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rubycruzin4abruzin · 2 months

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we can’t be friends

Summary: Hazel, who has a giant crush on you, gets paired with you for a class project. She’s convinced you could never like her back because she thinks you’re straight, what happens when she’s proven wrong?

Pairing: Hazel Callahan x Fem!reader

Contains: mature language and content, hurt/comfort, smut, fingering (both receiving), oral, scissoring kinda, floor sex, loser!hazel, dom!hazel, fem!reader, sub!reader, 18+, MDNI

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: (loosely) based off the song We Can’t Be Friends by Ariana Grande, and requested by anonymous. Requests are still open for Hazel Callahan and Kit Tanthalos! Enjoy!

———

Hazel stared at you from across the classroom, a deep longing in her eyes. Mr. G was rambling something about 9/11 and how it somehow pertained to his divorce but she wasn’t absorbing a word of his lecture. All her attention was focused on you.

PJ noticed Hazel’s obvious sense of distraction and rolled her eyes. “It’s never gonna happen, Hazel.”

Hazel’s face fell slightly as she looked down at her lap. “You don’t know that…” she mumbled.

“I do, actually. My gaydar is perfect, and she…” PJ motioned her head towards you. “…is not.”

Hazel's head shot straight up to look at PJ. “Weren’t you the one who thought Brittany was gay?”

PJ scoffed. “Ok? So my gaydar had a malfunction. It’s fine now, and trust me. You do not occupy that pretty little head of hers.” She shot a pointed look at Hazel. “She doesn’t want you. She wants a boyfriend. With a penis.”

A sad puppy dog look covered Hazel’s face as she turned back to look at you. You certainly did have a pretty little head, with long silky hair falling over your shoulders, perfectly framing your face. Maybe it was because Hazel had little to no experience with makeup, but she always thought yours was flawless, with your eyeshadow consistently color coordinated with your outfits. Today it was hot pink to match your miniskirt and pink pumps, paired with fishnets and a black tank top with writing on it that Hazel couldn’t quite make out.

You took a break from taking notes to reach into your backpack and find your lipgloss, carefully reapplying a layer. A dopey smile formed on Hazel’s face as she watched the sparkly pink solution trace your lips, wondering how it would taste against her own. PJ rolled her eyes once again. “Get over it, Hazel.”

Before Hazel could even open her mouth to respond, the sound of Mr. G’s voice echoed across the room, turning everyone’s attention to the front. He was going on about some new partner project, Hazel could barely focus. She soon, however, perked up when he mentioned your name.

“You’re partnered with Hazel.” He finished.

Hazel’s heart leapt into her throat. She turned to look at you, and you met her gaze with a bright smile. She offered an awkward nod back, and quickly looked away.

Mr. G soon finished with the list of partners and the bell rang to signify the end of class. PJ walked out with Josie, who could be heard panicking over being partnered with Isabel. Hazel was packing up her stuff for her next class when she saw a figure out of the corner of her eye. She looked up to see you standing over her desk, a glossy grin spread across your face. “Hey Hazel.”

Hazel tried to swallow, but found her mouth was completely dry. She managed to squeak out a low “…hey.”

“Looks like we’re partners for this assignment. I wanted to ask if you maybe wanted to work on it after school? Today?” You brushed a lock of hair out of your face, making Hazel wish she could do it for you.

She licked her dry lips and nodded enthusiastically. “Sure.”

You pressed your phone into Hazel’s shaking hands and you both exchanged numbers before “bye’s” and “see you later’s.” Throughout the rest of the day, it was agreed over text that you would meet at your locker after school before heading to Hazel’s house to work on the project. You had originally suggested your place, but after Hazel mentioned her mom being out of town on business, you were all for meeting at her’s instead.

When the last bell rang, Hazel ran to the bathroom and spent fifteen minutes fussing over her hair, trying to get it to swoop just the right way. Unfortunately, PJ’s voice saying “she’s not gay, it’s never gonna happen” rang through her head. After deciding it just wasn’t worth it then, she gave up and dejectedly made her way over to your locker.

You were already there waiting for her, and seeing you lean against your locker in the empty hallway made Hazel’s heart flutter. You looked just as perfect as you had earlier today (except Hazel could’ve sworn you had pulled your black tank top just a little farther down). You noticed her approaching you, and flashed her a bright smile.

“Hey Hazel, ready to go?” You asked. Hazel nodded. “Sure.”

“Great! I’m excited to be paired with you. I’m sure after this project we’ll become great friends.” You lifted your hand to squeeze Hazel’s upper arm, but she couldn’t feel it over the pang in her chest. Your words swam around in her mind.

“Great friends…” she didn’t want to be your friend. She wanted to be more. She wanted to be the one to laugh with you, and hold you when you cried. She wanted to take you out on dates, and slow dance with you at prom. She wanted you to look up at her with your big doe eyes right before you kiss her, and wrap your arms around her shoulders to pull her closer while she savored the taste of your signature lip gloss. She wanted to touch you. God how she wanted to touch you…

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t do any of that. Not if you were too busy making goo-goo eyes at some football player.

You wanted to be friends. Hazel wanted you… but more than anything she wanted you in her life. If being friends was the only way to do that, then so be it.

—————

The drive to Hazel’s house was pretty much silent, minus a few attempts at small talk from you. Hazel made a few attempts to respond, but mainly kept her focus on the grip of her steering wheel and the road ahead.

Hazel turned into her driveway, and walked you through her front door, up the stairs, and into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her. She motioned for you to sit next to her on the floor, and got out her pencils and the project rubric. After about five minutes of complete silence, Hazel’s head shot up. “Snacks!”

You looked up from the rubric in confusion. “What?”

“Snacks! I forgot to offer you snacks when we came in. Shit, I’m sorry! I’m a terrible host.” Hazel panicked. You had to stifle a giggle under your hand. Somehow, Hazel was being so adorable right now.

“It’s ok, Hazel. I’m not hungry. I promise.” Hazel rubbed the back of her neck as a faint shade of red crept up on her cheeks.

“Sorry. You just…” Hazel trailed off. You cocked your head in question. “I… what?”

“You just… sometimes you make me nervous…” Hazel mumbled, staring down at her lap.

Your lips parted slightly in shock at her confession. “I make you nervous?”

“Look… just forget I said anything.” Hazel picked the project rubric back up. “So, do you have any idea what this project is supposed to be on? I wasn’t really paying attention…”

You pulled the rubric out of Hazel’s hands and tossed it to the side, forcing her to look at you. “I’m not gonna forget what you said. Hazel, how do I make you nervous?”

A defeated sigh left Hazel’s lips as she realized you weren’t going to give this up. She squeezed her eyes shut, choking out your name before her next words. “I’m sorry but… we can’t be friends.”

It took a moment for you to process Hazel’s words, but as soon as you did, your face crumpled out of hurt. You were trying not to cry, but you couldn’t decide if it was from hurt or confusion. “What do you mean?”

“We can’t be friends.” Hazel repeated, refusing to make eye contact with you. “Whenever I’m around you, my hands get all sweaty and my mouth gets dry, and I can barely get any words out because… I don’t know. You do this thing to me. I can’t focus in class because all I can think about is how pretty you are and what flavor your lip gloss is and…”

Hazel’s incessant rambling was interrupted by the feeling of something wet and sticky against her cheek. She blinked, trying to process what just happened.

You kissed her. On the cheek.

A faint blush crept onto her face as she lifted her hand to feel where your kiss still lingered. She finally met your gaze to see you staring back at her, a giddy smile covering your face.

“You kissed me.”

You brushed another lock out of your face and smiled down at your lap. “Yeah. I did.”

“But I’m not a boy.”

You shot your head up and gaped at her, bewildered. Did you hear her correctly?

“Huh? I know…” you trailed off as realization set into you. “You think I’m straight?”

“Well, yeah. You’re all like… feminine and stuff…” Hazel mumbled, clearly embarrassed.

A thick silence filled the room as you stared at her, wide eyed. Hazel held her breath and refused to look at you. She thought for sure she fucked up before she heard… laughter?

Hazel looked up to see you in absolute stitches from laughing so hard. On one hand, she was glad you didn’t seem mad at her, but on the other… she really had no idea what you were laughing at.

After a moment, you calmed down, and stuck out one of your wrists to show Hazel a pink, white, and orange threaded bracelet. “Trust me, I’m not straight. And this…” you gestured to your outfit. “…is called hyperfem, and it’s actually meant to deter the male population.”

Several thoughts swirled around Hazel’s mind. Some “fuck PJ” or “how did I not notice the bracelet?” But mostly, all she could think about was how you were sitting in front of her, out and proud, in an empty house, and beaming from ear to ear.

You giggled at Hazel’s astonished expression and looked down at your lap. “I was kind of wondering why you had never talked to me before. Guess I know now.”

Hazel gulped. “I’m sorry, I…”

Suddenly, you decided to cut her off by tossing all the papers between you to the side, and crawling over to her lap. You put one hand on her knee and brought your face as close to hers as you could without touching. Hazel’s breath hitched at this new position, and you hummed as your eyes dropped to her lips. “Now that you know I’m gay… what do you plan to do about it?”

It took a moment for your words to settle into Hazel’s mind, but as soon as they did, she brought her face forward and kissed you, melting instantly at your touch. Her stomach filled with butterflies as she shivered from the pure adrenaline. She couldn’t believe how soft your lips were, and the taste of your lipgloss felt absolutely intoxicating.

You pulled away suddenly, smirking as Hazel whined at the loss of your touch. “So… what flavor is my lip gloss?”

Hazel hummed in thought, running the tip of her tongue across her bottom lip. “Watermelon?”

“Bingo.”

A devilish grin spread across Hazel’s face before she grabbed your jaw and pulled you back in, forcing you to tuck your knee into her lap to keep balance. Her tongue danced against your bottom lip, begging for entrance. A small giggle escaped from the back of your throat as you parted your lips and let her deepen the kiss.

Hazel’s hand left your jaw and slowly made its way down to gently caress the thigh you still had perched in her lap. You felt your body shiver at this new sensation, causing Hazel to pull away and survey your reaction.

“Is this ok?” She asked in a low voice. You nodded, your half-lidded eyes clouded with lust. “Please.”

Hazel caught your lips in hers again, and gripped at your fishnet-clad thigh. You moaned at the feeling of her fingertips caressing your nearly-bare skin. You had no idea your thighs could be so sensitive, but here you were, falling apart at her literal fingertips.

By now you were mentally begging Hazel to push her hand up just a little higher, so you grabbed the chain around her neck and pulled her close until you were on your back and she was hovering over you. Her big blue eyes looked like pools you were dying to swim in as she peered down at you with a look of nothing but content.

You dragged your top teeth against your bottom lip and giggled. “Tell me again how pretty I am?”

Hazel smirked as she continued to rub her thumb along the inside of your thigh. “So pretty. Like a princess.”

Your body involuntarily shivered at this new nickname, and Hazel found it impossible not to notice. “Oh, you like that? Princess?”

A muffled moan vibrated against your puffy pink lips in response. Fuck, when did Hazel get so… dominant?

She ran her hand just under the edge of your tank top, looking up at you for approval. You nodded, and she got to work pulling it up and over your head, leaving your stomach exposed and your chest covered with nothing but a black lace bralette. Hazel gulped at the sight of you, her spontaneous dominance momentarily leaving her. She swore she had never seen anything this beautiful. She leaned down again to kiss you once, softly and sweetly, before slowly leaving a trail of kisses to your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, and down to the top of your breasts.

Hazel’s big blue eyes stared up at you as she ran her tongue across the top of one of your tits, gently testing the waters. You let out a gentle moan, purely from the eroticism of it all. You swore you could cum just from looking into Hazel’s fuck me eyes.

“Hazel,” you breathed out, sitting up slightly to lean on your elbows. “You can take it off.”

A nervous look clouded Hazel’s features for a brief moment before being replaced by one dark with desire. “Whatever you want, Princess.”

God, you could feel yourself get wetter every time she used that stupid nickname.

Getting your bra off wasn’t necessarily a fast and flawless task for Hazel, as she was used to the simplicity of sports bras rather than the confusing clasps of a bralette. Luckily, you both had a good sense of humor about it, which made the situation far less awkward. Eventually, Hazel opted to just pull it over your head like a t-shirt, tossing it over her shoulder immediately after.

Hazel never thought she’d see the day where she’d have the Popular Princess of Rockbridge High’s tits practically served to her on a silver platter, but here they were, exposed in all their glory, and hers for the taking. She took one of your nipples in her mouth, running her tongue along the erect bud as she used her hand to gently massage the other. It felt incredible, but as much as you loved watching Hazel Callahan play with your tits, there was another part of you that was much more desperate to be played with.

Your hips involuntarily bucked against Hazel’s stomach, forcing her to pull away and click her tongue disapprovingly. “So impatient. Never took you for a sub.”

“Never took you for a dom.” You fired back, surprisingly quickly considering how mushy your brain felt.

Hazel simply shrugged and flashed a wicked grin. “Guess you do something to me.”

She slipped one hand down to the waistband of your skirt and started to undo your belt buckle until it was loose enough for her to slide it down your legs. Her fingers danced along your now completely exposed fishnets while she plucked at the delicate little strings.

“Funny,” she started, gently pulling at the thin threads. “If you weren’t wearing anything under these, I would totally keep them on while I fucked you.”

Her blunt choice of words sent palpitations straight to your clit, forcing a shiver down the length of your entire body. She either didn’t notice or pretended not to because she just shrugged. “Too bad you are. Gotta take them off.”

In a way, you were grateful for the black panties you had worn under your fishnets. Watching Hazel undress you to any capacity was a bigger turn on than anything any porn site had to offer. You made a mental note to wear more clothes next time.

By now you were down to nothing but the aforementioned silky black panties. Hazel moved her hand back to your thigh, rubbing her thumb along the inside teasingly. She reached up and allowed her finger to gently brush over the tiny crease where your leg ended and your panties began, looking up at you for affirmation before continuing.

You sighed, rolling your bottom lip between your front teeth. “Please Hazel. Please touch me.”

Hazel’s stomach couldn’t help but flutter every time one of your desperate pleas hit her ears, but she tried not to let it show. Still, it was difficult to ignore the dampness in her boxers, thankfully still hidden by her shorts. On the other hand, your panties were on full display, the black color managing to hide your wet spot from Hazel’s vision, but failing to keep your secret when she dragged her finger up your clothed cunt.

“Holy shit.” Hazel muttered under her breath. “So fucking wet already?”

You were far too turned on to even begin to respond to her taunts, opting instead to raise your hips and signify Hazel to take off your panties. Hazel, however, had other plans. She continued to stroke the length of your covered cunt, enjoying watching your hips stutter every time she so much as grazed your clit.

As much as you loved the cloth friction rubbing against your slit, the growing pool of wetness that resulted was beginning to make you feel suffocated. You lifted your hips to chase her touch, moaning with desperation. Hazel smirked, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“Patience, pretty girl. I can’t do anything until you tell me what you want.”

Hazel’s finger picked at the waistband of your panties, while her darkened eyes stared down at you. You struggled to speak, your brain far too mushy to form a complete sentence. How in the hell were you this fucked out, and Hazel had barely touched you?

“P-please Haze… I need you mph… take them off…”

Another wicked grin appeared on Hazel's face as she leaned down again to praise your obedience. “Such a good girl.”

Her mouth latched onto your jaw as her fingers curled over the top of your waistband. You raised your hips, and Hazel pulled off your panties in one quick motion.

Now that you were completely exposed, you felt completely exposed, which wasn’t necessarily the most comfortable feeling. Your legs began to shut involuntarily, catching the attention of the girl hovered above you.

Her eyes went wide as she crawled off of you and put her hands up. “Hey, woah, are you ok? Do you wanna stop? I’m sorry! I should have checked in more. We can stop if you want. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Hazel’s sudden transition out of her dominant alter ego caught you off guard. Still though, you couldn’t help but melt a little. She was being so sweet, making sure you were ok, you almost felt a little bad for her. You didn’t mean to freak her out.

You sheepishly smiled up at her, a little embarrassed. “I’m fine. Really. It’s just a little weird being the only one naked is all.”

