#punching the fucking air and sobbing and throwing up

[sugawara--san]

me when kny siblings 😭

[starktonyx]

Moral of the story - John Walker x reader

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Word count: 5.6k

Requested by anon: John Walker x reader based on the song Moral of the Story by Ashe . They used to be married with no kids, after tfaws she left him only to come across him during the events of thunderbolts. John attempts to reconnect with her as he never stopped loving her.

Description: You never expected to be blindly sent to kill your ex-husband, but when you cross paths again in looping shame rooms, it’s like going through the pain all over again.

Tags/Warnings: Language. So much ANGST. John being an emotional rollercoaster. Shame rooms. Lots of fighting and regret.

Note: This turned out longer than expected but I loved writing this (my angsty heart is thriving) I'm currently obsessed with this man so expect more about him.

Masterlist

John Walker liked to think he always had the answer to everything. Or at least, most of the time. His brain ran on tactical planning, constant gears grinding with strategy and precision. He was the guy who accounted for every variable, every angle, every possible risk.

But right now? He had no idea how the hell he'd ended up in this situation. Out of all the threats he could've anticipated, out of all the variables he could've ever considered, he sure as hell never expected one of them to be named Bob.

Yes, Bob.

The weird guy that popped out of nowhere, in a bunker buried in the middle of nowhere.

That clean slate Valentina had promised him seemed to be slipping from his fingers by the minute. It was the last thing he could afford himself to screw up, with all his past failures clinging to him like heavy chains.

And yet here he was, stuck with the blonde he'd been sent to kill, a phasing assassin, and Bob.

Middle of fucking nowhere.

"Come on Bobby, you missed legs, arms and torso day" John mocked him, as he pulled him out the elevator shaft they were using to escape.

But the moment Bob's hand touched his, the world around him melted into a black shadow as it shifted around him.

The once warm air went stiff, cold.

When he turns around, he's suddenly back in his bedroom. Those godforsaken walls he once shared with you.

He takes a step forward, his pulse accelerating, and he's met with a scene his mind only replays when he isn't punching someone, when it gets too quiet.

And the first thing he sees, is you.

The ghost of you standing by the bedroom door in front of him, arms folded tight over your chest like they were the only thing holding you together.

It was too quiet, almost, the only sound being the zipper of a duffel bag his past self had thrown onto the bed.

"You're leaving already?" you past self broke the silence, voice so soft it barely reached him.

You didn't sound angry. You didn't even look like you had the energy to fight, not anymore.

John takes a step forward, watching how his past self didn't even throw a glance your way. The prick was too busy yanking dirty clothes from the bag and swapping them out for clean ones.

"You just got here" you mumbled, quieter now when he didn't answer.

John remembered this moment differently. He remembered you nagging, picking up a fight. But standing here now, watching like some unwilling spectator in a memory he didn't want to relive he really saw it, saw ... you.

Staring at him with glossy eyes, looking like not one single bone in your body wanted to fight him that day. You just stood there, still hoping that somehow this time it would land, that he would listen.

"Yeah, well" He muttered, eyes locked on a dirty torn off pair of boots he needed to get rid off. "Val needs me again. You already know how it fucking goes."

A quiet sob was caught in your throat. He saw now how you tried to swallow it, like you'd done a hundred times before.

"I haven't seen you in weeks, John. Is it really that easy for you to leave me? Every goddamn time?" you said quietly.

And fuck, he cursed when he heard it, it didn't even sound bitter. It was desperate, tired.

He scoffed, and let out that bitter, dismissive laugh he always pulled when he didn't want to feel anything. "Jesus Christ, are we doing this again?"

He didn't stop packing, like the answer to all his problems was hidden in a pair of socks rather than just turning around to look at you.

"Doing what, John? You choosing to leave every time instead of fucking talking to me?"

There it was, the anger he remembered.

"Then yes, John, we're doing it again. It's always your need to feel important. Like if you're not out there 'saving the world' you're nothing in here" you finally snapped. The ache in your chest made your words feel sour as they left your mouth.

That's what got under his skin. He saw it in the way his past self stiffened, jaw tightening with that same goddamn temper he could never quite control.

"You think I like doing this? You think I like risking my ass every time to come home to this? To another one of your guilt trips?" He's yelling at this point, throwing the holster in his hand back in his bag.

You looked like you'd been slapped.

"This?" you repeated stunned, pointing at yourself with your hands. "You mean me? I'm this'"

He turned to the door then, finally. But not to deny it, or to apologize or to even spare one single glance at you. It was to grab a jacket hanging on the doorknob.

He didn't say anything. Just grabbed his duffel bag and tossed it over his shoulder like the argument was some inconvenience he could just walk away from.

He keeps pretending to ignore you when he walks past you by the door, but a hand pressed to his chest stops his getaway.

"This is the last time I'm asking you to stay" You warned him. The lump in your throat betrayed you, what you wanted to sound firm came out like a child plea.

He didnt even flinch. He brushed it off and kept walking, thinking he'd come back home in a day or two, bring some takeout and fuck it out like always.

"Jonathan..." Your voice sobbed his name as he made his way to the front door.

Yet still, he never looked back. And neither did you.

That was the day you gave up on him. He remembers coming back a few days later, your favorite takeout in hand, only to find a half empty closet, empty drawers.

An empty home.

And now? Now it burned him watching it from the outside. Watching you blink away tears while he was too busy being an asshole.

His eyes burned, as his heart clawed its way up into a painful knot his throat.

He snaps back to reality when Yelena calls out to him. All eyes watching him, but his were locked in the tempting elevator's dark void.

What the fuck are you doing, John?

They’ll see right through your bullshit.

"Im fine" He said, a little too quick for comfort.

But with a plastic smile plastered on his face, his mask falls back into place like muscle memory.

Once again, how the hell did he end up in this situation?

And because karma seemed to have fun making John Walker's life even more miserable, he'd ended up tied in a half collapsed gas station.

Hostage to none other than Bucky Barnes.

Naturally, he just couldn't help himself to mock Bucky's absurd political position. Though in his defense, the bastard kept gettting on his nerves. They already knew each other, so why was Bucky being such an idiot about the whole Bob situation?

So John did what he always does. He fucked around and, as usual, found out.

"Yes. I know you, John" Bucky’s tone was calm, but the hint of a smirk hid behind his words. "And you've made your choices. I know it's been hard since your wife left you, but that is no one's fault but yours"

The cruel words rolled out his tongue like he's been waiting to throw them in his face since he found him in the blown up limo they'd use to escape.

John just stares at him for a second, then his eyes drift to a particular paint chipping spot on the wall.

Yelena turned towards him, lips parted in surprise.

'I've got a gorgeous wife waiting for me at home' she remembered him saying it back in the bunker.

Liar.

Yelena had believed him back there. She knew a thing or two about John Walker, having read his file, recalled your name and picture being printed out next to 'affiliations'.

Must've been exhausting carrying that rage for two, was her first thought, but she wouldn't say it out loud. Not when he was giving her that kicked puppy look.

Cause he didn't shy away from her eyes, didn't say a thing. All he could do was give a small, tight shrug that said it all: add it to the fucking list of things I've screwed up.

Yelena didnt press further.

He was grateful for that, and for Ava being too busy bickering with Alexei to pester him any further about the matter.

But then, Bucky's stance shifted.

"Shhh" he hissed, hand going up to his lips. Alexei and Ava immediately stopped talking.

In a different occasion John could've laughed at the sight of Bucky Barnes looking like a guard dog about to bite, but if he was tensing up like that, it couldn't mean anything good for anyone. So he listened.

That's when he heard it too. An almost undetectable soft thump, but his enhanced hearing catches it. It was the slight creek of metal, straight above them.

"Someone's on the roof" John said at the same time as Bucky.

Everyone looked up. But before anyone could think about what it could be, the ceiling exploded.

The roof came crashing down in a cloud of smoke and ash. The room burst in chaos between shouting and coughing, debris flying everywhere as a smoke grenade rolled past their feet. All John could see was the flicker of Yelena's widow bites glowing blue as the haze blinded the room.

Then, a pair of boots landed hard on the floor.

He hears some struggle between Bucky and the unknown intruder, and then a thud of heavy metal hitting the floor. It must've been Bucky's arm slamming against the concrete.

Someone had taken him down.

"I'm not here for you" the intruder said, a woman's voice muffled by a mask.

John instantly frowned. Even with the sound of debris falling down and the fighting in the room that muffled voice sounded familiar to him.

"I don't care" Bucky growled back.

The fight went on, blows landing hard and fast. Whoever she was, was determined to take him out.

But Bucky was the fucking Winter Soldier.

John feels Yelena drop next to him, then what must've been Ava falling unconscious as well, as the smoke hit their systems.

"Lena!" Alexei shouts.

"Okay now, what the fuck is going on?" John choked out, coughing.

He hears the fight halt for a second when he spoke.

The intruder recognized the voice. His voice.

You recognized his voice.

Bucky got the upper hand at the distraction, catching your wrist mid swing. He slams you to the ground with a quick motion, pinning you down with his knee and pressing his metal hand against your throat.

You gasped, struggling, eyes wide with fear under the mask. Next thing you knew his gun was pointed at your head.

As the dust cleared enough for John to see the scene, his face turns to horror.

He sees the mask, and immediately knows.

You're about to get blasted into next week by Bucky.

"Bucky–Stop! Stop! It's Y/N!"

John broke his cuffs in one go, his arms fighting against the bent rod holding him back.

Bucky froze, confused. He ripped off your mask, and there you were, gasping for air. Still beneath his knee, throat red where his hand had been.

"Shit" Bucky breathed, when he recognized you. But before he could lift his weight off you, John tackled him to the ground.

The girls jolted back to consciousness at once. Coughing as they sat up.

"What the hell is going on?" Yelena rasped, seeing John on top of Bucky and you standing beside them.

"Man come on, I didn't know it was her!" Bucky snapped, twisting beneath John to shove him off.

You sat up in your spot on the floor, coughing, one hand still braced against your throat.

And then you saw him, that voice you heard. God, it had been years.

"John?" you said, voice hoarse. You wished it really wasn't him.

He pried his eyes off Bucky without loosening his grip, and half turned to you.

"Oh, you have to be kidding me" You curse, a hand covering your face.

It was really him.

You pushed yourself to your feet, ignoring the pain. "Get off him you idiot, I'm fine"

John didn't argue. Just got up and backed off, hands on his hips.

Everyone stared at him like he'd just grown second head. Why didn't he protest?

Bucky immediately got to his feet, annoyed, brushing dust from his shirt.

"So ... who even are you?" Ava asked. She was still tied up and this was getting annoying.

"Y/N Walker," Yelena replied, the name burned into her memory from that file.

"That's not my name anymore," you snapped, too fast, too sharp.

John's jaw clenched, eyes going back to that same chipped spot on the wall.

"Wait, you were his wife?" Ava asked, incredulous. "What, Steve Rogers wasn't available?"

Bucky bit his tongue to keep himself from saying something.

"Ava..." Yelena warned, voice low.

As much as Yelena might've loved to take a jab at Walker herself, she didn't, his expression had left a feeling on her chest that stuck to her more than it should've.

"No but really, where'd you even find this guy?" Ava pressed on, like the idea of you marrying John Walker had personally offended her.

You turned slowly, your glare enough to shut her up for half a second.

"Give me a fucking break, Ava. When you're young, you fall in love with the wrong people sometimes." you snapped, without even thinking.

The words tasted like regret as soon as they came out. And you knew the way John stiffened meant they landed like a blade on him.

His gaze burned the side of your head.

If he'd only looked at you like that then.

"Is no one going to mention she tried to kill Mr. Soldier?" Alexei chimed in, at least the drama was interesting.

"I wasn't going to kill him," you muttered, rolling your eyes. "I just needed to knock him out long enough to get rid of you—"

You pause, the pieces clicking together.

"Goddammit. Valentina." You muttered under your breath.

That bitch. She'd really sent you to kill your ex husband without even telling you. What is he going to think about you? That this is what you'd turned into?

"Wait–you work for Valentina now?" John asked, like the words physically hurt, like he couldn't believe that's the path you had taken.

"It's not like that, John," you sighed, suddenly aware of how many eyes were watching. "I was angry at everything. At you. I figured... if running helped you escape your life, maybe it would help me too."

He didn't speak, but you saw it in his face. The guilt, the disbelief.

Had Val gotten to you the same way she got to him?

"She told me she lost a facility to some rogue agents" you explained, more to yourself than to anyone else.

"Yeah" Yelena cut in, "Because she tried to kill us."

You blinked. And suddenly, it all made sense.

You turned back to John.

“She didn't tell me you were one of them."

Your eyes locked on his, for some reason needing him to believe you. To see the truth in you, if nothing else. He barely nodded, but it was enough.

And then, from the corner, Ava scoffed.

"Pfft... perfect family" Ava muttered under her breath, shaking her head at the lie he'd told.

It had been perfect once, you thought. The dates. The proposal. The wedding. The honeymoon. The house with the porch swing.

The high school sweethearts who got married right after graduation because you couldn't keep your hands off each other.

The partying, the late night drives, the making out in parking lots, it was reckless and "romantic", all that was okay as teenagers.

But running wild has a way of turning volatile.

And then suddenly you were grown ups, trying to build a life, a home, a future. But your boy? he only knew how to fight. Maybe for the country. Maybe with you. Maybe both.

That's what he loved, really. The fighting. The heat.

Screaming, slamming doors and then fucking it off was the usual. The real break? Was when there was no more yelling, the unbearable silence.

Silence in a home you thought was built on love. Turns out it was just paper house you burned out.

All that "marry your high school sweetheart, build a dream life behind a stupid white picket fence" bullshit?

Propaganda. Nothing more than that, a fraud.

