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stevesxyellowxsweater · 4 months

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Satisfied

PAIRING: Prince!Steve Harrington x Reader WC: 3k CW: Minors do not interact!! No use of y/n, very few uses of feminine pronouns, I believe that it is fairly gender neutral. Reader wears makeup, and a pink puffy outfit also called maid of honour. (Please kindly correct me if I'm wrong.) Angst, heartbreak, mentions sadness, cheating if you squint. SUMMARY: It's time to celebrate your sister's wedding! What a wonderful celebration you'll have... if only you were the bride. Based on Hamilton's song Satisfied AUTHOR NOTES: Here is my first ever fic based off of a song, so please be gentle with me! This is a total labour of love and I hope you all enjoy it. @entermxnson I love you, thank you so much for the support and always reading my work it means a lot. @reidsbtch thank you for reading it for me and giving your opinion. Credit to @cafekitsune for the amazing dividers.

The door shook as you flung it open, rushing inside desperate for a moment of solace. The tears you'd been fighting since the beginning of the ceremony were already starting to slip from your eyes as you slammed the bathroom stall shut. Sitting on the toilet seat you watched the awful pink plume of a dress your sister chose rise for a moment. Anger and frustration caused you to fight it down to reach for the tissue as the tears truly began to fall.

Nothing felt right, everything inside you just hurt. Having to watch the man you love marry another woman ripped your heart in two. Maybe you would have learnt to deal with it, but the person he married was your sister. Mascara tears flowed down your face, you were unable to stop them. He looked so handsome today, he looked so perfect. But he wasn't yours, he was hers. Prince Steve Harrington chose his bride and that was your younger sister.

The door to the bathroom opened, and heels clicked gently as someone entered the room. “It's almost time for your toast.” It was your youngest sister, did she know you were crying? Did she know you loved your sister's husband? “Dad is about to start.” You wiped your eyes and steadied yourself, hoping that she'd not hear the sadness in your voice as you spoke. “I'll be right out, this damn dress is a pain to go to the bathroom in.”

She laughed, she didn't know. “I'll tell Dad to start, maybe Dustin can give his speech before you.” You smiled, thankful at the idea. “I'll be right there.” You said once more. There was a pause and your heart thumped hard as you thought she was going to say more. “Okay.” She finally said before her heels clicked away and the door swished open and shut. You sat there in science for a moment, the tears still wanting to trickle down your face. But you knew you needed to lock them away.

Standing up, you stepped out of the stall to see the damage your tears had done to your war paint. Fixing it the best you could, you then took several deep breaths and left the bathroom to face your doom. You hated public speaking, but you had to do this, you had to because she'd begged you to stand here and raise a glass in front of the royals, in front of his friends and your friends. In front of Billy Hargrove, you should've agreed to date all those years back instead of telling him he disgusted you.

Stepping into the room, you could feel a sinking feeling in your stomach as you approached Dustin Henderson and the microphone. “Alright, alright. Here's the moment we've all been waiting for, give it up for the maid of honour!” You smiled gently and took the microphone as everyone around you clapped. Taking a deep breath, you stared at the floor trying to focus. You needed to speak, you needed to say something but your heart was aching, your stomach swirling, and you just wanted to run away. “I’m not much for public speaking, so I’m going to keep this short and sweet.” You said with a gentle and almost awkward laugh.

You stared at the floor for a moment, trying to come up with words. You were meant to have something written, but you hadn’t been able to. Each time you tried to put something on paper all you could do was think about Steve and how he was meant to be yours. How he should’ve been yours. Now it was dooms day and here you were, nothing prepared and all fucking eyes were on you. You could always wing it, no one would know. Right?

Snapping out of your trance, you looked up and smiled. “A toast to the groom.” You said lifting your glass to the room. “And to the bride, from your sister who is always by your side.” You said with a smile and placed a hand on your chest. You did love her, even if your heart was shattered, she was your best friend. “To your union, and the hope that you provide to everyone here.” You smiled around the room as your cup was lifted high. “May you always…” your eyes landed on Steve, his eyes were glued to yours. His long fingers held his champaign flute high as he watched you. “Be satisfied.”

As the words left your mouth, as your eyes took in the sight of the man you loved, he slowly lowered his glass while everyone toasted. The pair of you stared deep into each other's eyes, unable to look away. The world around you began to rewind and go back to that night that you would regret for the rest of your days. The night you met and lost the only person who you ever wanted, and you gave up for family.

The lights twinkled like candlelight, it felt like a dream as you and your sisters arrived at the party. From the moment you stepped inside the ballroom, eligible men began to fawn over the three of you, desperate to get your attention. Your family was well off, and everyone knew it. Weaving through the crowd, you got yourself a glass of champagne and swayed to the music enjoying the scene around you for a moment as you stood alone.

Several men had approached you while you enjoyed your time people-watching, not a single one was interesting to you at all. Hargrove, Munson, Byers. With a simple smile and a decline of dancing, they moved on quickly to other women, some trying your sisters, some approaching Nancy Wheeler or Tammy Thompson. None of them mattered to you, even interested you. They didn’t make your heart race.

But then you saw him.

Everything changed in that moment, you knew you'd never be the same again. Those beautiful eyes, that perfectly crafted jaw. Slender body, he looked muscular even if he looked a tad skinny. His eyes locked to yours, and it was as if time stood still for a moment. He began to move fighting against the sea to meet you. Straight across the dance floor, bumping into couples, his eyes never leaving you for a second.

Maybe it was gravity, he was the sun and you were a planet. Or maybe he was a magnet attracting you with an intensity that you had never felt before. Either way, you made your way to him, meeting near the edge of the dance floor. Your eyes focused on each other, neither daring to look away.

“Hi.” Your heart skipped a beat as he continued to stare deep into your soul. His voice was as silky smooth as caramel. What was a proper greeting? What was your name again? You couldn't remember as you stared at him, fuck how could someone have such an effect on you? This never happened to you before, you weren’t that sort of person.

“Hi.” You finally managed to say. He smiled and stretched his hand out. “May I have this dance?” He questioned, before he could even finish his sentence your hand was on his. His touch set you on fire, every part of you aflame.

Moving to the dance floor, the pair of you began to dance. His arm around your waist as he held your hand, your other resting on his shoulder. Your bodies moved close together, an intense desire bubbling between the two of you, that neither of you had ever felt before. You couldn’t take your eyes off of his face. The way moles littered his face, how his hair just fell perfectly in place almost like he wasn’t even trying. Was this what love felt like?

“You strike me as a person who has never been satisfied.” The way he spoke in your ear sent your stomach twisting, desperation and desire bubbling up inside of you. You were practically salivating as you felt yourself becoming turned on by his voice. “I’m sure I don't know what you mean, you forget yourself.” You replied looking up at him. He was bold, and you liked it.

He smiled, a boyish smile on his face. “You're like me, I'm never satisfied.” His face was close to yours, you could feel his breath on your face as you thought about what it would be like to feel his lips on yours. Biting your lip, you looked up at him attempting to keep your composure. “Is that right?” You asked, unable to stop the smile from breaking through. “I've never been satisfied.” He whispered to you. Your eyes met as your lips moved close to each other’s. You didn’t feel like you could breathe, you wanted him.

You told him your name with a smile, proud of your family. “Steve Harrington.” He replied. “Where is your family from?” He smiled and shook it off. “Unimportant, there's a million things I haven’t done, so just you wait.” He told you as his forehead touched yours. His hands fidgeting didn't go unnoticed, or the way he looked away for a moment. It was like he was hiding something.

He was so graceful on his feet, his eyes were locked to yours at each moment. You couldn't stop smiling. Even as the song ended, you were meant to clap for the band. But Steve kept hold of your hand, not wanting to let you go. He escorted you to the side so you could talk more.

You began to talk about literature, about science, and so much more. He was like you, you had so much in common. You'd never before met someone who matched your wit. What was the catch? He seemed too good to be true, was it possible to see find your soulmate tonight?

You couldn't stop the hopeful feeling inside you. You rarely found someone that you had so much in common with, and yet here you were. Steve Harrington, the man who came from nowhere and wormed his way into your heart with only a few minutes of your time.

Of course you couldn't help but notice how much of a flirt he was, the way he touched your arm, the way he gazed into your eyes. His smile was causing you to melt on the spot, for heat to pool between your legs. You needed him more than you could ever begin to admit.

He was so handsome, and he clearly knew it. Your eyes studied his jaw and how his beard fuzz was beginning to settle in. His eyes were the most captivating thing you'd ever seen and the way his face was decorated with moles and freckles. Were they all over his body? You questioned mentally as he spoke, saying something to make you laugh.

You decide that you want to take him away, that you want to be alone with him, that privacy was something you were desperate for with Steve. You were in society, of course you shouldn't be thinking about what the pair of you could do alone, but it was so very tempting. Alone with Steve, a place where your lips could meet and the pair of you could give into the hunger that you both felt.

Turning to lead him away, your eyes landed on your sister across the room. Her eyes were on Steve and you suddenly realized the look she had on her face, she was in love. She was helpless as she gazed at Steve, she wanted him as badly as you did and as you stared at her you began to realize three reasons you shouldn't be with him.

“Where are you taking me?” You heard Steve ask, your hand still holding his. “I'm about to change your life.” You tell him with a smile. “Then by all means lead the way.” He said his fingers brushing over yours as he smiled. You know that this is the last moment he will be yours, the last minute that you will ever see him look at you that way.

Number one.

You were the oldest, it was your job to marry a well off man who could help take care of your father when he was old. You were the best choice though, even if you did say so yourself. But from the insidious gossip that echoed throughout the town Steve was penniless… but that didn't mean you wanted him any less.

You watched your sister introduce herself to Steve, a shy but bold smile as she looked at him. His eyes looked toward you as he heard the last name. “She's my sister.” You said with a charming grin.

Number two.

He was only after you because of your last name, you'd be naive to ignore that. He knew you were rich, he knew that it would set him on the right path. You couldn't have someone using you, so your sister seemed like the better option. Of course if you'd of realized the truth, if you knew who he was you'd have kept him for yourself.

Watching as the two of them spoke, the way he held her hand and placed a kiss on it, it hurt. He was meant to be yours, he should've been yours. “I'll leave you to it.” You walked away, your hand moving to your chest as you did, it hurt. You were in so much pain at the loss of him. If you'd of looked back you'd have seen his eyes on you asking you to stay, asking for you.

Number three.

You knew your like you knew yourself, she was a good person and if you told her that you loved him she'd resign and he'd be yours. But you couldn't do that to her, you couldn't tell her that. Even if you told her that you loved him, and she told you that it was fine to have him. You knew she would've been lying. Glancing back for just a moment, you felt your heart breaking. He was no longer yours.

As your words for your toast echoed around you, you glanced down at the glass in your hand. You tried your best to keep your emotions in check. Looking up you smiled, before walking away. You didn't want to stay here, you couldn't stand it.

Stepping out into cool night air, your hands held onto your chest. Every night since you first met you think about him, you'd fantasize about his eyes and each little part of him. You wished you'd not sized him up so quickly. It had been the biggest blow when you discovered he was a prince.

Tears began to trickle down your cheeks, at least you knew your sister would be happy as his bride. You'd never seen her so fucking happy. Even if you were miserable, at least she was. You honestly didn't care about the crown, didn't care that he was royal or rich, you only cared about him. But now your sister was his princess.

A jacket wrapped around your shoulders, cutting the cold from reaching you. You didn't need to turn around to know who it was, you could smell the expensive cologne. His presence always caused your heart to flutter. It always made your stomach twisted and made you feel nervous.

It was Steve.

“You strike me as a person who has never been satisfied.” He said in your ear, you could feel his touch, feel his hands on your waist and it was driving you insane.”I don't know what you mean, you forget yourself.” You whisper gently as you turn your head to look at him.

Your bodies were close, his hands on your arms, his breath in your ear. You just wanted him to hold you and tell you it was okay. Sighing gently you bit your lip. “You're like me, I'll never be satisfied.” He whispered to the point you could feel his lips on your ear.

“You shouldn't have said that in your toast.” Turning around you looked at him, your tears shon in the light. Slowly Steve reached up and wiped away your tears. “I don't care…” you whispered your voice breaking as you spoke. Without a word he pulled you into a hug and held onto you tightly.

You could feel his large hands on your back, the way he held you made you wish that you didn't just have to fantasize about him. But you knew that your sister would be happy as his bride, you couldn't do that to her. You didn't have it in your heart to hurt her.

Pulling back slightly, you looked into Steve’s eyes. His fingers moved to brush your hair from your face. “I will never be satisfied.” He whispered as he kept his eyes on you, unable to look away. You wanted so desperately to just have one kiss, just a single kiss with him. But you couldn't, he wasn’t yours.

Hearing calls of his name he glanced back toward the hall and sighed. Leaning forward he pressed his head against yours for a moment. Just soaking in that feeling of how losing a soulmate felt. You stood together, foreheads pressing to each other for maybe a moment before he stepped away.

Slipping off his jacket, you pushed it into his hand. It seemed as he took it his scent went with him. He looked you in the eyes one last time, glaning down you sighed as you heard his footsteps recede. It felt like he was walking out of your life forever. Looking up, you watched him as he glanced at you one last time before he left to go back inside to find his bride. As he disappeared in the crowd, the sadness bubbled over and the tears started once more.

“He will never be satisfied.” You whispered as you took a seat on a bench, your hands wiped away your tears as his lingering touch faded from you. “I will never be satisfied.”

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rippersz · 1 year

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𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘞𝘢𝘴 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨

✧── ･｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ──✧

(A Lady Alcina Dimitrescu x Reader oneshot/ramble/character study)

✧── ･｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ──✧

She was… everything.

Absolutely everything.

The end to every beginning, the beginning to every end, the hell and the heaven that humanity wrote and read about in books of religion. The black and the white, the evil and good, the pure and impure- she was clean and dirty, neat and messy, up and down and back and forth and left and right. She was every North star and every constellation and every natural disaster that roamed every land and every span of calm that followed such destruction. She was the organized stanzas of strict poetry and the whimsical plots of romantic letters to loved ones, she was the loved one and the writer- the letter and the words it held. She was the wax seal stamp and the care one possessed when holding something so special, she was the angry hand that tore that special apart and the seething teeth that followed that anger. She was the yin and yang of life, the devil and the god, the one who ruled but never obeyed. Her word was law and the law was her word, her nails drew the line and her feet always crossed it, her wings were black and grey and white all at the same time. She was a gift and a trap, a curse and a blessing, an offering and a prayer answered, she was all that mattered.

She was the reason you breathed, the reason you lived, the reason you woke up each morning instead of throwing yourself off of the Astronomy Tower balcony. She was the motivation in your tired arms and the bliss of your rare dreams. She was the ichor in your veins and the sweet melodies in your head. She was your anger and your sadness and your happiness and sorrow and desire and strength and passion- she was the driving force behind your very beating heart. Her existence was your hope and her presence- your salvation.

She was your ambrosia.

Your life line.

The breaths between your silence and the pity between your thoughts.

She was the message between the lines, and the damned lines themselves. She was the secret whispered into a person’s ear and she was the gasp that would soon follow. She was the period at the end of every sentence and the hastily rubbed eraser shavings as instead of keeping that period there, one would choose to replace it with a semicolon; she was the torn out page of an artist’s sketchbook and the pang of sadness that hit the artist’s heart when they notice how the tear ran into their precious work. She was the precious work. And the tear.

She was the food of your soul.

…

...

But…

Weren’t mortals always warned that the ambrosia would kill them?

…

That it would turn their blood to fire and bones to sand?

…

That against something so divine,

They didn’t stand a chance?

…

Maybe you never had a chance in the first place.

Maybe, from the moment you got there, your fate had already been written and sealed. Just like the wax stamp that she was.

Yes, maybe you were forever doomed.

To be in love.

With her.

And perhaps, for that reason only, you were the most foolish person on Earth.

Foolish sure, but also in love.

For when the scratchiness of the bed sheets in the maids quarters was cruel and unforgiving, keeping sleep at bay, you’d face your eyes to the moon- just barely peeking through the bars of the window’s glass- and tell her that being a fool was the best thing you could be if it meant you’d still have the chance to love your lady as you did.

Your lady.

And if not yours, then The Lady- because a woman like that could never be owned.

…

And yet.

...

And yet?

Your foolish girl heart would never be satisfied if it wasn’t she you woke up to each morning.

Because deep deep down, into your very core, every atom in your body, every cell, every beat of your heart and thought in your brain, every wave of blood in your veins, every butterfly in your stomach, and flower in your lungs- all of it- everything you did- screamed that it wasn’t you who mattered most. And deep down, resting beside that foolish wish of wanting to be hers, was the knowledge that- to you- she would always matter more. More than anything. Ever. More than life, more than death.

—

Yes, she was everything.

Your entire world wrapped up into the elegance of a noble woman with riches that could make kings gawk and beauty that could make queens cry.

And sure, perhaps you had a strange way of showing your affection, but none of that ever truly mattered. Your Lady simply couldn’t know.

Though sometimes, when the castle staff were all lined up for dinner- facing the nobility as they ate- sometimes you wished to step out of line and announce proudly that you were so unbelievably in love with her, even if it was just because she dabbed the corners of her lips with a cloth napkin oh so gently. Even if it was just because she held the silverware so pridefully. Even if it was just because she sent her daughters the smallest warm smile you had ever seen.

Because for you to love her… well… it didn’t take much. Not much at all.

—

Yes, she was everything.

She was everything when you cried alone in the shower, she was everything when you swiped angrily at the windows with a soapy sponge, she was everything when you fell into a blissfully peaceful sleep, she was everything even when fear made you freeze in your footsteps while the screams from the dungeons got louder. Through it all, she was everything.

But thank goodness you were nothing more than a maid.

You could love her better from afar.

On the slower days in the castle, when the staff got tired and even Your Lady and her daughters began feeling sluggish, you’d take the bucket of water and mop and your other necessities- and you’d clean in the portrait hall. You’d mop those already spotless floors and you’d reach half way across the corridor, and then you’d stop. And turn. And there- on the left (if you were entering from the right) would be the object of your affections.

The Great Dimitrescu Family Portrait.

Well- the one from Your Lady’s generation. (The other ones had been burned.)

It was large and wide and grand- with the most elaborately carved golden frame you had ever seen in your entire life. And in the center, of course, was the family you served.

Your Lady in the middle, dressed in her typically beautiful ensemble of white and black, sitting tall on a throne-like chair with one leg thrown over the other. Her golden eyes, even when painted, flared like a flame hid behind them. And her daughters- handsome in their own ways- stood behind and beside her. Miss. Cassandra, the tallest, standing behind the throne on Your Lady’s right, held her head high and hand clawed around the back of her mother’s seat. It gave notice that her mind was elsewhere- another factor being the smirk on her lips. Miss. Daniela stood on Your Lady’s left, right hand winding around the back of the chair’s golden frame as she leaned in a bit- her smile was wide and her eyes were dark. Lastly, and perhaps the best, Miss. Bela stood on Your Lady’s immediate right, looking reserved and almost harmless with a bored expression as her hands were clasped in front of her and her body leaned very close to the chair. As if she didn’t want to leave her mother’s side. Internally, you didn’t blame her at all. They looked like soldiers, protecting their queen.

That portrait was such a clear representation of their personalities… and their beauty… you couldn’t help but stop and stare everytime you passed it. Such strength from such imposing women. It actually made you smile. Of course your heart could only be stolen by a person so… so… grand. Heavenly. Spectacular. A billion other pretty words that would never be able to explain even a quarter of how great she was. And her daughters… you thought they were gorgeous in their own ways. Special… in their own ways.

Over time, you had observed just what it was about them.

Miss. Daniela was the most resourceful.

Miss. Cassandra was the strongest.

Miss. Bela was the most intelligent.

You liked watching them. More often than not, a small smile would work its way onto your face after you saw them bickering. Or angering their mother. They were quite funny.

—

Yes, she was everything.

She liked to read. Any subject. Any book she deemed worthy. But you suspected psychology was her favorite.

She held her teacup with her left hand and the saucer with her right. The Dimitrescu coat of arms was painted on all of her fine china. Sometimes her fingers would stroke over the detail while she was lost in thought.

She was also very mindful of her movements. Her red lips curved around the rim of her cups and she was careful not to smudge her lipstick or leave behind a strong print.

It was blackberry tea she liked. Blood added on stressful days, blood subtracted on peaceful ones.

She could stand perfectly still.

She liked to do her own hair.

Her bath always smelled of rose water and the number of plants in her bathroom always seemed to change.

Gardenias, Orchids, Helleborus Niger Snowbells and regular Snowbells, Camellias, and Arum Lilies.

You had done your best to read about them in the castle library.

They seemed to calm her down. Two smooth fingers gently slide under the petals and she keeps them a few centimeters away from her nose, taking a steady inhale to feel the sweet scent fill her lungs.

Her eyes would glance over every plant before she trailed out of the room, lingering for just a moment… as if to make sure they were alright.

Her pupils were a tad less dilated than the average human’s. It could only be noticed if one looked close enough.

Sometimes she stopped rather suddenly in the hallways. It was usually on the snowier days when the flurries were slow and large. She would be silent the entire time, watching the blanket of white fall. And then- well then she’d snap back into reality and turn and continue on her way. Those moments were never mentioned.

Though, she’d always sport a serene smile. It wouldn’t last long. But it would be there. As if those were her only peaceful moments and she had to soak it all in before life caught up with her. Those smiles were never mentioned either. You still thought they were beautiful.

She could control the severity of her footsteps. If she wanted to be heard, she’d be heard. But a lot of the time, she traveled in silence. Despite her size, she could walk without a squeak.

Her teeth were unbelievably symmetrical.

Her eyelashes were inhumanely thick and long, though she’d never use something as human as false cosmetics.

