#Bob can eat a needle please

[shinycupcakebaker]

Holding me tight

Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’Floyd x single mom reader

Summary: Bob surprises you for a late Valentine’s Day celebration. Inspired by the song Bubbly by Colbie Caillat.

Content warnings: fluffiness, surprises, ‘cliff hanger’ ending

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: This is my contribution to @ohtobeleah Galentine’s Day Special. I hope that y’all enjoy it. 😊

You sat in the hospital lab, your leg nervously bouncing as the nurse drew your blood. You glanced at your watch as she withdrew the needle from your arm and placed a cotton ball over the area. You pulled your arm up and held it in place as she placed a piece of tape over the cotton. You stood quickly, “Thank you Chloe. Can you have the results texted or emailed to me? I have to pick up Myka from school.”

She nodded and you quickly headed out to your car. You called the school from the car, letting them know that you were running late but on your way. 20 minutes later, you were pulling up to the school. Parking and hopping out of the car, you headed into the school to sign her out.

“Sorry,” you signed. “An emergency came in and I had some bloodwork drawn.”

“You okay, Dr. L/N?” The secretary, Mrs. Greene signed.

You nodded quickly. “Yes, I’m fine. Just been a bit tired lately. And I had that stomach bug that was going around.”

Mrs. Greene nodded and sighed. “It’s been going thru school like a wildfire. Here she is.”

You turned and saw Myka walking to the front office with her teacher. You smiled as she ran to you, hugging her tightly.

“Hey Myks, you ready? You do you say about pizza for dinner? And we can watch a movie as we eat.”

Myka nodded excitedly and waved good bye to her teacher and Mrs. Greene. You thanked her teacher and headed out to the car, hand in hand.

Myka excitedly told you about her day at school. That there was a new student in her class that was assigned to the desk next to hers. And that they were starting the times tables in Math class. Before long you were pulling into the driveway of your modest 2 bedroom home.

Entering the house, you had Myka put her lunch bag in the kitchen and change out of her uniform before starting her homework at the kitchen table.

“I’m going to take a quick shower.” You had told Myka before making sure the front door was locked and headed upstairs. Walking into your bedroom, smiling softly at the base of peach colored tulips that sat at your bedside. Bob had them sent to you at the hospital for Valentine’s Day.

You and Bob had been doing the long distance thing since you had met at the Naval Ball in October. You had to figure out a way to thank Rooster for asking you to be his ‘date’.

Whenever you talked to Bob or even thought of him, this feeling came over you. It was like tingles combined with butterflies. It started in your toes and worked its way up your body. Your cheeks would flush pick whenever he looked at you with that shy knowing smile. Everyone seemed to think that he was this shy guy that had no game but oh boy, they all were dead wrong. That man had swept you off your feet. He was always 2 steps ahead, carefully observing everything and taking it all in.

He and Rooster had come out to visit for Christmas and he surprised you by learning ASL for Myka. She was so excited and you were beyond touched. Usually when guys found out that you had a daughter, and that she was hearing impaired, they headed for the door. Not Bob. He wanted to know all about her. What she liked. What her favorite color was. He warmed your heart by wanting to get to know her.

You headed back downstairs, sitting down next to Myka and looked over her homework with her. She was working on her times tables with you placed started to place the order for pizza.

“Myks, plain cheese or pepperoni?”

“Pepperoni please.” She smiled and went back to her homework.

You ordered a small pepperoni and a large veggie, no mushrooms with bacon and extra black olives.

“About 30 minutes. What movie did you want to watch?”

She thought for a minute, smiling. “Can we watch The Marvels?”

You nodded and kissed the top of her head as you stood up. “Of course.”

Standing at the sink, you emptied her lunch bag, washing out the plastic containers and the inside of the bag. You started making up her lunch for the next day when the doorbell rang. It hadn’t yet been 30 minutes. Glancing out the window, seeing it had started to rain and frowned.

“Myks, can you see if it’s the pizza?” You dried off your hands and went to grab your wallet for a tip.

“Momma!!! It’s for you!!” Myka came running back to the kitchen with a huge grin. You looked at her strangely and headed out to the front door. Opening the door, gasping loudly as Bob stood in front of you with a large bouquet of roses and tulips.

“Bob!!” You pulled him inside, out of the rain, and threw your arms around his neck. “What are you doing here?”

He pulled you in close, kissing you. “Well, surprise. You said you work Valentine’s Day but you managed to get the early shift today and you were off tomorrow, so I wanted to come out to see you and Myka.”

You sighed softly , laying your head on his chest. “You are amazing, Bob. You know that, right?”

He smiled, looking down at you, and kissed the top of your head. “You’ve told me once or twice.”

Myka ran over, grabbing Bob hand and pulled him towards the living room. “Come on Bob! We’re gonna have pizza and watch a movie.”

He followed behind Myka as she tugged him. “That sounds like fun. What movie are you ladies watching?”

Myka giggled. “The Marvels.”

“I haven’t seen that one yet.” Bob smiled. “Myka, I have something I wanted to ask you. Would you be my Valentine?

She turned her attention to Bob as he revealed a small bouquet of 2 pink roses and 2 pink tulips held by a stuffed bear. She smiled brightly, nodding as she hugged him and took the bouquet from him.

Your heart melted and that warm and fuzzy tingly feeling came over you again. Seeing the two of them interact was something that you had worried about. You hadn’t really dated since Myka’s father had passed and you weren’t sure how she would react to you ‘dating’. But she warmed to Bob instantly and he made sure that she was involved in everything. Myka ran over to you, beaming. “Bob got me flowers Momma!”

“He did? They are beautiful Myks. Let’s put them in some water and we can put them in your room when you head to bed.” You took her hand and led her to the kitchen, looking for a vase. Cutting off the ends and put the flowers in water, the doorbell rang again. Smiling and booping Myka’s nose, “I bet that’s the pizza now.”

Setting the flowers on the counter, you turn and see Bob with the pizzas in hand. He walks to the kitchen, smiling and set them on the counter. “He said they were already paid for, so I gave him a tip.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” You turned, grabbing some paper plates and napkins from the cupboard. “But thank you. Myka, how many slices do you want?”

“Two, please.” She called from the living room. You placed 2 pieces on a plate and opened your pizza box when the smell of bacon and onion combined hit you and you scrambled for the bathroom.

Bob watched as you ran down the hallway, glancing over at Myka. “Momma’s been sick a lot lately.”

He raised his eyebrows, jogging down the hallway as he heard you getting sick. Knocking softly on the door, “Y/N, you okay?”

You quickly rinsed out your mouth and opened the door, nodding. “Yeah, I’m okay Bob.” You placed a hand on his cheek, smiling up at him.

“Myka said you’ve been getting sick a lot.” Bob looked concerned, taking your hand in his, brushing his thumb over your knuckles.

There was the feeling again. You crinkled your nose and nodded. “A couple of weeks ago, a bunch of us from the hospital got food poisoning from the diner across the street from the ER. And last week, the stomach bug was running thru the ER and Myka’s school. I’m really okay.”

“Okay. Myka has the movie ready to go.” Bob nodded and kissed your forehead before leading you out to the living room. You sat down on the couch with him, leaning into his chest as he pulled a blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over the two of you. He wrapped his arms around you, his fingers trailing gently up and down your arm as the movie started.

Smiling as the warmth enveloped you, your head tucked under Bob’s chin. As your head laid on his chest, his steady breathing and heartbeat relaxed you. You could imagine staying like this forever, wrapped in his arms. You shifted slightly as your phone chimed with an alert. Pulling your phone from your pocket, the alert was from your MyChart app with your test results. Opening the app quickly, seeing the results, mumbling, “Oh shit….”

#leahsgalentinesdayspecial #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd #top gun maverick

[waywardangel-wilds]

Cyclamen

I've decided to make this a short story with maybe 3 chapters. I finished the first one:

“Oh hush, you.”

“Stranger tales have been woven.”

“What can a no-good fool know about such things,” the woman hmphed, “To speak of them.”

“I may be a fool, but I’m no less wiser,” the man winked. His eyes were riddled with cataracts, but they sparkled. The children huddled close by; their little heads eagerly tilted with the promise of a story.

“Papa, please tell us,” One of them begged, her little hands pulling insistently at the old man’s knee. “Please!”

“You’ve done it now,” his wife turned back to her knitting needles.

“Well, it’s as they say. Once, long ago, on a winter night just like this one, old man Everdeen heard it.”

“What did he hear?” one of the youngsters gasped.

“Three knocks,” he whispered and slowly, so slowly, brought a fist aloft.

“One,” he struck his knuckles against the arm of his chair.

“Two,” the children’s eyes followed his every movement.

“Three.”

The howling winds were ferocious that night. They screamed and scratched against the walls, rattling the window shutters, and pushing up against the door. The cold was like no other. The cruelest winter in three generations. With it, hunger and illness stole in, unwelcome guests to every household, perfumed with the stench of death.

The house was small, a cottage of just one room. There was a fire, a table for eating, two beds, and nothing else. That was all there was, in those days. All there could be.

Old Man Everdeen had a wife and two children. Two lovely daughters, one fair and golden and one bronze and ebony. He loved them, dearly. They were all he had. He would have done anything, sacrificed anything, his health, his life, his sanity, but that was not what the bear wanted from him.

Old Man Everdeen had a daughter made of iron. She took care of him and their family without complaint. Every day, without fail since the mineshaft took his legs. It troubled him, to be so useless, to be cumbersome. But his daughter, his lovely daughter, she was as radiant as the sun.

That evening, desperation was their guest. The cupboards were bare, and the coal would run out. The wind kept screaming, screeching, all around, as they huddled close to the fire. Waiting. For death? For an unknown guest?

And then it came.

The knocks were heavy. Final. They sucked the air out of the room and hushed the blizzard. He ceased breathing.  Even the mice paused. It came once, twice, three times.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Papa,” his youngest daughter whispered. “Who’s there?”

“Everdeen,” the voice spoke inside his mind. “Everdeen. We must all pay our debts.”

His iron daughter stood.

“No!” he reached out, but she was a step too far. “Katniss!”

“They might need our help,” she replied earnestly. Innocently. Kindly.  He would have stood if he could. “I’ll be alright, Papa.”

“Everdeen,” the voice spoke to him again.

His daughter’s feet whispered against the floorboards. She never made a sound. His little lynx. She was his little hunter, his little Katniss bloom. She already had twenty summers, but to him, she’d always be his toothy girl, bobbing in the river, all sharp knees, and elbows, shouting Papa! Papa! Look what I can do!

The door creaked open, but only slightly, to keep the cold air out. His daughter gasped and scrambled backwards, tripping over a chair. She fell hard on the ground, but that was the least of their concerns. The door swung open as flurries of snow blanketed the wooden floor. His wife cried out at his side and his other daughter screamed. But he didn’t make a sound. Somehow, he had known. He’d always known things would end like this.

The white bear took one step and then another into the house. It stared at him, unblinking, with eyes the color of the northern sea. Yes, he’d known, how could he have forgotten? We must all pay our debts.

“You are a poor man, Everdeen.” The bear spoke to him alone. “What have you for me?”

“Nothing,” he whispered in reply, to his wife’s bewilderment.

“Spruce?” she asked, staring at him as he remained calm before the bear. She stood, shaking, but with their youngest hidden behind her. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“Ah!” His eldest daughter screamed, rushing up behind the bear with one of their hunting knives above her head. It was reckless and desperate, but just like her to try and protect him once more.

“Stop!” he exclaimed, and she did. She stood wild-eyed and panting, the knife still brandished in her hands. “It means no harm.”

The bear turned its large head and gazed down at his daughter. She stared back defiantly but she was afraid. And how couldn’t she be? With a bear in their home and a debt to pay?

“I have nothing.” He insisted once more. “No gold, no riches, not even bread to break. Oh, Great Northern Bear, have mercy on my family, and take me alone.”

“What?” His wife shouted just as his eldest daughter gasped.

“You are an honest man.” The bear spoke again without moving its jaws. It remained speaking to him exclusively. “But my master demands fair payment all the same.”

“I understand,” he nodded and closed his eyes. “Please, Great Bear if you must strike me down, allow my family the peace of ignorance. Do not take me here.”

“Your life is not payment enough, Everdeen.”  The bears’ words rocked him to his core. “You must give me your greatest treasure. From your two daughters, chose one, so I might take her with me.”

“Never,” he declared. “Strike me down where I stand, but never, not my daughters.”

“Papa!” His youngest exclaimed.

“You are a poor man, Everdeen.” The bear repeated. “Give me your eldest daughter and I will bathe you in riches. Your wife and child will have enough to eat for the rest of your days. But you must give me the eldest Everdeen, and never see her again, so your debt will be repaid.”

He choked on a sob, “No.” He insisted. “Take me and wipe my old debt clean and never darken my door again.”

The bear made a growling noise and turned its great head once more. His daughter gasped and he knew, it spoke to her alone.

“Katniss,” he begged. “Don’t.”

His daughter took her time straightening her spine and putting down her knife. She fixed her hair. She glanced at the bear once and strode up to her mother.

“I love you,” she whispered and embraced her once, doing the same to her sister a moment after.

“Katniss,” his voice turned desperate. “Please.”

She came up to him last. He was sequestered to the sofa unless someone else moved him first. She embraced him and his sobs escaped. His daughter was made of iron, and he knew nothing would bend her.

“Goodbye, Papa.” She whispered, squeezing his shoulders. “I love you.”

“Katniss!” He cried after her, his voice bouncing off against the walls long after she was gone.

#the hunger games #thg #katniss everdeen #everlark #fanfic #inspired by some of my favorite books: the girl in the tower / the winter witch and East of the Sun and West of the Moon #cyclamen

[liz-allyn]

sugar and vice, pt. 12 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: paint it black.

words: 8.7 k

chapter warning: very graphic descriptions of drug use, sex, violence and gore. smutty sorta dubcon spicyness (under the influence), alcohol, clubbing, being stoned, dry humping, needles, small dick energy, **tw sa - groping**

series warnings: mob-typical violence, bang bang shoot shoot, whump. hurt/comfort. sexual situations. spousal abuse. family trauma. drug use. coercion. kidnapping. gore. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. ‘only ten one bed oops’ trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. extremely toxic relationships.

This version of TASM Peter is not canon. The relationships and characters here are not healthy.

Please don't date a mob boss.

18+ You’re responsible for your own media consumption, but if you still can't name the Mambo #5 women then gtfo.

a/n - Part 11 and 12 were the same chapter until I looked at the word count. Read 11 first! Also, it might be fun to listen to the official Sugar and Vice playlist on Spotify for this chapter.

Go back to Part 11.

Part 12

Honey didn’t know this song, and she was nowhere near as coordinated as Felicia. Something something something about a monster and someone rapping really fast—fuck, this dress is so short!

Felicia had sectioned herself and Honey away from the crowd, up on an elevated platform two feet off the ground. It was a tiny island in the vast ocean of sweaty, pulsating bodies. She felt somewhat relieved up there, not worrying about strangers breathing down her neck or wandering hands feeling up her backside. Simultaneously, she felt exposed. 

“Relax,” Felicia hollered over the sound of the music. The taller woman wrapped her lithe but toned arms around her neck, gazing down at her with a million-dollar smile. “No one’s looking at us, honey. And if they are, it’s eating them up inside.”

“Why?” she shouted back, her voice audible above the loud music. “I don’t want to make anyone... eat... themselves?”

Felicia leaned into her space as if whispering a secret, her eyes swimming with mischief. “Because they want what they can’t have. And we can have what we want.” She lifted her eyes across the room. “Speaking of which—Annabelle!” 

Honey spun around to see a pink-haired woman with a long bob cut standing behind the bar pop her head up at the name. The two women locked eyes. Felicia said nothing, just smiled, pointed her index finger in her direction, then added another finger to form the number two. Inexplicably, Annabelle must have known exactly what the gesture meant because she nodded and went to work mixing cocktails. 

“Come on, babe, let’s have a drink,” Felicia said, pushing back her platinum locks, slightly damped with perspiration. Honey followed her order, and carefully tread down the small staircase off the platform to floor level. Felicia cut across off the platform, marching her stilettos through the center of someone’s VIP table, then onto the seat of an open chair, then onto the floor. 

She took Honey’s hand and led her to the bar. The sea of people parted in front of her as if she was Moses. Honey looked over at her in awe, as if she was a divine figure.

Danny Rand was in prime form tonight. Silk shirt half unbuttoned, skin flushed from alcohol, he poured a bottle of Cristal directly into the mouth of a fangirl on her knees front of him. 

Rolling his eyes at the scene, Miguel’s voice rang out as he approached, “Well, look who it is!” 

Eyes turned towards the uninvited guest as he sauntered up to the VIP table. Danny looked up from his game with a sour face, chest puffing up, nostrils flaring. He sighed heavily as he recognized the figure strolling towards him, curling his lip. Miguel held his arms outstretched and said with a boisterous tone, “If it isn’t the Boy with the Magic Fist!”

Danny tossed a dirty look at him. “It’s Iron Fist, bitch,” he growled, snatching his glass from the hands of one of his friends. The sudden shift in tone rippled outwards among his guests, the festive energy deflating like a balloon.

Miguel held his hands up in surrender. “How you spend your Saturday nights is your business. I’m here because the boss wants to see you.”

The young fighter downed his flute, emptying it. He glowered as he lowered the glass, breathing venom over it’s rim. “Your boss,” he sneered, pointing daggers. “Not mine.” He sat back on the sofa, wrapping an arm around his supermodel Barbie doll. He crossed his leg and leaned back smugly, glaring up at Miguel. “I’m no one’s lapdog.” 

“Oh yeah?” he flashed a supercillious smile. “Why don’t you tell him that yourself?” Miguel leveled a hard gaze at him. “He’s here.” 

The second he finished his sentence, the crowd shifted, like an icy chill blew through the area. Danny sobered instantly, his smile fading. His guests read his reaction, awkwardly averting their eyes, minding their drinks quietly.

“Hear that? Your whistle’s blowing,” Miguel added with a showy flourish of his arm. “After you, bitch.”

A little later, Honey, Felicia, and Eddie had taken over an unoccupied couch at a floor-level VIP table. It was unoccupied because Felicia had kindly asked the previous occupants to fuck off, here’s $2,000, go buy yourself a good time, handing them a wad of cash. 

Honey didn’t know this song either, but she bounced her knee, pretending that it was to the beat of the music and not the beginning of a panic attack. Anxiously, she tugged at the her dress, pressing tightly against her thighs. “Does anyone know where Peter is?” she called out. “He’s been gone for an hour, right?”

Felicia chuckled, dancing in her seat as she sucked back the rest of her cocktail, “It’s been twenty minutes. Relax, Queen Bee.”

“Does anyone know what he’s doing?” she asked. “What’s taking so long?”

Eddie shrugged. He was leaning back on the couch nursing a beer, eyes redder than roses. He looked serene amidst the chaos, and Honey envied it.

Felicia met her with devilish eyes and a sultry smile, “Daddy’s workin’, hon.” 

Honey gulped at the phrase, feeling her entire upper half flush red. She averted her eyes, anxiously tucking her hair behind her ear. 

“Aww, so cute,” Felicia remarked smugly. “Why don’t you finish your drink so we can go dance?”

Honey looked down at the bright turquoise liquid, only a quarter-way drained from the highball glass. Something called an ‘Adios Motherfucker.’ She picked up the glass and sucked on the straw. The alcohol burned fire in her chest but did little to quell her nerves. An air horn erupted nearby. She jolted in her seat at the noise.

This was too much. This was all too much. This was stupid. She was stupid. She was down here drinking in the world’s shortest dress when if anything she should be with Peter, betraying him by digging up his dirt and feeding it to her shitbag of an ex-husband that threatened to murder her whole family—

“I can’t!” Honey overanxiously exclaimed. She brought her hands to her face, trying to seal off the stimulation, bordering on panic. “I-I can’t do this! I need—” She sighed, turning to Eddie, who looked like he was somewhere else. Maybe the moon. “Eddie!” 

He didn’t respond, just stared at the spotlights, gently tapping his fingers on his thigh. 

“Eddie!” Honey called again, louder this time. No response. 

She carefully stood up and walked the short distance to stand directly in his field of view. “Hey!” she said, more forcefully. He snapped out of it, blinking bloodshot eyes up at her. She loomed over him with a straight face, her arms crossed. “Eddie? Hi. It’s me. I would like some drugs. Please.”

He blinked, stunned. Eyes wide. “Uhm, okay?” He stared up at her suspiciously. “That’s... not like you...?”

Her brows furrowed, offended. “How do you know?” she challenged defensively. “I can do drugs! I’m ready to do them. Give them to me. Give me drugs!”

Her voice echoed. He sat up, alarmed by the volume of her voice. “Shhhhhh! Okay, okay—first of all?” he said, whisper-shouting again. “Some discretion in public would be nice!” Apologetically, she tucked her neck into her shoulders, glancing around conspicuously. Thankfully, no one in the vicinity seemed to notice.

Eddie looked up at her, addressing her seriously, “What are we talkin’ here? Some Amps? Maybe some Bars? Some Vitamin-K?” Honey blinked at him, eyes wide. “Skittles? Slush-os, Squid Inks, Screamers?”

“The last one!” she answered. Her face crossed almost immediately. “Wait—I don’t know what any of those words mean.”

“No, shit,” Eddie scoffed wryly. “Most of ‘em I made up just now.” 

She sighed in frustration, folding her arms even tighter. Eddie inspected the area, with its loud noises and overstimulating lights. It wasn’t his scene either. 

“Look,” he declared sincerely, “I just don’t think this is the time or the place.”

“What is wrong with you people?” Honey scoffed. She looked back at Felicia and Eddie, her frustration boiling over. “Why does everyone always treat me like a kid—like I’m stupid or something? I can make my own choices!” Eddie and Felicia glanced at each other uncomfortably. “I know what I want,” she demanded with resolve. “And I want to just... survive this goddamn night!” 

Felicia looked away, a solemn look on her face. 

She held Eddie’s gaze firmly, pleading with a steel expression. “Please.”

It was the desperation in her voice that skewered him. Eddie stared, turning her words over and over again until eventually his shoulders dropped. “Alright,” he groaned in admission, rubbing his hand down his face. “Okay, okay, I might have something.”

Relieved, she clapped her hands like she was 6 and had just been presented with the exciting prospect of getting a Happy Meal after school. 