You weren't perfect, you knew that. Maybe you were even selfish. But was it selfish to want to be wanted?

To want John to look at you like your company meant more than his next mission?

It didn't seem fair.

You thought you had your lives figured out. But then he was made Captain America. You were there when he went to the army. When he lost people. When the world turned its back on him.

But when he got the serum? It was different.

All that pressure. The eyes on him. Expectations he could never live up to, no matter how right he tried to follow the orders.

And he tried. God, he tried. But the weight of it all twisted something in him.

He started carrying it alone like he had to. Like letting you see the cracks would make them real. He stopped talking, started shutting you out.

And in the end, the silence between you became permanent.

So it wasn't the fight, the heat, or that stupid shield what got to you.

It was the quiet between two people who forgot how to ask each other for help.

—

It all happened too quickly. Even for John.

One second you were helping a little boy who fell, the next he saw you dive straight to push Yelena, shoving her away from a collapsed beam.

You barely dodge it.

But now there you were, in the middle of the chaos, standing directly in Sentry's line of sight.

John saw the way your body stiffened. You knew it. And he knew it too.

You made eye contact with him, just long enough to hold the blue of his eyes. That look, carved into his memory forever, like you were trying to memorize his face, like this would be the last time you'd see him.

He was horrified. He wanted to scream. He did scream your name so loud, so broken, it tore through the chaos and made the others flinch. But not even his enhanced speed could reach you fast enough.

One second you were there, and then the next ... nothing.

You turned to nothing more than a black shadow spilling on the ground.

John stopped dead in his tracks, wide eyes staring at the shadow where you stood. He blinked a few times, trying to make sense of what he just saw.

No. This wasn't happening to him again.

The ringing in his ears drowned out the screaming around him.

Not again. Please, not again.

It was Lemar. It was Afghanistan. It was everything all over again.

It was you, gone.

No, this couldn't be real.

He didnt give Bucky enough time to grab him. He didn't even think twice about it. He ran straight into the void, his footsteps so heavy they tore through the pavement, cracking it beneath his boots.

All he knew is that he couldn't fail at another thing in his life.

When darkness surrounded his eyesight, he crashed onto a wall. His ragged breath was the only thing he could hear as he came to his senses, and realized he was thrown into the same memory, that same room he had stepped in before.

"You're leaving already?"

Your voice behind his back startled him, and he whipped around expecting to see you. The real you. But it was your ghost.

"No, fuck that" John growled, marching forward. "I'm not watching this again."

He grabbed the shoulders of his past self who kept stuffing clothes into the bag like it wasn't costing him everything.

"Look at her, you fucking idiot!" He yelled at himself, shaking his body. “She’s right there!”

His past self looks at him with that same smug, distant, uncontrolled anger he used on everyone else.

John barely had time to react before he was spun around and yanked into a chokehold by himself. His arms crushed his windpipe like a vice.

"Should've done that when you could Johnny" Past John muttered coldly.

John fights to free himself from the chokehold, kicking wildly, clawing at his own arms, struggling against his own brutal strength.

He could feel his breath giving out.

"She’s not here anymore, John" You said, and if felt like adding salt to the wound.

This was it. This was the punishment. Watching himself ruin everything and then being choked by the same hands.

And then, it stopped.

The grip vanished. He collapsed onto the carpet, coughing, gasping for air.

The scene resets.

"You're leaving already?"

"No, no, no" He grunts, dragging himself up from the floor, looking around for a way out.

He spins, breathless. "Nice place, Bobby” he mutters bitterly under his breath, looking around like a caged animal.

He slams himself into the wall next to him, bent shield first. Nothing. The plaster doesn't even crack.

I have to find her. Where is she?

"Come on, baby. Where are you?" He spins again, searching for something, anything. A door, a window, a crack in reality.

His eyes catch on two mirrors standing side by side against the far wall. They shouldn't be there, they weren't before.

Both reflecting something different from what they were supposed to.

Two different scenes.

He steps towards the first one and sees those fucking pillars. The blood stain on the concrete. The day Lemar had–no. He turned his face away violently, he'd save that one for his nightmares.

He turns his eyes to the other mirror and catches the sight of an office. Your lawyers office.

He finds a silhouette across the room, watching the scene unfold on repeat. It’s you. The real you.

He puts his bent shield in front of him and pushes through the glass, landing hard in a new memory.

The crash doesn't startle you. You stand frozen, eyes glazed, watching the scene replay again, the end of your marriage looping in front of you like a broken film reel. Your back is to him.

John doesn't move forward, he can't.

He feels like throwing up when he sees it. The mahogany walls. The glass table. That goddamn vanilla air freshener like this wasn't the worst moment of your lives. 

The moment he signed the papers.

You were separated by that long glass table. You sat beside your lawyer, hands fiddling in your lap, eyes glued on him. He was across from you, beside his lawyer.

And worst of all, his past self doesn't look at you. Not even now.

He just sat there, head hung low as he fiddled with the corner of the page. Your fresh signature next to his empty spot mocked him.

He'd told himself that day he couldn't take your angry eyes. But looking now he sees the truth. You weren't angry. You were grieving.

Hoping he'd just meet your eyes one last time. Like maybe if he did, you could still fix it. Maybe he'd remember how he used to look at you, like you were everything.

Like he still had some love left for you.

The pen next to the papers laid untouched for too long. He was dragging it out.

"We just need your signature, Mr. Walker, and we'll be settled" your lawyer said. Her voice slices through the tension like a knife.

It made him flinch, of course she was in a rush. For her, it was another Tuesday. For you, it was the end of the world.

And for him, it was losing the love of his life.

He gathered the guts to finally reach for the pen, signed with one quick stroke, and tossed it back onto the table. The glass cracked where it fell.

Then came the screech of his chair, echoing off the polished floor, and the sound of his boots walking away.

The scene restarts. 

John takes a shaky step forward. "Hey" he whispers, voice rough. You flinch. "It wasn't supposed to end like that"

"You just ... wouldn't look at me" You reply, your back still turned away.

"I couldn't" He blurts. "I couldn't see you not wanting me anymore. Wanting to end it all"

You spin around, voice breaking with anger. "Look at my face, John. Did I look like I wanted to end it?–I waited. I thought if you just looked at me, maybe we could salvage something. But you didn't. You never did"

He can't speak.

God, he'd thought about that day a thousand times. About every way he could've stopped it, every word he should've said. But right now? that you're in front of him, sobbing and shaking, he was speechless, too ashamed.

"I tried to be there for you. After the captain America mess, Lemar, the government turning their back on you" You cry, remembering all the shit they put him through. "But you kept pushing me away, like being out there was the only place you mattered. Like having me wasn't enough for you."

"It wasn't like that" he said, shaking his head.  "After everything I ruined, the field was the only place I felt like I was doing something right."

You cut him with just one line.

"I'm sorry our home didn't feel like that to you."

The pain in your voice hits him like a train. His pathological need to feel useful, needed, like his skills still held some value, had already taken so much. Then he gave it the last thing that still loved him. You.

"I used to think I knew everything about you" you whisper, shaking your head. "But then you got the serum and it turns I never really knew you. God, I really tried to."

You wipe your eyes, and John feels the earth drop from under him.

"I know I made too many mistakes. But it was real" he says, desperate. "You did know me, you loved me as much as I loved you."

He still remembered everything. The way your laughter filled the room after he made a stupid joke. The way your hands always found his, in crowds, in private, even in your sleep. The way you looked at him like he was worth saving, even when he wasn't sure he was.

"We were never what they made us out to be" you said, bitter. "We thought we were in love, but we were really just in pain."

You lie. Because it's the only way left to protect yourself.

Because you still remember too.

The way his arms felt around you, safe, strong, like the world couldn't touch you as long as he held on. The rasp in his voice when he was half asleep, mumbling nonsense against your neck. The way he made love to you like it was the only way he knew how to say I'm still here.

And the way he looked at you, like you were the one good thing in a world that had taken so much from him.

But you also remembered when it started to change, when the look in his eyes started to fade. The never ending fighting. How the conflict just kept escalating, becoming bigger than it should've.

And it hurt like hell.

He wants to punch a wall. To throw himself into that void he'd seen earlier. He sees right through you, he knows you're lying. He knows you remember as much as he does.

And the scene kept playing behind you, over and over.

"No" He snapped. "We loved each other. I loved you. I still fucking do."

He points at himself with both hands, and that's when you see it.

A glint of silver poking out under his left glove. His wedding ring.

And that's what breaks you.

Because you can't answer. You can't admit you still love him too, not after all he's done. Not when he still wears the symbol of a promise he broke.

He steps forward, hesitating and you turn your face away, but he doesn't stop, not this time. Cause all you ever needed was for him to stay, to fight for you the same way he fought out there.

And now? He would crawl to the ends of the earth if you asked.

So he keeps walking, until he's in front of you. 

Your hands cover your face as the sobs tear out of your chest, and his arms wrap around you without hesitation. One hand on your back, the other pulling you into him as he rests his chin on your head.

Your cries break against him.

How could he have hurt you like this?

You don't know how much time passes as he holds you. How many times you heard the pen crack the glass. All you felt was the pressure of his arms wrapped around you.

And slowly, your sobs soften. All that's left is the quiet shake of your chest against his.

"I'm sorry" his voice cracked the silence. This time, he means it with everything he has left in him.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t.

Because what do you even say when the apology comes years too late? When the damage has already carved itself into the walls of who you are?

So you just stand there. Wrapped in arms that used to mean home. Sinking into a chest that once felt like safety. Trying to remember how it used to feel.

And maybe that's the tragedy, that after everything this is the closest you've felt to him in years.

And it wasn't enough, not now not ever.

“Please…” he breathes, his voice scraping at the back of his throat. “Please, just… let me try to make things right.” his voice cracks, it’s raw.

And for a second, you freeze. Just long enough to feel it, something you wanted to hear too long ago.

Then you pull away, not harsh, but before he can say more.

You don't want to hear it, not his pain, not his regret, not his late promises.

But his hand catches yours.

“Don’t leave me again, please.” His eyes search yours, desperate.

“John, you left me first” You shake your head, pulling your hand but he doesn’t let go.

“I don’t know if I can fix what I broke. And I know I lost the right to ask for anything from you. But if there’s a part of you, even a small one that still thinks of me when it’s quiet, then let me try. Cause I sure as hell think about you all the damn time”

You look at him, and it’s like he finally lets you see through him. Like he finally opened up the gates he shut on your face all those years ago.

“I was so scared” he admits, eyes looking to the ground. “Of all the weight, of failing, of not being enough for that shield or for you. And I didn’t know how to say it without sounding weak. So I fought everything instead, even…even you.”

“I would give anything just to go back to before I fucked it all up. To that night in the kitchen, when you asked if I still saw you in my future… and I stayed quiet.”

You feel something twist in your chest at that memory, the way his silence echoed louder than any fight you had before.

“I should’ve said yes. God, I should’ve said yes.”

There’s too much in you, too much pain, too much tired, too much history.

But for one second, you let yourself look at him. And it’s just your John in front of you. Bruised and begging.

And maybe that’s what love looks like sometimes.

Just the quiet, broken voice of someone asking for a second chance, even when they know they don’t deserve one.

Your throat feels tight, that fight in the kitchen.

You remember the way you leaned against the counter, arms crossed over your chest, trying not to break while your heart thudded like a war drum.

“Do you still see me in your future, John?”

He didn’t say anything. Just looked at you with eyes that didn’t hold an answer.

And now here he was, years later. Begging to rewrite a chapter that had already been printed and bound in the pages of your life.

You take your hand back, gently this time.

“You always had perfect timing” you say quietly, voice steadier than you feel. “Just never when it mattered.”

His hands twitch, like he’s ready to beg, to reach, to hold on, but you shake your head.

“I don’t know what this is anymore,” you whisper. “What is left of us, or if there’s anything left at all.”

His silence says more than words ever could. You let it stretch for just a second too long.

You meet his eyes, steady, unwavering.

“I need you to understand that I’m not her anymore. I’m not the girl who built her life around you.”

He nods slowly. He’s not the same guy who did that to you either.

You take a breath, slow and shaky, fingers lifting to the collar of your suit. For a second, you hesitate, then pull it down just enough to reveal a chain.

A ring dangles there, silent and gleaming like a ghost.

His breath hitches like you just knocked the air out of him. His eyes drop to the ring, and for a second, he forgets how to stand.

You still have it, you didn’t discard it, you carry it with you.

Just like he does.

“You kept it…” he says, barely above a whisper.

His voice cracks like a fault line, and your chest tightens because you weren’t supposed to make this harder. You were supposed to walk away and leave no room for what ifs.

John takes a slow step forward, not touching you, just standing close enough that you can feel how badly he wants to.

“Can I…” His voice falters. “Can I still try?”

You say nothing, just looked at him. Really looked at him.

The dark under his eyes, the tired weight in his voice. The ache of someone who finally understood the cost of his actions.

You bit your tongue. You wanted to say yes, that was the worst part.

And maybe that’s the moral of the story. Some mistakes get made, that’s alright, that’s okay. In the end you choose what you think it’s better for you.

Even if sometimes it meant to throw yourself back again into what once destroyed you, because maybe, just maybe, it’s the only thing that can put you back together.

━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━━ comments and reblogs save author’s lives, thank you so much for reading <3

[kannady]

more than gold

pairing: sylus x non-mc reader

summary: you were getting flashbacks of a previous life or maybe you were just going crazy. a man lingered in your memories, plaguing your heart and mind. and who was desperately in need of your help?

a/n: where the extent of my creativity ends, @silverianni's begins. wonderful idea, but a not so great execution. im afraid i might not be able to write it in the way you anticipated. honestly, im not proud of this at all LMAO. but ill try my best. heres a snippet for now. its very basic but theres a couple more chapters to go. and once again, i cannot express how much i hate how i wrote this. but then again its 5 am. let me know your thoughts or should i even continue it?