Her upper lip curled before her lower followed.

The only veins you could spot where the ones beneath the skin of her breasts.

The finest hairs covered her body, but they weren’t entirely noticeable.

When she smoked, she liked to tilt her head back and watch the grey clouds curl within the air. Though she usually only did that in private.

She liked the taste of raspberries.

The acid in pineapple was annoying against her tongue. She liked the sweeter pieces.

Her body rippled with muscle. Mainly in her back and legs, though the majority hid beneath the fabric of her clothing.

Her shoulders were wide enough to clear doorways.

Her claws were at least 5 to 6 feet long.

There were rings of amber around the pupil and iris of her eyes. Not completely gold. From afar, and even up close, they seemed to glow like lanterns. Lit from a fire deep inside. They were positively mesmerizing.

She liked the way her thighs looked.

She plucked her eyebrows.

She liked candlelight and candlelight liked her.

Sometimes, she hummed an old melody beneath her breath.

Her skin was cold. Very very cold. But she could get warm- although once the heat source was taken away, it would only be a few moments before the skin returned to its normal temperature.

She disliked summer.

Winter (and sometimes spring if it was a particularly good one that year) was her favorite season.

She also liked Christmas.

Giving gifts was her specialty. She always knew what to buy. She always knew the other person would like it.

She kept a few books of poetry beside her bed. You’d never caught the titles.

She was- well- she was a lot.

A handful.

She commanded rooms and brought silence and when she smiled something fierce, every breath in a million mile radius would catch and stutter to a halt. She changed the temperature with her mere presence. The air would bleed cold when she was upset, but it would feel like spring in the middle of winter if she was full of soft laughter and little grins.

On those days, even the house staff smiled.

—

Goodness- she was everything.

—

Absolutely everything.

—

You were so in love with her you could barely breathe.

—

She didn’t know of course. She could never know. Ever. She could never find out. It would surely be- disastrous. Terrible. She’d kill you… or worse… tell you to get the hell out of her castle. You couldn’t bear the thought of that. Being forced into exile… to go as far away from home as possible. No. It would be impossible. Nothing could ever keep you away from Your Lady. Not exile, not love, not life, not even death herself.

✧── ･｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ──✧

Lady Alcina Dimitrescu is a character held very close to my heart. I may or may not have a framed portrait of her beside my bed. This post was written long ago and has been cross posted on Ao3 - but I am far too lazy to grab that link. Thank you for reading. - Ripley x

(P.S. I have an Etsy shop where you can receive a hand written customized letter from Lady D. Check it out? Shop)

✧── ･｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ──✧

#fanfictionwriter #fanfic #fanfiction #rippersz #lady d #lady dimitrescu #lady alcina dimitrescu #lady d x reader #lady dimitrescu x reader #lady alcina x reader #lady alcina #re8 #resident evil #resident evil village #resident evil 8: village #resident evil lady dimitrescu

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emmatgc · 7 months

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Twin Flame ❤️

Tommy x Grace

The scene of Polly saying "or maybe its time you forget about her" and Tommy replying "forget about who?" is very poignant to me in the whole series and I'm sure to all viewers esp Tommy x Grace shippers. The acting and delivery was superb. The feelings oozing on the screen. We felt it.

Little did we know that line would foreshadow what's gonna happen and expose the mind of Tommy from the beginning, in between the break up, the reunion and her death.

Tommy has always been a conflicted and tormented man. He says this yet does exactly the opposite at times. But with Grace, he is ride or die, hell or heaven, he means what he says. Its black or white regardless his methods are greyish and blurry. Plain and simple, his feelings for Grace was never in question. Never in doubt.

To be fair, he tried to move on. He really did. She held on though. He let her go once, she left. I believe he really believed there's no future for them. I believe he thought he doesn't deserve her for both reasons-she was different and she hurt him. It is very interesting to me that never once Tommy brought up any anger or animosity about the so called "betrayal" of Grace in the show directly. The reunion scene was more of her being married to a rich guy. Hardly real anger. Polly did, yes but in a bigger picture, it is heavily implied, it was her job. An actual job. She got the best of her job and in the process lost her one true love at that time. They say all is fair in love and war but neither was true.

Both lost something. Both used each other. Both hurt each other. But the most amazing thing was? Neither of them cared. Neither was mad enough to let go. Neither was sane enough to move on. Neither was reasonable enough to hate or take revenge against one another. For above all of it was love. Love. Respect. Integrity. They were fighting for causes they believed in. In reality, that is a fight worth fighting for ever damn time.

Tommy fell in love with a woman fighting for a cause she believed in. She was not perfect, oh no, she was very flawed, too. But Tommy?heck he was the worse of them all, the family I mean. No sugar coating. Tommy was not a simple man. He was bad, in a lot of ways. But yes, he had redeemable qualities. Twin flames, they were. For better or worse.

See, their worse is not worse though. Theirs was a shining beacon of hope. What they had was a promise of tomorrow, a brighter future and a peaceful life. All colors of Tommy and Grace were brighter, clearer and bigger. That's deliberate by the show. Not coincidence.

So, 2 years without her don't mean a thing. He chose to let her stay-in his mind, heart and soul. She moved on but see that's one of her biggest mistakes. Grace, for me I believe was the one angry he didn't followed her or stopped her the 1st time. Tommy's ego would not allow that plus Tommy loves Grace too much to force her into staying . He respects her too much to make up her own mind. It upsets many Tommy fans that Tommy was passive, indecisive about Grace like dude, forget about her already! You have your whores, etc..she is just another woman, there will be others as Polly said. Yet, there was none.

Tommy held on. Grace held on. Despite the odds. Both patiently waited under dire circumstances. Both went through the uncertainties and dangers, the family objection, the doomed life and for what? For Love. So, no, nobody forgot. Nobody truly moved on. Nobody let go. Those 2 years be damned. Didn't put a dent to Tommy's feelings. Grace loved Tommy, she came back but Tommy fell harder. She was his oxygen. His air and water. You don't forget that. You simply can't. She leaves him breathless after all.

When after all is said and done, all Grace had to do was say "It's me" and the battlefield is back and Tommy is alive again. Love is a battlefield for Tommy. Grace had no one left only Tommy. Tommy had so many baggage but Grace was a priority. Grace warned her. She took his heart and never gave it back. Not because she doesn't want to but because he doesn't want to give it back nor give it to someone else. He allowed his heart to be taken away, broken and repaired only to be broken again. He doesn't care at all. If Only for her. Only with her. They will always find each other. Twin Flame, Tommy and Grace.

#grace shelby #tommy x grace #tommy x grace forever #annabelle wallis #grace burgess #true love always win #twin flame #Spotify

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badlydrawnpsionic · 7 months

Note

wanna read a fic i wrote about the time you got helmed? no? well too bad

TW FOR NONCON, GASLIGHTING, AND BLOOD

The Empress briskly walks to the coolant room with a grin on her face. She seems to be getting happier and happier as time goes by, which would be a good thing if the crew weren't subjected to her whims and ways and her general sadism. Even as she walks, the crew has cleared out of the hallways in fear of getting in her way. She reaches the coolant room, unlocks the door, and enters. Inside, there is a rather filthy goldblood with greasy unkempt hair and blood dried to his face. He is in the center of the room, connected to bio wires that line the walls, ceiling, and floor, while the floor itself is submerged in a pool of water that is roughly 5 feet deep. The goldblood, a.k.a the Helmsman, is actively using his psionics to power the ship, although not willingly. He is constantly forced to use his power, which is taking its toll on both his mind and body. As can be seen by anyone who witnesses, he is almost always bleeding from the eyes and mouth, his breathing is almost always heavy and laboured, and on occasion, he can be heard loudly cackling and screaming, likely from pain and stress. He looks up at the Empress through his blood-smeared goggles and hisses. the Empress chuckles.

"Aww, that's cute. So feisty, yet can't do shit."

She approaches him, grinning widely.

"You ought to clean yourself up. You smell like death. Oh wait, that's right~ you can't!"

She laughs in his face as he stays silent. Silent and angry, yet fearful. He hisses again, but it's almost impossible to hear. The Empress continues speaking to him in her cruel, patronizing way.

"Awwwww, why are you hissing at me? Don't you know that I'm the reason why you're so lucky to be alive right now? If it wasn't for my kindness, you'd be dead, just like your little rebel friends."

Now, he speaks. His voice has gone raspy due to wearing out his vocal cords from the constant screaming and laughing and crying he has been doing since he joined the crew as the Helmsman.

"Please, go away. You're the last person I want to see right now."

The Empress laughs.

"Oh please, you don't even want to see other people! You've drowned 3 other crew members in the past week, and besides, I love you!"

He bares his large, oversized fangs.

"What you're putting me through isn't love, it's hell. Pure unbridled hell..."

"Don't be stupid, you silly minnow! I love you more than those damn rebels did. They were just using you."

"At least they didn't torture me..."

The Empress clenches her fist at the remark, but restrains herself from lashing out. She keeps her wide grin, however, a small muscle twitches in the corner of her eye.

"Listen here, Helmsman. Your noble work is what's helping the Empire flourish. Now be a good boy, and keep up the good work. But before I go, I'll give you some... Motivation."

She loses her anger, leans in close to him, and puts her hand on his soiled cheek. He tries to back away and avoid her, but can't as the bio wires prevent him from moving. Then, she forcefully kisses him on the lips.

"Don't worry, the conquest is only just beginning. You'll get to have a whale of a time out on the battlefield, when you learn to be patient."

She grins once more, then leaves him alone with his thoughts. Not long after the door locks behind her on her way out, he screams. He screams in pain, in fear, and in sorrow. Sorrow, for his friends are all dead and he's now all alone with only his awful, evil, cruel mistress to torment him. Something within him hopes that his scream may be registered by someone that would actually want to help him, but he knows better. There's no one left to help him, and there will never be any more help for him. He is forever doomed to live out the rest of this hellish existence in pain and solitude.

[ no im not in the helm]

[im] [where am i]

#homestuck #the psiioniic #the helmsman

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shittydrawnsollux · 7 months

Note

welllllllllllll since you gave me the clear to send the fanfic,,,,, *deviously rubs hands together*

TW FOR GASLIGHTING N SHIT AND ALSO LONG

"Aww, that's cute. So feisty, yet can't do shit."

She approaches him, grinning widely.

"You ought to clean yourself up. You smell like death. Oh wait, that's right~ you can't!"

She laughs in his face as he stays silent. Silent and angry, yet fearful. He hisses again, but it's almost impossible to hear. The Empress continues speaking to him in her cruel, patronizing way.

"Awwwww, why are you hissing at me? Don't you know that I'm the reason why you're so lucky to be alive right now? If it wasn't for my kindness, you'd be dead, just like your little rebel friends."

Now, he speaks. His voice has gone raspy due to wearing out his vocal cords from the constant screaming and laughing and crying he has been doing since he joined the crew as the Helmsman.

"Please, go away. You're the last person I want to see right now."

The Empress laughs.

"Oh please, you don't even want to see other people! You've drowned 3 other crew members in the past week, and besides, I love you!"

He bares his large, oversized fangs.

"What you're putting me through isn't love, it's hell. Pure unbridled hell..."

"Don't be stupid, you silly minnow! I love you more than those damn rebels did. They were just using you."

"At least they didn't torture me..."

The Empress clenches her fist at the remark, but restrains herself from lashing out. She keeps her wide grin, however, a small muscle twitches in the corner of her eye.

"Listen here, Helmsman. Your noble work is what's helping the Empire flourish. Now be a good boy, and keep up the good work. But before I go, I'll give you some... Motivation."

"Don't worry, the conquest is only just beginning. You'll get to have a whale of a time out on the battlefield, when you learn to be patient."

TA: holy 2hiit (holy shit)

TA: youre liike really fuckiing good at wriitiing but al2o. holy 2hiit. (youre like really fucking good at writing but also. holy shit.)

TA: that2 all ii have two 2ay really. (thats all i have to say really.)

TA: depre22iing (depressing)

#ask #rinatepaste #badly drawn #badlydrawn #homestuck #sollux captor #dogboyified #tw noncon #tw blood #tw gaslighting #?? ask to tag

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shippaidan · 2 years

Text

no one says that they are afraid of love as beautifully as you do

>>chapter: three >>pairings: chuuya x fem!reader | dazai x fem!reader >>genre: angst, hurt/comfort >>status: ongoing >>words: 2,9k >>cw: she/her pronouns for reader, swearing, alcohol, smoking, mentions of blood, basically whole mental breakdown, a lot of anger and self-blame, yelling and aggression

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RAGE.

A heart-wrenching scream ripped from her throat and cut brutally through her quiet apartment as soon as she closed the door behind her. She forcefully opened the refrigerator and pulled out an almost full bottle of alcohol. The cap was thrown somewhere on the ground and without hesitation she took three large sips, wincing slightly as she did so. She set the bottle down on the table and began pacing around the kitchen. Shaking fingers entwined in her hair and clenched into tight fists, pulling hard on strands. She tried at all costs to distract herself from the hurricane that was wreaking unimaginable destruction in her mind. She thought she had put it all behind her. Oh how wrong she was.

Months passed one after another. As a coping mechanism, she threw herself into a frantic whirl of work, trying to avoid moments when she would be alone with her thoughts. When such moments did come, they were usually lonely evenings, which she completely drenched in alcohol.

Evenings like this one.

She wasn't having such a bad day at work. It was productive, but not stressful. She finished the paperwork, filled out all the reports, delivered them to her boss and even got a praise for a recent mission. She had her lunch, as usual, with Chuuya in his office, and they spent the whole time having fun small talk and joking around. They exchanged gossip about their coworkers and even planned to ask their boss for a weekend off together, so they could get away somewhere far away and relax from the hectic city and the rush of work. She was having such a good day, so when did things start to go downhill?

Dazai's case had long since become a taboo subject in the mafia. Everyone kept quiet about the prodigy executive's betrayal and didn't return to the topic, for which she was extremely thankful inside. Dazai was slowly fading away into the past. Memories of him covered with dust, somewhere in the back of her mind. And everything was going so well. Until a face so confusingly similar to his flashed before her eyes, somewhere in the huge crowd in downtown Yokohama.

Time slowed down. Even the raindrops seemed to stop in mid-air, and the din of people was muffled by her galloping thoughts. His face flashed before her eyes for only a second, and she wasn't even sure if it was really him. But how much it hurt. Only then did she fully realize that he was not completely gone. He wasn't dead. He had simply left her alone to start a new beginning. Without her. She meant so little in his life that he walked away without even once looking back. While he was her whole world.

He left her alone to grieve for her friend and to come to terms with the betrayal of another. Just like that, he'd thrown her out of his life like trash, selfishly fleeing from his problems. Damn coward. Always fucking running away.

Only one feeling filled her in that moment. Unbridled and burning rage.

She couldn't remember the exact moment when she relatively came to herself. She regained full consciousness when once again she took the bottle in her hand and this time drank it almost to the bottom. The alcohol burned her throat just as brutally as the anger burned her heart. She screamed again in anguish and threw the bottle against the wall. Small shards of glass along with the remains of the alcohol decorated her floor, creating a beautiful mosaic. Beautiful, if not for the circumstances under which it was created. But couldn't things created out of pain be beautiful? Are they doomed to failure and ugliness just because of the way they were created?

The glistening glass mesmerized her. It will never again create the vessel it once was, but does that mean it no longer has any value? That it does not hide a beauty that can only be discovered by destroying its original form? That it cannot be a picturesque mosaic on the floor of a broken person? Is it not the same with people?

She fell heavily to her knees and with particular care began to pick up the fragments of glass, as if she had just collected her own soul and mourned for it.

Her blank gaze was fixed on the glass that was hurting her hands, just as her own thoughts were sabotaging her. Small droplets of blood bubbled to the surface, but she felt no pain. Everything was interrupted by the ringing of the phone aggressively shattering the heavy silence of the apartment. She immediately recognized who was calling because she had set a custom ringtone for him a few weeks ago. Their favorite song.

She was about to ignore it and let the sounds envelop her, but she didn't have the heart to once again break the promise she had made to him a few weeks ago. So she clumsily got up from the floor, putting the glass down on it, and went to the kitchen to get the phone. As soon as she answered the call, a familiar voice rang out from the speaker.

"Hi, I just talked to the boss and so far next weekend should be ok. When I get home, I'll look for something we can rent, so I thought maybe-"

"Hey Chuuya" her voice hoarse from earlier shrieks immediately silenced the man. "Can you come over?" It cost her a lot to utter that sentence. Never before had she spoken so openly about her weaknesses and admitted to her dark moments. Not even to mention asking for help. But she knew that this time, she did not want to go through it alone.

"I'll be there in ten. Are you ok? I mean physically." He asked, and the echo of his footsteps in the underground parking lot could be heard in the background.

"Yeah. It's just, I don't want to be alone right now. I think I need a hug." Admitting it out loud was harder than she thought it would be. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe the realization that Chuuya had taken her seriously and once again had to come to help her clean up the mess in her life, but she felt vulnerable. The man was ready to drop everything, to completely abandon his plans for a relaxing evening with a glass of wine, just because of her. What must she have done in her previous life that she deserved someone like that?

"That's okay. Everything is fine. I'll be with you in a moment." The sound of the engine starting came to her ears.

"I hate him, you know? I hate him with all my heart."

"I know, hun. I know." Pet name felt so natural on his tongue. He could definitely get used to it. "I'll be over in a minute and we'll talk, you'll tell me everything."

She nodded, even though she knew he wouldn't be able to see her. However, after a moment's thought, she realized that she didn't even have anything to tell him. Nothing major happened. The whole situation was beginning to take on a nasty pathetic hue in her mind. The anger bubbling in her stomach was no longer directed solely towards Dazai, but she too had become a victim of it. It was pathetic how weak of a human she was.

She looked around the demolished apartment that she didn't even remember destroying. She had probably done it that evening, somewhere between taking more sips of alcohol and despairing over her own weakness. Broken plates and glasses adorned the counters and kitchen floor, dirty dishes were piled up in the sink, pillows were scattered all over the living room. And she sat next to the mosaic she had created.

The clock read an hour well past midnight. A wave of heat hit her. Her breathing became heavy and irregular. Furious at her own powerlessness, she clenched her fists and tried with all her might to stop herself from hitting the wall. The only thing that actually stopped her was the fact that she was still on the phone with the man heading to her apartment. She didn't want to worry him further, after all, she had caused him enough problems already.

A million thoughts ran through her mind. She realized that for every thousand memories with Dazai that she carefully nurtured in her heart despite sincere attempts to erase them completely, she had just as many with Chuuya. Their missions together filled with cheerful banter, driving through the streets of a sleeping city in the middle of the night yelling out the words of their favorite songs, cigarettes smoked in silence, and conversations in which they almost touched each other's bare souls. He was always present in her life, even if she didn't always see it. And now it was dawning on her that all this time she had trusted the wrong person. Oh what a rotten being she was to not notice someone so wonderful right next to her.

For Chuuya, the road dragged on forever. He felt as if the whole world had turned against him as a red traffic light awaited him at almost every intersection. He stifled the urge to curse at any driver who drove too slowly in front of him, even if they were going according to the speed limit. Only the sight of an approaching apartment complex took a heavy stone off his chest. He sighed in relief and deftly parked in the nearest free spot.

"Okay, I’m here, so I'm hanging up. Wait for me." Taking only his phone with him, he got out of the car and headed across the parking lot. He nodded in greeting to the local security guard and got on the elevator. He didn't have to knock. Instinctively, he pulled an extra key to her apartment from his pocket, but it too turned out to be unnecessary because the door was open.

And the sight he found broke his heart.

She sat curled up on the floor against the wall, surrounded by broken glass, her face hidden in trembling hands. The whole apartment looked as if a hurricane had passed through it. It was possible that it had. Her temperament already more than once reminded him of an untamed element.

Paying no attention to the mess, he calmly walked over to her huddled body and crouched in front of her. "Hey..." He whispered, gently stroking her shoulder. "Come on, let's get you up off this floor."

She lowered her arms and raised her gaze to him. She didn't see a hint of pity or disappointment in his eyes. Only pure affection as a slight smile crept onto his lips. However, she didn't want to get up from the floor, which at that moment was her safe haven, and he respected it.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked cautiously, not wanting to aggravate her already vulnerable state.

"There's nothing to talk about. Nothing happened. I'm just fucked up." She laughed unhumorously, tilting her head back and resting it on the wall behind her.

"Don't say that. You're not fucked up." Something inside her snapped.

"Yes, I am! Don't you understand that nothing happened? Literally nothing! I just saw a guy on the street who looked a little bit like that shithead and I freaked the fuck out! I can't do this anymore, Chuuya. I'm exhausted, hurt, and so fucking furious!" All the anger she was trying to suppress flowed out of her mouth in the form of the worst curses she could find. Chuuya, however, didn't even flinch, his gaze fixed on her face. "That fucking prick is probably having the time of his life right now, and here I am whining like a damn baby! No wonder he fucking ran away! Who sane would stay with an unstable fucked up bitch!

The silence on his part stopped her.

"What? Why aren't you saying anything?"

"Go on." It wasn't a challenge on his part, but sincere encouragement. "Scream out everything that's on your chest. You'll feel better." And so she did. She threw out every negative emotion she had been bottling up inside of her up to this point. Chuuya only remained patiently by her side, soaking up every word and casually making sure she didn't do something dangerous in a fit of rage.

Once the only sound that surrounded them was just her heavy breathing, Chuuya smiled slightly. Being careful of the shards of glass lying around, he helped her up and sat her in the chair right next to him. He had already noticed her cut palms before, so throwing a quiet "I'll be right back" he went to the bathroom to get a first aid kit.

"I'm proud of you." He broke the silence in a soft voice as he disinfected her small wounds. She only shook her head in disagreement.

