#i can feel it slipping i can feel the paranoia and i HATE it

[dragqueenpentheus]

three hours left till therapy can time PLEASE move a little faster

[froggibus]

The Three Times You Share A Bed - Leon S Kennedy

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x reader

Genre: fluff, some light angst thrown in towards the end?

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: two times you sleep in leon's bed, and the one time he sleeps in yours

CW: roommate! Leon, kinda friends to lovers?, light angst, abandonment issues, paranoia, fear + insomnia, mentions of zombies, bedsharing, leon has intimacy issues (get therapy challenge)

OMG HAPPY RE4 RELEASE!!! I am SO excited to play once im done work this weekend! Leon looks so damn fine in the gameplay ive seen and i am going FERAL! pls no spoilers for anything new in the game! <3

RE4 remake spoiler free zone!! I have yet to play the remake so there are no spoilers in this!

————

The telltale clicking of a key in the door has you on your feet in seconds, abandoning the plush throw blanket on the couch. Before it even opens, you’re standing on the doormat. You feel a little silly, like a golden retriever waiting for its owner, but the shame is washed away when Leon steps through the door.

It’s been three weeks since you’ve last seen your roommate and best friend, and just as long since you last had company. He raises an eyebrow at the sight of you standing in front of him, the dark circles under his eyes becoming more prominent. 

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” He sighs and drops his backpack on the floor, locking the door behind him.

“How was it?”

You fight the urge to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders and inhale his scent, knowing that’s not what friends do. Still, the feeling is there and if he went in for it, you’d reciprocate in a heartbeat.

He opens the fridge and beams at the fully stocked drinks and snacks. He cracks open a can of cider and leans against the counter. “Long,” he admits, “way too long. And my nose is still burning from the smell of rotten flesh.” You crinkle your nose at the thought. Leon’s never been much of a talker and most of his work being classified didn’t help. Whenever something wasn’t top secret, though, you were sure to sit there and listen no matter how horrific the details were.

You settle in on the couch next to the agent, listening to him drone on about a zombie-like creature that had peeling flesh and fifty eyes. You could vividly picture it from his words alone, and the image of the creature sent a shiver up your spine.

Leon talks for hours, spilling every miniscule detail of every horror he encounters. You stay the whole time, nodding along. Leon laughs at the way you scrunch your face in disgust or close your eyes in fear. He hates how cute you are, but he can’t seem to stop telling you stories. After many hours and a few drinks between the two of you, he’s almost run out of stories to tell.

Leon pats your shoulder gently, collecting his cans from where he’d set them on the coffee table. “I need a shower,” he states. “I’ll see you tomorrow, y/n.”

“Go shower. You stink,” you joke and punch him in the ribs.

He feigns injury at your blow, pretending to suck in a breath like you’d really hurt him. He keeps up the facade the whole way to his bedroom, only leaving character when he shuts the door behind him.

It’s only when he’s disappeared that you realize how late it's gotten—and how dark. Even though your shared apartment is on the 19th floor, you can’t help but worry something is going to crawl through your window. You shake the thoughts away and get ready for bed, but every gust of wind and rustling of leaves makes you flinch.

You close your eyes and tug your comforter over your head, hoping that if there is something out there, it won’t know you’re there. You toss and turn for a while longer, staying dead quiet and pushing your fears away.

Finally, you can’t take it anymore. You take a deep breath, throw your comforter off of your shoulders, and sprint to Leon’s room. It’s like your brain is on autopilot—it knows exactly where to go to be safe.

You don’t knock on the door, instead quietly twisting the knob and slipping in through a crack in the door. Leon sits up as soon as your feet touch the wooden floor, eyes snapping towards your silhouette. He’s been a light sleeper ever since Racoon City, waking at the slightest of sounds.

He relaxes at the sight of you but only for a second. He glances at his digital clock, eyes widening at the time. “Y/n? What are you still doing up?”

“I-I couldn’t sleep…I feel like a flesh eating zombie is going to climb through my window and eat me.”

He chuckles. “That would be my fault.” He shuffles over in bed and pulls back the comforter. “You’re more than welcome to stay here for the night.”

You crawl into bed next to him, keeping as much distance between the two of you as possible. You can feel his body heat radiating through the blankets and smell his body wash on his skin. The feeling is new, yet so familiar it eases you instantly.

“Leon?”

He hums in response.

“Is it safer to sleep next to the window or the door? From like, a secret agent standpoint.”

“We’re on the 19th floor so window, but unless it's a hotel room, the door. You would more than likely hear it if they broke down the front door so you’d have more time to get out.”

You think for a second. “Can we switch places?”

“Honestly, y/n,” he laughs dryly, “the safest place to sleep right now is next to me.”

Your face warms at that and you nod, relaxing into his pillows. While you drift off to sleep, Leon watches over you. He knows nothing is going to come for you here, but he did promise to keep you safe, and he’ll keep that promise no matter what.

—

When you get home, you’re in a foul mood. You practically throw the groceries onto the counter before walking to your room and throwing yourself onto your bed. It’s been a long day. All of the stores were so busy you could hardly get through the aisles, and all of the people you encountered were rude.

Leon comes out of his room a few minutes later. Seeing the groceries abandoned on the counter, his first thought is to check on you. He doesn’t check on you, though. Not yet, anyway. He knows you’ll just be more upset if the frozen items melt and the milk sits out all night, so he sets out on putting them away.

After almost an hour of laying in your bed trying to recuperate after the day you’ve had, you’re snapped out of it by a text.

Leon: Come here, I have a surprise for you

You don’t feel like leaving your bed, but you force yourself out of it anyway. It’s not Leon you’re mad at. Leon is probably the only person in the world you don’t hate right now. You knock on his door softly, holding your arms behind your back.

“Come in!” He shouts.

You open the door, shuffling into his room and closing it behind you. Your jaw drops when you see a tray in the middle of his bed piled high with your favorite snacks, drinks and two wine glasses. Leon pats the spot next to him and you’re happy to oblige, relaxing onto the mattress.

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

He shrugs, pouring you a glass of wine. “It already seems like you had a bad day, I just wanted to do something to make it a little better for you.”

“Thank you.” He nods in acknowledgement, turning on his tv and handing you the remote. “You can choose the first movie. Just—maybe no zombies?”

You snort at that. Classic Leon, using his corny jokes to make light of even the worst of situations. You settle on an old favorite movie you love, handing the remote back to the blond and switching it for a wine glass.

Between your favorite movie, the delicious wine and your favorite snacks, your spirits are lifted in no time. One movie turns into two, and two turns into three. Soon enough, you’re dozing off in Leon’s bed.

He moves the tray of snacks and the glasses off of the bed to give you more room to sprawl out. Laying down next to you, he watches you sleep. A part of him wishes he could see this every night—the same sight he fantasizes about on even the hardest of missions.

He flicks off the lamp on his side table and settles in. “Good night, cutie,” he mumbles, knowing you’re far too deep in sleep to hear him.

—

You wake up in the middle of the night, moonlight streaming through the window and illuminating Leon’s bedroom. You’re still numb from sleep, your senses dulled just enough that it takes you a minute to realize that something is grabbing you. No, not grabbing—holding. 

You blink a few times. Leon is laying next to you, his chest pressed to your back, his arms around your waist. You can feel the slow beating of his heart and the heat coming off of his skin. He’s so close it overwhelms you, yet it’s all you’ve ever wanted.

You think about slipping away but you know what a light sleeper he is, and you don’t think you could handle it if he woke up and saw how close you were. You close your eyes and try to calm the beating in your heart so you can fall back asleep.

When you wake up again, Leon is gone. Your body feels cold where his once was. You sit up—is he showering? He can’t be, the bathroom door is open. You sit up, letting the blankets fall off of you. You swing your legs over the side of his bed, walking out to the kitchen, but he’s not there either.

Did he leave to go get something? 

You check your phone, expecting to see a text saying he ran out to go get more milk or something, but there’s nothing. You sigh, typing up a message and sending it to him.

Y/N: where’d you go?

You practically jump when your phone lets out a noise, but your heart sinks when you see what it is.

Message Not Delivered. Try Again?

You sigh. That can only mean one thing: he’s on another mission. Typical Leon, disappearing in the middle of the night to go god knows where for god knows how long. The frustration bubbles up in your chest and you feel like hitting something, but you don’t. It’s not worth it.

You try to keep your mind off of his sudden disappearance by throwing yourself into chores. You wash his bedding and make his bed, then wash your own. You sweep and mop the floors and vacuum the carpets. You dust the blinds.

It doesn’t help.

Your mind keeps wandering back to the fact that he left without saying goodbye. That he woke up at some ungodly hour, saw you laying in his arms, got up and left without another word. He didn’t even leave a note. He really cares that little. 

You shake your head and even though the pit in your stomach makes you feel like not eating, you make yourself a sandwich regardless. Seeing the untouched groceries in the fridge just adds to the feeling.

Even though you know he’s not going to get it, you pull out your phone and start typing.

Y/N: do you at least know when you’ll be back?

Message Not Delivered. Try Again?

The message makes you roll your eyes. Leon fucking Kennedy.

—

A week goes by, and then two, and you still hear nothing from your roommate. You send texts here and there, hoping for an answer, but none of them go through. Eventually, you start venting to him through there, too. Expressing how frustrated you are that he didn’t say goodbye, how annoying your feelings are, how sometimes you wish you didn’t know him so you didn’t have to go through this.

It’s a random Sunday night when you’re sitting on the couch, watching trash reality tv and eating snacks. It’s cold in the apartment, but you can’t be bothered to turn on the heat. Only when your arms puff up with goosebumps do you scour the room for a sweater, settling on a random one hanging on the back of a chair.

It’s Leon’s, an old one from the Police Academy. His smell floods your nose when you pull it over your head, and it's so bittersweet you don’t know if you should laugh or cry. You settle back on the couch, but a rustling at the window makes you freeze in your tracks.

It stops for a moment, and you can almost convince yourself you’ve imagined it or it’s a part of the show—until it happens again. You scramble for the remote, pausing it so you can hear better. The noise starts again, and you waste no time in hightailing it to your bedroom and slamming the door behind you.

You flop onto your bed, trying (and failing) to remind yourself that it’s just the wind. That you’re safe here. But it’s hard when it’s late and you’re tired and you’re alone and the only person you feel safe with just abandoned you.

You curl up into a ball, pulling Leon’s sweater over your mouth and inhaling the familiar scent. It’s enough to calm you down, if only for a few moments. If you close your eyes, you can almost trick yourself into thinking he’s there, and for now, that’s good enough.

—

Leon knows he fucked up when he gets back to the country and turns on his phone. Almost fifty messages from you, each one more sad than the last. He wants to slap himself—why couldn’t he just grow a pair and say goodbye? Why did he have to be so noncommittal?

He reads every message on the cab ride back to the apartment, and his heart breaks for you. He didn’t think about how you would drive yourself crazy over him or how worried you must have been. All he thought about was getting the call for the mission in the middle of the night and not wanting to wake you up.

But he didn’t abandon you. He thought about you every day and god—he wishes he could have talked to you. Hearing your voice and seeing your face was enough to make everything better. With the horrors he’s seen lately, all he wants is to be back in that bed with you for one more night.

He’s quiet coming into the apartment, hoping he doesn’t wake you up or scare you. And even though he knows you’re sleeping, he’s still disappointed you’re not waiting at the door for him.

He tosses his backpack into his room and strips off all of his holsters and velcro.  He’s quiet walking down the hallway to your room and even quieter opening the door. He relaxes at the sight of you curled up in a ball. 

You look so cute and so peaceful and—is that his sweater? The sight brings a smile to his face. He closes the door behind him with a soft click, climbing into the bed next to you.

You wake up when the bed dips down and arms wrap around you. You’re so tired you don’t even care who or what it is.

“If you’re gonna kill me, can you at least let me sleep first?” You mumble.

You fully awake as soon as you hear Leon’s laugh.

“You’re back?” You say, and you hate the way your voice cracks. 

You turn around to face him, tired ocean eyes meeting yours. He nods sleepily, “‘m sorry I didn’t say goodbye. It was stupid of me.”

“It’s okay,” and it really is okay. All the resentment you felt melted away at the sight of him. 

“C’mere,” he mumbles. 

You lay your head on his chest, wrapping your arms around him. You can hear his heart rate slow down at the contact. 

“I just—I just need you tonight.” Those are big words coming from the agent, and they leave you completely stunned. He must have seen or done something horrible while he was away for him to be this vulnerable, even with you.

“You can have me tonight.” You try to keep your voice even, “you can have me whenever you need me,”

He kisses the top of your head. “But I always need you.”

“Then I’m always yours.”

Neither of you speak after that, Leon falling into a light sleep. You stay up a while longer, watching the blond boy rest beneath you. He looks so fragile like this, you can’t imagine him fighting off monsters and handling weapons. You kiss his collarbone through his shirt and let yourself fall asleep with him. 

[heartpascal]

or is it loneliness?

▹— (eventual) spiderverse found family x platonic!reader

▹— summary: you need closure, and information. two visits kind of give you that.

▹— a/n: guys idk what im DOING. i have things planned for atsv but not how we’re gonna get there … rn im just yolo-ing. im not a big fan of this one but im gonna start writing the next one asap, which will hide fully be more found family-ish lmao arachnid is gonna start warming up to them all some day i swear

▹— warnings: angst, injuries, not good thoughts, dead parents, sensory issues, explosions, violence, fighting, blood?, damaged hearing for a good minute, peter b parker eating burgers deserves its own warning, food, mention of throwing up / nausea, insecurities about being good enough, refusing help, idk what else, if ive missed anything let me know!!!

▹— taglist: @rhymingtree (everything taglist) @justmare @uniquemonstrosity @lacunaanonymoused @erensbbg @dulceteris @noxxing @escherichiacolli @ray-rook @i-3at-kidz @miwagila @stoneforests (is it freedom’verse) — also i only tagged those who explicitly asked to be tagged!

MASTERLIST , part one

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

You spend a long time sat on the edge of the open window, staring out at the traffic below after getting back from Spider Society HQ. There’s a tangible relief that comes with returning to your dimension, like a weight being removed, a tension that is finally released from where it had been pulled taut. Your shoulders feel just as heavy as they did when you left, but you try not to think about it. You try to be happy that you’re back.

While you wouldn’t say it aloud, and you hate to even have the thought, you don’t think anybody had noticed you were gone. But then again, who would? You have no reason to be so upset about such a thing.

Time slips by as you diligently sew up the tears in your suit, frowning as you hold it up once you’re finished. It looks nothing like it used to, but then again, neither do you. Things have changed, it only makes sense that your suit would, too. You wonder if travelling through alternate dimensions can alter your perception of things. You’d swear that your suit had been a different shade before you left, lighter, maybe, but you have nothing to compare it to.

At least now, this time, when you put on your suit there is evidence of damage that Gwen Stacy had caused. The stitching along your the material where she had tore into you is a tangible thing, physical, and you run your fingers across it as if it might disappear. It’s almost a relief, to be able to feel where she had caused you pain, as opposed to the invisible ache she had left within you after fighting her the first time around.

Alongside the scar raised on your body, the fight with Gwen had left you with a sort of paranoia. An uncertainty in the back of your mind that has you glancing over your shoulder, has you messing up simple manoeuvres as you panic, thinking you hear her voice.

It must have been your third day back from the HQ that you come to the conclusion that you have to visit Gwen Stacy in her prison.