Grumbling to himself, Eddie dug through his pockets, eventually retrieving a long, thin tube. Discreetly, he passed it to her. She took it in her hands, examining the object curiously. 

A honey stick. She looked up at him curiously. 

He put a finger to his lips in a shush. “That one’s special,” he explained. “You’re gonna wanna ease into it, okay? Only half? Or maybe half of a half. Just to see how you react—” 

She quit listening after that, ripping the end off the tube and pouring the contents down her throat. 

Honey didn’t know this song, but loved this song. The beat buried itself beneath her ribs, the melody hypnotic. She swayed and rocked to the music, gripping Felicia’s hand—her hand is so soft, what is this song, what kind of lotion does she use, it’s been forever since I’ve gone rollerskating, do they still have rinks—?

Something magical was happening. She was ascending. Beyond the dance floor, beyond the city, beyond the earth. She had received the knowledge of the gods—Fruit by the Foot, what a novel concept—and had become like them. 

She was a god. God was a woman. And it was her. Probably.

Fuck, this stuff is really, really great.

Her mind was buzzing—no, vibrating, like it was strapped on a rocket ship headed for the sun. She was sure if she’d had an MRI done—ooh, missed opportunity—her brain would be lit up like a summer thunderstorm. 

Time was moving so slow. And then fast. And then too fast. Then slow again. Time was everything. It was the key to the whole universe. Time stretched out on an endless plane. Every moment an eternity. She was immortal. She was like the gods, with her newfound ability to slow down time.

She knew two other things for sure.

Number One. She had a new understanding of what terms like Death and Heaven meant. Death was the cessation of time. Heaven was the moment you want to live in for all eternity. For her, Heaven is the maple tree in her mom’s boyfriend’s backyard, the one she would climb and fantasize about her future. Fantasize about her Heaven. Heaven was also a log cabin in the mountains surrounded by white pine with a flowing river, just a mile away from an old campground. Somewhere there’s an oak tree with initials carved into it: M + B, with a heart enclosing them both.

Number One. Section A. Or Section B. Peter Parker is also there. She’s in love with Peter Parker. She doesn’t know who Ben Reilly is, but she knows Peter Parker—add to number one, appendix C, this song makes me feel alive—and Peter’s a good man who loves The Sandlot and wanted to build his home where his aunt first fell in love with his uncle. 

Section B/C. Peter Parker is such a sap. He’s a romantic. He’s broken. He’s filled with love and darkness and passion and rage. He’s terrifying. He terrifies her. It’s terrifying, the things he makes her feel. It’s terrifying, how safe she feels with him. How fucked up is that? Surely, of either of them, she was the most broken of all.

Two.

...

...

...

She forgot two.

Fuck. She might be high.

“I’d say so. Why don’t you just drink some water and not worry too much about it?” Felicia said.

Honey glanced over at her companions. Her friends. Eddie and Felicia, staring at her patiently, charitable with their attention. 

Oh shit. I said all that out loud?

“Yeah, you did,” Eddie nodded with a worried frown.

Honey gazed at him, blinking. Then broke into a giggle. “I’m-I’m sorry,” she laughed, as the giggle turned into a full-body hysterical laughing fit. Eddie and Felicia gave each other a look. “I’m sorry! You can read my mind, Eddie! We can mind-meld! God, it must be so noisy in there!”

He sighed, “I’m used to it.”  Honey continued to laugh herself out of oxygen, tears streaming down her face.

“What the hell did you give her, Eddie?” Felicia snapped.

His shoulders touched his ear lobes, his face whiter than a ghost. “It’s weed! Just weed!” he defended. “Not even that strong! Like... the stuff that would make your grandma call you a pussy. An insanely tame amount!”

Honey grabbed Felicia’s hand, tugging gently. Unable to stop laughing, she chuckled out the broken sentence. “I.. I don’t wan’t... I don’t want... you to think.... I’m weird... I really don’t... I just... want to tell you... that I want to kiss you right now...”

Felicia shot Eddie a dirty look. Turning back to Honey, she smiled kindly. “Oh, you’re so sweet,” she said and planted a chaste kiss on her forehead. “Sadly, I have to decline, honey bunny.”

“Do-Dou- d’you not.. wanna kiss me?” Honey suddenly blanched. “Is.. is it me? Is it... d’you hate me? Am I annoying? Am I being annoying? I’m being annoying, right? I’m sorry—”

“Shh, shh... Not at all, sugar,” Felicia crooned softly, wrapping a gentle arm around the girl’s shoulder. Honey felt her anxiety ease almost immediately. Felicia rubbed her shoulder gently, a warm smile on her face. “It’s ‘cos I don’t shit where I eat.”

Honey stared at her inquisitively, tilting her head. With a sharp snort that would put a hog to shame, she burst into another fit of laughter.

Felicia stared daggers at Eddie. “You’d better sober her up real quick. Pete’s not gonna like this—”

“Peter?” Honey parroted, her heart racing. “Where’s Peter? Is Peter here? Where is he?”

“Relax, relax,” Felicia replied with a soothing voice. “He’s upstairs working, remember?”

“He’s working?” Honey repeated her chest tightening.

“He’s in a meeting, hon.”

“A meeting?” Honey exclaimed with a shrill voice, filled with alarm. “An important meeting? What about? I have to know! With who? I have to be there!”

Felicia shook her head, shushing her again, but it was like trying to tame a wild horse. “It’s okay—”

“No, no, it’s not okay! Nothing about this is okay!” she protested, her voice nearly breaking. “This is not okay! I have to be in that room. I have to be in that meeting! It’s very important that I’m there!”

Eddie and Felicia shook their heads, trying to take her by the hands and lead her toward the exit. “C’mon, hon, let’s go wait in the car—”

“No, no, I need to be in there,” she pleaded. “He needs me to take notes! Very detailed notes!”

“It’s okay,” Eddie coaxed her. “It’s okay, someone else’s gonna take notes, I promise. You don’t need to be there—”

“No! It has to be me!” she shouted, tears brimming. Like a spooked cat, she took off, barreling up the stairs. Panicked, Felicia and Eddie ran after her.

“So they tell me you’re the underdog, despite all those wins,” Peter remarked, not unkindly. “The odds are uniquely stacked against you.” 

He sat across from Danny in a secluded, private lounge. It was part of a third floor club that had been cleared out for Peter to use. The tone of this room was vastly different from the party outside. Miguel sat on a sofa adjacent to the two men, arms crossed with a terse expression. Beside him, Jessica lounged with her legs crossed, a martini in her hand, looking more relaxed than Miguel. The rest of Peter’s men lined the walls, along with a couple of Danny’s bodyguards that could’ve been former football linebackers. 

Peter wasn’t concerned. Whatever Danny needed to feel safe. Remaining calm, he kept the tone light. “75-to-1, I hear.”

Danny’s temper was starting to unravel. The remark wasn’t stated with cruel intentions, but Danny glowered at it anyway. “Do I look scared?” he boastfully replied, surrounded by his three bodyguards. Peter subtly smiled. Danny muttered, “I’m in control of my own destiny.”

“I have no doubt,” Peter nodded in agreement. It was a somewhat patronizing tone, but it was the truth. “I have faith in you.” A shadow darkened his expression, “So does our old friend.”

The word slithered like a viper. Hearing it sent an uncomfortable shockwave through the room. Like they’d heard the ghostly moan of an apparition, everyone tensed, wary eyes being flicked towards one another. Danny froze in his seat, now aware of the context of this impromptu meeting. He frowned bitterly, crossing his arms. “What can I say. The fat bastard knows how to pick a good horse.”

Peter pursed his lips, dropped his gaze to the floor. “That he does,” he uttered, rueful and contemplative. He brushed his bitterness aside, meeting Danny’s eyes again. “In fact—he’s willing to bet the whole farm on it.” 

The boxer lifted a brow curiously. Peter explained, “He put a hefty chunk of change up, betting you’d win the fight tomorrow. Take Crusher out before the fourth round. Millions of dollars, too. That’s not for nothin’.” Peter leaned back, sighing disdainfully. “‘Course, it’s all illegal campaign contributions and even a couple of sacked pension funds. But if you win, he’ll make a killing. And all that blood money gets washed clean.”

“Blood money,” Danny bitterly replied. “That’s rich comin’ from you.” Peter narrowed his eyes at the remark. “And it’s not a matter of if I win,” he added, as if it was written in stone. “It’s when.” 

Peter flicked his eyes over to his closest colleagues. Miguel shared his same resentment, as did Jessica. Rolling her eyes subtly, she came to a stand. Stepped over to the bar to make herself another drink.

“You wanna jump on the bandwagon too?” Danny smirked at Peter. “Make a bet? Books are still open. Y’know, in case you’ve got any spare change you want cleaned.” The last sentence was thrown at him like a spear, followed by a wry chuckle.

Peter frowned solemnly. “Not this time, Danny,” he said tenderly. Apologetic. Almost. “In fact— need you to go down.” 

The other man dropped his smile. His eyes went cold.

“In the third round,” Peter added. As if it was written in stone..

Danny stared. Silent. Confused. The room was quieter as a tomb, nothing but the bass booming beneath the floor. Then, he broke into laughter. “Whaat?” He glanced around at his buddies, snickering. He turned back to Peter. “You’re kidding, right?” 

Peter’s face remained unchanged. Solemn. Remorseful. Even without words, Danny could read the response on his face. A fury ignited instantaneously, like the fuse on a stick of dynamite. 

“Are you fucking with me right now?” he demanded, glaring. Danny glanced around anxiously at Peter’s crew, his rage rising steadily. He turned back to Peter, eyes flashing with vehement betrayal. “You’re serious?! You want me to throw the match?!”

“I’m asking, Danny,” Peter calmly replied, empathy weighing his words. “However you wanna do it.”

The humor evaporated in his hot gaze. “Are you out of your fuckin’ mind?” Peter turned his eyes downcast as Danny protested ferociously. “This isn’t some bullshit undercard match! I’m goin’ for the Belt!”

“I understand that.”

“It’s the biggest fight of my whole life!” he hissed, raising his voice. “And you just want me to walk away? To lose? In front of everybody?”

Miguel and Jessica gave each other a tense look. Pressure rising like the room was the inside of a tea kettle.

Peter retained his composure, sympathetic to his associate’s dilemma. “I know it’s asking a lot,” he reasoned, “and I respect that. You worked hard to get here—”

“Eleven million, Parker!” Danny barked back. “That’s just one endorsement deal on the table.”

“With Roxxon,” Peter nodded, a small bite added to his voice. “I know. There will be temporary consequences, I’m sure. But I’ll make sure you’re compensated fairly.”

“I don’t want your money, asshole!” he sneered. “I want my goddamn championship title!”

Peter huffed with frustration, attempting to reason with him. “You have my full confidence that you can take it in the rematch next year,” he suggested. He lowered his voice, pleading with him, “I just need you to take a knee on this one, Danny. It’s all I’m askin.’”

Nostrils flaring, he replied with poison packed in each word, “Why the fuck would I do that?”

Jessica’s breath caught in her throat. Miguel went still. Ominous, ghostly chains rattled, as Peter Parker’s patience evaporated like a rainstorm in Hell. 

Peter’s eyes darkened, his gaze cold. “Because I’m asking you.” 

It was both a statement and a warning. Danny bit his tongue, glaring. 

“Because you hate Kingpin as much as I do,” Peter added, more composed. The next breath between the two men was calmer, composed by the clarity of having the same enemy. 

“And not to mention,” Peter said matter-of-factly, “you owe me.” Peter had trapped him in his gaze. For once, Danny Rand had nothing to say, but Peter wasn’t listening for words. He followed the slowing beat of the athletic muscle, and instead listened to story his heart was telling him. 

If the next words to come out of Danny’s mouth were lies, he’d know—

“No, I have to be in there, it’s an emergency!” Honey’s slightly slurred words pierced the bubble as the door swung wide open. All eyes turned towards the door as she walked through, barefoot and hold her heels, one in each hand. Desperately, one of Peter’s guards tried to wall her in with his body (keeping his arms stretched wide, hands clearly visible). It was a hopeless attempt to hold her at bay, a flimsy seawall against a hurricane. She rounded him, still babbling incoherently.

Peter raised his brows with alarm, jumping to his feet. “Honey, what’s the matter?”

“I hafta talk to him!” she barked at the guard, then turned to Peter. “I hafta talk to you!” 

Miguel buried his face in his hands with a groan.

“What is this?” Danny uttered in confusion. 

“It’s s’so important!” she said, almost desperately. Peter pinched his brows together as she waddled towards him, holding the hem of her dress down

“What happened?” Peter scanned her face urgently, hovering his hands above her cheekbones, observing how blown-out her eyes were.

“I-I-I’m here. I’m here!” she announced, as if that was some kind of relief. “Okay, um... I’m... here to tell you—” She hiccuped. “I have something very important to tell you! And... It’s-It’s a s-secret! An important secret!” He gazed at her pecularly as she looked up at him with bleary eyes. “I need to tell you—ugh, oof, I’m riding a surfboard, time is moving slow—Okay, you know how time is the key to the entire universe, right—?”

“Hon, come back here!” Felicia called after her, as she and Eddie rushed through the doorway. Peter turned over at them, tensing.

“What is this?” Peter demanded. “What happened to her!”

“It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine,” Eddie anxiously mumbled. Both he and Felicia were suddenly at her sides, each taking one of her hands gently. “We’re just gonna go find some peppercorn—”

“Uh, we don’t have a kitchen here,” Jessica supplied warily, side-eyeing the dazed woman. “Maybe we have some behind the bar—?”

“This is just great,” Miguel sardonically hissed, glowering at Eddie.

“Answers,” Peter glowered at Felicia and Eddie. “Now.” 

“Take it easy, will ya?” Felicia shot him a dirty look. “Don’t get your panties in a twist—she just got a little too faded.” Felicia said to Honey, “Which is totally okay, and why we’re gonna go home, right?”

Eddie rushed over to Peter, pulling him away. Felicia took Honey by the arm, now taking over the one-sided, stream-of-consciousness conversation. 

“Okay,” Eddie explained, apologetic, “so she’s fine. She’s gonna be fine. It’s just a little edible—”

Peter’s gaze could skewer through stone. “Eddie. What the fuck, man?” He hissed through gritted teeth, bringing his fingertips to his aching temple. “Why is it every time there’s trouble your goddamn name is attached to it?” Eddie reeled back as Peter jabbed his finger into his shoulder, chastizing in hushed tones. “I can’t believe you’re that fuckin’ stupid! Drugging her up, here? Now?”

“First of all, I didn’t drug her up,” he declared defensively. “She asked!”

“You should know better!”

“Hey, asshole,” Eddie sneered through his teeth, his eyes flashing angrily, “she’s a grown-up. A goddamn, full-grown, life-sized adult. Did you know that?”

“Everyone’s talking so fast,” Honey breathlessly stated, turning to Felicia with wide, nearly-tearful eyes. “Everything’s so fast. Did I make everyone mad? Did I ruin everything?”

Danny snorted, amused by the exchanged, “This is fuckin’ great. You’re doin’ great.”

Honey glanced over at him, “Oh, hello. Do you do crime to? I just did drugs!”

Danny chuckled, nodding along, “Oh, is that right?”

“Hey, wait, I know you!” she said, recognition lighting up her eyes. “You’re famous. You’re on TV!”

“Right, you are, dollface,” Danny snickered, letting his eyes travel up her body. He grinned devilishly, “And what’s your name?”

“Fuck off, limp fist,” Felicia brushed him off with a glower, turning her attention back towards the two men bickering on the other side of the room.

Eddie and Peter were at each other’s throats. “She can make her own decisions, man!” Eddie argued. “What the fuck’s with you being so controlling all the time?”

Peter’s eyes went black. “What did you just say to me?”

“I’m just saying, she’s a grown woman!” Eddie whined defensively. “You don’t need to baby her all the—”

“Jesus, will you two knock it off?” Felicia groaned.

“I’m not talking to you!” Peter barked at her, pointing his finger in her direction, then turned his wrath back to Eddie. “And what the fuck do you know about it, Brock?” Peter snapped. “You never took care of anything in your life!” The other man grimaced at the insult, a stab in the back. “All you’ve ever cared about is yourself. You’re nothin’ but a fuck-up!” Peter’s voice cracked like thunder. “You’re just a fuckin’ drug dealer!”

The other man blinked wounded eyes at him, taken aback, as he simmered with disgust. Pursed his lips. Quietly seethed. Swallowed hard. And then Eddie walked out on him. Peter was left standing in his cold wake, panting like a maniac. His gazed dropped to the floor. 

“Nice job, Pete,” Felicia muttered, arms and expression both cross.

“Don’t be sad, dollface...” Danny simpered as he leaned out of his chair with one hand on Honey’s wrist. They were still locked in their own private conversation while everything fell apart behind them. “Why don’t you come sit with me and let me cheer you up, yeah?” 

His hand gripped her thigh at the hem of her skirt, fingers brushing up between her legs. She jolted—practically jumped out of her skin, like someone dropped a snake in her bed. 

“Hey!” she cried at the slight, brows furrowed. “No touching! We have rules!”

Danny didn’t reply. Instead, his head went sideways, his whole body ejected from the armchair. She gasped as his body hit the floor with a thud, and felt an iron grip pull her away by her upper arm. 

Suddenly, Peter was in front of her, eyes filled with fire, standing defensively between her and the sorrysonofabitch that groped her. The champion boxer groaned on the floor, dazed by the ringing in his skull. 

“Get her outta here,” Peter muttered as he stood over the assailant, but Felicia was already at Honey’s side, whisking her away. Everyone else remained statuesque. Danny lifted off the ground and Peter met him immediately with another wrecking ball punch.

In the back of Peter’s mind, he heard shouting. Threats. Guns drawn.  

But Peter didn’t care. Because that was only the first hit, and he had more to give. 

Danny was flattened after the first blow. 

The second loosened his jaw. 

The third knocked out teeth. 

The fourth and fifth cracked bone. 

The sixth wasn’t for Danny, it was for one of his bodyguards who tried to tackle Peter from behind. In response, Peter lodged the man’s body into the concrete wall. 

Gunshots rang out. He didn’t know from where. He didn’t know from who. Didn’t matter.

The seventh punch was the last thing Danny would ever see out of his right eye. As it left his body, so did the ability to fight back.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

“Pete! Stop!”

—don’t stop—

Miguel was there. Somewhere.

—teach him a lesson—

Eleven.

—savagry will be met savagely—

Twelve. 

—no one goes unpunished—

Thirteen.

Honey had a point. Time really was the key to the whole universe. 

Time was everything. 

Uncle Ben used to say that all anyone has is time and what they choose to do with it. Ben Parker was a good man. Ahead of his time, in many ways, and also a relic of a time gone by. 

Peter used to be obsessed with time, astounded by the significance of a single moment of his life. One little choice. He imagine what his life would be like if he hadn’t intervened in the convenience store. What if he’d just let it go? He should’ve zipped up his hoodie, tucked in his chin, took off down the sidewalk, and left well-enough alone. 

Maybe things would be different. Maybe Ben and May would still be alive. Maybe Peter’s whole life would be different. Maybe he’d be more than just a monster.

It was just a moment. A split-second choice.

In less than 18 hours, Danny Rand was set to become the next heavyweight champion of the world, broadcasting and streaming all over TV and Pay-Per-View. 

Now, he was going to spend the rest of his life eating through a tube. That’s what Felicia was telling him, right in this moment. She was pissed. She is pissed. Pissed at him. 

what did she ever see in you anyway? — monster — can’t even stand the sight of you — parasite—you’re fuckin’ pathetic. a psycho-stalker creep—

“He’ll live,” Peter said emotionlessly, still lost in a cloud of darkness. He was standing in his foyer at the penthouse—how the fuck did I get here—and Felicia stopped talking.

Peter blinked again, and she was gone. He looked at the clock, brows furrowed with confusion. It was still night, but too much time had passed. How long had Felicia been gone? How long has he been standing here? 

How long has it been since he was anything other than alone?

The sound of soft giggles filled the air, and his feet were moving towards them. He was outside of himself. Watching himself. Split in two. Torn apart.

And then he saw her.

Honey was dancing, twirling around the living room wrapped in a terrycloth bathrobe, her hair wet from a recent shower. The lamps were off, but the room was lit up by her presence. Behind her, outside of his 30 foot windows, the glittering backdrop of a sleepless city sparkled like fireflies in the night. She fluttered like a butterfly, her wings beating to a melody that only she could hear. 

She was elated. Beaming. At the sight of her, he felt the darkness pull back and the shadows lift. He was hypnotized. The fog melted off of his brain, and everything came into focus. Time moved on, steadily, second by second. He watched her, a smile playing on his lips that he wasn’t even aware of. Relishing every moment.

“Ooh!” She stopped suddenly, slackjawed at his presence. Embarrassed, he brought a hand up behind his neck. He really needed to stop staring at her like that, he thought. It was pretty creepy. 

Honey ran towards him with stars in her eyes. She threw her arms around his waist, burying her face in his chest. Her tight embrace took his breath away, but not from the force. His body tensed, trembling hands lifted away. Slowly, he brought his arms down around her, folding her into his arms.

If only he had the power to stop time.

“Yay! You’re home!” she crooned with childlike joy. “Did you bring muffins? I love muffins. We should get some muffins. I can make some muffins.” She lifted her gaze, looking up at him as she rested her chin on his chest. “Also, I think I’m high.”

He let out a soft chuckle, cracking a smile. “Yeah, you’re high,” he laughed. 

“Like really high?”

“Really high.”

“Like astronautical?”

“Astronomical,” he replied. “And yes. Like Hubble telescope high.” She giggled, blessing him with an endearingly pure grin that drew his soul from his body. His eyes flitted around her face, inspecting her eyes slightly pink from dryness, her skin naturally glowing from her face wash, her dopey smile topping it off. He allowed himself to just admire her, relishing in the warmth of her embrace. 

But soon, his smile faded. The memories of that evening trickled back in.

“Are you okay?” Peter asked, eyes filled with concern. He pried his own hands from her body, allowing her to stand freely on her own. It was important that he respect the rule that he had nearly beaten a man to death to defend.

“Me?” She pointed at her own chest, as if she was unsure who he was talking to.

He laughed, “Yes, you. Are you okay? How you feelin’? D’you need some water? Need anything?”