Hazel blinked at you, processing your words. Almost like a lightbulb went off in her head, she jumped up and practically tore all the clothing off her body, throwing each piece over her shoulder as soon as it was off. You couldn’t help but notice a string of arousal momentarily connecting her slick to her boxers, breaking only after she slid them down her legs.

Hazel’s body read like a painting, with each brush stroke precisely positioned to perfect the masterpiece. Her wetness glistened from in between her legs, and you couldn’t help but admire the beauty standing before you. However, you didn’t get to admire for long, as Hazel was already repositioning herself over you.

“Better?” She asked.

You sighed. “Definitely.”

Hazel immediately got to work trailing kisses down your body while thumbing through the folds of your slit. Soft moans echoed from your lips every time she’d slightly dip into your entrance for some more lubricant, and then frustrated groans would roll out whenever she immediately pulled out. God, she had access to every part of you and still managed to be such a tease.

Eventually, Hazel kissed her way down to your pelvic bone, hovering her face just over where you wanted her the most. Her hot breath tickled your dripping wet folds, making you tremble with anticipation. She stuck out her tongue and gently kitten-licked your clit to gauge your reaction, staring up at you as she did. A soft whimper left your throat, causing a smug smirk to form on Hazel’s face. Starting to gain some confidence back, she locked eyes with you and slowly licked up the entire length of your cunt, from your entrance all the way to the hood of your clit. You whined, throwing your head back against the carpet.

“Feel good?” Hazel asked, not bothering to wait for your response as she already knew the answer.

Hazel dived into you like a starved woman, lapping up your slick like it contained the very thing she needed to survive. Broken moans fell from your parted lips as you desperately grasped at her hair, trying to keep her exactly where you wanted her. Your hips bucked against her face, a part of you dying to see her features covered in your juices.

Her name found its way out of your mouth, almost involuntarily. “Hazel I… mph… fuck…”

“Fuck yeah. I love it when you say my name, pretty girl.” Hazel exclaimed, eyes rolling in the back of her head. You groaned. Dominant Hazel could have very easily put you into cardiac arrest, you were pretty sure.

The feeling of Hazel’s tongue against your engorged clit was hypnotizing, but your entrance was also twitching for attention. You wanted, no, you needed her inside you.

You grabbed Hazel’s hair and pulled it to lift her off you. She started to whine at the loss of your taste, but quickly looked up at you to make sure you were alright. “Everything ok, princess?”

“Hazel, I… I wanna ride your fingers. Please.” You panted breathlessly.

Hazel’s body shifted at your bold choice of words before a dark desire clouded her face again. “Of course.”

She reached up and crashed her lips against yours again, the taste of your own pussy still lingering on her tongue and coating your mouth in the most arousing way. You both readjusted to where she was on her back and you were now hovering over top of her. She adjusted her right hand in the “come here” position with her middle and ring fingers standing, and rested it in the middle of her thigh.

“All yours, honey.” She looked up at you with a goofy smile and half lidded eyes.

You positioned your entrance over her fingertips, shifting slightly before sliding down onto her knuckles. Hazel's fingers curled to hit your g-spot, forcing your head to fall back with a throaty groan.

“Feel good, gorgeous?” Another one of Hazel’s praises fell from her lips.

“Fuck Hazel, those nicknames are gonna kill me…” you whined.

Hazel smirked. “Oh yeah, you like that? Gorgeous? Pretty girl? My princess?”

As you were drinking in Hazel’s sweet nothings and riding her long fingers, your eyes fell down to her lap. Her exposed cunt glistened with her own arousal, dripping down her thighs and onto your carpet. A wicked idea popped into your head, and you couldn’t help but smirk.

Your hand traveled down to the folds of Hazel's slick, forcing the brunette beauty underneath you to jump at the sudden touch. “Honey, what are you…”

“Is this ok?” You asked softly. Hazel nodded quickly, realizing what you were getting at. You hastily licked your fingers and slid them into her twitching cunt.

Hazel moaned at the feeling of your fingers inside her. “Fuck, baby. Feels so good. So good to me.”

The longer you bounced on Hazel’s hand, the more you felt that familiar tight feeling in your abdomen. “Hazel, I’m…”

“Yeah… mph… me too.” She managed to whisper under her breath.

Hazel positioned her thumb to rub against your clit, forcing your body to tremble in sputtered shocks. You curled your palm to stimulate her clit, and you could tell she was almost as close as you were.

“Hazel, can we… mph… cum together?” You asked, rolling your bottom lip between your teeth.

The brunette underneath you was already starting to fall apart. “Fuck baby… so close… let go… I’ll follow… yeah?”

You rolled your hips against her, using your free hand to position her wrist where you needed her to touch you. Your hips sputtered, your core tightened, your clit throbbed. “Hazel, I… mph fUCK!”

Your head rolled back as you let out a sound so primal, you weren’t even sure it was sexy. Hazel soon followed, her groans and whimpers reverberating around the room as her hips sputtered under you. You rode out your climaxes together, the erotic sounds of sex disappearing into the nearly empty house.

Hazel couldn’t believe it. Not only was her longtime crush gay, not only was she fucking you, but she had just given you a mind-blowing orgasm at the same time you gave her one. Fuck, the very thought almost made her cum a second time.

You rolled off of her, and snuggled into her chest while she wrapped her arm around you. “Wow…”

“That was… unexpected…” Hazel muttered breathlessly.

You giggled. “Yeah, no kidding.”

A comfortable silence filled the room, both of you just enjoying the presence of the other, the project from before long forgotten.

You looked up at her, planting a soft kiss on her jaw. “Still think we can’t be friends?”

“I think we’re a little more than friends now.” Hazel chuckled.

Your heart fluttered at her suggestion. “Yeah? You want to?”

“I mean, yeah, if you want to.”

You nodded, snuggling back into her chest, close to falling asleep after so much activity. Hazel continued to stare up at the ceiling, a goofy grin plastered across her features.

“PJ is gonna lose her mind after this.”

#hazel callahan #hazel callahan smut #hazel callahan x reader #hazel callahan x reader smut #kit tanthalos #ruby cruz #ruby cruz x reader #sapphic #fanfic #hurt/comfort

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queenie-avenue · 6 months

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There's no solution for whatever this was.

💌 ⤻ THE ACADEMIC RIVAL, SEO MIN-JUN

—> when you come crashing into his life, his focus for his studies are lost.

⤻ reader is gender neutral, reader's race is not mentioned but it does take place in korea, stalking, obsession, slightly suggestive, possessiveness, stealing, damage to personal, slightly suggestive, property, encouraging suicide, mentions of academic stress and korea's expectation for its students, inspired by @moyazaika 's academic rival yandere (go check the fic out, it's amazing), a drabble for now but I will be posting longer fics of him

🦋 ⤻ archives.

In Korea, students are shown to be almost always studying. Many news outlets have covered multiple schools and how much pressure Korean students are going through with their studies. It's difficult, no one can deny it. Yet, some of these students just find it normal, they view studying as perhaps their only form of control they have in their world.

One of those such students is Seo Min-Jun, a student belonging to a prestigious private high school. Someone who is in his final year of high school, soon to graduate and take his university exams. Top of his class, the son to a minister in Korea's government and a rather popular film actress, and the president of the student council. He was destined for success once he graduated.

The moment he crawled out of his mother's womb, his fate was paved for him in gold.

That was, until you — the sweet scholarship student — showed up.

✧ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ✧

At first, he didn't understand you. Both of you were literally in your last year of school, but you waltzed in like you owned the place. At least, from his perspective. He thought you bland. After all, you got in from a scholarship. You may be smart, but were you as rich, or was your status in society as high as him? It didn't matter, he still viewed you as below him and didn't pay much attention to you, relegating his secretary in the student council to give you a tour of the elite private school that you should honestly be honoured to step your grimy shoes all over.

Sure, he'd never say these things out to you or anyone else in public. After all, he was still a model student, and he was taught to act humble. Key word: act.

He honestly didn't take an interest in you till he saw your name, above his, on the monthly test evaluations.

"What?" He muttered out, not believing his eyes. In almost every damn subject, you managed to score higher than him. He was almost always one mark off from you. His eyes shot to you, the you who stood there in your crisp and cut uniform on the other side of the crowd, looking up at the papers pressed onto the walls with a look of pride. What was that look of pride for?

Pride, something that existed strongly in almost every culture, and you had just ruined his.

Your life was never the same afterwards.

Letters of hatred piled in your shoe locker. They ranged from being written like some crazed man worshipping your feet like you were a god to someone who wanted to see you hop off the building of your school. The handwriting was typically crazed, but you could recognise whose handwriting it was solely because the both of you were in the same class.

As usual, the school board did nothing to help with that. And when you tried to accuse Min-Jun, the teachers especially scolded you for attempting to defame the student council president.

It got so bad that your things were going missing too, your homework — which the teachers unreasonably scolded you for even if you were user sure you placed it in your bag this morning — and then your notes too. Technically, they did return. They just returned torn up, and some were even burnt with mysterious stains on them.

One day, you couldn't take it anymore after receiving a death threat, and you stormed to the student council office, knowing that if you went to the general office, they'd turn you away again.

You would take matters into your own hands.

✧ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ✧

When Min-Jun first saw you enter the room, he was left breathless. Your blushed cheeks from running all the way here, no doubt, the way your uniform crumpled, his mouth was almost drooling. No, no. He refused to let himself lust over you in such a manner that you were a rival, for goodness sake! Not some... potential love interest. Though that thought did pique his interest but he pushed it down with any other thoughts he had about his rival.

"I can't take it anymore." You said, which shocked him. Was someone bullying you? Only he could do that! "I know it's you. I've seen your handwriting on tests before, I just know you're the one who's been planting those notes and stealing my things." You accused your one-sided academic rival.

He didn't bother to defend himself. What was the point? His family would protect him, the school would protect him, and most importantly, the student body would rip them to shreds if they ever tried to act out against him. He knew how cruel students could be. After all, he had seen all the outcasts almost drowned inside toilet bowls by bullies multiple times.

He could not have that. Having you tortured would mean he would not be able to have a proper rival. As much as he disliked you for being in his way, he preferred to keep things... somewhat fair.

"And your proof?" He inquired.

"I have all those notes stored in my bag." You hissed.

For some reason, the thought of you keeping those notes made his heart beat faster. Were you a freak like him too? Did you have such sinful thoughts just like him? You broke his twisted fantasy with your next words, though.

"I don't understand why you're doing this to me. It's- it's," you struggled to find a word for his disturbing actions, "ceaselessly cruel!" You finally exclaimed.

Cruel? What was cruel were your actions, driving him mad, making him lose focus on his work. Who were you to call him cruel when you made him like this?

He got up from his seat and approached you, causing you to fall back, landing on the couch that you swore was not there when the entered the student council room. Taking this chance, he pinned you against the seat, taking in every part of your body, your face, your eyes... everything. God, you were so perfect but so infuriating. Just why did you have to confront him?

"Are you that fucking naive to think that when you present the school with your proof, they'll do anything about it for you? That they'll go against me and my family for the sake of defending the poor scholarship student?" He hissed, grabbing your face harshly as you whimpered. He wished the circumstances of your whimpers were different; in his bed rather than on the couch of the student council office. Still, that did breed intriguing fantasies into his mind. "You think they'll do that for you?" He repeated.

"I-" you started, but you had no idea how to end.

"Exactly." He let go of you, almost smacking your head to the other side as he straightened himself, readjusting the blazer of his uniform.

"You should get used to the circumstances of your situation." He said which only made you shudder. "Let yourself out." He said cooly as he exited the student council room, "I trust you'll keep this meeting a secret." He said with an air of finality before sauntering casually towards the male bathrooms where he promptly slammed the door shut and sat on the toilet seat, practically fuming.

That look on your face, the scrunch of your nose, the furrowing of your eyebrows. You were so unfair! He could practically feel all his blood flush downwards as he thought of you.

Now that you knew he was the culprit, what would you do?

It didn't matter.

He would find ways to pester you and find ways to mark you as someone who could not be touched by anyone else other than him.

"I left another note in your bag. You should look at it. Or else."

#male yandere x reader #yandere male x reader #yandere male #yandere oc #yandere imagines #yandere drabble #yandere academic rival #yandere

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inbarfink · 2 months

Text

Ace Attorney Lawyers Ranked By Their Abilities in Physical Combat

Winston Payne: I’m pretty sure the average Tumblr user could kill Winston Payne with their bare hands.

Sebastian DeBeste: Look, the only reason why this wimp ranks higher than Payne is because he is so sopping wet pathetic that there is a significant chance that his opponent will just start feeling bad about kicking his ass and punch themself in the face instead.

Klavier Gavin: While Klavier is a physically fit young man who is known to keep his cool in extreme situations, he is also a giant law-abiding nerd who has never thrown a punch at anything that isn’t an inanimate wall. It probably wouldn’t be that hard to shove this guy into a locker.

Miles Edgeworth: Look, Miles is an even bigger locker-worthy nerd than Klavier. Anytime anyone, friend or foe, suggests a violent solution he just gets freaked out and begs for them to follow procedures. And no AA Lawyer is more easily thrown off his rhythm and startled than he is. He might have some bulk under the magenta and frills (or at least some impressive leg muscles from climbing 12 flights of stairs every day for like seven years), but he has no idea or will to actually use them in a fight. However, he did try and stare down a man who was aiming a gun at his back that one time and managed to keep his cool throughout all of this.

So like, he’d probably talk a big game and try and intimidate his opponent into not engaging - but if that won’t work he will get his ass thoroughly whooped. And then he’d try to sue them, which is what his threats were about all along.

Apollo Justice: Actually a considerable step up in power-levels from the previous ones. Apollo might be smol, but he is Done With Your Shit and this gives him Strength. Not to mention that one time he successfully tanked an explosion. His famous Chords of Steel can also serve as a tactic to confuse or weaken his enemies.

Kristoph Gavin: Although he is primarily known for his schemes and poisoning, he did kill a man with a single blow to the forehead with a bottle, showing he does have some decent upper-body-strength to use in a fight. And being known as ‘the Coolest Defense in the West’ means he can keep his calm even during hectic combat. But he’s also very pretentious and his constant pontifications might just be the perfect opportunity for someone to smash his face in.

Blaise Debeste: Okay, look, is Blaise a scary tall man who successfully stabbed a woman to death with a candelabra and constantly carries around a deceptively-powerful lighter and has like, implied, motorcycle gang background? Yes. But also I think anyone who encounters Blaise Debeste face-to-face is overcome with such bloodlust rage that it might give them an edge in the battle against him.

Mia Fey: Mia ranks fairly high on the Battle Scale considering the one time she was faced with a violent altercation she just tried to escape and it… didn’t end well.

However, in the two times we get to play as her it’s also clear that she wants to Punch. All of the Things. While Apollo is fueled by being Done With Your Shit, Mia has righteous anger - so I think in a situation where she is actually prepared to do battle she would be able to throw a few decent punches. Also assuming we are talking about Mia while she was still alive, there’s also her Spirit Channeling powers to account for. While we’ve never seen them on screen, Maya told us they are “first rate” and I believe her. Maybe she could channel the spirit of a great warrior to try and get an edge in combat?

Manfred Von Karma: While he also has the same Bloodlust-Inducing-Factor as Blaise, and he does seem less physically fit even though they’re about the same age - I feel like his cane could do more serious damage than Blaise’s lighter. And he has that dangerous fucking Stun Gun on him to easily neutralize opponents. Plus, he did tank that one gunshot he got in the shoulder. Manfred’s opponents might have Rage on their side, but also you cannot underestimate the power of his sheer Spite.

Godot: On one hand, Godot has shown an ability to keep his cool in very dangerous situations. He can smash a coffee cup with his bare hands and barely react, showing that he’s decently strong and resilient to pain. And he is yet another proud (?) member of the exclusive “Lawyers With a Body Count Club”. And while stabbing a waifish, 155cm college student (and part time-poisoner) in the back isn’t exactly the most epic demonstration of battle prowess in the history of Anime Lawyers - he did it (and moved the body and doctored the crime scene and prosecuted in court) while tanking a knife slash in his face, showing his pain-resilience once again, as well as general tenacity that would also be useful in battle. Also, he can summon an infinite amount of hot coffee mugs at will, which must make for a decent improvised long-ranged attack.