Trudge. Trudge.

It was eleven, and you had just gotten off work. Sometimes you liked working at the local bar, but most of the time, like today, it was a pain in the ass. One drunk customer refused to leave, drowned himself in liquor, and forced you to sit through his sob story about how his wife caught him cheating and ruined his life.

Sigh.

You almost knocked some sense into him. But for what? He wouldn’t give a shit, and you’d lose your job. Not exactly a win-win situation. So you hoped you’d see him somewhere else. And maybe today was your lucky day.

“Come on, sexyyyyy! Let me take—” Hiccup. “—you ‘ome.” He flashed a grin at a young schoolgirl who had just stepped out of the academy.

“No, thank you, mister. I’m quite alright,” she replied politely, trying to step around him. But he grabbed her wrist.

“No!” he shouted, catching you off guard. “You brats ‘ave no respect for the elderly!” His grip tightened, and he started dragging her toward his car.

Time to strike.

You sprinted forward, swinging your satchel hard against his head. With a grunt, he released the girl, clutching his skull in pain. She seized the moment, darting away with a breathless “Thank you!”

“YOU! How dare you—” He tried to throw a punch, but you dodged effortlessly. “I’ll make this short.” A sharp kick to his groin sent him crumpling to the pavement, writhing and howling.

Smirking, you crouched beside him, slipping a hand into his pocket and retrieving his wallet. Your brows lifted. He was loaded. With feigned innocence, you slipped a hundred-dollar bill into your pocket. “You forgot to tip me.”

A satisfied smile spread across your face as you turned and walked toward your original destination.

“Only you and this flower… can touch me here.”

A whisper, hot breath grazing your neck. Instinctively, you clenched your fists and whirled around. “Okay, back the-” Alone. In the middle of an isolated alley. “-fuck up?” You scanned the area but found no one. Just a cat rummaging through the trash.

You frowned, confused. You’d definitely heard someone, someone who had been right behind you, whispered in your ear, then vanished. You were a bartender, but you never drank on shift. So you weren’t imagining things. Still, this wasn’t the time or place to dwell on it.

You kept walking until you reached your destination. For some reason, your friends thought a midnight get-together was the perfect way to spend the weekend. A few hours ago, you’d have agreed. But now, you were exhausted, physically and mentally. And that eerie whisper clung to your memory like a stain. You just felt… off. Shaking away your unease, you stepped into the restaurant, greeted by laughter, clinking glasses, and the familiar hum of old stories, enough to drown out your worries for a moment.

You ordered dinner, downed a drink, and reminisced about the old school days. It felt good to laugh like this after so long.

Then you froze. The air turned to ice.

There stood a man, his gaze locked on you. Silver-white hair, slicked back, with a few rebellious strands falling over his forehead. His eyes were ethereal. Crimson, like wine spilled over snow. They didn’t just look at you—they pierced you. His frown was barely perceptible as he spoke.

“Before you tried to kill me, did you consider it’d end like this?”

Suffocation. Like the oxygen had been sucked from your lungs. You gasped. “What the hell?”

“See! I told you it was a bad idea. Anyone would react like that.”

You blinked. Everything was normal again, just you and your friends, eating, drinking, laughing. No sign of the mysterious man. But the unease lingered.

You were not okay. You needed help. Now. Were you overworked? Drunk?

Questions flooded your mind. Absently, you excused yourself and headed to the restroom.

Staring into the mirror, you replayed the moment. Was it a memory? It felt familiar, like you knew him. But you couldn’t put your finger on it. The whisper in the alley, the glimpse of the stranger. What was happening to you?

You took a deep breath, turned on the tap, and splashed cold water on your face. Refreshing. Maybe you just needed sleep. That was the only explanation you’d accept. You weren’t crazy and you knew that.

Then you straightened and met your reflection.

“Please help me!”

Your head snapped around. Another voice. Female, desperate. Not a memory, but close. Too close.

[shinig6mis]

stoner bf!touya isn’t the type to yell or shout to make a point. he doesn’t have to. the lazy smirk on his face and the way his half-lidded eyes slide over to you, then to whoever else is dumb enough to try their luck, are enough. everyone knows you’re his, no need to spell it out. and if they forget? well, touya has a way of reminding them.

he loves taking you to his favorite spots, joints that reek of weed and old vinyl records, where the lights are dim, and the air is thick with haze. you're always tucked into his side in your little dress that clings nicely to every curve, the hem barely skimming your thighs, and just enough of your chest on display to make his buddies stare a little too long. touya doesn’t mind, not really. he likes the attention you draw. it makes it all the sweeter when he throws an arm over your shoulders and leans in, murmuring something that makes you flush under his hooded gaze.

“look at you,” he drawls, his lips brushing your ear as he passes you the blunt. “so fuckin’ pretty. go on, baby, take a hit.”

you do, your lips wrapping around the edge as you inhale deeply, only to cough on the exhale. touya chuckles, low and gravelly, his hand rubbing lazy circles on your back as you double over. “easy, doll.” the words are soft enough for just you to hear, but the grin he flashes as you smack his chest is enough to make your heart skip.

and when his hand drifts lower, resting heavy on your bare thigh, squeezing just enough to make you shift closer, his friends exchange knowing looks. they know better than to say anything though. touya doesn’t share.

later, he pulls you into the grungy restroom, locking the door behind him with a flick of his wrist. “can’t wait,” he murmurs, backing you against the graffiti-covered wall. his hands are everywhere—your waist, your thighs, hiking up your dress until it’s bunched around your hips. his lips crash against yours, tasting of smoke and something faintly sweet as he drags his fingers through your slick folds.

“already so wet f'me,” he teases, his voice slurred and lazy, but the hunger in his mismatched eyes is anything but. “you’re perfect, you know that?”

he doesn’t bother to be gentle. his cock stretches you, the first thrust punching a breathless moan out of you that echoes off the tile walls. touya grips your hips, holding you steady as he pounds into you, each snap of his hips rougher than the last. your cries are loud, shameless, and he loves every second of it.

“louder,” he growls, dragging his teeth along your neck. “let ‘em hear how good i fuck you.” and you do, your voice breaking as you sob his name, clawing at his shoulders for balance.

when he finally pulls out, it’s only to watch his cum drip down your trembling thighs, his thumb smearing it into your flushed, sticky skin. “that’s a good look for you,” he mutters, fixing your dress and smoothing your hair with a smug grin that makes your cheeks burn.

and when you walk back out, your legs are shaking as you try desperately to lean heavily against him as he steers you toward the door. you can tell that everyone around you notices your swollen little lips and wobbly thighs. how could they not? touya doesn’t try to hide it either, his hand firmly on your ass as he glances back at the guys.

“gotta take my girl home. she’s had a long night.”

and when he finally gets you back to his shitty apartment, he doesn’t stop. the walls are thin, and he knows his neighbors can hear every slap of skin, every choked cry of his name. but he doesn’t care. you’re his, and tonight, he’ll make sure everyone knows it.

© 2025 shinig6mis | do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my work.

[carbonfiction]

Venom lends a tendril (hand?)

Eddies hips pump roughly into yours; his chest draped tight over your back. Not an inch of space between either of your bodies as your ass bounces back against him. A jumble of half muffled moans and mewls filling the air; eddies bicep cluched around your throat.

The lack of clear oxygen makes you dizzy and paired with the rate he fucks into you, breathless is far from the word.

"Taking it so well.. Our dearest girl.. So good for us" venoms voice coos out from above; the deep drawl a difference from the grunts Eddie makes behind you, his thrusts picking up and punching so deep that it makes your eyes roll.

"F-feels so good" you garble, pushing back against him harder, faster, chasing the simmering pleasure in your gut. Your eyes fluttering shut, an inky black tendril emerging from the back of Eddie's right shoulder. It slips down around you, contorting across your middle until it dips further; searching out the puffy flesh of your clit and flicking against it.

Pleasure burns through you as eddies hips begin to stutter; trying to hold off his own orgasm as venom pushes you into your own. "E-Eddie..vee- m' cumming, fuck!"

A choked sob fills the bedroom, tears slipping salty down your lips onto Eddie's bicep. Your sopping cunt convulsing around the length of him, body trembling in their grasp.

The feeling has Eddie pressing deep inside- until you can feel him against your cervix in a heavy prod, no longer thrusting but grinding desperately as he pants breathless into your ear.

Then, the same tendrils that had brought you to release also bring Eddie to his- what with the way they dip to swipe against his balls, seeking out that little spot behind them that has a broken noise rumbling from Eddie. Repeated expletives dropping from his mouth as he stills, cock pulsing ropes of hot cum into you with each pleasure ridden twitch of your cunt.

"Did so well for us sweet girl"

You hear venom praise again from besides you as you drop to your front, eddie pulling out with a hiss as he flops down himself; the mattress sounding disgruntled at the move.

"Love you. My boys" you murmer sleepily, Venoms inky face bobbing gently besides you with a wide, all tooth grin. Your eyes flicking from Eddie's to the white brightness of vee's, flicking a soft yet exhausted grin at them both, the tendrils slowly retreating home inside eddies naked form.

Something slightly different.. Is it anything?? Idk.. But i did have fun throwing it together?? Praying its not too ooc but lemme know whatcha think!! <3

[luvlyycy]

love can't change everything. [angst, the female in this story is not YOU, its his ex, toxic relationship, mention of death, part of neighbor!phainon au.]

"What did I even do?!"

"What didn't you fucking do, Phainon!"

It's loud in his ears, he could've sworn everything was going alright. He thought they weren't fighting.

"What— Why are you yelling at me?" he chokes out, attempting to grab her hand, confusion written all over his face.

She swings around with a laugh before pushing roughly against his chest, "Why am I yelling? Why the fuck am I yelling?!"

"You're drunk, honey. Drink some water, please."

She laughs, loud and shoves at his chest again, "I'm not fucking drunk. You're the one fucking other bitches!"

He sighs heavily through his nose, eyebrows tightly knitted together, "You always do this when you're drunk."

He's right. She reeks of alcohol, and her dress is nearly falling off as she holds her heels in her left hand, glitter smeared against her eyelids and red lipstick smeared on her cheeks.

"I don't care!" She groans out, stomping her feet as she leans forward with a hiccup, "You never come with me to the club."

"I don't drink."

"You'd rather hang out with Mydei, than your fucking fiancé!" she disregards him completely, leaning backwards with a sway. She stumbles to the right and he catches her.

She swats his hand away, "I don't want your help." she slurs.

He stares for a moment before retracting his hand, "You've been gone for hours and as soon as you come home all we do is fight." he whispers her name and she just giggles and points at him.

"We fight because you're too nice."

He doesn't speak, he doesn't think his lungs can even produce air anymore.

"You treat everyone like they're better than me," she huffs, arms crossing, "well, I have some fucking news for you. I don't want to do this anymore."

Every word feels like a punch in the gut. Like his heart is continuously being crushed, and maybe it is.

"There's so many guys out there who are better for me than you! Who will go to the club with me, and take me out for dates! And won't treat me like shit!"

He swallows, hard.

"I do take you on dates. I proposed to you because I love you. I'm not, I'm not sleeping or in love with anyone else, please." he reaches out to grab her arms. She huffs loudly, "I don't believe that shit."

"You can check my phone!" he shouts, frustration seeping into his veins. He can't tell if the tears welling up in his eyes ars frustration. Chances are they aren't.

It's loud. His face is turned toward the right. His cheek stings, and the tears fall freely.

"I already found tons of guys better than you, Phainon. Get the fuck out of my house."

He stands there, frozen and his lips tremble as he looks back in her direction. It doesn't matter if he was the only one working, or the only one paying the rent anymore.

"I said, get the fuck out!" she yells as she shoves against him again, "Get out before I slap you again!"

He can't help but choke out a soft sob, his chest heaving. It's like his whole world crumbled in one night. He walks past her, his entire frame shaking with each step.

He can't speak, can barely breathe.

Millions of thoughts run through his head. All the late nights, all the missed calls. The distant stares and disengaged conversations. It all makes sense now. He packs as fast as he can, just packing some clothes— essentials. He wasn't sure if he was ever coming back so he grabbed a few more meaningful things.

He doesn't know why she thought he was cheating, but he knew he wasn't. If she thought he would cheat then maybe she never knew him at all.

He doesn't know if she's still speaking, he can barely think. Phainon takes footsteps toward the door with one bag in his hand, grabbing his keys along the way and making sure he had his wallet.

"I'm throwing this cheap ass ring in the fucking trash too, bitch. Get the fuck out."

It hurts. It hurts so bad.

He doesn't respond, just walks out, starts up his car and goes to the nearest motel.

He doesn't bother himself with putting on the seat belt. If he died, he would gladly welcome any embrace death gave him.

The tears flow once he's in the parking lot, his body shrinking to make himself as small as possible. He yanks the ring off his finger and just lays it gently on the dashboard.

He'll start over. Everything will be better once he starts over.

a / n : i am sorry abt this one yall 🙏

taglist! : @httpshujii @lost-wicked-artist @lov3-ly @aloudice @blushho @aerithsthingss @rxstrife @whatamidoing89 @boycock-boycunt-boyslut @foreverz @emperatris-rinaka @monoclesnapple @panpanstyle @dyingsweetmackerel @stardustbee @diluxama @thebasicbword @comet-kun @killsxu @reminiscingthesea @mei-simp @n8mareee @qiqifruit @miyamizuna @ravinee @nico707 @what-is-wrong-with-everyone

[dolicekiss]

slight drabble ♡ about will fucking graham because im horny and he's the prettiest man i have ever seen and i think he'll fuck me good under stress

CW; noncon, dominant will, bratty reader, filthy unprotected sex, primal instincts, degrading, hair pulling.