“I drank water,” she nodded dutifully. “I love water. Your water tastes so good. Everything tastes so good. Have you tried muffins? They’re so good.”

“That they are,” Peter nodded. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

She sprang to life, eyes lit up like fireworks. “But I’m not even tired! I want to stay up... Stay up all night!” There was a teasing mischief in her eyes that made him dizzy every time he looked straight at it. 

“It’s late,” he remarked with a sober tone, letting his eyes fall to the floor. “You should get some sleep. You’ll feel better.” A familiar pang thrummed in his skull, piercing behind his eyes. His fingers kneaded at the ache.

“But I feel great!” she chirped, bouncing over to the couch and plopping down on it. “Let’s watch a movie! Let’s watch—ooh, we should order pizza.”

He pushed a smile on his face, although exhaustion weighed down his limbs. “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I think you outta be going to bed.”

“Is that what you want? To take me to bed... Daddy?”

Time stopped. His stomach clenched painfully, like he’d been kicked in the ribs and tossed down a flight of M.C. Escher stairs. Timidly, he looked back at her. 

Everything had changed. He had the urge to pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

She was leaned back, propping herself up with her palms. Her body was draped scandalously across his sofa. The white robe she was wearing was dampened by her wet locks. The cowl hung dangerously low on her shoulders, revealing taut skin stretched over her clavicle that softly curved towards her cleavage. The belt was tied loosely around her waist allowing a peek at the inside of one of her thighs.

If her body was a sin, the look on her face was the devil. 

The sweetness was gone. Seared off. Caramelized by a flame burning in her eyes that threatened to melt him. Her lip curled into a sultry smile, spicy heat dusted on her lips. The thought of tasting the fire there made him sweat. 

This… wasn’t a dream. Was it?

He was gawking, he was pretty sure. Staring at her with an almost virginal awe. She bent one of her knees, sliding it higher up. Spreading her thighs a little wider. He swallowed hard, eyes trained on the pathway of soft flesh leading to her core.

“You like that, huh?” she cooed, her voice an intoxicating blend of coquettish mischief and innocent curiosity. He took a step backwards. Unwilling to trust his eyes. Or his body. “You have your little nicknames and I have mine,” she grinned. “You can call me Honey if I get to call you Daddy.”

The tips of his ears were burning red. The sound of his blood pumping was like an incoming tsunami. Rushing to the areas of him that had come alive with just a few words. He swallowed hard.

“Come over here,” she said, rolling her head to the side. “I wanna tell you a secret.” 

His eyes were hyper-focused on the way her teeth pinched her bottom lip. His stomach was twisted into a pretzel. He considered the distance between them, a few feet of ceramic tile, and doubted it was enough space. Not with her looking at him like that. Like she was the predator. He felt unsafe in her gaze. 

“I, uh…” his voice tremored, “I don’t think... that’s a good—“

“I have a theory,” she sang. “Wanna hear?”

He slammed his eyes shut, sealing them off from her seduction. “Is it about time?”

“No. It’s about power,” she said with a Cheshire grin. Curiosity pried his eyes back open. She was giddy, shimmying her shoulders, with a sing-song voice. “I never noticed this before but... I have all of it. And you have none at all.” 

He stilled. Eying her, turning over what she’d said in his mind

“I can prove it too,” she teased, glowing. “Watch.” 

She brought her arm up, curling her finger in a come-hither motion. He stared at the end of her finger like it was the barrel of a gun. He looked up at her face, seeing a hunger there for more than just food.

“Sit.”

The single word made his cock twitch. He swallowed a groan, holding back a grimace. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her body. Fists clenching and unclenching. Once he met her eyes again, the look there was pure lust, implanting sinful images into his brain.

Maybe she was right. If she was all-powerful, she’d just discovered that power and was flaunting it like a kid who had just found their dad’s gun. 

He was trembling. Folding like a house of cards. He was so fucked. Slowly, he treaded to the sofa, stopping at the far end opposite her, and sat down. She watched him sit back with the distance of a whole continent between them. It wasn’t enough. It didn’t deter her.

She crouched onto her hands and knees and began a slow crawl towards him. He averted his eyes from the parting of her robe at her chest, staring forward again. His headache was getting worse. Everything was getting worse. 

“Now, do you wanna hear my secret?” she whispered, stalking towards him like a lionness. 

His jaw clenched. His fist clenched. “I thought you already told me your secret.”

She was suddenly at his side, pulling his gaze towards her by his chin. He felt pliable. Moldable. “I have lots of secrets,” she whispered dangerously. 

Unsafe, was all he could think about, gazing in her lustful eyes. He felt like taffy in her grip, melting into the sofa as she climbed on top of his lap, straddling his thighs. 

His breath hitched, feeling her heat everywhere—his chest, his belly, down to the hardness beneath his belt. She was electrifying him, burning him from the inside out. He didn’t need to touch her. In fact, his fingers were buried into the sofa cushions, tearing holes in the upholstery. Just feeling her up against him made him want to rip his own skin off.

Then she rolled her hips against his. His lashes fluttered shut. Brain exploding. Muscles straining. It was like she’d dug her fingers in through his chest and ripped out his insides. He was being torn apart. It hurt. Pure, blissful agony. It dragged an involuntary groan up from his lungs and out through his teeth.

His eyes opened, softly panting, knuckles white. The person staring back at him was more than a devil.

She was temptation incarnate, wrapped up in a bow. 

“My secret,” she cooed tauntingly, “is that I’m not a good girl.” His eyes followed hers, neither of them blinking, like two serpents in showdown. Each one threatening to swallow the other whole. “I never was.” 

She crushed her heat against his, letting her fingers trail up the buttons of his chest. The sensation made every hair of his stand on end.

“I’m not sweet.” She didn’t say the words, rather she moaned them. He felt the rumble of her chest against his, her lashes fluttering closed. He was hyper aware of the friction between them. The two of them were like magnets pushing towards one another. Every fiber of fabric that separated them felt like sandpaper. 

Her hands traveled up his chest, fingers fanning out over the soft spot at the base of his neck. Like he was made of rubber, he dropped his head against the back of the couch. He breathed deep and slow, cock twitching at the feeling of the pressure she placed on his trachea. She was riding him, rutting against him at a tantilizing, torturous pace.

Staring up at her beneath heavy lids, jaw clenched tight, he struggled to not picture what they must look like. The image of her rubbing against him would brand itself into his brain forever. A picture like that would drive him mad, or even worse, he might rip apart her robe or the couch, or both. Instead, he drove his fingers into the sofa, as if attempting to push his fingers in between the threads.

“I’m not an angel,” she breathed, her voice trembling, “or a doll, or a peach, or a baby.” 

From his neck, her fingers grazed down to his concrete shoulders. He was so tight. Biceps locked up, abs were steel, every other part of him was rock hard. He was hypnotized with lust, intoxicated with want. With her hands on his shoulders, she had better control—or at least the illusion of it. A particularly heavy grind pulled a whimper from her lips, and he was terrified that if he heard it again he’d come on the spot.

“I hate being called those things almost as much as I hate being bossed around,” she breathed hotly, her mouth falling agape. He licked his lips at the sight. “I can’t st-stand being controlled by... by anyone.” 

She dragged her hips up and down. A breath caught in his throat as he realized he could feel her wetness seeping through his pants. He breathed deeply through his nose, nostrils flaring. His own voice was screaming in his head—don’t look down, don’t look at her body, whatever you do, don’t look at her—while another darker voice encouraged a primal response. 

“I h-hate all of those things,” she groaned, her hips grinding steadily now against one of his thighs. He wasn’t sure if she could feel the outline of his cock through his slacks, but he could certainly feel her. Her heartbeat thrummed faster. With her mouth lewdly agape, she leaned her weight over his torso, tickling the shell of his ear with her breath. 

“Except when you do them,” she gasped sinfully. His heart nearly stopped at her words. This wasn’t a dream. This was the gates of hell. 

“Because when you do it, it feels good. I like the way it feels.”

Every word crawling through his brain like an earworm. A parasite burrowing deeper in his skull. 

“Stop...” he breathed, his voice barely strong enough to carry the word.

—don’t stop—

“Everything you do feels good.” 

—this isn’t real—

“When you tell me to come to bed...” 

—desperate whore, wants it bad—

“When you dress me up in pretty things and show me off.”

—this isn’t right, she’s not right—

“Even when you hurt people to protect me.”

—filthy slut—

“When you look at me like you wanna fuck me in front of all of your friends.”

—this isn’t what she wants—

—she wants to hurt you. wants the pain—

“All my life everyone’s always made me feel like I was less than. Like I was worthless. But when you look at me, I feel special. I’m your favorite toy.”

—stop her—

—silver tongue—

“It’s sick,” she breathed, her voice edging on ecstasy. She dug her fingernails so hard into his skin it hurt. Every part of his body hurt. 

—she’s close—

—none of this is real she doesn’t fucking love you and you know it—

—you’re unworthy—

“I’m s-so sick,” she moaned. “So-so br-broken.” 

—stop this—

—don’t stop, you worthless fool—

An unhinged laugh bubbled up behind her words. “I fucking l-l-love it...” Her eyes rolled up in her head. Peter bit down so hard he could taste blood. “I... God, Peter, fucking break me apart—”

His hands were on her like a crack of thunder. Gripping her by the shoulders, he lifted her body up, twisting around and slamming her flat on the sofa. The force punched the air from her lungs. The whole world flipped, her head spinning from the dizzying speed. The drugs in her system were only stepping on the gas pedal.

Her wrists were pinned together above her head in a move so swift she barely registered it had happened. He loomed over her, eyes blown black, chest heaving. She felt her stomach flip, dropping down into the pit of a rollercoaster. Her muscles tensed, pelvic floor twitching—fuck me that feels so good fuck me fuck me Peter punish me—

His hand clapped down over her mouth, ice shooting from his lips. “Shut up.”

She gasped at the change in tone. Eyes wide open and frighteningly alert, she gazed up at his swirling visage. 

“Stop means stop,” he breathed darkly, his voice trembling with a rage that she couldn’t fathom. His hands were frigid steel exposed to winter. Colder than a corpse. For a moment, everything was blindingly clear in her mind. Washed out with bright lights that burned her eyes. 

Something was wrong.

This wasn’t safe. She wasn’t safe.

Soon her own thoughts were drowned out by the slamming of her heart in her chest. In a horrified daze, she stared up at him, too afraid to blink. She read the anger on his face. The lust. The sharp line drawn between his brows. Eyes black as onyx.

Solid black. 

Everything was wrong.

Her chest jolted in short gasps. She struggled to take in air through the giant palm stretched across her mouth. Her chest was tight. Whole body pulled tight. Her hands felt glued together. Even if it were possible, she was too terrified to move. Her nostrils flared frantically. She was paralyzed. Bound by darkness. By the black of his eyes.

She couldn’t breathe. The world was going darker.

Fading to black.

When her eyes cracked open, it felt like they were covered in gum and her eyelids were made of sandpaper. Harsh daylight flooded in through the windows. Immediately, she felt throbbing at the base of her skull. She ached from dehydration. 

Her body was a desert. A barren wasteland. A potato chip.

She groaned weakly, dragging her hands down her face. When her vision came into focus, her brow furrowed with confusion. 

She wasn’t the bedroom. Not hers. Not Peter’s. She was in the living room, spread out on the couch wearing a bathrobe that was in danger of falling open and revealing her chest. Blushing, she yanked on the sides of the robe, covering herself modestly.

Her mind was covered by a fog. A thick haze made her memories feel like fleeting shadows. Glancing around the living room, she was even more baffled by the fact that she was alone. Not a soul in sight.

Drop by drop, her recollection of the night before revealed itself, like droplets of water streaking through condensation on a window. She had tiny slivers to peek through, and in those cracks she could see the club. The music. Her awful dancing. Felicia. Eddie. Alcohol.

Already, this was a bad combination.

Peter. His face full of concern. He was worried. He was protecting her...

He was killing a man. Beating him to death. The blonde sleazeball in the tiny shirt. The one who touched her.

Her stomach lurched and buckled. Nausea choked her. Fighting off her dizziness, she cupped her mouth and stumbled out of the living room. 

What had happened after that? Why did everything feel off? Unsafe? Why was that part of her mind just... empty? 

Her feet carried her as quickly as they could down the hallway, anxiety twisting her stomach into knots. 

There was a hole in her memory. A giant gap. She hated it. She hated not being able to remember.

She stopped in her tracks in the hall. Stilled her breath. Listened intently, wondering if she’d heard what she thought she’d heard. A voice that she didn’t recognize. And a moan. A breathless whimper.

Peter.

The recognition had a whiplash effect. Her heart skipped a beat and sank at the same time. Something was wrong. 

Through the stillness, she heard it again. This time as a grunt. Grinding out in pain.

Why couldn’t she remember? What was it—it was right in front of her mind, and yet... it was too dark to see. The shadow of an eclipse. A dark spot.

A black hole.

She crept towards the sound warily, her feet like falling snow. At the end of the hallway, the door to Peter’s office was cracked open. A light spilling into the dark.

Another moan.

Something is wrong. Everything is wrong. She shouldn’t be here. This is stupid. She should run. Whatever is happening is wrong and she didn’t want to know about it. Didn’t want to see who could be in there with him. Making him make that sound. 

She heard that voice again. Dark. Could only make out a single word.

“parasite” 

And then another groan. It was unmistakably Peter. Unmistakable agony.

Against her better judgment, her toes propelled her forward. Easing slowly towards the gap in the doorway. Staring through the blinding light.

A lithe body laid back against the side of his desk, long legs spread out across the floor. It was Peter, wearing the same clothes he did at the club the night before. But everything else about him was unrecognizable. 

His skin was pale, corpse-like. Baggy circles beneath his eyes. His body shivered like he was fighting an icy fever. Dress shirt was shredded, torn open, with bloody claw marks on his chest that look like he’d been mauled by a lion. In his lap, he cradled one arm. The other hand trembled as he held the plunger of a hypodermic needle.

She watched in horror as he injected a substance into his twitching forearm. An ebony, oil-like liquid flowed from the syringe into his flesh, blackening a vein as it traveled up his arm. His eyes rolled back, head thumping against the desk. 

The black stain spread like ink through water. Cutting through his body faster than blood could travel, branching out like black bine stems across his skin. Black oil oozed from the chest wounds, and after a few blinks, the lacerations vanished. Faded as if they were never there.

Jagged lines covered his body, as if someone took roads on a map and tattooed them on his skin. Soon the etched lines followed the path of his lymph nodes, up his neck, and across the sharp curves of his face. His eyelids opened to reveal onyx orbs beneath, glassy black and void of life. Void of light. Inhuman. 

Monstrous. 

She blinked rapidly, doubting her own vision. Questioning her sanity. Debating her own logic, even her wakefulness, as she watched the stain spread until it had consumed his body. 

Not a stain. Not a tattoo either. 

Whatever it was, it was moving. And it was alive.

Continue to Part 13

[back to masterlist]

a/n - thank you so much for your wonderful feedback! please reblog fandom writers—it's such a small gesture that keeps fanfic alive.

Reblog to be tagged!

#Lizzy writes. #Lizzy writes! sugar and vice #peter parker x reader #tasm smut #peter parker x you #tasm peter parker #andrew garfield #peter parker smut #peter parker au #peter parker angst #Peter parker smut #dark peter parker #mob peter parker #peter parker x oc #mafia au #mob au #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm peter parker x you #tasm peter parker x oc #andrew garfield au #andrew garfield peter parker x reader #andrew garfield spiderman #andrew garfield x reader #peter parker andrew garfield #andrew garfield smut #the amazing spider man #the amazing spiderman #spider man au #spider man smut #tasm au

[areislol]

Please do more Avatar x Reader!!! I really loved your headcanons😭 Maybe even one where reader gets their own avatar? Like Jake

ft. neteyam, lo'ak, ao'nung

warnings. nothing really, just them being protective and sweet <3 gn. human! reader at first, can be seen as platonic/romantic! kinda short i'm sorry :(

a/n. so sorry for holding this off for a while! i wanted to get a few requests out while still focusing on my series so.. yeah.. enjoy this! // headcanons

neteyam x human - avatar! reader

oooo he's so excited!! he's waiting outside the lab every single day just to see your avatar making in progress

both norm and max had to kick him out multiple times since he (more like his tail) kept on dropping and whacking all the necessary equipment, but he didn't mean it, he's just too tall and his tail is just too.. whippy

he's like extremely protective of you already since you are a human, small, fragile and weak, in Pandora.

so when you're in your avatar he's 100x more protective of you! since you are still getting the hang of your body

literally BEGS max to let you out for a few hours, he just wants to spend some time with you <3

(max refused multiple times)

when you not in your avatar form he's protective of you, like what i said earlier, he's always in front of you when he hears a twig snapping or the rustle of leaves.

and he STILL does that even when you're in your avatar form. you are still learning how to control your body!!

neteyam will teach you how to walk like a na'vi and show you the little small tricks that the na'vi body can do that the humans cant.

he will hold your arms and your waist when you're taking your first baby steps <33

speaking of that, he will literally be in the same room with you when you're being transferred into your avatar body. and boy is he anxious, his leg is bobbing up and down when he sits and sometimes stands up just to look over at your avatar in the tube.

neteyam is ecstatic when he sees your avatars' eye open, he has a bright and big smile on his face and absolutely nothing can wipe it off.

he will be patient and easy with you, telling you to lay down and to slowly get up. his hand is on your back as he helps you sit up, his eyes scanning your face to see any signs of discomfort and pain.

he will refuse to let you walk on your own, eat on your own, stand up on your own or do anything by yourself.

he will SIT you down when you try to get up, there's no point in arguing with him because he will always win no matter what.

(if he has the permission to) he shows and teaches you how to hunt, how to track animal footprints, how to spot the homes of animals, the weak spots, how to eat, the manners, literally everything.

neteyam is the absolute happiest when you hum in delight after eating one of the specialties during a gathering.

will fight anybody who insults you. doesn't care about his father scolding him, will just fight them straight up LMAO

like he won't take shit

most days, he will literally lay down beside you, admiring your face as you sleep peacefully on the prickly grass

since he's so used to seeing your human features, it's a bit odd seeing you as a na'vi. his favourite thing is how he can still tell that you're you, even when you're in a different body.

your bioluminescent freckles that glow brightly in the night sky, that make it look like you are blending in one with nature, or Eywas' creation, should i say make you look absolutely ethereal.

lo'ak x human - avatar! reader

just like his brother he is VERY excited. he will bother you and the scientists that are helping you make your very own avatar

"when will you be able to see it?" "when can I see it?" "when will you be able to you know.. get.. into it..?"

you have to literally shush the boy millions of times cause he just won't shut up about it!! but he's just excited, that's all!

lo'ak hangs around with you in your room, joins you in watching them do whatever they're doing with your avatar, sticking a needle in your arm with your blood and what not.

his tail hits you so many times when doing this. "lo'ak! will you stop that!" "stop what?" "your tail, it keeps on hitting me!"

you may even have to grab onto it.

when you finally transfer your consciousness into your avatar, lo'ak (and maybe his siblings as well) is there to witness it and god, is he nervous.

fidgeting, constantly asking them when it'll be done and if you're okay, checks your heart monitor wayyy too much

smiles like a madman when he sees you awake in your avatar form and runs to hug you but is stopped by the scientists

literally side eyes the scientist or gives them a dirty look.

lo'ak squeezes the living life out of you, and you're just... there..

he slowly gets you out of the bed and walks with you but when your knees wobble and collapse he's quick to catch you and he's like 'damn i gotta help you now'

he's stumbling as well LOL

he can not contain his happiness like, at all.

his tail is whipping side to side and that smile is plastered on his face the entire week day

helps you walk and get use to your body, shows you every single fruit there is and tells you to eat up like bae this is my second time in my avatar form.

lo'ak will try to impress you, he already tried and did when you were still human but now that you're na'vi, it makes a slight different, like it's a new you (it is) meaning, new attempts of showing off his skills :)

although his father may not allow him to teach you their ways, he will still do it when he's not around.

"psst- y/n! come here... wanna show you how to catch some big fish >:))"

UGH HE IS THE SWEETEST

he may be a tease but he WILL help you, make sure that you're comfortable and will not hesitate to punch people in their face if they talk abt you

like when he hears someone mention your name he's on alert and eavesdrop, he wants to make sure that he's not hearing what he thinks he's hearing and if his suspicious are correct you best believe he's gonna get a real good scolding.

also!! he can now play-fight with you, without needing to think about hurting you! since you are much taller and bigger now, he won't need to worry about you being hurt <333

although he is still careful with you, lets you win sometimes if he's feeling nice.

+ you guys are the like chaotic duo and he's LIVING for it, he can finally have someone that he ACTUALLY likes (no hate to kiri/tuk) and matches his energy

kiri doesn't have the time for his 'master schemes' and tuk is just to sweet.. no way he can bring her onto adventures without being scolded.

ao'nung x human - avatar! reader

babes tries to hide his excitement but fails so hard. rolls his eyes and is like 'uhhmmm no why would i care for that🙄🙄"

like u do, admit it.

he wouldn't be there, really, but he would be like a few feet away from where the lab is and just tries to hide himself from your view but you and the other scientists can literally see him.

he keeps an eye on your avatar from afar, trying to make sure that nothing happens and if something did then he'd know who did it or what happened (if he can make sense of it)

so many people notice him side eyeing you when you're around, mindlessly drawing shapes on the sand before frowning when the wave washes it away.

he's not there to see you transferring to your avatar sadly, but when you don't come to visit him or the sully family he gets worried and just paces back and fourth, waiting for you to come.

and what he doesn't expect is you to be in your avatar form and do you look so... well all he could say is 'nice'.

takes a BIG gulp of nothing and acts like everything's normal. and sometimes he looks down instinctively but he remembers that you aren't as small.

you're maybe a head shorter than him, but as a human you were like 2-3 heads shorter, or more.

he can't really make fun of you being small now

he will NEVER say this and will drag it with him in his graze, but he misses your human form.

ao'nung thinks your absolutely good looking in your avatar form, yes, he still misses your human form, your funny looking features that he always admires when the golden sun shines on your skin.

but he's not complaining!

depending on your avatar choice, whether you are a metkayina or omaticaya he will teach you the ways.

how to swim, catch fish for food, taming and riding your Ilu, giving you tips and tricks and so on

and he's oddly nice to you.. ish..

ao'nung pays more attention when it comes to you, and his hands linger on your body for way too long.. but you don't notice, you never do.

rotxo and everybody knows what's up 😏

he's absolutely smitten for you, trying to impress you with pretty shells and teases you less.. just wants to show you how cool he is

likes seeing you bond with the children or people of the metkayina, especially his sister or his family.

like when you two braid each others hair <3 he might even take lessons on how to braid hair which makes people raise their brows at him and smirk.

he's not thaaaaatttt protective of you... okay that is a lie...

but he doesn't need to protect you much since everybody knows not to mess with ao'nung.. (and his gang or whatnot)

he will TRY to go the pacifist route but if it doesn't work out then you know how it ends...

note: if you would like to be added to the avatar taglist pls just ask me!! dont be shy &lt;3

taglist: @tomansimp, @howlandhaku, @luciphyls, @vizkiz869, @aonungobsession, @pandorainmymind, @luvlykrispy, idk if there was more so if i forgot you im sorry!!​​

liking + following + reblogs are very much appreciated!!

another note: this was so short so uhm, not so proud of it but hey! i wrote this in like 2-3 hours? tell me tell me t-t--t-t-t-t-tell me

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!