On the other hand, his health is also heavily implied to be deteriorating and that he’s basically dying over the course of the final case… possibly due to all of that physical exhaustion. If a fight goes longer than just a single backstab, I feel like these health complications are gonna harm Godot’s performance.

Phoenix Wright: Okay, so this is actually the hardest one to place. I keep flip-flopping on where to put him, especially compared to Mia, and Apollo. Because unlike most other lawyers currently ranked below him, he is a disaster when it comes to being on the offensive; Phoenix Wright is a total wimp who has never returned a punch in his life. However, he is also almost supernaturally durable, unbelievably lucky and deceptively strong. If a solid iron door, a raging freezing river and a speeding car didn’t manage to take him down, what chance does a fellow human, even a more combat-capable one, have???

Calisto Yew: She’s not even a real-lawyer! She’s a Secret Spy who successfully pretended to be a Lawyer for years! She’s got a gun, she’s got a knife, she's got crossbow bolt as hair decorations, she probably has some combat training from her time in Interpol… While she’s clearly more specialized for espionage and infiltration, and not as physically strong as Lang, she’s still got an impressive advantage over most of the regular people who went to Law School. In fact, her skill with barefaced lies and manipulation might also be a skill she could use in a fight to catch her opponent off-guard.

Nahyuta Sahdmadhi: Nahyuta is, in fact, one of the few AA Lawyers to canonically participate in what I would unambiguously call a ‘fight’ (rather than a ‘murder’), when he single-handedly disarmed and apprehended a Defiant Dragon rebel in the sorta-canon ‘Spirit of Justice’ Prologue video.

Like, that rebel guy probably isn't the world's greatest warrior, but the Defiant Dragons have been around for enough time to give their members at least some basic self-defense/combat skills… more so than the average lawyer on this list at minimum. And Nahyuta very easily crab-stomped him. Showing that he has strong nerves, some amazing reflexes and the martial art skills to knock a man unconscious with a single blow. Not to mention the seemingly supernatural skills with his prayer beads, which he already uses as a sort of ‘weapon’ in court. Also that... thing he did to Apollo's bracelet that one time.

Nahyuta might be just straight-up Magic, that's pretty OP.

Franziska von Karma: Look, Franziska might not have official martial-arts, guns, or Literal Magic Powers - but what she does have is sheer determination and force or personality. Franziska von Karma has been intimidating grown men since she was a 149 cm tall 13 years old with a riding crop (I mean, one of those men was Miles, but still…..). She had once whipped Phoenix Wright into unconsciousness in a temper tantrum, and like I already mentioned that taking him down is quite a feat. She is also very resilient - while the shot to her shoulders was designed not to kill her, being up back on her feet doing investigation stuff a day after is still very impressive! Her whip might not be as dangerous as a sword or a gun, but she will not relent until she defeats you.

Simon Blackquill: Let me just give it to you straight, Simon Blackquill is 1.88 meter tall, he owns a katana and a trained attack-hawk (giving him both short range and far range advantage), he can break solid metal chains with his bare hands, he can cut your hair halfway across the room with a feather. Not to mention how he could probably use the whole psychological manipulation in battle to intimidate or goad his enemy. There’s not even a lot of funny or interesting points to bring up, he is literally an action movie character who just happens to also be a lawyer.

Athena Cykes: Athena Cykes is the strongest lawyer. One day, she’ll be stronger than whales. I believe in her.

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 7 months

Note

Sooooo…….how do you think Benny boi would handle being caught half-naked from out the shower by his darling?? He’s showering after winning his match-up she thought he was finished but to her surprise…….. this scenario has been stuck in my brain 💀💀

Adrenaline.

oh baby... thank you for this.

warnings - smut. cursing.

Masterlist. Inbox.

"Ben? You in here?"

You walk through the locker room, looking for your partner as you go. Eventually, when you reach the showers, you hear the water running.

"Babe?" Benny yells from behind the curtain. "That you?"

You pull it back and pop your head around, trying to keep your eyes on his.

"It's me. I'll just wait for you on the bench out here."

Before you can blink, a strong hand wraps around your wrist and pulls you into the shower, water drenching you immediately. You shriek, swatting at his chest to try and escape.

His palms find your hips, plastering your bodies together.

"Need you," he murmurs into your ear, brushing your hair away from your face. "Can't wait until we get home."

"I'm soaked," you whine.

"You will be."

"Asshole," you laugh, resting your forehead on his sternum. "I like this dress. Dry."

"Stop worrying," he soothes, rucking the material up and over your head, throwing it onto the tiled floor. "Let me take your mind off it, hmm?"

He pulls your underwear down your legs, chuckling when you step out of them willingly.

Benny places your hands on the wall, kicking your feet apart. Pressing kisses down your spine, he sighs softly, grabbing handfuls of your ass as he goes.

"Fuck, this is what I needed. You, all pretty and pliant for me. So good, baby. Such a good girl."

Benny lines himself up and slides home in one smooth movement, both of you gasping in unison.

"That's it," he coos. "Take it, baby. Like you know you can. Like you were made for it."

You drop your head onto your arm and let him mould you however he likes, clearly needing the outlet. He gets like this, after his fights. He vibrates with the energy of it, looking for a release in any way he can get it.

You've become his favourite solution.

"Ben," you whine. "Fuck, babe."

"Yeah, honey. Keep saying my name just like that, please."

Benny's rhythm is frantic, frazzled, rushed, but he still manages to hit exactly the right spots. He knows your body like the back of his hand, that much is clear.

"Close," you choke out, trying not to swallow the water that still beats down. "Benny."

"Come for me, pretty girl. Give me all you've got. Please. I want it baby, that's it."

His honeyed words send you over the edge, muscles tensing and eyes rolling back. Benny joins you, groaning lowly against the wet skin of your back.

You both try to catch your breath for a moment, Ben reaching over to turn off the water. You spin and wrap your arms around his neck, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips.

"Better?"

"So much better," he chuckles.

You're about to respond when you hear the locker room door open, the sounds of multiple heavy footsteps filling the room.

"Benny! Champion! Where you at?"

You look at him with wide eyes, both of you realising the hilarity of the situation. Benny reaches out of the curtain to grab his dry shirt from the bench, tossing it to you and wrapping a towel around his waist. You throw it on and follow him out towards the boys sheepishly, knowing you're not about to get away with what you've just done.

"There you are!"

The boys look between you and Benny, putting the pieces together.

"You two are ridiculous," Frankie laughs.

Santiago winks at you as you bury your head in Benny's shoulder, laughter bouncing off the lockers around the room.

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aliensupastar · 8 months

Text

i wouldn’t ask you

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Carmy Berzatto/GN!Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: You try to break your promise. Carmy won’t let you. Follow-up to “shouldn’t feel like a crime”

Part I Part II

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, depiction of an eating disorder, food issues, heart-to hearts, arguments, swearing

A/N: once again, thank y'all so much for the love on parts one and two of this fic, it brings me so much joy!! also, im terribly sorry for how long it took to write this. school happened and i think it got away from me a little bit, i did a lot of rewrites, and it's shorter than i'd like it to be but it’s something i’m finally satisfied with, and i hope you guys enjoy it! to anyone who’s sent me asks, left comments or replies telling me they connected with this fic, i hope it continues to bring you comfort as it has for me. i can’t express to you enough how much all your responses have meant to me. this will be the last part for this lil series, but im grateful to anyone who’s read n supported it. title insp by "i wouldn’t ask you" by clairo, gif by riickgrimes <3

Logically, you know that healing — if that’s what you could call what you were trying to do — isn’t linear. You’ve heard it a thousand times, and on some level, you know it’s true. Knowing it doesn’t stop the shame you feel when you start skipping the train, opting instead to walk, or on shittier days, run to work.

At first you thought you’d been able to escape the anxiety that came with eating anything you didn’t know the exact calorie count of, that you’d been able to eat Carmy’s spaghetti without complication. In retrospect, it had merely been delayed, the calm and warmth afforded to you by Carmy’s presence wearing off as soon as you’d gotten into bed that night; you’d laid awake for another hour, paralyzed by your own panic.

The only solution you found fit was to force yourself into physical activity, making your travel to and from work ten times more miserable, waking up an hour and a half earlier than usual just to get to the restaurant on time and still have ten minutes to freshen up and change into your uniform. You at least managed to make the change in your routine go unnoticed, still looking presentable once it was time to open for service, or at least you thought so.

“Did you run here?” Sydney asks one morning, spotting you right as you clocked in and rushed to your locker to pull out your uniform.

“Uh, yeah, I did.” You’re a little too breathless to come up with an excuse, to properly deflect her concern and surprise.

“Okay…” She watches as you shove your other belongings into the locker space haphazardly. “Does that, like, happen often, or-“

“No,” You say, too quickly, shaking your head. “Just, uh, don’t tell Carmy?”

You look up at her, eyes pleading, hoping she accepts this one request without question, hoping she can disregard something just this one time.

“Tell Carmy what?” Hearing your boss’s voice makes you jump in shock, as he comes around the corner and spots you, hair messy and sweat still dripping down your temple.

Your skill for being unnoticeable is escaping you, that much is clear. You’re essentially caught red-handed, a deer in headlights, eyes bouncing between Sydney and Carmy as you struggle to come up with something, anything to respond with. But Sydney swoops in just seconds after you freeze, granting you mercy, this one time.

“Tell you to mind your own business, chef,” She says, her tone light-hearted so that you know to force out a laugh, and Carmy takes it. He gives a half-smile and shakes his head, heading over to his prep station and as soon as he’s out of sight, you look back at Sydney.

“Thank you,” You whisper as you head for the bathroom, uniform in hand, and she nods, still looking concerned but thankfully, dropping it.

Carmy’s the one who won’t drop it. It stays on his mind all day, even after you’ve changed clothes and fixed your hair and erased any trace of the mess you looked that morning; every free moment he has, he spends thinking of you.

He wants to believe that you’d simply missed your train. An innocent, easy mistake. But the way you avoid meeting his eyes during service hours, no matter how many times he tries to get your attention, or get you to just look at him and confirm that you’re okay, tells him it’s more than that.

He rushes through closing duties that night, just to make sure he’s good to leave before you finish closing up the front with Richie. He waits, sits in his office chair pretending to be busy until he sees you heading for the lockers, ready to clock out, and then moves to lean as casually as possible against the doorway.

“You want a ride home?” He asks, interrupting you as you pull clothes out from the locker; the clothes you were wearing this morning, he realizes, a sweatshirt and biker shorts. Like you expect to break a sweat on the way home, too.

“Nope. Thank you, chef, I’m good.” You barely even look over at him as you say it, and Carmy has to stop himself from making a face, making his displeasure visible.

“I really don’t mind,” He tries again, but you just close your locker door and shake your head, ready — and desperate — to change out of your uniform in the bathroom before it’s time to lock up. You put on what you hope is an easy smile, but it comes off tense.

“I’m okay, Carm, really. It’s not like it’s raining-“

“Chef,” He interrupts you, suddenly stern. “C’mon.”

He nods his head motioning for you to follow him, and it’s clear from his tone that there will be no room to argue.

You trail behind him while he locks up, and on the way out to his car, you can feel that frustration building up inside you again. The same resentment and irritation you felt in the hospital, when he wouldn’t take your bullshit excuses in the same way that nurse or your other coworkers would, it rises and rises till you’re gripping your backpack strap a little too tight and shutting the car door a little too hard.

You’re grateful, at the very least, that he says nothing when tears start to spill out and down your face as he drives you home.

You sit in silence for a minute when Carmy pulls into your building’s parking lot. You can’t bring yourself to leave at first, part of you still craving to savor his presence for as long as you can, even if the other part of you is too angry to even look at him.

“You wanna talk?” He asks quietly.

“Nope.” His question is enough to set you off, pushing the car door open and furiously wiping away your tears as you haul yourself out.

Logically, Carmy knows it might be best to leave you alone for tonight. Let you calm down and attempt reconciliation tomorrow morning. Knowing it doesn’t stop the feeling that he can’t just leave you alone, and let you walk away upset.

“Hey,” He calls out, opening his own door and moving to follow you. “C’mon-“

“Fuck you, Carmen.” You spit out.

He’s undeterred, even if you don’t turn back to face him once, refusing to acknowledge him tailing you the entire way up to your apartment.

You don’t tell him to leave you alone, to stop following you, to fuck off. You don’t even slam your front door in his face like he half-expects you to. Instead it hangs open as you storm into your living room, a silent invitation. An invitation Carmy doesn’t hesitate to accept, stepping through your door and carefully closing it behind him.

He’s still wracking his brain on what to say, clueless on how to stop the tears flowing down your face as you toss your backpack down and meekly lower yourself to sit on the floor between your couch and the coffee table, knees pulled into your chest.

“Will you just fuckin’ talk to me?” He finds himself pleading with you again after a minute, but his helplessness in the face of your distress makes his words come out callous, and you just scoff.

“Don’t be a dickhead, Carmy.”

“I’m a dickhead? I-I’m the dickhead, for giving a fuck?” You lift your head to glare at him, and you can see that he wants to match your anger; all the tell-tale signs of an upcoming screaming match appearing in his features, scrunching up his face as he repeats your words back to you, and you know you’re not being fair. You promised him you’d let him in, allow him to help stop you from going off the deep end again, and yet you’re the one resisting him. You wish he’d let the frustration on his face overtake him, walk out your door and leave you alone with your mind.

He doesn’t, no matter how much you will him to. His eyes meet your own, filled with misplaced ire, and all he does is lean his head back and sigh, running a hand over his face and forcing himself to curtail the urge to give in to your bait.

“You don’t wanna talk, I’ll talk,” He starts tentatively, before saying maybe the last thing you’d expect: “I’m sorry.”

Your narrowed eyes widen, the contempt in them turning to pure shock, but he barely notices.

“I didn’t mean to- if I went too far, the other day, with the spaghetti. I didn’t mean to set you off like that. I’m sorry.” The absolute sincerity in his voice as he apologizes for something you know isn’t on him — it’s too much.

You’d love to pass the blame off on somebody else. If you could find a single other person to hold accountable for causing the near-constant state of discomfort that you’ve been stuck in for weeks, the distress of living in your own body, you think you’d jump at the chance. But you can’t bring yourself to do it to the one person who’s offered to take the fault away from you, because even now, after you’ve lashed out at him, he’s deliberately gentle with you.

You can see Carmy is ready to move towards your front door, you’ve sat here for too long without giving him a response, weeping silently. And maybe that would be the right thing to do after breaking your promise, letting him worry over you till he thinks he’s the one who owes you an apology. But selfishly, you reach up and grasp his arm before he can even turn to leave, gently tugging him down to sit with you, and he lets you.

“I’m sorry,” You start once he’s settled next to you, your voice still thick with tears. “I know what we talked about in the hospital. I haven’t been- I fucked all that up, I know, I’m sorry.” He’s shaking his head, looking like he wants to refute you, but you continue on.

“I just… I’m so fucking scared,” You nearly choke on your words, but it’s a relief to get them out, and suddenly you can’t stop the rest from spilling from your mouth. “I’m scared of getting better. I can’t stand the thought of it, I don’t even- I don’t know what I’d be for, if I wasn’t like this all the time. And it’s fucking embarrassing. That’s all I feel, all the time, just- constant fear, and shame. I can’t fucking stop myself.”

You take a pause, doing your best to breathe deep and avoid Carmy’s intent gaze, so you don’t lose your nerve.

“We were good, for a bit, and I wasn’t so… out of control. But then I fucked it, and I-I couldn’t just, tell you. Felt like, for once there was someone who understood, and I just wanted to keep the rest of it out of sight, I guess.”

It’s the most you’ve expressed to anyone about this. You think maybe you’ve gone too far, that maybe now you’ll have alienated the one person you’ve been honest with in years. But when you finally look up at Carmy, he’s nodding thoughtfully, no trace of judgment or pity in his expression.