Will Graham had enough on his plate, especially with the constant feeling of being a failure nipping at his core. He didn't need a bratty bitch like you to add more to that beautifully decorated plate, yet here you were. Using your tongue to spew out all sorts of petty things directed towards him.

At times Will would imagine himself grabbing you by your hair and slamming your face right down on the table. Bending you over and fucking some manners into your tight little cunt right there but then he'd inhale a breath of air and let it all go.

Too bad that wasn't going to happen today.

“You fuckin’ piss me off.” Will grunted, taking a step forward.

You smiled in victory. “Yeah? Telling me all that like I care.”

Will ran a hand over his face in frustration, hoping you'd stop. It wasn't like he didn't try to bite back his own quips but he simply couldn't. You were too tempting — he couldn't back out from putting you in your damn place.

“Did no one ever teach you basic manners, you impolite little girl? You're this close to getting it.” Will had taken another step while you stood besides the book shelf, coursing through the files.

Everyone knew Will Graham was a petty bitch but you, you were his fucking competition. They all knew it was either going to be you or him. You both couldn't survive together.

“I'm terrified.” You mocked, an ill mannered giggle slipping.

Something inside him snapped when he heard you let out that fucking sound of ultimate victory. Before you knew it, Will had slammed your head into the book shelf while his body pressed up against you. His hands tangled in your hair.

“What the fuck?" You gasped out, feeling pain blossom in the side of your head. Will didn't care anymore.

These were only the repercussions of your own actions. Will pulled you by your hair towards his wooden table and bent you over it, all while you struggled. Tiny fists punching at his hands.

“Let me go!” You whined, throwing kicks and punches everywhere but Will was stronger. He was rougher as he slammed your frame down on the table once more and held you in place with one singular hand. “Fucking asshole, let me go!”

His other reached to unbuckle his belt and pull out his cock. It took him a few seconds to pull up your tight knee length skirt and slide your panties aside to drive himself into your cunt. You cried out and Will groaned, feeling the wetness of your warm pussy drape him.

“So fucking tight and wet. Do you get wet by talking back to me?” Your tears profusely streamed down in rivulets but he didn't care. Instead he found himself to be enjoying your cries and pleas.

The same fucking bratty bitch who was now stuffed with his fat cock and crying from it.

Will pulled your face up by tugging on your hair, his other hand gripping your hip tightly. His hips snapped at a rough pace inside you and your cunt throbbed from the ache. Will’s cock had stretched your little cunt out like no other.

“Fucking slut. The whole of FBI should know how big of a whore they've hired.” He spat, the sound of his skin smacking against yours reverberating throughout the walls of his office. “Pathetic thing. That mouth runs a lot, doesn't it? How about you use it now, but for something better? How about sucking a cock, my cock once I'm done with your slutty little pussy.”

You could only sob, drool accumulating around your mouth as your mascara streamed down. Feeling his cock drill into your pussy was too much for you, especially when he hadn't even prepared you.

Will growled, his beautiful curls clinging to his forehead due to the perspiration. His blues swallowed by blown out pupils. A predator ravaging its prey. His cock throbbed from the sheer self control he had held onto in your presence.

But not anymore.

“Runnin’ that mouth around only tells me you wanted this. Christ, what a fucking cockslut you truly are.” Letting go of your hip and hair, Will reached over and shoved his fingers into your mouth.

Holding you from behind, he fucked you silly and you felt yourself choke a little from the way he was holding you. By shoving his fingers into your mouth. Saliva and drool covered his fingers but that was the least bit of Will’s concern.

He let out a laugh, feeling himself come near. “Yeah–fuck yeah. I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum inside this greedy pussy and then I'll make you walk around with it inside you.”

You were all over the place. Hair strands sticking to your face, fingernails grazing against the wooden table. Scratching the material and your knuckles had gone completely white. This had thrown you off the edge. You disliked Will Graham’s sassy personality but this? You never expected this to happen.

“Oh—oh pretty whore. I'm close, I'm so fuckin’ close—” Will stuttered, letting out whines now as he felt your velvety walls clamp down on him. His balls were hot and ready to pump you full of his cum, so he did. Loads of white erupting inside you as Will’s breathless whines and growls filled up the room.

Your whimpers and cries were drowned down soon when he forcefully clamped his hand around your mouth. He couldn't have you moaning like a bitch in heat for the whole of the agency to hear. Especially when he'd taken you in such a primal, immoral manner.

When Will was done, he pulled his cock out of you and spread apart your ass cheeks with his thumbs. Watching as your gaping hole spurted out white, hot cum. Relishing in the sight of it.

As he stepped back from you and fixed his cock back into his pants, you lost balance due to your wobby legs and fell down to the floor. Will stared at you, broken and abused. Precisely done hair now a total mess with strands sticking out, black smeared around the eyes and spit surrounding your lips.

Tears had stained your flushed cheeks. Your soft cries expressing the assault you'd just faced by the hands of your colleague.

“Talk back to me next time if you wish to get your throat fucked too. Brain dead little whore.”

[m4mmonthebest]

// Tw sadism, punching and bruises, homophobic slur used against cam.

(AMAB reader, AMAB Cam)

His interest was piqued to say the least.

Cam was never a guy of small talk, but he has a soft spot for you and conversation seems to flow on its own. You're just relaxing, laying down on the floor of the kitchen when you mention you used to do boxing in your early 20's.

"Boxing. You?"

You flex your arm and smirk.

"Hell yeah. You don't believe me?"

He puts his arm behind his head, and looks at you with that smile that makes you want to destroy him.

"I'm sure you can't even throw a punch... you're too soft."

You're being led to this, you can tell by the way he looks at you, the way his breathing is just a bit more erratic than before.

"Stand up then, and take it."

"Hah. If it'll make you happy."

He stands up slowly, he's tense, although you can feel the excitement coming from him as his face flushed slightly.

"Ready?"

"Just hit m-"

Your fist goes straight to his stomach. You can feel his body resisting your punch as his body curves in on itself. You can hear the air leaving his lungs, as he gasps and breathes hard, trying to recollect himself.

For the first punch, it was a rather hard one, he's slightly shaking, but he looks at you with a smirk. There's a bit of drool hanging out of his chin.

"F-fuck off.... that's the hardest you can punch?"

"Hands to the side."

He obeys, legs trembling. He's getting hard, especially with the way you're talking to him.

It was too fast and he couldn't even ready himself before you punched his lower abdomen.

"A-AGH!"

His voice breaks, he's panting now loudly, small pained moans escaping his mouth alongside whines. He's cowering on the floor, tears leaving his eyes.

"Stand up."

"W-wait-"

"Stand up."

If you weren't so hot he would fight you. If you didn't make him so hard he would insult you. But he can't. He wants to please you. He wants you to keep hurting him until he's a mess, crying loudly.

He struggles to get on his feet but he does wobbling a bit. When he looks into your eyes you can see how much he's liking this. They're a bit cloudy, and his whole face is blushed bright red. He tries breathing normally but can't help but just pant.

You hit softer this time, they're more like taps, but you can see that the two blows you did before have made the whole area super sensitive, as he twitches under your touch. You punch faster and harder each time, earning a choir of pained moans and sobs. Your last punch, not the hardest of the day but still quite strong makes him kneel, holding onto your legs as his back arches.

"OWWWW F-FUCK!~~~~"

He's cumming. He humps your leg trying to ride his high, but doing so also makes his stomach brush against you, which causes him to wince in pain. He presses himself harder, and he cries out loud, tears leaving his eyes freely now.

"Did you came just from being punched? What a faggot."

He looks at you with the cutest eyes, his eyebrows tight together, he breathes from his mouth as drool slides freely.

You grab his body, he's conscious but tired and in a sort of trance. You take him to your room, positioning him on top of the bed as you brush the tears and sweat from his face. You kiss him tenderly and he melts to your touch. Although the moment is ruined when the dateviators run out of batteries.

"Fuck."

You gently put Cam, now a trashcan next to your bed, and while you do you can feel how warm the metal of his body feels under your touch. You can't hear him or see him, but you make sure to caress the warmth a bit. Maybe it was your imagination...but you feel the trashcan move slightly under your touch.

You get on your bed and try your best to sleep, hoping the Dateviators charge soon. It's a bit difficult considering how hard you are, but you're okay if that means Cam can take care of it tomorrow.

The next day you wait no time and quickly put on the glasses.

You see Cam resting his head on top of your bed, your hand caresses his face and he jumps, getting startled.

"I'm sorry!"

He looks at you, and blushes deeply, he averts your gaze, rubbing the back of his neck. He moves but immediately winces.

"H-hey lover."

"Come here" You pat the spot next to your bed. He's in pain, which is to be expected. He lays on the bed and sighs, although his legs twitch a bit when you move his shirt up, revealing his bruised stomach, he makes a surprised noise, in between a choke and a slight moan.

"It looks beautiful... you took those so well..."

You lower yourself to be at level with his stomach and you can feel his breath become rapid, he bites his lip, not knowing exactly what you will do.

Your mouth licks and kisses the bruises, purplish in color as one of your hands puts a bit of pressure on them. He moans, both in pleasure and in pain, crossing his legs and grabbing ahold of your hair.

"Such a good boy.... you look great like this."

The teasing gets to him, the praising (which he's not used to) makes him pout, which you find cute. He gets hard, you can feel it on your free hand, which you use to squeeze at his manhood.

"A-Ah...hm..."

"You like it? Let's help each other..."

You expertly manhandle him, which just makes him hornier, your hands making quick work of his pants, letting his cock free. You remove your underwear, and press both of your dicks together, enveloping them with one of your hands. You like the size difference. How your cock is bigger and girthier than his. It makes him drool...

When you start moving he grabs onto your shoulders, resting his head on the crook of your neck. He lets out a breathy moan, followed up by a pained one. It kind of hurts to breathe. You feel bad for him, thinking maybe you should've gone softer, but you try to take those thoughts out of your mind.

Instead you focus on your movements, pumping you both swiftly and with precision, you've made him come undone many times and you know this time it won't be an exception. He leaves bites on your flesh and you make sure to kiss the top of his head, singing praises.

He thrusts into your palm, unconsciously so, but your words of encouragement make him so he continues doing so. Just a couple of minutes and you're both rutting against each other, your mouth now on his, tongues tangled as moans freely leave his mouth.

"Ah! That feels- keep going- please -"

He is unable to finish sentences, and the twitching of his eye and the shaking of his legs makes it clear he's really close to cumming. You fasten your pace, and with just a few strokes he arches his back, mouth open on a long dirty moan.

Your cum mixes with his, and you stroke him until he's sensitive in your hands, kissing everywhere he's able to reach.

You lick him clean, and he returns the favor.

You're both tangled in between each other's limbs, stroking his face softly, he melts onto the touch...

"I feel a bit guilty."

He looks confused at you?

"The hell are you talking about?..."

Your hands find his bruises, ghostly touches on his skin. He squirms a bit.

"About that."

"You shouldn't. I wanted it."

"I know... just seeing you struggle to breathe kind of made me feel a bit...sad."

He chuckles, looking at you like you're very, VERY dumb.

"I like it."

"Huh?"

"I like struggling to breathe." A slight blush appears on his face. "I like knowing you're the cause of it."

"....Is it the right time to say that makes me really horny?"

Cam smirks at you.

"I would be insulted if it didn't."

[mist-see]

Background check.

Cw: harassment within military, fist fighting (?) mean reader, mention of sa, older reader between the age of 35-40, female aligned reader, lioness program. Kinda serious- fluff plot line.

The 141 squad who watches the usually calm and collected captain of the lioness program in shock as she sprints over to the line-up of recruits, cream colored boots stomping the cement as she heads to a specific man who stared straight ahead, completely unaware of who was coming towards him.

Price immediately walked forward, not knowing what was about to happen but he knows it couldn’t be good, not when you looked like that, so angry and clearly on a mission to do something that could cause trouble within the community. “Whoa whoa- slow down Captain!” He says shouts out, immediately stepping in front of your path- but you kept going, your eyes going straight through him. Your target was locked.

“Um- Lt-“ Soap glanced over to Ghost- who was already making his way over to his captain in wide strides. “On it.” He said gruffly as he tried to assess the situation. What they didn’t expect was for you to keep running, your arm immediately hooking around John’s neck- clotheslining him. It happened so damn fast he didn’t know what had happened until he hit the concrete gasping for air and clutching his throat as he choked to breathe.

“Oh my god…” Gaz had to cover his mouth in shock, soap eyes almost popping out of its sockets as he watched you mumble a “fuck outta my way,” and stomped up to the recruiter who was obviously now looking at you with his peers. “You!” You shouted, your voice loud and authoritative. “Ma’am? I mean- Capt-oof!” You didn’t even give him a chance to correct himself, your fist balling up and landing straight to his gut.

Price- who was now coming up from the ground with the help of ghost and soap, gaz staring at the scene with confusion. You- you just punched one of the newbies in the fucking gut! This could cause your career- this could demote you and you could get in serious trouble- you literally clotheslined one of the highest ranked person in this compound!- and why isnt he doing anything?

Gaz glanced away from you over to his boss who rubbed at his throat, John’s eyes basically glaring at the back of your head as he watched you drag the recruiter by the back of his neck as if he was a dog- and throw him to the floor. “Should we stop-“ Kyle wanted to ask, but Simon quickly cut him off. “Naahhh…” he muttered through the mask, his lids squinted as he watched the scene.

The recruiter grunted in pain as you kicked him in his ribs. “You gonna tell me to stop, bitch!?” You didn’t let him answer, sending another heavy kick to his stomach, causing him to cough and hold himself, hoping to shield his abdomen from your foot. That shit didn’t matter to you, kicking him onto his back, a broken grunt leaving him as you straddled his waist. “Yes- stop! Please- stop!”

