#trying still to wring a life out of a dead thing that never loved him

[spidermans-l-o-v-e-r]

Orange Blossoms

Pairing: Buck x reader

Word count: 4.3k

Notes: I don’t put safe sex warnings because if you’re old enough to be reading my work you’re old enough to know how irresponsible it is NOT to practice safe sex. That being said 🤣🤣🤣 don’t share makeup. That’s my warning, especially face makeup.

Chapter 4: Strawberry Crush

It is a lot harder to hide the fact that Buck is going on a date than he thought it was. 

Hen is the first to notice he’s wearing his good cologne to work, Chim notices he got his hair trimmed and Bobby notices that all too telling little strut he gets when he’s feeling himself 

Eddie points out he totally got a manicure, just to not seem suspicious. 

“Who is she?” Chim asks as they’re restocking the truck together 

“Who’s who?” Buck pretends to be nonchalant, not even turning to face him 

“The girl. You’ve been way too giddy the last couple of days… there has to be someone” 

“Oh, so a guy can’t be happy?” He scoffs and Chimney rolls his eyes 

“You don’t get like this unless you’re going on a date, Buck. Face it, we all know it!” 

“Even if I was going on a date, which I’m not!!! I wouldn't tell you guys. You’d have her checked out every which way by Athena!”

“We just want to make sure they’re good for you okay?! We care about you”

Buck sighs, looking down at the floor before turning his head to look at Chimney 

“You have to promise you won’t tell” He whispers, there’s no point in not telling Chim… he knows for a fact Maddie probably already has 

“I can’t tell you who she is, I just can’t. But I am going on a date okay? And she’s everything I’ve ever wanted in my entire life and I’m so nervous I’m gonna screw this up”

“Y/N is a sweet girl, Buck, I highly doubt you’re going to mess anything up. Just be yourself okay? Just be the sweet guy we all know you are and it’ll be okay” 

“Are you sure?” He’s starting to wring his hands now and Chim rolls his eyes, putting his hands on Buck’s shoulders and making him look at him 

“I was this scared when I started dating your sister… and look how things turned out for us! Uncle Buck” 

It’s reassuring to hear from someone else and not just Eddie that things will go smoothly, he kinda wishes he could tell Bobby, he’d love some advice. But it’s also just the tiniest bit exciting to be hiding it from him. Which is bad he knows but it’s fine it’ll work out, or Bobby will light him on fire.

He takes a deep breath, relaxing into the truck. He leans his head against the cool metal and looks at Chimney 

“She couldn’t have not told you it was Y/N” 

“My wife and I thoroughly enjoy the tea Buck, especially if it’s big about us!” 

May is helping you get ready, you both tore the room apart trying to put together the perfect outfit. Now she’s got you sat down at the vanity as she helps finish up your makeup 

“I was so confident with him in the beginning, but like… he likes me, likes me. And he’s so flirty-“You sigh and she holds your head still 

“Yeah that sounds like him,” She says as she carefully draws a white wing on your eyelid 

“Do you remember what I told you about what he said about the closet?! I should have said bet” You watch her grab another pen from the table 

“He literally would have died, he’s dramatic as hell I would have loved to see that” She chuckles 

“I know! I should have…” You start to pout and she smirks, spraying setting spray for you 

“I don’t know. What if I mess things up? I’ve never….I’ve had dates before you know?… but none like him”

“Do you like him that much?” 

“I think so” You blush and she smirks, stepping backward and handing you a pretty mirror to look into 

“I think you’re going to have that chance to knock him dead” She turns you around in your chair to face the mirror and you gasp, squealing and hugging her to you

“This is perfect”

Buck hates that he has to pick you up down the street. He wants to come up to your door, ring the doorbell, and hold your hand as he walks you to the car. But he’ll have to settle for leaning against his jeep and waiting for you to come down the sidewalk 

You’ve both agreed…Bobby doesn’t need to know about this just yet. 

He’s messing around on his phone, frantically texting Eddie when he hears you coming. Your black Mary Jane’s are tall. They make your legs look so long, he could just stare at them forever. His eyes trail up the black tights you’ve got on, to the tiny little mini skirt with a small slit in the thigh. Your red shirt is so romantic, the material is so soft and pretty. The sweetheart neckline just does things to him. Your collarbones are highlighted and he loves that, he loves the light glittery sheen on your chest again, it catches the moonlight perfectly, really all of your makeup is nice. And that sweet white bow in your hair sends him. You’re too sweet for him, it's official. 

He’s literally delirious… okay maybe not literally but he’s close. 

“H-hi” His voice cracks and he internally groans. So glad that’s back 

“Hi” You give him a little wave and he pushes up from his spot on the jeep. He walks up to you and hugs you, taking a deep breath just to calm down. It’s not helpful in the least, he knows that scent, he’s smelled it before when Maddie’s dragged him to bath and body works. It drove him crazy just from the bottle… and now his favorite girl is wearing it. 

“You uh- you ready to go?” He asks as he opens the door, taking your hand and helping you in. He carefully shuts the door and takes his time walking to his side, just trying to gather his thoughts. 

“I’m sorry we have to meet like this,” you say shyly and he shakes his head, leaning in and kissing your cheek 

“I’d meet you at the restaurant if I had to… me wanting to drive you is just me being selfish. I want as much time with you as possible” 

“I know what you mean,” you say, your cheeks flushing when he kisses you. He pulls your seatbelt a little tighter and you’re off, he keeps one hand on the steering wheel and the other in your lap, you hold onto him, playing with his fingers and he’s trying not to crash the car because you’re too cute. 

He makes small talk on the way, most of it’s just him rambling awkwardly because he’s so nervous, but it’s making you laugh and he loves that sound so he doesn’t mind. Okay well, he does mind the part where he let it spill that he had to take two showers because he was so nervous the first time he showered he forgot to wash like half his body. But the rest he can deal with 

He pulls into the parking lot of a fancy restaurant, it’s a nice place and your eyes widen for a moment 

“We’re eating here?” You ask and he takes your hand and helps you from the Jeep 

“Yeah? I-is this okay? We can go somewhere else if you want. I probably should have okayed it with you first I’m so-“

“No! No Buck this is perfect. It’s- I'm just” 

You’re starting to get nervous and that kind of calms him down a bit, he puts his hands on your shoulders and smiles softly 

“Hey, what’s wrong…is this too much for you?” His voice is soothing as he watches you 

“I…I feel kind of underdressed” You gesture to your outfit and he scoffs, taking you inside anyway. 

“Reservation for Buckley,” He tells the maitre’d and the man nods, grabbing two menus 

“Mr. and Mrs. Buckley if you’ll just follow me” he leads you both to a more secluded area, It is quieter over here, away from the majority of the chaos of the restaurant, and its calming

Buck pulls out your chair for you and you smile, sitting down. He sits in his chair and bites his lip 

“You look…” he gestures awkwardly and you smirk, your nerves finally quieting a little. He knows he should have complimented you earlier when he first saw you. But you just kind of… broke his brain 

“I look?” You trail off and he shrugs, his cheeks are so flushed and he can feel his palms sweating 

“G-good. More than good, so crazy, wonderfully, deliciously, good. Please don’t worry about if you’re underdressed because you’re not… Mrs. Buckley” 

You giggle and shake your head, kicking at his shin lightly under the table 

“Not gonna correct him huh?” 

“Oh hell no, I quite enjoy hearing “Mrs. Buckley” don’t you?” 

You raise an eyebrow and grab your menu, purposely holding it in front of your face so you can’t see him

“Hmmmm how does chicken Alfredo sound?”

You don’t get an answer from him at all and you put your menu down 

“Buck I was just-“

He’s giving you the biggest, sweetest, saddest, puppy dog eyes you’ve ever seen and your heart melts instantly for him 

“Oh come on!!! That’s not fair!! You look so cute oh my god” You reach across the table and cup his face in your hands and he snickers while you baby him 

“Chicken Alfredo sounds delicious, baby,” he says and you kick his leg again 

“I hate you!!”

“Hmm no you don’t” he winks “I kiss you too good”

You roll your eyes at him, putting the menu back up in front of your face so he can’t see how badly he’s making you blush

“You um…. You don’t look so bad yourself you know” You’re mumbling and he’s smirking

“Oh?” He bats his eyelashes playfully and picks up his menu. He can tell how frazzled it’s making you to compliment him and he’s over the moon 

“Maybe I’ll get a steak,” He says, peeking over his menu, he can just see your eyes… you pretty, pretty eyes. There’s glitter there too, your red eyeshadow looks expertly done and he even notices little white hearts dotting your eyelids 

“Steak sounds good,” you say, as he watches you nervously biting the inside of your cheek. 

“You look really pretty, did you do your makeup?” 

Your eyes shoot up to his and you realize he’s been staring at you the entire time 

“M-May helped with the finer details, she’s got a very steady hand”

“Oh, did she do the hearts? I like those” 

“Actually it was a stamp!” You tell him excitedly and he loves the way your eyes widen 

“Wait I have it-“ you do through the small white purse May lent you and pull out the little stamper 

“See?” You hand it to him and he grins, looking it over 

“Can I use it too? So we can match?” 

You nod eagerly as he opens it, twisting the bottom and testing it on his hand 

“Oh this is cute, maybe you and May can do my makeup someday” He chuckles and holds it out to you

“Do it for me?” 

“R-right now?” You look around, and there’s only a couple other people seated where you guys are 

“Yeah, why not?” He waves the pen in front of you “Please?” 

You get up from your chair, your cheeks burning as you stand in front of him, he opens his legs, pulling you closer to him and you blink rapidly, stumbling a little. 

“Careful…” He mumbles, looking up at you. Your hands are a little shaky as you put little hearts all over his face and he hums softly, his eyes closing. 

“Feels nice,” He says his eyes flutter open when you’re done. You bite your lip and put the cap on the little pen

“Looks nice too” you mutter and he grins, smoothing his hands over your hips 

“Can I have a kiss?” 

You nod, your cheeks burning and bend down, cupping his face in your hands and kissing him. He lets out a gleeful little sigh and kisses you back, his hands slide up your back, pulling you closer to him 

“Tastes nice” He purrs, his head is spinning and he just wants you. He’d take you right now if he could. “Like strawberries”

“It’s the lipgloss” You pull away from him some and he pouts, still holding onto you 

“Buck, behave” you scold him playfully and he whines quietly, letting you go reluctantly. You sit back in your seat, put your makeup back in your purse, and look at him, he’s covered in little white hearts and the glitter from your makeup, and he looks heavenly. His eyes are slightly dazed from the kiss and he looks absolutely smitten 

Dinner goes smoothly. Buck is asking so many questions, he just wants to know you inside and out. He seems to hang from your every word and eagerly answers all of your questions. He tells you all about Maddie and gushes about being an Uncle and about how much he loves Jee-Yun. He wants you to meet her so badly, he wants you to meet Maddie too 

“As just a friend thing!! Not like… a girlfriend thing” He blushes and takes a bite of his steak “I want you to have more friends! And Maddie is the best friend you could have! And you know maybe I’m a little biased but she’s really amazing”

“I’d love to meet her, and Jee-Yun!!” You say eagerly. You’re almost as excited as he is about the whole thing and it makes you kind of giddy about things with him. 

Buck pays and you fight him to leave the tip at least, literally fighting him off to leave the money on the table. 

He takes your hand as you two walk out, swinging them playfully 

“The night is still young, do you wanna do something else?” 

“Yeah, sure! Whaddya have in mind?” You ask as he pulls you along, towards his jeep. He’s walking backward, just staring at you with a cute smile on his face. He loves to look at you, to experience you. 

“Well… maybe we can head back to my place?” He opens the door for you and helps you in and you give him a skeptical look, he chuckles and shuts the door, walking around the jeep to get in on his side 

“It’s not like that! I swear! I’m just trying to beat this one level of Super Mario Odyssey and I really need a Cappy… Will you be my player two?” 

Buck comes down the stairs with an old t-shirt that he….may or may not have sprayed cologne on. He’s changed into a pair of sweats and a cropped T-shirt

“There’s a bathroom over there” he points while handing you the shirt and you look at him, your eyes widening at his bare torso…

“Are you sure you don’t want anything more?” 

“Yeah, I’m sure! It’ll be long enough don’t worry” You scamper off to the bathroom and Buck whips out his phone, speed dialing Eddie 

“What?” Eddie answers, putting him on speaker 

“Did you clean my house??” Buck gets busy setting up the switch, grabbing the extra Joycons for you… he may have gone out and bought the special princess peach pink just for you

“Maybe…” Eddie shrugs “I just sort of…guessed? it would end in you taking her home and I wanted to make sure everything was good” 

“Eddieee” Buck whines, fake sniffling and Eddie chuckles “Thanks man, I saw you uh changed my bedding” 

“I doubt it’ll go that far,” He says, and Buck can hear him washing dishes “But if it did, I just thought it would be nice”

“You think she’d ever wanna go that far with me?” Buck asks quietly, looking at the bathroom “And I mean in the future… not you know our first date” 

“You don’t want to score on the first date?” Eddie asks, he sounds like he doesn’t believe it 

“No…for once I don’t. I mean I want to tease the hell out of her, I love watching her blush… but no I want to take my time with her”

“That’s really romantic Buck” 

“I love you too Eddie” Buck grins widely as they both laugh, Buck hears Eddie close the cabinet door and sigh 

“I’m still gonna ask her to be my girlfriend though haha” 

“There’s the Buck I know”

Buck hangs up, promising to call Eddie back as soon as he drops you off at home. He sits on the couch, waiting patiently for you to come out. He starts up the game, nervously chewing his lip, you were taking a bit… should he come check on you?

“Oh…wow” 

He stares at you as you walk towards him, you had said you were gonna keep the tights on but you didn’t. He’s drooling, he knows he is as he watches you fold your clothes nicely and put them in the corner of the couch. You stand in front of him, your hands on your hips

“T-tights?” His voice squeaks out the word, Sabrina was right again. He’s definitely talking nonsense 

“Oh I figured I’d get too hot in them, it’s still long enough though” You look down at the shirt, pulling at the hem of it

“Are you cool with this? I can totally put them on anyway”

He could scoop you up and run you upstairs so easily, he knows it. He could pull you down and take you right there

“Uh-huh,” he says rather dumbly and you bite your lip, looking away from him and then back, just like he does to you 

“You okay?” You ask, stepping forward between his legs and he leans back slowly onto the couch 

“Uh-huh” 

“You ready to play?” You nod at the joycon's on the table and pick them up, sitting next to him on the couch and propping your feet up on the table like he did 

Oh, your toes match your nails. That’s cute, that’s really cute.

You lean back against the couch, putting your head on his shoulder 

“I can wait” 

It takes a minute, but he finally snaps out of it, his cheeks flushing deeply as he shakes his head

“I’m good, sorry. You- you’re just… you’re really pretty”

“I’m just wearing a plain t-shirt Buck” You laugh lightly and he groans 

“Yeah, I know! That’s the embarrassing part” 

“It’s okay. I think you’re really pretty in that shirt too”

You may be on a team together but that doesn’t mean Buck isn’t going to shove you off a cliff just to laugh about it after the fourth time you start to fight him 

“I can’t stand you,” You say, laughing as you push him over and he pushes you back.

“Then sit on my face” 

Your heart stops completely when he says that and you freeze up, your hands gripping the controller as your mouth drops open

He’s giggling a little as he looks at you 

“I’m a slut for a dirty joke”

“I can tell,” you say biting your lip 

“I can stop, if you want” He looks at you with a sincere smile, he pokes at your thigh playfully and you shake your head 

“No it’s okay, they’re funny…” 

“Good. But just let me know if you want me to stop…. You know since we’re on the topic, I want you to know I’d be happy being smothered by your thighs”

“Buck!” 

The two of you play together for a couple of hours, getting him past a lot of stuff he didn’t want to do alone, and he promises to not play without you. You yawn a little and settle back into the couch, you look cute when you’re sleepy, he thinks. He pulls you into his arms for a moment, rubbing your back. You nuzzle into him and pull your legs up into his lap and he smiles, kissing your nose. 

“Can we talk?” He asks softly, and you look up at him, a little smile on your face 

“Yeah sure, what’s on your mind?”

“Trust me when I say, I know that… that it’s so soon” He whispers as he pushes you gently back onto the couch, you let him, opening your legs for him to lay on you. 

“But… will you be my girlfriend?” He asks sweetly, his heart clearly on his sleeve. His eyes are so wide and hopeful. Your heart pounds in your chest as you look at him, those pretty blue eyes shining just for you. He lays his head on your chest and your cheeks flush. Of course, he’s a cuddle monster, he’s a little hesitant before he turns his head, placing soft kisses along your breast before putting his head back down. Oh, he’s definitely trying to butter you up and it’s working. 

“Four dates” You card your fingers through his hair, enjoying the way he melts into your hands and chest. He nuzzles his head into you more and you giggle, hugging him to your chest “Four more dates and then I’m all yours. We gotta get to know each other you big baby” 

“Deal,” He says excitedly, leaning down to kiss you, his body settles between your legs, he’s heavy and warm and you can feel those little butterflies flutter underneath him. He takes his time with you, enjoying the way your lips feel against his. You blush as you feel his hips push down into yours slightly, your thighs tighten on the sides of his waist and he grins 

“You good?” He asks. 

He’s such a little shit too with that cutesy little smirk like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing to you, what's currently happening to him, what you can feel between your legs. 

“Yeah I’m good” you mutter shifting your hips a little nervously, you feel his cock twitch against your panties and you squeak. He chuckles into your neck and props himself up on his arms, looking down at you 

“Are you ready to go home?” He’s biting his lip so playfully, appreciating the way you’re squirming nervously underneath him 

“Uh huh…I should go change” He falls to your side, letting you sit up for a minute 

“You could just go home in that, like seeing you in my clothes” He kisses your shoulders where the shirt has slipped down 

“Yeah I can go home and walk through the front door in just your t-shirt,” you tell him sarcastically, leaning into his chest. He nuzzles your neck, nipping at it “Bobby would love that” 

“Sorry I can’t understand your accent” He bats his eyes sweetly and you elbow him in the stomach before getting up 

“Take it home with you, please? You can use it as a sleep shirt or something”

“That I can do,” you tell him, grabbing your clothes from the corner of the couch 

“Anddd maybe you can send me pictures in it sometime… if you want!” He looks down at his hands, twiddling his thumbs 

“Buck, did you just ask me to send pics??” You scoff as you walk towards the bathroom, biting back a little smile.  He sighs behind you, shamelessly watching your ass as you walk. Those hips he just can’t get enough of 

“Maybe. But you know, in a classy kinda way” 

Buck pulls up to the same spot he picked you up at, he takes your hand, kissing the back of it 

“Can I walk you home?” 

“If you don’t mind parking here, you’ll have to leave me a couple of houses down”

“That’s not a problem”

He gets out of the car, comes around, and opens the door for you. 

“Who knew you were such a gentleman?” you tease as he puts his arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his chest. You put your arms around him as you two slowly walk back to Athena’s 

“I uh…. I have an extra key to my apartment” He says, toying with the keys in his pocket “And I know like…. It’s probably not easy sharing a room with May” 

“Okaaay…?” Where the heck was he going with this? 

“I’m just, I’ll send you my work schedule…I have to anyway, you know in order to plan four more sweet dates” he chuckles nervously and you look up at him 

“I’m just… offering you a place to hang out if you ever need space okay? It can’t be easy having the share a room, like you’re both adults with your own lives” 

“Buck you don’t have to do that,” You tell him, hanging onto the front of his shirt “I don’t want to impose” 

“I swear it’s not a problem! I want to do this for you… I mean me and Eddie have keys to each other’s houses! This is just like a cool friend helping a friend, okay?” 