“I don’t.” He says carefully. “I don’t really understand. I-I don’t think I could, uh-” He pauses, clasping one hand over the other tightly, like it pains him to force his words out, too. “I guess, growin’ up, food was basically a love language. It was how I bonded with Mikey, it’s why I wanted to do this job in the first place. So, to avoid food… I don’t think I can imagine what that’s like.”

All you can do is nod. You shouldn’t have made him listen to you vent your emotions, you should’ve let him walk out your door-

“But, I’d like to try. If that’s what you want.” He says, interrupting your spiral. “I just need to know you’re safe. Shutting me out like this – it’s bullshit. I’m not gonna just- stop caring. Even if it’s ugly. Just don’t shut me out.”

His earnestness practically shoots you in the chest, filling you with that warm, familiar feeling that usually comes with his presence. You want to push against it, you haven’t earned it back, it’s too damn much.

“Even if I… end up in the hospital again?” You say, trying to keep your tone light, but you can’t keep the pleading out of your voice.

“I’d drive you to the hospital a hundred times.” Carmy replies, completely genuine, and now you can’t push back against the urge to throw your arms around him, burying your face in his chest.

You don’t know how long you sit there, on the hard floors of your living room, arms tight around each other, breathing together. All you know is that you don’t want him to leave; he makes no move to go.

a few people asked to be tagged on this part, so here you go! @rexorangecouny @moonlight-sonata99 @kpopgirlbtssvt

#carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x you #carmy berzatto angst #the bear #the bear fx #the bear hulu #hurt/comfort #angst #my writing #the shrimp that fried that rice

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specialagentlokitty · 4 months

Text

Hannibal x teen!reader - i would notice

Hi 👋, i absolutely loved your Hannibal lecter fic so I was wondering if you could do a Hannibal × teen reader with angst or where he maybe saves them from someone or from themselves? If not that's totally fine. - Anon💜

TW: mentions of self harm and suicidal thoughts and neglectful parents

Therapy.

According to everybody that was the solution to everything, all your problems would be solved if you just sat in a room with a stranger supposedly telling them everything about you.

Things you didn’t want anybody else to know.

You didn’t want to attend your sessions, but your parents were paying a lot of money for you to see this therapist, so you went to your sessions.

Though you never really said much, which was something Hannibal picked up on.

“Sometimes I do have to wonder why it is you insist on coming to your sessions if you’re just going to sit here to do homework instead.”

You shrugged a little bit, looking up from where you were sat on the floor.

“I’ve gotta do it somewhere, plus my parents pay for these sessions, it’ll be a waste of money I guess.”

“Do you not think you need it?”

“Everybody has problems I just don’t see the point in talking about it, it won’t change anything.”

“It could make it easier for you.”

You shrugged again and stood up, bringing a work book over to his desk and set it down.

Hannibal took the book so he could look at it while you dragged a chair over to sit next to him while he read through your work.

“Have you finished everything else?” He asked.

“Yeah, it’s just this. I don’t really get it so I thought I’d leave it until last.”

Hannibal nodded his head, taking one of his many notebooks, and he found one with your name on it and opened it.

Over the sessions he had become used to you using the time for your homework, asking him yo help you with whatever it was you didn’t understand.

It actually helped him learn a lot about you, about your possible home life since you didn’t seem interested in talking about whatever problems you were having.

Hannibal explained the problem to you, and he gave you a brief demonstration on how to solve it before giving you the notebook so you could try it for yourself.

“How is school going? Are you still having problems with some of the other students?”

“A little, but I think I solved most of them.”

He hummed a little bit, slowly nodding his head.

“How did you manage that? Did you take my advance and ignore them?”

“Nope.”

You grinned a little bit at your therapist and went back to your homework.

“Shoved a whole bunch of shaving cream and feathers into their lockers.”

“You do realise retaliation in such a way could could make this a lot more complicated for you. They could also possibly get you into trouble as well.”

“Maybe yeah I guess.”

“What did your parents have to say?”

“The usual nothing.”

Hannibal wrote that down in another notebook and he studied you for a moment.

Usually it was obvious why people were in therapy, usually he knew before they came to the sessions or they would have told him by now but you didn’t.

He was having to rely on everything he saw, everything you did and the very few things that you had said.

Your sessions were routine, going the same way nearly all of the of the time.

So he began to notice the change in your behaviour as time went on, it was slight, only tiny changes but he noticed.

You didn’t bring your homework anymore, you would just tell him about your day, the changes in your clothing, you seemed more withdrawn.

Then you began to miss sessions, the first he didn’t think about it, the second he was a little suspicious but when it came to the third and forth he knew there was something more.

So, when he opened his door to see that you weren’t sat in the waiting room he sighed, making his way to the phone to dial your number.

He waited as it rang, and eventually it rang off into voicemail.

Hannibal went through all his files until he found yours and he grabbed his keys and jacket as he left the office.

You were usually the last appointment of the day since you liked to hang around and just spend time with him, which he never added extra costs for.

Making his way to your listed address, Hannibal looked at the large house, very expensive looking and extremely well kept.

He parked in the drive and made his way to the door, knocking a few times, waiting.

The door was opened and you blinked a few times, stepping aside and gestured to the house so you could let him in.

“What brings you by doctor lector?” You asked.

You closed the door.

“Can I take your coat?”

“Ah, yes. Thank you.”

Hannibal handed you his jacket so you could hang it up next to yours by the door, and you led him through to the kitchen where you were before he knocked.

He watched as you carried on cooking your dinner.

“I didn’t know you were coming but you can still have some of you want.”

“No, I’m alright. But thank you. I’m actually here because you haven’t attended your sessions for the past three weeks.”

You nodded your head, setting the spoon down, and you sat on a bar stool.

“Sorry, I keep forgetting to cancel them. I know you have a policy about cancelling and whatever the fee is for not cancelling my parents can cover it.”

“That’s not why I’m here (Y/N), I’m not here about fees for cancelling.”

You seemed a little confused.

“I’m here because it isn’t like you to not turn up to your sessions, I am also aware that you haven’t been attending school recently.”

“How’d you know?”

“I called them.”

“Are you even legally allowed to do that? Can they even tell you that information?”

You were defensive.

You weren’t happy that he had called your school and you were looking for a reason to pin something on him, anything.

“I work rather closely with the FBI, I asked for favour as this behaviour is concerning.”

You nodded your head, going back to whatever your were making and you set it all aside before sitting down on the stool again.

Hannibal was stood on the other side of the counter, flicking through the recipe pages that you had left laying around.

“Can I cancel my sessions?”

Hannibal glanced up at you.

“You can, but I’d still very much like to check up on you at least once or twice a week.”

“Why? I won’t be your patient anymore.”

“Because I know you’re harming yourself, I would like to understand why. What makes you think you need to do that to yourself?”

You froze, and you tugged at your sleeves a little bit, pulling them even further.

“I’ve know for a while, I was hoping you would bring up the subject but you seem to have no interest in talking about what you’re going through.”

Hannibal walked to your cooker, and he took over making your dinner for you while you just sat there staring at the counter.

“What’s the point, it won’t change anything.”

“It can help, but people can’t help you if you won’t let them (Y/N), in order to be helped you must be willing to accept the hand that is offered to you.”

“I can’t be helped.”

You pushed yourself away from the counter you were sat at and left the kitchen, making your way into the lounge instead where you just sat down.

You turned on the TV, putting on some random show and you kicked your feet up on the table.

Hannibal followed you, setting your plate on the dining table, and he walked over, tapping your feet away from the table.

“You can be helped, nobody is beyond help.”

“I am.”

“No you’re not, now come eat and we can discuss whatever it is you’re going through.”

You didn’t bother to argue, you went to eat your dinner while Hannibal left you to eat in peace.

He came back and he set a few tubs down on the table in front of you.

“All of these are prescribed to patients who suffer from depression. How long have you been taking your medication for?” He asked.

“About a year or two, I don’t know.”

He hummed, nodding his head.

“How long have you not been taking them?”

You glanced up.

“You have been filling out your scripts, but you have a whole collection of unopened bottles.”

“About half a year I guess… I don’t know…”

“Do you plan on doing anything with those bottles?”

“No.”

“So I can take them away from you and only leave the one you’re supposed to have?”

You nodded your head.

You didn’t have any use for the old ones that you never took, you just kept filling in the scripts to keep everybody happy.

That wasn’t how you wanted to go out.

No.

You had thought about this night after night after night, and you knew exactly what you wanted to do.

“Are you here alone often?”

“My parents work a lot, they’re usually away most of the year.”

He nodded his head, taking your mostly empty plate away when you pushed it away from you.

You followed the therapist to your kitchen, climbing back up on the bar stool as you looked at him.

“Can I take a look at your arm, I would like to ensue that you don’t need any further medical attention.”

You moved your arm closer to yourself.

“Alright, that’s okay. You don’t need to show me, but I do need to know if you’re taking care to prevent infection.”

“Yeah, I know about all that stuff.”

“Good, now since you refuse to come to our sessions I will come here. A few times a week to ensure that you’re taking care of yourself.”

He did.

He kept coming by, he would talk to you, try encourage you to open up to him.

The one thing he noticed is how lonely the house seemed to be, the lack of family photos, the lack of friends around to the lack calls from your parents.

Hannibal arrived at your house like always, the first thing he noticed this time was that there was two other cars in the driveway.

Making his way up to the door he knocked, and a man answered.

“Hello, is (Y/N) home.”

“Who are you?” The man asked.

“My apologies, I’m doctor lector, their therapist. (Y/N) didn’t want to come to the office anymore so we’ve been continuing sessions here, I assume you are their father?”

“Yes, and I don’t know where they are. Look, I’m busy, go check their room or something I have meeting.”

Your dad left the door open and Hannibal walked in, making his way up the stairs to your room and he knocked on the door.

When you didn’t respond he knocked again.

“I’m opening the door.” He announced.

He pushed your door open and looked around to see that you weren’t there either.

Sighing, he made his way back to his car and tried to call your phone once more, but you never picked up.

He decided to head back to the office, deciding that he’d try and find you again tomorrow.

Hannibal didn’t know about your hideouts, where you liked to go or even have a slight idea on where you would go.

And that’s where he found you, sitting in the waiting room, and he walked over, crouching down in the front of you.

“I’ve been trying to find you.” He said gently.

You looked up, and you sniffled a little bit.

“Why do my own parents hate me…?” You asked.

Your voice cracked, and you leant back, tilting your head back to try and fight the tears that were burning your eyes.

“Let’s talk inside.”

He stood up, opening his door and you walked inside, taking a seat in one of the chairs.

Hannibal sat in the chair in front of you, offering you a few tissues which you took.

“What makes you think your parents hate you?”

“They’ve been home for two days… haven’t even spoken to me… haven’t even looked at me… it’s like I don’t exist…”

He nodded his head.

“I.. I.. it’s like if I died they wouldn’t even care… you know? They wouldn’t even notice…”

That was enough to catch his attention.

“Do you think about dying?”

“Sometimes… I know nobody would really notice.. life would carry on…”

“That’s not true.”

You looked up at him.

“I would certainly notice, life would be very different without you in it.”

You scoffed a little bit.

“You have to say that, it’s your job.”

“If you recall you left my services, it’s not my job to say that.”

Hannibal smiled slightly at you.

“I say it because I mean it, I do worry for you, I would notice your absence if you were to die, which is why I have to ask if you plan on acting upon this urge you have.”

“Sometimes but I.. I just can’t… you know?”

He nodded his head.

“I will admit this is rather concerning, I do have to wonder if for your own safety I have you placed in psychiatric care for a few days.”

“No! Please don’t…”

Hannibal thought for a moment, wondering what to do.

“If that’s the case then perhaps we can think of something else, in order to ensure your safety and a plan to help you through these feelings and urges that you are having.”

You nodded, agreeing with this.

The first step was for you to tell him everything you had been avoiding telling anybody this whole time, then he would come up with a care plan for you to help with your recovery and show you that you were important to this world

#Hannibal #hannibal x reader #hannibal x you #hannibal imagine #Hannibal lector #hannibal lector x reader #Hannibal lector x you #Hannibal lector imagine

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howtofightwrite · 7 months

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What do you think of the squishy wizard trope? Shouldn’t people that travel around and go “adventuring” have some baseline of athleticism?

So, we're back to a game design discussion, again.

The short version is, if it doesn't make sense to you, don't use it.

Squishy wizards are almost more of a gameplay consideration. If you have a game, and you're balancing ranged damage against melee damage, if your ranged damage units do enough damage, you can create a situation where melee damage straight up doesn't work. It's not viable. The 40k meme about the Tau comes to mind: “Sure, they suck in melee; too bad you'll never get there.”

If you tone down ranged unit's damage, that can easily create a situation where they become the ones who are irrelevant. Such was the experience of every level 1 Wizard in AD&D. Once in awhile, you can get into the perfect situation to end an encounter, but most of the time you're just biding your time until you get to level 5 and can learn to accidentally fireball your party's front line, but that is a long time from now.

If ranged units can do a lot of damage, they need to be fragile enough that you can remove them from the board. And the Tau comparison comes back to mind once again.

All of this combines to create a board environment, where melee fighters need to be tanky enough to get into combat and stay there. Ranged units need to be fragile enough that they can remove each other, deal enough damage to harass the melee units, without doing so much damage as to render them completely irrelevant to the board.

And, while you can build a story around that structure, you don't need to.

Gandalf isn't a fragile wizard. He's not some “book nerd,” who spent high school getting shoved into lockers. When the time comes, he goes toe to toe with a Balrog (or, the Balrog, whichever), and doesn't immediately die. He clearly manages to hold his own, in melee combat, with a massive monster. (In fairness, he's also not human. I mean, none of Tolkien's, “the race of men,” are conventionally human, but Middle Earth's Wizards are an entirely different race of beings.)

In a lot of games, solution is to give the frontline fighters a ridiculous amount of health. Now, I'm going to trash on D&D for a second, but consider that a 10th level Fighter should have somewhere around 94 - 114hp. Remember that critical hits represent some kind of significant injury. These are not just blows that connect with your armor and will leave a bruise, this is someone ran you through. Someone could crit on your fighter, with a long sword, and stab them in vital places at least 4, and probably 5 times, before it actually kills them. That's a comical amount of damage someone to suffer. (Now, granted, a 10th level character in D&D is basically a superhero. If you're thinking of Boromir's death in Jackson's Fellowship of the Rings, that is what it takes to put down a relatively high level fighter in D&D. Which is to say, hilarious amounts of abuse.)

If you signed up for that, cool. I'm not going to stop you. I'm not even going to tell you it's wrong. If you want to tear down a super-humanly powerful character through prolonged combat sequences, or due to attrition of multiple fights in quick succession, that works. I mean, hell, that's how DC killed Batman in the 90s.

If your wizard power fantasy is that a wispy intellectual gains cosmic power through hard academic study, cool. Again, that's entirely valid, and as I mentioned, it even fits into a power fantasy. If you were bullied as a teenager for your atypical interests, and habit of reading, here's a character that studies strange and esoteric subjects, and has real power as a result.

At the same time, it's entirely reasonable to have an averagely healthy mage, whether they study magic academically, or have some ingrained talent that they've honed, plop them down next to a veteran swordmaster who's fought in wars on nine continents with the scars to prove it, and while they may look a bit anemic in comparison to their buddy, is still in better shape than the average villager they interact with on a daily basis.

That's where I tend to land in all of this.

When you're creating characters for your writing, it can be helpful to assign them attributes. Now, I don't mean this in the literal RPG stat blocks. (I've tried that a few times, it doesn't really work for me.) But, just a few text descriptors (which, does sound like Fudge, come to think of it.) You might describe your mage as Smart, or Intellectual, Wise (or Absent Minded), Willful. You know, “wizard stuff.” If you describe your warrior as, Strong, Tough, Tenacious, and Cunning, you're not making the wizard squishy, you're making another character less squishy. A lot of the time, we set the base line by what other people are doing. It's reasonable to say your mage is less durable than your soldier. (Unless your mage has a reason to be that tough. Maybe they're from some frozen wasteland, and are just absolutely jacked from surviving in a hostile environment.) But, that comparison doesn't mean that your mage is deficient.