"You're too good to me. You can't keep coming over every time I fall to pieces again."

"And who's going to stop me?" He raised an eyebrow, as if challenging anyone who would even try to keep him from being there for her. Yeah, right. They both knew damn well that there was no power that could stop him, especially with his stubbornness and loyalty. When Chuuya was around someone, he was there for better or worse, no matter what.

"I'll have to. I can’t do this to you, Chuuya. It's like every day I sink into this bottomless abyss of despair. Eventually, I'll pull you down with me. "

"Then let's drown together. I don't care." He really didn't care. He was perfectly willing to go through hell with her if it was going to help. And that's what she both adored and hated most about him. On one hand, her heart was weeping for such a person in her life. A person who would just be there and not leave her when things got tough. But on the other hand, guilt was eating her from the inside out. Guilt that she had so thoughtlessly used his good heart for her own needs. Many times she tried to cut herself off again, but each time he appeared at her door with a gentle look in his eyes and a patience that many saints would envy. He simply refused to let himself be pushed out of her life.

He shouldn't have to put her back together again. He shouldn't have to play the role of babysitter, making sure she was doing all right, tending to her scraped knees after another fall or helping her up. But she was putting that burden on him, only adding to the bundle of stress he already had in his life. She was sickeningly selfish. No wonder everyone left her. It was all her fault. As usual.

"I'm sorry." She whispered, overwhelmed by her destructive thoughts. She was genuinely afraid that if she kept going like this, even he would leave her. And that was something she would definitely not survive.

"Stop it. No apologizing. I know exactly what you're thinking right now and I don't want to hear a word of that bullshit. You can't apologize to others for asking for help. And especially not to me. I'm really grateful that you did." He finished sticking small colorful band-aids on her fingers and put the first aid kit down on the table next to her.

"Chuuya..." Again she tried to reason with him. To make him realize that everything that was happening was pure nonsense. But he didn't let her get a word in edgewise.

"I won't let you be alone. I'm right here and I won't leave you. No matter what happens. You hear me? I won't leave you." He said each word while staring straight into her eyes, as if trying to make sure she heard and understood every single one of them. And that she was aware that he was completely serious. And that was the first moment in many years when thick tears flowed from her eyes. She broke through all barriers she had carefully built up to that point and burst into a wail so heart piercing that the walls of this apartment had never heard such. So did the man who immediately wrapped his arms around her shaking body. With slow movements, he stroked her back, trying to soothe the pain as violent sobs ripped through her throat and salty tears were soaking into his shirt. He nimbly pulled her off the chair and cuddled her tightly into his chest.

She let him, and somehow his embrace began to slowly mend her shattered heart.

There may have been no hope left for the glittering mosaic that adorned the floor, but there might still be some left for her. Thankfully, she was not made of glass.

#dazai x reader #chuuya x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #bsd imagines #bsd headcanons #dazai osamu #chuuya nakahara #bungou stray dogs #bsd dazai #bsd chuuya #dazai x you #chuuya x you #bsd angst #bungou stray dogs angst #dazai angst #chuuya angst #bsd series #xen|series

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hellmouth-manor · 6 months

Text

capricornus || nori || trial 4.3 || re: everyone

There are a lot of things Nori could feel right now. There are a lot of things she does feel right now, even.

There’s regret. Guilt. There’s the feeling she gets from knowing that this all could have gone differently if she’d been more careful, or that none of this had to happen at all if she’d just been stronger. It’s the same feeling she gets from knowing that, out of everyone in this manor, the ones she’s hurt the most are the ones her care runs the deepest for.

There’s sadness. Despair, born from the knowledge that even her attempt to help - not just herself, but those still left, too - left nothing but destruction in its wake. There’s the misery of knowing nothing she’s done and nothing she could do would be good - she could never be good.

There’s clarity. Acceptance, however slight, that she is forever doomed to leave those she touches broken in some way. Her intentions have never mattered, not to anyone else and certainly not to the world. At the center of the torment of the ones she loved, she would always be there, no matter how badly she wished it could be otherwise.

And, of course. There’s anger. There’s always rage somewhere, because it’s the only other thing she knows how to focus on. She’s angry at herself, because she knows she could have been better. She’s angry at herself, because she knows she wasn’t strong enough to really do it.

For the time being, though, she’s angry for Eli, because she’s done something so unforgivable to him, and yet he’s the one berated for it.

“— What the fuck is wrong with all of you…?! Do you— do you have any fucking idea what it’s like?! To— to watch people you care about— to see them like that, and… and know… that it could have gone differently if— if you could just move, but— you can’t. You can’t, because nothing will let you. After everything he went through - after what I put him through… he doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t fucking deserve this. The least you all can fucking do is listen for two goddamn seconds!”

Her anger is brief; if anything, it’s a mask, just as it’s always been. All it does is keep the hurt at bay.

It only takes Kamiya’s words to break it again.

“… Why couldn’t you just… go along with it…?”

For as long as she can remember, all she’s been are masks. Her feelings were never her own, even when she’d thought they were. She was only ever a shell, a thing comprised of titles and responsibilities she never wanted; a horrible, beastly nothingness meant only to rid herself of anything that made her her. She was miserable, always, but she was comfortable in her misery. She didn’t know anything else; she didn’t have anything else to hope for, because she knew nothing good would ever be hers.

And damn it all, Kamiya had to go and make her hope.

“I— I could have— kept lying. I-I could— could have just— taken the fall for both, a-and you wouldn’t— you wouldn’t… have to…”

She knows she doesn’t deserve to feel the way she does. She knows she never did. She knows the only thing she can offer anyone is destruction. And despite it all, despite knowing better, she dared to care anyway. She dared to try, for once, and all it’s left her with is pain.

Tears begin to roll down her cheeks, and she knows she doesn’t deserve to shed them.

“… I don’t want you to die.”

Of everything in her life, there are few she can call constants. Among the constants, among the sad handful of things she knows she can rely on, is loss. She could accept loss - if she had to lose her life, that was fine. If she had to lose the friendships she’d made, that was fine. If she lost her relationship, that was fine. But the one thing she couldn’t accept losing, the one thing she knew she’d never come back from if she did, was him.

“I just— didn’t… want him to die. After— after everything I did… You were right, Touji. I thought— I thought that, if there was one thing I could still do, i-it would be making sure he lived, because it… it’s my fault any of this happened in the first place. This is all… my fault.

“I set the trap. I left Arisa that note. … And I told Kamiya to stay away. I— … I wasn’t afraid of dying. I didn’t care if I did. But… Kamiya did. I-I don’t— I don’t know why I thought he wouldn’t. But he did.”

She stops for several beats, and all she does is breathe. She tries to keep anything else she feels pushed down, because they aren’t hers to feel. She, if all people, shouldn’t be allowed to feel, not after everything she’s done.

“All I knew… was that something went wrong. I didn’t know what, or how it happened, or… or anything - I just knew I needed to get there as fast as I could. So I did. … But Minami beat me there. A-And she saw— something, obviously, and I thought— I thought, if she lived… he would die, for sure. She’d tell everyone what she saw, and he’d die, and… and I couldn’t let that happen.”

“I hit her while she was distracted. I— I didn’t even… know he was there, but it must have been with Eli. I stabbed her after that, and she collapsed, and— I thought it was enough. … As soon as I thought she was close to dead, I left.”

By the time she’s finally managed to offer an explanation - a proper explanation - for what happened, her hands shake and her voice wavers and there’s an unbecoming stream of tears down her cheeks that she’s tried so hard to hold back.

It’s pathetic. She’s pathetic.

“… I… I knew I was going to die. Whether I killed, o-or someone killed me, I knew— I knew this would be it. And— And I knew that was fine, because you’d all be safer that way. Th-this— none of this… was supposed to happen. … I-I’m sorry.”

#ch4 #trial #nori

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hobidreams · 3 years

Text

november 1869.

to remember what has been lost; to protect what still remains.

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: drama. words: 2.4k contains: descriptions of blood/death, a reckoning.

moonlit throne index. this is drabble 26. start from the beginning?

Before Queen Jeonghui’s tomb, you stand with hands bowed in reverence, mind laden with warm memories as sticks of incense burn above your fingertips.

“We all miss you, daebi-mama. I hope you are resting well,” you murmur, letting the smoke mingle with your breath in the air as you bow, deeply. “Happy birthday.”

A little ways away, the single guard that accompanies you is also offering his thoughts to the raised, grassy mound that the queen lies beneath. You’re glad it’s Myungho to come with you today. He’s a good man, one who allows you as much freedom as possible. He understands your need to escape sometimes. Nearby, the horses you rode here are grazing on the field, quietly snorting as their tails swish from side to side.

As you look upon the tomb, you wonder wistfully if mother has found the queen in the spirit world. If they’re playing the game of janggi they so loved in life, when both could find the rare time to continue their decade-long (friendly) rivalry while indulging in cups of strong, dark tea. The thought brings a smile to your face even as fresh tears fall at the remembrance.

In your peripheral vision, you see a swish of fabric, the sign of someone approaching. You give one last bow and slot your incense in the traditional tray, realizing it must be time to leave before it gets too cold and your limbs begin to freeze even under the layers of clothes. You must go back eventually, you know it, but that doesn’t make it easier.

But when you turn, the man that stands beside you wears royal robes — the scarlet fabric and golden dragons unmistakable.

“Jeonha?”

The king’s face holds only sorrow as he holds matching incense in his hands. Staring straight ahead, he bends into a bow, dipping his head repeatedly low, low, lower until he’s almost on the dying, waterlogged grass with it, the lit grey tips flickering in the wind as they are nearly doused from the force of his movements. He bites his lip hard, so hard he draws blood as he punishes his own legs with the bows but he doesn’t stop.

You watch him with emotion clinging to your throat, but you swallow the questions you want to ask as you swipe at your wet cheeks. Why are you here? Why did you change your mind? How are you? Are you okay? All these impertinent questions are for you, to satisfy your own curiosity, and that’s not what he needs right now.

Quietly, steadily, you wait until he has finally stuck in the incense in the memorial ash. You wait until he opens his eyes, red-rimmed as they are, and finds your gaze.

“I… decided at the last moment,” he murmurs. “You… were right. I had to see her.”

You nod. Think you understand everything else he means as well, even if he’s left it unspoken. “Me too.”

“She would have liked that you’re here.”

That simple sentence threatens another wave of nostalgia and longing. You let it pull you under. Sink yourself into it. The mourning, the grief. And the love. The love that was there. The love that still remains, the traces of it held in you both. Your fingers twitch with a sudden, daring want to take his hand. To meet your palms and find the warmth and the life pulse that beats so closely, so resolutely just beneath the surface despite all this pain and all this loss. If you could just reach out. If you could just take another risk…

“Jeonha, run!”

The scream comes from the hill behind you. You both whirl.

The head of the royal guard comes running over with his sword drawn. His teeth are grit, hair blown from the wind that sweeps through the grass, rippling. His blade is already stained with a color that makes your stomach lurch at the implication.

“Hoseok— What’s going on?” The king yells back.

“Rebels! An ambush. We don’t have enough men!”

These few seconds are all the warning you get.

An incredible roar of voices comes exploding up and then you see them. The thick crowd of men that come surging over the hill, fighting their way towards you. The unforgettable clatter of metal on metal desecrates this once-sacred ground. Your legs go soft as you panic, scrambling. You’re trying not to watch as guards and rebels alike are cut down, but the enemies are steadily advancing still. What should you do? Where should you go?

“Myungho, get the horses!” The king barks out. But one look at the steeds tells you that they’re frightened, rearing back as men descend upon them. They’re off, running away on instinct to preserve their own lives while damning yours.

“Jeonha, what are your orders?” Myungho’s grip on his weapon is tight.

“Go. Help Hoseok.”

“Yes, jeonha!”

But as the battle wears on, the dread in you only grows. The king’s men are skilled, but it seems there were only a few to begin with. They are overwhelmed by sheer numbers, yelling for jeonha to escape but he doesn’t move. You don’t know what to do. You are at a complete loss, standing beside him with fingers growing steadily numb. You have to do something. You— You can’t just let it end here, at the hands of these men bellowing with violence and anger and pain.

“Jeonha, w-we have to run,” you stutter, forcing yourself to move, tugging at the fabric of his robes. But when you look back at the opposite side, your only escape route, a throng of rebels come scattering across the grass. Cutting you off; rendering you helpless.

“Myungho, cover the rear!” Hoseok spits out as he takes down another three by himself, the quick whip of his blade reflecting a beam of sun. But even he, with two other guards in front, cannot hold all of them off, though there are less of the rebels now that remain standing.

Caught in the middle, you can only watch your allies strain and sweat. In your heart, you promise desperately that you heal them in the end, if only they will hold on now.

With an awful cry, one of the guards hits the ground and a rebel uses that chance. Breaks through the line of defense and charges right towards you both.

“Fuck the king!” He yells, his face smeared with dirt, his sword raised as his bare feet trip upon the grass but he just keeps coming somehow and you have no weapons and you have no shields but the very first instinct, the most primal one you have is to throw yourself in front of the king and take his pain for him and—

Hoseok dispatches the rebel from behind just as you move a single step forward.

“You…” The king’s voice is hoarse. His eyes are wide with shock as he stares at you, at what you just did. Then he’s shoving you aside and stooping to pick up the abandoned sword from the ground.

You realize what he means when he sweeps up his sleeves, adjusts his grip on the worn handle. “Wait, no, jeonha, you cannot—”

“Stay behind me.”

“I cannot allow you to—”

“Do not argue with me.”

Again, he leaves you with no choice but to watch his back.

Fear pounds away in your body like a thousand drums, thunder booming through the pulse of your clenched heart in your ears as the king takes a first brutal swing at an enemy. Somewhat out of practice against the towering man, he’s shoved back by the sheer force of the clash, feet skidding across the wet grass but he refuses to yield. Stubborn as he always is, he rushes in again only to be pushed back. Again.

The king tilts his blade, slices it quick only to have one sent right back at him, barely missing his shoulder by an inch. He doesn’t even flinch as he stands firm. Adapts in the moment and tries a new strategy, a new tactic that has him spinning, robes fluttering in the winter air as his shuddering breath comes out in a puff of white and ends in a fury of red. And again. And again until finally, finally, only the strongest of the rebels remain standing with the few allies you left, along with your brutal, bloodied king.

Before you, all the men are panting, open mouthed, every last one of them desperate for a victory that spells the doom of the other.

“Come on then,” the king goads, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand in a show of nonchalance even though he’s obviously fatigued. “Attack.”

“You little shit!”

This man is enormous, easily a head above the king and he’s strong, muscles bulging from his torn tunic as he thrusts the sword ahead with surprising speed. The quick rush of air slices through two layers of robes, splitting the dirtied fabric open as the king narrowly escapes without a new scar. But his return stab doesn’t meet a mark and he’s slow on the rebound, steps lost some of the agility he had at the start.

Please. Please, you beg to whatever god may be listening, don’t let him die. But that rebel seems to have an endless strength as he forces the king back, meets him blow for blow for blow and you are so worried, terrified you’re going to see his last moments like this. Like this you will have been with him until the end just like you once stupidly wished. You’re so caught up you don’t realize what’s going on behind you.

“Su-uinyeo-nim! Watch out!” Myungho’s voice cracks as he cries your name, but you turn too slow. Myungho’s on the ground and the rebel that beat him is sprinting towards you, savagery in his scowl, his crude axe already suspended in mid-swing, just a few more steps, just one more shove to land right across your heart and you, you who has never held a weapon before in her life, you who has lived to heal and mend instead of hurt, what can you do right now but die?

“No!”

The scream is hoarse, a furious sound matched with a rush of robes that whip past your own.

You peel open your eyes in time to watch the king take the axe blow meant for you with his left arm. Despite his bark of pain, he swings with his right in exchange and it’s enough. The rebel falls, his axe plummeting uselessly beside him. Then the king falters too, sword clattering down as he finally drops to his knees.

“Jeonha!” You scramble to him. “Oh god, oh god, jeonha, why did you do that— Jeonha, how could you do such a thing? Jeonha!” You part the stained robes, stomach churning at the raw sight of his sacrifice. “We need to fetch you help. You need medicine, oh god, oh god.” This is panic like you’ve never felt it before as you look around, as if some miracle could occur, as if it hasn’t already occurred by the fact that you’re both still alive.

To one side, Hoseok is alone, gasping hard with the enormous rebel lying prone beside him, evidently having finished him off. Myungho has a gash running down his side, but he’s crawling towards you both still with a hand pressed to his wound for pressure. There is no one else. You have to do this on your own. You have to calm the hell down.

Using the nearby sword, you force yourself to focus and stop shaking as you cut strips of the inner layer of your skirt. You have to save his arm even as nausea swims in your mind, nerves making you want to empty your stomach.

“Hah...” The king’s chest lurches as he struggles for air. His eyes are hazy but he manages to fix them on you, as if to ground himself. “You’re… safe?”

Nodding frantically, you start to wrap the cloth around him, willing your fingers not to slip. “I-It’s deep, jeonha. Your wound is so deep.” You’re quietly sobbing as you tie the makeshift bandage to stop the worst of the bleeding. How could he be thinking of you at a time like this? It must hurt excruciatingly so, yet he is still trying to be strong.

Beside you, Hoseok is carrying Myungho’s weight, using the extra cloth to help his ally with his limited medical training.

“…Hoseok.” The king sucks in another long breath. “They… Those rebels were peasants, weren’t they?”

“Yes, jeonha… I think they were.”

He accepts this knowledge silently as you finish your preliminary treatment, but lack the resources to do anything else. You stare at the fresh red seeping through the flimsy cloth and hope desperately that it will be enough for now, until one of you can return to the palace and gather reinforcements to take you home. Feeling your fingers stop, he immediately tries to move his arm but winces, bites his lip at the sudden jolt.

“Don’t move, please,” you instantly say.

The king huffs a long, exhausted sigh as he sinks into the ground. Lets the tension seep out of him, though likely not by choice. His dark eyes flicker to the tomb briefly before they slide closed, the scar ever slashed startlingly crimson across the right side. Despite his best attempts, he is still winded, depleted. Human, after all. After all of this.

You brush matted strands of light hair away from his forehead, and pat at the drops of sweat that linger and prove how hard he pushed himself to fight. He shifts into your touch like a stray animal, allowing you take care of him for once without argument until his breaths even some, settling only in your arms.

“It seems it’s been a long time,” he says softly after a moment, his eyes remaining shut.

“Since?”

“Since I’ve protected someone.”

Your pulse catches. Blood thrums through you as you whisper, “but you did.” Your voice is viscous with relief, and gratitude. “You did.”

Only now do you dare to reach for his hand, to lend him some of your strength, even though you have seen again just how much of it he already holds in himself.

Wrapped in your warmth, he squeezes back just the once. Lets you know he is here, he is here, he is here with you still.

a/n: because i could never forget the way he wielded that sword in the mv. so... how you feel about our king now?

#ficswithluv #btsghostie #yoongi x reader #min yoongi #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts angst #yoongi angst #historical au #moonlit throne #rain writes #things only continue to shift don't they?

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pure-kirarin · 3 years

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The flowers of evil - Sanji x f!reader (Hanahaki)

A/N : Hiii ! thanks a lot for this request. I had a lot of fun writing it ! I didn’t know what hanahaki was before. I really adored it. It’s such a beautiful metaphore for one-sided love. I hope that you will like this !

Hanahaki definition : a fictional disease where the victim of unrequited or one-sided love begins to vomit or cough up the petals and flowers of a flowering plant growing in their lungs, which will eventually grow large enough to render breathing impossible if left untreated (wiki)

Warnings : Angst (but happy ending) - Unrequited love

____________________

You forgot when it all started, when these doomed flowers of evil began to blossom allover your body, asphyxiating you, extracting the air from your lungs. The mysterious sickness took over your body, metamorphosing it into a garden of murderous flowers.

Red spider lilies, a field of them, encercled your frail limbs in your sleep, strangling you almost to death, sealing your agony. It was a slow process, a sadistic sickness that savoured each second of torture.

But what was worse ? The pain of the thrones scratching the delicate skin or the pain of a love that was doomed to fail ?

As the flowers grew, you simply withered. Watered by your tears, every day, every breath bringing you closer to an end. For a crime you weren't guilty of, for a love you have never asked for.

« If someone told me that I'd die this way...I would've killed myself. »

And it was true. Your paths crossed with the Strawhats by a mysterious fate. They have found you just after your ship got wrecked by the marine.

You were the only survivor. How ironic.

It was as if you survived just to die to that illness.

The evil flowers have spared you to savour the pain.

Since there were no options, you had to stay with them, but little by little they grew on you just as you grew on them. But someone stood out. His kindness was something you have never encountered before. It was all in the eyes, in his laugh, in the way he treated you like you were the only woman on earth. Oh god, it seemed perfect, too perfect ?

« I am so happy to be his friend ! »

Why couldn't you settle for that ? Why did you want more ?

It was greed and yearning. Craving a happiness that wasn't yours. He wasn't one to give his heart to one woman. You knew it too well, but then, why did you want otherwise ?

The heart wants what it wants. You stopped looking for a reason.

It all started by a habit, a ritual. Coffee in the morning, no sugar, no breakfast.

The cook always woke up earlier to prepare food for the crew. You on the other hand, weren't a breakfast person.

Until you met him.

« Y/N-chan, you're up early today too. » He said, back turned to you, pouring coffee in a cup.

The smell of the coffee invaded the kitchen. You were sitting in front of the table, hair in a mess, yawning. His voice was soft and comforting ; a morning breeze.

«I like waking up early. I get some peaceful moments before everyone else wakes up. » You chuckle.

He puts the cup in front of you. Not only the cup, also a plate with a pastry on it ; a croissant. You look at Sanji, confused ; he knew that you didn't eat for breakfast.