The decision doesn’t come easily. It comes slowly, torturously so, a realisation that deafens you as you glare through squinted lenses at the city around you. You won’t be able to go on like this, getting yourself hurt in stupid ways all because you’re not certain that she’s back in her prison. You’re meant to be a hero, which means that messing up, despite whatever paranoia that lingers in the back of your head, is unacceptable. It has consequences.

Seeing her in the flesh will likely be the hardest thing you’ll ever do. Except, maybe, not killing her when you caught her in that other dimension. You keep your mind on the fact that she won’t be able to touch you, that she’ll be walled away, to reassure yourself that there is no risk of either of you hurting the other — at least, physically.

But seeing her isn’t the only difficult part.

No, the hardest part is stepping back into an identity that you had lost your grasp on, long ago. You wear your old clothes, clothes that you hadn’t put on in months, and try to remember how it felt to be you, rather than Arachnid.

“Hi, Mrs. Stacy.” You say, when the door to an all too familiar apartment opens just a slither, and you catch sight of her wrinkled eyes. There’s a noticeable change to them when she realises who you are, and she’s slamming the door shut, undoing the chain, and reopening it before you can say another word.

She whispers your name like she can’t believe it’s you — and you can’t blame her.

You had disappeared, months ago, after the death of your father. Going missing was far easier than being placed in a foster system that would only hold you back. It had been so much easier, not having to face anyone, not having to speak at his funeral.

“Hi.” You repeat, when her stare lingers in the silence for far too long. The sound of your voice once again breaks her out of her trance, and she’s rushing forward to pull you into her arms as if you were her child. You suppose, in some ways, it was quite a lot like that. At the very least, your presence will remind her of the daughter she had lost.

“Where have you been? Oh, honey, I was so worried.” Mrs. Stacy says, her voice trembling by your ear as she squeezes you tight, unfazed by your lack of reciprocation. “Come inside, please.”

You follow her through the doorway, closing the door behind you as you had done so many times before. Not looking around at the apartment is near impossible, but you’re not sure how much familiarity you can take. Even just seeing Mrs. Stacey’s aged face makes your chest ache, your legs feeling shaky.

“Sit down, honey, let me get you a warm drink.” She says, a tremor to her voice as she bustles towards the kitchen which is adjoined to the living room. The news plays on the television, and you’re glad to hear a weather report, rather than some city-wide attack. Mrs. Stacy is quiet as she goes through the process of making your favourite drink, but with your enhanced hearing you listen to the telltale clink of a spoon against ceramic. You listen closely to her hitched breathing as her footsteps pad back into the room. “Here.” She hands you the warm mug, and you don’t comment on the way her hand shakes.

“Thank you.” You say, though it feels stilted, wrong, too formal. It’s hard to be normal in this setting, to be whoever you used to be, especially as she stares at you like she’s seen a ghost.

Mrs. Stacy stares at you for a long while before she speaks again, as if she’s still not sure that you’re real. “Where have you been? After—After your dad… we didn’t know what happened to you. Are you safe? Do you need help?” She asks, frantic once she’s gotten started on her questions.

“Mrs. Stacy, I’m fine, really.” You lie, smiling tightly over the rim of the mug as you hold it towards your face. Before, you would’ve burnt your tongue drinking it too fast, but you’re hesitant to drink it at all. The last thing you want is to become too familiar to your old life. “I’ve been staying with some friends, downtown. It’s been good.”

She raises a brow at you, and stares for a moment longer. “Honey… you don’t look well.” She tells you, and raises the back of her hand to press it against your forehead. Her frown only deepens when you flinch away from the touch. You try not to curse yourself too much, but can’t help reprimanding the way you hadn’t anticipated such an action.

The skin on your forehead is clammy, but that’s just the anxiety, the nerves at being back here. Arachnid can’t get sick.

“Listen, I… I was hoping I could ask a favour from you.” You say, hesitantly, gripping the warm mug tight between your hands, but loosen your fingertips against the ceramic when you hear a minute crack.

Mrs. Stacy furrows her brows, looking more concerned by the second, but nods. “Of course, anything.” She tells you, and places one of her hands against yours on the mug.

“I was hoping I could visit Gwen.” You voice, after one last moment of hesitation. The way her face immediately crumples at the request doesn’t give you much hope, especially as her hand withdraws from your own. “I—I know you don’t get to see her very often, and maybe it’s selfish, but… I don’t know. I wanted some kind of closure, I guess.” You ramble on in response to her silence, glaring down at the liquid still swirling in your mug.

“Honey,” Mrs. Stacy interrupts, her voice soft in contrast to the way yours was growing in volume. You quiet immediately, your gaze drawn up to where her tearful eyes stare at you, her expression almost mourning. “I would never deny you that, but you should know… I haven’t visited Gwenny since she was put in there.” She admits, her stare dropping to her lap, almost ashamed.

“Oh,” You voice, softly, in response. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed— I—I mean, I can’t even imagine—”

“No, don’t be silly, how would you have known?” She replies, raising her eyebrows at you strictly. “Now, I can get you that visit. I’ll call my attorney first thing tomorrow, but… really, honey, do you need me to call someone for you? Who are these friends?”

Her voice is familiar, and it’s kind, which makes it all the more painful. It’s strange, seeing the resemblance between her and the Green Goblin, and it makes a part of you ache. Your life wasn’t the only one torn apart by Gwen. In fact, her mother probably faced the worst of it. With her husband being long gone, her oldest son away at college, youngest withdrawn after her daughter became a homicidal maniac, who did she really have left? Who was looking after Helen Stacy?

You smile at her, as best as you can without tearing up, and reach out to grasp her hand, which she readily accepts. “I’m okay, Mrs. Stacy, I… It’s just a few friends of my dad, from his home town. Their kids, too. It’s better than being put in the system.” You tell her, and can only hope that she believes you. You have no way to back up these lies, knowing those friends of your father don’t exist.

“You could’ve stayed here, you know?” She says, teary and squeezing your hand so tightly you can hear your bones creaking. You smile sadly at her.

“You’re a much stronger person than me, Mrs. Stacy. I couldn’t even face my dad’s funeral, let alone be around the memories of somebody I lost. This place, it—it reminds me of her.” You explain, voice shaking as you hold back your own tears, swallowing them down and trying to breathe through the ache in your throat.

The way her heart breaks is almost loud enough for you to hear it, but she nods her head understandingly, regardless. “Of course,” She says, nodding still, “But know you always have a place here, okay?”

“Okay.” You respond, heart clenching so tightly you’re not sure it can pump your blood any longer.

“Now, what’s your number? Your old phone was disconnected.” She says, shaking her tears away to pull out a pad and pen from the coffee table. She sets the notepad against her knee, looking expectantly toward you.

“Oh, right,” You stutter, teeth chattering as you comb your mind for the number of your burner phone. “There was a mixup, because it was in my dad’s name.” You explain needlessly, still searching your mind for the answer. Finally, you remember it. You listen to her ballpoint pen scrape along the paper as she writes the numbers as you say them, and then she clicks the pen off after writing your name beside it, underlining it twice.

“How about I give you a call with the details of your visit, okay, honey?” She asks, nodding with a pleased hum at your affirmative. “Good. Stay for dinner, okay? I’ve missed you.”

Who are you to deny her that?

Though, even as you try to pretend that you help to set up the table for her benefit, and as you hug Gwen’s little brother tightly when he comes home for his, you know, deep down, that it’s for you. That this is a moment of selfishness that you’ll let yourself have, because god, you deserve it, don’t you?

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

It’s thirteen days post Spider Society discovery, and you’re starting to regret the way you discarded that watch so carelessly. Not because you want to be a part of some cult of superheroes, but because you wish you had asked some more questions.

Surely Miguel O’Hara must’ve known a way to stop these villains from appearing in other universes? And if he did, had he already implemented whatever it was to stop Gwen escaping again? How exactly did she escape the first time? Was it a coincidence? Is there somebody out there, working behind the scenes, helping her get out?

You, unfortunately, have no way to answer any of the burning questions nagging at the back of your head. While a part of you hopes that you never see any of the Spider Society weirdos again, you also desperately want answers. Especially if it meant you could call off your visit to Gwen Stacy.

But the day arrives as any other does, and you spend every moment before the drive over to the prison desperately hoping that one of the Spider-people will show their face. None of them do, and you’re left to get into Mrs. Stacy’s car and simply brace for the journey ahead.

You’re pretty sure that swinging would be quicker, or easier, but you had no way to explain that way of transport to an interrogating Mrs. Stacy, and so you had to relent to her insistence on driving you. Now, you sit here, shifting in the seat of the car, uncomfortable without your suit underneath the clothes you used to wear on a daily basis. Even the knowledge that it’s stuffed into the bottom of your tattered backpack in the boot of Mrs. Stacy’s car doesn’t bring you any comfort.

Instead, the rough material of an old jacket has your skin crawling like you were being bitten by a thousand mosquitos, and the trousers on your legs itch like you’re allergic to them.

You suppose, really, that the spider bite that gave you so many powers had to have more drawbacks than just destroying your life. It only makes sense that your heightened senses would extend to the receptors on your skin. It makes every movement in these clothes torturous, and you wonder if it had always been this way, or if you were just so unused to wearing your old style of clothes. Either way, you hope that you won’t have to wear them for much longer.

If it all goes to plan, you should be in and out of the prison, just ensuring that Gwen Stacy is actually in the cell as she’s supposed to be. Then you just have to endure the fifty minute drive back to the city with Mrs. Stacy, and you’re free. You won’t have to wear these clothes again, won’t have to use your name, no — you can just sink back into the half life that is being Arachnid. It’s better that way.

“Okay, honey, here we are.” Mrs. Stacy says at last, having shifted her car into park. She pointedly avoids looking at the looming high-security prison ahead, instead focusing on you as you wipe your sweaty palms against your trousers. “Now you take as much time as you need in there, alright? I’ll be just out here, if you need me.”

You smile tightly at her, nodding with what you hope is more of a grateful expression rather than a grimace. “Thank you, Mrs. Stacy, really. I appreciate it, more than you know.”

That much was true — after all, it wasn’t like you could tell her that she was allowing the vivid paranoia you had been experiencing to be put to rest after her daughter escaped to another universe. Mrs. Stacy, from what you could gather, didn’t even know that Gwen had been missing for any amount of time. She had no idea what Gwen had done, how many more people she had hurt, but you assured yourself that it was better that way. Mrs. Stacy already had to deal with plenty, and that knowledge surely wouldn’t help.

She was already dealing with her own grief and feelings on the situation, as well as trying to support her two sons in the matter. Given what Gwen’s little brother had asked of you when he found out about you visiting her, you knew that he hadn’t been to visit Gwen, either. It seemed that he wasn’t coping with it all very well.

“Of course, you’re family. You should know that by now.” She says, smiling with teary eyes, reaching across the console to grasp your hand tightly in her own.

Her words take a stab at your chest, especially considering what had happened to everybody else who had seen you as family. Dead parents, villainous best friend — it really didn’t bode well for your loved ones. You just reassured yourself with the fact that you’d be able to disappear as soon as the two of you returned to the city. You couldn’t put her in any danger, that way, or her remaining kids.

“I’ll—I’ll see you after, okay?” You respond, squeezing her hand in return before quickly letting go and throwing open the car door, getting out and catching a slither of Mrs. Stacy’s surprised reply before you shut the car door.

There are guards waiting for you at the gates, checking you are who you say you are, scanning you for weapons before you even get in the building. They’re satisfied after their searches, content that you weren’t stupid enough to bring a weapon into a highly secure prison. You keep your focus on your breathing as they walk you in, handing you clothes to change into as well as a box to put all of your belongings in.

The scrub-like clothes they give you are even worse than your own, sending shivers up and down your spine at the feeling of each fibre scraping against your skin. You just try to breathe through it. Luckily, the rest of the security checks blur by, which means less time spent on agonising over this visit. You barely hear a word of the statement they read to you before you go in, and your hand cramps as you write your signature against a dotted line of a waiver. All of the other legal things were sorted out by Mrs. Stacy’s lawyer, which you are more than thankful for.

Instead of having to deal with that, you just have to wait.

You think that the waiting might be the worst part of it all. With the scrubs making your hairs raise and promoting uncomfortable shivers up and down your body, as well as the cold metal seat that they sat you on, you’re far too aware of everything around you. You can hear the hundreds of heartbeats in the buildings, the beeping of security doors, the footsteps heading your way. You can smell the coffee that the head guard in the adjoining room to the one you’re in is drinking, as well as the day-old sandwich in his desk. Worst of all is the way your own heartbeat is thrumming in your throat, padding harshly against your chest, so loud in your own ears that it slowly starts to drown out everything around you.

Gwen’s footsteps are heavy, accompanied by the clinking of the chains she’s shackled in. You can practically hear the maniacal laughter that had come from her whilst in that alternate dimension, even though she’s completely silent as she enters the room.

She smiles at you when you look up, and for a moment you’re fooled — it’s soft, gentle, kind. But then you see the glimmer in her eyes that was distinctly not Gwen, and you feel the scar along your side throbbing with phantom pain.

You smile tensely at the guards, who regard you with looks of gentle concern and caution, before they attach her chains to a link on the floor beside a chair three metres away from where you sit. They nod at you, which you return, and you watch as they go and take their positions beside the door before you move your eyes back to the elephant in the room — which is Gwen Stacy.

“So, you missed me?” She asks, baring her teeth in a grin that has too much teeth to be anything friendly. Gwen regards you closely as you stare at her, watch for any signs of flickering, any signs that this isn’t real. Her brows raise slowly, the longer you’re silent, but you’re in no hurry to talk. “No? Is that not it?”

“Sure, I miss you.” You respond after another stretch of silence, tilting your head to study her more closely. You don’t acknowledge the way that your voice shakes as you speak, the way it comes out in something closer to a croak before you swallow harshly against your dry throat. “Thought I’d come to check in.” You add, brows furrowing to make sure she gets your true meaning.

“Ah,” She voices, then laughs, shoulders shaking, chains clanking loudly against her metal chair. “I get it, now.”

Gwen doesn’t add anything else after that, even though you suspected that she may take this opportunity to loudly claim that you were Arachnid, outing your identity once and for all. Apparently, if she does want to out your identity, she doesn’t want to do it like this, as she stays silent until you speak.

You sit forward on your chair, ignoring the way the guards at the edges of the room shift uneasily at your movement. “Your mom arranged this for me, you know?” You say, eyebrow raised. She probably knows what you’re doing, or what you’re trying to do, but she doesn’t voice it. Instead, she just shifts to lean backwards in her own chair, sighing as if relaxing.

“Hmm, so she can visit.” Gwen says, nodding her head as if it’s all making sense now.

“She can, she just doesn’t want to. Neither does Georgie.” You respond, and find satisfaction in the way her eyes flash at the mention of her little brother, the nickname that the two of you both used to call him. She recovers quickly, but you can tell that she knows it wasn’t quick enough. The Green Goblin cracked, right in front of your very eyes. It’s proof that, if anything, her little brother has some meaning. “He wanted me to tell you something.”

Her head tilts across from you, though she doesn’t move from her laid back position.

You clear your throat, and look at the words you’d written on your skin. She tilts her head forwards the slightest amount, and you shift uncomfortably in your seat, glancing at the guards who look just as uncomfortable as you feel. “He said that he misses his Gwenny, but he doesn’t want you coming home.” You stare at her as you repeat his message, the one he had told you nervously, as if he was truly afraid that Gwen would escape and come back. Her eyes twitch as she focuses on keeping her expression cool, but you know that the words have hit something in her, even if it’s part of the Green Goblin. “Looks like you even ruined your own family.”