Now, on the other hand, frail characters can be interesting. You're taking out their ability to fight conventionally, so when they do start decisively ending situations, whether that's through their own creativity and guile, or sheer magical power, it can be very gratifying. And, to be clear, I am very fond of flawed characters, especially when they have to work within the framework of their flaws to find solutions, rather than just overcoming them through the power of love, friendship and mescaline.

When handled well, flaws are about creating limitations for how your characters can solve problems. These can also make your story more interesting. If you say, my character can't fight, (and you don't back down from that and just let them cheat so they can fight, because they're so goddamn special), they're going to need to find other solutions. That can result in a better, more interesting, and less predictable story.

-Starke

This blog is supported through Patreon. Patrons get access to new posts three days early, and direct access to us through Discord. If you’re already a Patron, thank you. If you’d like to support us, please consider becoming a Patron.

#writing reference #writing advice #writing tips #how to fight write #starke answers

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emwheezie · 2 months

Text

"Maybe you weren’t a terrible person maybe you were just fifteen" UPDATED

Each character in our story has an important event that helped shape their them. We thought it'd be cool to keep their age consistent across each of these stories. Possible TW in some of these.

Art of Enzo and Lennon in HS.

1996, Meg prepares for her Quinceanera. She doesn’t want to have that big party and have all the attention on her. Meg has been super depressed and kids at school bully her, saying that she is going to kill herself like Kurt Cobain did. She doesn’t want these people at the Quinceanera, but her mom invited all the girls in her class. Her Quince doesn’t go as planned, not ruined by her bullies...but by someone who has been stalking her...

1999, Tony recruits his older friend Ashley to "be his mom" and sign off on a parental consent form for his first tattoo. He must hide this from his parents... When they find out, they fear this tattoo will halt his "future career as a lawyer."

2000, Liv is convinced by her older sisters go out on a mini “sister only road trip.” After driving around for an hour or two, they abandon Liv at a gas station, teasing her that it’s “sisters only” and she isn’t a real sister because she is adopted.

2000, Gia fights with her first girlfriend, leading to their breakup. They share one last “goodbye” kiss.

Gia’s story continues into Theo’s

2000, Theo is super high and accidentally walks into the girl’s locker room where he finds Gia making out with some girl. Theo didn’t know girls could do that with each other.

2001, Rosie is asked to step down from her school’s dance team because of her recent weight gain.

2001, Enzo witnessed a murder. The criminal gang paid him off with a duffel of cash to forget what he saw. This moment changed his brain chemistry and explains how Enzo seemingly has an endless amount of cash and no job or parental assistance. (This is backstory is mostly comic relief and played off much less serious than the others.)

2001, Oli and his friends decide to wear dresses to school one day during spirit week. Oli steals a dress from his sister. After the group of boys make their statement and take pics, they change back to their regular clothes. Oli didn’t get the memo and is stuck in the dress all day. He gets teased and feels insecure. His asshole friends think it’s hilarious and won’t let him borrow any clothes. He’s stuck like that for the day. Once the teasing calms down, Oli realizes he kind of likes wearing the dress. O_0

2002, Lennon hasn’t showered for about 4 months. He gets bullied for being greasy and cuts off all his hair in the school bathroom. Enzo is sitting in the big stall, skipping (art) class to draw dragons in his sketchbook. He thinks Lennon is such a weird little dude and befriends him. The next day, BigMac gives Lennon $20 to go somewhere professional to get his hair looking half decent after he went ham on it. Instead, he and Enzo spend the money on something stupid. He lies to his dad about how he spent the money.

2004, Alyssa is severely bullied at school for her love of plushies. The one thing she cares about most is her mall job at Build a Bear. Her school bullies haze her while she’s at work, ending with them destroying the store. They throw the unstuffed bears and knock over displays. They get to the stuffing machine and let it rip fluff everywhere. The bullies escape before mall security and police arrive. Alyssa gets fired from her job because of this incident. It’s not fair, but her manager felt it was the easiest solution to avoid this happening again in the future. :(

2004, Park makes a trek to Area 51 from his Florida home to find his dad.

#ocs #original character #backstory #oc lore #tw #cw #long post

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winsoftech · 2 months

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The Benefits of Brokerage Payout Reconciliation

In the bustling world of finance, managing payouts and ensuring the smooth operation of asset management requires both precision and innovation. Brokerage payout reconciliation, a vital process for Asset Management Companies (AMCs), is at the heart of this operation. It ensures that transactions with distributors are accurately recorded and reconciled, minimizing discrepancies and fostering trust. Let's delve into the benefits of this essential process and how Winsoft’s SmartPayout is revolutionizing the industry.

What Is Brokerage Payout Reconciliation?

Brokerage payout reconciliation is like the meticulous work of a detective. It involves comparing internal records against external transactions to identify any mismatches or errors in the brokerage payouts to distributors. This process is critical for AMCs to ensure accuracy in financial records, compliance with regulatory standards, and maintaining healthy relationships with distributors.

Why Does Brokerage Payout Reconciliation Matter?

Accuracy in Financial Records: At its core, accurate financial reporting is non-negotiable for any financial institution. Brokerage payout reconciliation ensures that every cent is accounted for, preventing financial discrepancies that could lead to significant issues down the line.

Regulatory Compliance: The financial industry is heavily regulated, and for good reason. Reconciliation helps ensure compliance with these regulations, avoiding potential fines or sanctions that could arise from inaccurate reporting.

Improved Relationships: Distributors and brokers are more likely to continue their partnership with AMCs when they are confident in the financial processes in place. Reconciliation ensures that payouts are correct, building trust and loyalty.

Efficiency and Productivity: Automating the reconciliation process reduces the time and resources spent on manual checks. This allows staff to focus on more strategic tasks, thereby improving overall productivity.

Winsoft’s SmartPayout Brokerage Payout Reconciliation Solution

Winsoft’s SmartPayout is a shining example of how technology can enhance the reconciliation process. It's an automated solution designed specifically for Asset Management Companies to reconcile distributor transactions with an unprecedented level of detail and accuracy. Here’s how it's changing the game:

Automation at Its Best: SmartPayout eliminates the need for manual reconciliation, which is often time-consuming and prone to errors. By automating this process, it ensures accuracy and efficiency, freeing up valuable resources.

Enhanced Accuracy: The software is designed to catch discrepancies that might be overlooked in manual processes, reducing the risk of financial errors and ensuring that distributor payouts are precise.

Regulatory Compliance: With regulations constantly evolving, SmartPayout helps AMCs stay compliant by ensuring that all financial transactions are accurately recorded and reconciled according to the latest standards.

Real-Time Reporting: One of the standout features of SmartPayout is its ability to provide real-time insights into the reconciliation process. This allows AMCs to make informed decisions quickly, enhancing operational efficiency.

Scalability: As AMCs grow, their transaction volume increases. SmartPayout is built to scale and can handle an increasing number of transactions without compromising on speed or accuracy.

Conclusion

The financial landscape is continually evolving, with new challenges and opportunities arising at every turn. Brokerage payout reconciliation is a critical process for Asset Management Companies, ensuring the accuracy of financial transactions, regulatory compliance, and the strengthening of distributor relationships.

Winsoft’s SmartPayout stands out as a revolutionary tool in this domain, offering automation, precision, and scalability to meet the demands of modern AMCs. Coupled with other solutions like its locker management system SmartLocker, Winsoft is not just a provider of financial technology solutions; it’s a partner in the journey towards more efficient, accurate, and secure asset management.

SmartLocker, Winsoft is not just a provider of financial technology solutions; it’s a partner in the journey towards more efficient, accurate, and secure asset management.

The importance of brokerage payout reconciliation in the asset management industry cannot be overstated. With solutions like SmartPayout, AMCs can navigate the complexities of financial transactions with confidence, knowing that their operations are both efficient and compliant. As the industry continues to grow and evolve, embracing such technological innovations will be key to staying ahead in the competitive financial landscape.

#brokerage payout reconciliation #locker management solutions #winsoft tehnologies

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peterparkouryo · 1 year

Text

rebound iii | ✧.*

✧.*

prompt; You deal with the after math of Peter's kiss

warnings: angst, gaslighting, blame-shifting, semi fluff, typos i'm not bothered to fix, and closure (yay!!)

word count: 7.1k (cuz it’s the last chapter maybe)

part one part two

You hadn't been able to sleep. There were plenty reasons as to why. One being, you had a test later today, two you found out your ex(?) was the Queens hero Spider-Man, three the same day you found out he was the vigilante hero was also the same day he had kissed you.

After the very unexpected kiss, he all but too awkwardly left you with your thoughts, the clogs in your brain trying to work but to no avail. You didn't say anything either, and neither did you try to push him away.

It made your head hurt, trying to understand why Peter kissed you in the first place. Maybe it had something to do with your confession, or he realized Michelle wasn't the right choice after all.

You had only hoped it wasn't the second option. If it was any other person you'd be beaming, but Michelle was a harmless person who only saw the best in people. You really didn't feel good about kissing someone you know she had feelings for.

The problem now was, how were you going to face her and Peter? Especially Peter.

It's only been a few hours since the kiss, it now being almost the crack of dawn since then, and you couldn't sleep, no matter what.

You tried to find alternatives, loopholes and whatever else you could possibly think of to avoid Peter at all cost. It was hopeless considering you had a few classes with him, and a lunch period as well. You could fake sick, but your mom works an AM shift to PM shift today, so she wouldn't be home when you had to get up and ready for school.

Another misfortunate was, should you talk to him. Obviously that was your first thought, but given how awkward the kiss was to begin with and how he left without saying a word, you knew the solution would just be as worst.

You sadly had no friends to talk to, other than Betty, but she wouldn't be much help with how happy go she was all the time. It was just you and your thoughts to keep you company.

Finally, you got the sleep you deserved.

Okay, so maybe that was a complete lie, unless you count the hour of sleep you managed to sneak in.

You were all zombie like waking up, getting ready, and on your way to school, your mind surprisingly Peter free as you arrived at your locker.

"Hey Y/N." A voice greets you from behind, you turn around, your heart almost dropping to your chest.

"Oh-, hey uh, hey Michelle." You give her a small smile, the tiredness probably evident on your face.

You tried to not look surprised, or let your fear show because you had known the brown haired girl to be quite the observant person. You hope she didn't notice how nervous you were.

"How'd it go with Peter?" She asked, and you gulp, blinking as you close your locker, fixing up the clatter of school notebooks and whatever in your hold.

"It was," Michelle expectingly waits for your answer. "It went okay." You tell her, not really knowing if it was the truth or not.

She nods, slowly, giving you a narrowed eye look before going back to her neutral expression.

"Oh, that's what Peter said as well." Michelle states, and you nod.

It surprised you, really, that the boy had even spoken to Michelle. He probably didn't tell her about the kiss, unless he did and she just didn't say anything to you about it because she didn't care. Maybe Peter was really awkward, or tried his best to seem as if it went 'okay'.

"Really? What did he say?" You question quietly.

"Nothing much, just you two talked and found the closure you needed." She says with a small shrug.

Okay, so that was an obvious lie, because you two didn't get to the talking part of proper closure. You idiotically told him you loved him, he ran away, came to your window afterward and kissed you. So if that was his idea of closure, Peter's a pretty stupid person.

You hum, the silence standing next to you to join conversation. You didn't know what to say to her, and you didn't want to tell her you kissed Peter, because you didn't want to be on her bad side, and you have no idea if Peter told her already or not.

"Well, We should get to class." Michelle breaks your thoughts, but you had one more question to ask her.

"So, are you two not together yet?"

The girl raises her eyebrows at your question, you don't give her any sort of expression ('less you count your blank face), waiting for her to answer you.

"Uh, no, we decided to wait a bit before jumping into a relationship." Michelle informs and you nod, your heartbeat slowing down just a bit.

"I mean, he did just get out of one, with you. I'm not that kind of girl." She concludes, and you give her a genuine smile.

"Right." You nod again.

"Class?"

"Sure."

You then both walk to your first period together, though you don't have the same class it was nice to talk to her one the way.

Math was the absolute worst class, and not because you had Peter in it either. Before you had even known the boy, math was the worst subject to mankind.

Whoever invented it clearly hated people and probably enjoyed watching them suffer as they try to solve world's most difficult problems.

What made this class worst was today was a partnered day, you curse whoever assigned making group discussions a thing as well.

Normally you'd work alone in these kind of units, that was until you started dating Peter and you and him would always be partners for projects or whatever, but things were different now.

So to be said, you had asked your teacher to let you work alone, which he had said no to and assigned you to a duo, and if god wasn't on your side in the past, you knew he never was on your side to begin with.

It was almost like your math teacher was in the know of you and Peter's epilogue of a relationship. Practically throwing you into the burning pit that is the awkwardness you had planned to avoid. You could hate your teacher for that, but you knew he probably only you put you with them because he had actively seen you interact with the boys way before your awful break up with Peter.

Ned sees you before Peter does (thankfully), and he shows you a bright smile as you drag your feet to the last place you'd rather be, in the presence of Peter.

In all honesty, you managed to forget about the fact Peter had intentionally kiss you, maybe because so far during the school hours you successfully avoided him, and only focused on the dreadful school work you had been assigned.

"Hi." You greet Ned as soon as you stop in-front of the conjoined desks, and he greets you back.

"Hey, how are you?" Ned's question was ignorant, but you wouldn't blame him for that.

You shrug, your eyes glance to Peter, who pretends to be intently focused on the math questions in-front of him.

"Fine." You deadpan, slowly sit at the third desk, paper in hand.

Peter had yet to look at you, and you knew you should be just as anxious as him, with you admitting to being in love with him, which went against every moral a girl should have, and the awkward kiss the two of you shared in your bedroom.

Okay, so it wasn't awkward, but that doesn't mean it was good. It lacked feeling, almost like the kiss was out of pity. You didn't have enough time to add more to it, because as slowly he leaned in, he was quick to pull away. It was almost like he regretted it, though, yeah that could be the case, but you really didn't know what that had meant for the two of you.

Of course the closure was never settled, and you thought the kiss maybe meant he didn't want closure. That alone, confused you.

You knew you should talk to Peter, but you didn't exactly know when the right time was. Did you do it today? Tomorrow? Next week, month, year? Well, probably not year, who would wait that long to talk about one shared kiss post break up. To be honest, you really had no idea what to do, there's not like there are handbooks for these kind of things anyway.

Instead of worrying about what to do with Peter, you should focus on your math work, despite it being your least favourite subject ever.

You glance at the paper, and it felt like you were looking at a foreign page. You had no idea what "Factor by grouping" meant, and now you wished you paid a little more attention in math class.

Hopefully neither of the boys noticed your bewildered expression staring at your paper, and you pick up your pencil, hovering it over the paper. You decided on rather you should pretend to understand or maybe the paper would magically fill in itself, which could be possible if you were honest.

Minutes had already gone by, and not a thing was on your paper. You'd occasionally glance up to see Peter or Ned's progress, which was a lot further than yours. You felt embarrassed, truly. For a "group" activity, there wasn't much of that going on. At least, from yours. Poor Ned would even try to talk to Peter, who gave him mainly one word answers, his voice was a grumble with each word he said.

"Hey uh, Ned." You start, swallowing that hard lump forming in your throat, avoiding Peter's curious gaze.

Ned all too quickly snaps his head at you, excited that at least one of the two of you were willing to say more than a word to him. He eagerly awaits whatever it is you had to say.

"I really don't know what I'm doing." You had admitted shyly, pressing your lips together.

Ned gives you an understanding nod, gesturing your paper over to himself, and you hand it to him.

The boy studies your empty paper, and his almost completed paper, and if you paid enough attention, you'd see the cogs trying to work in his brain, probably coming up with an easy way to explain the unit to you in an easy way.

"All you have to do is um, group the first two terms together, then the last two terms." Peter explains in an almost mumble, pointing to the numbers on your paper with the eraser end of his pencil.

Ned gives you a worried look, darting his eyes back and fourth between you and Peter.

"After that you can, like, factor it out from each separate binomial, and then do the same with the common." He adds, forcing a small smile your way, and you have to quickly break eye contact as you take your paper back from Ned.

You nod at his words, the tension quickly becoming unbearable. Had this math class always been this long? You have to fidget in your seat that became more uncomfortable each passing second.