You stop two houses down from Athena’s and he reluctantly lets you go. He takes the keys from his pocket and takes it off the ring, handing it to you

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to…. I just want you to feel like you’ve got a place to go, okay?”

You stand on your toes and he smirks, bending down to your height and tilting your chin up towards him. He kisses you, letting his tongue slide over your teeth before dipping into your mouth, you moan quietly against his lips and his arms snake around your waist. He pulls you up a little taller, your toes just barely touching the ground, 

He’s strong and he wants you to know that. 

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow okay?” He pulls away slowly, that little dazed look in your eyes turning him on. He wonders what else would give you that same look 

“O-okay” 

He sets you back down and pats your butt, giving it a little pinch

“Go on, go home”

You squeak and put your hands over your ass, turning around and glaring at him 

“Goodnight, Buck”

“Goodnight, Doll” 

[blog-of-frontiers]

Crimson Peak brainworms. Fucking again

[moonlitnyx]

𝐏𝐔𝐏𝐏𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

Starring | Jing Yuan, Blade, Gepard, Luocha, Dan Heng

Synopsis | How would they react if they had a crush on you!

Format | Short drabbles/fics on each character

CW | fluff, just some general sappy stuff, blatant favoritism for jing yuan and bladie, slight angst(?) with Luocha, Gepard is pathetic (affectionate), Luocha's is short cuz I don't have a full grasp of his character yet

AN | I want to burry my head in jing yuan and blade's titties.

𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍

The golden-eyed general has never been one to be shy, his bravado and confidence radiating off of him like golden light. Yet when it comes to you, Jing Yuan can't help but mind how he acts, how he looks, how he speaks when he's around you. You have practically invaded his head like mara, and he doesn't know if thats a better or worse situation.

He still is confident, self-assured in every way, yet when he sees you he can't help the pink blush that spreads on his pale cheeks, or how soft smiles peek out instead of his usual annoyingly-charming smirks.

At night, he looks out of his window as he leans on the edge, and gazes at the stars. A perfectly ordinary sight-he's seen it many times, and the grandiose of the galaxy has worn off for him. Yet his eyes sparkle, and his hand reaches out, almost trying to touch a glittering star, and he hums contemplatively. Maybe love has made him young and earnest again, and he smiles at the thought.

𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐄

The cold, calloused man has no need for love in his life. It has never been in priority, having already juggling mara and his want for revenge. How you wormed into his heart, which had been cold and unbeating for the past centuries, is something that both scares and surprises him.

Mara is something that will come for all long-life species. It is a unshakeable prophecy, urged by negative memories and a whirlwind of emotions. He knows he shouldn't be greedy-you could get hurt from staying near him-yet he's selfish too. He wants you, craves your love like how humans might crave immortality.

Blade stays silent as he watches you laugh with Kafka, watches you play games with Silver Wolf as you try to bite back curses from losing, and he can't help but marvel of your existence. His cold, unbeating heart fills with warmth, his dead eyes alit for what seems to be the first time in ages, and he makes a silent promise.

He will protect your smile for the rest of his long, torturous life.

𝐆𝐄𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐃

Gepard is the Captain of the Silvermane Guards, protector of Belabog. He's faced the stellaron crisis, of all things. Yet, in the face of adversity, it is you that makes him falter. He'd rather stay out in the cold all day than embarrass himself in front of you, rather face monsters of unspeakable power then make you angry or sad.

Gepard wrings his hands, tries to hide the blooming red blush thats spreading on his cheeks when you smile at him, even goes so far as to avoid you to try and hide his embarrassment, of the train wreck of emotions he has for you.

"Hey, Gepard!" You wave your hand as you see the blonde-haired man, and he shyly waves back, which earns a playful punch to the side from Serval. He feels his face heating up, and thanks the Aeons that your oblivious to his plight.

𝐋𝐔𝐎𝐂𝐇𝐀

Luocha is elegant, refined-a pure gentleman. Nothing phases him, well, how could he be surprised when everything is but a pawn in his game of chess against the Aeons? But you, you were something he hadn't counted for. Whatever you did, whatever you said-was something Luocha never expected. And the feelings that brewed in his heart wasn't expected, either.

Luocha doesn't show it, a mask carefully placed that it would never slip. He's cold, distant, yet polite at the same time. He doesn't come near you, but he doesn't decline your pleads for help. He's quiet, but he doesn't ignore you when you speak.

Even though he tries to hide, his love for you still overpowers his will to push you away.

𝐃𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐆

The dark-haired boy is silent, but that doesn't mean he's unfeeling.

Under his cold exterior, lies a beating heart full of love. Love for the Astral Express, love for his friends, and love for you. Although he doesn't show it, he expresses it through his actions, through his words. He expresses it through the looks he sends you, the soft smile that graces his lips when you talk.

Dan Heng has always tried to run away from his past-from the Xianzhou, from the title of Imbibitor Lunae. But that isn't the same way he thinks for you, no, he wants to run to you. But he's fine being near you just as much, being next to you as you smile and giggle with March, or play video-games with their new, gray-haired friend.

March gives a pointed look to Dan Heng, arms crossed as they huff. "You should tell them!" Her voice echoes in the small, cramped space of the Archive Room as Dan Heng groans. "Tell them you like them!"

"I'm fine just being next to them," Dan Heng retorts, even though his heart years to not just be next to you, but to be with you.

©moonlitnyx. do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work/theme without prior permission and or confirmation.

[oceantornadoo]

toxic but in love fwb!simon with some hurt/comfort

“i know your gala is important, si, but can’t you come? just this once i just want-“ you were wringing your hands, twisting them into unfamiliar shapes as you argued with simon, your situationship. you two were always like this, pushing and pulling at the boundaries of your relationship. moon and tide, destined to move each other but never close enough. “we’re not dating an’ i have a work thing. can’t come.” he shrugged nonchalantly, turning his head so he couldn’t see the pleading look on your face. instead, he pushed himself off your couch and reached for his jacket by the door. the silence in the air turned sour, some dark ugly thing created by him. his heart was a dead thing inside his chest, unable to muster a beat or two for you. he wanted to. a want so deep it ran in his blood, turning him cold. “fine. see you in six months or whatever.” your voice was stony, bitter. you reached for the tv remote and unpaused the show you two were watching, trying not to care about the sounds of him lacing his boots and grabbing his keys. you were done, done with this tug of war. you felt his stare drill through the side of your head as he put on his mask, the final bit to his ensemble. he might think that’s what got him named ghost, but it was really this, this act of playing human when he just didn’t care. he was a poltergeist in your life, knocking things out of order but refusing to show when it mattered. you were done.

one night later and here you were at your first art show, the debut of your career. dressed in your fanciest attire, second glass of champagne in your hand as you tried to network your way through the room. your feet ached from your shoes and there was an itch in your back you couldn’t quite reach, but you put on your best smile as another potential buyer went on and on about their summer in the hamptons. simon wasn’t here but it was fine. the tears you had been swallowing back for the past thirty minutes were just tears of joy at your accomplishments, nothing more. you thanked the buyer and turned the corner, finishing off your glass as you took a much needed break. suddenly a hush went over the crowd, a slight silence broken by a small quip. the room went back to normal but you went to check it out anyways, hoping it wasn’t someone making a bad comment about your work.

you arrived at the entrance and almost passed out at the sight before you. four men-no, machines, dressed in full military regalia stood in front of you. soap and gaz were already working the crowd while price was entertaining one of your donors, but your eyes were focused on ghost. ghost, who traded his balaclava for a more crowd-friendly medical mask, stood in front of you with a bouquet of carnations and a bottle of wine. you approached him slowly like you would a skittish animal, taking patient, methodical steps. “read carnations are for celebrations.” he said, almost sheepishly, as he mechanically thrust the bouquet towards you. you took it out of instinct, eyes still focused on his. “you came?” you said unbelievingly. simon was here, simon brought his friends, simon brought you gifts? he had to have been drugged or something. there was no way. “you called.” he answered, breaking out of his awkwardness. “‘m sorry for yesterday. knew i was coming, jus’ gave you a hard time. had to celebrate my girl’s first show.” your mouth dropped at that. my girl. “but…but we’re not dating?” you took a step forward, the rest of the room falling away as his gloved hand touched your cheek, brushing back the wrinkles on your forehead. “d’ya want to, lovie? was at this gala all night, thinkin’ bout how fun it would’ve been to have you there with me. makin’ fun of all those puffed up generals.” you let out a small chuckle and his back straightened, encouraged by the sound of your laughter. he loved the sounds of your laughter, your drunk giggles and your loud snorts. most especially he loved the sharp barks of surprise you made, the ones you gave when something or someone made you happy without expecting it. like now. “yes. if you’re sure.” the foggy emotions in your head were finally clearing, letting in the sun. his warm eyes caressed your face, pride evident in his face. “‘m sure.” he sealed it with a kiss to your forehead, not wanting to be unprofessional at your work event. simon felt something in his chest. maybe a heartbeat. maybe he had one after all.

—

thought of the “you came? you called” tiktok audio with this one. currently on my period so y’all will only be getting emotional stuff for the next couple of days 🫶

[ofallthingsnasty]

Can I get a ticket to the long night of museums with Sanji, please? Thank you!

Sanji, my love... Of course I had to get this done for my birthday today... He's both more and less intense compared to canon, you'll see what I mean 🤭 Modern AU as with Rosi! Thank you so much for playing!

🎂nasty's 2024 birthday event (open until April 6th)🎂

Your order:

1 x ticket to The Long Night of Museums with Sanji! (Adult only, exhibition might contain content such as stalking and heavy dubcon, proceed at your own risk.

Sanji knew exactly what he was doing when he asked to man the window after he started working in that tiny, decade-old restaurant right in the middle of the old quarter. He gets to have it all - he can both pursue his passion and feast his eyes on the hungry swaths of tourists that descend upon the city come the first sunny days of spring. Dressed in their finest, they hem and haw over the beautiful old buildings that look like they somehow fell through time into the 21st century, still as picturesque as ever. Always happy (because hey, they’re on vacation, right?) with pockets meters deep and insatiable after trekking through the whole town. It’s good for his pride to provide them with a hard-earned meal and bad for his heart because every beautiful smile breaks it after leaving, time and time again. Every fleeting fancy has him sighing as they turn around to new adventures while he stays right where he is. It has never really bothered him - such is life, he figures - until he spots you; round-eyed and hungry right at his counter, your accent a dead giveaway that you’re a foreigner.

It’s strange, really - maybe it’s because you eat his food with rarely seen awe or maybe it’s because you’re just the embodiment of the word cute - it doesn’t matter, he feels a little extra smitten with you. But as they all do, you leave, get lost in the crowd until he can't spot you anymore and the next customer waits for him, money in their hands. He takes a deep breath, erases the dozen little daydreams his brain cooked up in the five minutes the two of you interacted with and puts his best costumer service smile on.

And then you’re there again the next day, around the same time and he balks at the sight of you. Just like yesterday, wearing another (equally cute) outfit, with some cash already tucked into your fist. I had to come back, you say, a bashful grin on your face. Can’t enjoy this for long and it’s just so good! Oh, he’s done for, he just knows it. Fate gave him a second chance (or just confirmation?) and he’d be an idiot to ruin this.

It’s so easy to spot the card of your hotel when you fumble with it to get your wallet and even easier to wait in front of your little abode later that night until you stop by to freshen up and go out again. Of course you would, it’s only natural - you’re trying to wring every last experience out of your trip and a night out is what completes it. He follows you quietly, all the way downtown, smoking while you almost skip along the streets. Just what has you in such good spirits, he wonders - and he gets his answer when you finally settle in a little pub and he seats himself somewhere close when you’re not looking.

Turns out, it’s your birthday, at least that's what you tell the employee at the counter, a thousand-watt smile on your face that he can hear even through the cigarette smoke and old hard rock. He’s torn between feeling excited and a little sorry for you - you shouldn't be celebrating your birthday alone, you’re too kind for that. Then again, it provides him with ample opportunities; he gets to be the hero of the day if he saves your birthday, he just needs to be smart about it. So he waits. Smokes cigarette after cigarette and thinks about all the things to say to you, gets lost in his own head while you drink yourself through an array of liquors and beers. Poor thing, you won't remember a thing tomorrow morning, the way you're letting the alcohol flow. He isn't the type to use people when they are at their lowest but he can't deny that some lowered inhibitions are only beneficial to him. And really, he isn't planning anything bad. Just a little extra care for you, on your special day.

He knocks on your table once you've gone from beer to shots. It's cute how hard your brain is working because clearly, you recognize him, but it just doesn't know where to place him. Eventually, you do - and beam up at him with so much joy it's almost overwhelming.

Oh! It’s you! From the window!

Adorable, even when you're shitfaced. You're perfect. He sits down without asking but you don't mind, too entrenched in drinking and babbling about your day. You seem so happy to get all of this attention from him, a semi-familiar face in the middle of the night, and he just listens and smiles. You toast him and he tips his cigarette, enjoying the way your knees knock against his. Just one last drink, he can tell, then you're ready. Then you’ll be going with him, uneasy in the legs but happy in mind, then you'll pull him into your hotel room with a giggle and too much force.

And really, he isn't a bad guy, he knows that - but he can’t help himself when he’s already knuckle-deep in you, cooing while you drunkenly whimper around his fingers. It’s so, so sweet. You’re so, so sweet. Can’t enjoy this for long, he thinks and nips at your ear, as you struggle to cum because you simply had too much alcohol. It's a little birthday present to you, a little treat for him. And maybe he should think about moving, too. Or fuck you so good tomorrow that you'll never want to leave again.

He'll figure something out.

[yanderenightmare]

im with anon, i'll take 500 words or less! anything you have of nasty shigaraki to spare, i'll gladly take with a smile:) also, kinda unrelated, but maybe not ;) iv'e never seen you do soulmate aus?

BNHA ! IMAGINE

Shigaraki Tomura x darling

I love soulmate aus! But only when I give them my own awful unromantic spin. 

TW: soulmate au, yandere, implied noncon/dubcon

I like to think the words written on your arm are “Why aren’t you dead?” and the fear you felt in your heart when you first heard them being spoken – lying naked in the decay of a city Tomura had just leveled with the single touch of his fingertips. Followed shortly by the sound of your voice cracking into a scream and a cry when you cough up those few pitiful words written on his arm – “No, please, no!”

I like to think Tomura hates you for making him go through his entire life, knowing those were the first words his soulmate would ever say to him – and how he’s going to torture you for it by forcing you into doing nightmarish versions of all those romantic clichés soulmates usually do.

You try to run even knowing how silly it was, crawling barefoot over sharp crumbling debris with your heart in your throat. He grabs you with ease and takes you home – each wrist and ankle tied tight to the other, a piece of ripped cloth gagging you, and a sack pulled over your head – your naked skin dusty with ashes of people and buildings laid to waste while he holds you in a bridal carry.

You were thrown on the bed with a startled yelp, bouncing on the springy mattress for a moment before stilling and sinking – swearing that the soft feel of it was moist and clammy to the touch, clinging to your skin while slowly swallowing you -and stuffy as though a million spores had just burst upon your impact, spewing out a thick fermented stench that stuck in your throat like a coat of slime.

You heard a door being locked and a key being hidden before feeling his presence crawl over you again where you lay, tied up and shaking. 

Your hood disintegrated a moment later, leaving you to stare up into those beady red eyes.

“Psh-” He scoffed, having cast a glance over your face, from the teary streaks running through the ashy dust on your cheeks to the shifty whimpers leaving your lips. “Who would’ve guessed my soulmate would be a pretty thing like you?” 

You swore it sounded less like a compliment and more like a jeer while his dry lips further cracked when stretched over the horrid smile that soon broke across his face – sharp like jagged shards of glass you feared would cut you. You shriveled in sight of it, feeling all types of gross and all types of dread twisting your gut as his hand, pale and dry like the rest of him yet unexpectedly warm, started to touch.

Your eyes swiveled with dread, spinning while eerily watching him and how his own two followed the path of his hand. Beginning at your neck in slow fascinated strokes – all five fingers with crass fissures scratching down your jugular and collarbones, making your breath hitch. Drawing down your body with a deepening sense of ownership.

And all you were left to do was chew the cloth spreading your teeth and lips, wettening it with pitiful whimpers and cries. Hands wringing pointlessly, charred and aching from the strict bonds keeping them locked snug beneath you.

A sudden giggle sprung from him then. A dry type of snicker that came from somewhere raspy deep in his lungs. Almost sounding painful if it weren’t for the glistering gleam of something terribly perverted pooling in his eyes – and the tongue that suddenly swept up your face.

“Fate can be such a sweet bitch, can’t it?”

[smartwatermagic]

I kinda wanna know about the shared trauma Annabeth and Alabaster both have from Luke and how they deal with it? How does Percy deal with them going completely insane just thinking about it? Does Annabeth ever realize she was used by Luke too (I feel like in a way she was)? I just kind of wanted you to explore this a bit more.

Ohohohoho -> you can hear me wringing my hands and cackling if you squint lol. This is going to get long so buckle up folks, I am breaking out the "•" format again

(CW:suicide mention, it's about Luke's death)

It's very important to start that the love was there. Luke loved them, they were his little siblings. It didn't change anything. It didn't stop the hurt. Perhaps it made it worse. But it's very important that the love was there.

Percabeth didn't talk about Luke after Manhattan, not really. That off-hand comment about his flying shoes in Cotg was the first time either of them mentioned him out-loud.

It's Alabaster coming into their life that opened up that baggage along with several more they were happy to ignore until it eventually burst.

I think it would be good for both of them when they come to the realisation that Luke wasn't evil and he wasn't a can-do-no-wrong-hero either. (He is still the hero of the prophecy of course but yeah, you all get it)

He was just a traumatised kid who grew into a traumatised young adult and caused the deaths and traumas of dozens of other kids whether he wanted to or not.

Just Annabeth realising she was the same age as when Luke took her in when she took the sky from him. Just Annabeth having a talk with Thalia, learning about Halycon Green, and how Luke changed after that, and how he again changed after that visit to May and the confrontation with Hermes. How he seemed to intentionally provoke and go after monsters. Just Annabeth mourning the loss of her dagger and her family. Luke has been dead from the start. Thalia will never be the cool 12 year old that took her under her wing again. Annabeth will out-age and Thalia will out-live both of them.

Just Alabaster realising hey, maybe Luke wasn't this almost god-like being he idolised. That maybe Luke himself didn't believe in half the things he promised. That maybe it shouldn't have been his, a 14 year old's, job to coax out a drunk Luke from the corner of Othrys he backed himself to. That maybe he wasn't wrong to think that he was used as an emotional replacement for Annabeth.

If Alabaster spared a drachma for every time Luke called him Annabeth— well no matter. He was dead now. (He would do anything to hear Luke's voice again, even if that was by being called Annabeth.)

But Luke didn't only hurt them, did he? Like I said he was their big brother. Just the memories of Annabeth staying up full night with Luke, him shielding her from the cold and the harpies as they sat on Thalia's branches. Just Luke protecting Alabaster from bullies who thought picking on the weird scrawny minor god kid no. 1263 would be fun. Luke who saw a little seven year old and took her in, promised family and tried to protect her to his best. Luke who killed himself for her. Luke who tried to maintain the familiy bonds he had with these children that followed him to the Titan army. Luke who tried to keep Alabaster away from Kronos as much as possible, and yet still promoted him to his second in command anyways.

Does that make up for the hurt? Does it matter he loved them if he intentionally or not got them in the middle of the crossfire? That's for Annabaster to decide.

They do miss him though. Once the gates open they can't stop the incoming emotional flood. Sometimes they curse him out, sometimes they cry after him, sometimes they sit in silence of their overwhelming feelings. Sometimes... well, Percy doesn't know, but it's better than Luke being a constant topic of their relationship arguments he guesses.