You’re up on your feet as she lurches forwards, flung backward from where she tried to go against her chains to rush toward you. The guards are in front of you in mere moments, but you weren’t in any danger. Not as long as she stayed in here.

It’s almost satisfying, to see her chained up. It’s so different to seeing the Green Goblin on the outside, where she could be your Gwen Stacy. Whereas in here, bound by chains of heavy metal, clothed in uncomfortable looking prisoner scrubs, she was nothing but the Green Goblin. It was reassuring, almost, to be able to pick apart something physical between the two.

She bares her teeth at you, animalistic in a way that Gwen never was, and glares at you as you follow one of the guards out of the room, the others closing in on her, ready to take her back to whatever cell she came from.

The clothes you wear become less overbearing as you keep your focus on the guards taking Gwen away the whole way back through security, only switching back to your surroundings when they hand you the tray of your own belongings to change back into. You’re relieved for many reasons, and you try to focus on that feeling as you approach Mrs. Stacy’s car rather than the way your jacket itches.

Mrs. Stacy looks as if she wants to speak as you get in the car, as if she wants to ask about your visit, but she seemingly can’t bring herself to do it. You keep your mouth shut.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Not a month later, your daily activities are back to normal, uninhibited by the daunting idea of Gwen being free. Still, though, you think about her more often, as much as you did in the time after she was put away the first time.

Mrs. Stacy had tried to call you more than once since, and at the two week mark you’d had to invest in a new burner phone. You just couldn’t risk anybody getting a hold of it and seeing her contact, or the ringer going off and exposing your position in a fight. No, it was better for her not to have your number. Besides, you had hers memorised if you needed to call her.

It was better if you tried to reduce any connections to Gwen Stacy. You’d be much better off, the less you thought about her.

Despite knowing that, you couldn’t help it. And despite seeing that crack in the Green Goblin exterior at her little brother’s words, you didn’t have much hope for her. You don’t think they’d let her out of prison even if you could find a cure, somehow. The fact of it was that Gwen Stacy’s life was over. She had no hope of a future in this world, the Goblin had destroyed that. All you could do was remember her and hope beyond anything that in one of those alternate dimensions, you and Gwen were happy together.

The thought of it played on your mind every day, a lingering pain that stung at your eyes. You thought about it so much that you had even imagined the world where Gwen had never become the Goblin, where you and your Gwen were happy. It was a suffocating image, one without any hope of being true, but you couldn’t help thinking about it.

Even as you fought villain after villain, petty criminal after petty criminal, you thought about it. Even now, as you were swinging around a bridge, dodging all the debris this villain was throwing your way, it played on your mind.

It was a distraction, and it was one you needed to get rid of.

That much became certain as the villain you were facing, Tombstone, managed to get a hit on you, sending you flying across the bridge. You landed on a car with a groan, the windshield cracking below you, and you rolled your eyes as the person in the car held a hand on their horn until you managed to climb off, a distinct Arachnid-shaped dent left in the bonnet.

Well, that would be aching tomorrow, that much was for sure.

He grinned where he was stood across the bridge from you, showing off his filed teeth, as if trying to intimidate you with the pointy edges of them.

“You’ve been a formidable foe, Arachnid,” Tombstone says, his voice barely a whisper above the wind, but you can hear him perfectly. You suspect he knows as much, and that only makes you nervous. “But I think it’s time for our battle to come to an end.”

“I actually agree.” You respond, stretching your aching back and feeling a bone shift when it definitely shouldn’t. You can’t help but wince, gritting your teeth and glaring over at Tombstone across the bridge.

You’re getting tired of these villains, of their constant spiel about how the world should be, about how everything should be how they wanted it to be. What was so wrong with the human population that everybody couldn’t just get along? Surely, if everybody got along, listened to each other, the world’s problems would be solved. But then again, this is New York, and it’s a city in which greed is bred.

A light press against your webshooter has you slinging high up on the bridge, staring down at Tombstone as he watches you intently. You’re planning your next move, considering all the variables, when a burst of orange manifests into the air behind him. He looks confused as you falter in your web slinging, dropping slightly before you catch yourself, and he turns around just in time to receive a curled fist to the face, courtesy of a familiar man in a red and blue suit.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” You murmur, lowering yourself to the bridge to approach this Spiderman, glaring at where Tombstone stands, straining against a red barrier that had materialised from the device Spiderman had placed at his feet.

“I hate that guy!” The familiar voice of Peter B. Parker says, shaking his fist as he hops slightly from one foot to the other, his lenses squinted before he finally turns to acknowledge you. “That guy sucks.”

Your brows are furrowed, eyes squinted behind your lenses as you stare at Peter, confused. This Tombstone guy isn’t an anomaly, is he? While you hadn’t faced him before, you knew that there had been a battle between him and another vigilante down in Hell’s Kitchen. And he knew your name, hadn’t been calling you Spiderman like the last anomaly. So why was he here?

Peter sighed, as if he was disappointed to be met with your confusion. “You got a place, kid? Or a burger joint, maybe?”

With that same amount of confusion, you nodded, brows furrowed as cops came to collect Tombstone, who was still in a fit of rage. You can just barely hear him swearing to get you back, both of you, through the barrier. Peter gestured a hand forwards for you to lead the way, and with slight hesitation, you swung off with him following.

Now, the two of you are sat in a Shake Shack, despite you wanting to head back to the offices you were set up in. Peter had ordered two burgers, one for you and one for him, though you had decidedly rejected the one he pushed towards you. He had only shrugged, and accepted it onto his own plate.

“My wife’s pregnant, can’t even stand the smell of these.” Peter groans, stuffing what must’ve been at least a quarter of the burger in his mouth. You just nod at his statement, though you had to admit you were slightly surprised that this guy was going to be a dad. But then again, you’re pretty sure you can remember your dad scoffing down his favourite food in a similar way. “Now listen,” He continues, speaking with his mouthful and paying you no mind as you cringe at the sound. “Miguel wants to strike a sort of… deal with you.”

“Okay?” You respond, brows furrowed. You look around the place, uncomfortable with all the people staring at Arachnid in a booth beside an old man stuffing his face. The lenses of your mask squint with you as you look at Peter, waiting for him to add anything on to explain his statement. “Then why’d he send you?” You ask, at last, when Peter makes no move to speak of his own free will, too engrossed in his second burger.

Peter held up a finger, gulping down a sip of his strawberry milkshake. “Said something about this being good practice for me,” Peter eventually answers, flashing you a smile. “You know, being a new dad and all.”

He seems to realise quickly that that was the wrong thing to say as your eyes narrow further, visible only through the shift of your lenses. The last thing you need is some random guy trying to father you. Even just the idea of it irritates you, makes the very blood rushing in your veins feel hot with anger. You had a dad, and look what good that did you. He’s gone.

Not to mention the implication of you being a child! You’re far from being a kid. You’ve been looking after yourself for some time now just fine. Whatever deal Miguel wants to strike with you is because they need you. Not the other way around. You knew that you shouldn’t have let that Spider-doctor fix you up.

“I’m not some kid. I don’t need you lot, you need me. Don’t get it all twisted, Peter.” You respond as he continues to look like a deer in headlights, clearly kicking himself for revealing what Miguel had said. You keep your voice low, fighting to stay unheard with the quietened air in the diner. “Now hurry up and tell me about whatever bullshit deal you want to strike with me, so I can say no and we can go our separate ways.”

“Kid,” Peter sighs, before immediately wincing as he realised he just directly disregarded your statement about not being a kid. “Sorry, Arachnid,” He corrects, settling his hands on the table in front of him, finally taking a break from his almost-finished food. “Nobody’s saying you can’t do this.”

“Sounds like that’s exactly what you’re saying.” You mutter, averting your eyes from Peter and instead narrowing your lenses at the people still staring in your direction.

“All we’re saying is that you shouldn’t have to do this alone,” He continues, ignoring your interruption with nothing but a quirked brow. “It’s a tough job. Everybody needs someone to look out for them, you know? It’s in our nature to feel responsible for everything around us, as Spider-people. But you can’t carry the whole weight of the world on your shoulders, it’s too much!”

You stare blankly at him, remaining unimpressed with his whole speech.

Peter sighs once more, looking at you with hesitant hope that you’ll come around. Unfortunately, you’re not about to let these people think that you’re incapable. If anything, Peter’s little speech was just adding fuel to your fire. You liked proving people wrong — it’s what you thrived on. You needed to prove them wrong. Because if you didn’t, what did that make you? You couldn’t let people be right about their assumptions of you. If you couldn’t prove everybody wrong, then that meant some of the things people said about you were right. And with the amount of people who accused you of being responsible for more deaths than you saved, who portrayed you as a menace rather than a vigilante, who said you weren’t worthy of your powers, who said whatever divine intervention had given them to you was wrong, you couldn’t let them be right. You wouldn’t.

“I already told you people. I’m not interested.” You spit out at him, feeling your frustration brimming over the edge. Why would nobody just trust you? Was that so much to ask? You understand that you had made mistakes, that you had cost people their lives, but you were trying. Why couldn’t that just be enough?

Peter says nothing as you slide out of the booth, stomping your way out of the Shake Shack as if you were some kind of grumpy teenager. He could only hope that his unborn child was a less grumpy teen, but then again, he was pretty sure you had every right to be miserable. Correcting himself, he could only hope that his unborn child never experienced your reasons for being so miserable.

You make your way towards your office building, swinging through the streets whilst doing your best to keep your heightened hearing down. You really didn’t want to have to deal with anything else, tonight. All you wanted was to get back, to put on the only clothes other than your suit that didn’t make you want to crawl out of your skin. Even if it was just for an hour, you’d take it.

While you had gotten used to how quiet it was in the building a long time ago, you couldn’t help but think that tonight, it felt almost… eerie. There was something tingling, buzzing at the very base of your skull, but even as you strained your hearing, your sight, everything, you couldn’t detect anything out of place. Everything seemed normal, so you couldn’t understand why you were so on edge! It couldn’t just be Peter’s presence, surely, because he posed no threat to you. So what was going on?

Picking up your backpack filled with belongings, you stared around at the empty office, the breeze that flowed through the open window sending a shiver down your spine, even though you weren’t feeling cold. Something wasn’t right. You just couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Hello? Anybody there?” You call out, straining your hearing once more, trying to listen out for even the slightest sound. A movement, a breath, anything, even as you couldn’t help but think that this was the most cliché horror movie like moment that you had experienced to date. Still, you heard nothing, but that nagging feeling didn’t dissipate, and you quickly lost all desire to change out of your suit.

The unease you felt only grew stronger as you stood there, unsure what to make of the feeling. It was quickly growing towards being overwhelming, but you didn’t know what to do.

Luckily for you, you didn’t have to make a decision.

Unfortunately, the decision was made by one of the very people you were trying to prove yourself to.

Peter B. Parker — or at least, you were pretty sure it was him — swung through the very same window you had, only to grasp a hold on your arm and pull you out of the window as he jumped straight back out of it.

Now, you had been Arachnid for a long time now. You had gotten used to the swinging, to the way your stomach dipped and your throat tightened, but you had never experienced it where you weren’t the one in control. Finally, you understand why people you brought to safety had, on occasion, thrown up immediately after you set them down on their feet again. The feeling of falling, of having no choice but to trust somebody else to catch you, it was terrifying.

But what was infinitely more terrifying was the way that the very floor of the building you had just been stood on exploded.

The blaze was blinding, even with your lenses protecting your eyes, but the noise that came moments later was much, much worse. And sure, you had been around explosions before, but never one that big, never so close. And never so unprepared for one.

Your ears were ringing, and you vaguely realised that you had become dead weight in your shock, with Peter struggling to keep his grasp on your arm firm. After a moment, you had the sense to grab his forearm in return, trying to assist him in holding you up. He didn’t seem as effected by the explosion in comparison to you, and you wondered if he’d had the time to put earbuds in his ears as you had sometimes done before a fight. Either way, you were insanely envious as the pain in your ears increased, leaving you struggling to focus on holding on to Peter.

When he set you down, which couldn’t have been more than a minute after he had grabbed you, considering you could still see the office building smouldering, you had to hold a hand over your mouth even over your mask, trying to rid yourself of nausea. Smoke was leaking into the darkening sky, and you saw the flash of sirens below, but heard nothing other than the distinctive ringing that felt like it was melting your brain.

Peter’s hand was squeezing your shoulder, and after a moment in which you didn’t acknowledge him, he was gripping your other shoulder with his spare hand, shaking you the slightest bit. You looked up at him with a groan, squinting past the floating lights in your vision to see that his mouth was moving, no sound coming out. You shook your head, trying to get rid of that incessant ringing, but it didn’t work. You dropped your chin to your chest again, hands bracing against your ears as if they could ease your pain, and you didn’t make a move as Peter removed one hand from your shoulder.

Mere moments later, the same tingling you had felt before the building you were in exploded returned, stronger, more intensely. Your head snapped up, frantically looking around, paying Peter no mind as he spoke into the orange-glowing watch on his wrist. You breathed through your nose, trying not to cough at the smoke permeating the air, and you just managed to push Peter over the edge of the roof of the building, with you diving after him, as another explosive went off.

That explosion was smaller than the last one, and the only reason you had managed to avoid it was because you knew it was coming. You knew what the alarm bells in your head were trying to tell you now, and you spotted the projectile just seconds before it reached your feet.

Part of you was glad that your senses were dulled from the first explosion — your hearing, especially, as it meant you were less effected by the close-range on this one. You saw Peter’s eyes widen as he looked up above you at where the explosion had just occurred. You just about managed to web him before shooting a web towards the next building, feeling something in your shoulder pull sharply with his extra weight and the suddenness of the move.

You squinted down at him as he gripped the web attached to his chest with one hand, his lips moving more frantically as he spoke to a hologram projected by the watch on his other hand.

“Shit, what is going on?” You asked, though mostly to yourself, but the only way you could tell you had even voiced the words was by the way they rumbled out of your throat. That explosion had messed up your hearing, for the moment, anyway, and you quickly realised that with your slow healing and the ringing in your ears, this fight was going to be majorly difficult.

You only had a moment to think that, before something snapped the web that was holding you to the building, sending both you and Peter falling through the air. Embarrassingly, you’re pretty sure that you let out a yell of some sort.

All the air was knocked out of you the next second as something hurtled into you, sending you careening towards the windows of the closest building. Peter, for a moment, had a shocked expression on his face, before he seemingly realised what was going on, smiling and letting out a string of words that you didn’t hear. You groaned as your sore back collided with the window, smashing upon your impact, and you were sent sprawling over a desk, a monitor breaking underneath your sudden weight.

Yet again, there was a hand against your shoulder, and you paid it no mind as your head dropped back, thudding against the desk. You couldn’t help but groan, the duress that your back had been under today was certainly taking its toll, leaving your whole spine throbbing with pain. On top of that, you were struggling to catch your breath, and with the sudden adrenaline provided by the spider-sense fading, the intensity of the pain in your ears was increasing.

Finally, you managed to peel your eyes open to see a concerned Peter B. Parker looking at you, with Miguel O’Hara stood beside the shattered window, staring out menacingly, as if daring whoever it was to attack again. Peter said something else, squeezing your shoulder, and all you could do in response was hold up one thumb.

Miguel seemingly barked out an order over his shoulder, and a moment later, you were squinting against the bright orange light of a portal.

Peter was hauling you to your feet, leaning to hold one of your arms over his shoulder, practically carrying your weight towards the portal looming ahead. “No, no, wait,” You said, and you felt the way your words slurred as you became slightly delirious with a mixture of pain, adrenaline, and desperation. “Stop, I gotta—”

He only shook his head, before tipping the two of you forward until you both fell into the portal.

