disrespect the other and give up, but it was oh so painful, fighting this way.

Still, Y/N fought him with everything she had, no matter how much she was hurting. She fought, and fought, but her mystifying blue flames didn’t even burn the boy - They felt like a warm caress at the sea side; But Bakugou’s explosions were so painful, so destructive, that he blasted the girl into oblivion.

This wasn’t a win. Bakugou didn’t deserve the #1 spot, not in this condition. He didn’t want to see Y/N laying on the grass, motionless. To hell with the Sports Festival, and to hell with everyone else. He ran to her side, holding her in his arms, brushing away her beautiful locks from her face, and picking her up, for the second time. It seemed to have become a rather amusing pattern for them - Fighting to the point of unconsciousness, and carrying her to the infirmary. Y/N smiled, nuzzling into his chest so cutely. “You smell like sugary caramel. I love it.” his breath hitched in his throat, unable to respond properly to such a compliment. “Sh-Shut up, stupid.” his face was even redder, and if the girl would see how she was making him feel, no doubt, he’d have said some pointed word to fluster him even more. Though she never said anything hurtful or teasing, she was honest to such a degree that it made him lose his mind with adoration.

The whole year, Bakugou found himself courting the girl - In his own way, of course - Everyone was making fun of him for dating, but he hadn’t the guts to ask her out yet. He got her flowers, and they hung around often; He even cooked for her at some point, and would buy her some pretty accessories - They weren’t expensive by any means, he was just a normal boy with some pocket money - But whenever he’d see a cute hair pin, or a bracelet, he couldn’t resist. Flowers were his favourite accessory on her though. She was very pretty - Pretty beyond imagination - Pretty enough to drive him so crazy that he’s unable to ask her out.

The situation only got worse when they had to move in the dorms, and they were basically together for so long, day and night, they were together. Hell, at some point when watching a movie on the couch, Y/N fell asleep, cuddling into his side, her head lulled on his shoulder, and he was unable to move the whole night. He guided her head to comfortably rest on his thighs and had Kirishima bring over a blanket to make sure she stays warm. He tried staying awake the whole night, playing and caressing her hair - But his sleep schedule didn’t allow him such a luxury, and by the time the clock showed it was 10 PM, he was long asleep also. Of course, the adorable imagery fell prey to their classmates photographing them and using the picture as blackmail material for Bakugou - Y/N seemed completely dismissive, even going as far as to say they look very cute when sleeping - But he couldn’t do it. He just wanted to blast those nasty fuckers to hell and back.

Katsuki wanted to ask Y/N out, honest to God, he did! He was just so embarrassed out of his wits that, every time he tried, he blurted out something completely random, and gave up. That is, until later in the year when they got attacked by some villains on the street, and Y/N received an almost-fatal wound for shielding him.

He hated her.

Only Heavens know how much Bakugou hated Y/N.

How DARE she do something like that?! He didn’t ask her to sacrifice herself to him - Can’t she understand what he’s feeling?! If she dies, he’s going to hate himself forever, blame himself for her death - How can he live, knowing that he killed the girl he fell in love with?! It was unfair - SHE was unfair! Stupid! Stupid! INCREDIBLY stupid!

He held her hand the whole day and night as she rested on the infirmary bed, and he shed fat tears, generated from the myriads of overwhelming emotions he was feeling. He was dying inside, and he wanted to rip his hair out; Open his rib cage and tear his heart out; He wanted to screech into the skies blasphemies and other foul words, blaming every living and unliving thing in this world, and any other universe, all for bringing this lovely girl into his life, making him fall in love with her, only to have her taken away from him like that. He couldn’t take all this worry and fear - Not at all.

“Fuck, Y/N - Don’t die... Please, don’t die. I haven’t gotten the chance to make you my girlfriend... To tell you how much I love you... Fuck... Please... Don’t do this to me. I can’t take it - I can’t do it without you.”

For three days, Bakugou was a mess; He couldn’t function properly, he couldn’t think straight. All he wanted was to hold Y/N in his arms and tell her everything that he was unable to before, he had to be strong, mentally, emotionally, physically - She saved him, she was there for him, she always cared and cherished him, helped him with his emotional instability and what not - And what did he do? He wallowed in self-hatred for not being strong enough to defeat Quirkless Deku, and now, to be the hero that Y/N needed. Pathetic, that’s what he was.