And it's the way Alabaster still talks like he's trying to imitate Luke: half successful silver tongue, laced with magic and the passion Luke used to have at the very start of the war. It's the way Annabeth paces around like Luke did when he was stressed, all lost in thoughts at picking at her elbows. It's the way all three of them are bone tired, and world weary and if they look at the mirror they just see Luke Luke Luke—

Some nights, when none of them can sleep, under the soft light of the moon and a cozy blanket, with hot drinks in their hands and kisses shared they talk about just how easy it would be to stage Olympus's downfall, how fast, how it would hit them before they can even suspect a thing... All hypothetical certainly, just whispers between lovers.

And Percy. He doesn't even have half the memories his partners have with Luke. But three of what he has stick out the most: Luke teaching him sword-fighting, him siccing a scorpion on little 12 year old Percy with no hesitation and him making him promise to not let things happen this way again as he bled out to death in his lap.

Olympians may have not went through their promise. Percy sure does intend to keep his own one though, gods be damned.

He'll just settle for being there for his partners for however long they grieve, though.

[queermania]

i used to love sam's "i'm a whole new level of freak" speech but now i want to wring his neck about it. dean spends all of s2 (unconvincingly) telling sam that he's not a freak and that there's nothing wrong with him and that he is fundamentally good but if something happens, they'll deal with it. (ultimately, i don't think this was helpful or what sam needed to hear at the time but that's not relevant at the moment).

then they kill azazel and sam's psychic powers essentially go away. it's not a problem anymore. it's not a thing they have to worry about. it's not an issue.

then dean dies and sam loses it and ruby shows back up and offers sam revenge in the form of killing lilith. it does require him to drink demon blood and basically reactivate his powers though. but sam doesn't care. he wants revenge. he wants lilith dead. the ends justifies the means, etc.

but then dean comes back and sam lies about what he's doing (because he knows it's wrong) and dean only finds out because an angel of the lord who rescued him from hell alerts him to it and says sam needs to be stopped.

then sam gives his little speech about how he has a disease running through him and he can never get rid of it and dean is so awful for treating sam like he might be dangerous. but. like. none of those things are true, really. those powers weren't running through sam when he decided to start drinking demon blood. that wasn't about sam trying to find something good in the bad. it was about vengeance, baby! and dean's "judgement" of sam isn't about sam's psychic powers. it's about sam's actions. and still. and still dean apologizes and asks sam to open up, to explain, and sam refuses.

and then gets mad that dean doesn't open up about his hell trauma.

and then dean does open up about his hell trauma and sam kinda just grimaces (hilarious of him because honestly what could he possibly say to make it better).

and amidst all this, dean apologizes to ruby for being a dick and thanks her for saving sam's life and being there for him.

and like. this is all so good and so crunchy and interesting. but somehow fandom has boiled it down to dean hates monsters and thinks sam's an abomination even though sam is doing the morally right thing by drinking demon blood and i just!!!!!

[denaliwrites]

Now and Again We Try to Just Stay Alive

Alec Hardy x GN!Reader

Summary: Alec tries to help you through a rough patch.

Soundtrack: Never Too Late by Three Days Grace

Requests: Open!

Warnings: Symptoms of Severe Depression, Angst.

You groan as the stupid, annoying little jingle sounds on your phone for the millionth time that morning. "Shut. Up!" you growl at the device, on the edge of throwing it into the wall across the room.

Deep down, you know it's not the phone's fault.

It's Alec's.

He just won't. Stop. Calling you. The ringing has been incessant, all morning, almost without pause. Not even just this morning, either, but for the last three days.

Even deeper down, you know he's worried about you. That he's only calling so much because you haven't picked up. He must think you're in some perilous situation, or maybe he thinks you're dead.

With the way you've been treating yourself lately, it's frankly a surprise you're not on your way.

You're startled by a pounding on the door that's so strong it shakes the whole house, and by the desperate and worried call of your name in Alec's voice.

You do not want to get up. You can't even begin to describe just how much you do not want to get up. You'd rather eat a Carolina Reaper whole than open your door. You'd rather eat a bucket of Carolina Reapers than face Alec after having ignored him for three days.

The pounding is insistent and starting to beat in time to the pounding in your head, where a headache is starting to bloom.

Finally, you throw yourself up and storm to the door and throw it open, glaring at the man on the other side. "What?" you all but roar at him from the other side of the threshold, the only thing that stands between the two of you.

He's startled, but you can tell right away that he's worried. His brows furrow as he takes you in -- how disheveled you are, how your features are slightly sunken in, how dark circles run under your eyes.

"Oh, hell," he breathes as he steps towards you, his face falling when you take a step back in response.

You wonder what you look like to him -- he must think you look like a rabid animal. Unwell. Unsafe. Doomed.

"Darlin'," he coos softly, and it's the last thing you expect from him. Kindness. You don't deserve it, you realize. "What's happened?" You can't take how gentle his voice is, how caring his eyes are, how delicately he pulls you into his loving embrace. "Oh, darlin', you're a right mess, aren't you?" he asks softly, and there's no disdain or disgust or hatred there like you expected.

A tear falls from your eye, silently, but you barely notice, too wrapped up in Alec, both literally and figuratively.

"How long's it been since you've showered?" he asks, voice still soft. He's talking to you like he would a scared and wounded animal.

You hate that it's working. "F-four days," you manage to whimper out.

"Oh, darlin'," he sighs, and suddenly you've been scooped up into his arms, and he's carrying you bridal style to the bathroom. You're set down on the toilet, and then he sets about getting the water in the bath warm. "Shower or bath?" he asks, turning to look back at you.

You wring your hands, offering only a few meaningless, uselessly muttered syllables at first.

"Come on," he coaxes, placing a comforting hand on your knee and squeezing.

"I... I guess a bath..." you murmur, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Bath it is," he says casually, like he's not having to care for you like he would a child, or a rescued dog. That's all you were in the end, a rescue. An animal forever marred by its life as a stray.

He waits for the tub to fill in silence, and you make no effort to fill the void in conversation. When he's satisfied, he turns the water off, helps you up, and begins undressing you carefully, gently.

"That's it," he coos as he helps you into the water. It's blissfully hot, and you can't help the little breathy moan you let out at the delicious feeling of it on your skin. "That's good, darlin'. You're bein' so good for me."

You whimper as he carefully helps you down, the heat of the water slowly enveloping you and doing more to soothe you than maybe anything else ever had.

"How long's it been since you've eaten?" cuts through the luxurious haze, and you finally look at him, finally meet his eyes. "If you wash yourself, I'll go make you somethin' to eat. Or would you rather I help you in here?" There's no malice in his voice, no accusation or anger. He doesn't seem upset that this is who he's in a relationship with, who he decided to be partners with, who he decided to love.

It breaks you a little, that all he seems to want is for you to be better.

"I, erm..." you croak, shifting uncomfortably. "F-four days..." You look away as he sighs. "I, erm... I can... handle. This." It's the least you can do, this one menial task.

His hand strokes your hair for a moment, before he coaxes your head to his chest. A kiss is placed atop your forehead, and then he's leaving you. You watch him go, already missing him.

You stay in the water until it runs cold. The washing up only takes a few minutes, but it's the most comfortable you've felt in days and you're not too eager to leave it, at least not until you have to.

You realize you must've fallen asleep at some point, because when you get out of the bath, your dirty clothes are gone and have been replaced by your favorite sweater -- a big, fluffy thing that runs down to your mid-thigh. You dry yourself with a towel on the rack, then slip on the underwear he left you, pull on the oversized sweater.

Padding out into the communal space of the flat, you see Alec working in the kitchen. He sees you -- you know he does, because your eyes meet -- but he says nothing, letting you broach the physical and verbal barriers between you.

"Thank you," you say softly as you make your way into the kitchen, rummaging in the fridge for a moment for a water bottle. The moment you see it you realize how desperately thirsty you are, but you take your time drinking it.

"It's not a problem," he says after a long stretch of silence. "You know I care for you, don't you?"

Finally, the accusation you've been waiting for. "Yes," you reply quietly. Sadly.

"I... I wish you'd told me what was goin' on," he says, turning to face you. "I'd have helped. Tried to, anyway."

"You couldn't have," you tell him, and you mean it. "It's not... you can't help with this. I'm sorry."

"Then I could've been here, with you... what a terrible thing to go through alone."

You feel yourself choking up, and struggle to swallow it down. "N-no," you whimper. "I wanted to be alone. Want to be. Alone."

"Well now, that's just too bad, isn't it?" he asks, and you're surprised to hear a teasing note in his voice. Even more surprised to see his lips quirk, ever so slightly, and only for a moment. "You're stuck with me, darlin'."

You smile, and it's only half forced. Some of it is, remarkably, genuine.

"Darlin'," he sighs, and you don't like how serious his voice is now. "I can't pretend to get what's goin' on, but... it's okay if sometimes all ye can do is just survive, y'ken?"

You're not sure why, but that breaks you, and you dissolve into tears. Alec is quick to approach, wrapping his arms around you in an impossibly tender embrace that radiates warmth and love.

"Hush, darlin', it's all right," he coos, rocking you gently in a steady rhythm. "You're all right now."

You weren't. You both knew it. But you thought, maybe, you could be, with Alec's help.

[elfqueen006]

Jellybelly Panic

Sunny Day Jack x Reader

Saya no Uta AU. The same elements anyway. First person POV. Graphic violence. Unreality. Emotional Manipulation. Lore here.

---

I stood petrified in the alleyway with Jack not far behind. He took a cautious stance, peeking around the corner, watching monster in case it reacted. Primarily, it was pink from the neck (?) up. But its body gradually faded into a dark ombre effect. The clumps spread throughout its body, giving it the appearance of a deformed overhaul of gum.

My heart thumped rapidly against my chest.

"Jack," I breathed, "What the hell is that thing?"

"It's a jellybelly." He replied. Without thinking, I laughed. His face was dead serious, though, and whatever trace of humor I had vanished. The name was ridiculous, sure. It didn't excuse the situation from being downright terrifying.

"Are they... are they dangerous?" I asked.

"Very." Jack said, "If you don't have enough love in your heart or are overcome by negativity, then you turn into one. They go around sucking up all the sad people they can find!"

That sounded like the description of a damn My Little Pony monster! But then again, since meeting Jack, your life has been all sunshine and rainbows, so it might as well be. But that still doesn't beg the question...

"What does it want?" I asked. Jack eyed me warily.

"It wants you."

My eyes nearly pop out of my skull, my heart begins to race again and I clutch my shirt. "What-whatever does it want with me?! I'm not sad I... I have you!"

Jack smiles sadly.

"That's sweet. But do you remember what happened in the yogurt shop?"

I blanch. A cold sweat starts to come on as I wring my hands. I can feel my mouth going dry, and I try desperately to wet my lips. I'm looking down at my shoes; they're neatly wiped and have been intricately washed - courtesy of Jack. I hadn't wanted them cleaned in the first place. They were really only for errands and work. It wasn't like I was going to the Oscar's or anything like that. But for my introduction into this new reality of mine, Jack had wanted me to look my best and carry myself like the most important person he was so confident I was.

God, he was really too good for me. And to think I so carelessly rejected him in the yogurt shop. What kind of a friend am I?

A firm hand clasped my shoulder then, startling me out of my thoughts. I looked at Jack, who was kneeling down to eye level with me.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, okay?"  I nodded slowly. "What's important right now is that we take action."

"'Take action?' What do you mean?"

"You can't let it get you, sunshine."

Instinctively, I backed away. "You mean to say I- no. No, Jack! I can't fight that thing, it's huge!"

"Yes, you can. You just have to-"

"Don't. Do not say I should believe in myself, because I don't! I'm not equipped nor qualified to take on that monster! I'm a coward! " I declared, unaware my rising tone was attracting the monster to the alley.

A brief glimpse of panic flashed in Jacks' eyes. He reached for me, then hesitated. He then sighed and his look turned grave.

"That's perfectly fine." He said.

"... really?"

"Of course. So long as you promise one thing: believe in me."

He continued when I didn't respond, "I would never put you in a situation you couldn't handle, nor would I allow you in harm's way..." he told me, "Sunshine, please. You can do this, I know you can."

"...Jack-"

A low growl and squelching sound approached the alleyway. I stepped out, finding myself face to face with the monster sooner than I would've liked. I yelped, causing the thing to roar at me.

"Jack, what-" I looked behind me by Jack was gone. And in a split second I dodged the monster as it lunged for me. I consistently side stepped the creature, never giving it an opening to capture me.

Eventually, I started to tire myself out. I knew this couldn't go on for long. The monster - this "jellybelly" - would soon catch on to my patterns and just go for it when I'm at my weakest.

I put my hand against the alley wall to catch my breath. The monster roared frustratedly. I scanned the area for anything to defend myself. A stick... a piece of trash...

In the moment I grabbed the candy cane. It was heavier than it looked, and sticky. The texture of its material was slightly weathered, the sugar particles scraping off at the edges. Something left out this long couldn't be sanitary. I'd have to wash my hands after handling it.

I spot the jellybelly moving toward me and give the cane a half hearted swing.

"Stay back you freak!"

The monster bellowed, rushing towards me. I gulp, feeling the weapon get heavier in my hands. It's like my arms are turning hollow. Still, whether it be natural instinct or dumb luck, when the jellybelly was within arms reach, I swung.

Pieces of the the monster's maw went flying off the moment my weapon made contact. It screeched in pain, the catharsis of what I'd done giving me a boost of adrenaline as I found myself stepping to it while it reeled back.

"Not so tough now, huh?" I bit out.

I raised my weapon upwards and came down on its back while it hunched. It cried out, but I didn't let that deter me. I repeatedly whacked at its squishy form until it crumbled to the ground. It twitched slightly but was no more than a mound of opaque jello.

Coming down from my high, I'd dropped the cane. I began to tremble, feeling the aftershock of what I'd just done. Sure it was a monster but was it really coming after me specifically?

It seemed to react like an animal sensing a threat. And if it were only acting on the offensive because I was... was I in the wrong?

"You did the right thing, sunshine." Jack said, coming up from behind the corner of the alley.

Immediately I ran up to him feeling hot tears well up and a tightness in my throat like I couldn't breathe. I heaved and sobbed into his chest. He cooed and rubbed the small of my back.

I sniffed, "Don-don't you ... e-ever just take off on me like that again!"

"I'm sorry. I know that was a lot to go through. But I had to step out so you could take initiative on your own." He told me.

"I don't care! Don't do that to me again!"

"I won't, sunshine. But I can't do that without you."

"...What do you mean?"

Jack takes me chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting my head up to where my gaze meets his.

"You have to be honest with yourself." Jack said. "I can't be here to protect you unless you want me near."

I grip his jacket, "I do. I swear I do, Jack." I bury my wet face into his shirt. "I need you... please don't leave me."

For a moment, nothing. And then I feel his gloved hands run up my back and hold me close. His breathing sounds rough, like he's trying to hold it steady.

"I'm so, so happy to hear you say that, sunshine."

He then pulls back and looks around. "We can't stay for long... let's go home."

---

"In other news, influencer Nicholas Herreras had been found in brutal condition, barely clinging to life in an alley on the corner of 5th street. The assault weapon - a rusty pipe - was left discarded, not too far behind. Police are investigating Herreras assaulter and their motivations."

Shaun grimaces at the disturbing report and turns off the television. To think he was just attacked like that with no prompting...

There's some real freaks out there.

He doesn't turn to see his roommate come in. Instead he opts to feed his cat to take his mind off the news.

Shaun calls their name, "Hey, be careful when coming home. A guy was just attacked not too long ago."

There's only a muttered reply as their door shuts. Though the air smells distinctly of metal.

[mangekyuou]

Hello I really admire your writing is your account 😽 I can request a Law x Fem!Reader where she is Garp's granddaughter then she decides to make an appointment for them to get to know each other is etc then imagine Law very afraid of being alone with Garp 😂

⟡    ֺ   𓂂  headcanons  ,  when he meets your grandfather.

✸    characters! . . .  law.

✸   cw(s)! . . .  f!reader. she/her pronouns used like once. garp being garp. not proofread.

✸    notes! . . .  I LOVED THIS REQUEST SO MUCH !! this was so fun to write. never in a million years would i believe i needed this. so it got pretty long. i love grandpa garp <333 i know you said appointment…but i made it an awkward family dinner moment. thank you so much for requesting !!

you were garp’s pride and joy. the reason he got out of bed every morning. the sunshine in his gloomy world. the brightest star in his life

his favorite grandchild out of you, ace, and luffy

and he would do anything to make you happy

...even having dinner with you and your wanted criminal boyfriend

garp is trying his best not to jump across the table and wring law’s neck

and law is trying his best not to cause any potential arguments that could lead to full-on fights (but it’s not easy)

both men were there for you, to make you happy. they weren’t all that fond of each other. but if this dinner was what you wanted ?? they’d pretend to get along just this once

garp insists that you sit next to him, while law wants you to sit next to him. almost fight number 1 out of 20

to keep it from escalating, you switch seats every so often. sitting next to your grandfather for about 15 minutes, and then switching off to sit next to your boyfriend for 15 minutes, and then starting the cycle all over again

garp definitely strikes me as the overprotective kind, who is quite disrespectful to law’s face. he doesn’t care about sparing his feelings. talks about younger marines with you whom he thinks would be a better match for you...in front of law

“you know ( y/n ), i heard smoker is single. he seems like a responsible gentleman”

when in reality, garp hardly knows a thing about smoker and wouldn’t trust the vice admiral with you either. he just wants to get a reaction out of law

but alas, he can’t get the reaction that he wants from law because you’re so utterly in love with the pirate you don’t even entertain the idea of being with someone else. so by default law has already won

you gather the dishes and head into the kitchen to clean them up. law’s plan is to follow you but garp has other plans, putting his large hand on law’s shoulder, and pushing him back down in the chair

now law claims he isn’t scared the hero of the marines...and he’s not. but the way he said “sit back down, son. why don’t we get to know each other more?” worried him

he looks at you with a ‘save me’ expression but when you see your grandfather’s bright smile, you just let it be and leave the two alone as you tend to the dishes

as you step out of view, garp’s smile is gone instantly, glaring daggers into your boyfriend. if looks could kill, he’d be dead 10 times over by now

the table was silent for a while

law taps his foot, needing you to hurry back, trying his best to not look into garp’s serious eyes staring directly into his soul

when you finally return, garp bursts out into laughter, punching the HELL out of law’s arm like he just said the funniest joke he’d ever heard. it was definitely going to leave a bruise

much to your surprise, they go the rest of the meeting without even an argument. garp even pulled law to his side, ruffling his hair to distract you from the fact that he said if he ever hurt you, he’d murder him in cold blood

other than that, law has received garp’s blessing. but he’s still not allowed to call him grandpa

© MANGEKYUOU — do not copy, repost, or translate my works.

[nightowlwriting]

summary: steve is acting weird. avoiding you, being snippy and mean, leaving the room when you enter. all you want is your boyfriend back, but all he wants is to pretend you don't exist. when he's almost hurt on a mission, you do what you're made to do.

word count: 11k

reader specifics: no race/gender/sexuality/body type mentioned, no pronouns for reader used, powered!reader, insecure!reader

warnings: steve is mean to the reader in the beginning, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, canon-level violence, brief ptsd symptoms, slight description of blood, brief mention of racism in the '30s & '40s

brief mentions of: reader's parents being toxic, homelessness, past accidents, ableism in the past & present

note: this one hurt me lmfao. idk why this went the way it did but i'm not mad at it // also i am a queer, trans, disabled american. i have fundamental disagreements with things that marvel/the mcu as it stands for and some of the more nuanced things that you might not notice unless you're looking for it. this will take place in my writing because i cannot separate myself from the lens in which i consume/create content.

title credit: lil nas x

mobile masterlist - request - support my work? - ao3

Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his. Sure - he’s clever, righteous, courteous… You can’t forget he’s also drop-dead gorgeous because every trashy gossip magazine in a three-state radius of New York doesn’t let you forget. Neither does the sight of him waking up in your bed every morning. (Well, actually, maybe that would remind you if he was still fucking doing that.)