"A thank you wouldn't hurt."

You give Peter a side-eye, his words seem mean, but his tone was fair. The boy stares at you, awaiting your praise, but you look back at your paper instead of any verbal actions.

Peter lets out a huff, and you could smile in victory if he wasn't watching you like a damn hawk.

Ned is visibly afraid and thank god the bell rings, signalling it was time for your next period, which you couldn't be more happy about.

You tell Ned a quick goodbye, clutching your paper in your hand, your backpack slung over your shoulder, making your way to your next period without sparing a glance behind you.

School went by painfully slow after your math class, and you were emotionally and physically exhausted from it. The test later that day made sure of that.

Atlas, instead of going home to your comfortable bed, you opted to stay after school to catch up on missing work.

The library wasn't as full as it was, and it being in said place makes your heart ache, your face grimacing at previous conversations that took place last time you were here. Thankfully, you were smart enough to sit as far away from the table where Peter nonverbally rejected your love.

You realize that it was incredibly stupid of you to tell the boy you loved him when he had clearly loved another, but it was a moment of weakness and you didn't have the chance to tell him how you felt when you two were together.

You didn't know what came over you to have the audacity to do that to Peter or Michelle, it certainly wasn't fair to your feelings, or him.

Speaking of him, maybe you had been thinking about him way too much for the past week or you were secretly a superhero with manifesting powers, but you swear when you glance up, you see a soaked Peter, his demeanour was vexation, almost like it was entirely toward you.

You had to blink a few times to make sure who you were seeing was actually standing above you, and once you do, his figure didn't go away. Which meant, he was standing before you.

"Peter?" Your voice is a mix between confusion and surprise, which can mean the same thing if you think about it.

"Can we talk?" He's straight to the point, the boy's face was pinched with a grimace of some sort.

"Actually, no, we can't. The last time we did you kissed me." You tell him, and you put yourself in motion of packing your things, to escape his presence once again.

Once you successfully put your things in your backpack, you stand from the table, going to walk past a brooding Peter, who quickly takes a hold of your wrist before you could make any further movements.

"I kissed you? I'm pretty sure it's the other way around." Peter states as you try to break free of his hold, and you momentarily stop your struggles as you send the boy a glare.

"Did those words seriously just come out of your mouth, Parker?" Your anger was evident, you knew he could tell with the way his pupils dilated at your tone.

There was no absolute way he believed it was you who kissed him first. Admittedly, you did kiss him back, but if you recall, you know you didn't kiss the boy first.

His grip loosens, but he doesn't let go. You could see that he was thinking of his next words carefully.

"Yeah, I mean you're the one who told me you loved me, so it would make sense that you were the one who kissed me first." Peter lets go of your wrist entirely, placing his hands at his side, awaiting your reaction.

Your reaction was everything he'd been expecting, anger. You were angry, mad at yourself, and especially mad at Peter, who dared to use your love for him against you.

"You can't do that." You say, the painfully frustrating tears fighting to stay at bay.

It feels like ever since your break up, all you did was cry.

There's a clear understanding expression Peter shows, noticing your fight with the tears now streaming down your face. The boy almost feels bad.

Peter really had no idea why he continued to break your heart. It's not like really had a choice in the matter, you had confessed your love to him very all of a sudden. The boy didn't know what to do with that.

It also didn't help that he, for some reason, had this guilt-ridden notion every time he thought upon your words.

The boy knew it was very unfair to you that he couldn't love you the way you loved him. He found it harder to be with you when he was slowly falling out of that honeymoon phase that every couple has. Of course, it's not like he hadn't thought about being in love, specifically with you.

He'd like to think you two were right people at the wrong time. It doesn't justify the unforgivable break up, but he hopes in some ways more than another, you two could be friends. Peter really didn't mean to make you cry, at all.

"I'm-, I'm sorry." Peter apologizes, watching your face fall in thought at his words.

"It's true though, I really don't think it's fair for you to kiss me post break up." He adds, not awaiting for your response rather you forgive him or not.

You give him a dumbfounded look, narrowing your eyes as you restate his words in your head. You knew Peter could be stupid, but there was a certain levity of stupid he could achieve, his pervious words was a prime example.

"You can't possibly believe I kissed you." You emphasis your sentence and Peter gives you an eye roll.

"You do know that it takes two people to kiss, and had you not shown up to my house in a Spider-Man outfit, confronted me about what I'm now realizing was a big mistake, maybe you wouldn't feel so guilty about kissing me in the first place." You ramble quite angrily, your words getting louder with each word you say, drawing attention to a few people nearby.

"You're not making any sense." The boy shakes his head with an eye roll as a librarian steps between the two of you.

"Excuse me, you two have to leave." She says quietly and you nod in understanding, considering the two of you have had been a disturbance the moment Peter walked up to you.

"Was just about to." You tell her, maintaining eye contact with Peter before turning away from him and making your way out of the library.

"So you just walked away?" Betty asks from across from you on your bed, you give her a nod.

"What else was I supposed to do?" You question back in confusion.

It had been two or three days after what you would call a silly argument with Peter on who kissed who first, and you were more annoyed than dejected if anything.

Peter hadn't tried to talk to you, thankfully, after that and both of you managed to pretend either or didn't exist. Though, yes, you do love him, but the boy was purposely attempting to put all the blame on you for no reason at all. You knew you hadn't kissed him first, he knew (or so you think) as well, so it confused you beyond point as to why he made it seem as if it was your fault.

"I don't know, are you sure he kissed you?" The blonde questioned again, and you tilt your head at her.

"Yes, I mean I know I kissed him back, but I don't know, kinda feels like he was taking advantage of my confession." You had admitted.

You were sure those were most likely his intentions, not that you had any proof, but it just didn't sit right with you that Peter kisses you not even a day later after you told him you loved him. It was a certainty he had no idea what he was doing, and did it just to make you feel better, but he surely didn't know the half of it.

If anything, it made you feel sad. Your heart ached every time you thought about his actions he had tried to shift heavily on you. It was clear Peter knew exactly what he was doing, trying to make you out to be the bad guy was a new blow, even for him.

"Or maybe that's his way of closure." Betty suggested with a shrug.

"Who kisses their ex, then blames them for it as closure?" You wondered aloud as Betty cringes in agreement.

"I don't know, Peter was always kind of weird." She laughs and you show her a grimace as you nod.

"You should find someone else, like I know Peter is the love of your life, but it's clear he has no intentions of getting back with you." Betty states firmly, placing a hand on your knee in reassurance, it does nothing for you.

"I know." You agree with your friend, subtly removing her hand from your knee as you go to stretch.

"It'll be hard though." You tell her as you get up from your bed, avoiding your window, with many painful memories you try not to dwell on.

"Yeah, but I'll be with you every step of the way." You hear the girl's voice behind you as you both make it out of your bedroom, heading into the kitchen.

You knew Betty was probably right, despite your very obvious love for Peter even though he broke your heart in more ways than one (intentional or unintentionally), you had to give up on him. Peter was in love with someone else, and if you knew what being in love was like (which you do), you knew it's not that simple to fall out of it.

Maybe it was, but there wasn't any said evidence or crystal clear signs Peter had loved you before broke up with you. And you were far behind the whole "breaking up with you on your birthday" ordeal as well. It was more him not owning up to his actions of taking advantage of your love that made you more upset than words could express.

It was a wonder how someone so sweet, pure, and forgivable as Peter Parker, could make you second guess everything you had thought was good, into something so deploring.

All you wanted, really, was to know when, how and why Peter didn't want to be with you anymore at some point in your relationship. He had given you no apparent signs that you could guess off on, which made your cascading relationship unknown to you.

Hopefully someone else could heal your scars Peter had pierced into your delicate heart.

It might take awhile, but you're willing to take it slow, step by step until you're finally mended from your heartbreak.

"Does Michelle know you two kissed?"

Your thoughts are broken from Betty's curious question, taking your attention away from the fruit bowl on your counter, turning over to the blonde girl who had a bottled water in her grasp.

You shrug.

"I don't doubt that she doesn't know, wouldn't put it past Peter to not tell her." You answer, accepting the other water bottle Betty had offered.

"Yeah, let's hope she isn't too mad tomorrow at decathlon." She countered and your eyes almost widen at her statement.

You had completely forgot you were even on the Academic Decathlon, much to your dismay. If it wasn't for your mother who insisted for you to join some sort of after school activity to make it look good on your college resume, you'd probably never would had met Betty, or Michelle.

Ironically, Peter had already been on the team by time you joined, and that was before the two of you had become a thing and it made you feel a little better knowing your friend (at the time) had been there to keep you company.

It wasn't all that boring being on the team, it had its moments, some you'd like to forget mostly.

For example, when you were deep into your relationship with Peter, that's when you noticed his distance. Given the fact that Michelle also was on the team, you were becoming aware of just how invested he was with her and paid little to no attention to you, no matter what you did.

You would like to think it wasn't entirely your fault. It was a aspect of knowledge that not all high school couples last even a month, but it hurt knowing Peter had not taken how you felt into consideration when his feelings for you faded away. He left you insecure.

More insecure when he broke up with you the evening you were supposed to celebrate the day you were born. You weren't sure if that you would ever properly recover from that day, or if your future birthdays will have a heart aching scar embodied in your mind forever.

"I think I'll go, my mom-" Betty cuts herself off, and you nod, completely understanding what she was leading off with.

"Yeah, of course, see you tomorrow." You give your blonde friend a goodbye hug, putting the unopened bottle of water in the refrigerator, your ears picking up the sound of a door opening and closing, indicating Betty was no longer in your apartment.

You think to yourself, it was the perfect time to catch up on some much needed sleep.

Your nap wasn't too bad, and you'd be lying if you said you didn't have at least one nightmare.

Nightmares were one of those rare things you had, even as a child, and you knew ninety percent of the time they occurred because of stress, and anxiety. Which of course, you never had to worry about at such a young age. It was always one of things your mom had reassured if you had, she'd be there for you, and surely enough, she isn't. Instead, she's working her PM to AM shift to keep up with the rent, and make sure you have enough food to eat for tomorrow, so you wouldn't hold that against her.

You woke up in a bead of sweat, your tank top was sticky against your skin, the duvet that kept you warm now suffocating you in the worst way possible.

The rain had calmed you down a bit, reassuring you of its tranquility. You loved when it rained on a bad day. That doesn't make too much sense, because usually when it rained on said day, it was supposed to be unlucky. But you found comfort in the sounds of the pitter patter hitting your window, its soft rhythm was peaceful.

You hear your phone ping with a message from your nightstand. It was probably your mom checking on you, asking if you were okay, or maybe even hungry.

Much to your surprise, it wasn't her or even Betty.

It was Peter.

You still had no idea why you didn't find it in you to block his number, it was a weakness that didn't fix any kind of closure you desperately sought out to get.

You unlock your phone to read the text.

Peter

answer door pls

Mentally, you groan in annoyance. You were mildly confused as to why Peter made it almost a routine to show up at your apartment to probably continue with his habit of breaking your heart.

In one way or another, you knew you couldn't avoid him forever as much as you liked and that you would see him tomorrow in class and after school for decathlon, so you figured now might as well be the time for the closure you both needed.

You open your front door, face to face with a hair drenched, soaking Peter, his front curls sticking to his head.

"You're avoiding me." Is the first thing he says and you roll your eyes at his choice of words.

"And you can't take a hint." You tell him, narrowing your glare onto the boy.

"No, trust me I can, I just-, we really didn't get to finish our conversation from the library the other day." Peter points out, scanning your sleep attire, and you self consciously have to wrap your arms over your body in fear of judgement.

"You mean the one where you try to gaslight me into thinking I kissed you first?" You question as Peter flickers his eyes into your glare.

"But you did!" He exclaims in defence.

"I didn't." You argue back, opting to close your front door in his face, and his strong advantage stops your action.

You sigh in frustration at that, instead of attempting to close the door again, you walk away from the front door, not caring if he came in or not and made your way into your bedroom quickly, closing and locking the door to hide away from Peter.

Of course, this was stupid, you couldn't hide forever and surely enough Peter would probably climb up to your window to harass you even more about the argument of who kissed who first, which you didn't need from him or anyone for that matter, because you knew the truth.

Peter on the other hand, found it unfair that you wouldn't even have a proper conversation with him. He needed to ask you questions, but first he had to dig into the hole of the kiss that wasn't supposed to happen.

Maybe he did kiss you first, but he couldn't see past the fact that you were in love with him, so he assumes it was you who initiated such an intimate thing to happen. It was a very awkward kiss, and he knows it had something to do with guilt.

He's been guilty of your feelings since the day of the break up and it doesn't help him in the slightest when it came to MJ. Peter thought breaking up with you would be easy on his part, it didn't occur to him how heartbreaking it would be for you, because of course you had stronger feelings than he internally thought. Which had made getting over you quickly harder the day you voiced your devotion to him.

Honestly, Peter was scared he'd give up on MJ (something he didn't want), and crawl back to you.

Only because it was the first time anyone (other than May), had expressed such care for him. It was something he needed from anyone other than a close family member, to let him know he mattered, and you provided just want he craved to hear. What made it so difficult for him was the fact that you had said it.

Had it been someone else, maybe MJ, he'd be more ecstatic and maybe even joyous of that affection for him, but hearing you tell him you loved him was like a stab to the chest.

It was so unfair that you did that, knowing he wasn't in love with you, but yet you still felt the need to do such a thing. Maybe if he hadn't broken up with you, you would say it anyway, but it still wouldn't make things better, because he was already worn out of the relationship.

God, Peter felt like such a terrible person, he knew he was because you were in love with him and he wasn't, then to make matters absolutely worst, he kissed you even though you were both mutually aware he had feelings for someone else.

First you hear soft knocks at your door, then your name in an almost desperate voice.

"No, go away." You tell him, sinking impossibly deeper into your bed, hoping eventually, Peter does just that.

"Please, just open the door." The boy pleads, his hand gripping the doorknob of your door.

You ignore him, grabbing the pillow from under your head and placing it on opposite side, covering your ear to block out the bug (no pun intended) that is Peter Parker.

For a few seconds, a silence is evident, and you wondered if the boy had gave up and decided on leaving you alone as you requested or if he'll do something stupid like, climb up your building just to get to your window.

You remove the pillow from your head, sitting up and focusing your attention to your door, your eyes widen at what catches your gaze.

"Peter, what the hell?" You exclaim, throwing your blanket off your body and quickly standing up to walk over to your bedroom door that was now open.

Peter awkwardly holds your doorknob in his head, pressing his lips together sheepishly.

"I'm sorry, it kinda just happened, I swear I didn't mean to-" He starts frantically, those puppy brown eyes having such an effect on you, you blink away your frustration.

"I just don't know my own strength sometimes, I'll fix it for you." Peter exclaims apologetically.

"It's fine, you don't have to." You reassure him, holding your hand out for him to give you your now broken doorknob, which he does.

You throw the doorknob onto your bed, turning back to Peter, his hair slightly damp, the air diffusing away the wetness from the rain.

The silence is very awkward, and you don't have any strength in you left to force him to leave, maybe the quietness will be uncomfortable enough for him to leave. Peter instead stands outside your bedroom, rocking back and fourth on his feet, a silent question you're familiar with.

"If I let you in, do you promise you're willing to talk like mature teenagers?" You ask, raising an eyebrow at the boy across from you, who gives you a nod.

"Yes, promise."

You sigh, moving out the way to let him into your room, leaving your door cracked.

When you turn around, Peter stands in the middle of your room nervously as if he hadn't been in there a million times before, but you guess you could understand his hesitance considering your new up to date relationship.

"You can sit on the bed." You tell him, watching him stare at you quickly.

"Oh, okay."

Peter goes over to sit on your bed and you follow behind, opting to stand above him at a respectful distance.

"So, why did you decide to lie about me kissing you first?" You question, straight to the point, folding your arms over your chest.

Peter stares at your carpet for awhile, a million possible answers breezing through his mind. It was a difficult question to answer, but deep down Peter knew there was only one true answer he needed to voice.

Maybe if he was honest, you two would get the proper closure you were seeking. He couldn't continue this saga of hurting you every time you would have a conversation, it ending in heartbreak and tears, for you at least.