“Katsuki? Why are you crying?” Bakugou’s mind went blank, hearing that groggy voice that sounded gorgeous, even in this state. “You are too pretty to cry. Please don’t cry.” Y/N struggled to get in a sitting position, cupping his face and placing a sweet kiss on his forehead. “Your tears are breaking my heart. Please, don’t cry. Not for me.” she tried to comfort him, her thumbs wiping away the tears, only to be startled by his emotional outburst yell. “IF NOT FOR YOU, THAN FOR WHOM?!” he cried out. “I FUCKING LOVE YOU, AND I WAS TOO MUCH OF A FUCKING COWARD TO TELL YOU! YOU ALMOST DIED FOR ME! YOU ALMOST DIED IN MY ARMS! I THOUGHT YOU WERE NEVER GOING TO FUCKING WAKE UP, DAMN IT!” still sitting in the chair besides the bed, his arms wrapped around her waist, crying in her lap; His body was violently shaking with each sob. “SO DON’T TELL ME NOT TO FUCKING CRY! I CAN’T - OKAY, I JUST FUCKING CAN’T! I WAS SUPPOSED TO PROTECT YOU, AND LOOK WHAT HAPPENED! IF I CAN’T EVEN PROTECT THE GIRL I LOVE, WHAT THE FUCK CAN I DO RIGHT?!” he wanted to release all the bottled up feelings he kept hidden, but he was unable to. Y/N rose his face up, and kissed him. Y/N kissed him, right on the lips. Fuck, he must taste like salty tears, how pathetic of him, the boy thought. Still, those deprecating thoughts disappeared, as soon as he saw that beautiful yet tired smile of hers. “I am happy that you reciprocate my feelings, Katsuki.” he thought he was flying on clouds. “You can do anything you set your mind to. You are incredibly intelligent and strong - And I have all confidence that you are going to become the strongest hero out there.” with a tug on his arms, Y/N had the boy lay down with her on the bed, pulling his head to rest on her chest as she snuggled and pampered him as though he was a spoiled kitten. He started tearing up pathetically, holding her tightly, forgetting that her body may still be aching, and he cried into her soft chest, completely unaware of how it might be thought of as intimate. He was simply drowning in an ocean of emotions, and he needed to tire himself up by crying to sleep.

From then on, Y/N would tell him things about her - How she was raised up to be the defender of the village, and kill if someone was threatening them; How she had to act like the perfect princess and smile at everyone, no matter how tiring it was. She admitted to being so happy that someone was treating her like a normal human being, not the new student, or some pretty girl, clueless to the world - And fighting was always a common tongue spoken by the strong.

She didn’t care about becoming a hero, she just wanted to be in control of her overwhelming, untamable Quirk, and be strong enough to protect what she held dear to her heart - And Katsuki was included amongst those few things she cherished above life itself.

He, in turn, would admit to feeling inferior to Deku, especially after All Might visibly favoured him so much, and how he hated himself for not being strong enough yet to do everything that he set himself up to. He had such a borderless vision that he often felt too slow to achieve those things, and it was driving him crazy.

With time though, the two love birds learnt how to not only take care of each other, but of themselves also. They knew each other so well, and they were so close to each other, that it would put everyone else to shame. The BakuSquad would take random pics of them in all the cutest states - Be it that they fell asleep cuddling each other, or they were holding pinkies, that they were kissing each other’s cheeks, or fixing an item of clothing - Sometimes, even with sillier things, like using two straw to drink from the same drink, or sharing a cake together and one of them is feeding the other. Everyone loved this new iteration of Bakugou - Easy to get an outburst out of him, but he wasn’t outright threatening everyone anymore, and he wasn’t blasting them to death as often either! It was an amazing win!

Katsuki and Y/N were U.A.’s IT couple all the way to their third year, and they enjoyed continuing to stay in the dorms all the same, to the point that they wanted to move in together after finishing school - Well, money might be an issue at the beginning, but they both wanted to work hard enough to afford a little piece of heaven for themselves only, and no family to bother them anymore.

Until then, however, enough time was going to pass, and there was much Katsuki still had to teach Y/N, including how to play video games, or properly operate a laptop. He had some help in showing her about modern fashion and many other things on the side. There was something, however, that only Katsuki was allowed to teach her - Not that he was an expert by any means, but he was a boy, and even he had some needs; Having a pretty girl like Y/N by his side only served as fuel for his desires, but never once did he try to do anything with her - With a traditional upbringing like her own, he was well aware of how intimacy would be viewed, and he wanted her to get used to it at her own pace.