But lately, you’ve had to rely on the fucking tabloids to catch a glimpse of your super-hero boyfriend. The university class you had picked up on a whim at the end of the summer - Life & Times of the ‘30s and ‘40s - avoids any mention of Steve Rogers and the Howling Commandos. Not that your classmates do because, Christ on a bike, those magazines manage to catch pictures of you and Steve in moments that you don’t even remember. Plus, you’re an Avenger too. It’s bound to catch some attention when you waltz into a college classroom.

You’re sure if you were an undergrad trying to fill a gen-ed requirement and were sitting next to someone who could kill you without blinking but also dating Captain Rogers you’d be a little distracted too. You try not to blame your classmates too much, but they do make it hard to concentrate with their -really dating Captain America?- and -wonder if I could get an autograph- whispers. None of that matters because you’re learning, really studying, in between missions and missing Steve and believing that maybe the gossip reporters are right.

Maybe he’s forgotten about you.

You grit your teeth and push the thought away. It does you no good right now, while you’re training with Peter. He’s working his way up to bona fide missions and, because you’re the only one on the team who has experience with real-life teenagers outside of saving their lives, it’s up to you to get him to the level that he needs to be. Plus, the mission where he’s going to get his gills wet is just you, Tony, Steve, Nat, and Bucky. You’d much rather be the one to train him because you won’t traumatize him.

Right now, though, you’re just kicking his ass to try and get rid of some of the tension in your body. You feel a little bad about it, but when you started as his mentor you told him point-blank that you’d never go easy on him. That meant if you were having a bad day he either needed to up his game or he’d have a bad day too. It appears he’s taken that to heart as he struggles to dodge the hits you’re throwing his way. He lunges out of the way when you try to land a right hook but practically walks into the leg sweep that sends him crashing to the ground.

“Awe,” Peter groans, letting his guard down. You take the momentary lapse of focus to grab him by the collar of the hoodie he’s wearing and haul him to his feet, jerking one fist back to cold-clock him but he beats you to it. You hear the sound of your nose cracking before you feel it but then the pain rushes you all at once. You’ve had worse but coming from Peter, the move surprises you. You don’t yell out but he does when you push him away from you and call the fight off. Peter practically yelps your name, hands up by his head as he watches you bend at the waist, both hands over where your nose is absolutely gushing blood. “I am so sorry, I just reacted-!”

“It’s fine, Pete,” You shake your head and stand straight again, the blood beginning to leak through your fingers, “Just go get me a towel, okay?” Peter practically trips over his feet to get something for your nose and as you track him on his way into the locker rooms, you see Steve, Bucky, and Nat. The latter are looking your way, eyebrows raised like they’re asking you if you’re okay. Steve hasn’t even broken stride in his conversation so you wave them off with a bloody hand. Peter’s back in a flash, pressing a wet towel into your grasp and snapping you out of your self-pity party. “It was a good hit,” You compliment as you wipe your face off, “I just wasn’t expecting it. Prob’ly wouldn't have landed it if I had.”

He wrings his hands, shifting from foot to foot. “I’m sorry-”

“It’s a good thing, Peter, means you’re getting better.” You deadpan, checking to see if your nose has stopped bleeding yet, “I don’t think you actually broke it, but I’ll go down to medical to check later.” You do your best to clean up your hands with the wet towel, but it’s so soaked with your blood that it mostly just smears it around. You grimace and shake your head. “Well, I should go now before our sparring match ends up looking like I murdered you.”

“I’ll go with,” He offers, “I’m the one who broke your nose.” You let Peter walk you down to medical even though you were originally going to refuse. Perhaps petty, but it was the way that Steve didn’t even look your way as you left that made you let the teenager walk you the two floors to where you’d be able to clean yourself up. He hums in the elevator and you know that he wants to ask you something - it’s the way he holds his mouth when he’s prying for information or keeping a secret that tips you off. Finally, just before the elevator opens, you sigh and turn to him.

“What, Peter?” He grins but then it falls when he has to skitter after you down the hall. Maybe that’s why it falls - the question he asks next nearly sends you to your ass.

“Is everything okay with you and Captain Rogers?” He easily catches up to you when you stop in your tracks, ignoring that you’re still bleeding a little bit down your face and you might be dripping blood everywhere from where it’s run down your arms.

“What?” You do your best to look confused like everything is fine, but Peter is perceptive. He may fumble around and be pretty awkward, but those are really just teenager things that he’ll hopefully outgrow. You should have known that when someone caught onto how bad things are on your end, it would be Peter. (You wonder if Nat or Bucky has brought it up with Steve, considering he’s spent more time with them in the past week than he’s seen you in the past month.) “We’re fine.” Your words are stilted as you begin walking to the medical wing much faster than before.

“I just thought I’d ask, well, because I’ve sort of noticed… Something just seems off, you know? Like, you two used to spend a lot of time together, and maybe it’s the recon mission coming up, but I was just thinking that you two really barely look at each other even when you’re in the same -”

“Peter!” You say his name much louder than either of you expected and both of you jump. “Peter,” You say softer, looking at the glass door to the medical wing instead of him, “Just leave it, okay? It’s nothing you have to worry about, kid.” Peter ducks around to open the door, forcing you to look at him. “He’s just focused on his stuff and I’m focused on getting you whipped into shape for this mission. We only have two days.” Once you’re inside and surrounded by the medical crew Tony keeps on staff, he thankfully drops it. You love Peter, you do, but it’s a lot like having a little brother. You can only love them so much before you want to fucking strangle them. Eventually, as the doctor checks to make sure he hasn’t broken your nose, you have to order him away to go study or something. “I’ll join you later,” You promise him as the doctor prods at your tender flesh, “I have an essay due soon.”

That’s another thing that’s been bugging you that Peter surely picked up on. Nearly everybody knew you were taking a course at the local community college, but nobody knew what it was about. You’d wanted to keep it a secret until you told Steve, but the day you had registered he’d flown out for a two-week mission without telling you or saying goodbye. After that, you decided it didn’t really matter if anyone knew what class you were taking, and keeping it a secret sort of spiraled from there. If they wanted to know they could look it up. Maybe it was petty, but you just wanted the class to be over and done with so you could forget that you really only picked it up so you relate to your boyfriend more.

If you can even call Steve your boyfriend anymore. You’re not so sure where you stand and, honestly, you’re really close to giving up on the relationship as a whole but you can’t do that. Before you were dating, you were friends, and Steve… He never gave up on you. Not once. How could you repay him by giving up on your relationship? The one that you thought was The One? Even if it hurts, even if you’re unsure more than sure these days, how could you? Somewhere, though, you know you deserve better. You don’t deserve the sinking, dark feeling that lingers in your gut for most of your days now or the way that you second-guess every move you make - even in the field. It’s dangerous but you can’t do anything to fix it.

You’re too scared. You know that eventually, it will happen, he’ll break up with you, but you’d like to put that day off for as long as possible. To relish in the love he once had for you, how pure and powerful it was. You’re sure that you’ll never experience anything like that again.

Hell, you might never fall in love again.

Those thoughts don’t do anything to help you, though, so you try not to have them. You get clearance from the doctor and get cleaned up as much as you can without taking a full body shower. The idea to go back to your room and take one crosses your mind but you know that Steve’s probably done training, probably heading back for his own shower, and you don’t want to open that can of worms. Instead, you go to the common room and drop into the couch between Peter and Tony. They’re talking about something something science something something, but you pull your stack of books and notebooks out from the shelf underneath the coffee table and continue outlining your essay from where you left off. The assignment was focused on how the end of WW1 changed American life and then how life changed leading up to and during WW2 but that had hit a little too close to home for you, so you’re writing about the racial tension and overall racism of the times. Tony and Peter keep talking over your back and then you hear footsteps heading toward the common room.

You barely look up when they enter - Nat and Bucky - because it’s fine. It’s normal. They’re just two of Steve’s best friends, that’s all, nothing to be jumpy about. You don’t even register that emotional pain that hits when you realize that, yeah, you’re not one of his best friends anymore. You doubt you’re even considered a friend in his book.

You groan and lean back into the couch, bringing your study materials with you. Peter glances over, skimming over your page and a half of shorthand, and gags. “Jesus, can you write like a normal person?”

“Oh, sorry,” You say lazily, not looking up as you continue to scribble in your incomprehensible code, “I do forget that some of us had privacy at home.” You lift your lips just a little bit to let Peter know you’re kidding, looking up at him through your lashes as you slouch next to him. He looks red in the face. “Besides, once you have to start doing mission reports you’ll be begging me to learn my shorthand and use my stenography machine.”

“I keep telling you that I can update that ol’ thing,” Tony draws your attention. For the first time, you realize that Nat and Bucky are on the loveseat looking at you expectantly. Steve is standing in the corner over their shoulder reading a book from the bookshelf in front of him. His back is tense and he looks like he’s not reading, just listening. You force your eyes back to Tony on your right and shake your head.

“No, because then you’d know my shorthand and it makes me too happy to see you spend hours trying to decipher it.” His eyes wander to your essay again, trying to find any patterns that he can use to figure out what the hell you’re writing on anything ever. He’s opening his mouth to make a smart-ass remark that will no doubt lift some of the weight off of your shoulders when another voice speaks up.

“Wow,” Steve doesn’t even look at you even as he says your name sardonically, “Way to be a team player.” Your mind comes to a screeching halt, trying to figure out what the fuck he’s playing at. Even Bucky and Nat look surprised at the cold way he spoke to you, Tony and Peter both gasping from your side. You can’t say anything, throat tight and burning with tears as you stare at your boyfriend with raised eyebrows. What do you say to that? How do you respond? You know it wasn’t a joke because he’s not laughing, not smiling, not even looking up from that fucking book in his hands. You can’t tell if you’re more hurt or embarrassed, but either way, you don’t want to stick around for someone to get the nerve to say something.

Instead of replying, you slam your textbooks shut and bundle everything into your arms. You doubt Steve even notices that you’re making such a hasty retreat but if he does, he doesn’t say a fucking thing. You feel like you’re in high school - practically running through an empty hallway with your notebooks and textbooks pressed to your chest, trying not to cry. It’s ridiculous. You’re a trained assassin, you’re an Avenger, you are strong and powerful and yet… And yet. You’ve given so much of your heart and soul to Steve Rogers that he can knock you down eight pegs without even trying. Without even looking at you. You can’t wait to go on this fucking recon mission, where you can put all of your focus on making sure Peter is doing okay and gathering the intel. Where you can stop thinking about how easily Steve Rogers seems to be pushing you to the side.

You spend the next two days writing your essay, ignoring almost everyone, and working on your essay. On the day of the recon mission, you’re running out the door for your eight a.m lecture, printed essay in hand, and reminding Tony that he promised to pick you up on campus after class for the mission.

You’re lucky that you went, too. You hadn’t counted on the professor making everyone stand up and tell the class the subject of their essays - didn’t realize that it would be twenty-five percent of the grade on the paper. You’ll never understand college professors and the weird shit they do, but the class is informative and entertaining. He goes around the room, starting on the opposite side of you, so you’ll be last. Great.

Several students did their papers on the propaganda of the time, one student was brave and did her essay on the ethical dilemma of the super-soldier serum and eugenics, and most of the other students focused on pop culture and how it changed. When your professor looks at you it’s almost like he’s expecting you to have done nothing but fawn over Steve and Bucky, considering you know them personally. He looks surprised when you clear your throat, stand and say: “I focused on the casual and institutional racism that faced non-white Americans at the time.” You almost preen when he looks impressed and then the shame fills you. It’s just… You want Steve to be proud of you. You want him to congratulate you on going back to school, even if it’s just for one class. You want him to be happy and surprised that he was the inspiration for taking the class.

Though, lately, the class has been more for you than for him. You like learning new things, pushing the boundaries of assignments, making people uncomfortable with the truth of the times you’re studying as told to you by two people who lived it. It’s nice. Normal.

Everyone needs a little bit of normal.

But, honestly, normal is fucking boring. By the time your class is over and you’re handing in your essay it’s like ants are crawling over your skin. A combination of nerves from the upcoming mission, a head full of fog from whatever is happening with Steve, and a little bit of fear at the thought of taking Peter into the field has you bolting for the door the moment your essay is taken from you. You’d worn your tac-suit underneath a pair of baggy sweats and a loose hoodie, so you don’t even bother slowing down as you head toward the car that Tony has waiting for you. He’s in the front seat, grinning at you from underneath his aviators and Peter is driving.

You slip into the backseat without thinking or looking at who’s there, tossing your bag in the back and peeling your hoodie off. “God, Tone, we’re goin’ to die before we even get to the mission with Petey driving.” You toss your hoodie back to join your bag and finally see who’s sitting next to you.

Of course, it’s Steve. He’s looking at you - but not really. He’s looking through you, like he can’t stand that you’re both crammed in the backseat of Tony’s electric car. His gaze catches you and holds you in place. Everything around you goes cold and fuzzy, making you miss Peter’s indignant complaining that he has his license so he should be able to drive… And then Steve scoffs and looks out his window, ignoring you. It stings but you have a job to do. You make some witty retort back to Peter, but it falls flat as you struggle out of your sweats. This is what life is, you think. Relationships aren’t meant to be forever - you learned that at a young age.

Until your accident at fifteen, you had watched your parents run out of helium, their relationship expanding and cooling in arguments, in days spent not talking, in trips to your grandparents without the other, in passive-aggressive computer searches for divorce attorneys left open for anyone to see. Then, after you were trapped between those machines - after you spent hour after agonizing hour with electricity pressing between your atoms, being torn apart and rebuilt as a young god - after that day you watched them expand against each other before the neutron core of their relationship collapsed on itself and the resulting supernova sent you to the streets. But then Fury found you. Then Tony, then Nat, then Steve.

Your parents exploded out from each other and the shockwaves ruined your life. At least now, your relationship with Steve is ending silently. There’s no explosion, no collapse, no rapid expansion to take over your cosmos. Your relationship with Steve is simply approaching the event horizon, where it will hang in the air until one of you takes the final step and you both become frozen, two collapsing objects on opposite sides of the universe. Maybe that’s what you already are. You feel so far away from him in the back of Tony’s car - like he’s eons and light-years away from you - and you feel so cold. Frozen, down to the bone. It makes you stiff in your replies to Tony and Peter, slow on the uptake when the car pulls up to the quinjet, nearing stasis and unable to respond when Nat asks if you’re okay.

Finally, you turn to look at her, nodding. “Fine,” You clear your throat, “Been a rough day.” You do your best to smile at her, but your face feels heavy. Your chest feels cold and tight, making you worry about your performance on the upcoming mission. When Peter shakes his head next to you, discreetly telling Nat not to press, you’re focused on Steve and the electricity humming in the most base part of your body.

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. You turn away and force yourself to smile, throwing a weak and numb arm over Peter’s shoulders. “Are you ready for this, Pete?” You jostle him back and forth, leading him toward the sitting area behind the cockpit. “Gonna get your ass kicked?”

“Please,” He shoves you off, nervously laughing, “Not with the skills you’ve taught me.” He mimics throwing webs, making hissing noises under his breath, and you bark out a laugh, shaking your head.

“You’re payin’ my medical bills when I have to save your ass, Spidey.” You shake your head and strap in next to the wall, Peter taking the seat to your right. Tony, from the aisle across from you, points a thick finger your way.

“You don’t pay medical bills anymore,” He waggles his finger, “So you’ll just have to make him do your homework for a week.”

“Mister Stark!”

“He’ll have to earn shorthand to do your essays,” Nat chimes in from between Bucky and Steve, who are both doing their best to not look at you - or anyone really. “You willing to share that with him?”

You lean back in your seat and jab at Peter with your elbow. “Hell no, so I guess Spider-Boy better do his best.” The arachnid in question grumbles, crossing his arms and slouching in his seat.

“No pressure, right?” He complains, “Not like I’m already nervous or anything.”

“You’ll do fine, kid,” Bucky pipes up, drawing your eyes back to Steve, “It’s goin’ to be a cakewalk.”

“Don’t jinx it, Barnes,” You warn half-heartedly, tucking in on yourself, “We need this to be easy.” From the look on his face - everyone’s face, really - you know that they heard you loud and clear when you were really saying I need this to be easy.

After an uneasy laugh from Bucky, a claustrophobic silence settles over you all as the jet begins to take off. You’re in for an hour ride and plan to spend it going over battle plans with Peter when harsh whispering catches your ear. It’s Bucky and Steve nearly crushing Nat between them until she gets up and sits across from Peter, rolling her eyes. Still, you try your best to run him through the actions you both had planned - the names, the setups you needed to execute them, everything. If something happens to Peter, you’ll never forgive yourself.

And then, cutting through your soft promptings to Peter and his equally soft replies, Bucky’s voice. “Leave it, Steve. Until after this mission.” Even Tony looks up from his tablet, curiosity piqued. Their faces are both red, set hard and angry at each other and your stomach drops. What the hell is going on that Steve ‘Till The End Of The Line Rogers is fighting with Bucky You And Me, Pal Barnes? You must shift, or lean too far into Steve’s eyesight, because for the first time in what feels like years he is looking directly at you - and seeing you, too. It makes your pulse jump and, almost instinctively, you want to reach out and ground yourself on the rubber of the seat underneath you.

You don’t get the chance, though, because Steve speaks. “No, why should I? This is clearly affecting the team.” He’s still looking - glaring - at you like you’ve done something wrong. “What’s the point of waiting? I’ve been waiting to talk about this.”

“Bo, I don’t think this is the time,” Bucky looks over his shoulder at you, then, and you know what’s coming. You know that it’s time, that Steve is about to break up with you in front of your teammates. Your friends. Your family. You steel yourself for the anguish you’re about to feel and then jerk your chin out, hardening your resolve.

“Buck, it’s fine. If Steve wants to address something, he can.”

Natasha says your name, a low warning over the hum of the quinjet. “I think he should wait.”

“Well, I’m not goin’ to wait!” Steve unbuckles himself and stands, “I have tried waiting, and look at where that has gotten me.” He puts his hands on his hips and puffs out a breath. You unbuckle and stand, too, unsure of where this is going. “You need to,” He holds one hand out, pointing at you while his voice shakes. You notice his hand is shaking, too, but fractionally. If you didn’t know Steve as well as you do you may have never noticed it. “You need to get it together.”

“I need to get it together?” You question, eyebrows nearly hitting the ceiling with how fast they shoot up. You’re not totally sure you’ve heard him right because what do you have to get together? The broken shards of your relationship? The information and research for your final paper? The awful way you’ve let yourself be treated for what seems like forever?

“You heard me,” Steve says, at the same time Bucky leans his head back and groans deep in his chest. “What? Someone had to say it.”

“We should wait for this,” Nat speaks up again, but lifelessly. She knows now that you and Steve are both on the warpath, neither of you are going to stop. (That’s also why the two of you work together as a couple so well. Very rarely are you both so worked up about something that you can’t back down, so the other is always there to meet you halfway and get you back to earth.)