« I made this especially for you, (Y/N)-chan. It's bad to skip breakfast. »

You still remember the buttery richness of the croissant, the face he made as your teeth sunk into it, Just try it for me, he said. And he was right. It was delicious. Was it his skill as a chef, or his encouraging smile that stimulated your appetite ?

Your appetite for something else grew simultaneously.

The long nights you have spent contemplating the stars on the deck. The times he taught you how to use a knife and how you almost cut your finger. And the sweet, sweet taste of croissant balancing the bitterness of coffee, like a bandaid on a deadly wound.

If you didn't love me, why did you do all of this ?

Sometimes, when your chest couldn't take it anymore, you were visited by that thought, that cruel thought. You blamed him. How couldn't you ? It was his kindness that made you fall. It was his gentle smile that was going to be the end of you. And yet, what hurt most wasn't the flowers that grew in your lungs, it was the pain of not being loved in return. The pain of not being good enough for a man like him.

At first, it was a few petals that you coughed. You didn't understand, but when he was closer to you, you felt so light, when he was further, it felt like death. Your yearning for him grew, your body was moved by a fever that made you wish to be dead.

It took you a few days to figure out that the sickness that was gnawing you from the inside like a worm was love sickness.

You knew the condition, it was hanahaki, you have read about it in some fairytales. How could it be real ? Its victim has flowers grow inside of them, grow till it kills them silently.

You tried to hide it, but how when you had a month to live at best ? Everyone started to notice your pale complexion.

You were decaying by the day. In front of you, you had the disease and the cure.

« (Y/N)-chan » His voice. His damned voice making you fall even more. You turn to the side, facing the wall, resting in your bed. You refused to look at him. Did you really loathe him for not loving you back ?

Seeing that you didn't answer, he just keeps talking,

« These are beautiful flowers.. » He says as he looks at the red spider lilies resting in a porcelain vase. Would he say the same if he saw the flowers on your body ?...

« You should tell me if you don't feel alright...You're different those days. You don't even eat anymore. You can count on me. I know that you will feel better if you open up.

-You know nothing at all, Sanji »

You cut him off and sit down on the bed. You were just wearing a nightgown that showed your bruised arms. Fine cuts caused by the flowers that grew on your skin were displayed. You had to snatch them violently multiple times a day.

« You know nothing at all, you said that these flowers were beautiful. Do you even know what they mean..Sanji ? »

He looks at you in disbelief, he holds your arm, looking at the cuts. His touch feels like ice and fire on the bruised skin. His thumb caresses softly a wound, making you shiver. Don’t touch me in that way or I will fall even more...

-Who did this to you ?!

The bruises were like ones of ropes ; it was the stem of the roses that would encircle your arms in your sleep. You snatched off your arm, how could you tell him that it was him ?

You did this to me Sanji.

- It's none of your business...Come on. Leave me alone. I don't want to see you.

The words you spit out felt like poison and hurt him. You didn't even dare looking in his eyes. Those cruel words, you said them so he goes away. To stop the suffering. His worrying looks hurt more as they emphasized your unrequited love. You put a hand on your lips, nauseous.

-(Y/N) ! This is serious. What is the matter with you ? You look sick. I'll call Chopper right now. You go rest.

He gets up and you follow him, almost falling on the ground. You hold his arm, head on his back.

-Don't go ! Please don't. I don't want anyone to see me like this. There isn't anything Chopper can do for me. I am done with all of this. I want it all to end.

[ If it hurts this much, why am I still in love with you ? If it pains me so much, enough to kill me, why does it have to be you ?

If only I have closed my eyes and let myself die that day. If only I died along with my comrades. I would have had a meaningful death.

But here I am, having to die of love.]

You stepped back and started caughing red petals. You put both your hands on your mouth trying to cover it. Sanji turns back, terrified. He didn't understand what was with you, his cheerful, gentle (Y/N)-chan. He didn't understand why you pushed him away like this, as if his fingers burned your skin. As if his mere sight was killing you.

-Don't look at me...Please...Sanji...Don't look. You fall to the ground, your head looking down and tears running down your cheeks. It pained him so much to see you in that state. The petals you were coughing looked like blood. It was stupid, he felt cruel to think that even in such a state you looked so delicate, a flower.

He held the hand that you had on your face and moved it away to take a look at your face, eyebrows frowned, an anger growing inside of him. So, you, his (Y/N)-chan was in love with a bastard that didn't love you back ? It was certain. He knew about this condition.

Hanahaki, a mythical disease born out of one-sided love.

-(Y/N)-chan...This is...

-Hanahaki. You whisper, you can't hide it anymore now, it's too late,

He holds you against his chest, now thorns growing around your body. And you thought that in that moment, you could die in his arms and you'd be happy. Maybe in another life, you thought, maybe in another universe you'll love me back. Maybe it's the price I have to pay for having you...

-Don't die on me. Please. I am sure that...That this bastard loves you back. I mean...You are a goddess, (Y/N). How could anyone...do this to you. Tsk. It makes me sick just to think of it. I'll go look for him and bring him right now ! Hell, I'll kill him if he doesn't love you back.

You have a bitter smile. The flowers grow more and more, you were now vomiting entiere flowers that fell into his lap. You held onto him tighter.

-It's impossible...He is...An idiot...He doesn't even notice and it's right in front of his eyes...

-It doesn't matter. Just tell me who and I wi-

-Why ?! Why do you keep being so kind to me ? Why did you do all of this ? Why are you so gentle, so caring ? Why did you care that I don't eat breakfast ? Why did you make sure I don't feel cold on the deck ? And most of all, why are you like this with all girls ? It kills me...bitter laugh. Your kindness is killing me ! Don't act like this if you don't want girls to fall for you, you idiot ! Don't play with my feelings !

The blond man froze instantly. He has never imagined than a woman like you would fall for him, and to realize that you were suffering because of him left him in a loss of words. Him, Sanji, the lovecook, the man that devoted all of his existence to please women, those delicate creatures that he wasn't worthy of. The same Sanji was the reason of your distress and the object of your desire.

To feel desired to the point of death was flattering in a cruel way but also so foreign. He has convinced himself that no woman would love him and he was happy that way. It was enough for him to share the air that you breathe. But you were offering more ; a flower so pure, so delicate that his fingers could turn into dust.

-It's me that you love ?...

You didn't have any strenght left. You didn't answer. Your days were counted. You felt your chest getting lighter after confessing. It was relief. Words that had to be said.

-It's because of me that you were suffering so much...(Y/N)-chan...You...Wanted someone like me this much ?

He holds you tighter and the thorns sink in his skin, but he didn't care much, the pain that he was feeling inside was way bigger.

-I never thought that I deserved someone like you. I never thought that I deserved to be loved. It was enough for me to see you smile. But you are telling me that you are dying because I don't love you back ?...I would give up my life for you. And because you want someone like me, because you love me this much, I will make you the happiest woman on earth.

It was at this moment that you made him realize, you, on the verge of death, that even a man like him could be loved ; A man that even his father didn't want.

Your eyes were veiled by tears, was he saying this only to mess with you further ? However, the flowers stopped from spreading, and the petals started fading away little by little.

-Sanji...You...I...

He puts a finger on your lips and just says with a smile ;

- (Y/N)-chan, thank you for loving me. For wanting me so bad...Nobody has every loved me the way you do...Nobody has ever loved me to death.

He kisses your tears and adds ;

-I love you too.

#hanahaki disease #hanahaki #one piece x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #sanji x reader #one piece imagine #one piece scenario

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scribbledquillz · 3 years

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Stay

~~~One~~~

It is in his best interest to win her favor. The Warden is not a fickle woman, so far as Zevran is aware. Neither is he an imbicile. And only an imbecile would content themselves with the protection of something so brittle as another's mercy.

Charm and flattery will not be enough. She has not despised his attentions, much as she tries to hide her flustered stammering and the lovely bloom of color at her cheeks behind a scowl. But she has also proven herself a modest sort, and temptation will not be enough for her to welcome him into her bed. He must find another way to make himself of worth, lest she turn her blade back to his throat to grant him the end he once courted.

An opportunity comes soon enough, dressed in darkness and the scent of cheap liquor. He does not know what has shaken her so thoroughly, and truth be told he does not feel compelled to care. But the night is young, the fire is warm, and the giving of his company while sleep remains unconquered is no great sacrifice to make. He beckons her to his side with the promise of as much or as little shared between them as she wishes.

Please, he offers her.

Stay.

~~~Two~~~

The Deep Roads were meant to be his end. Had Revka not proven herself in desperate need of sense, he has no doubt they would have swallowed him whole.

She coughs and sputters from her slab of broken stone. A small, battered thing cast down among the debris of the bridge they had stood on mere moments before. He damns her as he drops to her side, and again when fingers he cannot keep from trembling fall against the arrows buried in her body. Fool, he calls her with no care for the venom it carries. Because it is the truth.

It had been his footing which faltered, his life which clung to the crumbling masonry as the darkspawn bore down upon them. The choice had been so simple. What was one wretched, ruined life to the furthering of their goal, to the promise of her own survival? Everything, she murmurs through bloodstained teeth, and it isn’t fear or anger which sees the air turned to knives in his lungs. There is no time to dwell on it now. His hands are already troublingly slick and warm as her eyes begin to flutter, the grip she keeps at his arm steady, but not strong. Words pour from his mouth as he throws himself to work, an accidental litany laid bare at her feet as he cuts away the ruined leather.

Please, he urges her.

Stay.

~~~Three~~~

His world has narrowed to this moment, existence outside of their bed of moss forgotten to heady satisfaction. For one blessed moment there is no Blight, nor demons or blackened hearts to carry on bowed shoulders. Here there is only the minute; sweat on cooling skin, the kiss of Revka’s breath at the hollow of his throat, the weight of her body against his chest. He drinks it all down with shameless greed, made a man doomed to a thirst too exquisite to ever see sated.

It will destroy him, in time. There are no gentle endings for heroes, and fewer still for the likes of such vile creatures as him. They have already tempted fate’s grace, the knotted scars beneath his palms a testament to what could - what should - have been. Soon enough this will end by her will or another’s, and he will watch as another piece of himself is carved away. Lost to the Void and leaving him with only ashen memories. Yet he knows he will not regret what he has paid.

The sublime was never meant for permanence, and Revka is no exception. He will content himself with what he is given, and offer nothing less than the gratitude she and the Maker are due for the privilege. Because to squander these moments and their fleeting divinity would be a crime even he could not bring himself to see through.

So when she finally stirs to speak of obligation, he feels no guilt in how tight his grip turns about her waist. Their work is done here, the Bracillian at peace, and their companions no worse for their absence. She sighs as he traces a thumb over reddened lips, yielding to his kiss as he speaks.

Please, he whispers to her.

Stay.

~~~Four~~~

He will never wash this blood from his hands.

Taliesen is dead. His partner, his friend, his lover, his past. Dead, along with the last shattered piece of the man he once knew himself to be. And he feels nothing. No regret. No guilt. Nothing, save the numb, aching certainty that he has done what was needed.

He does not know how long they have sat here on this bed, or where, precisely, Revka has taken him. Away, which is all that is of consequence. Hidden someplace far from leering eyes, that does not reek of death and wicked trechery. That alone is a kindness more than he deserves.

She has not moved from his side, the weight and warmth of her presence, of her fingers woven between his staving off the worst of the ice building in his chest. Ever his silent, watchful Warden - his light within the shadows, his harbor in the storm. Without her here he knows he would fall, and this time there would be no return from that looming, frigid darkness.

Please, he begs her as salt and loss tear at his throat.

Stay.

~~~Five~~~

He cannot lie to himself any longer. Can no longer pretend every moment spent in the comfort of her company does not come with the pain of an end he does not yet see. And that is the trouble of it, isn’t it? The thought that each night spent beside her, every kiss or glancing touch might very well be their last. He has tried - sweet Andraste, he has tried - to keep his hold of these pleasures slacked. Reminded himself countless nights of the unspoken promises he made to her, to himself, to the Maker, to take only what was given freely and dare not dream of something more.

But his heart has never been a loyal beast, its refusal to cease its beating all those months ago born of the same stubbornness which rails against him now. It makes traitors of his hands. Turns them to talons and sinks them deeper into the want of her with every effort made to draw himself away.

He does not wish to fight this any longer. What he feels… there are no words for what he feels. Not yet, when there is still so much of himself he had thought long dead struggling to take back its breath. So he does not offer them.

The earring gleams within his outstretched palm, flickered candlelight glinting against gold to match the unsteady beating of the heart which drove him here. He gives both to Revka freely, and knows no matter her answer they will always belong to her. As they already do.

Please, he asks her in silence, once more left bare to her mercy.

Stay.

~~~Six~~~

The golden ring at Revka’s ear sparks with the light of a hundred fires as she turns back to him across the battlement. Around them the world is ending, filled with the stench of blood and taint and smoke. The Archdemon shrieks in its agony and rage, felled but no less deadly as it snaps a wicked maw and flails claw and tail and body against the poor souls within its reach.

In an instant he has forgotten their talk of miracles. What spell cast by mortal hands - no matter their talent, no matter their conviction - could hold against the sheer brutality of such corruption? He reaches out to her unthinking, as though his will alone would close the distance in time, the same heart he has only just given turned to a stone fist within his chest. And she smiles. A brittle, sorrowful thing broken under the weight of what has been left to the whims of the Maker and his fates. Her lips tremble, mouth stumbling over words he never thought to see spoken, and the same stone heart crashes against his ribs.

I love you.

And she is gone. A blur of Warden silver and blue, the flash of brilliant steel. He cannot move, cannot tear his eyes from what will surely be the end he has feared for so long. The Archdemon rears its monstrous head, hate and death burning in black eyes as she throws herself between the world and an unending Void.

Please.

Her blades strike true, the monster screaming as a brilliant beam of light swallows the both of them whole.

Please.

He is on his knees, thrown back by the force of the light or the fear burning through every inch of his flesh, scalding his soul.

Please, he prays as he drowns in the agonizing unknown, as he crawls toward the faint shape of her form upon the stone.

Stay.

#dragon age #dragon age origins #dragon age: origins #zevran arainai #zevwarden #revka tabris #zevka #your fire burns in my veins #dragon age fanfiction #lilou writes #soooo this was supposed to be a 'short drabble thing'#lol

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gingermintpepper · 3 years

Text

Gloxinia and Meliodas' First Meeting.

Time Period: Sometime during the Holy War

»»————-　♔　————-««

He remembers the Lord of the Faefolk.

Elizabeth lays limp in his arms.

The world explodes around him, typhoon’s cacophonous touch laying waste to the landscape but he does not feel the slice of the wind. Raindrops pierce through the clouds, bullets of water that seem to attack the thin veil of his cloak but he cares not for them. All he knows is the gellid flesh pressed against his chest, the drooping wings whose feathers seem to swell with water, bright white eyelashes slack from exhaustion, delicate eyebrows devoid of that determined furrow.

He’s running out of options, had gravely miscalculated during his battle with Calmadios and now was left without a place to return to, without a roof with which to weather this storm under. He had no place where Elizabeth could rest and recuperate from her wounds.

Even amongst the wanton destruction Meliodas had wrought in his time in the physical realm, the memory stands stark in the backdrop of his mind. A routine perimeter sweep after they had managed to gain new territory from beating back the Goddess Clan in the south. The normal agenda after such events - visiting the human nests, establishing the new order, weeding out dissenters and surviving pests, setting up scouts; it was all necessary yet monotonous activity so no one particularly fancied running such errands. It was only because Meliodas had drawn the short lot that he had to do the grunt work himself.

He hadn’t expected to find Fairies in the human nest, small creatures with their delicate wings healing humans and helping repair their odd little hutches. He’d not so much as heard about encounters with Fairies since coming into the realm - only knew of the whispers of the so-called Fairy King’s Forest and the great magic that was contained within. Meliodas thought it all nothing more than the mangled stories of drunk demons. He hadn’t felt any significant magic in the physical realm besides the heavy cloud that was the bestial Giant Clan and so he had dismissed even the notion of Fairies as such.

Yet there they were, smaller than even him in their diminutive stature, little faces scrunched in joy and determination even as the nest around them was razed and half ablaze.

And so Meliodas thought, ‘If the Fae are real, then surely their King is no illusion either.’

Zeldris must have heard by now he thinks. Would know that he made good on his word to abandon their people for the sake of Elizabeth and, ultimately, for ending this useless conflict.

Was he laughing at him? Was he gleefully watching his heinous older brother suffer for choosing a lover over the future of their clan only to immediately lose her to his pride? Meliodas alone had made the decision to defect while surrounded by his troops and three Commandments. His confidence in his strength had cost him dearly, but with Elizabeth at his back, he had felt invincible.

The rain continues to pour around them, but Meliodas cannot feel its freezing touch. Elizabeth’s warm blood is beginning to seep through her clothes. He doesn’t want to hold her tighter, fears that squeezing her will only make her bleed out faster. What good is his strength if he cannot help those most important to him in their times of need?

Lightning tears the sky asunder, thunder racing so close to its heel that the world around him seems to quake. He’ll have to land - he can’t risk attracting the bolts with Elizabeth in his grip. He is a demon but he can’t help but pray.

Prays that the chill descending on Elizabeth’s skin is only the rain. Prays that Zeldris finds some way to end the conflict too. Prays that he hasn’t ruined the only thing that could save Elizabeth’s life.

It surprises him even now. The ease with which the Fairies revealed the location of their home to him. Meliodas was quite aware that they knew him to be a demon. Even without knowledge of the rank or class that he occupied, his magic alone was nothing but purest, deepest black - yet, even as they trembled with their breaths caught in their throats and their little fingers halted in their actions, they dutifully told him what it was he wanted to know.

He remembers thinking then that the Fairies were a weak bunch - that they were a naive people who surely teetered on the brink of extinction for the easily exploitable trust they so readily gave.

Then came the fog.

He’s not surprised that even during this tempest, the fog is thick.

The last time he entered, the mist showed him illusions that confounded him for hours. The road disappeared beneath him, he’d ended up on a mountain and then at a lake and throughout it all quiet laughter echoed in his ear, disorienting him. Angering him.

Today there is only the quiet of deep, deep fog and the dampened splashing of rain as it struggles to cut through haze.

Meliodas lands on the muddy ground and takes off sprinting. He slips in an errant puddle, the ground slick and treacherous but even then he does not let go of Elizabeth. The air’s knocked from his lungs as he lands on his back. His shoulder burns but he cannot heal himself. He does not know what effect his miasma would have on Elizabeth in this weakened state. He does not want to find out. With trembling fingers, he adjusts her, frowns as the muscles beneath her fair skin refuse to twitch even when he lets his touch linger on the plush flesh of her lips, her cheek, the puncture in her stomach which gushes, gushes, and was he always able to glimpse the pink of her stomach? Was it wrong that he found that healthy colour as beautiful as the rest of her? But her skin is cold, cold too cold and her blood runs hot and Meliodas curses even the rains, roars his frustration so the lord of the lands knows that he is in no mood for games.

“Gloxinia!”

A part of him wondered if the Fairies had conned him; if they had only pretended to be shy things and had taken the opportunity to lead him to his death instead of guiding him to the Forest like they claimed they would. He’d think much higher of them if that was the case.

As it stands, Meliodas only wishes to tear the heads from their breakable bodies for the tasteless jest. Already, he’d found himself at the bottom of a lake, in which swimming in any direction only dragged him further down, a mountain trail which had led to him being apparently attacked by some manner of beast and a desert which stretched for so many hours that Meliodas had begun to sweat through the leathers of his gear. Terrible caterwauling the likes he had only heard in the deepest annals of the Underworld dogged his steps, and when the screeching stopped, the laughing began.

In each direction he was met with nothing but a wall of fog so thick that he could not even see the colour of his shoes and with each step without a discernible goal in sight, his resentment only grew.

And then, oddly, he caught the strong smell of flowers.

An unmistakable flash of red like spider lilies blooms in the corner of his periphery.

The tumultuous rain quiets to a mere whisper and the fog dissipates leaving only a dew laden field of bright, bright flowers.

The Fairy King is no less spectacular the second time around, celestial wings aglow with multicoloured magic which seems to glitter even in the midst of this gloomy, terrible squall. He stands with his hands at his side, thin lips pressed into a fine line. He is unarmed, alone. Unimpressed.

“You have returned,” he says dully and Meliodas does not have time to be offended at the lack of respect.

He tightens his grip on Elizabeth’s thigh, does his best to keep from snarling. “Heal her!”

A perfect eyebrow threatens to scrape scarlet hairline. “I beg your pardon?”

Meliodas growls, refuses to rest Elizabeth against the forest floor yet cannot risk jostling her for the sake of emphasis, “She hurt herself protecting me. I want you to heal her.”

Gloxinia’s neutral expression becomes a faintly bemused smile. “Is that a request or a threat, Demon Lord?”

Meliodas glares (and Elizabeth is growing cold in his grip, cold, cold, he is running out of time-) “Both, Fairy.”

The fog begins to creep in not unlike storm clouds on the placid horizon. The sound of thunder begins to descend upon them, red and purple flower buds disappearing beneath the cloak of the Fairy King’s enchanted mist. The fae smiles and it is a cold, cruel thing which sits comfortably on cherubic features, “Then I bid you farewell.”

Meliodas feels the wrath overflow, feels it in the way his vision goes black at the edges, in the way he can hear Elizabeth’s failing heartbeat. Anger at Gloxinia for refusing him, for dooming Elizabeth to death. Anger at himself for being unable to protect her, for failing her, “I will raze this forest to the ground, Gloxinia! Help her or I will slaughter every one of your kind!”

And that despicable Fairy only looks down at him, golden eyes more damning than any bolt of heavenly lightning, “It matters not, Demon Lord, she will already be dead.”

Then he is alone.