#avatar x reader #neteyam x reader #lo'ak x reader #ao'nung x reader #avatar fanfiction #atwow #avatar the way of water #—✧ · . fandom: avatar

[tr1ckysp00k]

Bob x nurse reader

part 2

A dose of passion

[warning: strong language, mentioning of syringes, slight threatening, ¿suggestive?]

/not proof read/

Enjoy! <3

You woke up to the morning rooster singing its ear-bleeding song. Getting up in annoyance while grabbing a sock that was sitting at the edge of your nightstand and heading towards the window

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” You yelled, throwing the balled up sock at the bird that disturbed your slumber. You knew what was awaiting for you at work. You knew today was gonna be another day in hell with that tramp, bob.

You got ready anyways. Pinching the bridge of your nose when you where in the front of the hospital. Taking a breath in.

Preparing yourself for what was awaiting for you behind the glass door.

Day 2 • 10:00

You entered, swinging your arms as you walked.

Once you were clocked in, you headed to your patients room.

‘Just a few more weeks, and then this bug is out of my hair’

A slight smile emerges on your face at the thought.

You opened the door to find bob standing at the entrance. His eyes wide as can be and he had his iconic smile on his face.

“WHAT THE HELL!?”

You scream in pure shock, grabbing your other fellow workers attention. Guess he missed you.

“Docs! Yer back” he says, his face full of enlightenment. He was glad to have his favorite toy back with him.

You huffed in annoyance, you hated when he called you that. But not as much as you hated him.

“Go sit back down.” You say in a growl. Surprisingly he committed on doing what he was told.

“A please woulda been nice.” He pouted, giving a frown.

“Yeah yeah.” You groaned in irritation.

“Did you get breakfast yet?” You quizzed the large man, which was slouching in bed, flipping through channels with a singular remote sitting in his hand.

“Nope.” He says, his attention still on the tv above him.

“Dam it.” You huffed, you had to deal with a straight up cannibalistic serial killer, all your workers could to help was feed him. You’re completely fed up.

You’re expected to deal with problems by yourself, without a helping hand. When can you have a break?. .

You return to the room, with a tray of Luke-warm ‘food’ resting in your hands. How can patients eat this stuff? It’s like prison food!

You enter, setting the tray of food down on bob lap.

He cringes in disgust once again at the slop that was infront of him. At least give him salt.

When he was eating, something spotted your eye. A deep cut rested on his arm. You interrupted his gagging by softly grabbing at his arm.

Now all of his attention was on you.

“Did I miss a cut? My bad, lemme fix it for you real quick.” You say while grabbing a needle and a piece of thread. first you disinfected it, then proceeded to work your *magic*.

Bob stared down at you as you began to work. Wincing a bit at the needle thriving into his skin, but needless to say he was more focused on you.

He knew you didn’t care for him. You were just doing your job. Oh, but the thought of you being all his made him swoon. Just maybe one day, not now but one day. .

he’ll have you all to himself.

“Done!” You declared, interrupting his thoughts.

“Thank ya docs.” He said in a soft gravely voice, while giving you a tender smile. His faced bathed in red.

You took notice.

“Is it hot in here or something? I can turn down the temperature.” You stated, to be honest a bit worried of how red he was.

“Nah, I’m fine.” He says softly, as he gazes at your beautiful being. He took back his hand to put the tray aside. The food was utterly horrible. He couldn’t even finish it.

“Well I gotta check on some other patients. I’ll be right back, don’t cause any trouble.” You squinted your eyes, while pointing one hand at him, then disappearing from his sight.

His smile slowly fading, for now he is alone in a isolated room. He gets out of bed and makes his way to the door. Even though you haven’t even been gone for a minute, he is waiting at the door, his meaner akin to a dog waiting for its beloved owner.

Little do you know, he yearns for you. The very first day he laid his eyes onto you, he craves for nothing more but you.

You made a spark ignite within him.

And you may not know it yet, but you like him too. You’ll have to.

After minute of waiting he finally heard that soft jingle of the door knob being mingled with. A smile brought back to his face. You opened the door to be greeted in surprise once again by bob. You jolted up, but didn’t scream this time.

“Quit doing that. You’re gonna give me a heart attack!” You hissed in annoyance, only to make him laugh.

~Small time skip~

You sat in a rusty chair near him, listing down stuff on a piece of paper while bob hovered over your shoulder.

“Dude, some room please?” Your waved your hand at him, prompting him to ‘shoo’ away.

“Only because ya said ‘please’ this time.” Bob slouched, he raised one arm to rest his head under, while a remote rested in his other hand.

“I swear to god, your annoying. .” You gave a slight growl. You didn’t have to be ‘polite’ to him.

“Come on, ya have to like me a lil bit.” He purred, his tone was low and soft.

His smile on his face soon was wiped off clean. .

“Oh please, I don’t like you. If anything I hate you, you’ve been nothing but a prick in the ass.” You seethed.

This made his cringe his nose. He furrowed his brows at you, a bit appalled by the words coming out of your mouth.

“You might want to be carful to who your talkin’ to. .” He growls narrowing his eyes at you.

“Pfff, I ain’t scared of you!” You tittered with pride, only for him to emerge of the sheets of the bed. You flinched at the act.

When he made his way towards you,you ran out of spite, with him following behind. You threw yourself onto the door, only for him to close it shut close again and throw you the other way, knocking you into a shelf. Syringes fell from one of the shelves, catching your attention. You grab one in swiftness, then throwing yourself on bob.

He grabbed the arm that held the shot with a intense grip and pulls your arm near his chest. His claws digging into your wrist, making sure you weren’t able to try and stab that dastardly needle into him.

“LET ME GO YOU SICKO!”

You yell, attempting to yank your hands back.

His eye bored into yours, with a sadistic yet passionate gaze.

“Docs. .” He started his breathing uneven ever-so-slightly.

“Whether or not you try hiding it, I just want you to know. .” By now he is towering over you, his massive structure made you look small. Your eyes engulfed with terror. He smiles even more.

Your fear amuses him.

“I know you love me. . Even if it’s Deep deep deep down. You cannot deny it, doc’s.” He growls in a passionate manner. his grip tightening as your eyes widened.

You whine slightly, letting the syringe drop to the floor. Completely lost in his eyes.

Not too long after, he let you pull away. You rubbed your wrist, still making eye quiet contact with him.

“You don’t know what your saying, I’m only doing my job.. and you’re making it harder than it is.” you spat harshly. He gave a bit of a smirk.

He knew better. You should know too.

You picked up the syringe swiftly, afraid he would pounce at you. you didn’t trust to leave it on the floor near him. What if he tries to use it on you? You wouldn’t put it past him to do such a thing. Especially after this little skit he pulled off just now.

Time skip• 7:00

The day was coming to an end, you were grateful that it was better than yesterday. Though bobs words stayed stained in your head for a while.

Could he be right?

Could you have feelings for him?

Trying a new writing style, god this took a while.

Thank you for reading!

#spooky month #bob velseb #bob velseb x reader #yandere #fanfic #bob #i don’t know how to use tags #nurse reader x bob #enjoyyyy #<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

[diviningrodtv]

Five Rotten Pebbles ref time yay!

So, I realised I probably had enough already existing resources to make a good reference post. Though, I got stuck using the pico8 color pallete for the video there.

✨Notable Features✨

Fluffy ears/balding old man hairline - Due to biological contamination from the creatures the rot cyst ate before his puppet, mostly Wilson, he is now slightly fluffy. He is very annoyed by this fact, do not point it out, do not pet- "Do and call him and 'Ear-terator' >:]"

"Mascara lines" - You know that one graffiti graphic where Pebbles looks like he has bleeding mascara? That. You don't come out looking your best after being eaten alive by a rot cyst.

Outfit - After the rot dug through his chest it was easier just to wear his robes backwards.

Feets - Feets, they're digitigrade and have two clawed toes. He might be taller if he stood up straight too.

Handhandhandhand - He can use every rotten arm of his like a hand, but they only have two clawed fingers and don't have any thumbs. You also won't get infected by rot if you touch him, or if he bites you. Normally he just rests them on his sides and shoulders.

Rotten arms cont* - They're in there. Like, it would fucking hurt and he might bleed to death if you tried to rip them out. After all, they're the corrupted remains of his umbilical arm.

Glowy - His claws and internals are a bright blue, and if you caught sight of him in a dark room, they, along with his eyes and some spots on his ears, would glow slightly.

He also likes to stand up on his rotten arms to scare random creatures he doesn't like. Scavs.

Nom bite chomp - Iterators in this world cannot leave their cans for three main reasons. First, the barrier of genome modification. Second, puppets do not contain enough brain matter to remain sentient when disconnected. And third, the puppet would soon starve to death, as it is incapable of eating. Pebbles, luckily, was granted the solution to these problems in the form of being eaten alive by one of his own rot cysts, yay! Unfortunately, he now has to eat lizards and other random garbage to survive. Someone please get him a kitchen. He does not need to move his mouth to speak, but his voice gets louder when he does, which is ideal for yelling at things. His teeth are black and needle-like, so I would not recommend daring him to bite you.

Other bits n bobs - He's completely disconnected from his systems. No just opening gates, no connecting directly to overseers, or to the communication arrays. He must suffer. Expect to find him struggling to get an overseer to connect every time he needs to send a message. At least he can still read pearls.

If I missed anything you want to know, just send in an ask!

#Five Rotten Pebbles #rain world #rw five pebbles #fivepebbles #five pebbles #rw fp #and yes that is a #low poly #3d model #i used #picocad #and #blockbench #along with some other programs for his arms and the images themselves #also yes that one image is a reference to that one crab video lmao #Digi's RW Design Posts

[cc-tinslebee]

Me and The Devil

Chapter 2: Hello Satan

a snapshot of Mickey’s life before becoming Ghostface and the resurgence of a murder victim that is not his

This was not how he expected his Wednesday night to go. Just an easy kill, a quick buck before he went home, that’s all he asked for. Now he had to hunt down the idiot who was in the woods after midnight.

Of those to come before and after, Mickey was the most prolific, he was the most qualified. He had knocked off seventeen people since he was fifteen, and he had gotten away with every single one.

         Billy Loomis eat your heart out.

He rushes through the forest. His eyes dart all over, searching, scanning.

He wasn't an amateur.

And just when pounding fear's about to set in, their movement crosses into his line of sight again. His Peeping Tom makes a run for the clearing the forest fades into. He's holding onto the hope that getting closer to civility will save him.

His stalker glances behind him as Mickey emerges from the shadows of the forest, closer than before. He lets out a terrible, horrified yelp and he collides into the shoulder of a young woman, knocking him onto his ass.

He crawls backwards, chest heaving violently as his focus darts between them. He scrambles upright, almost barely catching himself before slipping again. "Please, miss," he pleads, knowing how easily Mickey could kill her too, "He's-" But it's no use; he's a jumbled mess. Neither of them can make out his pleas.

When the girl's eyes finally drift up to him, there's nothing recognizable in her eyes, not fear, not curiosity. She doesn't move an inch, not even as Mickey's boots hit the pine needle-matted ground hard as he stalks forward. The moonlight rains down on her, her ghostly, perfectly pale features bathing in it. He can tell that her blonde bob is supposed to be perfectly straight and tidy, but it's not. Her hair is frayed with dirt and bits of leaves sticking out, like she had just crawled out from the earth.

If it weren't for all those files his college benefactor sent him, he might say he almost recognized her from somewhere.

         Now, if you're anything like me, you're probably thinking, "This girl was on the news. For getting murdered. In California."

 But then again, if you're anything like me, you probably have more important things than a pretty dead girl in the woods.

continue reading here

#mickey altieri #scream #scream 2 #casey becker #Mickey Altieri fanfic #scream fanfic #sheila hammond #joel hammond #santa clarita diet #timothy olyphant #drew barrymore #fanfic #ao3 #mickey and casey

[ukagakadreamteam]

Ghost Jam 2022 Results!

Hello everyone! Sorry for the delay. We had a much bigger event than we were expecting, so it’s been quite a task getting everything together!

We had an incredible turnout this year, with 23 ghosts submitted by 32 participants, several of whom joined the server specifically for the event! This is a huge growth from last year; nearly double the amount of ghosts, 13 more participants, and 19 of our participants releasing a ghost for the first time as a part of this event!

Additionally, several people took on the optional challenges we offered this year. The challenges were as follows:

72 Hour challenge: create the ghost within the first 72 hours of jam.

New Assets Only challenge: create the ghost using no premade assets at all, aside from a template.

3 ghosts qualified for the 72 Hour challenge, and 14 qualified for the New Assets Only challenge! We also saw several different interpretations of our optional Disaster theme!

With so many ghosts, I'll admit, writing up that many blurbs about them sounds intimidating both to write and to read. So instead, this year we're going to list some bullet points for each ghost, and encourage you to download each one to try them out for yourself! There were so many interesting concepts explored this year, you've really just got to try them to see!

PLEASE NOTE: Several of these ghosts have only been released privately in our Discord server. If no download link is given, you'll have to join us on Discord to get the files!

Without further ado, this year’s list of ghosts!

Анемони (Anemone), by @smokycinnamonroll​:

[Download]

• Written in Russian! (Absolutely worth picking up even if you don't speak Russian, though!) • Has a great idle animation! • Made in just 72 hours, using all new assets! • Comes with a unique balloon, in a nice ellipse shape!

Sackboy, by idkimtired:

(Server exclusive! The dev has not indicated plans to release this ghost publicly, so you’ll have to join our Discord to get it!)

• Is super adorable! • Kicks his little leggies, wherever you set him! • Gives you stickers! • Made without template code, using all new assets! • Comes with a unique balloon!

Balloons, by Galla (explicit link!) and Zichqec:

[Download]

• A soothing friend that bobs up and down! • Super satisfying to play with! • Pick from 3 charm options! • Made in just 72 hours, using all new assets! • Comes with a unique balloon!

Needle, by Galla (explicit link!) and Zichqec:

[Download]

• Is a needle! • Comes with content warnings! • Can poke other ghosts! • Made without template code, using all new assets! • Comes with a unique balloon!

Vending Machine, by kai and Bugtoast:

(No public release yet, but do keep an eye out for one!)

• You can buy virtual items! • You can virtually eat/drink the virtual items! • Looks great as a desktop decoration! • Provides a nice surface to set other ghosts on! • Made with all new assets!

Aaron the Protogen, by Ryder:

(No public release yet, but do keep an eye out for one!)

• Has a really nice tail animation! • Can play a couple of minigames! • Tells lots of terrible jokes! • Comes with a unique balloon!

After-school Study Group, by Ayaka:

(Server exclusive! The dev has not indicated plans to release this ghost publicly, so you’ll have to join our Discord to get it!)

• Can help you if you're studying Japanese! • Have an option to display their Japanese dialogue in romaji! • Have fun banter back and forth! • Comes with a unique balloon!

Shadow the Hedgehog, by @digitalvalkerie​:

(Server exclusive! The dev has not indicated plans to release this ghost publicly, so you’ll have to join our Discord to get it!)

• Has a very nicely drawn shell! • Begrudgingly accepts a partnership with you! • Cares about you?

Herlock Sholmes, by @characteroulette​, @ageofzeroart​, and @versegm​:

[Download]

• Has a large shell with a lovely style! • Has reactions to other ghosts opening and closing! • Is packed full of character and charm! • One of the most polished entries this jam! • Comes with a unique balloon!

Sweedeesh Feesh, by @unrestedjade​:

(No public release yet, but do keep an eye out for one!)

• Has a really nice idle animation! • Can play higher-or-lower! • Has nice chill vibes!

Snoopy + Woodstock, by @frank-r-t​:

[Download]

• Captures the charm of the Peanuts artstyle incredibly well! • Has fun dialogue back and forth! • Both are very pettable!

Heather, by @luedelouartandwriting​:

(Server exclusive! The dev has not indicated plans to release this ghost publicly, so you’ll have to join our Discord to get it!)

• Is very cute! • Has cute little icons to indicate emotions! • Doesn't say much, just here to vibe! • Made with all new assets!

Earthquake Duo, by @catboy-otacon​ and @aegisghosts​:

(No public release yet, but do keep an eye out for one!)

• Have a big presence on your screen, with lots of nice detail in the shell to look at! • The sakura character's face acts as its balloon! • Sometimes, there are earthquake events, and the two will leave to go on a rescue mission! • Made with all new assets! • Comes with a unique balloon!

OurOwl, by tetchytick:

[Download]

• Has a very nice painted shell! • Has a lot of character in the writing, and even in the menu options! • You can attempt to pet it! • Made with all new assets!

Desktop Rabite, by @crabbymaiden​:

(No public release yet, but do keep an eye out for one!)

• You can give your pet Rabite a name! • You can give your Rabite different foods! • You can pet your Rabite in various spots! • Made with all new assets!

Джи-Хэй Хва (Jihae and Pavel), by @dragonpanther888 and @smokycinnamonroll:

[Download]

• Written in Russian! (Absolutely worth picking up even if you don't speak Russian, though!) • Come with two shells, one of which is partially drawn traditionally! • Made with all new assets!

Tekame Hameha, by @noirfos​ and Straythorn:

[Download]

• Is a cute tortoise that carries letters! • Has a pun name! • Made with all new assets!

The Tiny Terrors, by Doomfanger666:

(No public release yet, but do keep an eye out for one!)

• A duo of friends to terrorize your desktop! • Or perhaps to get a respite from the disaster back home? • Made with all new assets!

Paper, by Galla (explicit link!), @inportant-spam-rsvp​ and Zichqec:

• Made within just 24 hours! • Includes 4 (premade) minigames! • Over 2000 (freshly written) words available for the minigames! • Is judging you! • Made without template code! • Comes with a unique balloon!

Hollow Jam, by @dransnake​, catrat, and @wildmoonproductions​:

(No public release yet, but do keep an eye out for one!)

• Have a pretty animated shell! • Have 3 whole characters! • Have a lot of questions you can ask in their menu! • Made with all new assets! • Comes with a unique balloon!

The Scientist’s Assistant, by pixel_zoo, Era the Outworlder, and Ecclysium:

[Download]

• Has a very pretty pixel art shell! • Has an interesting mechanic for using items! • Complete with sound effects for the actions you can take!

Nai, by @sialu-the-arts-cat​:

(Server exclusive! The dev has not indicated plans to release this ghost publicly, so you’ll have to join our Discord to get it!)

• You can pet the cat! • You can also poke the nose! • Has a nice idle animation of the tail flicking back and forth!

Dr. Arthur S Seavers, by @fursie-does-art​:

(No public release yet, but do keep an eye out for one!)

• Is super sweet and friendly! • Has a fun firstboot with multiple questions! • Made with all new assets!

Thanks so much for participating, everyone! We hope you’ll join us again next year, too!

#Ukagaka #ukgk #Ukagaka Ghost #Ghost Jam #Ghost Jam 2022 #Ukagaka Dream Team

[dollarbin]

Dollar Bin #4:

Emmylou Harris's Angel Band

I visited four different Iowa record stores while dropping my second born off at college last week and I have much to report. 

Yes, there are at least four record stores in the state.  The mystery is how they stay open. 

Emerson, Lake and Palmer records are deemed worthy of plastic protection in Iowa, and $25 Yes records come with handwritten stickers that say things like "Side 1 Skips!" followed by a frownie face.  These stores are convinced - convinced! - that newly printed Guns and Roses records deserve places of high honor up on the wall and that Jerry Jeff Walker belongs in folk rock. After all, the Country section is behind a wall of dangling beads and George Jones fills an entire crate. 

A rotund, nose-ringed salesdude nods when you enter, drops the store's diamond needle on Bad to the Bone, then ambles over to offer you a tour "of their whole set up" while bragging about the minty, clear vinyl, limited edition Blink 52 record they just scored for $75 even though it's worth $300, easy.

I was happy for the dude, I really was, but I shook them off, strode past a pickle barrel of still cellophaned tapes (4 for $5!) and found that their Neil Young section was - I swear to god - entirely empty.  

Is that even legal? I mean can you really own a record store and not have a single Neil Young record? And how, you ask, are such stores even in business?

I'll tell you how: at one of them I found, after 30 years of earnest hunting, my first ever copy of Henry the Human Fly (it was an original Reprise print no less, and even though I could really give a flying turd about such things - this is the Dollar Bin after all, not Nathan's VGG++ Nerd World - I was still pretty damn fired up and almost hugged the salesdude). Anyway, I snapped up that little blue number for the very non-Dollar Bin price of 37 bucks, thereby keeping that store in business long enough for them to blast George Thorogood for another glorious day. B-B-B-B-Bad!

All kidding aside, the people of Iowa are amazing. At stop signs drivers wave to one another! Please pack up all spare copies of your favorite records, drive to Iowa, and donate them to those lovely people.

I don't know about you, but every time I enter a new record store for the first time I head straight to Young, Neil and start judging the place.  I don't really expect to find anything by Neil that I don't already have - but please, God, please help me find a copy of Ragged Glory someday, and please make it cost less than $50; I don't ask for too much God but this one favor I do of you most humbly implore - but Neil's section is an easy and effective way to find out if the store is worth my time. Or yours. 