Still, one evening, she was idly tidying up some things in his room, and a conversation arose after the movie they were absent-mindedly watching; Or rather, just played in the background; Depicted some rather interesting scenes. “Why would one want to have a child with a man she just met? Surely, she would want to get married first - How unrealistic.” she spoke casually, seemingly amused at the scene. “Nobody wants a child.” the boy scoffed blankly, playing around some phone game. “Then why are they sleeping together?” she spoke as though she was challenging his knowledge. “People don’t get intimate just to have children anymore, Y/N. Hasn’t been that way for a while now.” he muttered, his cheeks flushing at having to say such words out loud; His heart was pounding hard against his chest, and he quickly changed the channel to something unrelated, like the weather. “Really, now? Then why?” she looked at him with such a cute, confused face, that made the boy want to smash his lips onto hers. “... Pleasure.” the boy coughed, trying to hide his burning face with his phone. “Pleasure?” Y/N’s surprise was great. “No, that can’t be right. Grandma said only boys feel good. Girls feel pain.” “What?!” Bakugou’s eyes seemed to be wide like hers, the shock making him jolt up. “No, that’s bullshit, what the fuck.” he almost looked startled. “Really? Are you sure? She seemed certain. The other women from the village said the same thing too.” Katsuki wanted to drag his nails across his face at the complete nonsense he was hearing - Instead, he was standing in front of Y/N, so close to her that he could feel her heartbeat. He wrapped an arm around her torso, her back secure, her head resting against his palm; He leaned in to kiss her - But unlike the cute, innocent kisses from before, he deepened the kiss, to the point of forgetting how to breathe. “What do you feel when I kiss you?” his low, raspy voice spoke into her ear. “I-I...” her breathing felt heavy, just from this. “I feel like I want you to kiss me more.” the boy complied - He kissed her until her mind went numb, his free hand picked her chin, his thumb trailing her bottom lip dearly as he leaned away just enough to tease her, but not far enough that he couldn’t feel her picked up breathing anymore. His rough hand went down, holding her supple throat dearly, and went down to her chest, to her abdomen, and down on her thigh, and up her skirt. “Tell me what you feel now.” he kissed her again, as his fingers found themselves caressing her clothed womanhood, up and down, again and again, across her slit. He could feel her heart beating so fast, and a small whine escaped her throat as he started circling her clit, each time, applying just a little bit more pressure. He had her propped against the wall, his arm holding her supporting her depleting weight as she was quickly succumbing to the unknown feeling overwhelming her. “What are you feeling?” his lips still brushing against her own, the boy teasingly asked, triumphant at seeing his girlfriend with glazed eyes - Her hands gripped painfully tight on his shoulders, pulling him closer to her. “I-I don’t... I don’t know what this is.” her voice sounded to almost morph into a sweet mewl. “I can’t - I can’t name it. I’ve never... Felt like this before.” “Don’t think much. Just say if you want me to continue or not.” unconsciously, she seemed to be pulling him closer to her body. “Yeah... I want you - I want you, ‘Tsuki.” whether or not she knew perfectly well the way she was teasing him with her words, he wasn’t sure, but the effect she had on him was unreal. He kissed her with more fire, drinking in her first climax; Those sounds she let were so cute, he wanted to hear more; He was so greedy for her, for her body, he almost felt ashamed with how much he was in love with her. “Did you like it, Y/N?” the boy asked, his lips trailing down her jaw, and to her neck. Y/N whimpered a positive answer. “Do you want more, my greedy little kitten?” “Tsuki, don’t tease me like that!” she pouted, only to feel that overly adventurous hand pull down her panties, cupping her private part - Gently, he his fingers touched her folds, exploring around her soft, warm skin, and inside her wet cavern - One finger, inside and out, whilst he abused those sweet spots on her neck, earning gasp after gasp, all from how good he was making her feel.

The boy couldn’t grasp his mind around how incredibly how she was, or how wet he made her already - He was ecstatic, so proud of himself, he wanted to see the full extent of her reactions, all the sounds and expressions he could make her have. Another digit added, her spine arched suddenly against his arm. “Ts-Tsuki... If you go on... I can’t stand up...” she breathed out so enticingly that it drove the boy crazy. “You can, just a little more.” the boy had to place his lips over hers to cover a whine of his name as he curled his fingers just right - Her sharp fingernails dug into his flesh, desperately trying to keep herself upright, but he felt like a melted puddle in his arms. She felt flask, her wetness leaking down her thigh shamelessly from all her arousal, and another climax, more intense this time. “That’s my good girl.” he smirked down at her, bringing his fingers to his mouth, licking her juices shamelessly that the girl covered her face and looked away. “D-Don’t do that, it’s lewd!” she exclaimed, only to hear him chuckling and guiding her to lay down on the bed. Making sure the door was properly locked and changing the weather channel to some music, he sat down between her legs, leaning his chin on her knee, and looking down at her with those beautiful crimson eyes of his. “I have many other lewd things I want to do to you.” he admitted, his hand over hers, squeezing it with comfort. “If you want me to, I can show you, there is pleasure in love-making.” in a swift move, Bakugou was positioned on top of her, leaning on his forearms, on either side if her head. He kissed her deeply, his teeth gently grazing her lip, pulling on it playfully. “Do you want me to go on, my love?” In spite of her embarrassment, and how it went against everything she was taught, Y/N nodded her head. “I need you to tell me. Say it. Out loud.” “Don’t tease me like that.” she pouted at him. “I want you to love me, ‘Tsuki.” “I will love you any time you want me to, Y/N.” the vibration of his voice sent shivers down her spine, as the boy dripped down to her torso, his hands roaming up and down her body, taking off her blouse and skirt. She was so beautiful, laying down in all her glory, naked, and blushing so hard.

His finger gripped on the plush of her thighs, pulling them apart just enough to get close to her dripping cunt; He placed kiss after kiss on the inner skin of her leg, and in between, to her overly stimulated bundle of nerves that made her body twitch with each flick of his tongue. Y/N had to put a hand over her mouth to stifle an unconscious whine, the weird feeling of his wet tongue licking all the way up her sleeve, and down to her entrance - It was so weird, but she didn’t hate it - It wasn’t a bad kind of weird, it was rather pleasant. Pleasant enough that she was losing her sense of ration over the way he was making her feel. The way his hands were holding her, how his mouth was kissing and sucking and pulling.