Elizabeth’s heartbeat grows so frail that Meliodas cannot hear it over the rain that has rushed in. Fog blinds his eyes, anger stifles his mind and the breaks and creaks in his bones finally overwhelm him. He crumples, mud splattering all over Elizabeth’s once white battle silks. She will die. She will die and it will have been his fault. Is this how Zeldris felt he wonders? This despair - this deep, gaping emptiness as the warmth of his lover cools to ice beneath his numb fingers.

Meliodas has never cried. It is a foreign concept to one as high born as he but his heart sinks to his stomach and threatens to slip free from his chest altogether. He bends his head, furrows his brows, squeezes Elizabeth’s flesh as he listens to her slowing heart.

‘Please,’ he wants to whisper. ‘Please, please have mercy on a sinner. Just this once.’

A pungent scent like foreign herbs fills his nose -

“[Droplet of Life]”

There is a glow, some bright unfathomable light and Meliodas sits up like he’s been burnt. Elizabeth’s heart suddenly beats in her chest, loud and melodic and it is the sweetest sound Meliodas has heard in years. He looks up to find cold eyes looking down on him, the Fairy King’s red hair spilling over his shoulders like reeds against some sheer cliffside.

He frowns, squints at Meliodas then appraises Elizabeth. Without so much as another word, he straightens himself and makes a gesture with two of his fingers. The fog lifts entirely, revealing a twisted up pathway between massive, primordial boughs. Flowers of every specie litter the ground preceding the entryway and Gloxinia turns his back on them. “Spend the night here,” he says and though Meliodas twitches at the unmistakable authority in that light voice, his gratitude and surprise renders him mute. “This storm will rage for four days and five nights. Regain your strength then leave.”

And then he disappears into the forest, leaving Meliodas and Elizabeth in the stillness of his eden.

#This has so much headcanon in it it's not even funny #But it's also completely up for debate how Glox Meli Eli and Drole met soooo #Yeah I'm exploiting that #gloxinia #gloxinia of repose #gloxinia nnt #meliodas #elizabeth liones #melizabeth #nnt #seven deadly sins #nanatsu no taizai #ginger writes #long post #Meliodas was a complete tool as a Commandment and you can take that hc from my cold dead hands #zeldris #he's mentioned too so that's fun #I love writing for the holy war y'all it's not funny

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es-kay-zee · 3 years

Text

Vice | Bang Chan x Reader

pairing: chan x gn!reader

genre: angst

warnings: this fic contains lots of mentions of drinking and alcoholism, so if that’s not for you, then don’t read this, and there’s mentions of sex but there’s no smut, mentions of sex while drunk (reader and idol under the influence)

requested: nope, i got sad so i wrote angst lol

word count: 1.7k

proofread: a little bit

taglist: @bxngchxn @jisungsplatforms @hyunsluvv @qtieskz

a/n: i didn’t spend much time on this so i’m sorry it’s poorly written :( if parts don’t make sense please let me know and i’ll try to fix it

____________________

the edge of your glass rests upon your bottom lip when you see him. he stands by one of the few tables in the club, resting his weight upon his forearms. he looks up, his eyes searching the room before looking back down at his phone, a frown forming on his face.

you’ve seen many attractive men in your life, but there’s something about him. he’s enticing, alluring, and he hasn’t even looked at you. his dark hair is messy, intentionally so, and he looks so beautiful under the moving lights. normally you wouldn’t have the confidence to approach him, but the liquid courage flows steadily through you, and you find yourself walking towards him without too much forethought.

“hi,” you say, nerves a little more apparent now that you’re in front of him.

he looks at you, standing up straighter before he speaks.

“hello,” he replies. his tone is warm but still sceptical. you can almost see the gears turning in his mind as he tries to work out if he knows you or not.

“i’m y/n. sorry if this is weird, but you’re quite cute so i thought i’d come say hi,” you smile, but you can tell your smile looks awkward.

“huh?” he says, leaning in closer to hear you over the loud music.

your face heats up, but you raise your voice and repeat yourself anyway. you’ve already approached him, might as well commit to it.

“ah,” he says, his hand rising to rub absentmindedly at the back of his neck, a shy smile forming on his face.

“sorry, was that too forward of me?” you take a sip of your drink in an attempt to calm your growing nerves.

“nah, it’s just not very often i get called cute.” he chuckles, and the soft laughter sends a warmth through your heart.

“what? really? it would appear that i have to right this horrible wrong.” another chuckle, and it makes you happy to know you’re the one making him smile and laugh.

“oh, really now?” you nod in response, taking another sip of your drink as you watch the way his eyes sparkle in the dim light of the club. “i’m chan, by the way.”

“you here with anyone?”

he shakes his head before answering. “nah, i was meeting up with a friend but he just messaged saying he’s not coming.”

“damn, that’s no fun,” you reply.

“yeah, but at least you’re here so maybe tonight won’t be such a bust after all.” it’s the way he says it, the teasing, flirting tone that has your heart almost skipping a beat.

“can i buy you a drink in exchange for your company for the night then?” you ask.

after a quick nod of his head, you both walk up to the bar. he orders a drink while you down the rest of yours and quickly order another one. you can barely hear the bartender tell you the price over the thumping of the bass, but you swipe your card, nonetheless.

you drag chan to the dance floor, standing in front of him and beginning to grind back against him in time to the music. he downs half his drink before planting one of his hands on your hip, beginning to move his own with you.

the night carries on, the time spent dancing and drinking together, making out against the wall near the back of the club. you and chan have both lost count of how many drinks you’ve had, but that doesn’t stop him from ordering an uber and taking you back to his place.

when you wake in the morning it’s to an empty bed, and it takes you a moment to realise that you’re not in your own room. you think back, and your most vivid memory is of chan’s lips pressed against your neck while his hands roamed your body. you smile as the rest of last night’s events return to you.

you sit up, ignoring the way your head sways and throbs slightly at the movement. you grab your clothes, slowly getting dressed. the walk out of the bedroom is slow, and all you can think about is how dry your mouth feels. you don’t make it far out of the room before you’re almost colliding with chan’s chest.

“oh,” he exclaims, surprised to run into you. “i was just coming to see if you were awake.”

you look at him, your eyes squinting from the sunlight, and you can make out the smile on his face. it’s shy, just like the one when you told him he was cute the night before. and there’s something about his smile that’s contagious, prompting you to return a smile of your own.

“i’m awake,” you reply, voice still thick with sleep.

“i can tell. i was gonna make us breakfast but i kinda ended up burning it. so should we order something? my shout?”

you’re surprised, really. you were expecting him to kick you out, to send you on your merry way after a night of passion. but here he is, offering to order you breakfast. it’s sweet, and you can’t help but accept.

it’s nearing midday before you have to leave, chan having work in the afternoon. you exchange numbers before you go, promising to message and hopefully turn this one night stand into something more.

your relationship with chan blossoms from there, a couple of weeks spent getting to know each other a bit better before he officially asks you out. it was sweet, the way he did it. a crisp autumn evening curled up on his couch where he asks you the question. but, truth be told, that was the moment it went downhill.

it took him almost three months to notice. or maybe it just took him that long to admit it to himself. he truly wanted to look past the issue, he didn’t want to believe it to be true. but when it caused you to lose your job, he couldn’t ignore your drinking any longer.

looking back on those three months, he knows he should’ve realised sooner. it should have clicked in his mind when most of your dates were spent together in the clubs, dancing and drinking until you could barely stand. even when you weren’t going on dates, just time spent together in the evenings always included you with a drink constantly in your hand.

he wants the best for you, he doesn’t want to see you drown in the alcohol any more than you already are. it’s hard for him, and the months that follow his realisation are filled with countless arguments as he tries desperately to help you escape the clutches of your addiction. but you refuse to see the truth, you refuse to accept that you need help. and chan can’t take it anymore.

your phone buzzes with a message and you pick it up, seeing chan’s name on your screen.

chan: i’m coming over. i’ll be there in 10

you sit back against the couch, staring at the tv while you wait for him to show up. he’s right on time when you hear his rhythmic knock at your apartment door. dragging yourself to your feet, you walk over opening the door for him to enter.

he steps inside, closing the door behind him as he watches you walk towards the living room. he follows you, sighing heavily when he notices the almost empty bottle of vodka on the coffee table. it wasn’t a surprise to see it sitting there, but he still hates the sight.

“how much have you had?”

his question hangs heavy in the air as he awaits your answer, but you don’t give one. you seldom do. in the past, he wouldn’t push you to answer, but this time he does. he has to. he needs you to recognise that you have a problem.

“y/n? how much have you had to drink tonight?”

“why does it matter how much i’ve had?” you say, refilling your empty glass from the bottle and taking a sip, feeling the way it burns a path down your throat.

“because i need to have a serious chat with you, but i can’t do that if you’re drunk.”

“oh? a serious talk? are you here to berate me again?”

“berate you? y/n, i’m trying to help you. i’ve been trying to help you for months.” he runs a hand down his face, trying to calm his growing frustration. “look, i don’t want to do this, okay? i don’t want to break up with you.”

“wait, you’re breaking up with me?”

he pauses, releasing a heavy sigh, laden with sadness. one exhale of air and you can hear the mental exhaustion chan has been dealing with. and it hurts to know you’re the cause of it.

“i am.”

“but why?”

“because i can’t keep doing this. i’ve tried to help you. you say you’ll stop drinking but you don’t. i want to keep helping you, i want you to get better for your own sake. but i can’t be in a relationship with you right now.”

“so you don’t want to be with me anymore?”

“i do, y/n, believe me, i do want to be with you. but i can’t. you’re not okay, and this relationship is taking a toll on me,”

“but i am okay,”

“no, you’re not. people who are okay don’t act like this. they don’t spend this much time drinking. alcohol isn’t going to solve your problems. and even if it somehow did, it wouldn’t matter because it’s only causing you new ones.”

there’s a slew of emotions coursing through you. anger, frustration, sadness. and all you can do to keep them at bay is take another swig of vodka, this time straight from the bottle.

“i’d like for you to leave now.”

“y/n-”

“get out of my apartment.” chan hates the sight of the bottle in your hand, but he hates the crack in your voice more. he wants to hold you, to hug you tight and promise you that you’ll get through this. but he knows that if he stays any longer then you’ll only end up yelling at him.

the alcohol swimming through your veins does little to numb the sting in your heart when he leaves. and it’s only when you hear that door close that you let the tears fall. your relationship with chan felt doomed from the beginning. it began with a drink in your hand, and it ended with one too.

#tw alcohol #stray kids angst #skz angst #bang chan angst #skz chan angst #stray kids chan angst

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ptersparkers · 4 years

Text

the tap of your fingertips

summary: all of jj’s internal thoughts.

warnings: none, i think and typos, probably.

notes: i tried to write differently and use inly a stream of consciousness. i hope you like it!

You think he doesn’t look. He does.

He feels every tap of your fingertips, hum of your voice, and breath when you enter the Chateau every morning with a blue water bottle. He thinks you’re beautiful without even trying. Five years of friendship never prepared him for seeing you in another light and it’s no secret that his feelings for you have switched. It’s not a secret to everyone but you.

JJ tries to keep his cool. He really does. It’s subtle movements that he cherishes in his mind when he falls asleep on John B’s couch every night. He replays the time he held your hand to help you into the boat that morning. Your hands were soft, unlike his callous ones. He could grow to like holding your hand.

He sleeps in comfort when you’re his last thought. JJ was never one to believe in lucid dreaming, but when the time is right, he could dream up a fantasy where he wasn’t afraid to proclaim his love for you. It was a distant wish that he wanted to come true. He wished for it when his eyes opened to the moment his eyes closed.

But delicate glances weren’t satisfying him anymore. He wanted to grab your exposed hip and hold you flush against him. Every time you placed the shiny lip gloss that smelled like sweet apples, JJ felt like the universe was torturing him with a sweet slow burn. You always smelled like sweet apples.

You decided to cut your hair short out of sheer boredom and you looked more mature, more refined. You were not what a Pogue looked like with that haircut. JJ liked that. He knew his opinion on your appearance didn’t matter but he wanted to say it anyway. So he did. You smiled and reached for an apple that Kiara had brought that morning. You and those damn apples.

There is a shift in the mood whenever JJ isn’t distracted by the other Pogues. He can feel his heart begin to beat faster when the mood has calmed down. It was almost always sparked by the sun beginning to set. He knew the night sky and the darkness of the calamity would force him to be alone with his own thoughts, unable to escape the impending doom of what he should do about his feelings. But he always put it off until the second he was about to sleep. That‘s his trick if he wanted to dream about you.

He often dreams about a big city where nobody cared about him. He dreams of a small apartment with you laying in your shared bed, the smell of fresh parsley cooking in the pan as he prepared two omelets with cheese and other ingredients laying around in your pantry. He dreams of a fresh pot of black coffee and a ceramic mug you had brought home the week you moved into the space. Your shared space. JJ dreams of waking you up with a tender kiss, feeling your warm breath on his chin as his lips touch the soft skin of your forehead. JJ will never admit it, but he craves the domesticity of relationships in which he was able to feel completely and utterly calm.

JJ likes it best when you wear his shirts after a swimming session. You were almost always too stubborn to wear your own and preferred the bigger size that he sported, not that he would ever complain. It was a cliche, that much he knew. But he never failed to smile when you stole the semi-dirty shirt from the boat when you emerged from the water, letting yourself air dry before slipping on the soft fabric. He was almost positive his entire wardrobe smelled like you.

Just when he thinks he has no real aspirations and dreams to fight for, you are the first to ease his mind about the future. The Outer Banks is a small island compared to the rest of the world. Getting out doesn’t just mean leaving the island physically. It means being mentally prepared to handle whatever life decides to throw at you once you step off of the land you grew to know so well. JJ’s always trying to think positively. He’s always trying to think of what you would say when he felt like the biggest failure on the island.

He didn’t know when he let you consume his mind but he wasn’t going to complain about it. The hot summer morning and cool summer nights were enough to spark imagination from him, one that would make it on his bucket list of things he wanted to accomplish before he left this godforsaken island. One of them was tell you he likes you. But he had time for that. He always tries to reason with himself.

JJ masks his anger and frustration with humor and comedy as a coping mechanism that helps him deal with the trauma he endures. His love for his friends outshines his own aspirations and he’s afraid that one day, he’ll find himself all alone after giving his all to the people he loved to much. He’s afraid of finding himself alone on the island while the Pogues have a grand time on different corners of the same planet. JJ thinks about his capacity for emotion and wonders when his next break down will be. He just hopes you’re not there to witness it.

It’s funny. He always thought about the classist society that exists between the Kooks and the Pogues. JJ is aware that this problem exists way beyond the small North Carolinian island, but he pretends it’s only his problem because it’s easier than dealing with the fact that leaving the island might be the worst decision he could make. If the world outside was like this then he won’t be able to protect himself. Here, at least, he knew how to fight stupid Kooks.

He’s scared that you’re not going to be there with him when he’s ready to leave. He says he is ready, and he’s hot headed with the tendency to act before thinking, but this is the only thing he wants to think through. Leaving the island with no money and nowhere to go means being stuck in square one. It means living as a Pogue in the world beyond the Outer Banks. It would be the same experience on a different playing field. But you always remind him that the opportunities beyond the gates of a small town are greater than his fears.

JJ’s starting to think he began to like you because you gave him hope. Not the kind of hope that resembles an empty promise, but the kind of hope that lifts his spirits and motivates him to get up every morning and seize the day. You are the sun in his dimly lit world and he’s afraid he will lose your sunshine.

The cheesiness of romantic comedies and John B. teasing him all day for being “soft” (whatever that means) is a combination of how JJ feels inside. He no longer feels to strengthen the hard exterior he spent years building when he was with you. JJ let his armor fall. It was always you and him in an isolated room with twin fire signs. He couldn’t hear loud ocean waves or thundering lightening. It was always calm with you.

With you, his slate was clean. He could build himself up without knocking himself down. The building blocks he needed were in your hands and all he had to do was grab them from you. JJ knew you were willing to give that to him. You were willing to share a piece of your soul so that his could be fixed. But he would never want you to break a piece of yourself in order for him to make himself whole.

JJ was pining after you like a little boy on the playground. He wanted to hold you, kiss you, touch you. He wanted you to pull him aside and admit these same feelings but never voiced this out loud. His armor had fallen around you but his walls were sturdy and high in front of everyone else.

He wasn’t sure if you knew. JJ was hyper aware of the times you’d choose to sit next to him or accompany him to fix the keg before parties. He was always aware of your head resting on his shoulder and when you would play with his rings absentmindedly. His hands always felt like they were on fire. But he welcomed that warmth.

And so he stood by the sidelines most afternoons and watched as you and John B. grew closer and closer. There were no romantics feelings involved, just the sheer fact that you two had known each other longer than he had known you. But that didn’t stop the blond boy from overthinking. Before he discovered his romantic feelings for you, every move felt like a provoking gesture. He never paid any mind to John B. pressing a quick kiss to your temple when you left the house. But now he did. Now it was personal. It was irrational. John B. was dating Sarah and you were like a sister to him. He knew that. It still felt weird.

But one evening changed everything. It was just the first of you in the Chateau and you were beyond tired. JJ could see the tiredness in your eyes due to the high-packed day the group had. He asked you to change into comfortable PJ’s before you slept in sweaty clothes and you obliged without a word.

He was used to seeing you without any makeup on and not as put together as when you were. But there was something about you that night.

JJ stepped forward.

You stepped closer.

He put his hands on your hips.

You looked up at him. He could smell the apple scented shampoo from your hair. The one you kept in John B’s bathroom.

There were no fireworks, nor music nor cheerful friends in the window.

There was just you two.

He slowly dipped his head and touched your lips with his, but just barely.

One. Two. Three.

That was the number of seconds it took for you to kiss him back.

You pressed your chest against his.

He dug his fingertips into your hipbone.

You felt his soft lips. He felt yours.

It was slow. Subtle. Sweet.

All JJ could think about was you and your apple flavored lip gloss, and how he wanted to taste it. But by the looks of it, he’d be tasting your apple flavored lip gloss more often.

***

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#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank imagines #rudy pankow #rudy pankow x reader #obx imagines #obx x reader #obx #outer banks x reader #outer banks imagine #outer banks #my writing #the tap of your fingertips

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justnerdthings · 3 years

Text

New Beginnings Ch. 10

F!Reader x Liu Kang/Kung Lao

Woo! Chapter 10! Never thought I'd make it this far. I wonder how far it'll go!

Brace yourselves, my simps. This chapter has a little surprise.

Despite Lao having ‘helped’ you with your arcana a few days ago, even if it was almost a tragedy, Liu was still reluctant to let him anywhere near you. Lao had the ability to get under your skin. He could get under anyone’s skin. And despite you and Liu having made feelings known, you were surprisingly comfortable with one another. Since you’d almost speared Lao, you had learned more control of your arcana. Meditation was key. Focus. Your emotions were a trigger. Anger and fear worked wonderfully, but they were unpredictable. You needed to learn to control your arcana, not simply use it.

It was not easy. Liu made it sound so easy. He made it look so easy. But try as you might, the ground always refused to listen. Move a rock? No, it broke apart most of the time. But at least you’d stopped shaking the ground so violently. The monks were thankful of that. Raiden too.

“Perhaps you should meditate,” Liu gently suggested. But, seeing your annoyed expression, he realised that, perhaps, you were too tired after today’s session. He may have been pushing you too hard… He’d back off. At least, for now. “Or maybe a break?” He offered.

You sighed heavily and let yourself sit down in the sand. This arcana bullshit was just so mentally exhausting. You covered your face with your hands and fell back. “I’ll never get the hang of this, Liu.”

“You will. You’re already more in control than you were a week ago.” Liu sat next to you.

“I just feel like this is taking too long.”

“Mortal Kombat is not for another five years,” He reminded you. “You have plenty of time.”

“Five years isn’t that long.”

“You will be ready.”

You sighed and dragged your hands down your face to peek at him. “Are you always so positive?”

He grinned. Liu was thumbing his prayer beads. “I try to be.”

“Well… Stop it.”

He lifted a brow, but didn’t look over to you. “What use is being negative?”

“You don’t have to be negative. Just… be real with me.”

“Real?” He nodded and took a deep breath. You were asking for the truth again. “Five years is not a long time to train you to become strong enough to defeat Shang Tsung. But you do not need to defeat Shang Tsung. You just need to defeat your opponent. Shang Tsung will only fight when all his fighters have been beaten. If somehow you are the only one left of us when that time comes, then we will be in trouble.”

You laughed at the idea of outliving Liu or Lao. “If that happens, we’re doomed.”

His grin returned. “You don’t need to be the best fighter. You just need to do your best.”

You turned your head to watch him. You knew you weren’t going to be the best fighter. Not by a long shot. But finally hearing it--getting permission for it, it lifted a weight off your shoulders. You let a heavy sigh of relief escape you. Liu looked over to you with concerned eyes. You reached out and took his hand that held his prayer beads. You gently rolled the beads between your fingers as he watched your hand. “I don’t… I don’t know how good I’m going to be--how good my best will be. But you can count on it being there.”

Liu’s grin softened and warmed. It was a promise, he could hear it in your voice, and it put some of his own anxiety to rest. There had been some worry that you might give up and leave. But now he was sure you meant what you said. You were staying. You knew you might die, but you were going to stay anyway and fight. Liu watched as you rolled his beads between your fingers idly. He couldn’t recall anyone ever holding his prayer beads. He always had them around his wrist. They never left. But, he didn’t mind you playing with them. It felt… nice.

Those feelings were returning. Though, he supposed they had never left. He swallowed the growing lump in his throat. “You’re doing it again, Y/N.”

You stopped fiddling with his prayer beads and looked up to his face with knit brows. He looked at you out the corner of his eyes. He gripped your hand for a moment and you realised what he was talking about. Your face grew hot.