If there's nothing to be found other than a $22 copy of Comes a Time, or even worse, nothing but an already dusty, year-old copy of Noise and Flowers for $65, I know I'm better off at Chili's eating a bloomin onion alone; if they have nothing but copy after copy of Re-ac-tor, Time Fades Away and Journey Through the Past, I stay open minded - maybe ten minutes earlier they sold a crunchy old copy of On The Beach; and if they have Old Ways or Trans for $8-10 it's time to get excited and explore the store.

Stop #2 for me in any new record store is always Emmylou Harris. I submit for your consideration the following thesis: a good record store should have on stock most, if not all, of her records between Gliding Bird (1970) and Bluebird (89). We're talking about something like 15 titles between those bookends, and all of them should be in any good record store for under 8 bucks a piece.

Don't get me wrong: these records should not be cheap given their quality. I am hear to tell you that Emmylou Harris does not make bad, or even mediocre records. Like Paul Simon (well, there is Songs from The Capeman...), she only releases good albums. The same cannot be said for Neil or Bob, though I love them dearly. I defy even my famous brother to find an argument for Down in the Groove or The Monsanto Years.

(For those at home taking notes: I did indeed make the statement in an earlier post that Neil can do no wrong. I stand by that statement! Dylan and Young alike put out crap intentionally. It's what genius's do, people! Come to think of it, that's why some (maybe all!) of my posts are gonna suck. Neil, Bob and I are simply shaking off any fair weather fans.)

But back to Emmylou: why, you ask, should every record store worth its salt have all her records cheaply in stock?

Consider:

A) between 75 and 89 she put out a record a year, all of them good, and sold them consistently to my mother and all my mother's friends and all my mother's friends' friends and... you get the idea: that's a lot of records;

B) all those women have, since they made those purchases, got a life. Unlike me. They don't need their records anymore and they've told their loser sons to put down their bongs and go out and do something with all their old vinyl in the hopes that the sons will learn entrepreneurship and decency in the process. Those loser sons have, in turn, not ignored their mother and listened to the Emmylou Harris records (like they should have!) but instead taken them to their local Treasured Vinyl and exchanged them for autographed copies of Roll the Bones, or some other comparable crap;

C) unlike her friend Dolly Parton, Emmylou has no amusement park to call home, nor any lifetime movies made in her honor; and, finally,

D) unlike Fleetwood Mac, no boyband applicant on a skateboard drinking juice has destroyed the internet with one of her songs as a soundtrack, thereby unleashing hoards of hipster kids to demand of all the local rotund record store dudes copies of Rumors.

Put all that together friends, apply a little supply and demand, and what do you get? Record stores should be full of cheap and outstanding Emmylou Harris records.

So let's focus in on one of my favorites and one that I bet none of you have ever listen to, Angel Band.

There's no getting around it, I have to tell you: Angel Band is a Jesus record.

Don't panic! You haven't been lured in here to be told that He Gets You. Instead, it's time for this entry's second thesis: Angel Band is The Best Jesus Record (by a white person, anyway).

That's right, it's better than Saved, Jesus Was a Capricorn, My Mother's Hymn Book and everything Van the 80's Jesus man ever put out. By far! Indeed, I'd even go so far as to argue that while listening to Angel Band you will forget altogether that the man from Galalee is even involved.

Before I preach the word of Emmylou, let's listen to the opening track.

I kinda feel like I could just end this entry right here. What can anyone possibly say other than Jesus Christ! The barely there but perfect band creates simple and delicious space around Harris' aching goddess of a voice. If some jerk doctor ever tells me I need to stop drinking beer (dear God, I'm back! Never mind my earnest appeal for Ragged Glory. Rather, God, please avert that hateful beerless future!), then I'm gonna have to listen to this album every day just to calm the hell down.

My prime hobby in life (good news everyone: as of this morning this blog is my day job because, thanks to my famous brother, I now have like 16 followers and surely that means cash money is coming my way, yes? Isn't that how the world wide web works? Siri, where's my paycheck?!) is teaching High School English and History; in that role I teach a four week block each year on The Holy Books.

The class is easy to teach even though I'm not a regular church goer; tell cool teens about Muhammad getting seized by the Angel Gabriel, back that up by showing them that Abraham is everyone's mythical great-grandad and they are all in. But, given the fact that Donald Trump and Samuel Alito continue to exist and threaten all our lives, Jesus is a tough sell to teens. (See that? Right there I'm not shaking off any new fair weather fans; I'm telling any Trump people reading this to go away and stop acting like shitheads.)

I do what I can in my Holy Books course to salvage Christianity: we get to the good stuff within the Sermon on Mount and St. John's Prelude and we separate St. Augustine's hateful nonsense from the essence of Christ. But the turning point, the moment when smart, open-minded kids realize that Jesus is about love without exception, not hate, often comes not through the texts or through my earnest lectures, but instead when I play them them The Stanley Brothers Angel Band or The Louvin Brothers I See A Bridge. No spiritual teaching that leads to such beauty could be altogether with merit, and kids get that.

Just about any song on Angel Band could win that same argument, including Harris' version of the title track. Covering a song that is perfect to begin with is either a brilliant move (see Dark End of the Street, originally by James Carr, and the versions by Linda Ronstadt and Richard and Linda Thompson), shrugable (Neil Young singing If You Could Read My Mind) or intolerable and gross (Stephen Stills' version of The Loner - I curse thee Stephen Stills!). But as far as I'm concerned Emmylou Harris could cover anything, from Will to Love to Love Shack, and make it great.

So get over your fear of Jesus, dive into your local dollar bin and relax while listening to Angel Band. God, if we are lucky, exists. And she sings just like Emmylou Harris.

#emmylou harris #stephen stills sucks #louvin brothers #Youtube

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Update the Letter Board!

(Disclaimer: only one of the characters in this story belongs to me. You can find more information about Azalea here. And if you’d like to learn more about the mob she and Murdock work for, go here.  Caliban will only be mentioned, but my boy still deserves credit. So, for more information about Caliban, go here. Murdock/Murderplier belongs to the Markiplier Cinematic Universe, but if you’re interested in my personal headcanons on him, go here.)

(Trigger Warnings: snakes, descriptions of pain/injury, blood, descriptions of medical procedure, syringes/needles, IV treatment/equipment, poison/venom/toxic chemicals, mentions of illegal business, slight mentions of eating/drinking, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

Snakes were typically very hard to read. Personalities varied from breed to breed, of course, but reptiles in general just couldn’t really express themselves the same way dogs or cats could. Aside from that, it was impossible for a cold-blooded creature to get warm-fuzzies. 

One could logically assume that a domestic serpent only tolerated its owner; that at most, it’d come to recognize said owner as some strange creature that provided food and shelter for whatever reason.

Well, logic didn’t seem to apply to Cuddles. 

The scarlet kingsnake was slithering up her driftwood perch. She lightly bobbed her head as she tried to lean up towards her owner. Azalea chuckled, lowering her hand into the small enclosure, allowing the snake to eagerly curl around her wrist. 

“Seriously? Your cage has been moved around so much tonight, and you still don’t want some alone time yet?” Azalea, who had just barely returned her pet’s terrarium to its usual place on top of her dresser, asked. The question was sarcastic, but she hadn’t worded it unkindly. 

Cuddles’ only response was to steadily advance along her owner’s arm. She soon came to rest her head on Azalea’s shoulder while the end of her thin tail looped around Azalea’s wrist like an organic bracelet. Azalea smiled, using her free hand to gently run a finger along the serpent’s glossy scales.

She already knew snakes were more intelligent than they were typically given credit for, so Cuddles’ curiosity and willingness to be handled hadn’t been too surprising. No, what had really caught her off-guard was the fact that Cuddles seemed to get actual separation-anxiety on occasion.

Aftertaste followed a perfectly reasonable schedule, but Azalea often stayed in the restaurant hours after closing time (alright, she was technically spending that time beneath the building rather than inside it, but the point still stood). A hitwoman’s work was never quite finished: jobs needed to be discussed, targets needed to be tracked, poisons needed to be studied and mixed and slipped into seemingly-innocent treats. . .

Since being a contract-killer wasn’t the same as being an irresponsible pet-owner, Azalea found herself transporting Cuddles’ terrarium back and forth between her house and her subway-tunnel-den on a semi-regular basis.

Azalea exited her bedroom and ventured downstairs, holding one arm steady for Cuddles. She soon arrived in her kitchen, where washed her hands before searching through the cupboards. She found a shiny kettle, which she filled with water and set on top of the stove. 

It was late, but Azalea was feeling restless. She’d adjusted to the odd, random hours that came with The Pentas Family’s business. She’d learned how to shake off shock like a normal person would a Sunday Morning Hangover. She’d grown familiar with not exactly having peace-of-mind, due to the plans, names, locations, codes, everything she needed to keep memorized for her work. 

In any case, tea had proven itself a surprisingly effective quick-fix. (Then again, maybe that was just an old instinct.)

The water would take some time to boil, so Azalea was about to move to the living room, weighing the benefits of putting a movie on. But she quickly found herself frozen in place.

Her backyard was spacious, and most of that space was taken up by her greenhouse—why buy plant-based poisons when you could just grow and harvest them yourself?—but the kitchen window was wide enough for Azalea to see past it. And as her gaze passed by that window, she caught something out of the corner of her eye.

The houses in this neighborhood were separated by personal fences. Beyond each of those fences, a weed-choked alleyway was commonly used as a shortcut, whether on foot. . .or by car.

Azalea watched as a lone vehicle quietly crept through the alley. The sun had set hours ago, so the machine was partially camouflaged by shadows. Neither its head-lights nor tail-lights were glowing; not a good sign. The fact that the car’s windows were tinted didn’t bode well, either. 

Especially when it slowed to a stop right outside her fence. 

The driver-side door popped open, and a tall figure climbed out. Due to the distance and lack of light, Azalea couldn’t make out any details other than the black clothing the figure was dressed in. The figure approached the fence’s gate, then paused. Paranoia began festering in Azalea’s stomach as she realized that the lock on that gate was probably getting picked right now.

Azalea turned, silently rushing through the living room and up the staircase. She returned to her bedroom, where she gently pried Cuddles from her arm and deposited her back into the terrarium. The snake didn’t resist, but her beady little eyes shone with a surprising amount of worry. 

Azalea then went across the hall to her office. She tugged a chair away from her mahogany desk before dropping to her knees. This house wasn’t connected to the abandoned subway tunnels like Aftertaste and so many other buildings in the city were, but it’d still come with a small crawlspace hidden beneath the carpet of this particular room. Hell, Azalea had found the compartment in question purely by accident. 

And upon that discovery, she’d done what anyone would do: cleaned it up and used it to stash things that most people would be better off not knowing about. (Now, you could claim that, when faced with a surprise crawlspace, you’d either just ignore it or cut it off via replacing the office carpet. But then your parents would’ve raised a frickin’ liar.) 

Azalea combed through rows of neatly-stacked, unassuming boxes that awaited her. She fished out a container made of purple-stained wood and opened it up. In its top half, six syringes were kept in place by velcro strips while six glass vials were carefully nestled in slots on the bottom half.

. . .Well, five syringes and vials right now, as Azalea took the sixth of both sets into her hands. She expertly pulled back the syringe’s plunger and inserted the needle into the vial’s rubber stopper, drawing out the clear, innocent-looking liquid inside.

Azalea’s work didn’t just involve killing—sometimes she was tasked with interrogations and the like. And no matter what kind of assignment she focused on, self-defense was always a must. Thus, she made a habit to collect toxins that, while not fatal, still promised a bad time to whoever’s system they ended up in. 

Now armed with a dosage of platypus venom, Azalea surged back downstairs. She glanced out the kitchen window, making sure to stand in a way that wouldn’t let her be seen from the other side. And then she found herself suddenly halting yet again.

As she’d predicted, the fence gate was now hanging open, and the figure was slowly but surely trekking through her backyard. He’d grown closer, clearly intent on entering Azalea’s house. 

In fact, he was now close enough for Azalea to see a head of raven hair that was almost shoulder-length. She also discovered a pair of circular, black-tinted glasses on his face. Along with a brass pendant hanging from a simple chain around his neck. . .

Azalea’s fear vanished, quickly being replaced by confusion and frustration. She slunk across the kitchen and into the laundry room. She approached her house’s back door, unlocked it, and wrenched it open to whisper-yell, “Murdock?!”

Upon hearing his name, Murdock startled badly, staggering back a little. Despite his spectacles, Azalea could tell he was making eye-contact. A few seconds passed before he awkwardly nodded and resumed his march. 

Azalea raised an eyebrow, stepping aside to let her surprise guest in. “You nearly gave me a heart-attack! If you needed to stop by, you could’ve at least texted me earlier!”

“You think I don’t know that?” Murdock muttered, clearly as exasperated as he was shaken-up. “I had to get here quickly. Couldn’t waste any time sending a message.”

One part of Azalea felt a bit relieved, but that only lasted a few seconds. She knew right away that something was very wrong.

Sure, Murdock was a hitman, and an unexpected visit from a hitman typically wasn’t a sign of anything good. But Murdock was also someone Azalea was familiar with. They’d worked together numerous times; hell, he was the reason she and Caliban had found new lives in The Pentas Family. Aside from that, one of this mob’s laws specifically condemned the act of betrayal. 

No, Azalea knew that she wasn’t in any danger. . .

Murdock was doubled-over, breathing heavily as he trudged across the threshold. His body language was anxious, distressed. Almost like that of an injured animal.

“What’s going on?” She questioned as she closed the door behind Murdock.

“I-I need your help, Aza,” Murdock proclaimed in a low pitch. He had a naturally deep voice, but this was different. His tone was hoarse, and his words were labored. “I need some medicine. I can’t afford to go to the hospital.”

It was then that Azalea noticed three things.

The first was that Murdock wasn’t wearing his leather gloves. (He took them off when he wasn’t focusing on mob business, but he was still decked out in the rest of the attire that he always wore while on the clock.)

The second was that Murdock’s left hand was clamped around the wrist of his right, shakily keeping it in a lowered position.

The third was that the back of Murdock’s right hand was adorned by a dull, reddish-purple splotch. As well as a pair of very distinct puncture wounds. They were small (snake fangs were typically thin, after all) but they’d been stretched out due to the obvious swelling in Murdock’s skin. 

And just like that, the syringe clattered to the floor.

“Oh my God! Hold still, hold still—!” Azalea reached out to tug at Murdock’s black overcoat. She easily pulled the first sleeve off of the hitman’s left arm, but she had to carefully maneuver his right arm out of the second sleeve. The overcoat was left in a crumpled heap on the floor as Azalea put a hand on the small of Murdock’s back, walking him through the kitchen and over to the living room.

“What was it?” She demanded. “What bit you?”

“A diamondback,” Murdock croaked, making an obvious effort to not lean on Azalea for support.

(Rattlesnakes weren’t exactly aquatic creatures, but, like many things, they were more competent at swimming than your mental health would be prepared for. While their preferred habitats were desert areas, they could still be found in seaside environments like the Cove Port Inlets.)

“How much time has passed since it happened?”  

“Erm. . .almost twenty minutes, I think.”

“You think?” Azalea repeated incredulously. 

“Yeah, that’s my best damn guess!” Murdock snarled. “So sorry it’s not a closer estimate. I was more focused on getting here before paralysis set in!”

Azalea couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “Good to know the venom isn’t affecting your brain yet.”

She led Murdock to an armchair sat in one corner. “Here, sit down. Move slowly.”

Murdock nodded, turning around and carefully lowering himself onto plush leather. 

Azalea ran back to the kitchen, rummaging through the drawers until she found a clean hand towel. She held it under the faucet, soaking it in warm water and lathering it with soap, then hurried back to the living room. She knelt down beside the armchair, rolled up the right sleeve of Murdock’s currant-colored turtleneck. She turned his arm so that his palm was facing the ceiling, then spent a moment scrubbing at the bite wound. Murdock hissed in pain, but he didn’t jerk away. 

As soon as Murdock’s hand was a bit more sterile than before, Azalea stood and began jogging away once more. “Don’t move that arm unless I say otherwise!” 

She stopped by the laundry room to chuck the towel into an empty hamper, then raced up the staircase and back into her office. Unlike the cabinet she kept in her subway-tunnel-den, the hidden compartment also happened to store a decent quantity of antidotes and specific painkillers. 

Considering the nature of her work, Azalea hardly ever found herself having to use this stuff. Then again, being unhinged didn’t automatically disqualify one from having foresight. 

Azalea quickly found a larger green box adorned by a small sign, which proclaimed ANTIVENOM in her handwriting. She grabbed it and hurried downstairs, now rushing over to the medicine cabinet in the hallway, where she snatched up another box (this one stark-white), as well as a fresh roll of bandages and some odd-looking, folded-up metallic contraption. 

It was a bit miraculous that Azalea didn’t drop anything as she sprinted back to the living room, setting all of the things in her arms onto the coffee table.

She made yet another trip to the kitchen to wash her hands and, for good measure, donned a pair of fresh latex gloves from a container under the sink. Once she returned to the living room, Azalea wasted no time dressing Murdock’s injured hand in a few layers of gauze. 

With a series of clicks and snaps, she unfolded the metal object, revealing it to be what looked like a coat stand that was apparently collapsible. She opened the white box and fished out the essentials of an Intravenous Infusion procedure. 

Azalea searched through the green box until she found a batch of vials specifically labeled RATTLESNAKE. 

She carefully opened up a clean IV bag, pouring vial after vial of antivenom inside until it was full, then hung it on one of the metal racks at the top of the stand. Next, she unwound a long plastic tube and piped one end of it into the valve at the bottom of the IV bag. At the other end of this tube was a cannula: a small, somewhat cone-shaped object that almost resembled one of those toy syringes that could be found in a child’s pretend-doctor set. 

Unfortunately for Murdock (well, sort of fortunately, considering his predicament), this was not a toy. Azalea took a clean, slender needle from a little package in the white box and loaded it into the cannula. 

As soon as that was done, she produced a purple tourniquet, which she tied around the center of Murdock’s forearm. 

“Augh—what’s the pressure-cuff for? We’re not in a goddamn pharmacy!” Murdock sputtered as Azalea adjusted the tourniquet, undoubtedly making it uncomfortably tight.

“Oh, I’m sorry, would you like to handle this? Because it sure doesn’t seem like you’re in a position to!” Azalea snapped. “If I can’t get this right, then you can’t get the antidote. So do yourself a favor and STOP WHINING!”

Soon enough, a long vein visibly bulged under Murdock’s skin. There; that was the place the needle would have to go.

Azalea quickly poured some rubbing alcohol onto a cotton swab, wiping that patch of flesh clean. Then, she took the cannula into her hand, holding it like she would a syringe at a 30-degree angle to the vein. 

“Brace yourself. This is gonna hurt,” she warned.

And with that, she pushed the needle into Murdock’s forearm, right below the tourniquet. Murdock sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut and grinding his jaw.

A couple seconds passed before Azalea felt something pop against the cannula. She kept it parallel to Murdock’s skin, watching as a few drops of his blood oozed into it. Her hands were a blur as she deftly removed the needle and connected the free end of the IV tube to the cannula. 

Little by little, she fed the tube further into the cannula hub. Once a good portion of the tube was very clearly inside Murdock’s forearm, Azalea tore a few pieces from a spool of medical tape to keep the IV attached to him. She then untied the tourniquet and swabbed at the skin around the injection area yet again. 

After that, she stood and reached up to the IV bag, twisting at it in order to open its interior valve. The antivenom, now actually having somewhere else to go, quickly flowed through the length of the tube. . .and, obviously, into Murdock. 

Azalea quietly took a couple steps back, holding her hands up in a way that suggested the IV set might spontaneously combust. 

The hitman shifted in his seat, no doubt feeling the odd sensation of foreign liquid entering his veins. Azalea knew he was still in pain—hell, he would be for the next several days—but he’d be okay. The cure was actively being guided along his bloodstream. 

For a moment or two, the pair were frozen in silence, slowly peering back and forth between each other and the antivenom in the tube. 

“Is. . .is that all?” Murdock eventually asked. His voice was quieter than it had been earlier, but there was a generous amount of anxiety in his tone. “Is there anything else to do?”

“No,” Azalea replied, shaking her head. “There’s more than one way to deal with a snake-bite, but getting an IV is the most efficient. Recovery’s gonna be rough, but you’ll be fine.”

“A-Alright.” Murdock nodded, some of the tension draining away from his frame.

“Well, I suggest you get comfortable,” Azalea announced. “You’ll need to stay attached to that bag until it’s empty.”

“Let me guess: that’ll take the rest of the night?” Murdock inquired. 

“Most likely. And even after that, it’ll still take a while for the venom inside you to be completely neutralized.”

Murdock was only able to shrug halfway before wincing. “That’s fine. Better than being at my place without any treatment.”

 “Damn right it is.” Azalea hummed in sarcastic agreement. “You owe me at least half of your next payment.”

“Why?” Murdock asked, although his tone of voice made it clear he already had an idea.

“Because I’ve had to use five vials of antivenom on you, and that stuff is not cheap,” Azalea answered. She picked up the aforementioned empty vials and carried them over to a small recycling bin in the kitchen. 

“What if I just found that diamondback and brought it over? You’ve milked snakes before. Plus, you always say antivenoms are kind of like vaccines.” Murdock tilted his head to the side, offering a shit-eating smirk that only lasted a few seconds before his face contorted with discomfort yet again. 

“True,” Azalea admitted, “but I doubt I’d have the time to actually make some antivenom afterwards. Considering I’d have to save your ass again.” 

“. . .That’s fair, I suppose,” Murdock sighed. “Besides, I can already tell you’d be more concerned about the snake.” 

“Yeah, I would,” Azalea snarked. “Because the snake would be an innocent victim of circumstance only trying to defend itself. Meanwhile, you’d just be a moron who screwed around and found out for a second time.”

Murdock huffed at this, but he didn’t really put up an argument. He rested his head against the chair’s back cushion, cringing in irritation. “When I’m up for my next job, we’ll talk,” he murmured. 

“Sounds good,” Azalea replied with a nod. With not much else to do, she went about cleaning up the living room. 

She threw away the used latex gloves away before strolling outside. Quickly and quietly, she crossed her backyard to close the fence gate, then raced back to the laundry room and locked the back door. The weapon she’d abandoned earlier glinted against artificial light. She carefully plucked it off the floor, carrying it and the antivenom box back upstairs. 