"I don't know." Peter starts, finding the strength to look you in the eye, he notices the pout on your face.

If the two of you were still together, he'd most likely litter your face in kisses until your face brightened into a smile, but Peter's sure that sort of thought is deemed inappropriate so he shakes it away.

"I guess when you told me you loved me, it scared me and I wanted to talk to you about it, I really did, but I got so caught up in my head..." He trails off and you listen intently.

"I didn't mean to and I'm sorry I put you through so much for the past few weeks. It's just someone else other than May telling me they love me made me feel, good? I guess, I don't know." Peter places his hands into his head in shame and embarrassment.

Your heart clenches in a dreadful feeling you couldn't explain. It had not occurred to you that you were one of the few people who genuinely cared for Peter and were willing to risk everything for him. You knew he lacked in that department and had little to no one say words of affection to him, let him know he was loved and would be his shoulder to cry on.

Then again, the boy had made no serious effort in the peak of your relationship to appreciate you for being there for him, neither near the end of it.

"Peter." You whisper, cowering down to your knees, grabbing his hands from his face, replacing them with your own, forcing his eyes into yours.

"It's okay." You counter, the boy only shakes his head in disagreement.

"No, I'm-, I broke up with you on your birthday, then I kiss you-, I'm sorry." Peter chokes out.

Peter was sure he was having a mental breakdown, his head ached as he tries to tell you everything you need to hear.

"I know I'm your least favourite person right now and I keep apologizing, but I am sorry. It's not fair to you." He says, removing your hands from his face and holding them in his.

You don't know what to say, so you stay silent, trying to digest his words to form a proper response.

You also didn't know if you should be happy at his confession, somewhere in between his words he subtly admitted he was in the wrong for accusing you of kissing him first and hopefully he meant it.

You knew you both were in the wrong, having Peter tell you how it overwhelmed him that you told him you were in love made realization dawn upon you that maybe you shouldn't had done that. The break up was so sudden and you didn't know when the perfect time it was to tell someone you loved them, which is why you foolishly told him the day you needed closure.

"I'm sorry too. I didn't mean to scare you like that." You confess, pressing your lips together in defeat.

Peter accepts your apology with a nod, bringing his gaze from your connected hands, briefly meeting your forlorn expression, something on your nightstand catching his attention.

"Is that my birthday gift?" You turn to where his eyes were and you see the unopened box he had gave you post birthday.

Truth be told, you forgot all about it. The minute you got home you absentmindly placed it on your nightstand, the object long forgotten as soon as your face hit your pillow and you were already crying, having no intention of opening his gift.

"Oh, uh, yeah." You answer his question, feeling his hands loosen from yours, the boy standing up to go over to the nightstand.

Peter picks up your unopened gift, examining it carefully before his brown eyes met your now standing figure.

"I think you should open it." He tells you, handing the box over to you and you furrow your eyebrows as you take it, looking back and fourth in between him and the small box.

"Now?"

"Yeah, why not." Peter shrugs.

You look back down at the box, giving a few seconds of a debate in your head before giving in and opening up the object.

When you open the small box, you notice a small pink charm, pulling the object out for closer inspection, seeing it to be a pink carnation charm necklace.

You try not to let your confusion show, bewildered at the flower choice that you both knew wasn't at all close to being your favourite, Peter notices your expression and is quick to explain.

"I know it's not your favourite flower, but it means to never forget someone, which I know is bad timing but I really felt bad for how we- I ended things so I looked up flowers and their meaning and came across, well, that." Peter rambled, watching your face observe the necklace curiously.

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"Well, what am I supposed to say?" You wondered, breaking your gaze away from the object.

"I don't know, thank you?" Peter suggested and you roll your eyes, placing the necklace back into the box, closing it and handing it to the boy who gives you a very confused look.

"That's not how gifts work." He tells you bewilderedly.

"I don't want your stupid gift Peter," You state, shoving it into his grasp in annoyance.

Peter looks at you as if you just killed a favourite animal of his, he could feel his heart break at your words.

The boy hadn't known what came over him when he ordered your gift, hoping if you opened it you would feel better, but given the fact that you never did before he kissed you, he supposed it was a terrible plan to begin with.

"But-"

"It'll just be a sad reminder." You reasoned.

Peter nods at your logic, staring at the small box before deciding to meet your eyes again.

"Are we okay?" He decides to ask.

"Honestly? No, and I don't think we ever will be, but I'll learn to tolerate you." You tell him, narrowing your eyes to seek out any expression Peter offered.

You couldn't be his friend, not after the heartbreak he put you through, but you knew you would have to learn to tolerate him at some point, you two had classes together after all.

And when he eventually does start dating Michelle, you know it'll be hard for you at first, you'll distance yourself, but you'll have to come around to accept it.

It was a fair agreement, even if it wasn't spoken by either or of you, that you just weren't meant to be.

Hopefully you could find someone who did love you and wouldn't break your heart on your birthday, which you wouldn't hold against Peter forever.

You loved Peter, and you know deep down he could've loved you too but he couldn't, and he wanted you to know that it wasn't your fault. Maybe if the boy had tried just a little harder in your relationship, he would be able to, but in the end he couldn't find it in himself to.

He appreciates your love for him though, and he won't ever take advantage of it.

Peter blinks out of his thoughts, as do you.

"I think I should go." He tells you, and you nod, looking at the carpet of your room.

You hear Peter's footsteps near you which brings your gaze to be face to face with him.

He brings one hand to push a strand of loose hair behind your ear, giving your exposed cheek a soft, chaste kiss, your heart warms at his action.

When he pulls away, he scans your face to memorize every detail. Once upon a time, it was his favourite thing to look at, still is if he was being honest.

"I'll never forget you or what we had, I'm sorry I couldn't be better, Y/N." Peter whispers, stepping away from you to go to your bedroom door.

You stand there at a lost for words, turning to your door slowly, Peter's presence still lingering in your room.

This is what you needed, closure, and of course you knew that.

Your smile is small, bringing your attention away from the door and over to your bed, flinching in surprise at the small box on your bed.

The same small box Peter had given to you a few days after your birthday, the same one you placed on your nightstand to be long forgotten, the same one Peter had noticed, the same one he told you to open, and the same small box that held a meaningful gift that you didn't want to admit to, but you appreciated it now more than ever.

You go over to your bed, reaching for the box and opening it revealing the same pink carnation charm necklace, unclasping it and placing it around your neck delicately.

Maybe you shouldn't be wearing it, but this was the only thing that helped you two reach your end of the relationship for closure.

For you, it won't be easy to get over Peter, the little attachment of his made sure of that, and for Peter, you hope it worked out well in the end for him.

Even if it wasn't you who he ended up with.

#peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker angst

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meyousing · 1 year

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𝕮𝖍𝖗𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖔, 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕯𝖊𝖈𝖊𝖕𝖙𝖔𝖗

𝖘𝖞𝖓𝖔𝖕𝖘𝖎𝖘: you had been by yourself for most of your life. the idea of meeting a stranger who could change that for you only seemed like something that would happen in a romantic film, not in real life. you were pleasantly surprised at how real this could very well be.

𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊𝖘: chrollo x reader, yandere, implied kidnapping, brief nsfw, mentions of violence. all of this is below the cut.

You had become accustomed to living alone, having grown up under the care (or rather lack thereof) of your grandmother. Life with her was typical, albeit bland, since she hadn’t provided much more for you aside from the bare necessities; any type of relationship nonexistent. You moved out as soon as you turned 18, wanting to experience what else life could offer you outside of a place where every day began to feel the same, and ultimately blur together. Years had passed since then, you were able to find a job that was stable (keyword stable, not so enjoyable, due to it being a dreaded retail job), but you had not bothered to meet any new friends outside of casual coworkers, nor had you ventured into the dating world just yet, as you had grown used to disappointment with the boys you had met in your teens. Perhaps it was from your grandmother’s indirect neglect in your developmental years that made the idea of seeking out new relationships of any kind seem of no use to you. However, shifts at your usually drab retail job now felt worth attending, you suddenly looked forward to helping other people with their woes at your customer service desk. Something you regularly hated; now a joy, all because of someone in your life who had given you a new outlook.

Your usual workday consisted of getting to work at 7:30am following a brief routine, packing away your personal belongings in your designated locker, and walking out to tend to the front desk of your supercentre. The place was a bit dead right now, New Years having just passed; the store now entering its “ghost months” since there was no urgent holiday coming up for everyone to buy items in bulk for. Contrary to the popular belief that these ghost months would be a relaxing time for you since the store was simply less busy, that was not true. If you had received a cent for the amount of customers who would come in and try to refund holiday decor that they pretended they hadn’t used (meanwhile you understood they were just being cheap, but couldn’t exactly say that to them) and was defective (how would they know this if they claimed not to have used it?), you could probably retire early. There was one day in particular where the amount of customers coming in to angrily try and refund a Christmas tree or New Years airhorns was absurd; your patience waning as your shift progressed. You began to expect that every customer walking over to you was about to tell you the same tale, to unload the same item onto your desk. It wasn’t until a few hours before the end of your shift that the masses began to die down and you finally felt like you could breathe again; that perhaps the last disgruntled man who exited the premises with tinsel banners falling out of his arms was actually the last of them. You had taken a moment to compose yourself and looked down to your phone, idly swiping up and down to see if you’d gotten any notifications in that time, hoping something would show up to distract the growing rage in your mind; when the sound of a customer clearing their throat brought you out of your phone-induced stupor.

You hadn’t known that your first interaction with this customer would not be your last.

He was just so… normal? It was hard to pinpoint the right word. Right off the bat, he was different from most customers; you had gotten so used to the old, frazzled people demanding to speak to a manager before you could offer them any kind of solution; making your shoulders tense up and stay that way. This man, however, simply asked you for directions to somewhere else in the city. He walked up to your desk seemingly out of nowhere, you looked up at him and noted his appeal instantly; trying to not let that distract you from his question. Longer black hair slightly covered a cloth wrapped around his forehead, a black turtleneck hugging his muscular form covered slightly by a black trench coat. He told you that he had wanted to treat his coworkers to a nice dinner, since they were all staying in your city for some work-related purpose, yet he could not locate the restaurant he intended on taking them to. His charismatic speech made what would have otherwise been a quick, short conversation into something that nearly got you in trouble with your managers for “slacking”; not even realizing you’d spent half an hour chatting away with the man. He had initially leaned into the counter and asked for your opinion on the restaurant, his attentiveness to your thoughts about something as trivial as a local diner’s greasy food making your cheeks heat up (even the tone of voice he had when asking; smooth and kind). From there the conversation continued, until that half hour ended with him sheepishly apologizing to your irritated manager and asking you for your phone number, to keep chatting at a more convenient time. Your hand was a bit shaky while you wrote it down for him on a sticky note, even signing it with your name and adding a cheeky little heart in the corner–his charm seemed to have rubbed off on you, giving you the confidence to add the little detail. His fingers brushed against yours as you handed it to him, exchanging smiles, with his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer, before he exited the premises.

With that meeting as your first–despite the captivating aura he possessed–he hadn’t even really set a high standard in your head just yet; perhaps due to you always being disappointed by past men who would seem too good to be true, just like this, but then eventually reveal their true intentions, and how they were directed to your body instead of you. Yet this man seemed to check every box; he was not too good to be true.

Your first date brought you both to a cafe, and you could recall the weather that day being quite dreary.You’d ordered a chai tea to keep yourself warm, the rain that pattered against the window at the side of your booth being easily tuned out by your heart-to-heart with the man who had introduced himself to you as Chrollo.

“Did your work dinner go well?” you asked, fingers clasped around your mug as you brought it to your lips. The heat of the tea warmed your insides, giving you that “warm and fuzzy” feeling, though you were certain that the sensation was coming from a different source.

Chrollo smiled at you. “It was… alright. I should have expected nothing more from a diner, I figured that your description of the place as greasy was meant for the restaurant, not the food.” He then made a minorly disgusted expression as he reminisced, making you giggle, which was followed by his own fond chuckle at your reaction.

“A greasy restaurant? Like what, the workers or something?”

“I guess so… I don’t know. I guess I was just so entranced by you last we spoke that I wasn’t thinking straight” he rubbed his neck bashfully. You couldn’t help but try to hide your face in your hand, cheeks lighting up at his words.

“There’s no need to be such a sweet talker” you chuckled shyly, not missing how his face softened even further at the sight of you becoming so flustered so easily. Something flashed in his eyes then, something you took as mutual infatuation. His hand reached towards the one you had covering your cheek, bringing it down to the table and holding it there briefly. He slowly raised it to his lips, kissing your knuckles while maintaining eye contact. If his words were enough to have you a ruffled mess, his actions caused that tenfold. You were certain that your entire head was fuming red by now, his actions rendering you speechless. He lowered your hand again, brushing his thumb across your knuckles.

“If you find the truth in my words to be sweet talking, I’m delighted to make you feel that way.”

That date led to many more, and after about a month and a half you two had agreed upon exclusivity; a relationship. At first, you hadn’t expected anything this serious to ever come of your whirlwind romance, especially since your first-ever conversation with him implied to you that he was not from your city, and that he was only visiting for a time. As you got to know him further, he explained to you that while it was difficult for him to let you know exactly what he does for work, he and his employees travelled for it all of the time by his call, and he had decided that after meeting you, this city was where he wanted to stay. You were more than happy to let him reside with you in your apartment, and he accepted your offer with utmost gratitude (he still expresses thanks to you to this day). Knowing that it was convenient for him to continue his life and job as normal, while deciding to be with you, made your heart swell with a sort-of pride, you were absolutely enamoured. Nobody had ever made such a grave decision for you before, and that wasn’t his only one. He was utterly devoted to you, being with Chrollo was like being with a prince you could have only ever imagined being present in a fairytale. It made you feel as though holding off on relationships for most of your life was worth it, that divine timing had given you your person right when it was supposed to happen.

There had been one too many dates when he decided to unexpectedly bring you gifts, usually a piece of jewellery that you knew had to be more expensive than what could account for months worth of rent for your apartment. You were still unsure of his exact job by now, but you knew his wage must have been extremely high to be able to afford these things for you. You almost felt guilty for not being able to return the favour with anything of the same calibre, yet he insisted that your love was more than enough–or as he said in particular; more than he deserved. He always pampered you, offering you a massage or running you a bath if you had a particularly rough day at work; though knowing that you’d come home to him and that alluring smile made rougher work days slowly become a thing of the past, your anticipation of seeing your lover again outweighing any anxiety or frustration that your job would try to inflict upon you. He was always attentive to your needs, making food for you that he knew you preferred, and ensuring to correct it (or send it back, depending on the circumstances) if it wasn’t to your liking. He was also attentive to your other needs, giving you whatever you wanted whenever you wanted it, while being respectful of any boundaries you set. He was the closest thing that you could ever compare to perfect. And it was because of his respect for you, that you had never questioned something that has burned itself into your curiosity, you tended to wonder about it all the time; why did he always wear that makeshift bandana around his forehead? you had never seen him without it. Although, plenty of people had one particular fashion staple in most of their outfits, so you’d left your curiosities at that. You couldn’t deny that it looked really good on him anyways.

Your whine was stifled by Chrollo’s lips as he lifted his chest off of yours, resting on his elbows as he pulled his softening cock out of you. He broke the kiss to sit back fully, you instantly missing the warmth of his body and reaching out for him. He chuckled hoarsely, linking his fingers with yours.