With the way Y/N was unable to properly keep her body under control, Katsuki knew she was close again - She was so precious, and he didn’t want to let go of her the whole night - And every other night also. He wanted to see her, to hear her, to kiss her every day and every night, for the rest of their lives. Suddenly, Katsuki stopped, and he quickly took off the tank top he was wearing, making Y/N whimper softly. Though she wanted to protest, her body feeling about to explode, she placed her hands on his chest, trailing down to his abdomen, before quickly pulling him down on her body, his whole weight unsupported - But she loved the proximity, and how intimate it felt, being so close, kissing him, feeling his body like that. Y/N loved his body, she wanted to see him shirtless like this more often, she wanted to hear him go crazy with pleasure, the very same way he made her feel.

But not now - Katsuki had other plans for the night. “Still want to continue? Are you ready?” the boy asked, sucking on her neck. “I don’t know if I’d be able to stop, once I begin. I’m addicted to you. I’m addicted to everything about you.” he sighed, his chest heaving up and down from excitement. “Yes.” she breathed out. “I want you. I don’t want you to stop.” Y/N spoke again. “I want to make you feel as good as you make me feel.” “Another time, angel.” Katsuki chuckled softly, a hand reaching into the drawer and quickly taking a condom, putting it on. “Tonight, it’s all about you, sweetheart.”

Once again, he hoisted her up with one arm, the other hand holding her own, fingers intertwined. He felt her squeezing him as he entered his tip inside her womanhood, slowly going in. Though the music was loud, Katsuki kissed Y/N deeply, afraid he sweet mewls might be heard from outside; Fully sheathed, he let out an exhale, trying to keep himself composed, but he was failing miserably. The way she felt around him, how tight she felt, clamping down on him, it was killing him in all the best ways possible.

Again, he went pulled out almost fully, before going back in, long strokes, maddening, so full of passion, full of love, hitting and scraping at her sweet spot - His hand felt as though it was being crushed, and his back might as well be bleeding, or at least held the marks of her nails - He loved it. He loved this feeling, it heated him up, it made him feel nirvana approaching fast.

“I love you.” he mumbled, kissing her again; Her body soon started twitching, stiff; He felt his member being lovingly held captive inside of her as he rode her sweet release, and soon, he found his own. He wanted to stay like that inside of her, to be connected to her. “I love you, ‘Tsuki.” her voice was so delicate, so euphoric, that it made the boy bite his lip and pull away, before he’d be tempted to tire her out even more. He knew, however, that next time, he might be teasing her more - It felt too good, seeing her so glazed with pleasure, pleading for him to continue and be good to her. And it felt even better, having her say she loves him. It was the best feeling in the world.

Katsuki grabbed his tank top back, giving Y/N one of his larger Tshirts to sleep in, and brought over a pack of baby wipes, some water and snacks. He got the volume of the music down, and changed again to some movie, as Y/N cuddled dearly into his side, her head resting on his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat. It didn’t take long for him to play with her hair, that she fell asleep, that beautiful smile ever painted on her face. “You have no idea how much I love you, Y/N.”

#bnha smut #asmo time #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #mha x reader #mha imagines #mha #boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia imagine #my hero academia #my hero academia imagine #my hero academia x reader #bakugou smut #bakugou x reader #bakugou imagine #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki imagine

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rivkae-winters · 4 months

Text

Subterranean Sepulcher

Summary:

Sephiroth survives the Nibelheim incident only to be taken to the labs again. He is once again at Hojo's mercy with no end in sight this time. Then someone leaves the door to his holding cell open. When Sephiroth cannot escape upwards he goes down following a strange twinge in his chest deep below Midgar.

Fun fact that's also in the fic notes: I remember writing the outline and thinking this was nowhere near gay enough for a ship event... Then I re-read my draft and realized it sounded like some high concept film a man who thinks he's straight would make and claim represents 'human connection' or something like that.

Needless to say it came out plenty gay enough.

Also on Ao3

Sephiroth had been more elsewhere than in his own body since Hojo had fished him up from the bottom of the Nibelheim Mako reactor. The days flowed into weeks and the weeks flowed into months and months into years.

His Father had been upset at first, that much Sephiroth could vaguely remember. He'd been more... short of his faculties than in possession of them in the early days he spent in the new lab.

The visit to the town of Nibelheim was a blur in his memory.

Almost none of the blur that he could recall was pleasant. There were some middlingly pleasant fantasies his mind inserted here and there though. He'd dreamed he'd found his mother. Her face from his photograph had been animated and smiling in his dreams. He'd also had a nightmare that he'd been led to her in the waking world only to find her mangled corpse in a mako tank.

Sephiroth would only accept that as a nightmare and nothing else. He saw it again every other night it felt like but still that's all it was. That needed to be all it was. He held the false pleasant dreams of her russet hair and pale skin closer all the more for it.

He also dreamed of Genesis. Really, he should consider it a nightmare considering they fought and while he couldn't quite hear the words they said he knew they were heavy and awful. The air bleeding betrayal into his mind. But it was Genesis- Angeal was dead and Zack was nowhere to be found so maybe Genesis really was the only one of them left truly alive.