You two hadn’t acted on your feelings. You still weren’t sure you even had feelings. But spending more time with Liu had made you closer. Your trust had grown. You were friends. “I’m sorry,” you said and pulled your hand from his gently. “I didn’t mean to.”

“That’s alright.” Liu sighed heavily. You could see a small twinge of pain pass his face.

Guilt came over you. You hated being that person--the one who broke someone’s heart. Maybe you hadn’t actually broken his heart, but you weren’t exactly helping it. “I’m sorry, Liu. You’re great, I just…”

“It’s fine.”

“Then how come it doesn’t feel fine?”

He smiled. “Because you care.”

You sighed and sat up. You stared down at the sand. This would have been so much easier if you knew how to react to this kind of situation. “I’ve never had one.”

He lifted a brow.

“A boyfriend,” you admitted. “I was never liked enough I guess.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt love. Not romantically anyway.”

“I haven’t either.”

Your brows knotted as you looked to him. “But you said—”

“I said I’ve thought of you. I don’t know if it’s romantic. But it’s… nice.”

“Nice?”

“I don’t know how to describe it. It’s different.”

“A good different.” You nodded, understanding him. What you felt for him was different as well. And it was nice.

“It’s not like the love I have for Lao. He’s a brother to me. He’s family. I would die for him.”

You watched him struggle to find words.

“I would die for you as well. You… It’s not at all like a sister. I don’t know what it is.”

“When you think of me, what do you think about?”

He grimaced. He shifted awkwardly. “I really don’t think I should answer that.”

Your face grew hot again. “Sex?”

He flinched at the word. “Not… entirely,” he said hesitantly.

You felt your heart skip a beat. ‘Not entirely.’ What the hell did that mean? Was that a yes? Had he thought about you two like that? That’s what it sounded like. You wouldn’t lie, the thought had crossed your mind more than a few times. But it wasn’t because you were in love with him. You were just curious. You’d never experienced sex before… at least not with another person. That was a story for another day.

“I just wonder what it would be like to be with you. What would it feel like.” Liu said. He looked back to his hand, remembering yours that was in it only a moment ago. “You have soft hands…”

This was starting to feel… freaky. You both had the same thoughts, hadn’t you? This wasn’t exactly new, he’d seem to have a knack for understanding you. But now it was you understanding him. You’d… you’d never had this kind of connection with someone before. Even your closest friends hadn’t had this level of familiarity with you. “You’re curious,” you stated. You knew. You knew because you were curious.

He nodded and closed his hand around the beads.

“You’re a virgin, aren’t you?” You asked, having the feeling that he was. Again, you knew it, because you were one too.

He flinched again. “I grew up in a monastery. Where celibacy is a virtue.”

“So you never even…”

Liu shook his head.

“Not even a kiss?”

He forced a small chuckle. “Only from grateful women I’ve helped. And only on the cheek. First one really took me by surprise.”

“I bet…”

“You?”

You frowned and shook your head. “Same… just from family.”

“I wish I had been so lucky.”

That was right. Liu had been an orphan. Your frown deepened. “Do you remember your parents at all?”

He shook his head. “Just being on the streets. The monks told me I was ‘half-dead’ when they found me. They were surprised when I recovered as well as I did.”

“And I bet the monks weren’t very big on affection.”

Another forced chuckle. “No. Not physically anyway. Words of praise and encouragement mostly.”

Well, that explained his habit of being so damn positive all the time. But, poor Liu was starved of real affection. “So with all the women you’ve met, you never thought about them?”

“I never spent much time with them to form these kinds of feelings.”

“So, it’s probably not me, it’s just the opportunity…” you reasoned, feeling your stomach turn sour.

He looked up with knotted brows. There was a sense of urgency to him. “No… It…” He sighed. “I don’t know. I hope not.”

“You hope not?”

“I meant what I said before. You’d be hard to beat.”

You sucked in a breath. You really wanted that to be true. You did. You really did. But you weren’t sure if it was. Doubt. You were doubting. You always doubted. It was easier to doubt. Then if it did turn out to be false, you weren’t hurt so much. You’d expected it. You’d been ready for it… That icy chill of anxiety creeped up from your chest. You took another deep breath and tried to will it away. You scooted closer to him. He lifted a brow curiously as he watched you. “So… Is this what’s wrong with Lao? Guy just needs to get laid?” Humor fixed every awkward situation.

Liu almost looked relieved with your humor. He laughed and looked away. “Probably. He wants to start a family and start training his children for Mortal Kombat.”

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“Do you want a family?”

He took a deep breath. “I never gave it much thought.” But you could see his eyes stare off as he thought about it.

“So… No?”

“Maybe.”

You huffed. “I do. Ever since I was kid, I dreamed of having a family. A husband, a couple kids, a dog, cat, white picket fence. The whole deal.”

“That sounds lovely.”

“It sounds boring,” you told him.

He grinned. “But you like boring.”

“I do… I did.” You weren’t so sure anymore. Being here had exposed you to something different every day.

“So what sounds better now?”

“I don’t know. Here?” You gestured broadly and looked up at the statue of Raiden. “It’s something new everyday. New information. New injuries. New training… New friends.”

“New experiences,” Liu added.

You looked at him. He was watching you. No, not you. Your lips.

Your chest tightened. Your eyes shifted between his eyes, trying to read them. He was definitely staring at your lips. You weren’t sure why, but you moistened your lips as your heart began to race. Butterflies swarmed in your stomach. Oh no. This was it, wasn’t it? This was how it was going to happen.

Your jaw clenched. What do you do? Go for it? First real kiss? What if it was awful? What if you hated it? What if he hated it? Oh, god, what if you were an absolutely horrible kisser? Liu would be great. He was great at everything. Why wouldn’t he be great at kissing too? But you? No. You were awful at everything. Your heart raced with anxiety.

Liu noticed some color drain from your face. He wasn’t sure his was the right color either. Reaching a hand up, he inched around the back of your neck, glad, and nervous, when you didn’t pull away. But you had stiffened. Liu could feel the skin on the back of your neck break into goosebumps. His own heart was banging in his chest as he leaned forward. Liu had left about an inch between you.

You were frozen despite the heat radiating off of him. You held your breath, scared to breathe with him so close. This was it. This was it! What do you do? There was still time to pull away--to stop this before it happened. But part of you didn’t want to stop this. You’d never gotten this close to a kiss before. And now it was Liu who was giving you the opportunity. Like when you reached towards his flame days ago, you were hesitating--doubting.

His grip tightened on the back of your neck. And just as he’d done when you hesitated with his fire, he made the decision for you. He pulled you in.

Your lips connected with his.

Your breath hitched. Your heart skipped several beats. You clenched your eyes shut. His hot lips pressed against yours made a chill run up your spine. Oh god, were you awful at this. You were so stiff, so unnatural. You didn’t know what to do. How were you supposed to kiss during your first kiss?! Your fingers curled into your pants.

You were thankful when he finally pulled away, hand leaving your neck. Your lungs were on fire--not literally. You allowed yourself to breathe again. You allowed your eyes to open slowly, timidly. Liu was looking away. You frowned. He didn’t like it. You were right. You were awful. He was great--at least you assumed he was. You didn’t really pay attention. All you remembered was his lips being hot, and you freaking out. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be. It was nice.” Liu grinned.

It was… nice? He was smiling. Your brows knotted. “R-really?”

He nodded. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I…” You hesitated. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“Me either.”

“Maybe if I had known it was coming…” That was stupid reason. You saw it coming. You panicked when you saw the first hint of it.

“I’m sorry.”

If you just hadn’t been so stiff and frozen in fear, maybe you would have enjoyed it better. “Maybe I just… need practice.”

He glanced at you curiously. “Practice?”

Oh, god, what were you saying? Your face grew hotter than ever, like you had a sudden fever. “I mean…”

“Do you want to try again?” He sounded so eager. Perhaps more than he wanted to admit. You didn’t want to admit that a second chance excited you either.

You stared at him.

He stared at you.

You were daring each other to move first.

This was not how you imagined your first kiss would be. Or your second one. But you leaned towards him anyway. He caught your face in his hand gently before reconnecting with your lips. Your heart was about to beat out of your chest. This was surreal. This was absolutely surreal. Forcing your body to relax--a real feat for the moment, your lips parted slightly and your head tilted. Liu seemed to melt into you. One of his hands gripped the back of your neck again. He pulled you closer. You fought a sudden urge to moan into his lips, but Liu seemed to have lost that battle himself. He grunted softly into yours.

You didn’t know what you were doing, but you were doing it.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

@ancientowlgirl @miss-nori85

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat 2021 #liu kang #kung lao #raiden #reader insert #fanfic #fic #reader x character #ludi lin #max huang #tadanobu asano #new beginnings #reader x liu kang #reader x kung lao #liu kang x reader #kung Lao x reader

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spideytingle616 · 3 years

Text

Five Months [5]

Part 4 / Masterlist

*based on the five stages of grief*

Pairing: Peter Parker x Female Reader

Warnings: angst, death, mentions of anxiety/panic, possible implications of sexual activity, blood/injury, swearing

Summary: The first time you touch your soulmate, you’re able to see a glimpse into your future. What happens if your future is also your end?

Word Count: 12.7k wow wow (bold and italics are thoughts, scenes following a +++ are a flashback)

A/N: Thank you all who have read this story! I have had this planed for almost a year, and I’m so happy it actually became a thing, though I apologize for taking so damn long with this part. I hope you enjoy. This chapter features a lot of flashbacks, so buckle up.

Chapter Description: Maybe the universe isn’t so bad…

Month Five, Acceptance: Love, and Never Forget

A new day. A new month. A new semester.

The subway ride feels extra bumpy today, most likely due to the large pit in your stomach. Going to school is never something you looked forward to, but when you got there, someone was usually waiting for you.

Someone that made the grueling day a little easier.

You sigh and slump into your seat. How does a train full of people make you feel so alone?

A completely different person could be seen in your window reflection. Or maybe you were just so numb at this point, your body was nothing but luggage you were simply dragging along.

Fuck, you were exhausted. Beyond the undereye bags and the dry hair, your frame looked like it was ready to buckle down and rest. It was already curling in, prepared to do so when given the chance. Your eyes shut tight as you clenched your fists, trying your best to quiet the anxiety that flowed through your body.

When you open your eyes, you look at your reflection one more time, ignoring the cold stare that met your own. The world keeps going, and so should you.

Everything was more or less the same at Midtown. People were alert after their long break, but they still dreaded the upcoming classes. Friends were reuniting with one another and chatting, and everything seemed normal.

But it wasn’t, at least not for you.

You close your locker, and as you turned away from the wall you were met with familiar faces coming your way. The two friends kept looking at one another as they walked toward you, and it was clear that they felt unsure about approaching.

It wasn’t like you were purposely avoiding them, so to speak. But their worried texts were plentiful, and with everything that has happened, you pushed away from their coddling. Your responses were short, usually, something along the lines of “I’m fine” and “doing good”. Whether or not they trusted that you weren’t sure, but it kept them off your tail long enough for the time being.

Fake it till you make it, right?

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” you joke, opening your arms wide. “Come here.”

MJ and Ned smile at the gesture, quickly accepting the hug. It was definitely something all of you needed. You buried your face into their shoulders, happy to be with them again. Guilt pooled in your chest.

“I missed you guys… and I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting” you sigh.

MJ tightens her grip on you, snuggling her face closer to yours. “It’s okay. We get it. We were just worried is all.”

“Still, it was selfish of me to do.” You pull away, looking between the two. “This whole thing is not just about me. I should have been there for you guys too instead of pushing myself away.”

“Well, we’re here now. Whenever you’re ready, to talk or hang out, we’ll be there.” Ned offers, and a smile reaches your face.

God, your friends were amazing. You couldn’t bear to hurt them even more with your doom and gloom. They deserved someone that would be there for them and listen to their concerns, instead of hiding in their own pool of guilt.

You quickly shake your head before speaking. “Thanks, I think I’m gonna be okay, though. If you guys need more time that’s totally fine, but I’m good. Nothing has to be weird between all of us, we can just hang out like old times, you know?”

Your friends glance at one another, their eyebrows pulled slightly tighter.

“Well, if that’s how you feel, then I’m glad,” Ned says, looking back at MJ for reassurance. “But you know, it’s totally cool if you still need time. After all, it’s been a rough month.”

You bite your tongue back from replying, your jaw suddenly tense.

Yeah, no shit…

+++

He’s gone.

Oh my god he’s gone.

He’s actually dead.

If someone came and ripped your heart out of your chest, it would be painless compared to how you felt now. You continued to stare at Peter even after his eyes closed. If you continued to look at him, maybe you could still pretend that he was alive.

When the police showed, everything was a daze. The flashes of red and blue sirens drew a queasiness deep in your stomach. As the officers forced you to let go of the boy, their voices muddled into the air. You felt completely disassociated from the scene in front of you, and all you wanted to be held in Peter’s arms. There, you could pretend that everything was okay.

“They’re still breathing!”

The shout draws you back into current time, their words shooting a current throughout your body. It couldn’t be…

“Airways are clear, but his respiratory rate is dropping. Get him on the stretcher now. Don’t let him go into shock.”

Were you hearing all this right? Too many things were happening right now, and no one bothered to tell you anything. The police were pushing you away from the scene as if you were a random pedestrian, and you were ready to grab them by the throat and scream at them. When you see Peter getting lifted into the ambulance, his suit now more red than blue, that was the last straw.

You push your way through toward the paramedics. If they were taking him, you were going too. You were right behind the red and white doors before a hard shove comes to your chest, stopping you from coming any closer.

“Excuse me miss, this is private business,” what looked like an EMT said. “Stark Industries does not want anyone seeing this. I’m going to have to ask you to go back with the crowd.”

You stare dumbfounded; at least Ned was able to get a hold of him, but the fact that they were acting as if you weren’t a witness and Peter’s friend angered you even more. “No, you don’t get it, that’s my friend in there. I- I need to be with him if he’s still alive. Please I-“

“Look, as much as I’d like to believe that we were not told anything about other parties being involved. So, to keep this under wraps, we cannot let you ride with us. If you actually do know the patient, you can follow us and figure out your clearance there,” they finalize before walking away and jumping into the vehicle. You don’t even get a chance to breathe before they’re gone, and the only remnant of Peter was the stain on the street.

The EMT did have a point. If you wanted to keep Spider-Man’s identity a secret, you couldn’t draw attention to yourself. Slipping under the newly posted yellow tape, you’re swallowed into the shadows before the police even notice.

Now here you were, in a dirty subway car at ten in the evening. Being a teenage girl, this situation would normally terrify you (Seriously guys, no means no. Why are you even near us to begin with?), but luckily the murder scene on your dress and the hollow glare in your eyes drove most passengers away from you.

Staring into space, your brain tries to process everything that just happened in the past hour. You sprinted across the city to find your dying soulmate, only to find out he isn’t dead? Or at least, not yet. Based on his current state, it could still go either way.

Shouldn’t you be feeling hopeful? Or at least some sort of relief knowing that Peter has a chance? Your body internally cringes at the idea. Getting your hopes up wasn’t great; part of you always hoped for a happy ending with Peter and look where that got you.

All you could feel was dread, and it wasn’t much better than the heartbreak prior.

The car slows down as the rest of the passengers stand and walk toward the doors, but not without giving you a worrisome stare. You ignore their eyes as they pass by; you couldn’t care less about what they thought.

You look down at your hands and focus on blood caked under your nails, trying to rub the residue away. Some looked like it came off, but the red-brown still pigmented your skin. Chest tightening, you lean back in your seat and let your head knock back.

Peter’s blood was on your hands, both figuratively and literally.

---

A chill travels through your spine, bile working its way upward.

Was that really only a month ago?

The bell sounds, its ringing bringing you more despair than usual. Your conversation was brought to an end, MJ and Ned giving you a nod to signal their departure. They forced a smile your way, and you keep your calm composure even after they turn away.

Pulling the straps of your backpack closer, you take a deep breath before walking to class.

---

“First order of business: team captain. Miss Allan’s parting was unfortunate, but both she and I believe this team will do amazing at the international competition this summer. We just need a new captain.”

“Mr. Harrington, I’m honored-“

“Not you, Flash.”

You and Ned snicker under your breaths, earning your partner an elbow from Betty. MJ rolls her eyes at the two of you, but her smile gave away her amusement.

Decathlon was supposed to be done for the school year, but your team’s win at D.C. earned Midtown a spot at its international competition in Paris. You didn’t expect the school board to approve the trip, especially with the large expenses it ensued. But apparently, they found an anonymous donor.

Though no one could figure out who would willingly spend tens of thousands of dollars for a kids’ trip to Europe, no one was complaining either, especially when they were paying to include an actual vacation with it. As ecstatic as everyone was about the opportunity, it also meant that you would soon be back to frequent practices. And as much as you enjoy this club, more work is never fun.

“After careful consideration of each of your prior performances, I’m happy to announce that our new captain will be none other than Michelle Jones.”

Harrington continued his announcements, but you already stopped paying attention. You nudge MJ after the scattered applause, mouth still agape.

“You didn’t tell me you were gonna be captain. Congrats!” you whispered.

“Well, to be honest, I didn’t know until just now. But I would have been pissed if I wasn’t.”

“And I would’ve had to listen to you complain about it, so it’s a win-win… can your first order be to rearrange the seating? I love Cindy, but sometimes she smells after gym.”

MJ scoffs. “Done, but it’s your fault if this all goes to my head.”

“Oh, I think it already has,”

“Yeah yeah, whatever. Just be quiet so I can listen.”

You roll your eyes as you let her turn away from you, grabbing your phone in the process.

You: Guess who the new captain is…

Liz: It better be MJ, I put in a good word for her and everything

You: It is lol. Good choice by the way, she’ll probably be a better captain than you

Liz: whatever 🙄

In the past month since she moved, the two of you found comfort in one another. Both of you fell in the direct line of fire, and as brutal as that was, it also meant that you weren’t alone.

+++

Lately, it seemed that your timing was nothing if not impeccable.

You speed walk to the cafeteria, breath getting heavier with each step. You’re usually one of the first in there, trying your best to beat the rush of students, but you just had to go to the bathroom beforehand. Amateur move, honestly…

Once you turn the corner, you stop in your tracks. Just ahead was Liz and her mom, both with boxes in hand. Her mom takes a right, most likely heading toward the office. All that was left was you and her, and the ten feet of tile in between.

“Hey,” you call out, gaining her attention. A tint of regret coats the air around you as you walk closer.

Where do you start, after everything that has happened?

“Liz, hey. What’s up?”

“Oh, hey. Nothing much, I’m just packing things from my locker and whatnot. My mom’s grabbing my file from the office, and after that we should be good, or whatever.” She sighs, looking down at her things.

“Wait, packing? Are you… are you going somewhere?”

“Yeah, my dad doesn’t want us to see him in trial. We’re moving all the way to Oregon tomorrow. My mom has family there… nice area apparently, or whatever,” She purses her lips. “New York allows prisoners to call as often as they want, so no worries there, plus I’m all set for college so I can more or less breeze through senior year.”

You nod. Though you suppose the situation could have been worse, it was evident that Liz was hiding all the struggles she just got handed. Maybe if you were closer, you’d be able to comfort her, or tell her what she needed to hear.

“Liz, you’ve probably gotten this a lot, but I’m really sorry about what went down. I can’t even imagine what that’s like.”

There’s a pause before she finds your face again. “I think you do though. Maybe not exactly the same as me, but you were part of this too.”

You tilt your head, confused at her words. Setting her things down, she slings her backpack around to her front, unzipping it to find what she was looking for. “Peter left this in my dad’s car, but something tells me it was meant for someone else. It’s a little wilted now, but I still think it looks nice.”

In her hand was the rose that Peter had the night of the homecoming dance. You were so annoyed when you saw it. However, this time was different. You were not sure what you felt, but you were grateful nonetheless.

You take the flower from her, admiring the purple-red petals. Underneath, a card was tied around:

A rose for a rose.

You might not be my date, but can I SWING BY for a dance?

You let out a quiet scoff. If the pun didn’t give it away, the web doodles might have.

“You think I would’ve figured it out sooner,” Liz shrugged.

“If it’s any consolation, I didn’t realize until it was right in front of my face," you joked back, earning a smile.

“I won’t tell anyone, by the way. He was just trying to do the right thing, and it’s not my secret to tell anyways.”

You nod at the gesture, relieved that things were not getting any messier. Not as much as they could, at least.

“I’m sorry too by the way…” she starts. “if I got in the way of you and Peter.”

You shake your head. “No no, it’s fine. Really. That was Peter’s choice to do that. I even told you we weren’t soulmates, so…“

“Yeah, well, I could tell that wasn’t the whole truth. Or at least, I couldn’t believe that it was the truth.” When you don’t reply, she continues on. “Obviously, I don’t know the whole story, or maybe even half of it, but almost everyone thought you two were soulmates before you even said anything. That’s gotta mean something, right?”

You pause for a moment. For someone who was only two years older, she was a lot wiser than you imagined. “Yeah, maybe it does… I don’t know, it’s just so complicated, you know?”

“I can only imagine.” She offers a smile. “But assuming he’s okay, wherever he is, I think it’d be a lot less complicated if you were in it together.”

With that, the conversation seemed to be over. You both knew that you weren’t really friends, but there was still a connection there. What happened homecoming night created a bond between you, a burning ember in a pile of ash. Everything died down, but there are still remnants that continued to burn.

If you guys chose to, you could let that memory die with the rest of the fire. But you could also choose to keep it alive and learn something from it.

Liz clears her throat, breaking the silence. “Looks like my mom’s ready, so I should go catch up. Thanks for saying goodbye.”