The platypus venom was drained back into its vial, the syringe was cleaned, and the boxes Azalea had opened were finally tucked back into the office crawlspace, now lying in wait for another day. 

Azalea stopped by her bedroom, instantly feeling a pair of eyes on her, and a smile finally flickered back on her face as she approached Cuddles’ terrarium. 

“Sorry for the panic,” Azalea announced, gently gathering up her pet and setting her down around her shoulders. “A friend of mine just made a mistake. Everything’s alright now.”

Cuddles always seemed to know when to live up to her name. She happily began cosplaying as a scarf, rubbing her scaly head against Azalea’s collarbone, barely even flinching when the keening distress call of a boiling kettle stabbed into Azalea’s ears. 

Azalea hurried back down to the kitchen, turning off one of the stove’s burners. Steam billowed from the spout while she washed her hands. She then poured herself a cup and fetched a little bag of almond tea from the pantry; clouds of spice colored the hot water as she carried her beverage over to the living room. She immediately noticed how Murdock’s tinted glasses lay askew on the coffee table, suggesting their owner had lightly tossed them onto it. 

As expected, Murdock was waiting for her, trying and failing to ignore how the fingers on his injured arm involuntarily twitched. (Despite all the dramatics he was infamous for, even he knew better than to just rip an IV cord out of his arm.)

At the sound of Azalea’s footsteps, Murdock instinctively glanced in her direction. Azalea glanced right back, tilting her head. Unlike just a few minutes ago, she was able to see her guest’s dark brown eyes. 

The Pentas Family was exceptionally skilled with secrets. One couldn’t simply talk about underground business, after all. When it came to interactions between the mob’s members, however, the Fight Club rule didn’t always have to apply. 

Therefore, anyone who knew Murdock probably also knew about his case of eye-misalignment. 

Specifically speaking, Murdock’s right eye was turned to the right, as though he was looking at something sideways without having to move his head. His left eye could shift around in its socket as intended, but his right eye never followed along. This didn’t render Murdock half-blind, despite how traumatic the accident that had shoved it to the side apparently was.

It was also something that Murdock was adamant on not being self-conscious about. His sunglasses were a memento from one of his earliest jobs; that was his reason for constantly wearing them (when he was doing things on the less-than-legal side of the spectrum, at least. He wore a medical eyepatch while keeping up appearances in normal society.)

And for the most part, this was true. 

“Comfy?” Azalea asked, heading for the plush sofa that stood adjacent to the armchair. She took a seat on the far side of said sofa, not wanting to crowd the hitman.

“Not exactly,” Murdock answered. His face ever-so-slightly fell at the sight of Cuddles. Azalea couldn’t help but smirk, practically able to hear the Red Touch Yellow rhyme echoing between his ears. 

Murdock lightly shook his head, his expression shifting back to a casual one. It was still too late for him to hide the mild panic he’d just felt. 

“That’s a shame.” Azalea shifted on the couch cushions, taking a sip of her tea. “So. What’d you do this time?”

Murdock flinched. Despite its blank screen, the television at the head of the living room suddenly seemed very interesting to him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means. Don’t tell me you think I’d just believe that a rattlesnake attacked you out of nowhere.” 

Murdock rolled his left eye. He was about to petulantly fold his arms across his chest, but the IV tube had other ideas. “Maybe the rattlesnake was being a dick.”

Azalea raised her eyebrows, obviously not convinced. 

Murdock let out a melodramatic sigh, clearly not looking forward to explaining himself. “Y’know that loan shark who’s been renting a place uptown?”

“Of course I do,” Azalea replied.

The Pentas Family had eyes and ears all over the Cove Port Inlets. Whenever something—or someone—new came to the city, at least one member of the mob would be aware. That, in turn, would lead to a report to The Boss, who would then bring all of her subordinates up to speed on the matter. New residents were just typical background characters most of the time, but one could never be too careful. 

It’d been years since The Boss had claimed the Inlets as Pentas territory. And thanks to reputation, protecting turf wasn’t too difficult. Even so, it wasn’t uncommon for pests to try and set up shop in the community. They didn’t pose much of a threat to the mob’s power, and they weren’t as tricky to deal with as organized groups were, but they were still so. Damn. Annoying. 

“I overheard The Boss complaining about him,” Murdock continued. “She’s worried that he’ll start trying to lend to potential clients around here—”

“—and if that happens, our earnings could be damaged when he starts exploiting his borrowers,” Azalea finished, narrowing her eyes in disdain.

(This particular idiot hadn’t exactly tried to weasel his way into a partnership with The Pentas Family, but it was still less than ideal to have him on the loose in the community. Loan sharks in general were just complete scumbags.)

Murdock nodded enthusiastically. “Bingo. Since we can’t really let that happen, I took it upon myself to send the guy a message.” 

Azalea blinked, the focus of her annoyance quickly transitioning from the pest to the man who’d dropped by in the middle of the night for pro-bono medical attention. “And that’s where the diamondback came in, huh?”

Murdock flinched, undoubtedly having seen the shift in his accomplice’s expression. He was already the worst kind of adrenaline-junkie; working with The Boss and being paid to kill was just a bonus on top of that. And yet he still wasn’t immune to the humiliation that came with making stupid mistakes. 

“. . .Yeah,” he finally stated, his voice tired. 

Azalea pointedly raised an eyebrow, gesturing for him to continue his story. Sure, she was still kind of pissed off, but schadenfreude was a natural thing in this line of work (and Murdock was damn well aware of that).

Murdock stayed quiet for a long moment. He glanced around Azalea, probably staring at the calendar hanging on the wall behind her, which was currently displaying a picture of a bouquet of roses just above the word February. 

“I went to the department store and bought one of those heart-shaped boxes,” he finally muttered. “I took out the chocolates and. . .well, I remembered you saying something about rattlesnakes nesting in one of the fields by the beach, so. . .”

Azalea clicked her tongue, slowly shaking her head. 

“Murdock.” She set her tea on the coffee table in order to start massaging her temples. “Murdock—look, I appreciate you. You’ve done a lot of things to help out Cal and I. You’re one of the most resourceful people I know. But right here, right now. . .you’re an idiot.”

An indignant squawk emerged from Murdock’s throat. He threw up his hands in a lame gesture, gritting his teeth at the stinging sensation of the IV tube’s protest.

“At least I know the message’ll get across!” He argued. “If the snake bit me, then it’ll probably bite the loan shark! So, if he doesn’t die from the bite, then he’ll run off after he gets treatment; and if he’s stupid enough to stick around, then we’ll just bump him off! One way or another, he’ll be out of our hair soon!”

If there was ever a time for a record to suddenly be scratched. . .

Azalea was about to respond with more sarcasm, but stopped short upon hearing this latest statement. Murdock pursed his lips, realizing too late that he probably should’ve just left that part out. 

“Let me get this straight,” Azalea pronounced. She rose from the sofa, beginning to pace back and forth on the living room carpet. “You went out into a field to try and catch a snake. A venomous snake, remember. And, somehow, despite not having any equipment—”

“Hey, I found a forked stick before I started looking,” Murdock protested.

Azalea, not to be interrupted, gave the hitman a death glare. “—you actually managed to catch that snake. Then, that snake bit you, because OF COURSE IT DID. . .”

She paused, as her brain was still attempting to process this. On one hand, Murdock was a contract-killer: he was professional when he needed to be, but he and lapses-in-judgment were still old friends. On the other hand, Murdock was a grown-ass man who should’ve had a few more shreds of common sense than this.

“. . .and you STILL went through with your little message plan? After you were bitten, you decided NOT to let go of the thing that bit you and run far away from it?!” 

A little voice in the back of Azalea’s head worried about her eyeballs potentially dropping out of her sockets due to how bewildered her expression was.

“You STILL thought it was a good idea to put it in a box?! Not just that, you drove that box over to a secondary location! You did all that BEFORE you made your way over here for the cure?!”

Murdock’s eyes were also currently the size of dinner plates. Although the movement was subtle, there was no mistaking how he shrank back into the armchair. 

He may have clearly been much taller than Azalea, even in a seated position. 

He may have had more than enough experience maiming, mutilating, and murdering his fellow humans for money. 

He may have known that he’d long-since earned Azalea’s trust (and vice-versa). 

But he still knew what Azalea was capable of. And, despite The Pentas Family’s laws, he was still very much aware of that phrase about women being scorned.

“. . .Pretty much,” he eventually murmured. 

Azalea blinked, unable to stop herself from reaching up to pinch at the bridge of her nose. 

“You can’t say I wasn’t dedicated,” Murdock tried.

“No, I can’t,” Azalea admitted. Before Murdock could start thinking he was off the hook, however, she added, “But I can say that you’re a dumbass sometimes.” 

It took no time at all for Murdock’s natural sardonicism to resurface. “I mean, you don’t have to say that, but alright.”

“Have you ever seen that one video of some guy poking and licking a Portuguese Man O’ War?” Azalea inquired. 

“You think I live in a place that doesn’t get WiFi?” Murdock snorted. “How couldn’t I have seen that? It was all over the news.”

Azalea nodded, smiling in an exhausted manner. “Good. That means you know.”

Now having been thoroughly thrown out of the loop, Murdock tilted his head to the side. “What exactly do I kn—”

“The clout-chaser in that video is the only reason why what you did tonight doesn’t qualify as the stupidest, most reckless thing I’ve seen since I started working with you!” Azalea swiftly marched across the living room to give Murdock a surprisingly harsh flick to the forehead. “Thank your lucky stars!”

@sammys-magical-au  @insane4fandoms  @callmegkiddo  @neons-trash-blog   @ayoreneehere  @flamestar456  @inkangeliguess  @safe-hayven  @dleep-deprivation-idk-jelp  @forestcouncil  @themarpsimp @slasher-smash  @sw33tst4rs  @butterboyfly 

#my writing #azalea/aza #rosanna pansino #nerdy nummies egos #my character #fanmade egos #my fan egos #iswm murdock #murdock/murderplier #markiplier #mark fischbach #the pentas family #[the future mob project] #tw medical prodecure #tw needles/syringes #tw iv equipment/treatment #tw blood #tw venom/poison #tw implied violence #tw descriptions of illegal business #tw slight mentions of eating/drinking

[denialcity]

to accept the will of heaven (6/?)

by @denialcity​ and @firecoloredwater​; beta’d by @silverutahraptor

1651 words, unconventional red eyes are blessed AU, gen, Izuna-centric, Mada&Izu, Tobi&Izu, Uchiha traditions/religion worldbuilding

Chapter specific warnings: Izuna begins the crow trials!

(Blessed Sacrifice au tag on tumblr) (read on Ao3) (chapter 1) (chapter 5)

Chapter 7 will be posted on 7 July!

===

Izuna packs his mission equipment and supplies as soon as Airi leaves, then spends much of the rest of the night pouring over Mother's journal for hints about the crow trials. The trials are never mentioned, maybe because Mother had already passed them when she began the journal, but Izuna finds several mentions of people with unfamiliar names. Some of them she explicitly calls crows and the rest Izuna assumes must be, because who else could Mother have been talking to?

I am uncertain whether Nori does not understand that humans do not eat worms, or simply finds it funny to drop them on me anyway….

Shikei played dead again after today's battle, and laughed at me for worrying. She gave me a broken shuriken as an apology. As if I don't have enough already! And she will do it again. I will have to choose a place to keep them.

Shiori is quite vain, and altogether too invested in propriety—it is as if a mockery of my Meguru sits on my shoulder and scolds me. And yet no other crow can see as far, so I must put up with it. I cannot think how I will manage.

Yatagarasu-sama still treats me as if I am a child. I suppose at his age we all must be and so it is understandable, but I find it grating nonetheless….

It doesn't give details about the trials at all, only vague hints about being a virtuous person. Izuna understands that it's not really right to tell the secret of the trials, but his growing nervousness made him annoyed that the hints couldn't have been more helpful.

At dawn, he is in the courtyard waiting, not knowing what to expect. The morning air is fresh and misty. Birds and insects sing, and the koi in the pond swim in graceful arcs to chase the food he scattered for them. 

Without warning, there is a jerk in his guts, and he is falling, but not in any direction he can describe. It's like he is falling into himself, like he is falling into the universe, his lungs winding tighter and tighter with no air to breathe—

On the other side, he's standing on the side of a jagged mountain; on one of the lowest false peak clusters of round-top mountains that rise steep and picturesque before capping off gently. The stone is a rich brick red, and the trees are gnarled, crooked things with sparse dark brushes of long needles that feel like the mustaches of wise old men, like Izuna should bow to them before a lesson. There are many waterfalls, but in the distance is one that shines, pouring down to become clouds which catch the sun. It looks like an ink painting if ink paintings could move and were made of precious stones.

"Good morning," a refined voice says.

Izuna's balance wavers as he spins and looks up to see a fully grown crow looking down at him from the branches of a gnarled tree. She is barely visible in the dark, just a patch of extra-black feathers with a faintly red sheen, like polished stone.

She bobs her head in a little bow. "I am today's guide, Shiori. It's very nice to meet you, I'll be in your care."

Suddenly feeling like he'd been caught in rough playing clothes when he came home and Father had guests who had to be greeted, Izuna bows and fumbles through his greeting. "Morning, I'm Izuna. I'll be in your care." He winces at how poorly spoken his words were to his own ear and Shiori's feathers ruffle.

Altogether too invested in propriety, Mother had written. But Izuna needs her to like him.

"I will lead you to Yatagarasu-sama," she says. "You cannot fly, so the schedule will be difficult, unfortunately. There will be little time for you to rest, Izuna-san."

"Please proceed as Shiori-san deems suitable," Izuna replies, which she seems to find polite enough. 

Shiori sets a punishing pace, barely visible flying above the dark canopy as Izuna runs through the rough terrain below. But this wouldn't be a test if it were easy, and Izuna is a shinobi, so he tightens the straps of his pack and keeps up, regulating his breathing and chakra so he can go as long as he has to.

Shiori may have raised concerns because Izuna could not fly, but the terrain here would have been near impossible for a non-shinobi. The red-brown cliff faces are nearly vertical, and many times, Shiori lands at the top of the cliff to wait for him, even as he climbs as quickly as he can. Every time, she is rested when he reaches the top, panting heavily. They set off again almost immediately, Izuna having to mind his footing on the crumbling earth or the mud where the many little streams and smaller waterfalls wet the ground. 

It is a test. It is meant to be unfair. But it will not be impossible. Izuna grits his teeth and keeps going.

Time in this space feels strange, like clear jelly, thick and changing the quality of the light. Izuna doesn't know how long he runs, doesn't want to think about it. He just keeps looking up to glance at Shiori, looking down to check his footing, looking ahead to make sure he selected the best way forward, looking up again. 

The forest is very quiet, mostly filled by Izuna's heavy breathing. High, high above and nearly inaudible are Shiori's wingbeats. Sometimes the babble or whisper of water.

Then, a loud piercing cry that makes Izuna jump and nearly lose his footing. He stumbles, bracing hard against one of the old gnarled trees that seem to be the only kind in this forest. The rough bark scratches his hands and the knots and twists leer at him almost like faces. The cry rings through the forest, eerie and agonized.

"What the—?" Izuna asks, out of breath, shivering again. The sound sticks in his spine, shrill and like a death cry. "Shiori-san?" 

She swoops down, flaring her wings to land on the tree.

Another cry, louder, closer. Izuna shudders, turning towards it. 

"Shiori-san," Izuna says. "What was that?" 

She tilts her head. 

"We are on a schedule," she says. Her dark, beady eyes are cold. The gleam of them is inhuman.

She doesn’t remind Izuna of Meguru at all. Meguru was always kind. Maybe that was what Mother meant by calling her a mockery.

Izuna bites his lip. 

"I know," he says. "But, shouldn't we check? It might be another crow." 

He doesn't know very much about how summoning realms worked, but from the stories, they always seemed to only have that one type of summon animal. 

"Izuna-san is free to do as he wishes. But this humble guide only reminds him of the schedule," Shiori says primly. "There will be consequences." 

That awful cry again, obviously in pain. Izuna swallows. 

"Just give me five minutes," he bargains.

"Two, and we shall have to make up the time by going faster," she counter-offers. 

"Fine," Izuna says, already turning away. "Agreed." 

Two minutes is not much time, so Izuna sprints, using more chakra to make up for already being winded. Shiori remains on the tree.

The cry sounds again, quite nearby. Izuna throws himself forward. There are only gnarled trees and smooth earth, a small stream, a wad of dark feathers—

Izuna stops short, flipping and landing on a tree trunk to narrowly avoid stepping on a small crow with a rock on its wing. 

The crow looks at him. It's bigger than Airi, but fluffed up in fear so it looks nearly as large as Shiori-san. 

"Hey." Izuna steps down from the tree. "Are you alright? I'll get that rock off you." 

The crow huddles down. 

"Help," it croaks. 

"Yeah, hang in there," Izuna says, gently touching the rock. It’s quite heavy, heavier than it looks, and birds have light bones, don’t they? "Hey, you're gonna be alright. I'm Izuna, what's your name?"

"Daisuke," the crow answers. 

"Nice to meet you Daisuke-san," Izuna replies. "I'm just going to lift this rock away, yeah?" 

He talks to the bird in a low voice, just pleasantries and nonsense, like the healers did when he had a fever, or hurt himself really badly while training. (He doesn't scold. He doesn't know how this happened, if Daisuke did something stupid to hurt himself or not, but the wing looks crumpled beneath the rock. It must hurt really bad.)

Daisuke cries out as Izuna lifts the rock away, and shuffles away slightly, slowly. His wing drags on the ground at an awful angle and Izuna winces, putting the rock down to one side. 

"You did great. Are you going to be fine by yourself?" Izuna asks. 

The crow fluffs again. Shuffles the awkward walk that birds have on the ground.

"I think it's broken," Daisuke croaks pathetically, looking at him.

Izuna bites his lip. 

"Can you carry me home?" Daisuke asks pleadingly. "Trade you a favor." 

Oh, he asked.

Izuna had been raised as a son of the head family all the way through, and that meant a responsibility to all the lower houses in the clan. If someone needed help, the head family was meant to serve.

Daisuke is not Uchiha, but neither is Izuna now, and if he really is going to be a summoner to the crows, wouldn't he have to take responsibility for the ones he called?

"It's okay," Izuna says even though he's very tired. The thought of going down the mountain and back up again trying to find a disapproving Shiori in the dark, assuming she waited for him at all, is heartbreakingly discouraging, but it’s not like he has a choice. He can’t leave Daisuke there. "I'll do it. You don't have to trade. Just tell me where to go."

===

A/N: "I'll be in your care." This was a context-specific attempt at translating "yoroshiku onegaishimasu". This phrase is difficult to translate as its exact meaning is contextual but it is often used when meeting new people, or when starting a group school project/some work with people you might already know. It generally conveys a polite request to be treated favorably in the future (eg. please buy a product/service or start or continue a relationship (personal/business etc)).

Crows

Meguru 運 (luck/destiny)(listed in chapter 4 notes) was the second of Madara and Izuna's brothers. He was also the clan's favorite, and generally considered to be the best diplomat and problem solver as well as the most beautiful of the brothers. Unfortunately he was also the weakest fighter, and his death caused Takami (the eldest of the brothers and original heir) to develop mangekyou, then die in a suicidal attack on the clan that killed Meguru. Madara was mourning both of them when he met Hashirama.

Nori 海苔 (seaweed)  — this crow likes worms

Shikei 死刑 (death penalty) — this is an inauspicious name and would normally never be used but crows find different things amusing also this one has a nasty sense of humour

Shiori 祉栞 (welfare, bookmark/guide) — adult female crow who guides Izuna

Daisuke 大祐 (big, help/aid/protection (divine connotations)) — male juvenile crow who Izuna rescues during his trial

Yatagarasu 八咫烏 (eight-span crow/giant crow) — boss of crow summons. From Japanese (and Chinese and I think also Korean) mythology, its appearance is construed as evidence of the will of Heaven or divine intervention in human affairs. It has associations with rebirth and the sun. The word Yatagarasu most literally translates as "eight-span crow." The number eight in Japanese numerology can mean "many"/"a multitude", or it can mean "perfect"/"supreme". So contextually Yatagarasu may mean "giant crow"/"large crow" or "Supreme Divine Crow"/"Perfect Divine Crow."

Meguru and Takami also both live rent free in our heads, but that's a separate issue.

===

(Blessed Sacrifice AU tag on tumblr)

Prologue fic: (in the beginning) (on Ao3)

This fic: (read on Ao3) (chapter 1) (chapter 5)

#uchiha izuna #uchiha madara #naruto founders #naruto fanfic #naruto fanfiction #blessed sacrifice au #OCs #uchiha atsumi #uchiha meguru #made in denialcity

[spxllcxstxr]

Inked • S.B

(Gif not mine)

Request: Hi! Could I request a Soulmate AU with Sirius please? Marauders era with matching tattoos. No rush and thank you 🌹🖤 — @fific7

Summary: Mary is determined to find your soulmate and not even an oncoming storm will stop her. (Soulmate AU)

Warnings: some tattoo talk?, rain, thunder, I guess hints/implied bullying, Peter makes an appearance but like he’s not a key part and he’s not like bad or anything

Word Count: 2.3k

A.N: This is the kind of star I’m envisioning for your soulmark (just not yellow) I actually never specify the color, so you can imagine any color you want. This took me like a week to write for some reason. But I like how it turned out. Hopefully you guys do too! Love you all ❤️

****

No one ever told you that soulmarks tingled.

When the eight pointed star seared itself into the flesh of the inside of your left elbow at age sixteen, you thought that was it. You thought that it would just sit there innocently to the point where it wouldn’t cross your mind every second of every day, but Merlin were you wrong.

The prickling of the mark was constant, like pins and needles jabbing relentlessly into your arm. It wasn’t exactly painful, it was just an obnoxious and infuriating reminder that you still haven’t found your soulmate.

Hogwarts was practically the place for the vast majority of witches and wizards to find their soulmate, as it was basically the only topic discussed amongst the sixth and seventh years.

Honestly, you just wanted your mark to stop its incessant tingling to the point where you wouldn’t mind anyone being your soulmate. You’ve never heard any complaints from your friends who had already found their true loves, so you assume that the sensation stops eventually.

But you were tired of scratching at your arm making it look like you had some weird sort of flesh eating disease. It was unflattering and highly inconvenient.