The dizzying feeling of inter-dimensional travel definitely didn’t help the pounding in your temples, nor the nausea you had previously been feeling, and you had no choice but to try and focus on Peter’s grip on you as you squeezed your eyes shut. When the world finally stopped spinning, or feeling like it was falling away around you, you opened your eyes just enough to take note of where you were — which was back in the Infirmary of the Spider Society HQ.

You shook Peter off, standing on your own weight and waving him away when he tried to assist you as you swayed once more. You glared, eyes narrowed, and turned to head straight back through the portal you had come from, only to see it close before your very eyes.

The same Spider-Doctor from the last time you were here snapped a band around your wrist, and you squinted down at the red and blue band. It made you feel lighter, even slightly, which felt good on your aching bones and muscles. You opened your mouth to speak as the Spider-Doctor led you to sit down on an empty bed with white sheets, but you vaguely saw the way his mask shifted as he presumably spoke. You couldn’t tell what he was saying with his mask on, but a minute later, you felt a sharp prick against the inside of your elbow.

You just about had the lucidity to murmur “You fucker—” before you succumbed to the weight of your eyelids.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

When you woke up, it was to a throbbing pain in your forehead, that only got worse when you tried to open your eyes. At the very least, you were glad to have your hearing returned to you, albeit slightly muffled, which you were only aware of because the sound of voices across the room was the reason for you waking.

“I’m just saying, maybe knocking the kid out wasn’t the greatest idea!” Peter B. Parker’s annoyingly loud voice says, slightly high pitched in the end. Who he was saying it to, however, you couldn’t say, not without opening your eyes. And that didn’t feel like a good idea, the lights even with your eyes closed feeling like too much.

Instead, you just groan, bringing your hand up to rest over both of your eyes. “It wasn’t a great idea.” You say through gritted teeth, more than annoyed over the situation you found yourself in. Honestly, what did these people have against leaving you be? Why did they think they had any right to tell you what to do, or how to handle things, or to overrule you when it came to your own treatment?

“Hey, kid!” Peter responds, drawing the letters out in that typical oh shit voice. From the snippet of the conversation you had caught, at least he was seemingly trying to advocate for your consciousness. However, that didn’t change the fact that he was there when that Spider-Doctor knocked you out. No, you were still pissed. And when you got your hands on that doctor? He was in for it.

Any other thoughts or feelings on the matter were overturned when you realised that your hand was resting over your eyes, not the lenses of your mask.

Who do these people think they are?

You open your mouth to jump into a rant on that exact subject, on the audacity that they all have, but find yourself silenced by somebody grabbing onto your free wrist, and seemingly dropping your mask into your hand. You feel it until you’ve got it the right way around, and then pull it over your face.

The lights are much more bearable with your lenses back over your eyes, but it’s still painful, and still worsens that pounding in your head. But it does mean that you can see who’s around you; Peter, Miguel and the Spider-Doctor. You have half the mind to leap at that doctor, but Miguel is raising placating hands in your direction before you can make the move to do so.

“Let’s all calm down.” Miguel says, placing his hands on his hips when your eyes only narrow at him.

“What is wrong with you? Who gave you people the right to—to take off my mask? To knock me out? Hell, to come to my universe and get in my business!” You practically yell out, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the way your back hurts with the movement and glaring when the three of them step forward to help you.

“If Peter hadn’t gotten there when he did, you would’ve died.” Miguel responds plainly, seemingly aggravated by your irritation. One of his arms is raised in a gesture towards the man, who smiles almost guiltily, as if helping you was a crime. Which, in your mindset, it might as well have been. “There was an anomaly, a villain from another dimension targeting you.”

“I can handle myself.” You spit out, though the way the room spins when you stand is almost a direct contrast to your words. Your blood is rushing through your veins, and you realise that there’s a machine beeping next to you, increasing in frequency. As you look, you realise it’s measuring your heart rate, and you yank wires off of you that you hadn’t even noticed before, as if they were exposing you somehow. “And that doesn’t give you the right to take off my mask. Who does that?”

Spider-Doctor raises his hands, as if surrendering, though seems unintimidated by the way your glare switches to him. “It was necessary. Your hearing was severely damaged by the explosion, you needed treatment. You have dampening-buds in your ears now, while your healing catches up.” While that sounds reasonable, it only makes you angrier. Why did these people even care if some anomaly killed you? If your hearing was damaged? Why did they insist on bothering you?

Miguel sighs, pinching his nose, before he lifts his head up to speak to you again. You just about stop yourself from making a snotty comment about his attitude. You didn't even want to be here, and here he was, acting like dealing with you was such an inconvenience to him. It was frustrating. “Your universe seems to be at some sort of epicentre of anomalies, and we don’t know why. Yet.”

“We’re just trying to keep you safe. You can’t deal with all of those anomalies alone, nobody can. Sometimes, you need a team.” Peter says softly, like he could convince you of the matter. “Believe me, you don’t want to learn that the hard way.” He adds on, smiling almost hesitantly, as if there’s a memory he’s thinking of connected to his own words.

You’re sighing through your nose, your teeth gritting together as you regard them. “Okay, fine, you want to come take out your anomalies, or whatever? You do that. But anything more than that isn’t welcome.” You say, at last, your eyes narrowed towards them as you wait for their responses.

You still don’t really understand it, any of it, but it’s becoming clear that you have no choice but to deal with these people. Apparently, they were not budging on all of this stuff, which — fine, so long as they stay out of your way. The last thing you need is a bunch of Spider-people stepping on your toes, or making you seem incapable in front of the citizens of your own dimension when in the end, they’ll all up and leave.

After all, you can remember your mother telling you how important it is to do things yourself. The moment you start accepting help, you relax, and when they decide they don’t want to help you anymore? You’re screwed, your sense of independence reduced to ashes. And as Arachnid, there’s far too much at stake to risk that happening.

“Here,” Miguel says, only nodding his agreement — or at least, that’s what you assume the nod was for. He throws a watch towards you, and you catch it with some confusion. “In case you see any anomalies before we do.” He explains as he watches you fiddle witht he watch in both hands, glaring down at it as if it was offensive. He’s relatively satisfied when you relax at that explanation. While Miguel doesn’t voice what else it’s for, knowing you’d only get irritated and refuse the watch, he’s silently hoping that you’ll understand. It’s so you can come to them, if you need them. They can only hope that they’ll be able to tell you that, one day, before it’s too late, without the offer scaring you off.

“So, I’m good to go?” You ask, looking between the three Spider-Men still staring at you and the watch you hesitantly clasp around your wrist. They nod, or, Peter and Miguel do, while the Spider-Doctor throws his hands in the air, exasperated.

“That dimension is yours,” Peter says, leaning over to see the screen of your watch. “The button at the bottom will input this dimension as the destination. Just press that,” He points to another button, “To open the portal to whichever dimension has been typed in.”

You nod, still pissed that he’d let the Spider-Doctor knock you out, but at least you didn’t give him a snarky comment. Instead, you just pressed the button to go back to your own dimension, and stepped through the portal the moment it was big enough for you to go through.

You didn’t expect for him to follow you through.

“Hey, listen,” Peter says, almost reluctantly, as if he doesn’t want to upset you. When you turn to him, he raises his hands, as if to further prove that sentiment. “I am sorry that he knocked you out, I didn’t know he was going to do that.”

“Okay, fine, apology accepted.” You say, flatly, turning to survey where exactly you are. It doesn’t take you long to notice the remains of the building you had been camping out in, the building charred and the air still thick with all the smoke that had been produced.

“I wasn’t done,” Peter sighs, pinching at the bridge of his nose momentarily. “I also wanted to say that I’m sorry about your building. And I wanted to ask, well, mention about how when Doctor-Peter took off your mask, he noticed you don’t have anything protecting your ears, like other Spiders with your level of enhanced hearing do.”

You turn to stare blankly at him, while mulling through where exactly you’re going to stay in your head. If you’re being honest, you’re not paying his words much mind. So what, you don’t have anything protecting your hearing? Sure, sometimes you had stuffed earbuds into your ears when you knew you were going into a rough fight, but you didn’t know when some psycho exploded your building right in front of you. Plus, it’s not like you have unlimited resources to figure out some way of protected your ears under your mask while also letting you effectively use your hearing.

“Okay? And?” You ask, voice edging on the side of boredom. In all honesty, you just want to be left alone. You want to put on your comfy clothes, curl up into a ball and go to sleep so you can dream of a world where everything is okay. The likelihood of that happening is small, but not impossible, right?

“Well,” Peter hesitates then, which piques your interest the slightest bit. “Here, I had these made back when my hearing was crazy sensitive, but it’s not anymore, so I got no use for them!” He says, holding out two blue and red earbuds in a clear case. “You gotta wait until your ears are healed up to use ‘em, but I figured they’d do you more good than me.”

For a moment, you’re ready to deny him. To glare and insist that you don’t need his help. But then, he had said that they were originally for him, and he didn’t need them any longer, so really, would it be so bad to take them? To accept this one thing? To allow yourself to be saved of this tiniest bit of pain?

“You’re sure?” You ask, likely the least aggressive you’d spoken to him, though that’s not to say that it was asked softly. You were still firm on not accepting their help, on doing your own thing, but you could accept this much, surely? It couldn’t hurt.

Peter smiles, a short laugh leaving him, and he waves the box towards you. “I’m sure!”

“…Thanks.” You say, shortly, as you accept the earbuds offered to you. He also hands you the backpack that you had lost track of after the attack, and you accept that far more quickly. You’re glad that it feels the exact same weight as it did the last time you held it, before you shove the earbuds into the opening and zip it back up.

There’s a portal still open on the rooftop the two of you stand on, and Peter backs up to go towards it almost reluctantly. “Also, if you need somewhere to stay—”

“Don’t push it,” You respond, quickly, cutting him off before he could finish what he was saying. He doesn’t take offence to your abruptness, and smiles with a nod, before he disappears into the portal. You stare out at the city around you, looking in the direction of another building you had been very reluctant to return to. “What is my life?” You ask yourself, rhetorically, because you don’t know how you’d even answer that.

You glance behind you to ensure the portal is closed, before jumping off the rooftop, freefalling, relishing in the way the cold wind soothes the pain in your back. Before long, though, you have to shoot a web to catch yourself. You head towards the only place you know will be suitable for you, but can’t shake the way the thought of it chills you.

All you can do is hope that this multiverse stuff will be over with, and soon.

[vmbrq]

suggestive

i was doing some thinking about scenes from scream vi and i just realized that public transportation, namely subways and buses, would be the place to tease virgin, ghostface ethan. it’d be so crowded and your body would sway back and forth with the momentum, of course you’d end up pressed against him. you’d be able to feel the way his body would tense against your back and the way his breath would hitch when he feels your ass nudge against his crotch. he’d automatically know this isn’t good; he’s never been stellar at concealing his feelings for you.

in his mind, he considers himself fortunate that you had yet to catch on to all the little methods he’d use to disguise his arousal, such as covering his lap with a pillow and faking sudden urges to use the bathroom. but now, you’ve lodged him between a rock and a hard place, and he can’t allow himself to slip up now—not when he’s just earned your trust enough to be allowed such close proximity. he tries to think of anything else—skin peeling off bones, vomit, a severed penis—but it all proves to be for naught, and any attempts to wiggle further into the corner to escape are only nullified by the lack of space.

you feel so soft against him, every shift of your head or stance flooding his senses with the fragrances lacing your hair and attire. his face is warm, paranoia festering in his chest as he struggles to prevent the manifestation of the desire already stirring to life between his legs. you'd surely hate him—be disgusted with him if you discovered how perverted he really was. but, you already knew. you knew very well. you just wish he knew that his feelings were reciprocated.

his head knocks back against the wall, and he tries to occupy himself with squinting at all the cracks and peels of paint on the ceiling. but you insist on interrupting his peace again, this time closing the remaining distance by nonchalantly leaning your back against his chest and consequently increasing the pressure on his cock. now, he can’t just ignore you. it would be impossible. when you decide to tempt him with an experimental grind of your ass against him and a teasing smile, his next inhale is quiet yet just sharp enough for you to detect, and you jolt in surprise when a shrill clang abruptly resounds overhead—the collision of the silver rings adorning his fingers with the metal support bar above you as he grips it tightly to stabilize himself.

his free hand clamps down on your hip, strong fingers cold to the touch and bearing an unspoken command to stop moving. suddenly, it’s as if he has you caged in, trapped between him and the unsuspecting woman in front of you. he leans forward, holding you firmly in place while he curls over your shoulder. his gaze is heated as it drills into the back of your head, the weight of it pinning you to your spot. it’s as if you can feel him bearing down on you, his presence overriding your own, swallowing you up. he’s behind you, above you—you shiver when his hand abandons its place at your hip and instead slides across your stomach to splay over your lower abdomen.

he’s everywhere.

[rintoorou]

ALOHA, HAWAII — ix. old habits

(wc: 870-ish)

you’re wide awake and your head is spinning. 

you’ve been in meetings since the afternoon, only peeling away from your computer screen to refill your mug with water or tea. you were so engrossed in your work that the last bits of food you had were lunch—almost 11 hours ago. only the bar was open at this hour, but you’ll take what you can get. 

after shutting off your computer, you pocket your room keys in your sweats and step out. 

the moon casts a faint glow on your path, creating ambiguous, eerie shadows. the summer air is warm on your skin, but shivers run down your spine when you hear a twig snap from your side. gradually, you pick up your pace and clutch your keys tighter, feeling the cool metal dig into your palm. 

you continue walking for a minute until the crickets suddenly go silent. 

your shoes skid to a halt. paranoia slowly creeps up on you as you scan your surroundings, looking between the trees and in the dark corners of the street, like someone’s watching you. 

hesitantly, you take a step forward, and another, and another, still keeping your eyes trained anywhere except the pavement in front of you. your heartbeat echoes in your chest the more your imagination runs wild—a ghost? a serial killer? one of those creepy guys from the fifth floor you and kenma secretly hate? no, you can handle the last two, but not a ghost. you’re starting to regret watching incantation with kenma the night before your flight. 

you’re too lost in thought to notice the person a few feet before you, who is also completely unaware of your incoming presence. 

it only takes a couple of steps until you collide, causing a frightened scream to slip past your lips and his phone to slip from his grasp. 

“jesus, (—). are you okay?”

“suna,” you breathe out before your initial shock is overcome by frustration, “make a sound, will you?! god.” 

suna raises an eyebrow, lips twitching to hide his amusement at your spooked state. you notice, but it doesn’t seem to annoy you. he bends down to pick up his phone, his movements slow and deliberate, before he slips his hands into his pockets. curiosity laces his tone when he asks, “what are you doing out at this hour?”

you ignore the way your heart skips a beat under his gaze. “i was going to grab a snack,” you tell him, blinking more times than necessary.

“from the bar?” suna hums, humor mixed with concern.