“Well, thanks for the mini therapy session. Hopefully, Oregon treats you better. If you wanna, you can text me once you’re all settled. We can talk, or whatever you want, really. Doesn’t even have to be about this.”

Her eyes light up at the offer, surprised at the generosity. “Yeah. I’d really like that. Thanks.”

You watch as she grabs her stuff from the floor and walk down the hall. The two of you send each other one last wave before parting ways, but you don’t move from your spot. Not until she was fully out of sight.

When she’s completely gone, you think about her words again. Maybe it would be easier.

Or maybe it’s just a faster route to trouble.

---

“You, me, Catacombs of Paris. It’s been on my list for years, and we are not missing out on that.” MJ declares, interrupting your daze. You didn’t even realize the meeting was over, most of the group already filing out of the library. “Jeez, how deep was your conversation with your pen pal? You look like you just woke up.”

You huff as you stood up from your seat. “How do you even know it’s her? Could’ve been my mom checking up on me.”

“Well, whenever you and Liz text, which is pretty regularly now, you get that weird crease between your eyebrows, and something tells me you’re not thinking that hard when you’re answering, ‘how are you’ from your parents.”

“You know, I think someone’s a little jealous that I have other girl friends to talk to.” You joke, checking her shoulder. “Any other creepy spots you’re forcing me to go to?”

Your friend’s face lights up, relishing at the opportunity to talk about her interests. You knew she had hours' worth of knowledge on the subject, and it gave you the chance to avoid talking about yourself. It wasn’t easy to distract MJ, but you had your ways.

It was easy to distract yourself from your current situation with Liz. After all, she was more or less doing the same thing. Your relationship was symbiotic; One of you would talk about your problems so the other could take their focus away from theirs, and vice versa. Mutual therapy, as you both called it.

The bonding made you feel safe. You made a friend and found someone that would need time to heal too.

At least, that’s what you thought.

For the last few conversations or so, the tone has taken a rather lighthearted turn. Liz started her new semester at Oregon a week earlier than Midtown, and she was already coming for the title of Ms. Popular. Though, with her being a hot, new senior, you shouldn’t have been surprised.

She was using her mom’s name for more privacy and was basically starting fresh. Liz even said she could still go to NYU if things died down after the trial. You were ecstatic for her, of course. She was incredibly strong for taking her life into her own hands and making the best of what happened, yet deep down you still couldn’t help but feel frustrated. In the end, even the people that have it worse still find ways to turn it around.

Your stomach turns. Maybe it wasn’t time that was the issue.

Maybe it was you.

---

Life’s kind of funny. Less than a year ago, you thought meeting the Avengers would be impossible. The only time you ever saw them was on the news or some badly edited PSA. For you, they seemed more fictional rather than real.

Now here you were, in the same car that Tony freaking Stark uses, being driven to the one and only Avengers Facility.

Despite the news about the Sokovia Accords, and the infamous “Civil War”, as they coined it, the building continued to stand tall and proud. The squeaky-clean windows and trimmed hedges were simply another reminder of how this lifestyle was beyond you.

Peter has been staying here for the past few weeks so the doctors could track his progress in private. With his mutated DNA and dangerous alien technology, they wanted to make sure there was not any permanent damage to his systems. Though this caused him to miss the rest of the semester, he knew it was for the best.

Despite taking a nasty hit, his super healing got him back on his feet, more or less. Just a few hours of physical therapy and some tests were enough to get Peter back to full mobility. However, he was still advised by the doctors to take things slow. Just because he could move doesn’t mean he should so soon.

This was the fourth or so trip here, yet every visit still felt like the first. All of this was so overwhelming, but you try not to let it show as you walk through the glass door. When you couldn’t find Peter in his room, your panic started to become visible.

Finding one guy in a 300,000 square foot building? How hard could it be?

Answer: not impossible, but still rather embarrassing.

After a few wrong turns here and there, you eventually made it to what seemed to be your destination. You wound up in a gym twice the size of your school’s. It had every piece of equipment one could need to train for a life-or-death mission, and you were struck with awe once again.

Your attention quickly focuses on the sounds of leather on leather. Across the gym was a boxing ring, holding none other than Tony Stark and your best friend.

The two didn’t notice you yet, so you took your time heading closer. Peter was in deep focus, his grey shirt tightening around him every time he threw a punch. Sweat covered the top half of the fabric as his curls brushed his forehead, and you could feel your throat drying up at his appearance.

You would have shown up earlier all those other times if you meant you got to see this…

“Y/N! Hey!” Peter greets when he finally sees you. “Sorry, I should’ve texted you that I was still in here. Guess I lost track of time.”

You wave it off. “Don’t worry about it. Looked like you were doing some good work.”

“Yeah, I sure hope so. Did you know the only fighting knowledge he had before this was from movies?” Tony interrupted, pointing a glove at the guilty party.

“Hey c’mon, Rocky is a solid resource,” He defended. “You ever seen it?”

The billionaire paused, mentally going through the five stages of grief. “Yeah kid, I think we’re done here. He’s all yours.”

“Sounds good,” You respond, turning back to Peter. “Something tells me you might need to freshen up before we start studying, so I’ll just meet you in your room. If I can find it, that is…”

The boy nods, feeling extra gross and sticky now that you brought it up. You send the two a small wave before walking out of the gym, trying your best to retrace your steps. Peter watches you until you vanish, to which Tony raises an eyebrow.

Maybe it was just him, but the spiderling was rather obvious with his emotions.

“Normally I’d say, ‘don’t do anything I wouldn’t do’, but clearly you don’t listen to that,” He says, snapping Peter back into reality. “Just keep it in your room, alright? Last thing I need is to spray this whole place with disinfectant.”

Peter’s mouth parts, slightly uncomfortable at his mentor’s words. “What? No, it’s not like that at all. She’s just helping me with all the schoolwork I’ve missed.”

Tony immediately stops, punching pads half on. “That- that’s it? You get a second chance at life, and all you’re doing is studying?”

He shrugs. “Well, you know, I haven’t taken my finals yet-“

“Finals that you can pass if you just study the night before like a normal kid.” He walks closer to Peter. “You escape the jaws of death and the one thing you want to do is study? What happened to you teenagers and wanting to ‘live a little’?” He mumbles the last part, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t use this experience as an excuse to shy away. I’m not saying go off and be reckless, but at least have a little fun, yeah? Do what you want.”

From one man who had a near-death experience (or several) to another, maybe he had a point. But then again, if you try to sacrifice yourself multiple times, you must be more than okay with the thought of leaving this world and the people you care about.

Tony finally finishes packing up, while Peter was still in the ring, contemplating.

“She’s a good one,” he shouts to the boy, getting his attention. “Might even like her more than you.” He pauses, realizing how that sounded. “No offense, of course.”

The boy’s face sours as Tony keeps walking. “Some taken… oh and hey! I know it was you that paid for the Europe trip!”

“Nope! Wrong billionaire!” He swings the door open, turning around to look at Peter. “But uh, I think there’s a light festival the same weekend you’re in Prague. You should check it out.”

“Uh-huh…” he grins, playing along.

+++

Thanks to his powers, Peter’s hands always got extra sticky when he was nervous. So, when Mr. Stark called him to come to his office a week or so after the incident, he tried his best to keep his hands to himself.

“Hey, Mr. Stark. You wanted to see me or something?” he asked, awkwardly shuffling through the door.

Tony looks up from his phone and nods at Peter. “Kid, hey. How you feelin’?”

“Oh, well I’m actually doing pretty goo-“

“That’s great,” Tony interrupts. “Anyways, here you go.”

He slides a paper bag toward the boy, to which Peter responds by checking his surroundings. Was this a test? Because there are some major drug deal vibes happening right now.

“What the heck are you doing, kid? Just take the damn bag.”

Peter snaps back to the man and quickly snatches it off the desk. He peeks inside and is shocked when he sees the bright red and blue suit. He clutches the bag closer, afraid it would be stripped away from him a second time.

“You- you’re giving it back to me?” Peter grins.

“Well, it didn’t really teach you anything when I took it away, so I might as well just give it back. Plus, your other one looks ridiculous compared to this.”

His smile falls a little, and Tony quickly backtracks for clarification.

“What I mean is that you did good work. I didn’t believe in you after the ferry incident, but you were determined. You followed your heart and ended up catching the guy. However, you also ended up getting shish kabobbed and almost died, which isn’t as good.” Stark mumbles the last part, getting a little off track. “I told you before that if something happened to you, that it would be on me. But if you won’t listen to me then… I guess I have to mentor you, and make sure you know what you’re doing.”

Peter’s eyes widen. “As in…”

“Training every morning. We can practice using all your suit’s abilities along with combat in case you’re stuck without it. We’ll track your health and progress to make sure you’re not pushing it. Last thing we need is you showing off and hurting yourself.”

“Yeah, got it.” He replies, mouth agape. “I- thank you, Mr. Stark.”

He couldn’t believe it. This was all happening so fast. A few days ago, he thought he was supposed to be dead on the sidewalk. Now, everything seemed to be going well. Maybe too well? How was Mr. Stark so calm about it?

“Well, to be honest, you shouldn’t be thanking me. It was your girlfriend that pretty much convinced me to do this. Y/N or something?”

He cocks his head. “Wait, Y/N? What do you mean?”

“We met at the hospital when you were under surgery.” He shrugs. “Kept telling me how you were a good kid who was going to help the city at all costs, that you were soulmates and this was doomed to happen, you should get another chance, etcetera etcetera,” He dismisses with his hands. “It was pretty moving, really. She really believes in you, so I thought I should do the same.”

Peter tries to keep a neutral face, but this information made his mind go even faster than before. You never mentioned that you met Mr. Stark, much less had an actual conversation with him. With all the crap he’s pulled on you, you still said all that. And to an Avenger, no less.

He doesn’t comment about Mr. Stark’s confession, only giving him another thanks followed with a goodbye. From the looks of it, Tony was rather done with the conversation anyways. He leaves as awkwardly as he came in.

As Peter walks back to his room, he notices the air around him feels lighter. Fresher, even. He smiles at the thought.

For the first time, in a very long time, Peter was optimistic for the future.

---

Never mind, maybe he should have died that night.

Studying was a far worse punishment.

Peter groans and buries his face deeper into his pillow, a string of obscenities following shortly after. You turn and frown at the sight. Sure, you weren’t any better during finals week, but this was just sad.

“C’mon dude,” you said as you shook his shoulder. “Get up. We’re almost done with this.”

He groans louder at your comment. “Too much work. Math isn’t even real.”

You shake your head in amusement. “Yeah okay. Tell that to Gonzales, I’m sure you’ll keep your number two spot after that.” You snort, not registering Peter’s shock as he propped himself up.

“Two? Don’t you mean one?”

Shit. “I mean, not exactly. Finals week happened a little bit ago. Grades change, you know?”

“Okay…” He gives you a look. “Well, then who scored high enough to beat me?”

Your lips tighten, but your silence, in turn, answers his question.

“No…” Peter realizes. “You- no….”

“Pete-“

“You’re first now? You took my freaking spot?”

Your mouth hangs open trying to think of a proper response and your friend scoffs. “Wow,” he says, shaking his head. “After all this time, I didn’t realize my best friend would become my enemy. Now I actually have to try.”

“Ouch. A nice congrats or something would have been nice, you know,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “Whatever, at least I’m being nice and trying to help.”

“Help? Or sabotage?” Peter smirks, sitting up. Stiff from his previous meltdown position, he clasps his hands together and stretches his arms upward. He doesn’t get very far before he flinches back down, hands now gripping his side as he quietly whimpers.

You immediately assume the worst as you turn closer to Peter, but he shakes his head, a sign telling you it’s nothing serious. He takes a few more deep breaths before looking at you, now sheepish.

“Sorry bout that. I think I overdid today,” he explained, gently rubbing his abdomen.

“Peter…” you pout. “Thought the whole point of you being here was so that you wouldn’t overdo it.”

“Yeah yeah, I know. I didn’t think a late-night workout would cause too much trouble,” he says, and your eyebrows furrow, disappointment evident. Peter slumps further down, throwing his hands up. “I won’t do it again, okay? It’s my last weekend here, anyways. I’ll take it easy for the next few days. Promise.” He then offers his pinkie to you, and you accept it with a sigh.

Your eyes wander down his chest, stopping at the top of his waist. You’ve never actually seen it, the wound and the scar that it left. At least, not since the incident. Your chest tightens at the thought. It was so bloody, and dirty, and just plain gross.

It was supposed to be the end of him, the end of everything you had. And now here he was, studying for a calculus test.

How was all that a month ago?

“Does it always hurt?” you ask before you could stop yourself. Peter follows your stare before looking at you again.

“Nah, just sometimes,” he starts with a small shrug. “It’s usually a dull ache every now and then, but it hurts more right now, cause, you know…” He looks away in shame. “Speaking of, I need to put this cream stuff on before I forget, supposed to keep it clean and help with the healing. I forgot to put it on after training.” He leans forward to grab the tube off his desk, and you could tell the easy motion was rather painful.

“I could do it if you want,” you offer, eyes widening immediately afterward. The two of you have been keeping physical distance between one another, and now here you were, basically asking to caress him. “I mean- if you think it would be easier.”

He takes a moment to think before giving a small nod, not saying anything as he hands you the cream. You both seem unsure of this, but you slowly grab the tube anyways. You take your time unscrewing the cap, giving Peter a chance to change his mind. When you look back up, he’s already staring at you, waiting for your next move.

You scooch closer toward Peter, and the air starts to get thicker. Tense. One wrong move could ruin this whole thing. You cringe at the thought. It’s not that deep, you tried to rationalize.

But this was Peter. Every small action meant something more.

Fisting the bottom of his t-shirt, you bring it to his chest to reveal the scar. You let out a shaky breath, looking at the newly exposed skin. It was the same as the last time you saw it: You could still see the tinges of pink under the lights, and his chest was still firm. But now all that was blemished with a horrid red line on his right.

That fucking scar. If looks could kill, your stare could probably reopen the wound that was once there. It makes you so frustrated to know the memory still stains his body. Peter once mentioned that his powers speed up his healing process, but marks like these last a lifetime for normal people, so you imagined that if it were to go away, it wouldn’t be for years.

You shake the thoughts from your head as you squeeze the cream onto your fingers, using your thumb to warm it up. Shifting your weight forward, you lean in even closer to him and gently touch Peter’s skin. The contact causes him to tense at first, but he eventually softens under your touch as you massage in the substance.

Peter doesn’t take his eyes off you. He watches how softly your fingers graze his scar, and how his skin was burning at the contact. It reminds him of that weekend: The hungry kisses, the skin on skin after you took your shirts off. Even when you were pulling him for more, you were never rough. You let him dip his toes first, making sure he was doing what he wanted.

Mr. Stark’s words come back to him. Live a little… have some fun… do what you want…

And right now, Peter thinks he wants more.

He sits up straighter (or at least as much as he could) and brings his hand up toward you, tracing your jaw with his fingertips. His thumb rubs the center of your cheek, bringing your focus away from his scar. You don’t realize how close the two of you are until you face him again. Peter’s stare flickers between your eyes and mouth, and you swallow hard. Though his touch was warm, your mind was frozen.

Were you supposed to do something? What did Peter want? Your questions were soon answered as he started to close the distance between you, ever so slowly. And though a part of you wanted to meet him halfway, memories cloud your head.

Blood.

Rubble.

Tears.

Peter holding on for dear life.

Fear shooting through your veins.

With a sharp inhale, you put your weight on your palms and back away. Peter stays where he is, his body a few seconds behind. After a few seconds, he lowers his hand down as concern floods his eyes.

“I- I should go,” you announce. Pushing yourself off the bed, you quickly pack your stuff away, not bothering to check if you got everything.

“I thought we were going to study more-“

“Just look up some practice problems online and you should be good. The curve helps a lot too.” You zip your backpack. “You’ll be fine without me.”

Peter fumbles for an excuse. “Well, it’s getting late, though. Wouldn’t you rather spend the night like last weekend?”

“No, it’s cool. Happy said they always have a driver on call just in case. Might as well put use them,” you shrug. “Anyways, bye!”

You quickly slam the door behind you, and Peter cringes at the sound. What the hell just happened? He brings his palms to his eyes with a heavy sigh. The last thing he wanted was for things to be awkward, yet he still managed to drive you out of his room and onto a two-hour car ride instead. Did he misread the situation that bad?

Meanwhile, you were still on the other side of the door, eyes wide. Did you really just do that? You were always so upset when Peter didn’t communicate with you, but now you were no better. You turn back to face the door, hand on the doorknob, yet the turn never came. Eventually, you let go and back away, and pull out your phone before turning the corner and out of the hallway.

At that same moment, Peter decided to stand up and follow you. Even if you wanted to leave, he didn’t want all his feelings to go unsaid. He pushes through the soreness and reaches the door, yanking it open.

He sticks his head out into the hall, but he doesn’t see you. Peter’s frame shrinks. A big part of him wanted to chase you, to see if he could catch up before you had the chance to go, but if you were already so far gone, it must be for a reason. With a frown, he slowly shuts his door, hoping that maybe you’ll come back before the click.

You never do.

Sleep never comes to you that night, thoughts about a brown-haired superhero circling your head. You knew that leaving was not the best idea. And not turning back when you had the chance was also not the greatest call. But at that moment, the idea of confronting your fears and worries seemed so much worse.

Grabbing your pillow, you smother yourself as you let out a quiet scream. By the time you uncover your face, you can already see the sun.

---

Neither of you mentions that night. Not that you were purposely avoiding the topic. In fact, you wanted to apologize for your abrupt exit, and maybe talk about what was going on between you two, but there was never a good time to do so.

Peter’s reappearance was not going as smooth as you thought it would. No offense to the boy, but you didn’t think many people would notice he was gone. But with the lack of Spider-Man sightings, and all the chaos surrounding homecoming weekend, people were chatty.

The first day he came back to school, Flash kept asking what happened to the friendly neighborhood hero. Poor Peter tried his best to blubber an excuse about him having a mission out of the country, but that just confused his classmates even more.

Others were asking why he missed all those weeks of school, which caused him to create an elaborate lie about having an extended family in Europe. It took everything for MJ not to outright laugh at the scene, which you later scolded her about.

Combine that and all the work he needs to catch up on, you thought it would be best to wait a little longer.

Eventually, Friday rolls around and all of you have survived another week. You, Peter, Ned, and MJ were talking around your locker before school when Ned claps his hands together, a lightbulb turning on in his head.

“Oh, dude! Now that we’re all here, we should all play some D&D!” He grins, getting giddier by the second. “We finally have a good amount of people, plus it’ll be a good way to have Betty get to know you all better as a group. I got this new book for Christmas and I’ve been planning a campaign for weeks. Spoiler alert: it’s awesome!” He quickly spits out, looking toward the group for a response.

Turns out Betty and Ned were soulmates, though no one knew until recently. Except for MJ, of course. When she gossiped about it homecoming night, Ned spilled all the beans.

They found out a few weeks after D.C., but though the two of them were pleased with the pairing, Betty didn’t feel ready to go into a relationship. Ned was accepting of this, being the sweetie he is, and the two of them are slowly building a friendship, though they are quite affectionate with one another. It was adorable, and slightly jealousy-inducing all at once.

MJ crinkles her nose. “I suppose I could try it. No promises that I’ll enjoy it, though.”

Ned, Peter, and you all stare at one another before bursting into laughter. Your amusement confuses MJ, but she doesn’t interrupt the moment.

“Oh Michelle,” you begin, grabbing her by the shoulder. “You are in for a world of fun.”

“Does that mean you’re in?” Ned points to you.

“Of course, dude! You’re the best Dungeon Master around. That, and your mom always has tons of snacks for us whenever we play.”

“I’ll take what I can get, I guess,” he scoffs. “Should we plan for tomorrow or something? I need to add a few more details and Betty should be free then too.”

“I’m good.”

“Same here.”

“Actually, I can’t. I’m busy.”

The three of you turn to Peter, who shrinks down in size and offers a shy smile.

“C’mon Pete. I get you have a lot of catching up to do but I’m sure a small game break wouldn’t kill you,” you said.

“No no, I get that.” He shakes his head. “It’s just that I was gonna start patrolling this weekend… “ he explains, and your blood runs cold. “But you guys go on and play without me, I promise to join next time.”

Ned nods, the three of them continuing to talk like normal, but you stay silent, keeping your eyes in Peter’s direction. Patrolling? How come he never told you about this?

It’s five minutes before class when MJ and Ned decide to leave, heading to their first period history together. Peter decides to go to class too, but you grab his arm before he gets the chance to turn away.

“Are you seriously going out? What happened to taking it easy?” you hissed. Though your tone was rather snippy, deep down you were terrified for Peter. Sure, he was fine now, maybe even better with all his training, but was he ready to go back out?

Were you ready for him to go back out?

“I’ve been taking it easy for a week, and people are starting to get suspicious. I don’t know if I can make it through another one of Flash’s confrontations without getting caught,” he sighs. “Look, can we just talk about this later? Class is about to start.”

You scoff. “You’re just trying to avoid the subject.”

“No, I’m not. I just don’t want to hear you lecture me when I’m already heading to one. And besides, I already know what you’re gonna say so what does it matter?”

“You literally just described ‘avoiding the subject’,” you bite back, concern turning into frustration. “Nothing good happens when we don’t talk, Pete.”

“Oh really? Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah dude, I’m pretty sure. That’s kinda how a friendship works.”

“Right. Friendship…” A pause. Peter’s face hardens as he looks at you. “Fine, let’s talk: why didn’t you kiss me?” he asks, jaw clenched.

Your hand lets go of his arm and falls slack. When you said you wanted to bring up the almost-kiss, you didn’t mean now. Why was he turning this on you?

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, if I can’t avoid the subject, then you can’t either.”

You shake your head. This was not the time to talk about this. He takes your silence as an answer and moves a step back.