Sure, you could run around like a headless hippogriff with your sleeve rolled up asking everyone you encounter if they’ve seen another person with that identical mark, but that’s not romantic. And you wanted romantic, Merlin damn it.

Plus, imagine the burn of embarrassment that would overtake your entire being if no one shared your soulmark. You shudder at the mere thought.

So, you learn to live with it.

You almost want to rip your arm off when it gets particularly bad while studying or trying to get the perfect measurement for your potion, but after a full year you’re almost used to it.

You’re used to how often your friends would gush about their own soulmates and their constant questions about why you’re still single as well.

Mary MacDonald, one of your best friends, had already found her soulmate, some boy from Beauxbatons that sent her too many Howlers during breakfast, but they loved each other, so who were you to complain?

But ever since she found hers, she’s been pretty determined to seek out yours. Even getting her boyfriend to ask around his own school. You can never show your face around Beauxbatons and that’s final.

She’ll make you sit around the courtyard, pretending to read a book, while she scans the arms of the many crowds in search of your star. Mary tries to walk in on top secret Quidditch practices to get a glimpse of any rolled up sleeves, but so far, no good.

That’s really the only reason she’s dragging you down to the Black Lake even though dark grey clouds are hanging heavy in the sky.

“Mary!” You huff as she drags you down the grassy hills, the smell of rain thick in the air. “I know what you’re doing, I’m not daft, y’know.”

Her hand tightens around yours as she starts to feel you resist.

“What I’m doing? (Y/n), it’s a nice day to just hang out at the lake!” Mary cries, the lie hidden well if she wasn’t your best friend.

“Mary it’s about to torrential downpour.” You scoff.

“I thought you liked the rain.” She shrugs innocently, the sound of weeds getting crushed beneath your school shoes loud in your ears.

“Mary, my soulmate might not even be at Hogwarts!” You exclaim, trying to get out of this whole situation. You could be curled up by the fire with a sugar quill, but no, why would Mary let you have some peace and quiet? “They might be older or younger than me—“

“Well we won’t know that, will we, until we check everyone in our year first.” She insists.

The deep murky water is in sight, a few people are lazily lounging around the water’s edge. Like they haven’t even noticed the rain clouds overhead.

“You’re obsessed.” You sigh, finally stopping your attempts to wriggle away from her.

“It’s because I love you.” She smiles sweetly at you, cheeks pushed high, obscuring her dark eyes.

You continue to rub the inside of your arm against the side of your abdomen, attempting to find some sort of relief. The scratchy fabric of your white button down against your grey vest is probably the most effective. The closer to the bank you get, the better you’re able to make out the figures.

The owner of the vibrant red hair was obviously Lily, one of Mary’s friends, and also the more sensible of the group considering her coat was tightly wrapped around her. She’s in a somewhat similar situation as you—she hasn’t shown her soulmark to anyone. However, if what Mary drunkenly told you one night is true, it matches James Potter’s to a tee. Poor her.

Peter was also there, kicking rocks around and chuckling at whatever story Lily was telling them. His Gryffindor jumper is a little short on him while his slacks are a little long, mud dirtying the hem of them. As far as you know, he doesn’t even have a soulmark. It’s not uncommon or something to be ashamed of, but ever since certain people found out, it’s been quite the issue. Sure the infamous Marauders took care of the situation the best they could, but the damage was already done.

The last person was obviously Sirius, you could tell by the way he has his wand situated in his bun. He was closer to the water, picking up flat stones to skip across. His bark like laugh echoing across the space. You and Mary weren’t too far from the group now, so you could tell that the top two buttons of his dress shirt were popped open. Sirius Black’s soulmark was another mystery. He seems like the type to brag about something as important as a soulmark, but as far as you know, only James, Remus, and Peter were privy to that sort of information.

“Hey guys!” Lily perks up, waving at the two of you.

You smile and wave at her, but as Mary stops and chat, you gravitate closer to Peter and Sirius.

“So where are the other two?” You ask, watching as his stone skips across the water, finally ending with a satisfying plunk!

Sirius turns to face you, a few loose strands framing his face, blowing slightly in the wind.

“Detention.” He remarks casually, lazily trying to tame his curls.

“And you two aren’t?”

Peter shakes his head enthusiastically, blond hair bobbing around. “Sirius and I managed to escape before Slughorn lost it.”

“Hey Pete!” You hear Mary call from behind you. “Don’t you wanna know what you missed in Muggle Studies?”

“Shit, yeah.” Peter bounds over to where Lily and Mary are sitting, leaving you and Sirius alone. Your feet shuffle at the predicament.

You slowly inch closer to Sirius, the large distance awkward without a third person. You’re forced to hold down a wince as your mark prickles almost painfully.

Sirius’ eyes are almost the same shade as the clouds in the sky as they pierce into yours.

“You know how to skip rocks?” He tosses you a smooth stone which you catch effortlessly.

You open your mouth to respond but before you’re able to, you’re cut off by a clap of thunder. The ripples of thunder makes you jump slightly.

“We should probably go inside—“ You start, shivering at the cold wind that begins to roll past you.

“Scared of a little thunder, (Y/n)?” Sirius teases, smirking at your shivering form.

“Don’t be a prick.” You snort. “Just throw your rock.”

You push the thought of the oncoming storm to the back of your mind as you position yourself on the bank.

The water laps at you shoes as you toe the edge, running your thumb over the smooth surface. You mirror Sirius’ position, slightly crouched at the knee, body angled towards the lake.

“One...two...three!”

You watch his body move fluidly through the positions, the stone releasing and skipping across the water delicately. Not only do you get distracted by Sirius, but the mark on your arm gives a sudden jolt, making your posture falter and your stone crash recklessly into the lake.

Sirius brings a ringed fist up to his mouth, trying and failing to stifle a laugh.

“It’s not that funny.” You grumble, embarrassed.

“I mean, it’s pretty fucking hilarious. I thought you said you knew how to skip rocks?” He crosses his arms over his chest, eyebrows raised, a chuckle still lightly escaping his amused smile.

“Technically, I didn’t tell you shit.” You remark. “The thunder cut me off.”

“Ah yes. The spooky thunder.” He drawls, wagging his painted fingers at you mockingly.

You bring your hand up to flick him off when you feel a cool dot of water drop onto your hand.

“Hey, did you just feel a—“

In the middle of talking, one raindrop becomes hundreds, the torrential downpour almost instantly soaking you to your bones. You hair plasters to your skin, clothes clinging onto you.

“—raindrop?” You utter weekly, a chill coming over you.

Your eyes widen as you look at Sirius, how his dark hair sticks wildly to his face, like curtains across his eyes.

Lily and Mary let out identical high pitched shrieks, and you hear the sound of mud squelching as the three run back towards the castle.

As Sirius tries to wipe the wet hair from his face, you grab onto his wrist, pulling him as your sprint back to the castle. You’re fumbling as you try not to slip in the mud but at the same time try get to the cover of the castle quickly.

“A little thunder, my arse, Sirius!” You huff out, his wrist still grasped tightly in your hand.

You hear him chuckle behind you, easily keeping up with your pace.

Cold water traces down your back and fills your shoes, your discomfort rapidly increasing with every step and every second you spend outdoors.

Your mind drifts off to Sirius, who was only in his white uniform button down. He must be freezing.

After sloshing through puddles and mucking up your shoes, you manage to get under the cover of the stone castle.

Your teeth are chattering and you body trembles, but at least the rain isn’t cutting into your skin anymore.

Lily, Mary, and Peter are nowhere to be found, though they’re probably making their way to the Gryffindor common room already.

Sirius is wringing out his drenched dark curls, his wand between his lips, but you’re too focused in the face that his shirt is now completely see through. Your eyes wander as you ogle his fit body, shamelessly trailing everywhere. You bite your bottom lip at your confidence.

However, something catches your eye as you admire his arms. A black splotch. Like a tattoo in the inside of his elbow. You somehow go colder than you already were.

“Admiring my beauty—Hey!”

You step forward and latch onto his arm, trying to get a better look at the spot on his arm. Initially, he struggles, but you jab your finger into his skin, your own mark tingling beneath your wet clothes.

“What’s your problem, (Y/n)?” He angrily grunts.

“What’s this, Sirius?” You demand, looking at him.

“Why?” Sirius rips his arm out of your grasp, trying his best to hide the mark from you.

“Because,” You explain, rolling up your own sleeve to expose the eight pointed star on your arm. “We might have something in common.”

Your entire body erupts into shivers both from the cold wind against your soaked skin and the way your soulmark buzzing.

The star stands out against your skin and you watch Sirius’ eyes widen, his jaw going slightly slack.

“Sirius.” You whisper. “I need to know if you’re my soulmate.”

The rain pounds against the castle, wind whistles, and thunder claps, and yet you don’t jump. You’re too focused on Sirius’ expression.

Silently, he brings his index finger to your mark and lightly traces the shape with his fingertip. His finger is cold, but you barely realize it because of the shock that runs through your body, originating from his touch. Goosebumps run wildly across your flesh.

He swallows harshly before pulling away and recklessly pushes his sleeve up the length of his arm. Your heart beats wildly in your chest in anticipation.

Sirius shoves his arm in front of you and you bring your gaze to focus on the inside of his elbow.

And there it is.

His soulmark.

Your soulmark.

The lines are clean and the points are sharp, the star is clear against his skin.

“Oh.”

“You’re my soulmate.” Sirius mutters. “Oh thank Merlin!” He’s laughing, a smile growing across his face.

His laughter is infectious and you find yourself joining him, practically jumping with glee.

Sirius latches onto you, pulling your wet bodies close. He brings his lips to your forehead, warmth spreading from the contact.

“We should celebrate.” Sirius remarks, pulling away just enough to see your entire form.

“Hold on.” You chuckle. “I think you’re forgetting to do something.”

His grey eyes flick down to your lips. “How could I ever forget the best part?” He smirks.

You lips are slow to connect, relishing in the sounds of the rain and how his his hands wrap around your elbows, thumb pressed into your mark.

When they finally join together, you feel whole. Like two puzzle pieces linked together. Eyes flutter shut as emotion run rampant through your body. Your mark tingles before fizzling out when you and Sirius disconnect.

You’re breathless as you cling onto him, as he clings onto you.

“We’ve got a party to throw,” Sirius grabs your hand. “soulmate.”

A stupid grin makes its way across your face.

“Lead the way, soulmate.”

•

Sirius Black Taglist: @quindolyn @fific7 @msmb @lunalovecroft

All Character Taglist: @aspiringsloth20 @amourtentiaa @cherie-draco

#Sirius black #sirius black x reader #Sirius black fluff #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black imagine #the marauders x reader

[fablesoffantasy]

Feel

Summary: You find a Bucky out alone and wandering in the rain, so you take him home.

Warning(s): Themes of insomnia, angst, self-doubt/self-loathing, disassociation. Fluff towards the end

Author Note: Two lines in this fic are from the Thunderbolts (2016) comic, so they will be in bold. I'm also 98% sure I kept the reader gender neutral but if I slipped up somewhere please let me know!

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

Heavy rain pelted the pavement in the dead of night. For the city that never sleeps, New York seemed uncharacteristically empty. Bucky kept his head down as he wandered and let the cold seep into his bones. So cold. He shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his jacket, the black leather provided little protection from the rain. Bucky's soaked clothes held him in a vice grip which seemed to freeze him from the outside in. 

The soldier couldn't remember how long he'd been walking. Had it been minutes, or a couple hours? Had Bucky Barnes  been anything other than a super soldier, hypothermia would have already set in. Even then, he'd consider it as a blessing. Anything to make him feel.

“Where are you even going?” A voice inside mocked. 

It wasn't enough to make him stop.

“It's not like you have anywhere to go.”

The soldier's conscience wasn't right but it wasn't wrong either. Bucky had Steve, had the Avengers compound, and hell he even had Sam to fall back on. Steve already lost countless nights of sleep to help Bucky through his nightmares. He couldn't burden him with another, he just couldn't. Even if Steve used the “I'm with you till the end of the line” on him, he couldn't.

Bucky passed a bar next and for a solid minute he lingered by the door. The warmth and smell of booze in the air invited him in, invited him to drown his woes in liquor. Under his breath he cursed the serum in his veins for robbing him of the luxury. With a sad shake of the head, tired eyes aimed ahead, and he started moving again.

Raindrops pierced his skin like thousands of needles, it hurt and he let it. Bucky let it because he needed to feel something, anything. Hunger tore at his gut and left him to wonder how long it had been since he ate. Days, a week at most, to be honest he lost count. Again, Bucky let himself go hungry because it made him feel. That's all he cared about. Something to anchor him to the present and keep him out of the past. Out of the horrors of his own mind.

You noticed Bucky before he noticed you. Under the safety of a red umbrella your eyes squinted in the dim street light, from a distance he looked familiar. When your voice called out to him it sent a knife of guilt straight to his heart. He spat a curse under his breath, the last thing he wanted was to be spotted. Let alone spotted by someone he knew. 

Bucky first met you one night when Sam invited you out for drinks with the guys. Steve trusted you, and albeit he did so much slower and with added caution. He started to warm up to you. Despite the distance the soldier gave you at first, Bucky had been nothing but kind to you. 

To see him alone in the rain was a little jarring.

“No. Stop it.” His lip curled in a snarl and his hands tugged at his hair. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself, you stupid selfish fool.”

“Bucky?” You called to him again when you got closer. “hey, it's the middle of the night, what are you doing out here?”

He glanced up at the umbrella as you held it over him, with a shrug he sighed, “Couldn't sleep. Figured I'd go for a walk.”

“Are you okay?” The warm smile you offered flipped with worry.

Three words - it took three simple words to break his resolve. For the invisible noose around his neck to pull and his tongue turned to sand. No, no he was far from okay. He couldn't even bring himself to cry, everything just felt so numb. Bucky wanted to run away but he could only run so far from himself. The harsh reality was the soldier could never shake the guilt in his heart.

Wet brunet strands hid his face like curtains, his words turned to gravel in his throat, “No. I uh, I guess I'm not.” 

It hurt your heart to see the man so lost, so broken. 

“Do you wanna come with me?” You held your hand out with a soft smile. “Get outta this rain and warm up some?”

With great reluctance Bucky followed you to your apartment, he stood awkwardly in the entryway, shivering at the contrast of his cold body and your warm apartment. You told him to wait while you grabbed a couple towels for him, which you tossed into the dryer so they would be extra warm. Upon your return Bucky had moved from the door in favor of the window, steel blue eyes glanced over the moonlit city. 

You draped one of the towels over his shoulders, “I'm sorry I don't have any clothes for you, uhm, if you want the bathroom is down the hall to the right. I can throw your clothes in the dryer while you warm up?”

“Thanks,” He muttered and pulled the towel tighter like a security blanket. Another period of hesitation. Then he shuffled towards the bathroom. 

“I'm gonna make some soup, which I won't be able to eat all by myself,” You glanced over your shoulder on your way to the kitchen. “Do me a favor and eat some too? I'd hate for it to go to waste.”

Bucky saw through the game you tried to play, begrudgingly he agreed, and finally disappeared into the bathroom. Maybe a hot shower wouldn't kill him. His clothes stuck to him like a second skin, the flesh beneath cold as ice. After folding his clothes, he set them outside by the door for you. As he waited for the water to warm up Bucky convinced himself he didn't deserve this. To be looked after. For someone to care about him.

He cracked open the bathroom door ten or so minutes later to find his clothes dry and strung up on a hanger. Awaiting his attention on the doorknob. Bucky redressed with his head down, avoiding the mirror at all cost. Avoiding his reflection because he couldn't bare to look at himself, much less live with himself for what he'd done under Hydra's tyranny.

“Oh good god,” You gasped and clutched your heart when the soldier appeared out of nowhere. People didn't call him a ghost for nothing. “Sam is right you do need a bell.”

His shoulder sank a bit, "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

You waved a dismissive hand, “It's okay, no harm done. You're just in time actually! Soup is just about ready, why don't you wait in the livingroom and I'll bring you a bowl?”

Bucky nodded and hunkered down on the couch, a twinge of silent regret hit him full force since he basically snuck out of the compound, and purposefully left his phone in his room so Steve wouldn't call. He should have told someone.

“The bowl is hot, so be careful,” You warned. He nodded in thanks and the two of you ate in comfortable silence. You watched Bucky carefully, his face was sunken in, and dark bags hung under his eyes. A slight tremor shook his hands which contradicted his stiff shoulders. Whatever demons the soldier fought were taking a toil on him.

You tilted your head, “Do you wanna talk about it? Whatever's bothering you.” 

“Not really,” He grumbled.

“That's not healthy ya know,” Your words were oddly soothing. “I promise, whatever you say won't leave this room.”

After a period of heavy contemplation, the walls Bucky had up cracked. He looked so tired, tired of fighting, tired of existing. The metal thumb of his left hand traced the rim of the bowl as he tried to sort his words. 

“I keep trying to escape it, but I can't. Bucky the lone wolf, Bucky the killer...the winter soldier.” The self-hatred in his voice made your heart drop to the deepest pit of your stomach.

You wondered how he couldn’t see it, how deep down inside, he was none of those things. A warm and gentle hand laid atop his, “I don’t believe any of that. James Buchanan Barnes is a good man, you are a good man.”

Bucky stared at your joined hands in silence while he let the words marinate in his mind. The void of empty emotion hit him all over again. With a shaky breath, he hung his head, and rested his forehead against the back of your hand. You watched the soldier with a heavy heart and scooted a bit closer to put your arm around him. He flinched at the touch yet sank into it all the same.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” You murmured, voice low and soothing.

The soldier shook his head as he buried himself in your touch, his arms came around your waist, and he hid his face in your shoulder. The warmth and scent that radiated from you put him at ease. For the first time in years Bucky felt like he could breathe. No more than a second later disgust twisted his gut at the thought of taking advantage of you and the kindness you offered. The soldier flung himself from your arms like the slightest touch would burn him.

Pain squeezed his heart and panic filled his veins, “I can’t I- I have to leave.”

“What? Bucky, no!” You chased after him in his retreat to the door. Without thinking you threw your arms around his waist and buried your face in his back. “Please. Don’t go?”

His upper lip rippled in a snarl and his hands clenched to fist, the knob of your door dented and mangled under the pressure of his metal fingers. Why couldn’t he bring himself to tell you no? Why did the tremor in your voice tighten the noose around his neck? Bucky spun in your arms at such a speed and with such force you stumbled backward, but didn’t fall, no. No, the metal arm that came around the small of your back wouldn’t let you. The pad of his human thumb brushed across your cheek as steel blue eyes stared straight into your soul. 

“Bucky?” One of your hands curled around his wrist in a delicate hold. 

A spark of hesitation lingered in the back of his eyes, the knot in his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “I don’t want to take advantage of this, your hospitality.” 

“You’re not,” You affirmed while shaking your head. “I promise. Just- just stay, please?”

There was no denying the heat that set your cheeks ablaze, especially not when his thumb smoothed over it. He sucked in an unsteady breath, god, how could he say no to you? The soldier let you pull him to the couch where you sat him down and stood between his knees, fingers pushing the brunet strands away from his eyes. His hands grabbed your hips and pulled you close. He needed to feel you against him. To feel your supple thighs straddled across his lap and the rhythm of your heart beat in time with his. Bucky needed to know you were real and you wanted him as much as he wanted you.

“Are you uhm,” You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Are you comfortable? We can-”

Rather than answer with words Bucky brushed his lips over yours, he kept still, and gave you the opportunity to pull back. The way his baby blues flickered from your eyes to your lips and back again. You knew he didn't want you to pull away.

You hands gripped his shoulders, “Bucky? Can I kiss you?”

“Please,” He nearly begged.

The kiss didn't come as expected. He stayed stiff as a board but softened and got more confident when your arms hooked around his neck. His heart fluttered like a bird in a cage, when you broke the kiss, you watched his sad eyes flicker with disbelief. Like he didn't believe someone could be unafraid of his broken parts and be capable of loving him. Bucky became fascinated by you.

With gentle guidance you pulled him over you and laid down on the couch. You held his head against your chest, fingers  combed through his hair which forced a pleasant sigh from his lungs.

Bucky squeezed your waist, “I just want to sleep. It's been two weeks.” 

“It's okay,” You soothed, rubbing the space between his shoulder blades. 

The soldier all but turned to putty in your hands, his muscles slacked and you felt him relax under your gentle caress. Without really thinking about it, you started to hum while stroking his hair, absentmindedly thinking it might help him loosen up. 

You didn't account for it and Bucky's weight to put you to sleep. Which you assume is what happened since a chime from your phone coaxed you out of dream land. By some miracle you managed to reach your phone on the coffee table. A text from Sam illuminated the screen.

[Hey, I know it's late, so sorry to bother you. Cap said his "Bucky senses" were tingling and sure enough we can't find tin-man anywhere. Have you seen him?]

You glanced down at the soldier using your chest as a pillow and responded to the text. [He's with me.]

[...

Dare I ask?]

Making sure the flash was off, you lifted your phone high enough so you could take a picture. Sending it to Sam with a grin.

[DAAAAYUUUM 😳😲]

[You can have him back in the morning ❤]

After setting the phone back on the coffee table your heart skipped a beat, Bucky's arms pulled you tighter, and a low grumble shook his chest. For a split second you were afraid you'd woken him up, but he settled after a few moments.

“If that picture comes back to haunt me you're in for it,” His voice was deep with sleep but there was a hint of amusement in his words.

You rolled your eyes and rested your cheek back against his hair, “It can wait till morning, go back to sleep.”

A simple grunt served as your only response, but you could feel his smile as he hid his face in the crook of your shoulder.

#marvel #mcu #bucky barnes #marvel cinematic universe #steve rogers #captain america #sam wilson #falcon #the winter soldier #thunderbolts #angst #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x gender neutral reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x male reader

[paisley-print]

Near The Water’s Edge:  Chapter One

After fleeing your abusive husband, you find yourself in the small coastal town of July, North Carolina. Soon you meet Frankie Morales, Air Force Veteran and single dad. As the two of you grow closer, you begin to let go of your past and learn to love again. That is until a strange man shows up in town, and you 're forced to choose between your safety or the safety of the people that you love.

Inspired by the novel “Safe Haven” written by Nicolas Sparks. 

Frankie Morales x Female Reader 

Rating: 18+ / Heavy adult themes eventual smut.