Especially the only one of them with any semblance of freedom.

Genesis could fly himself away from the awful world to one that abhors them less. Sephiroth found himself clinging to the idea as one of the Professor’s technicians played with his nerve capabilities one day, the ulnar nerve exposed to open air.

It felt nonsensical because he was still angry and hurt and bleeding from the hole their leaving had left in him. He felt like he was a child again, listening to Professor Gast's tapes over and over. Just like that man was no longer here and Sephiroth had even had his death confirmed: Genesis was never guaranteed any happiness. He was dying after all.

Sephiroth tried not to think about that too hard.

The isolation and the constant brain fog were easy to blame for imagining the subject of a very awkward and very unreciprocated 'teenage' crush happy. It was logical even, as much as Sephiroth could focus his mind in the present to think of what was logical these days.

The Professor had him again, only now Sephiroth wasn't an appreciated company asset. No, Sephiroth was an old shoe discarded far more quickly than he'd thought he'd be. He'd been declared killed in action in the Nibelheim mission- that much he was able to glean sometime after the one year mark.

He'd also dreamed of that town too. One second it was crisp cool mountain air and overly nosy townsfolk the next he was watching himself strike down civilians and set the town ablaze. That much Sephiroth knew wasn't a dream.

One of the lab technicians, a woman with a familiar accent, had asked him about it. Her friend was from Nibelheim apparently. Sephiroth had a hunch at that time, as their brief interactions continued, that she was her own 'friend'.

She never said a name and Sephiroth was too busy trying to not be aware of what she was doing to ask. Her presence hurt as he was forced into awareness when she was handling his maintenance and tests the Profesor considered beneath him by her constant address and acknowledgement of his presence. Her announcement of the days especially made it hard to drift- to lose his mind somewhere far away from his body among repeating dreams and nightmares far more pleasant than reality.

She was gone after two weeks.

Sephiroth had been fine with that as much as he allowed himself to feel anything. The blatant disgust that then morphed to pity when she interacted with him made him feel like he existed in all the wrong ways. When he existed his skin always felt too small and his metaphorical fangs too large and ready to bite something even though any ‘teeth’ he’d been able to sharpen had long been filed down upon his return. Sephiroth was only a decommissioned weapon here, kept around for further research and troubleshooting. The less he was aware of his state the easier it was to continue to draw breaths each day knowing he wouldn’t be allowed to stop.

The woman who looked at him with fury that melted into gut-turning pity, had given him an unwanted gift: Nibelheim had burned four years before her coming. It was an anchor laid in his mind, an unwanted point of grounding that disrupted him even further. He tried to push himself to forget as much as he could but he never fully pushed knowledge from his mind.So he let other parts of himself slip a little bit further and a little more out of reach to compensate for it. Eventually ‘four years’ sounded less and less in his mind as the days flowed flowed flowed together again into a meaningless slurry of time passing him by and never taking him with it.

He continued like that, drifting in and out of awareness and letting time bleed together as much as it desired to so he wouldn’t need to be there for it all. Safely away from the poking and prodding and even the gaps of nothingness in the dark that ate at what was left of his mind. Sequestered in the dark recesses of his mind, as much peace as he’d probably get the rest of his life.

Then one day, with the faint swirling blare of alarms in the hazy background of his non-existence, Sephiroth’s cell door is left open.

Something wicked and wild sweeps his awareness so carefully discarded back into his being in an instant.

He only has his enhancements and the fact that his cells do not die easily to thank for his legs not falling out from under him as he skitters to his feet. He has the fact that he was born a monster and will die one to thank for allowing him to break into a run as soon as the possibility of no more has pressed against the walls of his lungs.

It’s not freedom, he has distanced himself so far from purpose and dreams and honor that he can’t remember the sensation at all, but the animalistic desire to not be beaten any longer. Sephiroth had been taught long ago that freedom is not just being out of the labs but living . Even as he runs, tasting a possible end to his misery, he can't find in himself the will to live again. He does not have wings to fly away from this world in search of another.

He doesn’t try to go up and out, his returned presence of mind prevents that disaster. That is where the scientists have fled and the one thing Sephiroth has known his entire life with the exception of one man is that wherever the scientists are is the opposite of where he wants to be.

He initially plans to find one of the many holes ShinRa was always plagued with in their security. A place too large for its own good constantly springing new leaks as soon as the old ones were patched. Sephiroth would know. What feels like a lifetime ago he’d been one to potentially help patch them up. He skids to a stop as he reaches the end of the hall just before he hits a wall, the tile floor grating his bare feet from friction. The only thing other than the dead end is a locked door to his left.

It feels promising and there is a small intoxicating twinge in the back of his mind that raises its hands to reach for him.

He approaches a door at the far side of the room with a clean handle but dust in all the right places pointing to little use at all. The air behind it smells the freshest of the entire room though. Far too fresh a supply closet or something else stale and small so he rips it off its hinges rather than bothering with a keypad pristine from lack of use. The offensively bright screen flickers out, the taunting date of December 11th 0007 fades from existence just as he had five years and two months prior.