“No, no, no,” You say, near hysterically, “No, he wants to do this now? Before a mission? Instead of the fuckin’ weeks we had to hash whatever crawled up his ass and died out? Be my guest. He’s already dragged everyone into this by treating me like a pariah.” You’re not sneering, but your teeth are gritted so tightly together you can hear them scraping and feel a tension headache beginning to bloom in your temples. Bucky looks… Almost incredulous at your statement. Like putting the blame on Steve is a dick move or something.

“Oh, so I’m the bad guy here?” Steve is curling his lip, glaring at you. There’s something behind his eyes, but he’s buried it so deep that you can’t reach it and figure out what it is. “I’m the bad guy, right. Right, right, right.” He scoffs, shakes his head, and then he’s running his fingers through his hair like he really can’t believe what you’re saying to him.

“Well, what else am I supposed to think?” You throw your hands out to the side and let them slap back down on your thighs. “You ignore me, you make me feel like shit, you talk down to me like I’m some insignificant foot soldier. How else am I supposed to take that, Steve?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe ask me what’s wrong? Maybe ask me why I’m acting like this, instead of ignoring all of your problems like a child?” He mirrors your moments, but the sound his hands make when they hit the outside of his suit is more powerful than yours. Fueled by anger, you think. Anger and whatever the hell was in the serum Erskine pumped into Steve.

“Ask you?” You repeat, near-hysterical, “Ask you? Oh yeah, let me get right on that. Hey, Mister Rogers? Mister Captain America? Mister Ignores-His-Partner-For-God-Knows-Why? Hey, just why are you doin’ that?” You’re surprised that you’ve said something so snotty, but you don’t back down. (Steve looks surprised, too, and Bucky has stood up next to his friend like he’s about to start berating you as well. At least he looks more cautious about it, like he’s not totally sure that this fight should be happening.)

The more surprising part of your fight is how fast it’s shut down. Tony and Nat stand at the same time and exchange a glance like they’ve surprised each other. “That’s enough,” Tony starts.

Nat cuts him off. “I don’t care if you fight this one out instead of talking, but if you do it before this recon mission you two are going to blow it. Do you understand me?” She looks dangerous, the sharp edge of a knife spiraling through the air. You force yourself to look away from her, from Tony, from Bucky, from Steve. She’s right. You know she’s right - especially on this mission. Peter is there, going to be in real danger even though there’s not supposed to be one Hydra agent in a four-mile radius. You have to clear your mind and focus on protecting him.

Steve seems to think the same thing because he stands down. When you watch him collapse in on himself, Bucky’s arms around his shoulders, into the little quinjet seats your everything aches. Heart, lungs, eyes - everything. Even though you don’t know what’s going on, what could have possibly happened to make your relationship sink this quickly and out of the blue, you still love him. He’s still The One for you. You still want to be the one to comfort him and make him feel whole when he’s struggling.

But you can’t. You can’t and it kills you.

The heat of battle makes a lot of things fade into the background. Important things like why the fuck are there Hydra agents here? and Steve is going to break up with you when you get back on the jet and Tony swore on the fucking limited edition AC/DC vintage tour poster he has in his office that this would be an easy in/easy out information mission. None of that matters, though, because you’re in deep shit. There are seventeen of them, all primed to the teeth with weapons made to take your team down permanently.

You’re practically glued to Peter, calling out commands and plans for him to initiate. It’s when all of your plans fall through that you take a hit from a heavy fist on purpose, hitting the ground hard. “Plan F, Spidey, Plan F!” You cover the instruction with a groan and then you’re back on your feet, working your way toward him.

“Plan F?” Tony says, somewhere above you in his suit. Your comms crackle ominously as another heat-seeking grenade is launched, interfering with the radio waves your tech relies on. You don’t worry about it, because you know Tony is on it. He’s your eyes in the sky.

Peter is the one who answers his question, watching your close hand-to-hand tilt out of your favor briefly. “Plan Fuck It, Mister Stark.” He grunts as he webs up a Hydra agent, jerking him away from where he was about to slip a knife up and under Natasha’s kevlar. You finally drop the guy in front of you, ignoring Steve’s disappointed Language! and toss one of your knives toward Nat for her to use. Tony is still laughing in your ear, wheezing as he drops down and snags the rifle from one of the snipers and then takes back off.

What your little protégé failed to mention about Plan F is that it’s not just chaos, but controlled chaos. You let loose, letting a soft current cover every inch of your skin as Peter switches to his conductive webbing and takes special care to not web any of his allies. Except for you - if you’re in the way and he catches you in a web it doesn’t matter because you’re you, alive with electricity that drops the men that get caught in the web, too. You rip out of the webs and turn the current off when one of your teammates gets too close.

More Hydra agents are pouring out of the woods, topping out their numbers around twenty-five. That’s twenty-five too many in your opinion, especially when you can see Peter getting tired, his anxiety spiking, his moves having more and more hesitation behind them. You need to get this over with quickly, but you don’t have the options to do that. Steve, Bucky, and Nat are really the heavy-hitters - you, Pete, and Tony are the only ones without serums despite all of your individual abilities. Desperately you reach out for a web that’s still connected to Peter’s arms, pulling him out of the way of a baton that’s about to come down on the back of his neck.

The baton the agent is wielding glints in the coming dusk, freezing you as Peter scrambles past you with a quick apology. You’ve seen that before - seen it, felt it, know it like the back of your hand. There’s no way that you could ever forget that weapon. The man stumbles when his hit doesn’t connect but then rights himself and searches for a new target.

A long, black baton that splits into two prongs at the end is heavy in his hand. Electricity crackles between the bulbs at the end, flashing in the setting sun and your memories. The man only has one, but if it was hooked up to a machine, spinning. If there were four, five, six. If you were pinned between them, screaming in the pain as they rewrote your DNA… You’ve only felt it once, but you’ll never forget it.

And now, you’ll taste it again. On purpose this time. The man holding the stun baton is going for Steve’s back - his strong back, the one that protects people, the one that holds the weight of the world, the one that lays in your bed, the one you see whipping out of rooms as you’re entering just so that he doesn’t have to look at you - and you can’t let that happen. It only takes ten amps to kill a regular human, but you know those things are cranked up to twenty minimum. You don’t want to see how many amps of current it will take to stop Steve’s heart. You’re between the baton and Steve before you can think about what you’re doing or what comes next, the hard bulbs settling unyielding into your side and cranking out maximum power for maximum damage as soon as the current is connected and able to flow from one bulb to the other.

The pain hits you and your throat catches on it. It burns through your body, setting everything on fire - your chest hurts as your heart protests the electrons and then your powers kick in, sweeping them into your very atoms and cells. You’re a live wire now, ears humming and body thrumming with power you’ve only dreamed of. It hurts, and it burns, and you feel tears rising in your eyes because you’re back there - back begging for death or for life or for God and god at the same time - but then it’s over. The man sees that you’re not seizing up, not dropping dead in front of him, and he takes three steps back.

It’s not far enough.

You’ve only felt like this once before - right after you were unhooked from the machine that changed your life and brought you to your new family. You remember how you looked when you were put in front of a mirror with all of the pent up electricity circling your body - how your eyes were filled to the brim and dripping with bright and blue electricity, the way it was jumping across your body, how you didn’t need to breathe because your body was fully saturated with pure, unadulterated power. You wonder if you look like that now and assume you do because you can see the bright blue reflecting in the terrified eyes of the Hydra agent.

Your suit, unlike everyone else’s, is not grounded. It’s metal, metal, metal. You’re made to conduct, born for it, and the earth beneath you comes alive with bright white as you release all of the energy, the power, surges down and out. You’re practiced. You can reach out and feel the synapses and neurons of every human being in the clearing, know exactly where your teammates are standing, and know exactly how to target everything but them and the pitiful amount of electricity their brains carry. You grin, something truly feral and unhinged, and you can see the fear in the Hydra agent. Then, you let go.

You know that everyone is going to be pissed. (Maybe not everyone.) You’re not built for this, not made to take down nearly twenty fucking people at once. As you let go, you feel what they feel. The seizing muscles, the stopping of their hearts, the inside of their bodies crisping against their bones. At that moment, that delicious moment, you see the universe.

You become God. You become everything - your mother and your father and God and god and anyone else who’s watching your life from the ether. You become the judge, jury, and executioner of souls that you don’t know from Adam. You become lightning, and thunder, and exposed nerves of the cosmos at the same time. The world bends to your will and you relish in it, taking that power in your fist and wielding it to protect the man you’ll love for the rest of your life and the family that you’ve made. You will stop at nothing to end this, even if it means turning yourself inside out to do it.

You damn near do turn yourself inside out too, but that doesn’t matter, does it? The blood spilling from your ears, nose, and eyes feels like heaven. It’s hot, and thick, and it’s proof of the power that your body holds. You’re a temple and a sanctuary, a war-room and a bunker, a field of flowers and a sun-dry desert. It does not matter if Steve doesn’t love you at that moment, because you are love and hate wrapped into one package. You are everything and nothing, spread thin at the beginning and the end of time.

And then none of that is true. You are just… You. Standing in a clearing, surrounded by twenty-something dead Hydra agents and your terrified, terrified family. It hurts to breathe and you can taste blood in your mouth, but that’s an afterthought. Steve is still standing behind you, but he is alive. That is what matters.

This is what love is, you think.

Pain and pleasure.

Even if he leaves you, you will always love him.

Pain and pleasure.

You’re weak at the knees when he finally turns to see you - and you’re a sight. Struggling to stand, fingertips blackened with soot but not burnt, blood pouring from your nose, ears, eyes… You look like death, but you feel like life. Someone says something behind you - Peter, maybe? Or maybe Tony, in your comms? - but you don’t hear it. Everything tunnels out, your weak knees finally collapsing as you keel backward.

Steve bears down upon you almost immediately. You’re halfway to unconsciousness when he wraps you up in his arms, keeping you from falling in with the pile of bodies around you. He’s saying your name, harsh and soft and then in a voice like he’s ordering you to wake up. You loll about as he drops you down onto a patch of clear grass, hands searching your body for wounds. When he skims over your side, where the baton has burnt through your suit and your flesh, you surge back toward being able to have cohesive thoughts. The pain brings you back, hands wrapping around Steve’s arm and calling out his name. “Steve! Fuck, that hurts!”

“Honey,” He breathes, “Fuck, we have to get you back to the jet.” His jaw ticks, hair dirty and loose from its normal style. “Why’d you do that?” Steve doesn’t wait for an answer from you, ordering Peter to web something up to carry you over your protests.

“I’m fine,” You argue, only slurring slightly, “I feel fine.” But you’re going to let Nat and Bucky load you up on the webbed stretcher anyway because it’s the first time Steve has cared for you in a long time. You want to relish in this moment, the way that he didn't say your name but called you honey.

Well, and because Natasha slides a thumb across her neck over Steve’s shoulder in a silent threat.

You groan when Bucky accidentally grabs your calf where there is an absolutely awful stab wound, but you wave off his apology. “How could you have known?” To be honest, you hadn’t even known it was there until his Vibranium hand was slipping against it and sending shockwaves of pain through you. Peter is next to you the whole time that you’re being carried back to the jet - Tony staying back to begin scanning the bodies of the Hydra agents for the information you need and any other information they may be carrying. The poor kid is nearly at a breakdown, so you reach out to him and shake his arm when his fingers twine with yours. “Chill out, kid, I don’t know how you got it into your head that this is your fault, but it sure isn’t.” He sniffles, but hands back with Steve as Bucky and Nat get you situated in the small medical room of the jet. They transfer you and then make to leave, only Bucky hesitating near the door.

“Stevie’s goin’ to be here soon and… I don’t know what made you do what you did but you have’t explain it to him. He’s bendin’ over backwards to figure it out, and we don’t have’a clue. Came out’a nowhere.” He looks at you for another moment before shaking his head and stepping out of the room. Your head is spinning, partially from what Bucky just said and partially from the pain and stimulus of electricity. You wait there, then, because this is it. This is the event horizon. You wait there, eyes closed, until you hear footsteps approach the med room, and then the door slowly opens. Steve says your name, holding all the finality and weight of an atomic bomb. You don’t open your eyes until he swings a chair next to the stretcher and lays a hand on your calf.

“You don’t have to do this,” You finally say, pushing yourself up onto your elbows to watch him. “I know that you don’t want to.” Steve only scoffs and begins to wash the stab wound using a packet of soap and a water bottle. You say his name twice before he looks at you, something between hate and hurt curdling into a glaze over his eyes that stops you in your tracks.

“Just let me do this. It is the least that you can do.” His words are painful and stilted, like it’s taking force to push them past his teeth. You lay back down and close your eyes, content to just feel the pain of Steve beginning to stitch you up and then dress the wound before you feel the pain of Steve leaving you like you knew he always would. (Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his.)

When he’s done he sits back and puts his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He heaves a heavy sigh and then shakes it off, “I’ll dress your burn, and then we’ll talk.” And normally, yes, you would agree but this is too important. You want to get it over with so you can lick your wounds metaphorically and dress them literally - and then you want to go home, you want to pack your bags, and you want to disappear and remake your life somewhere else.

Some far-off place where everyone you know won’t take one look at your face and know that you’re still painfully, deeply in love with Steve Rogers, end of your semester be damned. Family you’ve made be damned. You can’t sit around and be in love with him like a neon sign on a dark highway while it’s painfully clear that he hasn’t had a sign on his highway in a long time.

So instead of agreeing, you swing your legs over the stretcher and swallow your flinch when the burn pulls tight. Steve opens his mouth to argue but you give him a tight-lipped shake of your head and his jaw snaps shut. “No,” You say, voice not giving in to the emotion swirling in your chest. “I have let this go on long enough.”

It’s the wrong thing to say because Steve fucking scoffs again and looks away from you. “One day was long enough.” He says, cutting straight to your core. Okay, ouch. You take a deep breath and shake your head to try and bite back the tears that are inevitably rising in your eyes. If one day was long enough for him to realize he doesn’t want to be with you, why did he let it go on for nearly a full year? Why did he spend so long leading you on, pulling you by a thread before garroting your heart with it? What was the point?

“If you want to leave me, just say that,” You reply harshly, standing and wobbling away from him. He just watches you go, watches the way you struggle past the lead weights your muscles have become, the way you’re starting to feel the stab wound on your leg, the way the skin on your burn is beginning to blister and only just now losing its heat. He just watches you, where the Steve that loved you once upon a time might have helped. You turn your back on him, hands on your hips so that you can hide the way that you’re crying and your hands are shaking.

“If I want to leave you? If?” He says. You hear the scrape of his chair as he stands, “I think after what you’ve done, it’s not an if, sweetheart.” The way he says it tastes like iron. Steve never calls you sweetheart like he never calls you by your name. It’s always honey, lover, dovie. You don’t turn to face him because you’re struggling to keep yourself above water. “I spent so long thinkin’, wonderin’, askin’ myself - God damnit, will you look at me?” You turn slowly, not because you’ve never heard Steve speak like that but because his voice is desperate and raw. When you turn, you’re not sure what to expect. Maybe him, standing in front of you, broad-shouldered and disappointed like in those PSA’s he had to film once. Maybe he’d be angry, hands clenched at his sides and eyes narrowed like he gets in meetings when he doesn’t agree with something but he’s out-voted. But you never expect to see him crying, lip wobbling, folded in on himself like a young boy instead of the strong, invincible man you’ve come to love.

He looks so different.

It hits you, then, that you’re not looking at Steve Rogers. Not really. He's not Steve Rogers, not Captain America, not even Captain Rogers. You see him as he was - before America spat it’s untruths all over him and injected him with a serum that changed who he was, is, will be. He’s not the able-bodied man that you know, not strong and unreachable, not the heartthrob that overshadows the team during press events. He’s not America’s Darling, not really. Not where it counts.

You’re looking at Stevie Rogers. Stevie Rogers who, for all intents and purposes, was supposed to die before he made it out of toddlerhood or soon thereafter. Stevie Rogers who the doctors said wasn’t supposed to survive. Stevie Rogers who grew up sickly, rattling painful breaths and never playing ball with the neighborhood boys. Who couldn’t walk until middle school when he got his braces off. Who never had a partner because Bucky, strong and handsome and tall Bucky, was always deemed the better option. Who believed in his country so much that he tried to sneak into the second world war, subjected himself to a painful medical procedure so that he could change his very DNA to be what the world wanted him to be.

Captain Steve Rogers. Captain America. Strong, blond, patriotic, resilient.

You’re sure that if men don’t want to go to therapy now, in the modern age, they certainly didn’t want to go in the ‘40s. So where did that leave Steve, your Steve, standing in front of you and looking small, and broken, and sad, and alone? Did they expect him to take his new, taller, working body and run with it? Did they not think about how he would lose a part of himself in the process? How did they expect him to go from disabled to abled without some disconnect?

You think about the You That You Were Before and the You That You Are Now, and how you lost a part of yourself when the accident gave you your powers and how you’d lose yourself if someone figured out a way to take them away. You Before formed your identity around being normal - living in a shitty home with shitty parents, sure, but normal - and You Now form your identity around your powers, your team, your job, your love. If you lost those things, what did you have left? Who would you be?

When Steve lost his identity and became everything that America wanted everyone to think that America was, what did he have left? Sure, he could tell himself that he represents America - strong and patriotic and just - but it must have conflicted with everything he knew about himself before that. You know that disabled people now know that American society is unjust, unfit for them with abled people not willing to make room to allow them to thrive. You can only imagine what it was really like for Steve in the ‘20s and ‘30s and ‘40s. What he had to do just to survive. (Medical experimentation, you remind yourself. Did they know it wouldn’t kill him? Did they know his body wouldn’t rip itself apart with the new sinewy muscle they were packing on? Did they care? Or was he just a body they saw as broken? A project to fix? To turn him into something more like them and call it patriotism?)

You shake your head at him, still filled with despair, and try to figure out what he’s talking about. “Stevie,” You start, pet name easily replacing what you had been calling him because it’s not fair to shoe-horn him into a body that doesn’t feel like his own. You wonder if he still expects the bone-grinding pain that he used to tell you would happen when it rains. He raises a hand, a strong and family hand, shaking his head.

“I just need to know why I wasn’t enough for you,” Steve looks sad, slouching in on himself like he’s expecting to get his ass handed to him in another alleyway and hope Bucky is there to save him. “I need to know why you wouldn’t just break up with me if you wanted to see other people so badly.” You suck in a shocked breath because, okay, that’s not what you were expecting. Between that and the paradigm shift you’ve had on how Steve must view his identity, body, and self, you’re stunned. Steve continues like he doesn’t even register that you look shocked and pale and now you’re crying because he thinks you’re cheating on him? “And I get it. I get it. You have no idea how much I understand. If I were you, I wouldn’t want me either, okay?”

You cut him off there because what the actual God damn fuck is he talking about? “No, Stevie, I’m not cheating on you.” You shake your head again and this, your statement, lights a fire in him. He still looks like Stevie rather than Steve, but there’s anger there. You imagine that’s what it might have looked like moments before he got himself in trouble back before he was serumed. “I’m not.”

“Oh, yeah?” He challenges, jaw ticking and chin jerking up, “Oh, yeah? You can’t lie to me. I know, okay? The act is up, it’s over, I know, okay? You can stop pretending.”

“Steve, I do not fucking know what you’re talking about but I”m not cheating on you!” You raise your voice, not really angry but more out of necessity. You need to get it out of his head that he is anything less than everything you want - that you could possibly love anyone more than you love him.

“I wanted to clarify something for you,” Steve says like he’s reading an old script from when he was just a beefy, red/white/blue stage prop for the American military, “I am excited to meet with you, but there are some rules. Do not talk about Captain Steve Rogers. I don’t want to hear about him,” As he continues to recite something that has clearly hurt him, you go lax. You know exactly what’s happened - your fists unclench, your jaw drops a little bit, and it feels like someone has gutted you, “I think it is wise to keep work and pleasure separate, and it’s a rule I will enforce heavily. I look forward to seeing you again.” He’s sneering at the end, tears falling down his ruddy cheeks.