“Ask nicer and I just might!” You taunted as you landed another punch to his sternum, then another one to his to his nose once he lowered his guard. Simon gave his captain a look, silently asking him if they should intervene. The man below you trashed around in pain as he reached up to clutch his nose- but you punched him again, his knuckles digging into his already broken nose causing him to grunt out and sob. “Mind telling me what the hell is going on?!” Price finally spoke up as soon as you landed another punch to the man’s hands, knuckles clashing but it was hurting him more than you.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry! Captain Price please get her off of me! Please stop!” He didn’t want to put his hands on you, and you knew this- and even if he did he still wouldn’t win. You scoffed at his weak apology- the apology that wasn’t meant for you, but for one of your young recruits. “You’re not sorry you did it jackass- you’re sorry you were caught!” He knows exactly what he did- that’s why he was spewing out apologies over and over. He knows what he did was wrong yet he still did it.

Price didn’t know exactly what was going on. But he’d known you for a long time now, and this wasn’t the first time he’s seen you like this. So yes, he wasn’t exactly pleased about you clotheslining him or disturbing basic training- or punching one of his recruits and humiliating the boy… but maybe he should hear you out before he pops a blood vessel. “Get ‘er off…” he pushes Jonny forward, the mohawked male stuttering and looking back to his boss as if he was crazy. But he just gets a stern look from his Lt and captain, making him groan and stomp his way over to you.

“Okay- cmon missus Captain- up ‘n out!” After dodging your elbows and their hard hits towards his face as you landed your bloodied knuckles to the poor lads face and arms, he hooks his arms underneath your armpits and picks you up- surprisingly you didn’t fight back too much- staying almost unnaturally stiff like a mannequin as your nails dug into the roughened skin of the man’s arms. You knew you’d be in trouble for this- you already did enough damage and as much as you’d love to keep going- to give the boy as much pain and hurt as he caused your cub- you knew you had to stop and chill out.

“Okay- okay let me go! I’m calmed!” You shoved your elbow back- to which Johnny groaned and released you, you heavy boots hitting the cold ground as you watched as the young recruiter ball up and sob. Crocodile tears.

“What was tha… hm?… what the hell was that Captain!? You trynna get urself dismissed and sent back to Virginia?” Price dug his finger into your chest, gently pushing you further away from the disgusting man who cried on the ground. The 141 looked at you cautiously, especially Gaz- being newer and not exactly knowing you well. Simon-although quiet, had never saw you this angry before. He’s known you- known of you for going on 15 years and you’ve probably been the most level headed leader he’s known.

He watches intensely as you slapped prices hand away from your chest, that same hand you slapped him with now pointing directly at his captains face. “You! You’re a problem. Are you not doing proper background checks on the people you allow on your team? Hm?!” Prices fists balled up on the side of his body after they fell down, the creases on his forehead deepening even more as he glances back to the lad on the ground who clenched at his leaking nose.

“The hell are you talkin’ about…” his voice was a little lower now that he was beginning to put two and two together. As soon as you mentioned ‘background checks’ it was starting to click. “That motherfucking sicko thought it was a good idea to touch on one of my cubs… and before you say anything- I have proof.” Your jaw was tight, your toes clenching hard on the inside of your shoes as it took everything in you not to push past this man and stump that bitch out.

Gaz immediately caught on as well, his brows shooting up as he looked away from you and his boss to the man on the floor. He can’t believe he almost felt bad for the waste man.

The words coming out of your mouth was hard to hear, but one thing about Price- even though you choked the shit out of him and he wasn’t going to let that go- he immediately believed you. The older man swallowed thickly at this realization, a hand coming up to scratch at his beard- the one he knew damn well he couldn’t have. He gave you one more look- more like a glare before turning around to face the whining boy. “Get ‘em up…” he weakly motioned the boy to Simon.

“I don’t need proof… I believe you… take boy to my office, we’ll chat. Rest of ya, dismissed! You will be called upon at 16:00!” He shoos away the sweaty men, and they quickly disbanded.

Simon yanked up the significantly smaller male, his grip on his arm bruising as he pulled the chap back into the base. Johnny and Gaz of course followed, leaving you and John outside in the cold outside. “You know I’ll have to report this.”

“Do what you have to do.” You shrugged, no hesitation.

Your nonchalantness causes the male to release a sigh. Discipline was the most important thing to have in the military.. if you had no dissapline then you’re useless. The lack of discipline could get you hurt or worse killed. That boys lack of discipline will get him hurt. And trust me, it’ll hurt worse than your kicks and punches.

“You could get let go.” He tries to reason with you, tries to explain that incident could cause you your career, but your eyes were glued to the blood droplets that led back to the base. “I’ll walk away with pride knowing he gets locked away for a very long time.” Your stubbornness almost made him grin, but instead he shook his head in disbelief. His eyes went down to your sides, your fists so tight that the melanin on your knuckles paled. “She’ll be okay.”

“She will.” You spoke matter of factly. This wasn’t your first rodeo. You’ve seen this countless of times, you’ve been through this yourself. The military was filled with nasty men who lack self respect and dignity. But you’ll be dammed if the girls you trained and took care of had to fall victim to one of them.

Your sight from the blood gets covered from the jacket that belonged to John, his eyes still on your knuckles, his hand hesitating as they hovered just near yours. It wasn’t until you placed your hand into his where he comfortably brushed his thumb against the bruied skin. “You should clean up…” this time you didn’t respond monotonously, you didn’t respond at all as your eyes go from his hand on yours to his blue orbs. He was already staring back.

Instantly you swallowed thickly and cleared your throat, your hand pulling back. This was entirely too intimate for your comfort. “Do your damn background checks.” And with that, you shoved past him and headed off to your compound, his blue eyes watching you until you were nothing but a dot to his eyes.

[dameronology]

complex (logan)

summary: honestly i was just listening to complex by katie macleod and i started typing and this is what happened, it's only 800 words but hey-ho.

warnings: arguments, so much swearing, logan is kind of a dick

Your residual anger hung thick in the air like heat in the summer.

Your apartment was full of signs—little reminders of your argument, tiny clues to point to the hurt in your chest. The blankets on the sofa were still tangled from where Logan had slept there last night. There were two empty bottles of whisky beside a smashed plate on the coffee table, matched with angry claw marks where he'd made the wooden structure his victim. Most obviously, you and the man you loved stood on each end of the room and the argument, chests heaving from shouting and fists balled up with rage. 

"I fucking hate you," you declared.

"No, you don't," Logan deadpanned, "you hate me right now, but really, you love me."

"Don't," you paused, taking a deep breath, "don't tell me how to feel."

"But you're allowed to tell me how to feel, huh?" he challenged.

There was another strangled sigh in your mouth. You couldn't keep sighing. You needed to come up with something new. Yelling had never been your thing. Maybe Logan's, but not yours. He hadn't even yelled for this entire fight. There had been heated exchanges, sure, but even in his most frustrated moments, he hadn't dared raise his voice. He had that much self-control.

"I can't look at you," your eyes fell to the floor.

Logan let out a snort. "Can't look at me, huh? Can't look me in the eye?"

This whole thing had started because the furry fucking moron had said something stupid. Then, he'd made it even worse when you'd pointed it out. It was like Logan had brought himself a proverbial shovel and was rewarding himself by digging a hole. He was ten feet down, and he couldn't see anything, save if he looked up and saw you glancing down at him with bleary eyes in his self-sustained grave. You could have reached down your hand to help him out but it was too far.

"Fuck. You."

Your chest heaved as you shoved past him, shoulders hitting his with a thud. Logan had barely even processed what had happened before the bedroom door slammed in his face. The force caused a picture on the shelf beside it to fall, the glass smashing into three separate pieces. He leant down to pick it up, turning the frame over. It was a picture of you at Coney Island two years ago; the wind was blowing your hair back, faced pressed to Logan's as he scowled. They were sweeter times.

Logan glanced up at the ceiling - or the sky, whatever the closest thing is.

"Whoever the fuck is up, that's not fucking funny."

He stopped at the door.

To say his heart broke when he heard you crying on the other side would be an understatement. There was a lot of sounds that Logan hated; his ring tone, his alarm sound in the morning, Wade Wilson's voice...but above all, the sound of you crying felt like a punch to the throat. It was even worse for him to know that he was the one who caused it.

Logan didn't stop before he opened the door. He booted it, body crossing the room in seconds to meet you at the bed. You were curled up, hugging his pillow to your chest and crying into yours.

He fell to his knees beside you, warm hands pulling your arms away from your face and towards him instead. A pair of strong arms came to wrap around you and in seconds, you were pressed to his chest.

"Oh, sweetheart," he murmured, "don't cry. Please don't cry. Punch me, slap me, fuckin' kill me if you want but please don't cry."

A little sob escaped your throat. "You're so frustrating."

"I know," Logan gave you a small smile, "christ, I know. And I am so fucking sorry."

He re-centred you on the bed, organising the pillows so that they were behind you. The mattress dipped beside you as he climbed under the covers, pulling you back into his side. You were still glaring at him, still refusing to throw you a ladder down his special grave.

"I let my anger get the best of me sometimes," Logan said, "maybe I don't shout at you or get angry the way I do at other people, but it...it manifests in more fucked up ways, I think. I like arguing. I love riling people up. I don't like doing that to you, though."

"You did, though."

"I know, sweetheart, I know," he murmured. "I'm trying my best. I know my best is absolute bullshit but...I am trying."

You tangled your fingers with his, giving his hand a squeeze. "I know. It's okay if you want to keep trying."

Logan softly smiled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I love you."

"I love you too."

[iamyoursonly]

Childhood Best Friend (16/07/2024)

turns out my bakugo obsession wasn’t over so i’m writing him to feed my delusions because I saw this one line on tumblr and I had to write a whole story about it; i wrote this at 2 AM so it’s not the most creative hehe but bear with me

1.5k words — unedited

The thought of having a childhood best friend that you can keep in contact with really drives me insane, not in a bad way though, because it’s the kind of friendship that I crave. I have no idea how much time both parties dedicate to each other to maintain a relationship for this long, and I might be jealous of some of my friends because they have this and mine isn’t as ideal as I hope it was.

“Katsu?” My five-year-old self say, “Would you marry me when we grow up?”

The crimson eyed boy looked at me, holding out that ring pop he’s been eating for a while now and basically finished, “If you’ll have me that is.”

According to his mom, I went around kindergarten holding his hand and calling him “my husband katsu” for a while, and he was always around to protect me when kids doubted what I said. He’d beat them up or threaten them with his explosions saying, “You’re all just jealous that you’re not her, but too bad she’s my wife now so piss off.”

I was always around him and he was always around me, we were literally stuck to the bone.

“Katsu, someone told me I was ugly is that true?” I cried in his arms for the first time when I was six, and he rubbed my head and let me cry it out.

“Whoever told you that must have no taste, you’re breathtaking.” He says.

“What does ‘breaktaking’ mean?” I say.

“Breathtaking. It means you’re so pretty you take someone’s breath away.” He smiles, “I’m also beating them up for putting this nonsense in your head. No one messes with my wife.”

“Don’t beat them up though, please?” I look at him, and his rubs my head and nod.

This all disappeared when I had to leave to move away because my parents found a better job. I held onto his hand and begged my parents to let me stay with him and his family, he also begged, claiming he doesn’t want to be apart from “his wife”.

“Don’t forget me, Katsu.” I start sobbing, “I really don’t want to leave.”

“Can’t you stay?” He asks, red staining his eyes because of the crying he has been doing.

“I can’t, they’re not letting me.” I hold his hand harder, “Promise we’ll meet again?”

“Let’s become heroes together. I’ll become number one and you’ll be alongside me.” He squeezes my hand back. “Let’s meet at UA.”

“Promise?” I ask.

“Promise.”

We pinky promised before my parents shoved me into the car and drove away.

“Hit harder, you’re not doing it right!” My coach screams at me. “Okay, take a break you’re not thinking.”

I sit on the ground, stripping off my boxing gear then throwing them to the ground, “Fuck.” How am I going to be good enough to catch up to him? He’s gifted, hardworking and talented. It’s not possible to be on the same level as him without training harder, and I’m not even hitting right…

“I’m done, let me do it again!” I say to my coach, who’s wiping the pads I’ve been hitting. She smiles and signals me to start. I throw I few punches at her, then a few kicks, and some more punches. “That’s the spirit, young lady!” She says as I throw more kicks at her.

“Good work today,” She pats my shoulder, “See you tomorrow.”

I smile at her before packing my bags and leaving, stretching a bit before I take a taxi home to revise for tomorrow morning’s tests. I take out the small notebook I keep in my bag and start memorizing some main points from the book, “Mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell.” I whisper.

I manage to get a taxi, I get in and sit down and continue studying. After a while, I look out of the window, slowly rolling down the glass after getting the driver’s permission. Feeling the night air against my face, I start to feel home sick. It’s been ten years since I left Japan, and I’ve been doing everything he would just so I can get in UA. And I miss him so much.

“Congratulations! You’re accepted into UA high school, we’re looking forward to seeing you on our first day!“

I scream at this news before telling my parents and they were overjoyed also. They willingly bought me plane tickets back to Japan and even called Katsuki’s family to have them take care of me for the mean time, in which they agreed to. And all I could think about that night was how happy he would be when he sees me again.

He was not happy, at least I don’t think he is. He has this scowl over his face and he’s gotten so tall and buff since ten years ago.

“You’re that loser girl I hung out with? I literally have no fuckin’ memory of you since you’re so fuckin’ insignificant to me.”

Wow. He’s definitely changed so much.