Trigger Warnings: Domestic Abuse, Drowning, Dark Water. 

Word Count: 1744

Note: I tagged everyone who liked the original posts. To stay on the permanent list please either send me a message or write it on the post. Enjoy <3 

Series Master List

Chapter One 

Aggressively American, that was the only fitting description of the place you found yourself in. July was a coastal town located in the southern part of North Carolina. It was pronounced like ‘Julie’ but nobody ever called it that. It had been the farthest place your two hundred dollars in cash could take you; and as the greyhound pulled away, you wondered if you should have chosen Nebraska instead. 

It wasn’t that the town was dirty, quite the opposite actually...it just felt manufactured. Too perfect to be real. The streets were named things like Liberty and Independence. The shop fronts were brick and all along the main street there were American flags and flower pots holding red, white and blue geraniums.

The name Norman Rockwell came to mind. 

As you walked along the main street, you surveyed the many shopfronts. To a passerby it seemed as though you were looking to buy something - in your mind, however, your thoughts were racing.

‘I made a mistake, I know I did.’ You analyzed the last few hours, replaying the memories over and over again as if on VHS; scrutinizing every last detail. ‘He would track me down, find me - by morning. Should I go back? No- it was too late for that.’

It was still early in the afternoon, but finding a place to sleep tonight was paramount. The trip had taken eleven hours straight through. Only ever stopping to change buses and refuel - you were exhausted and your muscles ached. 

‘Food,’ you thought ‘I should eat…’ 

But did you have enough? Depending on how much a motel cost around here, you figured you would only have enough to cover a room for one night. So food would have to wait. 

As you rounded a corner, you were met with the sight of the bay. It wasn’t anything like the brown water in New Jersey, the water here was a deep green. The boats created little swells along the surface, and the sun’s glint off the peaks made it look like the water was filled with emeralds. 

On the left side of the street stood a marina and dockside restaurant. The smell of food made your stomach grumble. On the right side was a series of Victorian style houses, stone pillars and large porches dominated the structures. 

A sign in front of one had caught your attention: American Dreams B&B.

‘Jesus’ you thought ‘they’re really leaning into this whole aesthetic aren’t they?’

A bell on the front door chimed as you entered. The decor of the place looked dated; as if it hadn’t been touched since the 80s. Lots of wood tones and floral patterns. You didn’t mind it though…. it made you feel at home. 

An older woman was sitting at the front desk watching a soap opera on a little TV perched on the counter. She looked up and smiled as you approached. 

“Hello there. How can I help you today?”

“Do you have any rooms open?”

“Sure do, we have three vacancies right now.”

Relief washed over you, “what’s the nightly rate for the smallest?”

“That would be the pink room at $175 a night.”

More than you had anticipated…. “All take it, thank you.”

The woman turned to the computer. The monitor was old and heavy- it looked bigger than the TV. “Driver’s license?”

You hadn’t even thought of that… “I don’t have one, would a birth certificate work?” 

You cringed at the sound of it. Who carries around a birth certificate as identification? It was all you had, so you gave it to her, however you knew that the odd request made you stick out in the woman’s mind. Surely she would remember you if someone came asking…

The woman hesitated but took the certificate, reading it out loud “Summer Emma Sparks.”

You swallowed hard and shifted on your feet, feeling sick. The circumstances surrounding how you secured the certificate flooding your mind...

‘I needed it,’ you remind yourself.

The woman, whose name you found out to be Mae, handed you a key and sent you on your way. Now the plan would be to look for a job, something that worked off of tips. Having as much cash available to take with you at a moment’s notice was important. First, though, you would sleep. 

And as the tide lapped against the boat dock across the street, you slipped into the darkest, soundest slumber you had in years. You were safe for the time being. 

-

There was something to be said about the little joys surrounding small town life. In New Jersey neighbors barely knew each other, and would even go so far as to avert their eyes or turn their backs when passing them on the street. Here though, people were kind. 

Too kind sometimes, always pressing you with questions...you couldn’t fault them for it though. If you were here under normal circumstances, you would have welcomed such friendly chatter. It almost pained you to be so dismissive, but you needed to be, for your safety and theirs. The less anybody knows about you, the better. 

You set down a tray of empty cups and looked at the clock on the wall, debating whether to take another table. Even though your shift technically didn’t end for another twenty minutes, most of the night servers were already here and the day had been long.

You managed to get a job at the restaurant next to the marina on your second day in town. The owner suggested you start the following weekend, but you persuaded him to let you train that day just so you could get the free meal that they provided with every shift. The tips weren’t enough to buy a hotel room though, and so you had to sleep on the beach that night.

Thankfully, the tips for the last few days had been good, allowing you to buy a week in the bed-and-breakfast. Most of the servers at the restaurant were teenagers who could only work the evenings, allowing you to take as many morning and afternoon shifts as you wanted. Sometimes there would be another server with you, but most days you were alone. You didn’t mind one bit, the dining room was small and easy for you to handle by yourself. 

You had your eye on a few rental properties on the far side of town. A mobile home community offering one bedroom complexes for dirt cheap prices. You were suspicious at first, but after taking a walk through the neighborhood you realized most of the people who lived there were snowbirds or weekend warriors. 

Those residents who did live their full time seemed like you, friendly people who had fallen on bad times. They weren’t the confederate flag wielding, dip spitting, rednecks you first thought they would be; and for that you were thankful. 

“Summer….. Summer.” 

You turned suddenly, remembering that was your name. “Yeah?”

Your boss was holding two containers of soup “do me a favor and put these in the fridge before you go?”

“Of course,” you said, allowing him to pass the containers off to you. 

The fridge was a separate unit out back; it looked like a little shed. From where you were, you could see a full view of the marina. It was set a little farther back than the restaurant. To the left, lines of boats bobbed up and down with the tide. There was a parking lot next to that, then at the very end was a house... or what you assumed was a house. 

Elevated about six feet on stilts and spanning two stories high. It wasn’t anything like the grand Victorians that stood opposite of it. It was unassuming, modern and clean. Your eyes fixed on movement off to the side. Below the house to the right, you noticed a little girl. She had to be no more than three years of age, reaching for something over the bulkhead. A feeling of dread clutched at your stomach. 

‘She’s going to fall’ you thought suddenly. 

Both containers of soup hit the ground and exploded - painting the side of the building. You didn’t even notice as you sprinted down the shelled driveway towards the house. The splash came as soon as you threw open the gate and without even a moment of hesitation; you jumped into the water. 

It was freezing, like little needles pricking your skin from all sides. The salt water stung your eyes like something wicked, but you forced yourself to keep them open. You scanned what was around you, murky green darkness and foliage that reached up from the sand like the tendrils of a kraken. Threatening to grab you and pull you down into its watery depths. 

Your eyes landed on a flash of pink below. With all of your strength you pushed yourself forward, hooking an arm around the girl and bringing you both to the surface. Just as you broke through the world above, you saw a man skid to a stop and reach for the girl in your arms. 

You gasped, and the little girl coughed and hiccuped... then started to cry. It was music to your ears; it meant that she was breathing. You held the girl up as far as possible; the man took her and moved away from the bulkhead. 

“Make sure she’s okay,” you choked, the water assaulting your senses. You tread for a moment longer before the man reappeared and offered you his hand. You took it and he pulled you from the water easily. 

Bracing yourself on the bulkhead you brought your weight over the rest of the way. The man immediately turned his attention back to the little girl, bringing her to his chest and clutching her as she wailed. 

You blinked, hands coming up to rub the salt from your eyes, the world coming back into focus. The man was older, wearing a navy blue baseball cap and a grey flannel. 

His brown eyes still held a spark of panic in them as he looked at you. “I don’t know how I could ever thank you enough….she was right there, then I turned around and….” He held onto her a little tighter and sighed, closing his eyes. The little girl was settling into a mess of sniffles and whimpers. “Don’t ever do that again, baby,” he breathed. 

-

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Tag List For This Chapter Only:

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#pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #triple frontier #Frankie fanfiction #frankie morales #Frankie Morales fanfic #Frankie Morales fanfiction #pedro fanfic #pedro fanfiction #nearthewater'sedge #frankie has a daughter #its basically canon at this point #so I stuck with it

[feferipeixes]

Little Girl Lost

Inspired by the TAUtober 2021 prompt for day 3: “Chalk”.

(AO3 link)

"Sweetie, no, please, don’t touch that- no, not that either! Not anything, if you wouldn’t mind! Dear, I’m talking to you. Don’t go in there- just stay still for one moment while I put away all of the china!”

Mrs. Jacques had no idea how the kid had gotten there. One moment, she was happily embroidering a picture of a goose onto a pillow, in the peace and solitude of her house. The next, there was a little girl running around asking her questions and knocking furniture over.

“Heavens!” Mrs. Jacques huffed as she locked the tea cupboard. She turned on the girl, who had been standing still now for a record two minutes. “Now, child, would you please explain to me what you’re doing here?”

The girl, to her credit, did not try to lie to her. “I don’t know!”

Mrs. Jacques groaned and began to pace in a circle. “Of course. Of course a mystery child ends up at my door and I have to take care of her until her parents arrive. This really is just my sort of luck, I’ll have you know. Tell me dear,” she said, looking over and catching the girl just about to put her hand into the sewing machine, “what is your name?”

“‘Cacia!” the girl chirruped, grinning wide and showing all of the gaps left by discarded baby teeth. “Acacey Pines!”

“Wonderful.” Mrs. Jacques picked up the phone book and started flipping through it to see if she could find anyone with the same last name. The only entry that stuck out at her was a very oddly named library.

“Dear, is your father Stanley Pines, by any chance?”

“Daddy?” Acacia echoed, gawking. “No way!!!!!!!!!”

“What am I going to do?” Mrs. Jacques muttered. “Call the police, I suppose. They’ll be able to track down her family. Ugh.” She buried her face in her hands for no more than 30 seconds, and when she looked up, the girl was gone.

“Acacia?” she called. “Acacia, sweetheart? Wherever did you go?”

She shuffled into the kitchen -- ignoring the complaints from her back as she did -- and came face to face with the little girl trying to climb up the side of the refrigerator.

“My goodness!” she yelled, and dove forward as quickly as her aging legs would let her. She scooped the girl up into her arms and set her gently onto the ground. Then she leaned against the countertop, exhausted from the exertion, and considered whether it wouldn’t be prim and proper of her to just lie flat on the floor.

There was a tap at her side. “Miss Lady?” Acacia asked. “Are you okay?”

Mrs. Jacques sighed, and dusted herself off. “Yes, yes, I’m quite alright,” she replied. “What were you doing, climbing up there? You could’ve gotten yourself hurt!”

“That’s where Mom and Dad keep the candy,” Acacia said, bobbing back and forth like a little animated character. "’Cause they think me and Hank and Willow can’t reach it, but I’m real good at climbing! So every day after school I climb up there and get a Fire Jawcrunchey for Hank, and a Stallbrg.. Stalrbeg... Starlrahergh for Willow! And a big big chocolate bar for me to eat!”

The girl was positively giddy at this point, which was exactly the opposite of what Mrs. Jacques needed her to be. She wasn’t good at watching children. She never was -- that’s part of why she didn’t have any herself. And now she was going to have to sit here with this hyperactive little girl until the police showed up and took the girl home.

“Can I have these?” Acacia asked. She displayed her hand when Mrs. Jacques looked up and every fibre of her being yelled out in alarm upon seeing the girl holding some 15 pushpins, all pointed needle up.

“Why me, why me, why me?” Mrs. Jacques lamented as she carefully gathered up the pushpins. She deposited them safely into the craft box, and when she looked up, the girl was across the room.

“Why do you have so many light bulbs?” Acacia asked, pointing at a lamp. “Are you old? Do you know how to speak ancient Sumerian? My uncle knows how to! He said he would teach it to me but Mommy says I’s not old enough to make big deals yet!”

“It’s not proper to ask a lady her age,” Mrs. Jacques rebutted. She raced after the girl again, but Acacia was too quick for her, and was now rubbing her hands all over the bookshelves.

“You have a lot of books!” Acacia squeaked. “But not as many as my house does! And I bet your books don’t even scream at you when you read them! Do you wanna read a book and I can scream at you the whole time? Do you do you do you huh huh??”

“Dearest, please, I don’t want to do any of that,” Mrs. Jacques said, panting. She stopped chasing after Acacia, and sank into one of her armchairs. “I just want some peace and quiet.”

The girl finally stopped running, and seemed to consider that.

“Well, then I want to go home,” she announced, as if she’d come up with it by herself.

“Honey, you can’t,” Mrs. Jacques responded, sinking lower into the chair. “Not until the police show up, and who knows how long that could take. We’re hours away from the nearest town. I still don’t understand how you even got here.”

Acacia did not take well to that response. “I said I want to go home!” she yelled, stamping her foot on the ground and making the nearest coffee table wobble. “Wanna go home wanna go home wanna go-!”

Panicked, Mrs. Jacques bolted up in her chair. This wasn’t going to work -- she had to find a way to placate the girl while they waited. Mind racing, she jumped up and rifled around in the craft closet, trying to think of something, anything that a child might possibly enjoy. And then --

“Here, Acacia!” she said, presenting to the girl a box filled with multicoloured sticks of chalk. “How about you entertain yourself with these?”

“Whoa!” Acacia responded, pressing her palms to her cheeks in amazement. “So beautiful! I never seened ones so pretty!”

“It’s chalk, my dear,” Mrs. Jacques said. “You can go outside and -”

“I know what this is for!” Acacia interrupted, grabbing the box and racing outside. “Thank you Miss Lady!”

“My name is- oh, why bother,” she said. Mrs. Jacques fell back into her armchair and prayed that the chalk would keep the girl quiet for at least half an hour. She’d need at least that much time to recover from the stress of the last five minutes.

Perhaps she should’ve kept a closer eye on her.

There was a loud, horrible booming noise from outside the house. Half of the front room windows shattered, and a wave of dread spread through Mrs. Jacques’s body. She rose to her feet almost automatically and sprinted for the door, wondering what in the world this little girl could have possibly done to get herself in trouble with chalk of all things.

And in the middle of the driveway, she found her answer. Acacia standing proudly next to a chalked out demonic summoning circle. A shadowy form had begun to coalesce above it, with little yellow lines spreading out like brickwork. Mrs. Jacques thought her heart was going to stop beating. This was it. This was the end. Looking after a child really was going to kill her.

“Acacia! There you are! I’ve been looking for you!”

Mrs. Jacques’s jaw dropped. The shadow wobbled, and changed into the form of a man in his mid 30′s, wearing a sharp suit and a floating top hat. He held his arms open and the girl jumped right into them.

“Hi Uncle Dipper!” she warbled. “Can you take me hoooooome?”

“Right away, Pole Star!” the demon -- that’s what he had to be -- replied, ruffling the girl’s hair. “Now, be honest. Did you jump into the bottomless pit even though Mommy and Daddy told you not to?”

Acacia brought her fingers together bashfully. “It looked fun when you did it.”

He laughed, and the sound rippled through the air like the dying screams of a side character in a horror movie. “Well. Maybe we’ll tell them it was an accident, okay? It’ll be our little secret.”

“Yaaayyyy!” the girl cheered, and hugged him tight. Then she seemed to retract, and looked directly at the watching Mrs. Jacques.

“Oh, bye bye Miss Lady!” she hollered, presumably right into the demon’s ear. “Thank you for looking at me!”

Mrs. Jacques saw the day sky turn black, heard the crash of thunder with no lightning, felt every tree around her burst into flame as the demon turned to examine her. He stood and stared with his bright golden eyes, behind which his considerable presence was palpable, like he could see right into you and crush you like a bug with the flick of his wrist. There was a flash of razor sharp teeth as he opened his mouth, and thought he was all the way across the lawn, she heard his unnatural, echoey voice cut through the air clear as day:

“Thanks for keeping her company, Catherine.”

“Oh, she was no problem at all,” Mrs. Jacques responded, before passing out on the grass.

(AO3 link)

#transcendence au #acacia pines #dipper pines #alcor the dreambender #fic #gravity falls #my stuff #tautober

[jktummies]

Party fun:

“Hnng tae that’s too tight!”

She simply hummed at her boyfriends whining as she fastened the button on his pants.

“Would’ve fit better if you didn’t decide to stuff yourself this whole week. I swear babe you get fatter with each day.”

Taehyung smirked as she grabbed his fat stomach that stuck to far out and dropped it causing the seams of his shirt to scream.

“TAE!”

She giggled as jin wore a worried expression fat hands trying to stop his jiggling mass “oh come on babe we both know you’re gonna pop those buttons by the end of the night.”

Immediately a blush crept up jins neck. His girlfriend was probably right but tonight was important he couldn’t let himself pig out.

Today was his new jobs commencement party. He couldn’t blow this; he was lucky enough to find a job after graduation and even more lucky for it being a well recognized company. Secondly most corporate companies would look at his weight and immediately decline but this one saw past jins massive frame and focused on his work.

So for tonight he had to be under control

Jin grunted going to sit down; bed immediately creaking and molding itself to his gigantic ass.“Not tonight babe, I can’t blow this.”

He watched as tae slipped of her shorts and tank to start putting on the dress that fuck- really hugged her body. Jin could just imagine what they’re gonna say when they find out someone like her is with well him.

That got him excited and he knew tae loved it as well.

“Sweetheart zip me up.”

Groaning he began to rock back and forth in order to get up. He seemed to able to lift his feet on the fourth try, waddling towards tae.

It was such a huge turn on to see how stomach touched her back before even his hands could. His fat fingers trying to reach for that little zipper was comical.

After ten mintues of tae grabbing jins fat ass and another ten of tae having a blast watching Jin trying to tie his shoes before taking pity on the fat man they left for the party.

—————-

Jin noticed the eyes immediately. He was used to the stares he got already at the office but with tae by his side it was intensified.

The way she had her arm interlocked with his while the other rested on his big tummy. God he can see how they whisper about them. His dick is for sure twitching

Not to brag but Jin had been stuffing himself every day after work. Tae was still studying at college and so she often was to tired to cook something and Jin came home late now with his new job so cooking had been neglected.

For the past few days takeout and dramas have been the couple time they’ve been getting and that usually ended with Taehyung on his lap stuffing everything into him as he burped and farted to make more room.

so needles to say but the suit may be a lot more tighter than when he got it last Saturday. Not to mention these pants are squeezing the life out his his thighs and ass right now.

Still he’s greeted none the less by his superiors and he doesn’t know how to feel when their eyes seem to wander straight to tae.

She smiles and bows but her hand never stop rubbing and patting his stomach.

It’s not until the night goes on and he’s had a few glasses of champagne where he begins to feel an irk as more moments like these occur.

He knows tae is hot and he knows that ever since he’s packed on the pounds most people question “why him?”

But tae always tells them off making his heart beat even faster than when he first met her.

Still jin feels scared at moments. That one day tae is gonna wake up and see him as a fat freak and leave him.

He especially feels that right now seeing two skinny, attractive males at his office talk to his girlfriend meanwhile he went to grab his third plate of snacks

Minho and Seojoon are attractive no doubt and tae, fuck tae for sure is pretty but he can’t help but sneer at how they’re talking to his girlfriend damn it!

Tae seems to sense it knowing Jin like the back of her hand as he makes eye contact with him in his mod shovel of a turkey wrap. Giving him her beautiful smile and motioning him to come over.

So he waddles there with all he’s got. Immediately Minho and Seojoons faces fall. But tae beams at him, “gentlemen this is my boyfriend who works in your department.”

Jin can’t help but smile fat cheeks bunching up as tae calls him her boyfriend not afraid to say that word to others. He coughs putting his plate down to shake their hands.

“Yep that’s me, how are you guys.”

They splutter unable to comprehend. Still they shake his fat hand.

“This dude is your boyfriend?!”

Taehyung beams, “yes he’s a pro when it comes to computer engineering. Anyways it was nice meeting you guys but I’m tired.”

She waved goodbye as she grabs jins wrist and drags them into the hallway.

“Ugh babe you work with suck pricks, you’re lucky I love you; work parties like these suck.”

Jin can’t even begin to explain what had just happened. Sometimes he still couldn’t believe someone like tae would date someone like him.

He guesses he’s very out of it since he doesn’t come back until taes snapping her fingers in his face and that’s when he notices their in the company family bathroom.

“Um babe?”

She hums noticing jins confusion. “What you think you can look that good and big in this suit and not let me suck you off?”

Jins jaw dropped and he couldn’t help but release the whimper as she dropped to her knees.

“Tae please… not here”

He know she doesn’t sound convincing either way tae smirks at him. Fingers working at his belt. “Should’ve thought about that before dragging me here and watching your belly scream to be set free.”

His pants are unbuttoned in a flash, fat pad and lower belly dropping free.

“Fuck Jin you’re so hot.”

His dick is already leaking at the compliment and the way she grinds down her nails on his gigantic stomach after unbuttoning his shirt feels undeniably good.

His hips snap as she fondles his balls, fat body immediately jiggling.

“Cant even see your dick anymore, have to look for the tiny thing under all this fat.”

He whimpers, arm coming to suppress his sounds.

She trails her lips up and down the angry stench marks leaving little kisses.

His hand can’t cover the loud moan he lets out when she has him in her grip. She gives him a tug other hand lifting up his fat pad and stomach.

“So small sweetie, you were so much bigger before could feel it as soon as you put it in me. Now you’re just a big fat boy right?”

“Yes tae please- y-our big boy”

“My piggy just wants me to eat him up right?”

“Fuck- tae”

He can’t help but bucks his hips as soon as she put him in her mouth. His fat stomach molding her face into it.

She licks the tip, tongue sliding along the base as she begins to bob her mouth. Face colliding with his fat pad as she takes him all the way down

“Fuck- fuck babe”

She hums sending ripples of pleasure up his body. It just can’t stop rippling

It only takes a few more minutes before Jin is coming down her throat. And of course she makes eye contact with him as she swallows.

Complete fucking menace.

He does his best to bend down to help her up immediately pulling her run to his fat chest and squishing her there. She hums and gives his moobs a peck.

He can’t help but kiss her hard, tasting himself.

“Liked that big boy?”

He hums pecking her lips, “loved, now let’s go home so I can fuck you.”

#they’re back #kinda more fluff #they’re just in love #sorry it’s so late #kinda trash lmaooo #missed the community #tae and jin 🥲 #my female tae and Jin ship will die with forever