“Steve,” You try again, but he cuts you off.

“Am I just work for you?” His voice is shaking more than you thought possible, and so are his hands. You’ve never seen Steve so off-kilter, so thrown, and it breaks your heart that yes, technically, you’re the cause of this. Before this, before this horrible misunderstanding, your relationship with Steve was the paragon of trust so neither of you cared if the other read emails or texts. You remember the email - the email from your fucking college professor - because it had made you so angry that he’d referred to your relationship with Steve as something as simple and base as just pleasure - like you could even put words to the galaxy of a relationship you had with Steve - that you’d gone to the gym to work off some of that irritation. You hadn’t wanted to take it out on anyone accidentally. When you came back from the gym, Steve was gone on that two-week mission that he’d left on without saying goodbye.

Oh, God. You feel sick to your stomach as the paradigm of the way that Steve’s been treating you shifts violently to the left. You have to physically hold yourself up and try to speak past the lump in your throat. Steve looks… Brokenly smug. Like he knows he’s right, but he’d rather gnaw his own legs off than be right.

“No,” You croak, “No, Steve, you’ve got it all wrong.” You want to reach for him, but it feels like the room is closing in on you. You’re second-guessing everything now - especially what you’ve just said. How many people said the exact same thing to him pre-serum because they said something meant for Bucky to him? How many times did he hear that when he was getting a new diagnosis, hoping for the best? How many times had his own mother said it to him when he told her something someone had said, fresh-faced and not yet used to the way that abled people sometimes treated disabled people? You think you might be sick. “That email was from my professor, Steve. I’m not cheating on you, I’d never.” He laughs darkly and sits back down in his chair, head in his hands again. You try to gather the strength to move toward him when you see his shoulders shaking, a telltale sign that he’s crying.

“A professor,” He says with a watery laugh, “Right.”

Finally, you realize that he needs you, needs to know you love him, that you’d do anything for him. You can iron out the kinks later - figure out why he didn’t want to come to talk to you past the original hurt, why he treated you so coldly, why he didn’t trust that you wouldn’t do this to him - but now, you need to show him that you’re here. That you choose him. That you’ll always choose him.

You make your way to him and set a shaking hand on his shoulder. For a brief second you think he’s going to shake you off but then Steve’s hand shoots up and latches onto where your hand is resting, dipping his head to press against your arm. “Stevie, please,” You say, unsure of what you’re asking him to do, “I picked up a class, just one, and it’s… I picked it up for you, it’s about the ‘30s and ‘40s and…” He looks up at you and he looks so broken - face ruddy and wet with tears, lip wobbling, chest heaving as he tries to not sob. His brows are knit and he looks confused, “I just wanted to be able to understand you better. You had to leave so much of yourself at the door when you joined the Avengers, had to leave so much of yourself in the ice… In Erskine’s lab… Stevie, I just wanted you to be able to be you when you’re with me. I wanted to know the you that you were before you became Captain America.” Your voice is shaking, knees knocking together, and honestly? You feel like you might blackout.

“What?” He rasps, “What?”

“He sent that email because too many kids signed up for his class thinking that they’d be able to look at pictures of you and Buck for a semester. Emailed me directly because he knows we’re…” You choke on your words, shaking your head because you’re not even sure there’s a we anymore, “Because he knows I’m on the team. Didn’t want me walking in and making his class about just a few years in the ‘30s and ‘40s rather than the culture of the time.” You don’t know how else to explain it to him, but Steve isn’t saying anything - practically isn’t moving or breathing- so you continue to try and explain what’s really happening as best as you can, “And - and that email made me so angry because he singled me out, didn’t email anyone else about it, and I left to try and work some of that out; I didn’t want to take it out on you, or let it spoil - let it spoil… But when I came back from the gym, you were gone. You were gone for two weeks and I didn’t know why.” You’re crying harder now and pretty sure that within the next sixty seconds you’re going to collapse if you don’t sit down.

Steve shakes his head, still looking like he doesn’t understand. “What?” He says for a third time, “A class? A college class?”

“I just wanted to feel closer to you,” You confess, “Just wanted to understand a fraction of your life without making you do the heavy liftin’ and teachin’ me. Shouldn’t have’t do that,” You’re sobbing, barely biting out your words as you realize that something you’ve done to strengthen your relationship with Steve has destroyed it, “Shouldn’t have to explain a whole different time just to feel loved, Stevie. Should be able to be with someone who understands without you havin’ to explain.” You’re not sure you can say Peggy’s name out loud, and you hope he understands what you’re saying without making you actually say it, “Should’a been able to have love with someone who knew, and I know I’m nothin’ compared to what you should’a had, but I want to be. I want to be in the same ballpark instead’a watchin’ from the stands.” You wipe your face with your free hand and look away from Steve when he stands in front of you. You don’t want to see the look on his face - what he’s thinking about what you’ve said.

He says your name and you glance at him, but his expression stops him in your tracks. Where Steve looked broken and hurt and fuming with anger to hide the anguish, now he looks stricken. You shake your head, “No, no. I didn’t say that to make you feel guilty-”

“You think that I care about whether or not you can understand the ‘40s?” He cuts you off, hands moving to curl around your biceps, “You think that I care whether or not you can relate to a time in history when you weren’t even thought of?”

“Of course I love you. I love you more than anything in this world, but you shouldn’t have to not care, Steve,” You argue, shaking your head, “That’s what I’m trying to say. You should be with someone who understands without explanation. I just wanted to give that to you - didn’t know that this would happen.”

“I should be with someone who loves me,” He argues back, “If you love me, that’s all that matters. My past be damned.”

“But your past is you!” You try to pull away from Steve, but he anchors you there. You’re dizzy from being so close to him after this long, but also because of how many different twists this situation has taken. You can barely keep up with how bad your communication with Steve has become - barely keep up with how you need to fix it, or how to fix it. “Your past is you,” You repeat when you realize that Steve isn’t going to let you go. “And you shouldn’t have to give that up so that someone will love you.”

“But you love me,” He says desperately, ducking his head so that he’s nearly nose to nose with you, “You love me, right?”

“More than anything,” You say, closing your eyes and relishing in the feeling of being so close to Steve, “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. I don’t care about what anyone else thinks, or anyone else. I’ll even stop goin’ to class if you want me to - Steve, I just can’t do this anymore. Can’t do this thing where you don’t talk to me about what’s botherin’ you.” You’re choking up, barely whispering, but you know he hears you. YOu can feel his warm breath on your face, “Nearly fuckin’ killed me.”

“I thought it was goin’ to be easier,” He breathes, nose bumping yours, “When you eventually decided to leave me for him. Thought I was savin’ myself some trouble.” You can practically taste his tears as they fall again, “Buck and Nat tried to tell me that you weren’t - that you wouldn’t - but I just couldn’t believe them.”

When you open your eyes, his are closed. This close to him you can see the soft freckles that are blooming over his eyelids, his soft eyelashes kissing his cheekbones. You can feel him breathing, feel him nearly pressed against you in a way that feels hauntingly nostalgic and terrifyingly fleeting; like you’ll be able to feel his warmth for years to come, but he’s about to disappear. “That’s okay,” You finally whisper, “It’s okay that you didn’t believe them. That you thought what you thought. It’s okay.” He shakes his head against yours, opening his mouth to protest, but you refuse to let him feel guilty about feeling this way - you have plenty of time to sit him down and talk to him candidly about the way he acted because of these feelings, anyway. “If I would have been in your place I’m not sure I would have believed them.”

“I treated you so badly…” He shifts and wraps his arms around you. It’s almost immediate - you relax into his arms and wind yours around his waist, keeping him pulled against you as he presses his face into your neck and you press your cheek against his chest. “So awfully.”

“We’ll talk about that, okay? But later. Right now you just need to know that I love you, Steve. I love you more than I can tell you - more than I can express.” You want to kiss him, but you can’t. Can’t kiss him, you need to wait for him to kiss you, for him to close that gap and show you that he still loves you like you love him. “We’ll have to have a talk, a long and hard conversation about this, Stevie, but for now… For now, I’m just content to be with you, okay? MIssed you so much.”

He sighs, nose pressing against yours again. “Missed you too, dovie. Missed you more than I can even say,” His voice breaks as his lips brush yours. Your relationship is not without its flaws and problems - Steve’s actions when he thought you were cheating on him are proof of that and, well, the fact that you didn’t realize what was happening, why it was happening, or a large part of your boyfriend’s psychological makeup having an impact on your relationship while it went unknown by you… There is a lot of work for the two of you to do, a lot of work to do, a lot of communication to be done… But you’d do it all for Steve, over and over again.

When he presses forward and presses his lips gently to yours, you know that he’ll do it all for you, over and over again, too.

[sugamamacustard]

✨Intimidating✨

Pairing: Alpha! Issei Matsukawa X Omega! Reader, Alpha! Satori Tendou x Omega! Reader

Genre: Fluff!

Request: can i request matsukawa and tendou w an omega that’s afraid to ask them to scent something for them? 🖤

Summary: Alpha's are scary creatures. Going up to them is scary, and honestly, you were never sure you would ever be able to look one in the eye. Unfortunately, your omega was dead set on one particular alpha-- one who seemed so much more intimidating than any other alpha you had seen before.

Author’s Note:  Nonnie you really said-- let me pick custard's husbands.

Requests: Closed!

Buy me a coffee?

**✨=1000 followers special!**

Issei Matsukawa

➵ Matsukawa Issei; a strong, tall and proud third year alpha. Part of the starting line-up of Seijoh's volleyball team.

➵Unfortunately, he was also the object of your inner omega's (And begrudgingly your own) affections.

➵ It wasn't like you weren't friendly with him, but he was just so much bigger than you!

➵And honestly, you were just...scared?

➵ He'd never done anything to make you fear him, as he was just a giant teddy bear of a man, but you just couldn't really explain it.

➵ In actuality, you were scare of most of the third year boys-- despite being a third year yourself.

➵ They were just so tall and buff! You couldn't help it!

➵ This didn't help with the fact that there was some obvious chemistry between you and Matsukawa.

➵ Even the teacher could see it

➵ However, you just...couldn't find the courage to ask him to scent something for you to begin the courting process.

➵ You understood that volleyball practice took up a lot of time so him giving you a gift was out of the question.

➵ Meaning it was up to you.

___

You had been trying for days to work up the courage to talk to Matsukawa.

It hadn't been easy, a number of things stopping you-- the number one factor being your own nerves. You would be talking with him, having an incredible time before your omega would remind you that you need to ask and you would malfunction.

Honestly, it was almost a problem at this point. He was always super understanding when you excused yourself but you felt terrible about it.

You just wanted to get it done and over with! You wanted him to hold you in his arms already! To love and cherish him, make sure he's okay after practice.

But your goddamn nerves just wouldn't let you!

Groaning, your tensed your shoulders at the clang that came when your forehead smacked on the cool metal of the lockers. In your hand was a crumpled shirt, one you had been trying to ask Matsukawa to scent for the past however long.

"It's not even that hard?!" You groaned, smacking your hand against the same locker. "It's four words, for heaven's sake. Just 'please scent this Matsukawa', not that bloody difficult!"

You huffed, still cringing at the sound of the metal echo in the empty hallway-- well, the presumably empty hallway.

"About as difficult as saying 'Please be my omega'."

You chirped in surprise, whipping around to face the tall alpha. He was smiling down softly at you, one brow raised as he leaned against the wall with his arms crossed and duffle hanging by his side. "Matsukawa-san, I- uh,"

He held up a hand, getting up and walking over to you. He gently pried the shirt from your grip before rubbing it against his scent gland, wrapping his unoccupied hand around your waist and leading you out the front.

"Matsu-"

"Issei, I'm your alpha now, aren't I?" He smirked, nuzzling your temple with a laugh as your cheeks erupted in red. "Come on, pretty thing, let's go get you some food."

Satori Tendo

➵ Now Satori is...a lot.

➵ He's energetic and eccentric.

➵ And just... a lot.

➵ Not in a bad way, of course, but (Sorry, this is custard's personal HC) he needed someone to balance him out.

➵ Someone to take refuge in. To hold him close when he has anxiety attacks (Another personal HC of Custard's is that Tendo has severe anxiety and I will take this with me till the day I die).

➵ He needed the shy and small omega that was you.

➵ At this point, if wasn't a matter of if it was when you two would become official as you both balanced each other out perfectly.

➵ Your mellow attitude calmed his other-worldly one.

➵ His brash and straight-forward nature made up for your shy and easily-overwhelmed one.

➵Honestly, ya'll cute.

➵Satori likes you a lot, you like him a lot, unfortunately, the only issue?

➵ Satori cannot, for the life of him, do anything (another Personal Custard HC) that requires nimble fingers.

➵ (The personal HC is that he was super clumsy with his hands and fingers until his adulthood when he learned to channel it into chocolate.)

➵ So things like beading necklaces or bracelets was kind of out of the question for him.

➵ Meaning if was left to you.

___

"You can do it. You can do it. You can- I can't do it-" You groaned, turning away from the entrance to the gym, wringing your sweater between your sweaty hands.

You knew Satori was in there.

You knew when it came to you, he wouldn't bat an eye at stepping out for...hell the rest of practice.

You knew that this was practically a formality, as he already treated you like his omega. Feeding you, scenting you, caring for you around your heats and helping you prep before giving you space.

He was honestly perfect for you. Just as you were for him.

Growling to yourself you faced the gym doors once more, breathing in and out slowly. You could do this! This was Satori. He promised to always hold you and value your feelings.

You could do this.

Stepping forward, you stumbled back as the door poked open-- happy ruby eyes gleaming as they saw you. You snorted, covering your mouth with a hand. Satori took this as a good sign, waggling his fingers in a greeting as his eyes scrunched meaning he was smiling.

You waved back, smiling as well. When his eyes turned into small squints, analyzing your figure you became self conscious, shuffling slightly. The alpha picked up on this, soon slipping out of the gym completely, closing the door behind him. He sauntered over to you, towering over you as he held his hands behind his back.

"Hey little omega, how are you? Come to visit the lil' ol guess monster?" He teased, a twinkle of something in his eyes.

You nodded, not trusting your words before thrusting the article at the confused alpha. He caught it, barely, holding it for a second before it clicked, the smile returning to his face.

"Damn. And here I was, thinking I finally got the upper hand on you." He chuckled, quickly disappearing into the gym before reappearing once more, this time with a woken necklace. He bashfully handed it to you along with the, newly scented, sweater.

"Guess you'll always be a mystery to me, huh Paradise?" He laughed, holding to his chest like he always promised too.

[saintshigaraki]

THESE ARE HARD TIMES FOR DREAMERS

title from bones by ms mr

pairing: yandere nanami kento x f!reader

word count: 2.6k

excerpt: You wish you’d studied the stars more, ingrained them so deeply into your psyche that you’d carry the night sky with you, always. 

You wish they’d never been stolen from you in the first place.

a/n: nanami if ur reading this i’m free thursday night. 

tags: yandere, angst, reader is once again full of rage, nanami love what have you done, overuse of the word hate

warnings: yandere tendencies, obsessive and possessive behavior, slight infantilization, noncon/dubcon, gaslighting (?), kidnapping, slight stockholm syndrome, mention of past suicide attempt 

MDNI!

You can’t exactly pinpoint where it all went south. There’s not a specific date that stands out to you when you actively noticed things taking a turn for the worst. It’s like that fable. About the frog slowly being boiled alive. Except, in this case, the frog is you and the boiling water is Nanami. And in this case, this is not some story your mom used to read to you about the dangers of gradual escalation, it’s your life. If you can even call this monotonous hell you’re living a life. 

You’ve got to hand it to him, you really didn’t see it coming. Nanami’s always been smart like that. Even now, after everything, or maybe even especially now, after everything, you can’t deny that. 

You don’t bother moving from where you lay, sprawled out on the floor, when you hear the first click of many locks signaling that your sweet and doting lover has returned. 

You used to try to rush him, or get the jump on him with the heaviest thing you could find. Once you started to get really desperate, you just screamed over his shoulder before he had time to clamp a large hand over your mouth. 

None of it ever worked, of course. 

It was months ago that you decided hopeless escape attempts simply weren’t worth Nanami’s wrath. He’s faster than you, stronger than you, and far bigger. And he always will be. 

When your relationship with Nanami was still somewhat normal (though looking back you can’t help but notice all the things that weren’t normal, you suppose hindsight really can be quite the bitch in that regard) you never really thought too hard about how much stronger he was compared to you. In some ways, it might’ve even been comforting, instead of just horribly depressing. No one could touch you when your hand was tucked in his. 

It hurts more than you’d like to admit that something you once found such solace in, is now what stands between you and any semblance of normalcy and shred of happiness. 

(And fresh air. God, you miss fresh air so much it hurts, a dull never-ceasing ache deep in your chest. You miss the stars too. Sometimes, when you’re laying on the floor like you are now or in the dead of night when it’s all you can do to swallow down your screams, you try to map out constellations on the ceiling. You’re not very good at it though, and the few constellations you actually remember are starting to slip from your memory like water through fingers, no matter how desperately you try to hold onto them.

You wish you’d studied the stars more, ingrained them so deeply into your psyche that you’d carry the night sky with you, always. 

You wish they’d never been stolen from you in the first place.)

It takes Nanami’s slightly disapproving hum to snap you out of your celestial spiraling. 

You tilt your head back, just enough to find he’s towering over you. His mouth set in a grim line. His glasses, jacket, and tie have already been discarded, his shirt rolled up to his forearms. The sight of him like this use to make your cheeks burn. Now, it’s hard to rein in the urge to spit at his feet and hiss out every seething thought you have about him burning below the surface. 

But the lecture you’d receive after a ‘tantrum’ like that wouldn’t be worth it. He always manages to twist your words, your own feelings, sometimes even your very sense of self, until you can hardly tell what’s up and what’s down. Until you can hardly distinguish your reality from his. Until all you can hear is Nanami’s voice in your ear, reminding you of everything you’ll never be. Of just how helpless you are. 

(It’s like his hands are around your throat, choking and choking and choking.)

And once you’re nothing but a sobbing heap on the floor, he’ll pull you into his lap, tuck your face against the curve of his shoulder, and rub soothing circles into your back while saying something along the lines of ‘It’s okay, it’s okay. I’ll always be here take care of you’ until your sobs have quieted to the occasional hiccup.

You hate it, how he manages to make you feel so dependent on him. He’s so, so good at knowing just what string to pull so that you’ll unravel completely, just so he can put you back together again with his painstakingly gentle hands. 

Nanami’s smart like that. 

So, you’ve learned to bite your tongue. 

“You’re insistence on laying on the dirty floor when we have a perfectly good couch and bed truly astounds me,” he says, monotone. 

You don’t justify his sarcasm with a response, partly to stall what inevitably will come after this and partly to annoy him. Nanami doesn’t like it when you ignore him. It’s one of the few things you have the power to do that manages to get under his skin. 

It’s these little rebellions, you’ve found, that make all the difference. 

You eye the couch warily, it’s plush and huge. The perfect place for an afternoon nap. Nanami had traded out the smaller one he’d had before, for this one, a few months after you’d started dating. He’d wanted one big enough that you two could comfortably lay together as you slept and he read. You spent countless hours there, tucked into his side, with the setting sun warming your skin. 

It’s also where you had told him that you wanted to end things. That he’d gotten too overbearing, too controlling. That you felt suffocated. That you still loved him dearly, but that you couldn’t do this anymore. It’s where you left him as you walked out with only a single bag in hand. 

That night you went to sleep in some shady motel room and woke up back in Nanami’s bed with a padded handcuff chaining you to the frame. 