“Katsu, I kept my promise, I got into UA and now I’m back.” I say.

“So? What do you want me to say? Congrats? Yeah no shit, everyone craves validation when it comes to me.” He says, “Congrats loser, for making the bare minimum to get in like it’s fuckin’ challenging.”

Okay he’s just rude now, where was that sweet old Katsuki I missed. So I just rolled my eyes at him and went to their guest room to settle down. In which Mitsuki welcomed me with a whole party that Katsuki was not happy about.

New school year, new me. I wear my UA uniform, ready for a new school year with more fun and joy every year. Until some weird guy stopped me and Katsuki on our way to school.

“Hey girlie, you look so fine you should be called mine. Wanna go out with me?” He winks, and I cringed at him. Katsuki full on glared at him, looking pissed.

“She doesn’t wanna fuckin’ go out with you, why would she downgrade herself for a fucker like you?” Katsuki grabbed my hand and started leaving.

He told him off for me. He cares.

“Why are you even helping that whore?” That weirdo asked Katsuki, and he glared daggers into him.

“No one can say that to her when I’m around, say that again and you’ll lose your dick.” Katsuki threatens him again and wraps his arms around my waist.

He turns to me, his face so close to mine before he says, “Let’s go.”

Since when was his face so masculine and defined. He definitely had a big glow up because how could one be so breathtaking?

“Katsu.” I say, “What was that for? Thought you hated me.”

“Still do, but only I can degrade you.” He answers.

“Possessive much?” I joke, but I could feel his grip on my waist tighten. So I just shut up and walk with him.

When we got home that day, Mitsuki made us fried chicken and some extra spicy mapo tofu (katsu’s favourite).

“Remember when the two of you got married when you were five? Katsuki gave you his ring pop after you asked him if he’d marry you and he said something like ‘if you’ll have me’? Oh goodness I remember it like it was yesterday.” She chuckled with her husband as Katsuki and I stared at each other awkwardly.

“Shut up you old hag.” Katsuki says, his ears red, “I’m going back to my room.”

Before he leaves the table, he drags me with him and we enter his room before he locks the door.

“So,” He starts, “What now?”

I look at him, “You dragged me in, you tell me.”

“It’s nothing I just needed a break from them.” He shrugged, “It’s not like I’m fuckin’ embarrassed of us or anything.”

There was a moment of loud silence.

“Katsu,” I break the awkwardness, “Can we like start again?”

“Like what, pretend that you never left me?” He says, his tone sounded like he’s hurt.

“I didn’t want to, and you know it.” I look him in the eye, and he keeps the eye contact.

“Missed you so fuckin’ much and now you’re here,” He puts his head on my shoulder, basically whispering into my ear, “I hate how you’re my weak spot and how I can’t properly get over you even though we were basically children.”

“Katsuki, listen.” I hold his face and he’s so close to me I could feel his breath on my face.

“Yeah?” He looks at me, features softening.

“Be my boyfriend, Katsuki.” I murmured softly, “For real this time. I swear the only person I’ve loved is you.”

He laughed out loud, “Thought we were married all along, wifey.”

I hug him tight and he speaks, “Don’t leave me again okay?”

“Promise.” I chuckled, “Also you need to get me another ring, I might have left the ring pop with my family.”

“You silly bitch. You’re lucky I love you.” He gently smacks me.

“And I love you too.” I smile.

…“And now, I pronounce the two of you husband and wife.”

Maybe this childhood best friend thing that I had wasn’t that bad either, seeing how we have two children together right now makes me smile at our memories together as a child. My breathtaking childhood best friend and the pro hero Dynamight that I could call my husband until the end of time.

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Angst with a happy ending, older Eddie, reader acting like a brat. Arguments then fluff. 18+, mdni.

🎀✨💞

Sex. Just sex. That's all you were to Eddie. Knowing it and accepting it was hard for you. So much so that you were in one hell of a mood.

And acting like a major brat. At first Eddie took it in his stride, maybe you were getting sick or you didn't sleep that good.

He usually had endless patience when it came to you. You had him wrapped around your little finger yet you didn't even know it. Not that Eddie would admit it but it was true.

Despite that your attitude was beginning to grate on him and he had enough.

Eddie loses patience. "What the fuck is wrong with you today? why are you so bitchy?" He's put up with your sullenness and attitude all day and he's tired of it.

"I'm fine" you snap, there's no way you could tell him what was really wrong. That you were completely in love with him and he only saw you as a fuck buddy.

Then that would be the end of your relationship and you didn't want it to end. You had grown attached to Eddie so quickly, you'd be heartbroken if your relationship ended.

"Obviously you're not fine if you've been in a mood all day. What the hell is wrong? Clearly I spoil you too fucking much because you're acting like a spoiled brat" tears pool in your eyes and you will them away.

"So now I'm just an annoyance to you?" You question him and he shakes his head, throwing his arms up in the air.

"I give up. You're twisting my words" you look away feeling your heart sink at his words. Maybe you should just tell him? Rip off the band aid or so to speak.

Unfortunately your mouth runs away with you before you can think about it. "You're the one who called me a brat" he rolls his eyes, folds his arms across his chest and gives you a dark look.

"Because you are! From the moment you woke up to now, all I've had is you bitching in my ear even when I asked you what is wrong, you don't answer"

Anxiety claws in your veins and you don't know what to say to salvage the situation. You shouldn't have been so moody, you know that but the argument had pretty much spiralled out of control.

"Well why don't I just leave then if I'm annoying you so much?" you snap and gather your clothes. He shrugs and his body language turns cold, colder then you've ever seen.

"Maybe you should" the tears flow freely at his tone and you kick yourself as you rush downstairs. You may have just ruined everything.

You were so scared that admitting your feelings to Eddie would mean you would lose him, and it was killing you keeping your feelings a secret.

Turns out that maybe you had just lost him anyway.

...

After the argument with Eddie you feel even worse and plan to cuddle in bed and shut off from the world just for a little bit.

Eddie had other plans. It isn't long before he's at your house, quietly letting himself in and making his way upstairs. He hated seeing you cry, it was like a punch to the gut and he was anxious to make it up to you.

He was also very keen to get to the root of the problem and why you were acting out so much today. Something was bothering you for you to act this way. He wanted to find out what it was.

Your quiet sobs reach him and it tears at his heart as he enters your room and finds you curled up on the bed. Hiding away.

Tenderly Eddie stokes your hair and you turn to face him. He wipes your tears away and sighs.

"You didn't have to come over so late. I know you're working early tomorrow" you murmur and he softens as he lays beside you.

"I'm my own boss. I make my own start time sweetheart. I had to see you. Couldn't sleep without my princess beside me could I?" He settles beside you and you smile.

"I'm sorry, I was bitchy. I didn't mean to be" he kisses your hair and nods accepting the apology.

"I'm sorry, princess. I shouldn't have yelled at you or called you a brat. Please tell me what's wrong? You're obviously anxious about something" you bite your lip and he waits for you to say.

"I'm scared" you whisper to him and he feels heartbroken at this. He never wants you to feel scared or that you can't talk to him, you can talk to him about anything.

"Princess, you can tell me anything. You never have to be scared of telling me anything" he holds you close and feels you relax. You still hide your face in his shoulder as you work up the courage to talk to him.

"I'm in love with you, I know you don't feel the same way but I just wanted you to know. It's killing me not saying anything"

Eddie is stunned. This is what got you so worked up, that you were in love with him? Did you think he'd reject you?

Jesus h Christ, did you not realise that he was so in love with you too? He'd never felt this way about anyone. It scared him how deep his feelings were but he has been planning to tell you for ages.

He just wanted it to be the right time and be romantic. Turns out he had waited too long and you were thinking he didn't love you.

That wouldn't do at all.

"I'm so in love with you. How can you not see that?" Eddie caresses your cheek and you feel all of your fears slip away. You snuggle into him and peer up with pure joy on your face.

"I love you too Eddie"

All of this angst and shit could have been avoided if you had both just spoken up sooner. Both of you make a vow that night to always communicate your feelings.

But first a lot of making up was required ;)

[yandereunsolved]

Yandere Spawn (MK 11) with a flighty darling—run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run

🐍ֶָ֢ Spawn isn't surprised that you are absolutely terrified of him. Having a hellspawn stalk your New York apartment and refuse to leave you alone is one hell of a scare. Still, he refuses to acknowledge that he had a part in intertwining both of your fates. It wasn't exactly difficult. You are simply a human—a mortal.

A little magic here and there and stealing your soul from your body and infecting it with a part of him also helped.

🐍ֶָ֢ You were a perfect Earthrealmer. Despite your need to flee every time he materialized out of thin air. He almost never spoke. He was like a ghost. He'd drop off groceries or things that you had been wanting to buy for the longest time. He'd sit on the edge of your couch and watch movies with you. Although he'd mostly just stare at you. It's a bad habit of his, but he just can't stop it. Your aura is so irresistible. Still, you would hide behind your couch, under your bed, or run out of your apartment and not return for hours on end.

So he tried to amend this by being as non-threatening as possible. He'd try to make himself appear smaller. He'd move something gently to notify you right before he would appear. He kept nightmares out of your dreams. The bad energy and entities that were attracted by him were never allowed within your space.

🐍ֶָ֢ You tried using holy objects on him! From every religion, you tried something. Some objects would burn him more than others, but he was used to the suffering at this point. Spawn would pluck the object out of your hand and offer his instead. You'd start fearfully sobbing and praying to a deity, or deities. It was more of an inconvenience if anything. 

He's already pissed off enough gods in his lifetime. He doesn't need one stealing your soul back and keeping you from him.

🐍ֶָ֢ It doesn't help that his K7-Leetha, and by extension his cape, have taken a liking to you. Leetha reaches out to you often, taking a hold of you. He isn't the one doing it. It's the parasite willing his body to hold you. He feels the need to emphasize this since you don't believe him. It's one of the few times he has actually used his words.

He doesn't fear much, but he fears himself. He fears himself hurting the only person he loves.

That's so fucking cheesy, he knows. It's like the plot of some stupid, shitty paranormal romance book, like his ex read.

It terrifies him. His cape will wrap you up and snuggle into you, feeding off of your warmth and energy.

It makes you woozy and panicky, only fueling him.

🐍ֶָ֢ You try to attack him, and he lets you. He can't help but chuckle at your pathetic attempt. You're like a cornered animal attacking the person trying to help you. It didn't work any of the other times, so why would it work now?

He's truly okay with it.

If it makes you feel safe, then he'll take some gunshots, punches, knives, and anything else you throw at him.

🐍ֶָ֢ Spawn tries his best to be vulnerable with you so you aren't as skittish. He speaks a little of his backstory, trying to make his voice less deep and gritty so as not to intimidate you. He asks you to call him any name, any nickname, just not Albert or Spawn. Albert has long since died, and Spawn has been through far too much to be loveable. He's just whatever he is with you. He's okay with that.

🐍ֶָ֢ The most important part is to hide his grizzly murders from you. You know he is a hellspawn and has some horrible shit and some good things sprinkled along in there. Still, his slaughters for you are sacrificial in nature. They feed him and give his obsession life. It makes Leetha even more protective of you. You make Spawn happy. You make his systems all fuzzy and hormone-y. That's how Leetha would describe it.

He keeps this secret like his life depends on it. You're getting more used to him. Why make you scared of him again?

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Stevie Fic

This is a Stevie first meeting fic based on this amazing art and concept by @your-unfriendlyghost Like most of my stuff its not betaed. Enjoy!

*************

Evie really fucking wants to hit something.

It’s probably a bad idea considering hitting something-  well, someone-  is what got her here in the first place, but right now it feels like her options are fight or cry and she really doesn’t want to cry. 

The bench in the holding cell is cold under her bare legs, her skirt not long enough to properly cover them, but she can’t bring herself to care in the slightest, despite the fact she’s sharing the holding cell with two guys, one a drunk sleeping off a hangover in the corner, the other a tough looking greaser she vaguely recognizes from school, who’s flicking a lighter idly, clearly bored out of his mind. Her right hand is aching something awful, knuckles all split and bloody, but she clenches her fist tighter, letting the skin pull back, watches the small cuts reopen and the blood well up, filling the tiny cracks in the surrounding skin. It smarts something awful, but it’s kind of mesmerizing all the same. 

She focuses on the sharp sting, pretending the tears pricking her eyes are because of that instead of the fact that mom’s here talking to the police sergeant but she’s still never been further away. 

How did this even happen? A year ago her mother was her favourite person in the whole world. It was the two of them against the world, always had been, ever since dad died back when she was six. Mom never used to have a problem with how she dressed or did her hair, never used to care if she made lewd jokes or chewed with her mouth open because mom’s own manners were even worse and she liked them that way. A year ago if any man mom was seeing raised a hand to her mom would’ve punched him herself, fuck the consequences or the injuries, because she wasn’t ever gonna let a man know she was afraid of him, even if she was. A year ago if Evie had swung at someone for a good reason mom would’ve bailed her out and took her out for ice cream, smiled her crooked smile and told her she was right proud of her and her fighting spirit, made her promise to keep it close to her heart.

Now? Mom’s so different she might as well be a different person, and if this is the thanks Evie’s going to get for defending her, well, she can fucking fend for herself. If mom wants to simper and smile and bend over backwards for a man who treats her like dirt and Evie even worse she can fucking do it. If she wants to take his side and fuss over his broken nose while Evie’s stuck in this fucking cell then good riddance. But Evie’s never gonna throw a punch to defend her again, not ever. Hell, she might not even stick around the house. If mom’s gonna choose a man she met three months ago over the daughter she’s raised for the past sixteen years, why bother? Home hardly feels like home anymore anyway, what with Dean’s clothes in dad’s old dresser, and his presence sucking the air out of every room. Mom’s art supplies have been shoved into the closet to make room for Dean’s unemployment papers, and last week Evie got home from school to find he’d thrown out all her model airplanes. She’d sobbed- she’d been collecting them since she was six, and building the green one was the last thing she did with dad before he passed- but mom just told her to stop acting like such a child because they ‘were only toys anyway’ and went right back to cooking Dean dinner. As if she didn’t know those planes meant absolutely everything to her. As if she hadn’t scraped and saved to buy her one for her birthday every single year without fail. Like she didn’t even care.