“I’ll be back in a minute, okay? I’m just going to get a cloth for you.” You nodded when he squeezed your hand tenderly before feeling his weight leave the bed. It was a bit late into the night, late enough for it to be completely black outside; the only visibility coming from the street lights that illuminated a small area of your bedroom, the silhouette of falling snow making you feel serene. You watched through your eyelashes as Chrollo walked to the bathroom, observing how he leisurely turned on the light, wrapped his black bath robe around himself, and grabbed a small wash cloth. Your eyes drifted closed as your body continued to come down from the high you had just felt, listening to Chrollo turn on the tap, feeling relaxed by the sound of running water. Chrollo wet the material with warm water as he had done for you in the past, and you could hear him sauntering back to you after the tap was turned off and the cloth was wrung out, lightly tapping you on the thigh to get your attention. You had subconsciously closed your legs while waiting for him, now parting them slightly and feeling Chrollo’s cum seep out of you, making a lewd chill run across your body at the sensation. He always knew just how to make love to you; leaving you so pleasantly exhausted right after climaxing that you had to fight to stay awake. Chrollo always let you rest, but he insisted on cleaning and caring for you first so you could fall asleep comfortably. Your eyes squinted open as he wiped you off, watching him as he focused on ensuring your comfort. As your once sweaty body began to dry, and the cold weather started to make itself familiar to you again, goosebumps rose all across your body. This went slightly unnoticed by Chrollo when he stood and turned to dispose of the rag. You shivered and reached out to halt him, hand wrapped loosely around his wrist and catching his attention as he looked back to you curiously.

“Cold” you complained with a quiet tone, voice a bit shaky as another chill rattled your body when you spoke. Chrollo grinned sympathetically at you, leaning forward and placing a kiss on your forehead, the warmth of his lips bringing you comfort. “Let me get you something to wear, then we’ll sleep.”

You relented and released his arm with a nod, arms coming over your chest so you could rub your arms and try to heat up, though Chrollo never kept you waiting for long whenever you needed something. He walked away once again and your eyes had fluttered shut from fatigue while you waited, the idea of sleep beginning to seduce you more and more. You noted Chrollo’s return as you felt him guide your arms above your head, helping you into one of his long sleeved tops (you could tell it was his from the lingering scent of his cologne near the neckline as it went over your nose). Then he slid a pair of boyshort panties up your legs, making sure the waistband hung on a comfortable spot along your hips before squeezing them sweetly and joining you on the bed once again. You let your eyes strain open one last time so you could follow his movements and slot yourself against his side, head on his chest and leg hiked over his torso as he laid on his back against the pillows. He lifted a heavy blanket over top of yourselves, arms coming together around your body to hold you even closer.

“We’ll have to get a new heater for you, love. You’re freezing now, and I thought I had warmed you up quite well” he murmured with a soft chuckle as his hand moved to stroke along your thigh, watching the bumps raise as his chilly fingers trailed along your skin.

“I didn’t even know it was on. Didn’t think it was that bad” you muttered, lips squished against his torso slurring your speech. Chrollo smiled at your response, and one of his hands left you to reach at the night table, your ears perking up to the swish of pages from a book as he brought it to his side. You knew he had planned to read and write for a bit, something you didn’t need to open your eyes to know about since he did it almost every night.

“I’ll write it down here so we don’t forget.” You then heard scribbles of the small pen that he kept like a bookmark inside of the journal. You intended to at least nod in acknowledgement to what he said, but sleep was starting to welcome you with open arms, and you had trouble resisting. Chrollo could tell that you had fallen asleep by the slowness in your breathing, only bringing a hand up to caress your hair to lull you deeper.

Typically, your sleep after sex with Chrollo was solid, and you were a considerably heavy sleeper during, though for some reason tonight was different. Perhaps it was due to the cold winter air, but when you awoke, you didn’t feel as cold anymore, your body seemed to have equalized its temperature from the combination of the blanket and Chrollo’s body heat as you slept. Instead, your attention was caught by a sound; a soft buzzing that rang out every other second from somewhere distant in the bedroom. You slowly opened your eyes, and in your fatigue-induced delirium, had not realized that Chrollo was not against you anymore. More specifically; he was no longer in bed, or the room. This alerted you slightly and you looked around, noticing that nothing in the room seemed out of the ordinary aside from his missing presence. That was until you saw his phone resting on top of his book, which had been placed neatly back onto the night stand. The screen was lit up in the darkness, vibrating as if he were getting a call. It was hard to see what was on the screen from your distance, your eyes still a bit foggy, so you began to inch closer to it. Normally, you would never think about invading someone’s privacy like this; especially Chrollo’s, but him not being around confused and concerned you. Not to mention how odd it was for something like this to wake you up, the phone must have been ringing nonstop for minutes for it to have had this much of an impact on your consciousness.

Hesitantly, you rubbed the remaining sleep away from your eyes before crawling over to Chrollo’s side of the bed, slowly grabbing at his phone just as it stopped vibrating. The trembling completely stopped once the device was in your grasp, making no sense to you, since you hadn’t hit any buttons yet. You blinked a few times, the sudden brightness of the screen in an otherwise pitch black room made your eyes burn for a moment. Once your vision adjusted, you saw the time across the top of Chrollo’s wallpaper (a photo of you from a picnic you’d had weeks prior), it said 3:45–meaning it had been nearly 4 hours since you had fallen asleep. The rest of the phone showed just one, untitled notification that took up the rest of the screen:

Look up.

A chill ran down your spine, the notification filling you with unreasonable dread. Phones usually did not ring at the rate that his was unless it were from a caller instead of a texter, and if this had been a genuine text message; it would have been from a contact, and would not be taking up the entire surface of the phone. This felt fabricated, like it was purposeful and meant to be seen by you specifically. Again, you began to feel a bit unreasonable as you sat there, hunched over with your muscles still, neck craned down to the hand in your lap where the phone screen began to dim from not being touched. How pathetic, feeling so startled, just from an unusual phone notification. In the grand scheme of the situation, this was not as unnerving as being alone right now. After rationalizing the odd appearance of Chrollo’s phone, you instead began thinking about a disappearance that was certainly much more important right now…where was he this late at night?

“You’re usually more compliant than that.”

Chrollo’s voice came out of nowhere and you couldn’t help but jolt in surprise, head turning to the bedroom door which you hadn’t realized was wide open this entire time. Because of the darkness, the entire hallway was merely a shadow; you couldn’t see anything. But you knew that his voice had come from there.

“Chrollo?”

“At least, you tend to comply a lot faster than you did just now. If I hadn’t intervened, would you have looked up at all?”

You knitted your eyebrows in confusion, unable to say anything in response to this. What was he doing? You wanted to ask him exactly that, but his emergence from the darkness caught you off guard. He looked… different.

Despite only being illuminated on one side by the street light outside that shone dimly into your bedroom, you saw that his usually shaggy hair was slicked back and off of his forehead, and he wore an outfit you had never seen before. Shirtless, but his fair skin was somewhat covered by a grand coat that lined his neck with fur and ran down to his ankles. He had pants on that could have matched the dark colour of his coat, but you couldn’t see the tone that well in the shade of the room. Though, what was most notable of this sudden appearance change, was the lack of cloth around his head.

You suddenly felt much more awake, eyes shooting up to his forehead and spotting a tattoo that resembled a type-of cross in the centre of it. Your distance from him in the dimness made it hard to fully see in detail, but something about what you could see made you think that this tattoo was heavily symbolic for him. Why else would he have hid it from the public for so long, even hiding it from you this far into your relationship? Your relationship with Chrollo was most stably built upon respect, yet you were unable to stop yourself from immediately asking him exactly what you had been thinking, tone coming out a lot sharper than you had intended:

“Why would you hide that from me for so long?” You had instantly regretted it. He had not reacted right away, nor did he say anything for a moment. Assuming this was because of your suddenness–asking something that truthfully was not your place to ask, especially in that tone–you took your bottom lip between your teeth and gnawed on it nervously; not wanting to say anything else just yet so as to not worsen what damage you’d already inflicted. You hadn’t used a tone like that with him thus far, feeling a little bit guilty despite how obviously it was accidental. But then to your confusion, Chrollo chuckled, beginning a stride into the room, towards you.

“I had to wait until the time was right. You know, a lot of planning had to be done the moment that I picked you. I knew I made the right decision on our first outing together. Everything just had to be done slowly, on the right schedule, but now that most of it has been finalized, I feel that we’re ready.”

His words confused you entirely. He had unloaded too much information at once, your brain completely frazzled by his words.

“What are you talking about?”

Chrollo’s lips pursed then broke into a grin, you hadn’t noticed how quickly he managed to walk over and stand directly in front of you until he was right there, his legs pressing against the edge of the bed as his hands raised to rest in his pockets. You backed off slightly, deciding to keep some distance between you both until the situation started to make more sense. From his new look, to the unusual tone in his words and manner of speech, you felt less comfortable being so close to him. Something was not right with him, you couldn’t tell how serious he was being right now. Was he in the mood for some late night prank?

“My naive little (y/n). You’re just…so perfect for me.” He tilted his head slightly, watching your defensive form with endearment in his eyes. Your knees have been brought to your chest, a hand holding onto one while the other holds you up and off of the pillows.

“You’ll be coming with me from now on, it’s time to leave this place.” He said this with finality, and his voice made it so that; had he said something less irrational, you almost wouldn’t have questioned it, but when his words registered in your brain you had to.

“What? Chrollo, if you want to move we can talk about it. Maybe at a different time, like over dinner or something…not in the middle of the night.” Okay, so if this wasn’t some sort of prank and instead just his proposition to move out with you…why did he decide to do this right now? why could he not have waited until the morning to ask you this…you were tired! Yet Chrollo’s expression unnerved you as he smiled in a way that would have usually made you blush, had the circumstances been different.

“You really are adorable. Come here.”

He kneeled onto the bed, sitting on the side opposite of you while extending his hand. You still felt uneasy about this, the vagueness of what he was telling you left you with more questions than any kind of answers. For the sake of getting to the bottom of what he was doing, what was going on, you took your time as you scooted closer to him, placing your hand flat on top of his palm. He then placed his other hand on top of yours, effectively trapping it between both of his. His grip wasn’t painful or anything, but you knew that it would take some effort to get out of it without him just letting you go. You usually would never consider taking your hands away from him, yet you felt the need to be guarded right now.

“Have we ever talked about the Phantom Troupe?”

He looked right into your eyes as he waited for your answer. You shook your head no, and were not looking forward to wherever this conversation was going. You knew of the phantom troupe and what they do; what they’ve done. What’s with bringing this up out of nowhere? You two never talked about such obscure topics, he knew how you felt about injustices. Bringing up a group that embodies the word was something you hadn’t expected him to do.

“A pity. But I suppose it’s never too late.”

His grip tightened on your hand then. The squeeze was so hard, it now ensured that your hand was stuck where it was; you were connected to him until he allowed you to be let go.

“Chrollo, my hand–” you whimpered.

“You’ve always been alone. You’re an outcast, just like the rest of us.”

Ouch. Naturally with being in a relationship, you’d spoken to him about many personal woes, especially your lack of a real family, your lack of genuine, close friends. You always told him how much joy it brought you to finally be able to go on outings with someone who meant the world to you, and you to them–that someone being Chrollo. Your throat started to swell and your eyes watered. An outcast? He had never spoken to you this way before, insecurity plagued you.

“Why…would you say that to me?”

“Because it’s what makes you so perfect. It was fate that brought us together, (y/n). Now that we’re established, it’s time you hear the truth and continue your life the way it was meant to be lived.” His hand on top of yours rubbed along the side of your wrist soothingly.

“It doesn’t have to be an official inauguration, but I’d like for you to join me and the rest of the spiders.”

He barely gave you any time to fathom the weight of that sentence before he continued.

“I truly do love you, (y/n). I wouldn’t have stayed in one place for such a long time if not for you. It posed a bit of a risk at points, trying to operate in such a small town for longer than the duration of our initial mission. But this era has reached its end, it’s time to go home.”

He stopped talking then, allowing silence to fall, to let his words linger for a bit. Your eyes slowly panned down and away from him as you stared off blankly, yet your mind raced at a mile a minute. Your boyfriend…your angelic, loving and devoted boyfriend, was a member of the phantom troupe. By that same logic, he was a criminal, with a Class-A bounty on his head. And now, he wanted you to come with him as he continued his rampage in other places of the world. Your heart thrummed rapidly, ears ringing and chest beginning to heave laboured breaths as the reality of this situation truly dawned on you. Chrollo, who you had been vulnerable with, showed tender parts of your heart and body, was a lie. He was not who he claimed to be, yet you had been so utterly fooled. Naive, like he said you were.

You were certain that he could feel your hand beginning to clam up, and you started to drag it out of his grasp. As expected, his grip had not let up just yet, your effort futile. You imagined that maybe if you expressed your want to be let go, he would. Forcing yourself to meet his eyes, you hated how different they looked. Eyes that were usually tender and loving, or so you thought–maybe they never truly were tender or loving–now looked much darker. Narrowed, sharp and focused right on you. He still seemed so definitive in his words, in his decision to “bring you home,” wherever that may be.

“I…” you started, your throat dry and making the syllable sound more like a crack in your voice. You swallowed hard then cleared your throat, not wanting to have to repeat yourself once you had said what you planned to say, since you were beginning to feel ill. You hadn’t noticed that your eyes had shut immediately after catching sight of his stare, in a subconscious way to cower away from the intensity of it. You forced yourself to be brave and stare back right back at him once again, though anyone else with eyes could tell your bravery was a front.

“I…will not be going with you. That lifestyle is not for m–”

“Of course you would think that you have a choice” he cut you off and chortled, despite his tone being humourless, almost disappointed. You didn’t like the sound of it. “It was cute of you to think so. You don’t need to partake in the lifestyle, but you’ll be at my side no matter where we spiders go.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, and panic began to seep in. You really did not want any part of this anymore, and you started pulling away from his hold even harder now. The finality of his words made you anxious, your once watery eyes now fully shedding tears. You thrashed back and dug your feet into the mattress, exerting as much strength as possible into getting away from him. If you blinked you would have missed it; Chrollo smirking from the corner of where your eyes were focused on your interlocked hands, before he slightly loosened his grip. With the amount of power being put into your squirming, it caused you to fly against the pillows and land on your back away from him, skull having been inches away from hitting the headboard. He was on top of you in an instant, and you immediately recoiled and tried to wiggle away from him, but he had managed to pin down your limbs.

“Chrollo, please don’t make me go with you, I’m happy here! I’ll keep your secret, if you just leave me behind, I promise–” He leaned closer to you as you became hysterical, the unexpected proximity making you panic as you hiccuped, trying so desperately to wriggle out from under him and just run. “I’m used to being alone like you said, you can leave me here, I won’t hold it against you!” you sobbed.

“Don’t cry, my love.” He brought up his hand to thumb at the tears dripping down your cheek, and you despised how quickly the feeling of his palm against your face managed to calm your hysterics down–as if none of this had actually happened–that the man caressing your face was indeed the same Chrollo you knew and fell in love with. But his appearance alone helped you to know better; that tattoo now becoming his most prominent feature as he stared down at you. Your body stilled for the most part, aside from the rise and fall of your chest in quick succession, as well as your quiet cries.

“I’m begging you…” you whispered, sniffling and taking a deep breath to try and regulate it. The look on Chrollo’s face could almost be described as sympathetic, eyebrows meeting sadly as his hand pressed further into your cheek. But you were starting to know better.

“I know that you’ve been alone for your entire life.” He began to speak, his hand slowly sliding down from your cheek and closer to your neck. The change in placement made you whimper; this being an action he’d done to you in the past that you had learned to associate with pleasure, but now filled you with dread.

Before you could say anything else, not even a second had passed, and suddenly there was a horrible sensation in your throat, like you had been punched. You groaned, and it should have been audible, yet you couldn’t make a sound–your vocal chords had somehow been struck. Your eyes widened in fear and confusion as you tried to make a noise, anything at all, only to remain silent. What just happened?

Your pain made it so that you had barely noticed how Chrollo’s hand seemed to have moved positions within that time–not quite in the same spot as it was before–it was a bit lower on your neck now and closer to your collarbones. His fingers wrapped against the side of your neck, his thumb rubbing along your throat. He wore a much too prideful smile, and it was in that moment that you realized what kind of power Chrollo had secretly been capable of; what he had over you. No matter what you wanted, if it was different from what he desired, there would be nothing you could do.

He leaned even closer to you, hand starting to squeeze around your throat painfully as your eyes screwed shut. He dug his thumb hard into the side of your trachea, forcing your eyes wide open as pain cramped under the pressure of his hand. Your vision began to strain, periphery darkening. His nose brushed against yours as he murmured his next words, which you almost missed as reality began to black out around you.

“I promise, you’ll never be alone again.”

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