These memories from before have a way of coming back to haunt you, they pass through the walls, whispering poison in your ears, caressing your skin one moment just to dig their claws in deep the next. 

They mock you as you sit and rot and dream of stars you’ll never see again. 

“You’re stalling.” He always manages to sound so distinctly unimpressed with you whenever you don’t follow one of his unwritten rules (and God even if you were actively trying to follow them, there are so many that keeping track of them is nothing short of an impossible feat).

You finally get to your feet, wringing your hands in a way that you know makes you look weak and pathetic. Just the way Nanami likes you so that he can swoop in and take such good care of his little darling love. 

“Kento, I-” 

“Save it,” he says, already walking towards the bedroom. 

You could put up a fight, but all that’d do is make him angry, and then you’d have to do what he wanted anyway and deal with being tethered back to the bed for a few days while Nanami fusses over you like some sort of deranged mother hen.

You make your way over to the bedroom, already starting to strip, ready to get this over with as soon as possible. 

You’re half-naked by the time you enter his room. 

Even after months and months of this, the humiliation of standing nearly naked in front of him while he stays fully dressed never dulls, it’s still just as sharp and awful as the first time he made you do it. 

(It’s like you’re peeling back your own skin, defenseless as he rubs salt in the wound.) 

You suppose you should feel lucky that he lets you keep on your bra and underwear. Not that the undergarments he bought you really cover all that much, but in these four walls, beggars can’t exactly be choosers. 

He takes off his watch, setting it carefully onto his dresser before walking over to you and starting his nightly inspection for any cuts or bruises you may have received (or given yourself) throughout the day while he was off at work. Off in the world you’ll never see again. Just the thought is enough to make you want to scream. 

You used to be able to wiggle your way out of this, before the incident, as Nanami has dubbed it, but now it’d be a cold day in hell before he doesn’t painstakingly go over (almost) every inch of your skin with a careful eye and calloused hands. 

His thumb always brushes terribly gently over the scar a few centimeters to the right of one of your jugular veins, where you had attempted to slit your throat after you realized that you would probably never escape this place. Never escape him. 

You’d never seen Nanami as scared as when he walked in on you holding a knife to your throat. And you’d never seen him as angry as after he’d wrenched it from your hand using a type of speed that shouldn’t even be humanly possible. 

He took a full month off work after that which coincidently also happened to be the worst fucking month of your life. 

He cups your face in his large hand and presses a kiss to your temple. A sign that he’s deemed you just as pristine as when he left you and that he’s very pleased by it. 

You want to bite his hand. You want to rip his flesh from the bone. You want to hold his heart in your hand and crush it. 

(You want to go home. You want to feel the earth beneath your bare feet. You want to sit on a roof in your childhood neighborhood and watch the sun dip below the horizon and drown the world in golden light. You want to step out on an autumn day with winter just around the corner and smell the crispness in the air, feel it claw its way into your lungs. 

You want to remember what it’s like to be human.)

Nanami’s lips are on yours before you can think, soft and enticing. You could push him away or just say no. He’d listen. Not even he can apparently justifying forcing you. 

(We all have our limits, don’t we?)

But you don’t. You haven’t in a long while. And you hate yourself for it more than you could ever hate him.

He loses his shirt rather quickly and you manage to discard your bra before he lifts you up and tosses you on the bed. You don’t get a second to breathe before he’s over you, monstrous and awful and so terribly beautiful. 

He takes a moment to caress your face, his knuckles brushing over your cheek so tenderly that it nearly makes you sick. You’re thankful when he finally says, “Open up.” 

You do as he says and in the next second two of his fingers are stuffed into your waiting mouth. 

“Suck.” 

And you do, without hesitation, because you know what’s coming next. You know that for the next hour or so, there’ll be no denying the fact that you’re alive, that you’re not some ghost haunting these halls. It’ll prove that it’s blood that flows through your veins instead of stone, that you have not yet started to rot in your own skin. 

He he pulls his fingers from your mouth without a word and leaves a trail of burning kisses down your sternum and stomach. He wastes no time pulling your underwear off and attaching his calloused thumb to your clit, rubbing tight little circles in a way that has you keening almost immediately. 

In an embarrassingly short amount of time you’re wet enough for him to comfortably slip a finger in. Just one of them reaches spots you never quite manage to hit on your own, and you hate how much you love it. It has you moaning, nearly loud enough to drown out the lewd squelching by the time he adds a second finger. 

“You’re so, so good for me,” he murmurs, voice rough. It sends a shiver down your spine.

You hate that the praise has you clenching his fingers in a near vice grip. You hate that he still affects you in any way after what he’s done to you. After what he’s reduced you to. 

You don’t have time to stew in your self-loathing before his fingers find that spongy spot inside of you that has you seeing stars. 

(And this is the reason you don’t push him away. 

You’ll never step foot under the night sky again. But here, with his fingers hitting all the right spots in your cunt, you’ll make your own galaxy and pretend that it holds a candle to the real thing.)

With the pace he sets, his constant low grunts of just how lovely you are creaming around his fingers, and the way his thumb never lets up on your puffy clit, you’re coming within minutes, you spasm around his digits so hard that the stars you so love burst behind your tightly shut eyelids. 

He eases his fingers out of you and licks them clean, his dark eyes half-lidded and nearly glowing in the dimly lit bedroom, burning straight through you. 

You’re the one to look away first. You always are. Shame settling heavily in your gut. Shame that you enjoyed it, shame that you didn’t push him, shame that you’ll do this all over again tomorrow.  

When he finally sinks into you, he does it slowly. Sometimes you wish he wouldn’t, sometimes you wish he’d make it hurt. It’d be easier to hate him instead of yourself if he did. 

When Kento fucks you like this, chest to chest, there’s not a single part of you not swallowed whole by him. 

You hate it. 

You hate yourself more for moaning when he changes the angle and starts fucking you so hard and fast that your hands can’t help but scramble for anything to hang on to, they tear down his back, drawing blood which seems to only spur him on to go harder. 

“Kento I-- I’m-,” but you can’t finish the sentence, not when you can feel your orgasm teetering on the edge, so, so close that it’s painful, you just need- 

“You want to come?” He asks, his voice annoyingly steady.  

It’s unfair of him to expect you to be able to answer when he has you nearly folded in half. You can hardly even think. 

(But when has Kento ever really been fair?)

“Use your words, darling.” His lips are right against your ear, his tone unbearably condescending, and maybe a bit mocking. 

You hate him for asking you to beg. 

You hate yourself more for giving in. 

“Kento, please,” you whine. 

He laughs, low and mean, you feel it in your own chest and for a moment it really is as though you are nothing but an extension of him, a limb left useless without Nanami guiding you. You hate it. You hate it.

Eventually, he relents and brings his thumb back down to your clit, resuming those tight, firm circles, and that’s all you needed to finally push you over the edge.  

This time, when you come, there are no stars to comfort you. Just Kento’s eyes, bright and burning. 

Your cunt clamping down on his cock is all it takes for him to let out a low groan and still completely inside you, the warmth of his cum flooding your cunt is awful in it’s familiarity. 

His eyes finally close as he drops his forehead against yours, breathing your air and forcing you to breathe his. 

He closes the gap between your lips, gently, sweetly. You can almost pretend for a moment that this is the Kento you knew years ago. Who held you so sweetly and smiled when you smiled. 

You don’t realize you’re crying until he kisses your temple tenderly and wipes away your tears. He’s not worried, you cry more often than not after he fucks you. You don’t really want to think about why. 

You let your mind wander as he carries you bridal style to the bathroom, where in a minute he’ll run a warm bath for you two to share, then afterwards he’ll dry you off with the utmost tenderness, then dress you himself before carrying you to the kitchen where he’ll set you on the counter as he makes dinner (you won’t be allowed to help, of course) then he’ll force every last bite down your throat if you refuse to eat (he hasn’t had to do that in a long while though), then he’ll have you curl up on his lap, head tucked into his shoulder, as he reads. After about an hour he’ll bring you back to the bathroom where he’ll brush your teeth for you because you never do it right, and then he’ll drag you into bed no later than 10:30 PM so that you can do it all over again tomorrow. 

“Do you want the lavender or rose soap today?” Nanami asks you. 

You ignore him in favor of trying to remember the details of your galaxy, but it’s already faded away to nothing by the time you close your eyes. 

a/n pt 2: i feel like it was painfully obvious that this was my first attempt ever at smut. i’m so sorry yall. i really did try. 

[mianavs]

Morbid Masterpiece

♥️pairing: serial killer!Hisoka x f!reader

♥️tags: extremely dark content, blood and gore, depiction of death, non-con, kidnapping, smut, non-con bondage, oral (f!receiving), non-con knifeplay, bad ending

♥️a/n: my piece for @undersero's hall-au-ween collab that's somewhat inspired by the killer clown, john wayne gacy. i recommend listening to Sugarbread by Soap&Skin for mood music. all dark and suggestive content below the cut

♥️wc: 1.4k+

Hisoka can’t pinpoint the moment his love for surprises takes a morbid turn; it just does.

It’s an inexplicable sensation—a sudden urge—that takes over. It starts as a swell in his chest that pulsates while it spreads to the rest of his body. It courses through his veins, becoming one with his blood. It sinks through his skin and muscle until he feels it in his bones. It takes over his mind until it’s all he can think about. The rush of pleasure, exhilaration, and joy of seeing his victims in pain, shock, and fear.

That thrilling sensation is why Hisoka the Magician does what he does. It’s why he lures innocents into his workshop under the guise of magic tricks and wrings them dry of all their delicious horror before discarding the empty shells; a taxing process for Hisoka but one he’s more than willing to undergo if it means another victim to sate his thirst.

So, when you lie curled up on the floor with your hands cuffed behind your back, a busted lip, and tears in your terror-stricken eyes, Hisoka can’t help but expel a soft moan at how beautiful you look bathed in fear and his cock stirs to life. He just knows you’ll become his finest masterpiece yet. One he’ll remember for the rest of his life.

You were his easiest victim by far. A pretty little thing working at the hospital he volunteered at who never missed his shows. While Hisoka hadn’t noticed you at first—as you preferred to linger in the background—but your curious gaze caught his attention and he made sure to send you winks and smiles that made you blush. It took less than a week for Hisoka to ensnare you in his trap, therefore he decided to reward you before stripping you of your life.

“P-Please! Don’t do this Hisoka!” you plead. Tears stream down the side of your face as you lie on your side with your wrists and ankles restrained. “Y-You’re a good person that brings happiness to those who need it the most! This isn’t you!”

Hisoka chuckles at your misconstrued image of him before crouching in front of you and wiping away your tears. You close your eyes tightly and flinch at his touch, but you don’t actively try to fight him. A display of helplessness that sends blood rushing to his cock. His hand caresses your wet cheek and travels further down still, only stopping at the curve of your breasts before kneading the soft supple flesh. You catch your bottom lip between your teeth but whimpers still escape your mouth as Hisoka rolls your erect nipple using his thumb and forefinger.

As Hisoka continues to play with your nipples, his eyes trail down to your hips that shift while your exposed thighs press together. Your whimpers turn into sobs when Hisoka readjusts his position and parts your legs just enough to see a wet patch over your clothed sex.

“No! Please, stop! D-don’t do this!”

Your shrill screams are music to Hisoka’s ears and he reaches for his pocket knife to begin his work that will no doubt make you cry out the sweetest tune he has ever heard. He stops dead in his tracks, however, when the smell of your arousal wafts up to him and fills his nostrils with your heady scent. Ignoring your wails, he moves in closer until the tip of his nose brushes against your quivering clit. He inhales and lets out a moan.

“Mmmm… you smell divine.” He digs his fingers into your thighs until you stop squirming beneath him. “I think it’s time to reward you for being such an easy prey.”

Hisoka rips off your wet flimsy panties while you scream, and he feels his hard cock throb in his pants from the mere sight of your drooling cunt. He wants nothing more than to bury himself inside you and start carving his masterpiece but withholds on his selfish desires to bring you the pleasure you deserve.

Without warning, he buries his face between your legs while he holds you down. When he laps at your cunt, you writhe beneath him. When he wraps his lips around your engorged clit and sucks, your body contorts as loud cries rip from your throat.

Hisoka continues his ministrations until your entire body tenses and your loudest scream yet tears from you. You come gushing into his welcoming mouth before collapsing back onto the floor. Your entire body trembles as hiccups interject your choked-up sniveling and your tears mix with the snot dripping from your nostrils. He wishes his phone was in his hands instead of recording the whole ordeal from afar, so he could capture your beautifully distressed face.

Instead, he chooses to burn your face into his memory as he licks your arousal from his lips, hoping you’re the first of his victims that visits him in his dreams to relive this moment over and over again.

As the aftershocks of your orgasm subside, Hisoka releases his cock that springs out. It slaps his stomach and stains his clothes with the precum that’d already dribbled out. After giving himself a couple of pumps, Hisoka maneuvers himself into the circle your conjoined ankles made. The jostling seems to garner your attention, but before you can resume your struggling, Hisoka lifts you by the hips and settles your bottom half onto his thighs. He sees your head hit the concrete ground and hears the hoarse howl of pain that drives him to let go of any restraint he still had left.

He guides his aching cock into your entrance and rams his entire length in, relishing in the hot tightness of your cunt. Your howls continue as Hisoka pounds into you and one look down at your conjoined bodies proves the conjecture he had of you; you were a virgin.

The blood that forms a ring around his shaft sends Hisoka’s mind into a frenzy, and he pulls out his pink pocket knife, drawing out the long blade with a single press of his thumb. Running his tongue across the cool metal, he turns his focus on you and finds you moving your hips on your own while short whines escape your tightly shut mouth. In your newly found pleasure, your cunt grips Hisoka’s cock tighter than before and he knows it’s time to deliver the surprise of your life.

He starts by carefully cutting open your dress to reveal your stomach and grins when he finds it unblemished by his blade. He then continues with two surface-level cuts on both of your inner thighs. You hiss and shift a little but nothing to how you were before and a glance at your face shows that you’re completely out of it. Your eyes are lidded and glazed over and your movements sluggish making Hisoka wonder if the bump to your head had given you a minor concussion.

Hisoka continues ramming into you, the sounds of slapping skin, whimpers, and moans echoing off the walls of his basement. Greedy for more, he sets his knife to the side and presses his thumbs into the small lacerations. Your sweet vibrant blood runs down your thighs and coats his thumbs until it trickles down to his wrist. Hisoka’s breathing turns shallow as his senses are assaulted by your blood and all he can think about is how he wants to see even more.

With his climax within reach, his hips movements become faster and more erratic and he reaches for his knife with a bloody hand. Just when your eyes focus on the man pounding into your wet cunt, Hisoka beams down at you before pressing the blade firmly over your navel and slicing it horizontally.

It’s a perfectly deep cut; one that Hisoka has perfected over the years. It cuts through your skin, fat, and muscle in one swift motion, revealing your entrails under pooling blood. Hisoka watches the rapid rise and fall of your body that causes blood to overflow and cascade down to your conjoined bodies, painting them with your scarlet blood. It’s the sight that Hisoka lives for. It’s the only thing that brings joy to his life. It’s the only thing that gets him off.

So as your raspy cries turn into muted grunts and your cunt squeezes his cock for all it’s worth, he comes into your barely-conscious body with a guttural moan.

Hisoka keeps his cock buried inside of you as your twitching body relaxes and the life leaves your horrified eyes. Eventually, he trails his hands up your bloody corpse and picks it up. He holds it up against his chest and presses a kiss to its cold forehead.

You were indeed Hisoka’s finest masterpiece.

[ultraintrovertedgryffindor]

Omg I have an angsty request that I’m sure is going to rip my heart out and light it on fire. It’s a super long and specific request so sorry if I get carried away:

Okay so reader had an unspoken thing in the glade with Gally but then he “died” so over the course of the events of scorch trials she got closer with newt and they start their own unspoken thing. But then in the death cure, newt (realizing he has the flare) starts encouraging her to reconcile with gally because he knows that he’s gonna die and gally will take care of her? But she’s confused on who she loves but kinda clings to what she has with newt because he needs her. And she’s just heart b r o k e n over newt dying but gally helps put her pieces back together in the safe haven and eventually they have their fluffy first time together?

Thanks!

*Fanfare* *Triumphant Music* I finally finished this one! Sorry it took a while, I really wanted this to be perfect. But I think I'm quite happy with how this one turned out! I hope you like it too, sweet Anon. Btw, I know you wanted smut, but I just didn't think it would fit with this one. Sorry, maybe on the next one!