“yes,” you assert, “from the bar.” a smile threatens to spread upon suna's lips but he holds back. why are you lying about something as small as this? 

ah, he then remembers kiyoomi mentioning that you’d be caught up in meetings at work for almost the entire day, explaining why you two didn't have to do anything regarding wedding preparations. if he knew you, he’d recall how much of a workaholic you were years ago; how easily you’d get swept up in your work trying to make it as perfect as possible, only filling your system with tea or coffee and all other sorts of caffeine. but it’s hard not to know you—not to forget—when sneaking in both of your lunches inside the study hall practically became a part of his college routine. or how he’d add two packs of dark chocolate to his basket, along with his fruit jelly sticks, when finals were approaching. or how he started filling his training bottle with the blue gatorade you liked instead of his usual purple one so that when you'd ask for a drink, he could hear you gush about how similar your tastes are. and if he knew you, he’d remember how you held your pride over even the tiniest of things, such as admitting whether you’ve had dinner or not. he remembers how adorable or frustrating your stubborn pride could get. 

all these thoughts rush into him in a second like they were his own instincts, a second skin. 

so without another thought, he suggests, “do you wanna head out instead? i heard there’s this night cafe just fifteen minutes away.”

he's hoping you’d say yes—he can admit that to himself. however, what he can’t acknowledge is that, somewhere deep down, you’re still dear to him in more ways than one. 

he sees an ounce of hesitation in your eyes, and he thinks he might have pushed a little too much. maybe you still hated him despite agreeing to keep things civil between you. 

“sure,” you tell him, a softness lingering in your eyes that he couldn’t quite decipher, “lead the way.” 

suna couldn't control the pleased smile that formed on his lips. he cocks his head to the side, motioning for you to follow him before he pulls out his phone from his pocket. perhaps it's a shame that he doesn't notice the light blush that dusts on your cheeks as you trail behind him. 

in the cafe, you sit across from suna, doing your best to appear casual. but even as he eases you into another conversation, you push back the familiar feeling you recognize a few years back. 

prev — masterlist — next

notes kind of a filler chapter (?) bc i’m torn between making this slowburn or nawt lolz but i wanted to give an insight into how their relationship was before! (the lyrics of summer, night is sooo fitting for this chap) also.. sakuatsu & sunayn parallelism kinda ??? 🫣

tags @ilyless @strxwberri-s @bbybibi @milesmoralesluvs @hanniemylovelyquokka @nbcvs @crispchocolates @cnnmairoll @trash-master-3000 @tojirin @ryuverse @megumiif @chemiru @theycallmenanamisgirl @neoclb @krissiekris @nyxlai @tsukiran @frvppe @le000xxgrd @kr1nqu @kunihaver @toges-cough-syrup @myromanempiree @baskin-robinhoods @jeongintwt @itsdragonius @moucheslove @ichcocat @miiyas @samuel1004 @reignsaway @sonicsolos @httpshoyo @walllflowerrrsss @writing-for-the-hell-of-it @wolffmaiden @diorzs @zumicho @riabriyn @hqtoge @unhinged-atrocities @t8tiana @deluluforcarlos55 @kissingkzuha @mfcherry @tamimemo @geniejunn @peehall @h3xi2g0n3 @gsyche @meguemii @savemebrazilhinata

[princessozera]

so, random thought, there's a good chance the demon bros inadvertently harmed mc in some capacity just because human and demon limits are so vastly different, and the main human any have had contact with is Solomon, whose humanity is somewhat debatable. mc might act like they're invincible, but they are human in the end, and human durability is largely that we can keep going after almost any injury, not that we don't get injured

like Lucifer strings them up as he would his brothers, forgetting (assume he's really tired or stressed or whatever) that doing so puts a lot of pressure on the body and can cause actual damage instead of just being annoying like it is to his brothers. depending on how exactly he ties them up it'd change the effects but it's never gonna be great for them

Mammon running away from shenanigans with them and he tugs on their hand a bit too hard and fast to get them safely around a corner and dislocates their shoulder in the process because force = mass x speed and Mammon is a speedy boy. or he's running from Lucifer and slams into them at top speed, and if they can't protect their head from the wall/floor you know Mams is freaking out because mc is all out of it and there's so much blood and he doesn't care how Lucifer punishes him as long as he makes sure mc is alright

otaku Levi with his nonexistent sleep schedule doesn't realise just how badly sleep deprivation affects humans. paranoia, weakened immune system, depersonalisation, all the way to sleep deprivation psychosis. you go 96 hours or 4 days without sleep and lemme tell you, you ain't properly attached to reality anymore. been there, done that, would not recommend. there were bugs crawling all over my arms and legs and shadow people whispering. fucking sucked, and I was constantly shaking so I kept dropping stuff

if anyone knows about human durability, at least in theory, it's Satan, but the avatar of wrath can be emotionally charged. he really didn't mean to hurt them, but he was trying so hard not to lose it that day and as he led mc out of his room so they wouldn't be caught in the inevitable explosion, his deadly sharp claws nicked their skin. the wounds were mostly superficial— hurt like a bitch but no major arteries were damaged— but there was quite a lot of blood and Satan felt sick in a way he never had before. humans scar easily, a useful trait to close open wounds quickly, but Satan hates that he was the cause of those raised lines

Asmo is probably best at remembering since he hangs out with Solomon and has had human lovers before, but he is mostly around Solomon who cannot die. so he doesn't always remember what is and isn't toxic for humans, especially since a lot of poisons are used in medicines at lower doses and a lot of things we need to live are poisonous if we consume enough. it'd only take one slip up to put mc in hospital, and of course they don't blame him but he begs Satan to teach him as much as he can so it never happens again

you know Beel would try his best to remember, and he'd feel horribly guilty if he ever hurt mc, but he's big and strong even by demon standards and can eat anything that isn't Solomon's cooking. there's a few ways this one could go— sharing food with them that's toxic to humans, hugging them a bit too hard, mc giving him their food and going hungry, they work out together and they get hurt... take your pick

and Belphie knows all too well how fragile mc is, so he's very careful with his demonic strength around them. he already killed them once with barely any effort. but one day he wakes up from napping with mc to find he held them too hard and they're bruising. maybe his arm curled around their neck as it bloomed black and blue once again. Belphie doesn't nap with them for a while after that

! ANON! 💕💕💕💕

I don't know how you sniped me from across the highway but whump/injuries are exactly my cup of obsession and I've thought about this forever- i just never really had enough to make a full post. I LOVE your ideas and I hope you dont mind me bouncing some of my own off them;

----

Lucifer and his funny little habit of hanging his brothers 💕 Say he takes pity on MC, makes sure they're right side up, nothing around the neck and only tied beneath the arms and around the legs. Plans to take them down in 5 minutes, really it was meant to be the pet equivalent of air jail. But a call here, difficulties there and 5 minutes turn to 10 and then it slips to 15. It's so little time, absolutely nothing compared to the nights he's left Mammon up over the banister.

So why are there screams in the hall? Why are Asmo, Mammon and Levi on the phone with Solomon, Barbatos, and Simeon respectively? He doesn't understand why they don't immediatley drop MC down, only catching the tail end of Solomon explaing something called "suspension trauma" to Asmo. When they do get MC down, even from a distance he can see the color is almost completely gone from their face, while their legs are a few shades darker. He watches Satan mouth out the count for MC's pulse, quick and staggering. When MC wakes, they can't seem to take a proper breath- gasping, clutching their chest, tearing up and confused. There isn't much more any of them can do, other than stand back and hand MC over to Barbatos and Solomon.

----

In a movie, it would be considered slapstick comedy, the way that Mammon skid around a corner full speed, carpet pulling under his feet , hip checking the wall as he ran away from Lucifer. In a movie it would be hilarious they way him and MC crashed, sending them literally flying back, head bouncing off the wall, swirls in their eyes and stars dancing around their head. In a movie they would only need to shake it off and get up to yell at him, with Lucifer standing back and watching in smug satisfaction.

But there wasn't anything funny about this, MC slumped in his arms, blood turning his tshirt into a darker shade of black, making it tacky and stick onto his skin. They're awake, sort of? But their pupils aren't the same size, and the speech is slurred. There's a truce as Lucifer heals MC, and they get them to a proper doctor.

Mammon gets better at ducking and weaving around MC, it even helps him evade Lucifer better. But MC doesn't escape the dislocated shoulders, and unwanted popping of their knuckles when Mammon holds their hand too hard. Neither had known that after the first dislocation, its a lot easier to dislocate your should again. It's never intentional, but it always hurts- MC tries to breathe through it if there is an urgency, but Mammon catches the way they pointedly look away, trying to blink the tears away, and knows that he's- once again- failed to keep MC out of harm.

---------

Levi being MC's energy drink dealer. He doesnt know why they dont but their own, but he has plenty so he ultimately doesnt mind sharing. They're not attached at the hip so he doesnt see how little sleep MC is getting, a single can carrying them through 2 whole days. They know its time to 1-up again when their heart stops sounding like helicopter blades.

He finds them on the floor of their room, rubbing their arms raw with the hard bristle brush Asmo uses to buff his horns, babbling incoherently to themselves.

-----

With Satan the physical is NEVER intentional, as much as he used to rage in the early days of the fall, the thought of hurting MC didn't sit well with him. But tiny nicks are so easy to cause when even his regular nails are sharper than a humans'. If MC can keep their reactions subtle, it wont be until Satan is laying in their lap that he notices the "freckles" on their arms don't quite lay flat.

When you're used to fast reflexes, you don't think twice about slamming a door in someone's face. Someone (MC) who was too close and now has a broken, bloody nose. Now whenever the snore in their sleep, or their nose whistles when they laugh too hard, Satan remembers opening the door to MC doubled over, blood leaking from between their fingers as they tried to put pressure on the bridge of their nose.

-------

Dosage and concentration.

Asmo is vaugely familiar with these terms- SPF strength, alcohol proofing, acidity in his skin care. He's had so many spa nights with Solomon that he doesn't think twice about sharing his skin care routine with MC as well. Powders, gels, creams, exfoliants. Some a bit too harsh, MC's skin turns warm and flush, so he thinks their skin is sensitive. He'd ask for help caring for his wings and horns. MC goes in with their bare hands to get a good scrub, attributing the burn to the rough edges and upturned edges of Asmo's horns. It feels like icyhot, so it must be working. When they're done, Asmo tries to take the rest of the cream off their hands to apply to his hands, but they both scream as a visible layer of skin from MC starts peeling off as well. The acid having fulling numbed and killed off most of the senses in MC's hand, had started to deteriorate the skin, and its by some small blessing that MC hadnt already applied it to their face. It takes a panicked called to Solomon to get the feeling back into MC's hands, but it still takes weeks for the skin to grow back on to their hands. The pain of bandages on raw muscle is excruciating, and Asmo sticks to them like glue, fully taking the blame for their condition.

-----

Beel and Belphie have another trauma to share as twins- nearly killing MC in their sleep! Beel doesnt understand how heavy an unconcious body can be, and being as large as he is, this becomes a problem the first time him and MC share a bed. He falls asleep with an arm draped over them, but exhaustion from practice has him rolling on to them. Even if not entirely covering them, the weight on their chest makes it hard to breathe and MC soon drops nicities and is trying their damnest to get him off or at least wake him up. Its a panicked use of the pacts to call another brother that saves them, and Beel cant sleep for the rest of the night.

Belphie doesn't have as many night terrors these days, but they can still get bad. Usually sleeping with MC can keep these dreams at bay, but on nights that they dont, he wakes up to find MC tossed onto the floor or squeezed between him and the wall. On the worsts of these nights, he woke up to MC screaming, having wrapped a hand and tail so tightly around their arm that it shattered in 2 places.

(Can I also offer a beel and belphie alternative: MC wanting to match Beel's stamina/ gym workout time and getting muscle deterioration. Belphie wanting a sleeping partner so he messes up their sleeping cycles, 10+ hrs asleep, accidentally depriving them of light, water, and food, causing a depressive episode)

[yanderes-galore]

@montygatorshusband said: "My idea was Yandere Glamrock Freddy who gets really attached to a mechanic (reader). Since Freddy had his whole thing with Bonnie, and Bonnie got destroyed, he becomes obsessed with keeping the reader safe. So, Freddy stalks them through their Fazwatch (Which he disguised as an innocent gift). He gets really anxious whenever the reader takes off the watch or even the reader getting a small paper cut. So, Freddy decides to kidnap the reader so they can always be right next to him. In fact, whenever he has to leave, he puts the reader in his chest cavity so they can be *really*be together forever and ever."

A/N: Sure! I love writing Mechanic darlings when it comes to FNAF stories :)

Yandere! Glamrock Freddy with Mechanic! Darling

Pairing: Platonic/Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Grief/Trauma, Fear of loss, Stalking, Paranoia, Overprotective, Manipulation, Kidnapping, Delusional behavior, Major character death, Forced companionship.

Honestly I've always thought Glamrock Freddy is naturally overprotective of you as a yandere.

However I've never considered the loss of Glamrock Bonnie being the reason behind it.

I really like the idea, actually.

After all, Freddy was very close with Bonnie based on his voicelines.

I personally see them as close friends but either way you can tell they were close.

The fact Freddy lost him would have definitely affected him to the point he's scared to share that same connection with anyone else.

It's unknown what truly happened to Bonnie and Freddy would be scared you'd get hurt.

The Pizzaplex has its own dangers and anything can happen.

Bonnie was an animatronic, you're a human mechanic.

You are even more in danger in Freddy's eyes.

Freddy is the naturally friendly type.

Every human, STAFF or child, is usually met with a friendly greeting.

Freddy would get attached to you rather fast, especially as a mechanic.

You help him get ready for shows and often check him over for damage or corrupted upgrades.

He feels you care for him... so he cares for you too.

Which brings up previous feelings about Bonnie.

Along with an overwhelming fear of losing you like the rabbit.

Freddy would definitely slip you a Fazwatch as a gift.

He's so kind to you and plays it off like a small gift for your bond.

Why are you refusing? This is on him!

Even if you say no he'll clip it to your wrist with a smile.

The Fazwatch allows him to communicate with you and allows him to find your position.

It's a gift, yes, but it also doubles as a way to calm his own worries.

For the most part you tolerate his little gift and keep it on during work hours.

Freddy would definitely panic a bit when you take off the watch.

Even when you work on other animatronics you can feel the watch vibrate as Freddy tries to contact you.

He watches your location like a hawk and is never too far from you.

Even if you take it off before you leave or to not get it messy, Freddy frantically rants about it to you.

You have no idea why he's so worried?

Freddy has shown he's capable to determine when a human isn't feeling well.

He would also be very attentive to when you were hurt.

Even if it's as small as a paper cut he asks what happened.

After that he's dragging you to a first-aid station to have you patched up.

The potential dangers of the Pizzaplex are something he thinks of a lot.

With mechanic work you could get shocked, lose a limb, be gutted...

Oh he hates thinking of that.

Reminds him too much of Bonnie.

His worry may indeed take over to the point he feels you shouldn't go home anymore.

It would take a long while but maybe Freddy feels he can keep you safe here.

He's delusional enough to think you'd be happy in his room, all safe and looked after by him.

In terms of the chest cavity thing I feel it would be a hard fit for an adult.

However, if he can manage it, he'd definitely use his chest cavity to carry you around with him at all times.

For the most part he keeps you in his room and out of sight.

Maybe even gags you to prevent you from screaming....

He hates the idea of restraints or gags but... anything to keep you safe.

Then when there's a performance needing to be done, you'll come along!

If he can fit you, that is.

Maybe he'll even find a way to make it soundproof!

He thinks he's making you happy and doesn't see how wrong his actions are.

Freddy just doesn't want to lose you like a certain bunny...

Could you really blame him for being so afraid?

"I'm keeping you safe, aren't I?"

[dimonds456]

Billford and Abuse: An Analysis

Honestly, as someone who ships both Billford and Fiddauthor, the thing I like about the toxic yaoi ship is the fact that it IS toxic. Like, the jokes are great, but its depiction of abuse is so, like... genuine. Without getting personal, I've been in a really fucking bad toxic (platonic) relationship before, and Billford deadass helped me come to terms with it.