A passage downwards meets his gaze as he peers into the darkness and the bits of Sephiroth returned to his mind knows he’s found something more extensive than a pigeon hole for a smoke break.

The empty halls echo and his over sensitive ears let him know scientists are coming back to work. Sephiroth can hear the Professor’s voice above them all on the horizon.

He goes down, down, down- plunging into the unknown. It distantly occurs to him ironically that humans are meant to be scared of the unknown but all Sephiroth can feel is the blood pumping through his veins and his body moving like it was made to. He descends into the abyss as far as it will take him, an endless system of doors and corridors and broken electronic locks until he enters the bowels of hell he hadn’t even known existed.

Sephiroth is not surprised he was unaware, his information on the science department’s many playgrounds were limited to only the ones he spent time in. He had never been permitted to know much more unless the Professor was feeling superior and gloating about something or another. Sephiroth had heard many of those as a child and he’s sure have been in proximity to many ostensibly spoken at him recently. The professor never cared for listening or attentiveness, he only wanted someone who would nod and make the right noises to make him feel good about his progress and Sephiroth had that down to an art through pain or misery or leaving his body to drift since he was a child .

Then he feels it. He barely dodges a patrol of masked SOLDIERs with an insignia he’s never seen before, the first signs of life down in this place, as the yearn of going somewhere enters his blood.

He tosses any notions of discretion to the wind, a purpose solid in his mind. He has to get there, he yearns for nothing more in his turning gut and underfed bones to get there. The adrenaline revitalizes his mind in a flurry of fluttering wings and fire closing in behind him and Sephiroth knows with a surety he’s not felt in years that he has to get to the source.

There are more SOLDIERs in his way, some of whom recognize him and others who don't. He feels the monster he was born to be as the sing-song familiar comfort of something wonderful pulls him downwards more and more. Avoiding them and outrunning them is a simple enough matter and when that fails he snaps one of their necks and pushes his will and energy into the Thundaga the SOLDIER had been carrying to great effect. Masamune is pushing in on the corners of his soul, she is faint yet there and ready but he needs distance and as much as he can get.

Sephiroth grips the materia close, artificial and middling quality but a weapon none the less, and continues running. The world fades by him with nothing else drawing him then the promise of something cooing and calling and so unlike that Nightmare that called itself his 'Mother' in its draw.

He continues downwards, downwards, downwards-

Sephiroth comes to a place where the floor has been smashed away from the wall and where the underworld he finds himself in opens up to the promise of something greater than purgatory. He jumps without a second thought and falls free through the air. Even if whatever is beckoning him will not welcome him, the water below him will.

Sephiroth will not be taken back to the labs again today or ever.

His side hits the water with a great crash although he feels only a small twinge of pain from breaking through the surface tension. The pool is deep and he considers letting himself drift downwards for only a split second. Because the call is there again and it is near and sweet and feels like home in a way Sephiroth used to dream of having every night. He kicks to the side of the pool and heaves himself up onto the side of the cave. The surgical gown barely clings to his form amidst the motion, adhering to him once above water.He walks the narrow line out of the water.

His hair weighs down his neck and scalp tugging in a way that would have made the living Sephiroth wince. He is not alive though he is a wandering demon looking for salvation, deliverance, an end to suffering and would travel the world over. Besides he feels he exists in his body for the first time in over five years in a way that doesn't make him want to puke. His skin feels the right size for his muscle, bones, and sinew and after the slaughter up in the subterranean hell his fangs are sharp again and at home in his mouth.

He comes to the end of the line, a large cavern opens in front of him with a dull blue glow in the center and he is drawn deeper.

Sephiroth wades through the still water towards the source of light in the darkness. He continues deeper, uncaring the jagged rocks at the bottom that teeter the edge of breaking skin. The water reaches his hips at the deepest point before he steps onto the raised mound of rock, eroded by water for countless years. The great source of light that sits before him holds someone in it and upon recognizing him Sephiroth wonders if there were any alarms or open doors at all.

He wades back down into shallow water that only brushes the tops of his feet before he reaches a second rocky plateau. Sephiroth stands before the still peaceful body of what appears to be Genesis. He is different yet much the same with red and black and only missing the blue hidden behind closed lids. His face is a little older but he is vibrant and colorful even through the strange magic in a way that he isn’t in the nightmares.

That he hasn’t been since he was at Sephiroth’s side.

Sephiroth follows the pull once more and reaches out to touch the strange spell suspended in a crown of stalagmites. The beguiling thing in the back of his mind that has been pulling him closer intensifies. Sephiroth’s heart sings in happiness when his hand connects with cool magic that has the unmistakable hallmarks of someone he lost too soon.

Before him Genesis- and this is Genesis not some rogue copy he is sure of that now- twitches. Blue eyes that once captivated his entire mind open and meet his own green through the magical looking glass. A look of alarm passes through Genesis’s face and Sephiroth is sure he must make quite the unpleasant sight, sopping wet in a bloody surgical gown, but all he can think of is the man before him.