A fresh wave of anger rushes through her at the memory, and the next thing Evie knows she’s on her feet, her fist connecting with the concrete wall. She feels more than she hears something in her hand crack, and the fresh wave of agony is definitely similar to when she broke her arm back in kindergarten, but she doesn’t even care. It feels good. She wants to hit something. She wants to hurt. She wants to throw punches the way her mother taught her in the hopes they will somehow help her forget said mother’s betrayal.

“Hey!” A cop with cropped brown hair raps on the cell door with his baton so hard the bars rattle, “knock it off!”

She glares at him for a second but drops back onto the bench. She tells herself it’s because she really does want to get out of here, preferably today, but deep down she knows it’s because the man’s cold eyes and the way he swings the baton make it clear he’d be all too happy to use it on her. 

“Crazy bitch,” she hears him mutter as he walks off,and she stiffens, suddenly wishing she’d spit on him while she had the chance. 

“What’d you expect?” A different voice answers, “These greasy chics are all the same. Wild as rabid dogs.”

A snicker. “And they dress just as poorly. My Adeline ever stepped outta the house wearing something like that she’d never be allowed back in.”

Their voices fade, getting reabsorbed into the racket of the precinct, but there words have already sunk into her skin, leaving cuts under her surface, making a home in the piece of her thats hates herself. She shivers a bit, hugging her jacket tighter around herself, and glowers at the linoleum floor, pointedly ignoring the prickling uncomfortable feeling of being watched. Between her outburst and the cop’s shouting it’s little wonder half the precinct is staring, but she refuses to give them the satisfaction of meeting any of their gazes. Besides, it’s not like she isn’t already used to being looked at like she’s a freak.

“--I mean?” Evie recognizes Dean’s voice easily, even over the din of the rest of the station, conspicuous due to its deep cadence and domineering tone, “that’s not normal behaviour, nice girls don’t do that. I really think I oughta press charges.”

Her head snaps up and she glares at him, snarling, despite the fact he’s pretending to ignore her. Even if he doesn’t see it, mom will, will know that Evie is nothing short of genuine in her hatred, that she regrets nothing. 

Besides, she knows the threat is an empty one anyway. Dean talks a good game but he knows better than to actually press charges for something like this. The cops hadn’t dragged Evieout for her side of the story yet and they’d been all too happy to put her in handcuffs- Dean’s ruined shirt and self righteous anger when he stormed in here had seen to that- but when she does get a chance to speak she’ll be all too happy to explain why she punched him in the first place, and that probably won’t go over too well with a judge.

Of course, mom could always lie for him, rendering her whole defense useless. But Evie’s trying not to think about that. Surely mom still loves her somewhere. Surely she won’t let her own daughter go to the cooler for a half baked crime even if she doesn’t. 

Right?

“It’s those friends of hers,” mom defends, letting out a trilling, fake laugh, smiling as placatingly as possible at Dean and the cop they’re sitting across from. Her eyes dart towards Evie's and away so fast she’s half convinced she imagined it, “they’re such terrible influences. She didn’t mean it.”

“She broke my nose.”

And I'd do it again, asshole, Evie thinks. Her hand is killing her, but if it wasn’t she’d have clenched her fist at the mere thought. That was the one upside of this whole situation: she’d finally been able to do what she’d been wanting to do for months. She’ll be dreaming of the satisfying crunch Dean’s nose had made when she deviated his septum for weeks. 

“She’s your daughter,” Dean continues, “Don’t you think she ought to be punished?”

“Of course I do,” mom simpers, cosying into Dean’s side, gazing up at him with such a sickeningly sweet look Evie wants to vomit,  “But don’t you think pressing charges is a little harsh? I mean, she’s never done anything like this before.”

“Well you have to do something, Caroline, she’s out of control. Talking back, giving me attitude, not listening to you either-”

He keeps going but Evie tunes him out, done listening to his bitching, God knows she already hears enough of it at home. She hates that he’s here, that he lives with them, that he’s ruined every good thing in her life. She hates the way mom looks at him. 

Most of all she hates that she only swung at him once. 

The guy across from her with the lighter is still flicking it rhythmically, the clicking sound oddly sharp, distinguishable even over the overlapping conversations in the precinct itself, but its owner doesn’t seem so bored anymore. In fact, he keeps glancing over at her and then quickly looking away every time their eyes meet. She has half a mind to tell him he’s gonna waste all the gas in his lighter if he keeps it up, or maybe offer him a cigarette in exchange for a light, but she figures the boys in blue might decide to take some issue with that and she isn’t about to get a full pack of marlboros confiscated when she only just bought them.

“Fine!” Dean is suddenly looking right at her, voice rising above the precinct for real this time, “I won’t press charges this time, but I’m sure as hell not paying her bail. She can rot here as far as I’m concerned.”

The rage is a tidal wave bursting through a dam, all consuming and back full force before she can even blink

“Like you could pay it anyway, asshole!” Her unbroken hand is slamming into the bars and he should be grateful for it because it’s the only standing between him and Evie wringing his thick neck, “Last I checked you were a broke, unemployed loser spending my mom’s hard earned money because youre too much much of a fuck up to have a single cent to your own name!”

He sneers, cruelly, but doesn’t rise to the bait. She’ll catch it for sure next time she’s in the house, and he’ll probably find something of hers to break in the meantime, but for the moment he manages to hold himself together.

“Enjoy the holding cell Evelyn.”

“Seriously?” She turns to mom, half desperate, half pleading, knowing it won’t make a difference and hoping foolishly, childishly, that it will anyway, “You’re just going to let him leave me here?”

“Evie-”

“You’re my mom.” Her voice breaks.

Mom flinches, but she hides it well. Evie notices, because she knows her tells, knows the slight trick of her left eye is her way of hiding heartbreak, just like she knows mom never really got over losing dad as much as she always tried to convince herself she did, knows Dean saw the loneliness that festered in mom’s heart and twisted it to his advantage. She knows that mom is strong in some ways but not all of them and that a part of her has given up. She just hadn’t realized until now that the part of her that gave up had given up on Evie.

“I did it for you,” her voice is shaking, and Dean could be screaming and the precinct could be burning around them and it wouldn’t matter because all she can see right now is her mother’s apologetic brown eyes and the fact that she has let her down for the last time, “for you. Not for me. And this is the thanks I get?”

“I’m sorry,” mom whispers, shame twisting her features, “but- but you did a bad thing Evie, and-and we don’t really have the money for bail right now anyway. They’ll only hold you for a day or two anyway and then you can come home and we’ll figure this out, the three of us.”

“Come home?” She can’t help the scoff that forces its way out of her throat, “You think you can leave me here, after everything, and I’ll just come home like nothing happened?”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Try me.”

“Dean’s right,” mom shakes herself and the glimpse of her true self is gone, replaced by the shell of a woman filled with Dean’s slimy thoughts, “you need a few days to cool down. You’re impossible to talk to right now.”

“Imagine how much more impossible to talk to I’ll be when I'm gone and your sack of human shit boyfriend won’t even let you try to find me!” Evie yells at her retreating back, “Huh? Huh, you fucking bitch! Fuck. You.” She punctuates the last two words with a weak rap against the bars, but as suddenly as her anger overtook her it has drained away, leaving nothing but misery in its wake.

The brown haired cop doesn’t have to rap on the bars this time to make her behave. She slinks back to the bench, a woman defeated. 

She doesn’t cry, but it’s a near thing. In fact, she still might. It’s taking a lot of harsh blinking and biting the inside of her cheek to keep the tears from falling, but she refuses to crumple here, to be weak in front of a room full of men who have already seen her humiliated and powerless, men who have actively participated in making her that way. They will not get the victory of seeing her cry too. They won’t. 

“Here,” suddenly the boy with the lighter is next to her, holding out a stained, but soft looking rag. She must have stared at him a beat too long because he clears his throat awkwardly, cheeks reddening ever so slightly, “for your hand.”

“Oh,” she’d all but forgot about her split knuckles and probably broken ring finger, but when she looks down she can see that it’s started to swell something awful, which has in turn increased how much she’s bleeding, “thanks.”

She struggles to wrap the rag clumsily around her knuckles. Without meaning to she makes the mistake of accidentally twitching her broken finger and drops the rag with a hiss, instinctively cradling her hand closer to her chest.

“Here, let me- I mean- I can wrap your hand for you? If you want?” Lighter guy offers. He’s endearingly awkward, and, Evie has to admit, kind of cute, with his thick dark hair and glowing bronze skin. He looks about as rough as most guys from their side of town, intimidating with his leather jacket and seemingly instinctual scowl, but he doesn’t seem scary. Not really. Not when he’s this kind.

Wordlessly she holds out her hand and he takes her wrist with a gentleness that’s unprecedented from such large callused hands, clearly used to hard work, as he carefully threads the cloth over and around her knuckles, covering most of the cuts without tying anything too tightly.

She’s almost disappointed when he pulls away.

“You’re real good at that.”

“Yeah well,” he grins, suddenly roguish and Evie can see how he could be mean if he wanted to, “it’s not exactly my first time bandaging bruised knuckles. Might be my first time bandaging them on a girl though.”

“Oh yeah?” Despite her misery she can feel a smile tugging at the corner of her own lips.

He nods. “You oughta join a rumble sometime, looks like that right hook of yours does some real damage.”

“He deserved it!” Evie snaps. 

“Looked like it,” The boy agrees, holding up his hands in surrender. He’s quiet for a minute, then adds, “Sounded like it too.”

Something about the way he says it makes her pause.

“He was gonna hit my mom,” she admits, shivering at the memory of Dean’s rage and the way mom had tensed, hands flying up to shield her face. She’d said after, when Dean was still screaming and everything had gone to shit that he’d never done it before, but her reaction had told Evie otherwise. “He was standin’ over her and I could see him pulling back and in that moment it felt like my options were hit or be hit. So I punched him.”

“Tuff.”

Evie blinks. “Ya think?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “I really do.”

Something in her chest relaxes at that, at not only his non judgemental assessment of her actions but his clear approval of them. She hadn’t realized how much she needed someone on her side until now.

She looks at him, really looks at him. Aside from his thick hair and smooth skin, he’s got slightly crooked teeth and a strong nose. His eyes are angry, but righteously so, not cruelly so, and there is kindness hidden in the curve of his cheek and the calluses of his hands.

“You’re Steve, right? I’ve seen you around school before with that friend of yours. The blond one.”

“Sodapop, yeah,” He gives her an odd look, slightly pleased but clearly taken aback, “I gotta be honest, I’m not used to people knowing my name and not his.”

“Oh,” It’s her turn to blush, “well, I-I guess he never really made much of an impression on me.”

“Well since you seem to know my name, does that mean I made an impression on you?” 

“No,” her cheeks are burning and she doesn’t sound convincing, even to herself, but if she’d seen Steve Randle doing pull ups when she walked past the boys gym class once and made a point of learning his name, that’s no one's business but her own. It didn’t have to mean anything. It didn’t mean anything before now. “Shut up.”

He laughs, and she should probably be annoyed because he’s definitely teasing her but it’s such a nice sound, carefree and inherently defiant, that it’s hard to do anything but enjoy it.

“Someone call for a jailbreak?” 

Before Steve can properly answer they’re interrupted.

Speak of the devil, Evie thinks, silently cursing Sodapop as he grins through the bars at Steve, flanked by an older boy wearing ascuffed letterman jacket and the brown haired cop from earlier. He couldn’t have waited to get here just a few minutes longer?

“Took you long enough,” Steve rises fluidly to his feet as the cop unlocks the cell, and nods at the other boy, “Hey superman. What’re you doin’ here?”

“Gotta be over 18 to bail someone out Steve-o,” Sodapop singsongs, before the older boy can get a word in, “an’ I figured you wouldn’t want me gettin’ mom or dad involved unless I had to.”

“Thanks man,” Steve pulls them each into one of those odd half hugs boys do, clapping the big one called Superman on the shoulder as he pulls away, “speaking of, any chance you’d be willing to sign for one more person? I’ll pay the bail, I just need your signature.”

He looks over his shoulder expectantly and Evie realizes with a start that he means bail for her.

“What? No! Steve you guys can’t- I don’t got the scratch to pay you back-”

“Well I ain’t about to leave you here by your lonesome all night, and it don’t seem like your mom’s fixing to come back anytime soon. Darry here won’t mind signin’ the papers since I’m vouchin’ for you.”

‘’Course not.” The older boy agrees.

Evie bites her lip, considering. She really, really doesn’t want to stay here, especially without Steve for company, but she also doesn’t have the funds to pay him back.

“I really can’t pay you back-”

“Listen, if you really wanna pay me back you could agree to go out on a date with me?“

“O-oh,” she smiles down at her feet, “I- yeah, I’d love to.”

“Really?”

He really shouldn’t sound so shocked. She’d basically been the one to admit to liking him, after all.

“Yeah. Really really.”

“I’m Evie by the way,” she tells him as she and Steve walk side by side out of the precinct, realizing she has yet to introduce herself, despite how long they’ve been talking.

“Oh,” Steve's grin is playful, “I know. I make a point of learning the names of pretty girls.”

“I guess I must’ve made an impression on you too, huh?”

He gently takes her non broken hand in his, twining their fingers together.

‘Yeah,” he agrees, “I guess so.”