Cuz here's the thing: most fictional abusive relationships just start with the abuse itself. It shows the victim and the perpetrator at the height (or almost at the height) of the abuse, and we see as either one of them is destroyed by it or the victim becomes free. But Billford actually shows the WHOLE timeline.

Something that bothers me about a lot of fictional abuse reps is the fact that you cannot sympathize with the victim aside from "aw that's horrible :(". Cuz it just starts AT the abuse. We don't see how they got there or what's causing the victim to stay. We just know they need to escape.

But with Billford, we see EVERYTHING. How it started out as something Ford genuinely loved, seeing Bill as a friend and someone he could trust, how it made him feel better because he was actually making progress on his research and he wasn't lonely anymore.

To Ford during those early days, Bill was the highlight of his time in Gravity Falls. We can follow his train of thought exactly to where he let Bill possess him with basically no strings attached (pun intended).

That's what makes it all the more devastating. Bill isolated Ford from everyone. He sabotaged his friendship with Fiddleford by planting that seed of doubt in the engineer and pulling Ford further and further into his plans. Then the thing with the portal happened and Ford had NOWHERE to go. Plus, Bill kept trying to get Ford to stop thinking about Stan, to move on and let him rot. So he kept planting seeds of doubt in his own brother as well, causing Ford to further and further slip away.

Then Ford confronts Bill. And the monster is unleashed.

Once Bill realizes he's lost control of Ford's devotion and the illusion has shattered, Bill just LEANS into it. In order to take control back, he started tormenting Ford and just being horrible to him, to try and make him fall in line. Love and fear ARE right next to each other in the brain, after all. And there's NOTHING Ford can do but just fall further and further into paranoia.

Bill demonstrates many real-world abusive/manipulative tactics on Ford, the big one being isolation, since that allows the rest of the everything to even happen, but the way he turns Ford against LITERALLY EVERYONE using paranoia is really true to real life.

Now obviously your toxic boyfriend cannot possess random strangers irl. But you know what he CAN do? Start spreading rumors behind your back. Stalk you. Harass you. Make you feel unsafe everywhere except home (which isn't safe either, but it's better than the outside world). He can spend your money or break your things. Slash your tires. In Ford's case, LITERALLY abusing his body. There's the sticky notes, the threats, the roof incident, all of it just piling one atop the other.

I cannot imagine how fucking terrified Ford must have been to finally send that postcard to Stanley. He was at a point where he assumed Stan would hate him, or at the very least wouldn't respond so why even bother, and he'd just gotten the "steal your eyes" threat. He was out of options, and was absolutely sure he was putting Stan in danger by getting him involved (another irl abuse thing that happens).

He was scared to reach out for help because 1) he didn't want others getting hurt (like Fidds had), 2) he was ashamed he'd let this happen, and 3) he, on some level, felt like he deserved this.

Justified? To a paranoid, scared, abused, irrational brain: Absolutely. In reality? Never. But HE'D built that portal. HE'D allowed Bill to possess his body basically freely. HE'D basically helped start the apocalypse. And that shame would have lead to SO much self-hatred and despair.

His reaching out to Stan was his last resort, his only way out. THAT'S what intrigues me about the ship so much.

I do not want them to make up and get back together. They're horrible for each other. But I do enjoy exploring the dynamic of it, fully seeing the cycle and how it happens, and seeing a whole new side to Ford that we only caught a glimpse of in the show and Journal 3. Plus Bill but his side is more comedic and sad to me I do not take him seriously FSDGHJ

The jokes are great and I love it here, but if I ever write a fic or draw art for these two it's going to be toxic as hell man. And not in the fun way fgsjd

[whetstonefires]

Hello! For the reverse tropes writing prompts (if this catches your fancy) — murderbot diaries with fake amnesia and Really nice guy who hates only you

this is really not in the spirit of that second inverse trope, but for mb this was the only thing i could think of, and it was very funny.

=

"Gurathin," said Gurathin. "SecUnit, you know it's me."

"I don't think I know that," it said, pleasantly, in an okay but not excellent imitation of its creepy canned dialogue options. "Please present some identification, and we'll see."

Gurathin didn't bother sending his data over the feed again. Murderbot walked away, but left a drone eyeballing him. He resisted the urge to flip the drone off. "Come on," he told it, knowing SecUnit was paying attention. "Let me in."

He watched the SecUnit bend forward slightly to show two of Mensah's kids that it was paying attention to whatever they were saying, and then bend over further to help the toddler up onto a chair. It was just fucking with him now. On the other hand, if the prickly bastard started letting children hug it just to piss off Gurathin, who was the real loser?

It finished spoiling the children and moved over to smoothly de-escalate a brewing disagreement over the punch bowl. Gurathin tried to catch Pin-Lee's eye; she did not cooperate. Gurathin tried to walk through the open door; the hovering security drone took a potshot at him.

SecUnit got roped into conversation with Bharadwaj and her media colleagues. It said something that made everyone laugh. It wasn't scowling. It was faking looking people in the face pretty well; that was just creepy.

It went on like that; Gurathin had never seen it go this long interacting without pissing someone off. Presumably it was venting all of that impulse on him. Ratthi introduced it to his favorite cousin; zi was visibly charmed.

Gurathin goaded the drone into firing two more warning shots before the SecUnit circulated back over to him.

"SecUnit. Come on. You have known me for actual years. I helped you rob a place once."

"I don't recall."

"We met on that planetary survey mission, don't tell me you don't remember that one, it's the reason you're even here." That came out maybe a little harsh, but everyone was letting the SecUnit abuse the power of being entrusted with party security to bully him, he was allowed to be annoyed.

"Oh, were you there? That data must have been lost in a corrupted filetree," it said, with incredibly cutting blandness.

Gurathin groaned. "Okay! Okay. I'm sorry."

It technically counted as a reward when SecUnit stopped giving him the customer service face and switched to the hairy eyeball, which just showed how stupid this whole situation was. It was clearly not satisfied with just that.

"I'm sorry for using your personal name without permission. I wasn't trying to weaponize it or anything, it just slipped out, but I know that's not an excuse and it was a really inappropriate disrespect for your boundaries."

SecUnit kept looking at him. Gurathin knew two other SecUnits now, neither of whom was as supremely weird as this one; that was why he'd started mentally tagging it with its personal name, just to keep things tidy. Of course, if anyone else had done that and made the resulting mistake, SecUnit probably wouldn't have been half so mad.

Gurathin sagged.

"I'm sorry for going through your personal files and using your name against you back during the survey," he mumbled, wishing he kept drones around to control with his brain so he could watch SecUnit's extremely expressive face without having to look at it. "That was really shitty. Rim paranoia isn't a good enough excuse for refusing to see you as anything but a tool of the Company. Okay?"

SecUnit was looking as pained as though Gurathin had stripped naked in its presence. "Yes, fine, you can come to the party just stop having feelings," it said, in its normal voice.

"Great!" said Gurathin. "The spinach puffs had better not be all gone."

"I don't pay any attention to the things humans consume," it said, moving out of his way and taking its drone with it.

"I know," Gurathin acknowledged, rolling his eyes and trooping after it. Ratthi waved enthusiastically at him and Pin-Lee raised her cup in a welcoming toast. Apparently SecUnit's relenting returned him to the ranks of people who existed again. "Believe me, I remember this about you."

[caffeinetheif]

Greenhouse

Yandere! Daivolo x GN! MC

WC: 2.5k

Warnings: basically everything that involves yanderes, blood, heavily implied (but not described) minor character death, imprisonment of MC, implied forced cuddling/bed sharing, blood, mentions of paranoia and the feeling of being watched, some minor violence from MC towards Diavolo (let’s be honest he kinda deserves it), attempt at a non-consentual kiss

A/N: y’all I’m super sorry for the absense. Work and school has been hectic. The stress of prepping for a study abroad is taking its toll that’s for sure. As always, I hope you enjoy and let me know if I missed any warnings! The title is a little cryptic, but I have my reasons for choosing it :)) Also, this was low key based off of a dream I had a while ago lol

“MC, darling,” a gentle voice rouses you from your peaceful slumber. It takes you a moment to remember where you are and who you are with.

Your mind reacts with panic. You’re still here, stuck in this cursed room with the demon who stole you away. The demon who faked your disappearance so he could keep you just for his own selfish desires.

“What, Diavolo?” you can’t help but let a bit of resentment slip into your voice. If there’s one thing that’s stayed the same after being snatched, it’s your distaste for being woken up.

The demon chuckles, “I apologize for waking you, dear, especially so late. There’s urgent business that I must attend to, but I promise I won’t be gone long!”

You glare at the back of Diavolo’s imposingly tall form as he stands up from your shared bed and dresses himself. If you had it your way, you wouldn’t even be here, much less sharing a bed with the Prince of the Devildom. You tried demanding your own room or bed when he first whisked you into his castle, but he laughed and told you that there was no need to be so stubborn.

Noticing your angry stare, Diavolo turns to you and smiles, “You can go back to sleep, MC. I know how much you hate being woken up.”

Diavolo restates that he’ll be back as soon as he can as he moves to press a kiss to your forehead. In a split second act of rebellion, knock your head into his chin as hard as you could without much of a windup. The demon doesn’t even flinch, but laughs instead.

“Still feisty as always!”

You think you see a flash of annoyance and disappointment in his honey gold eyes, but quickly flop back down in bed and turn your back to him. Maybe if he thinks you’re going back to sleep he will leave you be. You hear him bustle around the room a bit more before hearing his boots move towards the door.

That damn door! It locks from the outside and Diavolo has the only key. No matter how much you destroy the room searching for the key, you have never found where he keeps it hidden. The only idea you have is that it is somehow enchanted and bound to Diavolo in some way. Every time he enters and exits the room, he always locks the door behind him, which ruins your chances of any escape through it. Even the solitary window in the room is magically locked and indestructible to anything you throw or hit it with.

You hear the clicking of the lock becoming undone and the door opening. The door is shut quickly and you assume Diavolo has left. Time passes as you wait for the resounding ‘click’ of the lock sliding back into place. The sound never happens, your heart jumps with excitement at the prospect of Diavolo actually forgetting to relock the door in his hurry to attend to business. You quietly sit up and swing your legs over to stand. You move towards the tall solid wood door and listen for any notion that the prince is returning. You hear nothing for several minutes before you decide to test your luck.

Your shaky hand reaches out for the cold iron door handle and you slowly twist it. The inner mechanisms click and you wince as they echo throughout the empty room. Slowly, and ever so carefully, you push open the door. The hinges faintly groan but put up no fight.

The hallway outside is quiet. There is no sign of life from Diavolo or servants or maids. No footsteps or voices are heard. No demon is there to order you to stop or to get back in the room. There is no light coming from the hanging light fixtures or candle holders on the walls. The only light source is the gentle moonlight beaming in through the windows. The lack of life almost seems too good to be true, but it’s your only chance at escaping this hellhole.

Ever so carefully, you sneak out of the doorway. Twisting the handle, this time from the outside, you push the door shut so the hardware doesn’t alert anyone to the door being shut once more. You almost don’t believe that you’re out of that room. Before you begin the next phase of your escape, you look down the hall both ways. No one can see you leave, but that is an unlikely occurrence. So, you just have to out run them if you encounter anyone.

You start at a careful speed walk down the left hall. The paintings and portraits that hang along the wall seem to follow you with their eyes. A strong sense of foreboding urges you to move faster. A creak echoes from down the hall, and that’s all it takes for you to take off. You run down the ornate halls, ones that you had once admired. Now, they’re nothing but a mocking labyrinth and the paintings that adorn the walls mock you as you run. The tiled floor below does nothing to dampen the sound of your feet as your feet hit the ground.

Making turn after turn, you quickly find yourself lost in a state of panic and desperation. None of these halls look familiar and there is not a single living soul wandering around. No one is there to help you.

Or so you think. You make another turn and run face first into another person with a grunt. The force of the impact knocks you to the ground, but the other stays on their feet. You look up at the figure, the first living being you have encountered since arriving at the castle. He’s taller than you, but not tall by demon standards. He rubs at the spot on his chest where your head hit and he glances down at you in surprise.

“Huh?” he begins speaking, “there’s not supposed to be anyone in this wing of the castle, much less a human.”

Asking this demon, a servant of the castle, for help is a risky gamble, but one that you’re willing to take, “Please, you have to help me! I’m being held captive by Diavolo. Please, I need your help!”

The servant nervously glances around him, looking for any listening ears or prying eyes. He takes a shaky breath before saying, “You… you’re the reason Young Master has been acting strange.”

He sighs and looks like he’s contemplating something, “I shouldn’t. My Lord will have my head if he finds out I am helping you.”

Your gut drops, this is the first living being you have seen since you were brought to this wretched place! Is he really going to just… ignore you?

In a fit of desperation, you reach out and grab his sleeve, “Don’t leave me! I have to get out of here! I need to escape!”

Your outburst startles the demon and he shakes his head, “I didn’t say I was going to leave you. Follow me, and be quiet.”

Your heart leaps and you have to fight the urge to thank him, who knows if there is anyone listening. Turning on a dime, the servant walks through the decorative halls, making a number of right and left turns down other hallways. The two of you approach a ‘T’ shaped corridor and he seems to be attempting to remember something. Several seconds pass before he turns to the left option. 

The length of the hall is uncharacteristically dirty, with dust coating the vases and paintings. The only light present comes from the moon peering through the occasional window. The few paintings that have been long neglected seem to follow you with their gaze and you hurry to keep up with your guide’s long strides. 

Soon, the two of you finally arrive at a large, hardwood door. The demon quickly glances down the hall where you two just came from before flicking through his keyring. Finally, he stops once he finds a small, bronze key that matches the delicate hardware on the door and slides it into the keyhole. The key is twisted and you hear a dull click as the door is unlocked. The door creaks ominously as it is swung open to reveal a dusty, sparsely decorated room. 

The unnamed demon enters the room and motions for you to follow him inside. Once you do, he relocks the door and quickly walks towards a tall painting that hangs on the wall.

The servant glances back at you, “Help me move this painting. There’s an old passageway behind here that leads to the courtyard.”

The sound of his voice brings your attention and you hurry to help him. As you approach the demon, you notice the painting is a portrait of a very young Lord Diavolo and his father sitting together. Something about this painting doesn’t sit right with you, but you choose to ignore it in favor of helping the servant move the large painting. The two of you lift in tandem and he guides the heavy frame to the side, leaving an opening just wide enough for you to fit.

“This is where I Ieave you. The rest of your escape is up to you. I will do my best to cover your tracks.”

As you slip between the wall and the frame, you glance at the demon and whisper a gracious, “Thank you, for everything.”

The demon nods and shifts the painting back over the entrance to the passageway and darkness engulfs you. It seems more like a tunnel than anything, but it is wide and tall, clearly made for much taller and broader demons. The lack of light wouldn’t phase any demon who enters due to their superior vision in the dark, but you? You’re nearly blind and depend on the feeling of the wall at your side to guide you.

As you maneuver down the pathway, you can’t shake the feeling of being watched. You know it’s silly and chalk it up to the paranoia resulting from Diavolo’s constant hovering. Regardless, you pick up your pace, opting to ignore the burning sensation of the stone wall dragging against your hand.

You don’t know how long you walk for. Luckily, the secret tunnel doesn’t seem to have any alternate hallways and consists of a single, winding one that leads to your destination. The chilly air and cold stone walls seem to sap all the heat from your body and you begin to shiver. 

You finally see the moonlight beaming down at what you assume is the end of the tunnel. Glee fills you and you break out into a run as you grow closer to the light. The moonlight drifts down through a metal grate in the ceiling of the tunnel. It looks like it should be big enough for you to squeeze your shoulders through to get out. You stand under the grate and investigate the hardware. You don’t see any bolts or hinges on the grate that might hold it shut to your surprise. 