There is a twist of magic in the air and Sephiroth can only look up in awe as Genesis’s concern is consumed by fire inside the spell before dying down again to a blue. Immediately afterwards the spell glows the brilliant green of pure mako and expands slightly as if it will start to dissipate through the air or explode violently. He doesn’t move away though, even in the feeling of raw magic and mako taint this feels right and he does not wish to leave the cave for what awaits him in the waking world. Through the glow Sephiroth can see Genesis sink down, his eyes closed in concentration, and the old-old reminder to never touch a mage mid-cast is the only thing that keeps him from pulling the other man out and into his arms.

As leather boots touch the ground just before his own bare feet, supple gloved fingers pass through the spell and lace with his own where he is still touching it. Genesis’s blue eyes open again and meet his own without a hint of disgust for their strange appearance after a non-existence of that being the only response. Genesis is here and he is whole and Sephiroth is not as sad as he should be that the other man clearly hasn’t flown to the freedom he so yearned for.

“You look very unwell dear one,” Genesis’s voice is slightly hoarse from disuse but symphonic on Sephiroth’s ears all the same. The concern and care rest heavy in those eyes and pour forth from his mouth. There is a warmth Sephiroth’s never been able to quite place there too that fills his chest with a resonance. It’s something he hasn’t seen since well before Genesis had flown away from him and Angeal the first time. There is no malice or desperation or wanting something of him and his body like so many others before this time, there is only a slightly darker shadowed man he’d held dear but not dear enough.

“Last time,” Sephiroth barely manages to croak out, not even having the foresight to clear his throat, his days or weeks or months unused voice is like rocks dragged across each other. “That might have been my line,” Genesis gives him a small, tight smile full of attempted mirth as see through as the wind and brings their hands down to rest at their sides, still linked. Sephiroth’s mind scrambles through the fog for words thrown in anger in Nibelheim at the obvious gap in understanding there but Genesis and beats him to it.

“That is one way to look at praying for a death,” Genesis’s face twists over the words as they pass through his lips, regretting his own attempt at making light of heavy things before he can even finish it. Sephiroth’s mind is suddenly filled with clouded nightmares and visions of monsters in tubes and a name he’d been told was his mother’s over a door in the main chamber.

There is Genesis too, graying hair before he’s even thirty and vibrant blue eyes depleted of saturation. He wants something of Sephiroth’s body just like so many before him even though he’s the one person still alive, un-skewered by a sword he trained, who had promised to never ask such a thing. Who had promised that Subject S would always be safe around him, clandestine but ultimately meaningless words whispered after a night terror. Sorrow and Rage and most of all a deeper Betrayal than Sephiroth had ever felt take over his mind humming in symphony with the buzz in the back of his head. He wishes death upon one of the people he had once defined his world by and walks away. Someone he loved .

“I am glad you did not rot.” Sephiroth shoves the croaked words through his lips with far more effort than he’s ever had to put into speech. Then again he’s not spoken more than needed by the technicians and the Professor for at least a year now. Genesis looks at him, that warmth- a type of adoration- in his eyes married with shame and regret and precisely pointed lips turn ruefully. The leather gloved hand not currently holding his reaches up to wrap around Sephiroth’s jaw, a dexterous thumb resting in the hollow of his cheek.

“I do appreciate the sentiment,” His voice is as rich in adoration as his eyes and that is what Sephiroth’s mind clings onto to further leave fog filled phantom memories behind. “Still I could likely not have been more insensitive if I tried,” Genesis’s voice is quiet when he speaks again full of remorse and apology and resignation as it echoes off the water and the walls until they have both been washed clean by the sound waves. He is about to respond to accept the unsaid apology when chapped lips part again. “I am sorry.” Genesis’s eyes are bright and vulnerable and Sephiroth brings his hand up to mirror Genesis’s painfully gentle hold on him. His skin is warm and alive and sings underneath Sephiroth’s hold, his eyes glow blue even in the green mist of the strange suspended magic.

“I accept your apology,” The emotions he was feeling finally started to bleed into his voice as the jagged scrape on his throat faded to a slighter ease. He did not feel right forgiving something he could barely remember, but that was not the conflict at hand. The matter of Genesis’s initial leaving still hung in his stomach like a stone, the abandonment fresh in his throat even though now he was

“Thank you, Sephiroth.” Genesis whispered, the quiet words surrounded them though once more. Blue eyes were looking at him with so much wonder as if he wasn’t really there, the thought of this being a flitting place his mind escaped too passed through again. Perhaps Genesis thought Sephiroth was as well a vision from being suspended in whatever he’d sealed himself in…

The silence hung between them for a small eternity. Genesis continued to stare in wonder and adoration with a biting notion of guilt or perhaps even insecurity that Sephiroth could see creeping across the man’s expression. Sephiroth internally balked at the idea of Genesis and insecurity in the same thought before pushing it away since the tower of cards in his mind would crumble if he thought over it more.

“I’d thought,” Sephiroth broke the paper-thin piece and Genesis’s eyes were attentive and present once more. He wonders again even as Genesis is warm and hale and whole under his hand if this man is truly solid and real. “I’d thought you would have been able to fly away free.”