“I’m going out. Tonight,” he announces. “I’m not waiting around.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to reply before he turns around and walks away. The action surprises you; Peter was never the one to walk away. If he was, it was because there was a danger that he needed to tend to.

This time, he willingly chose to.

You mull over what he said before he left. I’m not waiting around. He said it with such conviction. It almost sounded like he wasn’t talking about Spider-Man.

He was talking about you.

+++

You didn’t realize the Avengers had their own private hospital section, but considering their job description, you shouldn’t be surprised.

The stale, air-conditioned air of the hospital welcomed you the minute you entered. Goosebumps prickled your exposed arms as the atmosphere around you shifted.

Yeah, you really didn’t like hospitals. Especially now.

The nurses didn’t know anything of you or your involvement either, so they couldn’t let you go past the designated waiting room, leaving you all alone in a stuffy room. You’ve been staring at the fish tank for the last five minutes, waiting for someone to at least come in and talk to you.

Ugh, fuck this.

You texted MJ and Ned the news about Peter, which was a rather chaotic conversation. You promised you would let them know the whole story soon, but now didn’t feel like the time. Not when your other half may or may not be alive.

When you left the school, Ned spammed Stark Industries with emergency messages, which finally got Tony Stark’s attention. You overheard some nurses at the desk talking, and apparently, he was somewhere in the building, talking down a woman. You had no doubt that it was May.

God, if you thought you’ve been through it, you couldn’t imagine how she felt. To find out your nephew, who was basically your son, is a crime-fighting superhero is one thing. To find out he was almost killed and is currently fighting for his life all in one night is another. You were surprised her head didn’t explode right then and there.

Another ten minutes pass by before May comes out from the patient area, eyes red and completely distraught. Tony Stark was close behind her, holding the door open as May’s crouched figure passes through.

You stare at the two of them and accidentally make eye contact with the billionaire. He sends you a nod before heading back to the hospital rooms, like it was the only safe thing to do. The anger from before quickly disappeared; at least you weren’t the only one in shock.

“Oh, Y/N,” May says when she spots you. “I didn’t know you’d be here. It’s super late, I think it’s safer if you went back home. I don’t want your parents to worry. Do you need me to call and talk to them? I can take you home if you need me to.”

“May, you don’t-“

“I mean it’s probably best if I go do something. I don’t think I can sit here for very long without pulling my hair out.”

“May-“

“This is all just hitting me so hard. I mean, how did I not even realize this? I feel so stupid. God, the nerve of Tony to pull this. I should have never trusted him-“

“It’s my fault, May.” You snap, ceasing her rambles. “I did this… I fucking caused all of this. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what to do and one thing led to another and… I killed him. I killed Peter. I am so sorry, May. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

May doesn’t respond right away, still processing everything you said. Her shoulders slump down slightly as she cocks her head. Out of all the news she got tonight, this one confused her the most. But as she focused on you and your shivering body, she realized she wasn’t the only one that had a rough night.

She takes your hands. “Let’s talk, alright?”

The next fifteen minutes were spent by you blubbering about everything. The soulmate memory, his Spider-Man secret, how you tried to keep apart, and how you found him downtown. You skip over the rather intimate parts, knowing it was probably not going to help May. Your face is red and splotchy by the end of it, and a handful of tissues covered the small table next to you.

May doesn’t say a word until you’re done. Though a nice gesture, her silence was more due to her complete shock.

“I am so fucking sorry, May,” you whisper at the end. “I should have told you, or someone, at least. It’s just that, it was Peter’s life on the line. I didn’t want to do anything and hurt him. I thought it was best if he made the call, but look where that got us.” You wipe your eyes and look away. The guilt was unbearable. May was nothing but caring to you, and you repay her by killing her nephew.

“God... I knew Peter was having a rough time, I always heard him at weird hours of the night, but I thought it was just school or something. I’ve always checked on him, but he would always say he’s busy.” She shakes her head. “I don’t blame you, though. I mean, I’m not exactly happy this all went down the way it did, but I can’t be mad at you for at least trying to save him, even when it hurt to.”

You sniffle at her words, trying to suppress any more tears. “He still got hurt, though. Peter being my soulmate cost him his life…” you whisper the last word.

May offers a sympathetic smile as she smooths your hair. “You know, people say the reason for soulmates is to be with someone you love forever, but it never takes into account some people’s forever is shorter than others,” she explains. “When Ben died… I was so angry at the world. Why give me this amazing person if I only got them for a short time? Sure, the world can give me another soulmate or something, but it almost defeats the purpose… makes it seem that I had to have this one soulmate before I had to a ‘real’ soulmate. Even after all this time, part of me will always want him…

“But even if Ben isn’t with me forever, I was with him for his forever, and I found a way to be okay with that. I gave him all the love I possibly could have, and I have no doubt in my head that it was worth it.”

You smile and nod at her words, but she could tell you weren’t completely getting the point. “You and Peter are great together, friendship or more. There’s no way he regrets spending his time with you, and I don’t think you do either. The two of you always had something special. Don’t push away from that, even if it might seem easier.”

You find May’s hands and give a firm squeeze, a silent way of saying thanks. For months, you have been trying to go for easy: less drama, fewer risks… but it was still a whole lot of pain. And for what? Never getting to be with your best friend in the way you truly wanted? May made it seem like the choice was obvious, and you wondered if it actually was.

A few quiet minutes pass until Tony Stark steps into the waiting room and approaches the two of you. You and May quickly stand up, waiting for the worst. You already experienced Peter’s “death”, you didn’t need to go through it again, especially if it’s real this time.

“Is he going to be okay?” May quickly asks, hands close to her chest, protecting herself from any hidden blows.

Tony’s mouth tightens before answering. “More or less…” he starts, looking down before continuing. “The wound was deep, and if he couldn’t heal as fast as he could, this would be a different story. However, it was still caused by dangerous, alien hybrid technology and he was already in a rough state prior to the… stab.” He cringes at the word. “Scrapes and bruises, a broken rib, some significant brain injury… Dr. Cho is doing the best she can, but as of right now, he’s in a comatose state.”

You gulp at the news. “So, what does that mean? When will he wake up?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“But- but he will wake up, right?” you clarify.

A pause. Tony’s jaw ticks. His eyes quickly leave you before blinking and meeting yours again, but you notice it. The doubt behind them.

“I don’t know…”

---

It’s almost midnight, which means you’ve spent the whole night worrying.

You were out on the fire escape freezing your ass off. It would only take ten steps maximum to grab something warm, but the bite of the wind kept you alert.

You weren’t going to leave until you knew Peter was safe.

He barely talked to you since this morning. He sat near Ned at lunch instead of you and took different routes to class. You texted him a few times throughout the day, but he never replied.

So, when you sent a message checking in on him with no response back, you weren’t sure if it was him ignoring you or that he was in danger. You let out a sigh of worry as your breath dissolved into the night.

You never realized how nice your view was. The most use your window got was when Peter came in, but that hasn’t happened for months. It’s crazy that you consider that a simpler time in your relationship.

Your ears focus on the sounds of the city. The bustling noises often brought you comfort, knowing that there were thousands of people going through the motions of life. Tonight, however, it sent a feeling of loneliness to your veins. New York kept going on while you were wallowing and worrying. It didn’t need you, even though you needed them.

A sudden urge to cry makes your throat tightens. You really hope that Peter was alright.

When you check the time again, you saw that a new day began. You decide to shove your phone back in your pocket. Watching the clock every ten seconds wasn’t going to help.

You sigh, maybe you’ll feel different today. Maybe you’ll feel warmer because holy shit is it cold outside. At what temperature does hypothermia kick in? That seems like a question to Google, not experiment.

You’re about to turn back when you hear a soft thwip, and a Peter hanging outside down on the stairs. You weren’t too sure how he was feeling at the moment, his covered eyes not giving any hints, but you send a soft smile nonetheless.

“I’m not a damsel in distress if that’s what you’re thinking,” you break the ice.

Peter turns himself right side up, taking a seat on the railing next to you. He pulls his mask off and drops it in his lap, and you can see his face isn’t as icy as this morning. But his mouth was pulled tight, unsure how to go about this.

“I’d consider frostbite to be a crime,” he shrugs. Luckily, you had your window open this whole time. With a quick webshot, Peter sticks and catches the sweater hanging on your chair before offering it to you. “Especially if Spider-Man can stop it.”

You bite your cheek. Part of you didn’t want to give in, but there was no way you could last another minute out here. Slowly, you grabbed your sweater, your fingers grazing the fabric of his suit. A way of saying thank you.

“Slow day?” you ask, pulling the sweater over your head. The extra layer was already warming you up, and your body relaxes a little.

“Well, considering the biggest thing I did today was helping tourists find their way to the subway, I’ll let you figure that out,” he laughs. “Though I suppose some good work is better than no work at all. At least the city knows I’m back.”

Peter realizes that the last sentence wasn’t a good idea, your face slightly dropping at his words. He tries to keep talking in hopes of distracting you. “So uh, any reason why you’re out here tonight?”

“I was waiting for you. Couldn’t sleep until I knew you were safe, I guess.” you sigh, looking back at the skyline. “I also wanted to apologize, for how I reacted. Even if I didn’t agree with you, I could have at least listened to you.”

Peter awkwardly nods, guilt surfacing at your confession. “I mean, I could have done the same thing too. I was so focused on the dumb rumors I let Flash get into my head. That was my first mistake,” he jokes, causing you to snort. “I’m not trying to get into myself into any death matches anytime soon, but I still want to help out, you know?”

“Always the hero… I learned that back in D.C.,” you sigh. “I guess I’m still trying to figure things out. Everything just feels weird right now, and I don’t think I’m making it any easier.”

He doesn’t say anything and faces back toward the city. He takes a breath of the city, smelling the mix of laundry detergent from your apartment basement and the exhaust from the streets.

For all his life, Peter was dedicated to New York. He loved going to the museums with May and Ben; he always tried to pay street performers with whatever spare change he had in his pocket; he rolled his eyes every time someone brought up New Jersey; most importantly, he wouldn’t take off the suit until he knew his home was safe, even if it was almost morning.

He’s done everything he could to protect his neighborhood and the people who need it most, yet he feels… almost distant from it all. As if Peter was trying to find something more to it. A faint memory passes through his head- what did Ben use to say all those years ago? Something like, “home isn’t a place, it’s a feeling”?

Peter’s brain sticks to the thought.

Suddenly, the last month hits him.

“I thought of you,” he starts, still looking out into the night. “When it happened, all I could think about was you.”

Your face softens as the beating of your heart becomes audible.

“I was so… angry about it all. I was so pissed off at myself. Even if I knew that was gonna happen, even if I knew or thought I guess, that that was the end, I was an idiot for not spending my time with you. I should’ve used whatever time I had trying to be something more to you, instead of pushing away what we already had. At least if I did die, I would be at peace with everything,” he chokes up a little at the end. “You’re my best friend, and one that somehow gets me. This place is my home and I’d do anything for it.” He turns his head closer. “But it’s nothing without you. Life feels complicated, it’s always been complicated… but I think it’d be easier if we were in it together.”

You bite your lip and pick at the skin. They’ve been chapped since you came out, but it didn’t stop you from using it to cope with your nerves. Peter was laying it all out on the table, and you were the one left silent.

“You don’t have to tell me why we didn’t kiss, it’s completely understandable if you rather just let it go. I’ve pushed you away too many times, it’s only fair you get to do the same at least once. But I want you to know this.” His eyes were bright under the moonlight.

The last hurrah.

“I would keep you in any possible way I could. I told myself that I need to be able to do what I want, and I want you, for however long I can get you,” he sighs. “If you’re not ready for that, okay. If you never want that- fuck – that’s okay too. I love you. I will always love you,” he says, passion dripping from his words and into your heart. “If you could wait for me, I can wait for you too. Whenever you’re ready, just say when. I don’t care what I’m doing, or where I am, I’m always going to be here with you. Even if you don’t want me, I’ll be here.”

I’ll be here…

+++

It took five days for Peter to wake up.

Five days of nonstop worrying and utter stress. Five days of you traveling to the hospital first thing after school until your parents texted you to come home. Five days of you not sleeping because you were waiting for the call, and you had no idea what to expect when it did.

The first day was somewhat bearable. May and you slept in the waiting room that night, and when you woke up, which was about four hours later, she took you home. Sitting in a sticky, vinyl chair was not helping you, and if May had to wait there for another minute, she was afraid she’d have another meltdown.

You were still a little numb from it all by the time you got back. It wasn’t until almost midnight that you started to realize, oh shit, you don’t know when Peter will wake up. If… he’ll ever wake up.

That first night you cried in your bed until the morning. Your face was swollen for the rest of the day, and when your parents came back on the second day, they were panicking that you had an allergic reaction.

You told May not to tell them. They didn’t need to know, and they didn’t need to coddle and worry about you. May, who didn’t exactly think it was a good idea, reluctantly agreed anyways. So, when your parents were fussing about your appearance, you laughed it off and told them you watched The Notebook the night before with some friends.

It was just easier that way.

The second day was spent with you wallowing in your room, waiting by your phone for something. May told you she would keep you updated and that you shouldn’t worry, which both of you knew was just empty advice. Hearing nothing was just as bad as hearing something.

Later that day, MJ sent a few news articles about the Vulture and his arrest. Apparently, his suit gave out not too long after he left the scene, causing him to suffer some internal injuries and harsh burns. He got caught by Stark Industries and was arrested quickly after, and is currently awaiting trial. It was likely that Adrian Toomes would be under bars for a while, and that brought you both relief and guilt as you tried to sleep.

The third day sent you to school, and at least gave you something to focus on. The tension between you and your friends was palpable, but no one bothered to address it, not sure where to even go. The only mention of that night was with Liz in the hallway before she left, and that was enough for you.

You went back to the hospital on the third day (after telling your parents you were staying at school for newspaper), and though there was nothing new about Peter’s condition, you still wanted to be there just in case. May was too busy with work to come in unless there was an emergency, and you hope that brought her more relief than stress.

You spent your visiting hours watching Peter sleep, or whatever people did when they were in a coma. You at least liked to pretend he was just sleeping, it made you feel better about his chances of waking up.

His face was so pale and frail under the fluorescents, and you wished he could wake up just long enough to get some actual food in him. You hoped he was at least somewhat at peace right now and resting away all of the stress he’s put himself under. The stress that you were also a cause of.

“I’m sorry, Peter. For everything,” you whisper. Even if he could hear you right now, you’re not sure you want him to. You slowly stand up from your chair and step closer to the boy, brushing his curls back. Gently, you lean forward and press a kiss to the top of his head, brushing the area with your thumb afterward. “I hope you’re doing okay…”

The fourth day is mostly the same. After school, you lied to your parents and went straight to the hospital. You quietly worked on homework while sitting next to Peter, glancing at him from time to time and sending his hand a reassuring squeeze every now and then. He looks the same as yesterday, and you’re not too sure if that’s good or not.

“You know he’s not going anywhere,” you hear from the doorway. Their voice was instantly recognizable. “Dr. Cho says he’s doing alright, though. Still don’t know when he’ll wake up, but he’s alright for now.” Tony Stark says.

You scoff. “No offense, but that ‘for now’ part doesn’t seem so reassuring.”

“Fair enough,” he shrugs, taking a seat next to you. “But considering this is probably my fault, I’ll take that over nothing.”

You shake your head. “It’s not your fault. It was bound to happen either way, no matter what you did, it wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“Yeah, that’s what everyone says, isn’t it?” he mumbles.

“Trust me, I actually mean it. If we’re going to put blame on anyone it should be on me… or the universe or whatever.”

Tony tilts his head. “Universe as in…”

“-soulmates, yeah,” you answer. “In our future, we saw each other after the incident, and I thought he died… now here we are.”

“Right, here we are…” he repeats. “They told me someone else was there at the scene when I got to the hospital, but I wasn’t sure who they were referring to until I saw you afterward. Nice to meet officially meet you…”

“Y/N,” you introduce yourself.

Tony nods. “I’m sorry about how all that went down though. I knew the kid wants his identity to be a secret so I tried to keep everything under wraps as much I could.”

“No hard feelings,” you smile. “I was definitely upset at the time, but I could tell you were just as worried as I was. You wanted to protect him… I do too.” You turn and look at Peter, watching his chest go up and down with his breath. “I’d do anything for him.”

You don’t notice Tony’s faint smile as he watches you and Peter. Young love was beyond him, and watching it happen right in front of his eyes was both sweet and nauseating.

“I should be heading back, I only came here for a quick check-in. Still have some loose ends to tie up regarding press, but nothing to worry about.” He stands up, straightening his jacket. “Glad we got a chance to chat.”

“Me too.” You watch as he walks away, words still at the tip of your tongue. “For what it’s worth Mr. Stark,” you begin, gaining his attention again. “Peter is the type of person who would do anything to save people. He looks out for his family, his friends, me… I can’t imagine someone who’s more of a hero than him, and that includes the Avengers. No offense,” you half-joke. “Whatever you decide to do with him, I hope you give him another chance. He’s really amazing- powers or not.”

He nods, impressed at your words. Tony doesn’t say anything, choosing to offer you a smile before turning away, leaving you and Peter alone. You don’t stay much longer after he leaves, and you follow yesterday’s routine of kissing Peter’s head before heading out.

The fifth day is rainy, perfect to match your somber mood. School decided that today would be a great day to kick your ass and give you tons of homework, even though finals week was already fast approaching. You also forgot an umbrella this morning, and your clothes were still damp from your walk from the subway station. For the cherry on top, no one has had any updates on Peter since he went under, and your hope was starting to falter.

Without thinking, you took Peter’s hands in yours and started to fidget around with his fingers. The cuts on his knuckles were turning pink and gradually healing, while the calluses on his palms were still evident. Much of the skin around his joints were rough, but it meshed so well with the smoothness around it. You were never touchy with other people, but you desperately wanted Peter to squeeze your hands back. At least show some indication that everything was going to be okay.

When you actually felt a squeeze, you almost couldn’t believe it.

You straighten in your chair and turn your head up. A slow flutter of the eyes and a twitch of the lips make your body tense in anticipation. Is he…?

“Peter?” you whisper.

A quiet groan escapes his mouth as Peter’s eyes gently open, taking in the bright lights. You sigh in relief and blink away at the tears trying to come. This better not be a dream.

“Y/N?” he asks, voice dry and scratchy.

“Oh jeez, maybe don’t talk yet. I’ll go grab you some water and tell the nurses you’re up, okay?” you loosen your grip on Peter’s hands, but he squeezes again.

His head does the tiniest shake as he stares down, watching where your fingers touch his. “Stay. They’ll figure it out.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “Fine,” you give in. You’ll be out of here soon enough when they find out, and you wanted to spend time with the boy who came back from the dead. “If I get in trouble though, you cannot play the ‘sick patient’ card.”

Peter lets out a gravelly laugh, his body still trying to figure out how to be awake. “I’ll try my best…” he mumbles.

“You’ll try your best? Seriously?” you scoff. “You finally wake up and your first words are some half-ass promise?”

He takes a deep inhale, both humored and annoyed at your teasing. “Fine. I promise I won’t… as long as you promise to be here.”

You smile at his quiet words, taking his knuckle and forcing his pinkie finger up. You gently wrap yours around it, looking him dead in his tired eyes. “I promise I’ll be here,” you whisper.

”I’ll always be here…”

---

A month ago, you promised Peter that exact same thing, and it feels like you already broke that promise. The world has offered you a second chance, and you were doing the same thing Peter did the first time: pushing away out of fear. Could you really waste another five months doing that again?

Could your heart handle that?

“Sorry if I made you uncomfortable or something,” Peter stammers. “If you need some time alone, that’s cool,” he offers, fumbling to put his mask back on.

“-Peter, wait.”

He immediately freezes, looking at you with wide eyes. The wind was starting to pick up, and his curls gently blew in the breeze. The dry air irritates his lips as he picks at it, waiting for your next response.

You move closer to him, inch by inch on the railing; your hands are almost touching, your pinkie desperately wanting to link with his gloved one. You take a deep breath and let it trap in your chest as you stare at the boy in front of you.

Peter Parker.

Spider-Man.

Your soulmate.

But most importantly, your best friend.

The wind moves through your hair and chills your body, yet it jumpstarts every nerve in your system. Peter was alive; you were alive; and fuck, was it a good feeling.

You wanted more, so you leaned in. Your nose touched Peter’s and your mouths closed the gap. A small, innocent kiss to tell him you want more, and that it was his call to keep going. When you stop, and Peter realizes that yes, you did just kiss him, he comes back for more. And he’s not looking to stop anytime soon.

His hand lets go of the railing and wraps around the small of your back, keeping you close and balanced. He keeps the other one gripped tight to the metal; he doesn’t trust himself to not get dizzy from you.

You cradle Peter’s face and deepen yourself into his presence. Your heart is hammering against your chest and you love it. It makes your body heat up and radiates the air around you. You hum against his mouth as you suck on his bottom lip, making Peter whine at the feeling. Your sweater rides up as you press yourself closer, and his thumb draws circles on the exposed skin. The small action makes you smile; you were only half-sure you weren’t crying at the amount of love that was running through your veins.

It seems like forever until you two are pulling away, absolutely blissed out and breathless. Neither of you go that far, faces still just a space or two away.

You look into Peter’s glassy eyes. If something were to happen to him, if you had to say goodbye to him in the worst way possible, if you had to grieve for a lifetime in order to move on, if you had to spend every day thinking of him and crying until your face was red and dry…

It was worth it. You were grateful to be loved by Peter Parker.

You catch your breath and take a slow inhale. It smells like cedarwood. Home.

You lean forward again and Peter meets you halfway. Your lips are just touching when you whisper into his mouth his new favorite word.

“When.”

Part 4 / Masterlist

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