The only thing that poses an issue is the height of the exit. The tunnel was not constructed with human height in mind, leaving the only exit a great deal above your head. With your arm stretched straight up as far as you could go, you still aren’t able to touch the metal. Even rising to your tiptoes the piece of metal is just too tall for you to touch. 

With your heart pounding, you jump and swipe at the grate. The tips of your fingers brush against it. You jump and hit it again, and again, and again before the grate is dislodged far enough for you to be able to get your hand between the edge of it and the opening. With one more jump and a hard shove at the metal covering, the hole is completely uncovered. You mentally cheer, not wanting to give away your location to anyone who may hear.

It takes a couple more jumps for you to grasp onto the ledge securely, and at this point your arms and legs are exhausted. But you can’t give up, especially when you’re so close to being free! Just the feeling of the fresh air and cool breeze on your fingers is enough to spur you on. You bring your feet up against the stone wall as extra leverage to push yourself up and out of the hole. Adrenaline is one hell of a motivator. 

The breeze caresses your face as you roll onto the grass surrounding the outside of the hole. You want to laugh, cry, yell, whoop and holler at the feeling of finally being outside. How long has it been since you have smelt dirt? You never thought you would miss the stuff, yet here you are.

“Have you finished having fun? I must say, you made it quite far.” 

Your eyes snap open and your head shoots up to find the voice.

You see the one demon you are trying to escape. Diavolo, in all his glory, is crouching down a mere six feet away from the hole you just pulled yourself out of. The smile on his face doesn’t match the disappointment in his eyes.

A metallic stench fills your nose and brings your attention to Diavolo’s hands. Even with the moonlight projecting his silhouette and hiding most of him in darkness, you can still see the deep, ruby blood staining his hands. In the back of your mind, you know who it came from, but you don’t want to believe it. Lately, you find yourself not wanting to believe a lot of things.

Diavolo chuckles when he notices your eyes fixated on his hands, “It’s a shame, he was such a hard worker. To think such a dedicated servant would go behind my back to help you run away from me. Though, I do have several demons eager to replace him.”

No, no no no no! This can’t be happening! You didn’t even know his name, yet you find yourself grieving for the demon you just met.

Diavolo stands and a large, bloody hand wraps around your upper arm. He hauls you up like a sack of potatoes and ignores how you flinch and squirm at the feeling of the still warm blood seeping through your shirt. You can tell he’s furious as he moves to guide you back towards the castle.

“No, please, I just want to go home!” You panic, you can’t go back. If he gets you inside the castle again, you’re never getting out.

“Your home is here, MC. It’s here at my side where I can keep you locked away, where I can keep you safe!”

Anger surges through you and you kick and writhe, doing anything to get out of his grasp, “I’m not some object for you to own! I don’t belong to anyone, and certainly not you!”

Diavolo’s eyes narrow, and the aura he gives off is oppressive. Your brain screams at you to run, to get away, that Diavolo was dangerous. After all, he killed a demon in cold blood just because they brought you to an escape route.

“You were mine the day you arrived in the Devildom.”

[leewritestoomuch]

I’ll Eat My Hat

This was supposed to be cute. And it is, once you get past the topic of death.

So warning about topic of death.

Ukyo Saionji x reader

I actually hate this, but take that with a grain of salt bc I always hate what I write. If I didn’t hate it, I’ve been replaced with a ghost writer and call for help.

I promise I can write better than this. I just haven’t written anything in a while.

“And if I died?” The question was a lot darker than the previous questions and conversation. To you, the question rolled off the tongue with a giggle, looking up at him. Though to you, he was upside down, but that’s because you were laying down, head resting on his thigh, looking back and up at him. You sat up when you noticed his face fall a little bit.

“I’d hope that wouldn’t happen.” He almost whispers, a smile cracking across his face. He looks about to cry, and you realize, he’s probably thought out that scenario. And you realize you should probably just move on and drop the conversation.

“S—” You start but he cuts you off.

“But even if it did, I’d always love you.” He looks like he’s fighting hiding his face in his hands. And he is, because shouldn’t he be stronger than this? He doesn’t though, he just look at you for a moment before he speaks again. “And maybe, I’d go too. Soon enough.”

“No, I’d want you to live.” Your eyes, previously fixed on something just past him, now snap over to meet his. “Don’t give up like that.”

“Well, I’d eat my hat if that day ever came so… I don’t think we have anything to worry about.” Ukyo snickers.

“Because you don’t worry about it?” You catch him off guard.

“No. I mean, well, yes. I do, but it’s just paranoia.” He says, chuckling as he looks down at the ground.

…

That conversation feels more like a distant memory now. As you slip on and fasten up some wooden shoes to do some scavenging around the forest with Kohaku, you think back to it though. This isn’t death, so why does that conversation come to mind?

You’ve been awake for less than a week, and you’re going to war soon. And maybe you will die, then your beloved boyfriend will have to eat his hat. Of course, that’s not what he’s worried about, though.

You two weren’t together when the petrification happened, so you don’t have much of a clue where to find him. What if his statue was broken? Then what?

Questions like that float through your head for days and weeks until you’re told stories by Gen and Magma about a man who had terrifying archery skills. And it feels silly, because archery is a well respected sport in Japan, which cultural roots too, so that could have been anybody, but your mind went straight to the idea that it’s him.

They say he aimed at them, and that you find harder to believe. Your boyfriend always was intimidating, when he needed to be, but he was a pacifist. If their blood was on his hands, you know he’d never sleep well again.

Yet you find yourself asking for any sort of detail that confirms your hopes it is him, because maybe there is a good explanation for his hostility. And for why he’s working for your enemy.

(I literally do not remember the episode very well at all so I’m adding my own twist bc I’m not rewatching it rn)

Gen says they couldn’t really see him, but they know he’s got excellent hearing.

“It’s like he could hear a feather drop.” He says.

And your heart skips a beat because that’s got to be your boyfriend. Yet, time passes and nothing. You can’t just walk onto enemy lines to find your boyfriend. And on top of that, you’ve began to delude yourself that there is some other man in the area with excellent, inhuman hearing and impeccable archery skills.

You brush all that off, ignoring it for now. Even if it’s clawing at you, there is work to be done. So here you are, sitting on the cold, wooden floor of the hut. Gen and Senku were on the phone with a woman named Nikki. A self proclaimed super fan of Lillian Weinberg, as you’ve come to understand. You, being from the United States, had helped him just a little bit with his facts regarding the famous singer. He knew a lot, so did Senku, but you had input too.

When you all played the recording, she believed it, but a faint, yet stern voice cut through the air from the behind the phone. Then the phone is taken, and a familiar voice speaks. Your heart stops for a moment as you realize, the archer was your boyfriend. After barely hearing the next words he, Gen, or Senku spoke, you finally snap back to reality when you hear “we have somebody who is better at English than the both of us.”

And the microphone of the giant phone is suddenly being shoved into your hand.

“So what exactly do you want?” The line is whispered to you to say. You repeat it, trying not to stutter over your words. The line goes silent on the other end for a moment, before he speaks.

Gen and Senku exchange glances because you, as stone faced and cold as you are, have never seemed nervous before. You don’t fail to notice, but you don’t say anything.

“I don’t want blood.” He says, sounding a bit more emotional now.

“I know you don’t.” You say softly back, and confusion settles into the room.

“So I’m not crazy. It’s you?” You nod, before remembering he can’t see you to know you did.

“No, you’ve lost your mind. Now you have to eat a hat.” You chuckle.

“I just got this one.” He says.

“Alright, I don’t know how you two know each other,” Senku bluntly cuts you off. “But wrap it up, we have a negotiation to discuss? Let’s be 100% to the point here. We can do this with no blood.”

You sit back, smiling, knowing you’ll see him once this is over.

[mayz-dayz]

"It's easier to be alone than to pretend to care for your feelings."

.

.

.

That's the last thing Izuku said to Katsuki before they found him in his bathtub soaked in bloody water.

.

.

.

TW:OVERDOSE, MEDICATION, CHARACTER DEATH.

Ever since that day, since seeing Izuku in his casket, since helping clean out Izuku's room, Katuski vouched to change and move on with his life. He blames himself, he knew it was his fault, even in Izuku's note he still showed Katuski kindness and left his name out of it. He wanted to be better, change for the better.

.

"Kacchan?"...

.

"Kacchan, hello?"

.

.

"KATUSKI."

.

Bakugou jolted up. He gripped his nightstand and shook his head, he put his face in his hands but immediately retracted his face feeling the extreme heat radiating from them. He took a deep breath and layed back down, drifting back off to sleep.

.

.

.

"How are you sleeping Katuski?" The doctor hummed,

"Better. Sleeping longer, just this dream. It's like- Nevermind."

Katsuki hushed himself but the doctor waved his hand and spoke,

"Mr. Bakugou I am here for those thoughts you don't think you can say out loud, speak.."

Katsuki darted his eyes around the room and layed his head back on the couch he was sitting on,

"It's like.. I can hear his voice. In that dream I can hear him and he's just crying and crying and crying and screaming and screaming then he looks at me and just yells my name."

Katsuki's voice broke. The doctor wasn't fazed by Katuski describing such horrors instead smiled,

"You're still healing Katuski, it may have been 10 years but that guilt is a lot to deal with. You're going to have moments of terror, keep taking the medication and from now on before you go to bed do something distracting or even fun."

Katsuki nodded and left the room. He does therapy twice a week, it helps with the guilt he carries around on his shoulders. Usually his psychiatrist, therapist, and doctor just tell him to stay on his medication and "think happy", though it works just never enough.

.

.

.

Katsuki got home around nine at night, slipped his shoes, and went to the bathroom. He turned on the shower and stepped in, he hates bathrooms, he hates water, he hates everything about this after seeing the photos of Izuku's suicide. His knees wobbled, he placed his hands on the shower wall in front of him and put his head down to brace himself, the water running all over his face.

Katsuki took some of his pills, not looking then pulled some leftovers from out of the fridge and threw them in the microwave. He turned on the TV and walked over to get the food, he sat down and glued his eyes to the screen. Eating, watching, over, and over.

.

.

.

Katsuki woke up again, body sprawled all over his small sofa. He checked the time and made his way to his bedroom. He opened his door and slumped onto his bed and schooched into the covers.

.

"Kacchan...why won't you talk to me?"

.

"can't you hear me?"

.

"DONT IGNORE ME KATSUKI OR I SWEAR I'LL-"

.

Katsuki gasped for air, hyperventilated, and he gripped his chest. He hated feeling helpless. He doesn't know what to do...what can he do?

Katsuki made his way to the kitchen and poured himself water, he brought the glass up to his lips to drink,

.

"Kacchan..?"

.

Katsuki froze and dropped the glass, it shattered into pieces all over the floor and his feet. The hairs on his neck stood up. He stopped breathing and slowly turned around, stepping on the glass. Nothing was there, he exhaled, only now feeling the pain of the glass.

Bakugou cleaned up the floor along with his feet, he sat down on the couch, let his head back, and closed his eyes.

.

"Don't ignore me."

.

Bakugou's eyes shot open and he sat up. He felt this deep feeling in his gut, he couldn't figure out what, he didn't understand what was happening or this feeling. He spiralled into paranoia, he took his pills today, he went to therapy, he doesn't know what's going on in his head.

.

He's alone...with himself. Is this how Izuku felt?

.

"Kacchan, please talk to me."

.

Bakugou cracked, "WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME" he yelled,

"I don't want anything." The voice strung out,

"I just want you to see me."

Katsuki was petrified, he turned around and looked down. His eyes widened, tears forming, and he fell to his knees.

.

It was Izuku.

.

Izuku placed his hand on Bakugou's hair "I'll be here with you Kacchan, you've been so sad. I just wanted to help, you've been ignoring me."

Bakugou looked up at Izuku's face "I- I thought I was going crazy" he stuttered "I didn't I- I don't-"

Izuku places his finger over his own mouth and looked at Katuski,

"shh. It's okay. You don't need that medicine, you don't need those doctors, I'll be here Kacchan, forever."

.

.

.

It's been a year since Katsuki was found dead in his apartment, time of death was around three in the morning but the drugs had been in his system since nine at night according to the forensic pathologist, he died of drug overdose.

.

.

.

When they found him though, the years of anguish, grief, guilt, and pain all seemed to be gone, he died with a smile across his face.

[heademptie]

Scrapes and Bruises

CALL OF DUTY: MODERN WARFAE III (2023) DRABBLE HANDLER! READER, UNDECIDED/READER: 

cw: mentions of death, hospitals. mild depictions of violence (one punch is thrown) mentions of mental illness (PTSD). [I don't know if there other warnings I should add]

a/n: the writing is incosistent because the idea got away from me a bit. unedited ramblings. there are definatly military and medical inacuraces, and if i make this a proper fic/fic series there will be more. im leaning towards making this a price x reader fic because he's my recent brainrot. the title is also subject to change.

   Handler! Reader who used to work in the field until they suffered an injury that made active field work too difficult, instead taking up a desk job, occasionally training recruits in the basics. Handler! Reader works hard, doing the rare, simple job out in the field, and eventually gets promoted to a handler position. A contact for soldiers doing confidential, dangerous work. Reader is good at their job, their innate healthy (not so healthy) amount of paranoia serves to keep themselves and their charges safe. Theres been close calls, and severe injuries (one charge lost an limb, another's lungs will never recover, and of course the PTSD almost all have), but only three have died in their eight years (almost nine) as a handler. Some cases lasted a few months, others years. 

   It’s after a four year long case, a pair of soldiers are finally able to go home, they wear new scars and their bodys have new aches. The paperwork is all done, the soldiers have been checked over and given well deserved time off and counselling. Reader gets them settled, hands them off to the person who helps them readjust to society, offers (like every time) for them to call if they need. But like every time, they nod to be polite and don’t take Reader up, wanting to cut ties from the time spent isolated. 

   Reader gets a call then, asking them to be the handler for a new soldier, one who hasn’t done this type of work before. The isolation that rots away at soldiers' minds. So they agree, they’ve always been the best at handling the newbies. A file is sent over in an email, the soldiers information inside, along with a brief explanation of circumstances. A K.I.A case, these ones needed to be handled carefully. 

   Handler!Reader arrives at a military hospital, always hating being here, always being the bad guy here, and the place is in a bit of a flurry. They’re dressed in fatigues, blending in to the soldiers and medics around. It's easy to spot the team they’ll have to pry a comrade from, be the bringer of grief and mourning, and it kills a bit of them too. They wait off to the side, speaking with a nurse absently, actively avoiding looking at the team. They already look defeated, hollow and angry and, much to Readers juxtaposing relief and dread, hopeful. After a while, Reader makes their way past the team, escorted by a nurse through a set of doors separating dire patients from their concerned teams, friends, family. 

   They get to the Sargents room, Sargent MacTavish, he’s surrounded by doctors and nurses, all fluttering to keep him stable. It feels pervasive, it always does, to watch him be sewn together, hear the shriek beeps that monitor his heart, to watch him die. Except he’s not actually dying, not currently anyways, it's all a show, John MacTavish is currently unconscious in front of them, peacefully asleep as a play of chaos happens around him. Armed with a surgical mask and latex gloves, they slip into the chaos easily, grab their dead soldier's hand and squeeze it. A comfort more for them than him. Reader slips a note between his teeth and cheek, laminated to avoid damage before he can read it and uses a sharpie to mark the inside of his left bicep. A subtle way to let the morgue know not to autopsy.