“A lovely thought,” Is all Genesis says at first, his lips becoming something far more morose and his eyes fading to some imminent distance again. “Though some things cannot be outrun.” Sephiroth watched as Genesis opened his mouth to say more before snapping it shut as he ruminated over what he wanted to say. “The price of being made whole was steep.” Eventually is what leaves his lips in a tone that is perfectly neutral in a way that is antithetical to every bit of Genesis’s authentic personality Sephiroth had ever seen.

He desperately wants to ask though if it was worth it. That part of him still abandoned and betrayed by the two people he’d built his world of actually living around wants to know more than anything. The more rational part of him feels selfish for being offended still because this is not a situation that has left Genesis able to be alive any more than Sephiroth has been capable of such. Still though it smarts because there is no whole-ness that can fix him and freedom is a thing he’ll never know again to the point where he’d projected fantasies onto Genesis in his mind the same way he did his birth mother as a child. Genesis flying away to freedom, abandoning everything to be whole and free. His mother wanting nothing more than breaking him out from the labs, someone who is not just willing but will rescue him. Sephiroth had always run on hope when under stress it seemed, projecting onto others what he wishes he could do himself.

He looks at Genesis’s eyes still far away and wants real hope that he can touch and hold and not just dream away about others living what he wants. The thought of this being a fiction presses again even as Sephiroth drags his thumb across Genesis’s proud cheekbone returning the ginger’s eyes to his. The intrusive thought is scrambling for attention as it threatens to escape the box he’d put it in.

“Prove to me you are real Genesis,” Sephiroth lets out finally, trying to push as much of the torrent inside his mind into his words. Because his skin and sinew and bones feel right inside his body and that was the most unnerving thing about it all: feeling right . “Prove to me that I exist.” Genesis’s eyes are alight with that adoration and wonder again. He takes a small step closer so that he’s pressed up against Sephiroth and their breaths pull from the same source.

Genesis’s eyes flash with the determination that had attracted Sephiroth to him in the first place, twin blue flames trapped inside a man. He breaks their hands apart and pulls Sephiroth down slightly, waiting to see if he wants to escape to flee somewhere or somehow.

He doesn’t.

Genesis presses their lips together and Sephiroth lets his eyes slip shut to mirror the man pressed against him. He mirrors Genesis once again and pulls him closer into their embrace. Sephiroth feels alive, and here, and real . His blood is pumping through his veins and his chest is singing in a most delightful way. Genesis breaks them apart and Sephiroth feels like he might devour him with the way blue eyes are boring into his soul.

He feels like he might not mind.

“So,” Sephiroth lets out, the thought that was meant to follow fleeing his mind in the rush of vigor. He feels more properly reanimated than the shadow of a dead man he’s been in the labs.

“So?” Genesis practically purrs back, the determination flashing and something approaching contentment in eyes that still hold a good deal of weariness.

“What are you doing here Genesis?” Sephiroth says, because he is here and Sephiroth is here and they both exist so why-

“I’ve a duty to fulfill,” Genesis starts his mouth taking a cryptic tilt. “I must wait for it,” Sephiroth was about to press further when Genesis reached the question at last. “This cave is simply a regrettable incidental.” Sephiroth can tell by the way his mouth tilts and his brows come together just a little that it is a longer story than that.

He is no mystery, he knows. Genesis knew when he saw him from whence he came. Some small childlike part of him that fears the color white still appreciates it not being voiced. He will not pry into something that seems to distress Genesis in turn.

They stay like that for another blur of past time, half in and half out of an embrace. The sparkling green light above them still suspended, whatever process still paused. Genesis’s hand falls to his shoulder after a time and Sephiroth cannot bring himself to mirror it.

The pounding of feet echoes from the far mouth of the cavern.

Sephiroth pulls himself further out of Genesis’s arms, blood rushing and his fangs ready to bite. Masamune is there pressing against his soul- she sings for him to call her as-

Genesis’s hand lands on his shoulder, firm and steady but not a grip. Sephiroth could pull away and face the approaching threat like his instincts are begging him too still, Genesis is not keeping him here. He turns to face the other instead.

“Will you wait with me?” Genesis says with a voice that is both confident and determined yet also soft and warm. Sephiroth knows he is missing something, some hidden message he had not gleaned but in that moment even the pounding footsteps of those who would take him back up to death and ruin fade away.

“Yes.” Falls from his lips, the simplest choice he’s ever made.

Genesis’s gloved hand casts off the beyond soiled surgical gown as a single black wing erupts from his right shoulder in a flurry of feathers. Perfectly coordinated, ever the showman when he wanted to be. He holds out a hand for Sephiroth to take and when he does he pulls the other closer to him as if they were dancing. Genesis’s feathers are surprisingly soft as his wing wraps around Sephiroth’s back, connecting them even further.

When chapped lips he’d fantasized about for so long as a living man connected with his once more it feels like he’s finally found home that mythical place he’s always been denied.

When they break apart, eyes meet once more before shutting together.

They will wait.

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