Over 5.2k words, so strap in for a long one y'all

Possible Trigger Warning: Self Harm

~~~~~~~~~~

During your time in the Glade, you were practically attached at the hip with Gally.

He was your best friend, your first go to whenever you had any issues, and you were the same to him.

After his supposed death, you felt a void in your soul. You took on a nihilistic attitude, nothing in life making sense anymore. You didn't care about what happened to you or around you, you wished you had died with Gally, the idea of it being welcomed with open arms.

The thought of dying brought no anxiety, no dread. Even the thought of dying painfully didn't scare you, you wanted it. Everyday you thought about that spear going through Gally's chest, wanting to feel what he must've felt. You wanted to feel the same pain and fear, you wanted to feel like you were dying too.

No rational side of you could explain why you felt this way. Perhaps, if you felt the same pain he felt, maybe it would give some sort of closure. Maybe it would make you feel like you were still close to him, even in death.

It wasn't too long before you decided to act on those feelings. You had been only a knife to your chest, right where your heart was, hyping yourself up to push the blade into your skin.

You didn't want to kill yourself, no. You wanted your death to be natural, not forced. You'd suffer your own existence until your time eventually came like it did for everyone else. But Newt didn't know this when he happened upon you that night, just a couple centimeters of a blade shredding its way into your skin.

Newt panicked, immediately stopping your from hurting yourself, his heart racing at the thought of being too late. But thankfully, he wasn't.

You tried to seem somewhat normal, but the laughter bubbling from your chest couldn't be withheld, making Newt fear that you had lost your mind. He wasn't too far off...

He knew how much Gally's death impacted you, he knew you were in pain every second of every day, but he never thought you'd go so far as hurting yourself. He just silently patched you up, fearing anything he would say from a good place would only upset you further.

Eventually, you explained why you had done what you did. It obviously didn't sit right with Newt. He wasn't particularly close with Gally back in the Glade, but he knew well enough that he wouldn't want you to be living with this mindset.

After a while in the Scorch, you stuck by Newt the most and you started to get better. You felt so empty after Gally's death, leaving a hole in your heart. Newt helped lead you out of that void, trying his best to fit that empty space. But you knew nobody could replace Gally, not even Newt. You knew that space could never be filled, but just seeing Newt try to be that person for you, it was too endearing not to pull at what heartstrings you had left.

Then the complications happened, so much time spent believing that Gally was dead came crashing down as he stood in front of you all, very much not dead.

You thought it had to be a dream, could he really be here?

It was strange. You thought you'd run to him, leap into his arms and kiss all over his face, but you didn't. You stood next to your friends awkwardly as he took off his gas mask. To think you'd be more outwardly happy that someone you cared about was still alive. But you couldn't help the guilt that you felt when Gally said that they left him to die. Sure, it might've not been specifically directed to you, but you felt the sharp sting of his words resonate through you. It almost felt like a strong invisible force hit your funny bone, the volt of uncomfortable aching pain spreading throughout your entire body and leaving you in a breathless agony.

For Gally, he was overjoyed to see you alive and well. He so badly wanted to go to you, feel you in his arms again. But he knew he couldn't, how could he after how he treated everyone back in the Glade?

He didn't remember a lot, but he knew he killed Chuck. The blurry memories of that day, he saw it every night in his dreams. He remembered the sound of the gunshot, the sudden pain in his chest and not being able to breathe. He saw Chuck laying beside him, his expressionless eyes trained on the ceiling, unmoving. His chest wasn't rising and falling like it should've been, blood seeping through his layers of clothing. The most purest soul Gally ever met was dead, and it was his fault.

Gally couldn't even bring himself to look in your direction, he was too disgusted with himself.

Thomas punching Gally wasn't a big shock, he knew he deserved it. But Newt quickly came to his rescue, stopping Thomas from acting out irrationally. But a part of Gally didn't want the Greenie to be stopped. Being punched wasn't something he enjoyed, but Gally would willingly endure whatever punishment that would be inflicted and he'd accept that he deserved it. But nothing he could do or say would bring Chuck back...

When Gally did finally force himself to look at you, he wish he hadn't. You looked indifferent, which never happened with you. He instantly thought that you hated him as much as Thomas did, but then again, he deserved it.

It was really tough for Gally to keep a conversation with everyone while he took them to see Lawrence, especially when he noticed how close you stuck by Newt. But, he supposed it was only natural to find another person to be close to when you've lost someone else, he still couldn't help the feeling of jealousy that bubbled up in his chest. He hated how good you and Newt looked together, you seemed...happy.

At the moment, you weren't even close to happy; you were confused, and angry.

It sounded terrible, but a part of you was angry that Gally was actually still alive. You had to go through the mourning process, and you hadn't even finished it and now all of a sudden, he was alive all this time. It put your emotions on haywire, the most you felt was confusion, and if someone would've told you what you were experiencing was some sort of a twisted dream, you would believe them. But your feet were too sore and sunburn too irritating for this all to be a dream.

You sensed Newt's eyes trained on you, you knew he was probably worried, but you couldn't decide what for. Was he worried that you'd go back to Gally? Was he worried you'd replace him now that he was still alive? Knowing Newt, he probably just wanted to talk to you, but even then, you would have no idea what to say. What do people feel or say in situations like this? You were certain not everyone has to go through the loss of a loved one just to find out that they weren't gone, right?

It was late, and you were exhausted, as was everyone else; but you stayed awake, attempting to sleep only causing you to toss and turn, and eventually giving up. But someone else was awake, you were shocked to see that it was Newt. "What're doing awake?" He asked, taking a seat next to you.

"Could ask you the same thing." You replied, only getting a look from Newt in response. "Couldn't sleep." You sighed, caving in to his concerned expression.

"I know it's not my place," Newt started, wringing his hands together nervously, "but, you haven't said a word to Gally." You knew he was going to bring that up, you had that feeling as soon as he saw you were still awake. "I know it was a shock, to all of us. But I thought it'd effect you the most, to be quite honest. You two were pretty close..."

You shrugged weakly, shaking your head. "I don't know what to tell you. Was I supposed to react a certain way? Was I supposed to drop to my knees and burst into tears or something?"

Newt grimaced. "No...of course you're not supposed to act a certain way. It's just a bit strange to me that you haven't tried to speak to him at all."

"I don't even know what I'd say to him." You chuckled bitterly.

"I know you and Gally had something, something special. That sort of thing doesn't just go away. You were absolutely gutted after what happened, this is a chance to reconnect. You care about him, a lot."

"Hey, that doesn't change the way I feel about you. I care about you a lot too."

Newt smiled weakly. "I know, but I really think you should go and talk to him."

You could tell he was being sincere, but you couldn't understand why. You two had grown close over the past several months, so why would he want you to reconnect with someone you used to be even closer with? You weren't really given the time to think over it more before Newt was quickly encouraging you to speak with Gally, telling you where his room was, somehow knowing this conversation would happen and finding out beforehand.

Just a few moments later, you found yourself outside of Gally's door, fist extended out to hover over the worn wood, but you couldn't bring yourself to knock. Thinking back to how hard you tried to avoid Gally when he came back, what if he thought you hated him? What if he didn't want to talk to you?

But before you could chicken out, you forced yourself to knock on Gally's door without thinking, soon hearing the thud of footsteps nearing. With bated breath, you waited for the door to open, anxiety gripping your mind so intensely that it almost triggered your fight or flight response. But Gally's almost hopeful and shocked expression when he saw you waiting relaxed you a little bit. "...hi." Gally voiced, the nervous and confused tone to his voice not going unnoticed by you.

"Hi." You replied, your voice probably just as shaky and nervous as his.

"Uh, come in." He said quickly, moving out of the doorframe, his hands slightly shaking when he motioned you to enter his room.

Your heart was beating out of your chest, so fast and hard that you were worried Gally would be able to hear it. Your hands were shaking, as well as your legs as you walked into his room, it was a miracle you didn't collapse right then and there. You tried not to jump as you heard the click of his door closing, you tried to take deep calming breaths before Gally turned to face you, the two of you almost on complete opposite sides of the room just standing awkwardly.

You stared at Gally, your gaze running up and down his body but ultimately stopping to stare at his chest. Tears quickly came to your eyes as you saw how healthy he looked, like a spear wasn't embedded in his chest months ago. You couldn't stop the flow of whimpers that came from your throat, putting your hands up to cover your face in embarrassment. You felt your face start to burn as you felt Gally's arms wrap around you as soon as you started to cry, but his warmth comforting you only caused you to let out more tears.

You never thought you'd be in his arms again.

Gally stood there silently, holding you and just trying to soothe you as best he could. In the back of his mind, he was astonished that you even let him come near you, you had avoided him altogether up until this moment. But the whimpers he heard coming from you, seeing the tears spilling from your eyes, he instinctively went to hug you. He also couldn't ignore the guilt he felt, thinking that you were crying because of him. He hated it. But you hugged him back tightly, burying your face in his chest and trying to stifle your sobs.

"You're here..." You cried softly, "you're really here..."

Gally's lip trembled, tears of his own brimming his eyes at how much pain you must've been in thinking he was dead all this time, your voice giving away your feelings. He exhaled shakily, "I am here." He placed a kiss to the top of your head. "I'm here."

For a few minutes, you and Gally just held each other silently. You both needed this, understanding how badly you missed one another. Soon, you were able to calm yourself, but you still didn't pull away. Gally only pulled away slightly so he could see your face, frowning when he saw your eyes were puffy and tearstained. "I'm so sorry, Y/n."

You furrowed your brows, shaking your head. "What happened wasn't your fault, Gally." You said genuinely. No matter how much pain and anger you felt about what happened to Chuck, you never once blamed him. You knew W.C.K.D. killed him, and every other Glader who died. But Gally's frown told you everything you needed to know; he still blamed himself.

"I should've gone with you." He whispered, resting his forehead against yours. "How can you even stand the sight of me?"

"Because I know you never would've killed anyone if you weren't stung, especially Chuck."

Hearing Chuck's name out loud made tears brim Gally's eyes once more, tightening his fists in anger at himself. "Chuck deserved so much better...he wasn't supposed to die..." He cried, causing you to pull him back into your embrace, rubbing his back while trying to not to cry again.

"None of us deserved to get experimented on."

Eventually, you lead Gally to sit next to you on his bed, holding his hand. It felt so right to be sitting there with Gally, you missed him so much that you despised ever feeling even the slightest bit of anger when you first saw that Gally was alive. But one emotion did not go away, you still felt confused.

While sitting there with Gally, you couldn't help but think about Newt. He was so adamant about you reconciling with Gally, was he hoping that something would happen between you two? You truly cared a lot about Newt, and you knew he felt the same way, so you couldn't understand why he was acting this way.

You sighed softly when you started to feel sleepy, standing up slowly. "I should probably head back."

Gally quickly stood up with you. "Uh, you could stay here if you want?" He stammered, causing you to smile a little.

"That's okay. I already had a sleeping bag set up for me downstairs, so..."

Gally tried to hide his disappointed frown, choosing to walk up to you until you two were face to face. Maybe it was too soon, but ever since he saw you, Gally had the strongest urge to place his lips on yours. He missed your soft lips that he only had the privilege of feeling a few times back in the Glade before everything happened. He gently grabbed hold of your jaw, tilting your face up and leaning forward slowly.

You wanted him, you wanted him so bad. But before his lips could connect, Newt's face popped up in your mind and you couldn't, you forced yourself to turn away.

You tried not to look at Gally's face, knowing that he'd probably look like a kicked puppy. You couldn't, it would be too painful. "It's Newt." Gally frowned, taking a step back.

Your eyes widened, finally taking a glance over to him to indeed see that his expression was one of disappointment and sadness. "I never said-"

"You didn't have to." Gally interrupted. "I see the way you look at him...it's how you used to look at me." You stayed silent, a feeling of guilt washing over you. "I don't blame you, Y/n, for finding someone else. I'd never expect you to grieve over me forever, that's too selfish."

Hearing this, you had a terrifying thought that you needed to voice out loud. "Did you ever find someone else?" You asked nervously, afraid of his answer.

"No..." He smiled weakly, "No one that could ever compare to you."

You hated that you felt relieved, you were the one who seemed to be selfish. But, you couldn't just drop what you had with Newt now that Gally's still alive. You couldn't say anything else, what could you say to that?

"You should get some sleep." Gally said, opening his door and motioning you to get out.

"Gally..." You whispered.

"Please. Just...we have a busy day tomorrow."

You sighed. You couldn't argue with him.

Newt watched you walk back downstairs, getting into your sleeping bag with a very prominent frown. Doesn't seem like it went well, he thought. He felt relieved and frustrated at the same time. Newt really cared for you, he could even go as far as saying he loved you, but he needed you and Gally to get back together, or become friends again at least.

It wasn't too long ago that Newt found out he had the Flare. He saw the black and purple veins slowly travelling up his arm, and the pain, the pain was the worst part. You had already gotten close to him, so he was heartbroken to know that you'd just lose another person you cared for. After Gally, he knew you wouldn't be able to handle another loss. So when Gally showed up out of the blue, it was like a miracle, Newt's prayers had been answered.

Newt felt jealousy, of course, he wanted to stay with you. He didn't want Gally to take you from him, but what use would he be when he was dead or a Crank? He tried not to be angry with you, it wasn't your fault how you were feeling, but he needed to know you'd be okay when he was gone.

Newt did try talking to you about it, but you always changed the subject or simply didn't answer him. Before you all knew it, it was time to start planning Minho's rescue mission. Thomas didn't want to use Teresa, and hearing that only made Newt's anger bubble to the surface.

It wasn't like Newt to lash out like that, he was always so calm and relaxed. Maybe the stress finally got to him, maybe it was something else...

You immediately followed after Newt when he stormed out after yelling at Thomas, not knowing that Gally's sad eyes were following you. You couldn't think of anything else, you just had to know that Newt was okay.

You found Newt on the roof, sitting on the ledge. "Newt?" You asked, concerned. "Are you okay...?" You stepped closer captiously, finally taking a seat next to him.

Newt only smiled bitterly. "No...no, not really."

You sighed, looking out to the horizon, trying to find the right words to say. "We all thought Teresa was our friend...it's okay to be angry."

Newt shook his head. "It's not that."

You furrowed your brows. "Then, why did you lash out at Thomas?"

Newt bit his lip to keep it from trembling. He never wanted you to find out this way. He didn't even want you to know. But after that scene he made, he knew there was no point in hiding it anymore.

Tears came to your eyes as Newt lifted up his jacket sleeve, revealing his discolored arm. You knew what it was immediately, seeing it on every Crank you came across. "No..." You whispered. "No."

"I know I probably shouldn't have kept it from you, but I was scared. I still am."

"We'll fix it!" You quickly said, it sounding more like a plead. "We'll find another cure!"

Newt only gave you a weak smile. "I don't think that's a possibility right now, love. Besides, Minho needs us."

"No, you're not allowed to give up like that, Newt. We'll find something to help you. If Brenda was cured, so can you. Teresa might-"

"Please, Y/n." Newt voiced sharply. "Please...just stop. I don't need false hope."

Before you could say anything else, you heard the roof access door open, Thomas walking up to the two of you. "Y/n, can I, uh, talk to Newt? Alone?"

You looked to Newt, who nodded, signaling for you to leave. You stood up, speed walking inside and down the stairs. The tears kept falling, blurring your vision, and you had no idea what to do. Newt was dying, and there was nothing that you could do about it, and it didn't seem like he was too eager to try and find a cure. You hoped Thomas could talk some sense into him. But in that moment, your feet subconsciously took you to Gally's little apartment. You stood in front of the door in tears, wishing that you didn't feel the urge to find comfort in him when Newt was sick. But, you knocked on the door, quickly placing yourself in Gally's arms as soon as he was in front of you.

Gally didn't know what was wrong, he barely got a good look at your face before you threw yourself at him. But the way you were shaking and whimpering, he knew you were crying, and he didn't have the heart to pull away from you. He walked backwards and shut his door, leading you to sit down on his bed with him. He just held you as you cried, leaning his head down on top of yours until you calmed down. He finally spoke when your cries were just quiet sniffles. "What happened?"

You exhaled a shaky breath, lifting your head to look at Gally. "Newt has the Flare..."

"W-What...?" Had Gally heard that right? Could his mind be playing tricks on him? He just assumed everyone that was in the Glade was immune, that's why they were there, right? But you repeated what you had said, confirming what Gally thought he heard. "I...I'm so sorry..." That's all Gally could say. He wasn't very well spoken in these types of situations, all he could do was bring you back into another hug.

You finally understood why Newt was pushing you to get close to Gally again; he wanted you to be close to someone when he died.

Yet another situation that had you confused. You knew you loved Gally, you always had, he was your best friend. But now you had Newt, he helped you through everything while in the Scorch, helped you try to overcome your grieve and probably saved your life multiple times. How could you possibly make a decision like this?

You and Gally never put a label on what you had in the Glade, and nobody asked either, not even Alby. You both just knew that you cared for one another, that you'd do anything for the other. But as time went on, you felt guilty knowing what you'd ultimately choose. It was always going to be a lose lose for you.

Newt needed you, and you couldn't leave him when he needed you the most.

Gally, deep down, knew what your decision was going to be. You had a big heart. You never would leave anyone behind, even if they were infected. Back in the Glade, Gally wouldn't have hesitated in sacrificing the few to save the many, but you were never like that. You cared about everyone, especially the people who were closest to you. You never were going to give up on Newt, you couldn't now. You would spend as much time with him as possible, what little time he might've had left. And you did, until he took his final breath.

You felt like you were a glass vase that had been shattered, and every time you tried to pick up the pieces, the glass would just cut deeper and deeper into your skin. It felt like life didn't want you to be put back together. Nothing felt real. Everything that happened in the Last City felt like a fever dream. You hoped that one day you'd wake up and you'd be back in the Glade, everyone was still alive. Maybe if you could go back in time, maybe you could save everyone, maybe you could've convinced Gally to listen to Thomas, maybe you could've held off Newt a bit longer in time for Brenda to give him the cure.

A lot of maybe's, a lot of hopes and prayers, never answered.

Now in the Safe Haven, you felt anything but safe.

You didn't talk to anyone for awhile, not even Gally. You had nothing to say, and you were afraid of breaking down in front of everyone. So, you isolated yourself. And then a couple weeks later, you finally felt everything bubble to the surface.

Sitting down somewhere along the coastline, not too close to the water, but close enough that you could feel the salty breeze of the waves hit you gently as the evening cooled when the sun started to go set.

You tucked yourself up into a ball, your knees as close as you could get them to your chest and your arms wrapped tightly around them. And, you cried. And cried. And cried. And cried. The ugly kind of crying. Your tears weren't coming out one eye at a time in a perfectly straight line down your face like in the movies, you weren't making quiet sniffles or whimpers, you were full on sobbing. Tears came out of your eyes so fast that you could barely make out the sun on the horizon, your shirt sleeves were most definitely covered in snot and whatever salty tears it had the chance to catch. Your throat felt like it was being torn apart by how intense your sobs were. The sobs sounded more like you were having a coughing fit, one of those phlegmy hacking coughs that made you feel like you were going to vomit.

You knew you most likely weren't far enough away from the camp to quiet your weeping, and you knew you were just embarrassing yourself, arranging for yourself to be completely humiliated the next morning when you had to face everybody. But in the moment, you couldn't care less. You loss someone so important to you, it felt like losing Gally all over again. But you knew this time, it was final. No surprise resurrections this time. You felt completely, and utterly, alone.

But you never were.

You felt so dissociated and detached from yourself, the wails of grief too much for your body to handle. You couldn't feel anything around you, not the warmth of the sand, not the slight chill breeze, not even Gally's arms wrapped around you tightly. You didn't realize until you passed out from exhaustion, waking up the next morning in a bed that wasn't yours, and a hut that wasn't yours.

Your vision was still a little bit blurry, all the tears from the night previous crusting to the creases around your eyes, making it a bit of a challenge opening them all the way. But, your other sense were intact enough to tell you that bacon and eggs were next to you on a bedside table. You hadn't eaten the day before, so it was mostly a primal reaction to quickly take the plate and gobble up the food.

You still had to rely on context clues to figure out where you were in the camp. As much as your eyes irritated you, they could now finally work once you were wide awake. You probably should've known immediately who's hut it was, but seeing that familiar grey knitted hoodie settled ungracefully over the backrest of a chair, you knew it was Gally's.

You blushed quickly after that realization. How did he know where you were, and how much did he see? The thought of him seeing you in such a state made you cringe. But what was more horrifying was that Gally was right outside the room, waiting for you to wake up. "Hey..." He voiced, his eyebrows knitted in concern, eyes full of sadness.

You had to look away, the heat rushing to your face making you feel like you were going to pass out again. "Hi." You croaked, your vocal cords still sore and raw.

Gally shifted his weight nervously, taking a step closer to you. "I'm sorry, for bringing you here...I was afraid you were going to hurt yourself." You snapped you gaze back to him in confusion, him quickly blushing, scratching the back of his head. "Uh, Newt told me about what you did to yourself after...after the Maze."

You self-consciously rubbed the spot on your chest where a big scar still remained. "I wasn't trying to...you know, kill myself or anything."

"Forgive me if I don't believe you." He said softly, taking a seat on the bed next to you.

You sighed, crossing your arms. "I just...I didn't know what I was thinking."

Gally gently grabbed ahold of your hand, making you uncross your arms, letting his warm hand take yours. "I'm so sorry, Y/n. Newt should be here with the rest of us. He was a good person."

You nodded as tears came to your eyes again, burning enough to make you whimper, and you leaned your head against Gally's shoulder. "I miss him so much." You cried.

Eventually, you and Gally became close again. He was always there for you. Whenever you had nightmares, whenever you were lonely, whenever you needed anything, Gally would always be there. You started to feel your relationship had almost gotten back to the point where it was in the Glade, it had been almost a year, but you still felt it was too early to be moving on. A part of you didn't want to move on, but you knew that's not what Newt wanted either.

You didn't read the note Newt wrote to you when Thomas first gave it to you. The grief was still too near, and you didn't know if you could handle it. But a couple months after your breakdown, you finally read it. Newt loved you, he had always loved you. And he wanted you to be happy, he didn't want you to be sad that he was gone, even though he knew it would be impossible. But he knew you would be okay, he knew Gally would protect you no matter what. Reading his note was part of the reason you knew it would be okay to be with Gally, it just took you some time.

One day, you and Gally were taking a break from working, just sitting near the forest tree line, and you did it; you kissed him, and you couldn't stop, you didn't want to stop. And you didn't, and neither did Gally.

After that, it was almost impossible to spend any time away from each other.

You never thought you'd smile again, but Gally always found a way. He made you so happy, and it made you cry one night when you finally realized that you were happy, and you knew somewhere out there, it made Newt happy.

~~~~~~~~~~

Cries in Español