   They leave the room the same time as the rest of the medics, departing in a flurry of movement, they pass the team again as the doctor in charge approaches. She delivers the news with practised sympathy, giving them a beat before leading them to where Sargent MacTavish lay dead. If they check, his heart won’t be beating, his skin won’t be as warm, he’ll look dead, he’ll feel dead too.

    (“Let them say goodbye.” “What?” “The only way I take this job, be a handler, is if they can say goodbye.” “It will put them in danger.” “Let the people they leave behind say goodbye.” “We can’t-” “The only way.” “Fine.”)

   He’s cremated, they typically are, and his ashes are spread somewhere Reader hasn't been. Handler! Reader takes Johnny there. They wait for him to get his bearings, patient as he processes what he’s been told. 

   (“‘M no’ dead.” “Literally? No, of course not. Officially? Time of death eighteen, thriteen.” “An’ ma team?” “Alive and, well not well, but physically they’re relatively unharmed.” “Relatively?” “Scrapes and bruises, Sargent MacTavish. Just scrapes and bruises.” “I wa’ shot.” “Yes.” “In the’ head?” “Yes.” “Bu’ ‘m alive.” “Sargent-” “Johnny.” “Johnny, give me your hand please.” “Wha’ for?” “...There it is.” “Wha’?” “Your pulse, steady and strong. Exceptional for a dead man.” “...” “...” “Ya do this alo’?” “Job of the Ferryman, Johnny. Job of the Ferryman.”)

   They watch from afar, safely hidden in tall grass looking through a sniper's scope. Reader purposefully ignores the shake in Johnny's shoulders, does not comment when his hand covers his mouth and a muffled, near silent, cry barely reaches their ears. 

   Handler! Reader has to pull him away, covering his mouth just in case he calls out to them, he doesn’t thankfully, he doesn’t fight as hard as others do, some part of him resigned to this new work.

   (“They won’t want to go, they’ll fight you.” “I know.” “No, you don’t. It’s not the kindness you think it is.” “It can be.” “It can also be a torture.” “I know.” “No,” “Yes, sir, yes I do know. They will fight and kick and scream and beg. But there will be some, if only just one, who will be thankful. And the ones who don’t make it, because that's something I have to accept, that there will be casualties, no matter how good they are, how good I am. They will remember that they got to say goodbye. At the end of the day it’s just scrapes and bruises.” “Your hearts’ too big for this.” “Nah, I’ve lost just enough of it.”)

   Handler!Reader gets him far enough away, safe for him to scream and grieve without an audience. That's where he hits them, a solid punch to the jaw and more yelling before he just collapses to his knees in the stony dirt. Little pebbles try to dig into the fabric and flesh over his knees, and Reader joins him, sits with their arms around their knees and looking out into the distance while Johnny composes himself. Their jaw aches and they only rub it slightly, curiously pressing on the forming bruise, a hum that sounds awfully like admiration taking Johnny's attention. It takes a half hour, forty-one minutes to be precise, for them to get moving. Johnny apologises on the way to the car.

   (“‘M, ach, ‘m sorry fer…” “Nothing to apologise for, Johnny.” “No, really, ‘m sorry. Ye dinnae deserve,” “Scrapes and bruises, Johnny, it's just scrapes and bruises.”)

a/n: yeeaah, this is gonna be a proper fic eventually

[v3nusxsky]

Hiya!

Could I request a morticia x fem!reader

Reader is really struggling with her mental health and is pushing morticia away but morticia finds out and comforts reader and helps reader open up

I’m here| h&c

*Authors note~ not me scrolling through my fic ideas because I wanted to make this perfect and considering my own bpd is playing up rn this felt good to write*

Trigger warnings~ mental health bpd reader self harm

Prompt~see ask^^^^

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You knew it was getting bad again, the unexplained bouts of anger and the flickering mood changes that honestly made you feel sea sick half the time. It was driving you insane, the hallucinations and paranoia causing you to isolate yourself, not leaving your room for anything. It was getting hard to know what was real and what wasn’t so you felt it was better for you and really everyone else.

You had no idea how to get out of this storm, your arms and legs littered in fresh cuts and scars from the older ones. You needed to feel something at least and if that’s what worked then you would continue. It wasn’t like you felt the pain anymore anyway, you were more numb than anything else. You figured you were safe to be alone for a while, most the students and staff had gone for the break, you choose to stay at Nevermore in favour of avoiding some awkward painful moments with your family.

The knock on your door startled you, you didn’t even know if anyone knew you were here. But that’s when you heard her voice. Larissa knew how you felt for Morticia so when she had noticed you not coming out of your room and knowing you had a rough past she asked the raven haired woman to check on you. “Mon chérie? Can you let me” she murmured to you, the way she spoke French always got her what she desired from you so naturally you opened the door forgetting momentarily what state you were in. “Tish?” You whimpered as you watched her face fall at the state of you.

The raven haired woman slipped into your dorm and shut your door. “Y/n, Mon amour?” Was all it took for you to break down in harsh sobs. The care and concern in her voice setting off the emotional outburst. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” You cried as your legs gave out on you, yet you never hit the ground thanks to the other woman. “I’ve got you, it’s okay it’s gonna be okay. I’ve got you” she murmured to you on a loop just holding you as you cried. You’d told morticia of your bpd and she could quickly identify this as a depressive episode, she knew all she could do is be here for you and help you through it, just glad Larissa had informed her of it before it got really dangerous.

You managed to calm yourself by using her scent and her beating heart to ground yourself, the onslaught of overwhelming emotions exhausting you but the paranoia still present. “I’m sorry Tish you must hate me now! I get it I know I’m too much I’m sorry you can leave” you whimpered only to be hushed by her lips touching the crown of your head. “I’m not leaving you mon amour, shall we take a nap my darling?” With a nod of consent you let her clean and bandage the cuts before crawling into bed with her and snuggling on her chest. “Is this okay?” You whispered. “It’s perfect darling. Now let’s take a nap and see how you feel when we wake up okay?”

[soupofmushrooms]

Busy schedules

Content warnings: Covid

Note: I wrote this in one sitting. No grammar checks. I know there's def some grammar inconsistencies but that's a problem for another day. Also this was supposed to be a drabble, much shorter and direct in my head but I have a horrible habit of writing too much.

—

It's like everything in the world had their hearts set on keeping you and your boyfriend away from each other.

Iwaizumi Hajime had left for a week to an intensive Japan volleyball team training in preparation for the upcoming Paris Olympics. Now that the games are 10 days away, his role is crucial in helping the players grow stronger yet ensuring they don't go overboard with their training.

As for you, you had gone on a weekend company trip. But right on the day of your return, when you were craving for the warm touch of your beloved, his firm yet gentle grip against your back, his calloused hands roaming around every part of your body, his familiar touch that you yearned for so much. It was on the flight back when you fell deeply ill, and it wasn't paranoia-induced.

Now this illness you're rather familiar with. It begins with a burning tough lump in your throat that water can't quite soothe, a fever that leaves you cold, then warm, then cold again. It spreads into heavy aches, unexplained tiredness and sudden fits of dizzy spells. It's undeniable. You've somehow caught covid on your trip.

You send a quick text to your boyfriend, giving an update that you're home and that you'd be staying in the guest room for the rest of the week. It seems unlikely that you'd see each other before he flies out for the Olympics. The thought of it only saddens your mood. The timing was horrible. Everything's horrible. All you can manage now is to drag your tired self onto the bed, not energy spared to change out of your outdoor clothes.

'But hey, at least I don't have to be in the office. And I can rest at home.' you thought.

Not too long after, you hear the apartment door unlock followed by some shuffling and a loud thud of heavy baggage onto the floor. Heavy, hasty footsteps ran towards your door.

"Hey, are you okay? Have you seen a doctor yet?" His speaks loudly through the door, albeit sounding muffled. After a few seconds of waiting for a response, he calls you on FaceTime.

"Hey. Wow yeah you look like shit."

"Normally people say "Welcome back" or "I miss you"", despite your condition, you've always managed to keep an edge with your response. You have no excuse, it just comes naturally. Iwaizumi cracks a smile.

"How are you feeling? Seen a doctor yet?"

His gaze is soft, looking at you with so much worry. You hear some shuffling outside as the switches around a little. You see him sitting on the floor while learning against the door.

"Not feeling great. I'll book an appointment tomorrow. How are you?"

You'd love it if you could muster up more strength to talk but the dizziness is getting in the way. Your eyelids flutter as you weave in and out of consciousness, catching bits and pieces of the conversation.

"I'm taking a day off tomorrow. Let me send you to the doctor's."

With all the things Iwaizumi had to deal with right now, you'd hate to add on to his concerns. But you nodded anyway, managing to slip out a weak "I love you" to show your appreciation.

Iwaizumi frowns in concern. He hates that he can't do anything more for you.

In truth, when he wasn't helping the team with his training last week, his thoughts always led him to the conversations you'd both have the night before. The short hour of FaceTime calls where he spends at the table of his private hotel room, freshly showered, training notes tucked aside as his focus was on you, telling about your day from the juiciest office gossip to the most mundane activities. Or when practice goes on for longer and sleep chases after him, watching you cook dinner and eating alone, he longs to be by your side to share that domestic, loving moment with you that he enjoys so much. Every night he looked forward to returning to your shared humble apartment, where home is wherever each other is.

"Let me cook you something. Then you can continue sleeping." He says to you, never clicking off the app despite not knowing if you heard him.

The Internet bill might increase for the week. But he will take all the time given to him to see you.

[lullinglily]

Hello! I saw your blog and I thought it was very cute ^^ If you don't mind, could you do a fem!reader x Leda where the reader was a follower of Santa Trina but Miquella spelled her and now she is part of Leda's group? :3 sorry if I wrote something wrong, I'm not very good with English :(

pairing: needle knight leda x st trina follower! fem! reader

notes: wow new and actually organized post format!! this was a pleasure to write and i'm so excited to open reqs up again soon. i'm moving through them slowly but surely i promise. thank you for all your support!

Your initial interactions with the knight herself are the product of your differing allegiances. While you are now fully devoted to Kindly Miquella, Leda is well aware that the part of you that worshiped his lesser half could never be fully shed. Still though, she tries to probe you for any signs of disobedience.

She’s mildly perplexed when she finds that you have no such thoughts, but not unhappy. She realized through her time with you that you are unlike the rest of her companions. You make her sick. 

A single smile from you is enough to make her stomach churn. 

She hates the feeling of caring for anyone other than her Lord. The agony you cause her simply by being your wonderful self is immeasurable.

She’ll try to push you away by acting far colder than usual or even by being rather rude, but you’re too lax to take any offense. A follower of love incarnate knows best the way of the human heart, and you can tell Leda’s is troubled. Instead of allowing her to push you away any further, you employ a variety of methods learned from your time as a disciple of St. Trina in order to quell her anxieties. The only problem is that you can’t tell what it is she’s so anxious about.

She refuses to tell you of course, meaning you just have to subject her to a ton of meditative practices and the like to find what works best. 

All this time around you —  all of this incessant fussing over her —  is driving her mad. She’s a flushed, lovestruck, repulsed mess during this time. She despised how much she enjoys your attention, how close you get when you feed her a lulling stew or register her a spoonful of sleep-inducing medicine; how soft your voice is and the way your cloying touch sends her straight to sleep. 

When she finally relents and displays her true feelings towards you it is done by accident; naught but a slip of the tongue. She’s getting over a particularly bad bout of paranoia, her fingers hooked into the skin of your arms and her head resting against your chest. She seems to you like a wild animal, cornered but not yet defeated. You have no clue that all she’s thinking of in this moment is you.

She has to kill you; needs to. You will take her over in body and mind if she does not sever your head from your shoulders this very instant. She has to destroy you before you destroy her. She finds it so very funny that you are completely unaware of her desire to see you dead, and instead inch even closer as you sense some lingering panic plaguing her. You should be the one panicking. You should be terrified. And yet, it is you who embraces her further. 

You envelope her in your arms and Leda realizes all at once that you are nothing short of a miracle. A miracle rescued from the grim fellowship of Trina and passed into Kindly Miquella’s new age all so that Leda may love you and be shown love in return. Miquella had finally repaid her for all of her deeds, she was sure of it. 

She mumbles what she knows to be true; that she cares for you and wants you to be hers. She feels pathetic as the words tumble out without any way of stopping them. Your smile is blinding as you place a kiss on the corner of her mouth, and it only grows more radiant when you feel her hand come up and cradle the back of your head. With this show of devotion you find in Leda a sword and shield, a valiant knight straight from a fairytale. And in you, Leda finds a new reason to fight. The world is steeped in misery; in hardship. It is ill-suited to one as tender as you. If she could bring forth her Lord’s Age of Compassion, if she could help make the world a gentler place, then you would be rescued from any despair that dared to pain you.

Leda, even while under Miquella’s charm, is still a very cautious individual. This is doubly true once you and her become romantically involved. 

You’ll often be faced with the task of calming her down when such paranoia consumes her. You hold her head  and softly reassure her that no harm shall come to either of you, nor Miquella the Kind. While it is difficult for her to accept, she has no choice but to believe that all is well — for now, anyways.

Your status as Leda’s lover gradually turns to “Leda’s therapy dog.” You can tell when her thoughts are beginning to spiral towards suspicion and act accordingly, reaching for her hand and gently squeezing it before moving closer. You move aside her pale bangs to press a lulling kiss upon her forehead and coo sweet words to her until she is calm. It’s something she should be used to by now, but it never fails to shock the bloodlust out of Leda’s system. 

She’s fiercely protective of you, thinking you to be a gift from Miquella himself. Such compassion is sure to be divested from him alone, and molded into the shape of the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen. And so, while she hates to have you fight, she does enjoy the sight of the both of you raising your needles in common cause. She’d only wish Miquella’s age would come sooner so that you’d never have to lift a weapon again. 

Leda is especially jealous of the bond you and Thiollier share. All she has ever known is Kind Miquella, and so she is often unable to insert herself into the conversations the both of you frequently have concerning her. While she doesn’t mind you befriending your allies, if a conversation goes on for any longer than she likes she’ll send Thiollier off to go do some minor task. She will not have that wet cat of a man take you from her. 

Speaking of allies, they typically turn to you when Leda is frustrated with them. They beg you to calm her down, to ask her to make peace with them. You’ll oblige and gently present the problem to Leda before asking her to apologize. She’ll argue with you at first, but it’s impossible to do so. You’re alluring, beautiful, and oh so precious to her; she folds. She’ll grimace, the tips of her ears flushed red with embarrassment as she apologizes to whoever it was she fought with earlier. 

Tying braids comes naturally to Trina’s followers, so you typically do Leda’s for her. She’ll say she doesn’t need your help, that she’s no child, but allows you to do it anyway. She craves your touch, it’s about as addicting as Trina’s own ambrosia. 

While she dislikes the aid of Miquella’s discarded self, she cannot deny that it does help her rest easy. She’s adorable crossing her arms and pretending like it doesn’t affect her, like she was totally just awake and listening to you instead of nodding off. 

You like to pick flowers for your beloved. You’ll usually give them to her as gifts either directly or pressed inside of notes. You also from time to time have a habit of secretly working flowers into Leda’s uniform, something she won’t notice until someone else points it out. Your allies can tell when the two of you have been together by the petals scattered about Leda’s shoulders and cape. 

The both of you have a cute dynamic. Leda who is ever paranoid, serious and bloodthirsty; and then you. You’re much more relaxed, extremely kindhearted, and to Leda’s frustration, quite aloof. She is your protector, your knight in shining armor, and you are her doting maiden eternal.