[0asisbliss]

Darling why run?

Pt.2

Parings: Yandere!Chrollo x Cubby fem!Reader

TW: Kidnap, mentions of torture, other dark shit.

A/N: Sorry for any spelling errors. Pt.3 since you guys asked for this first.

You sat there in silence trying to concentrate on the door. Waiting for it to open. You needed to get out. The rusted old chains on your leg felt itchy, and you could no longer feel the weight of them because of how tight they were. The beating image of your friend still stuck in your head. It was horrifying. Your face still hasn’t changed. That same nonchalant expression that you had when she was asking you to put her out of her misery.

You play her screams over and over again in your head. Your head. It’s beginning to hurt. Though you try to ignore the pain. The door still hasn’t opened. You estimate it’s been two days since Chrollo left you to rot in the of the home you once loved so much. Chrollo had it all why would he throw it away like that? To ruin your life? Traumatize you? Did he no longer love you? Maybe, just maybe this all a little sick game to Chrollo. He probably found joy in your suffering.

You stopped looking at the door and stared at your legs. Could you still even walk? You were in pain, and you were really hungry.

You heard a creaking sound come from the door. It must have opened. Chrollo came into room with a plate of food and a glass of water.

The fucking nerve.

“Get. The. Hell. Out.” You muttered quietly, but harsh enough for him to hear. You were tired of being quiet you hated being down here, you hated being chained, and you even hated him.

“Darling, maybe you should eat hm?”

Chrollo sat the plate beside your hand. Even in your hungry state you refused the food from him to demonstrate your hatred and sorrow. You looked at it, and threw it on the ground. The glass plate shattering, and food plastering the floor.

Tears started to well at your eyes as you began to cry. Your sobs turned into screams. Chrollo sat beside you and rubbed circles on your lower back.

“There, there my darling it’ll be okay.”

You started to punch at his chest and you even slapped him. This was just your first week in this confinement so Chrollo didn’t get too mad at your behavior.

“Fuck you. I hate you, you crazy motherfuc-.”

Chrollo cut you off by slamming into your lips you didn’t kiss him back instead you bit into his bottom lip hard.

Chrollo didn’t hesitate to push you off of him when he pulled away blood dripped down from his lip as he looked at you in shock. Why the hell would you bite him? You didn’t do this before.

Chrollo backed away, and got off the bed.

“Alright since you failed to eat dinner how about I come back at a later time. Maybe when you have finally got yourself together.

You finally had enough two fucking whole days of bullshit, and pure torture, and he gives you this smart mouth bullshit?

“Y’know what Chrollo fuck you. I’ve been stuck in this filthy fucking basement for two fucking days. And you have the nerve to come and act like you’ve done nothing to me? Rot in hell.”

Chrollo stared at you with no emotion in his expression. Almost like he was starting you down, sizing you up. Why did he find delight in your present state? This is the most emotion you given to him in days. He wants more of it. He could even sense aura coming from you. It was sharp almost like the pressure of the air got lower, and the atmosphere got heavy. Then all of a sudden it stops. Maybe you were no longer angry?

He needs to feel this sensation again. Hell if he has to bring another one of your friends in here for Feitan to torture just for him to see this happen again he will. Maybe he’ll go deeper next time and bring your mother? He never liked that hag anyway.

“Darling be careful what you wish for, and for what you wish on people. For it could double fall back on you.” Chrollo shut the door behind him.

You watched him walk out the door and you huddled back into a ball on your bed and sobbed silently to yourself.

In your once shared bedroom Chrollo was planning. You showed such a strong emotion. He felt your aura without you even trying to show it off. Who knew you could bring your ability to life without even hesitating. He had to get you to feel that emotion again. He needed to feel your aura on his skin again. Though he didn’t show it he wanted to take you right there when you were yelling and crying at him. It made him feel close to being utterly happy?

You didn’t know a thing. All you felt was rage in that moment know all you can feel if restraint. You acknowledged that Chrollo showed no fear to you and that you wouldn’t win against him or even have him give you your freedom.

It was like all of a sudden the world outside was some fantasy realm you wanted to escape too. Maybe to escape your reality. There was no hiding from it, but maybe you could run if you were fast enough. It would take guts and an extra set of balls to even test Chrollo’s patience.

Though he had a lot. Everyone had their limits maybe you could used that to you advantage, and stretch his patience. Although the consequences might be hectic you had no other choice. You didn’t want to rot in this basement for the rest of your life. You had to get out. No matter what it took. No matter who dies. You needed to get away from him.

Chrollo knew your mindset more than you think so you had to be swift. Chrollo was already imagining the things you would probably do to escape. He was mentally and physically prepared. There was only one way out in his case. That was death. Even though that won’t happen to you anytime soon.

He has to train your brain, and get you to feel something again for him to conjure your nen out of the depths of your soul, so he can take it. It would be perfect, amazing almost. You’re giving him what he needs to be even more successful in his “career” that is enough to show him you love him.

And after all of that you can finally settle down and bear his children. Maybe two? A boy and a girl, or a pair of twins should do. Just the slightest smile appeared on Chrollo’s face thinking about it. Y’know what? That reminds him he needs a journal to write all of this stuff down. He couldn’t wait to feel your aura, and see the expression on your face when he finally gets to explain all of this to you.

[cantgetworsethanthistbh]

hmm expanding on this a bit rn cuz the scene is soo in my mind rn and i just wanna play it out sm dhbdudhdh

~~

There was a flash. Blinding white light where everyone was floating in less than a second and longer than eternity. Nothing existed. Nothing exists.

Stan is face planted on the ground now, and the place is a wreck. Things are scrambled in his head, with white noise practically on his tongue and even without his hearing aid on the fritz, sound is nothing but a thin line ring. It takes him a moment to register there's dirt in his mouth, and on his face. That he's the one face planted onto the dirt. Dipper's talking, and he pushes himself up to look. The portal's still on. Even though the rest of the husk is pretty much destroyed with sparks flying from every wire , the portal is still on. It worked. It worked!

Even better— a dark shadow that looks like it's walking away from the glowing light is approaching. Exiting the portal, no, entering their world again. Stan doesn't need to see their face to know who it is, his chest swelling inside at the billions of emotions running through his mind. He can't hope, but he does. He knows who it is. He knows it's true.

The figure walks out, stepping onto the dirt ground with a strong presence.

Ford!

"Brother," Stan gasps, and there's dirt in his eyes making it sting. Stan stands up, the reunion speech on his tongue finally coming to use when Ford stops, right infront of the entrance. He's looking back, not even paying attention to Stan, his whole arm still stuck in the entrance. Stan stops from approaching, looking confused while Ford is seemingly tugging at something from behind the portal, speaking loudly but Stan can't hear it.

"Ford?"

Ford twists, then jumps right back into the portal. Stan's heart drops, then he panics, running to the portal again.

"No no no! Stanford!" He can't stop running, the distance between him and his brother too wide again. He can't lose him again! Not after everything he did! He prepares to hop into the bright white hole too until he feels tiny bodies land on his back, pushing him off his feet and face first into the ground again. He cranes his head up, eyes glued on the portal, heart running miles while the children pin him with their weight. Dread makes his blood go cold when the portal flicks like a faulty lightbulb.

"Kids! Let me go, please!"

"Grunkle Stan, calm down!"

"You can't go in there—"

"I don't care!" He has no time for this! He almost throws them off his back when he feels a heavier weight join them, then hold him up by the arms, apologies from Soos filling the air for sure but Stan can't hear any of it.

He's stuck. The light flickers again. No. No! "Kids, please!" Stan kicks and tries to punch and struggles, his veins about to burst. They're yelling at him but he just can't hear. He's watching in horror when the light blinks rapidly again, no sign of Stanford coming back. Fuck. FUCK.

It can't be like this. It just can't! Thirty years of his life, and a whole nother decade of pain, for nothing? Nothing? How could Ford jump back in? What the hell could be on the other side that's more important than his home, his planet, his brother? Stan had so many plans— he had everything he wanted to say.

He's sorry for pushing him in. He missed Ford like his dying breath relied on it. He's sorry for the project. He wants to hold Ford and kiss him until it is his dying breath. And Ford would thank him— thank him for doing everything he could to bring him back despite it all. He loves him too, never stopped just like Stan. Ford would've done the same for him.

The portal blinks, turns white to gray. Getting dimmer and transparent by the second. No!

No.

No...

Stan grits his teeth, ready for his whole life to mean absolutely fucking nothing while his family holds him back from following the love of his life one more time, for fucking good. He's sobbing maybe, not like Stan can reallh tell where all the salt in his mouth came from with the blurry vision he gets.

This is it.

Then the portal spits out a— two dark clad bodies then shuts down completely, nothing but a regular hole in its triangle body. Stan doesn't give a shit. He gives out the biggest heave of relief in his entire life.

After the whole business with the CIA, with Dipper, Mabel and Soos, with fucking everything over the last four decades, his old heart just can't take anymore of this. But it's okay.

Should be.

Ford, the bigger one, and Stan doesn't have to see his face behind the scarf and goggles to know it's him, has his arms around the smaller one, who's swinging his limbs around wildly like Stan had just a moment ago and dressed the same as his twin. He's smaller only in comparison to his brother— it's a very pretty heavy guy with soft looking parts, strong looking other parts and a tall height but looks like got room for more.

He's screaming, and Stan can hear he's right with his guess— it's a teenager. With a rough voice, almost gravelly. Stan can recognizs a kid who's been smoking at the back of the school too much and permanently fucked his voice up. Stan pauses, realization slapping him just now.

There are other humans in that hell hole?! As young as teenagers?!

"Let me go!"

"No, would you just—"

"I almost had him!"

"You could have been killed!" Stanford growls, and the guy swings at him with his fist. Stan almost jumps up, the instinct to protect Ford at the forefront of his mind with who the hell is this and who they think they are??? with the need to defend his brother, with Soos' grip losening as him and the kids turn their attention on the arguing pair.

Ford catches his fists tho, to Stan's surprise, and twists the guy's arm around to force them back onto his own sides. Ford catches the guy's large built into his own, holding him in some restraining bear hug and pulling them flush together.

Stan feels a spike in his throat watching Ford's new, strong arms wrap over the guy's chest and waist, seeing them way too damn close for a defensive move. The guy must have something in his throat too, and Stan can almost feel that guy's blush under the goggles and scarf.

The fuck...?

"I am not about to let you die."

"Sixer, I swear to God—"

"Hi, excuse me," Mabel chimes in with sugar in her voice and all the men turn to her (while Stan flicks between her and the pair infront of them). She smiles politely, then says "WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ON HERE?!"

The guy looks at her, then at Dipper, and Soos, before finally landing his gaze on Stan. Then he shrieks, scrambling out of Ford's hold to hide behind him like some kind of wuss.

"AH— Sixer?! What the fuck is this?!"

"Hey, no swearing infront of the kids," Stan gruffs, finally pulling himself from Soos' hold, even though he agrees with the guy's sentiment because what the fuck is this indeed.

The guy's panicking, clutching to Ford's back like Stan is a god damn nightmare on legs. Yeesh. Clingy much?

"What the, why does he look like you? Is this another you again?"

"No, I don't think any version of me would be this foolish," Ford sighs out, and okay, Ouch. Ford pulls his goggles and scarf down, a scowl on his face— directed right at Stan. Marching from the guy's hold, Stan barely sees a six fingered fist draw up and—

"Ow! What the heck, Ford?!" Stan says, now rubbing at the pain blooming on his cheek.

Ford answers with balling his fist in Stan's shirt and tugging him close. His ears are pink, and oh boy it's not the kind of pink Stan thought would happen. Ford is glaring at him, downright seething that Stan could feel heat from his skin.

"You idiot," He stresses, long spear going straight through Stan's chest. "This was a very, very risky move, opening the portal like that. What on Earth were you thinking?"

Well isn't this just fantastic. "I was thinking of getting my brother back, you huge jerk."

"You could have destroyed the universe!"

"Destroyed-schmoid," Stan waves his hand flippantly, and boy did that piss Ford off more. Well, Stan's pretty fucking pissed too. Where's the love? Where's his bear hug that Ford's throwing around like candy?

"How about a thank you for saving you from that sci-fi, sideburn dimension, huh?" Stan says, hoping the jab at his brother's hair would mask the hurt in his chest. Ford lets go, looking at him up and down.

"Thank you? You really expect me to thank you after what you did thirty years ago? Are you out of your mind, Stanley?!"

"After what I did?! Why you ungrateful—!"

"Stanley?" The kid pipes up again, quietly but everyone heard it judging by how everyone turns and looks at him. Stan feels his eyes drawn to him, with the gears turning in his head as he asks again who the hell is this and who do they think they are. Puzzle slots fitting into gaps and grooves the picture so clear, but with one missing piece at the center. Almost there. On the tip of Stan's tongue, almost there.

The kid reaches for his goggles and scarf, pulling them off to reveal a mess of dark shlrt curls, then a large nose with soft cheeks, strong jaw and a face dotted with pimples. His dark brown eyes have that little gleam in his eyes, one their Ma always told Stan he had and that's how she could still tell them apart even when he and Ford aould swap clothes and hide their hands in their pockets to pretend to be each other.

He never believed what she said was true— Ford's eyes were a whole other beauty of their own— but for a second he sees it, right in the confused stare of the teenager.

It's like looking back in their bathroom mirror back in Jersey. Except real, flesh and blood staring back at him, and it's clear to him more than ever who that is. Who Ford is approaching again and holding with a protective arm over the shoulder of a brother— and even more.

Dipper croaks. "What the..."

"Dude..." Soos follows. And really, out of all of them, Stan's never been prouder than he is of Mabel, saying what everyone is thinking once more.

"Let me repeat: WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ON?!"