#Made him turn his back on even that and murder!(injure) his family!! All in aid of one man!

[cherienymphe]

Basic Training XVII (Peter Parker x Reader)

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, mentions of MURDER, violence, kidnapping, captivity, public sex, degradation, forced pregnancy, forced marriage, stockholm syndrome, ptsd, housewife kink, cop!Peter

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies​ | divider by @whimsicalrogers

➥ series masterlist

summary: A pit stop during a road trip ends tragically when a small town cop sets his sights on you. You’re the newest addition in a long standing fucked up family tradition.

~

You stared into the darkness of the basement for what felt like too long.

It was quiet down there, but not the kind of quiet that felt comforting. It was the kind of silence that felt suffocating—taunting. It was so loud in its taunting, snickering at you and your idiocy and naivety. Even as you laid on the floor, feeling like the lowest of jokes, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret the decisions that brought you here.

Nat was your friend. Or at least, you liked to consider her one, and even faced with the threat of the worst punishment Steve could muster, you just couldn’t imagine yourself doing anything differently. You couldn’t imagine yourself waking Peter up that night and telling him you saw the redhead escaping, effectively alerting the other husbands to her presence, leading to her subsequent capture. It just wasn’t in you, and clearly none of these men—not even Peter—knew you at all if they thought it was.

The first time you tried to move, you couldn’t, and for a brief moment, you thought that Steve had injured you in his delight to toss you down the stairs like a sack of flour instead of a person. However, you quickly came to realize that wasn’t the case. You could move your fingers and toes fine, even twitch your leg, but you just couldn’t find the strength to move. You felt beyond defeated, and when you blinked, you weren’t shocked to feel a sting behind your eyes.

There was the most awful aching feeling in your chest, both heavy and hollow even though you didn’t know how that was possible. You wanted to cry and scream, but you also never wanted to utter another word ever again. You wanted to let out everything you felt since the moment you came here, but in the same breath, you desperately wanted to feel numb. If you didn’t feel a thing, then you couldn’t get hurt, and you hurt so much, right now.

Peter killed Michelle.

He didn’t help kill her, but he did kill her, and in the grand scheme of things, maybe that shouldn’t make a difference. After all, you’d still been under the impression that he did nothing while his brothers did. You’d still been under the belief that he allowed it to happen at best and helped it happen and cover it up at worst. So, why did Peter pulling the trigger make all the difference in the world to you?

Was it because you thought you were falling in love with him?

That thought had you squeezing your eyes shut, so tight that it hurt, and it was hard to hold back your sob. Your nails scraped against the hard floor as you shook, struggling to breathe as your stomach turned. Once you started it was so hard to stop, and it wasn’t long before the sound of your choked cries were filling the basement. It was a thought you’d considered before, but that was when he wasn’t a murderer.

That was when he hadn’t murdered your best friend.

How could you possibly rationalize it now? Deep down, you knew that this wasn’t your fault. Deep down you knew that there were names and studies dedicated to people in your position and the psychology behind it, but that didn’t make you feel any better. Peter had murdered your friend in cold blood…

…and you thought you loved him.

The thought made you want to be sick, and with horror, you could actually feel your stomach turning. You hurried to sit up, pressing the back of your hand to your mouth as you struggled to keep it down. The bathroom only some feet away was locked—wouldn’t be unlocked until someone came down to open it and let you in—and you didn’t think you could handle sitting in a room with your vomit just stewing in the corner.

Struggling to get to your feet, you pressed your other hand to your stomach, trying to settle it. Keeping your mouth closed, you breathed through your nose, lashes fluttering, and after some time, you slowly stumbled towards where you knew the bed to be. You didn’t care about turning on the light, finding no need, and when you sat down, your head drooped in defeat.

There was really no telling how long they’d keep you in here until they figured out what to do with you, and while you knew that Peter would try his damndest to get them to go easy on you, you also knew that they wouldn’t consider a word that left his mouth. You—and also Peter by extension—had proven Steve and the others right, and you found it unlikely they’d ever listen to another suggestion from Peter about you ever again. Or at the very least, not for a long time.

Besides, Peter wasn’t the aggrieved party.

Bucky was, and such a thought made you shudder. You’d done well to avoid attracting Bucky’s ire even though he reminded you of Steve in some ways. Although, unlike Steve, Bucky didn’t seem the type to look for any and every excuse to punish you as he’d prefer in a contrast to Peter’s methods. Bucky seemed—if nothing else—fair to you, and that’s what scared you the most.

Bucky now felt wronged by you.

So, there was really no telling what was in store for you.

You recalled the way he’d reached for you, desperately trying to get past Peter in his efforts to get his hands on you. You didn’t want to imagine what he would’ve done had he succeeded, and you swallowed as your mind went rampant with the possibilities. Your hand came up to graze the tear in your sleeve, wincing at the slight sting you felt when your finger came in contact with the skin. Some part of you knew that had Bucky succeeded, he just might have killed you in his rage, and where you once would’ve welcomed such a thought…

It only made your heart ache, now.

You didn’t want to die, and when you thought about why, your stomach only twisted into knots once again. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you keeled over, throat tight as you tried to swallow down another sob. Your chest hurt so much, feeling like someone had an iron grip on your heart and was just squeezing and twisting it to their content. When you gasped, a cry escaped with it, and the only other time you could recall feeling like this was the day you realized your friends were dead and you were all alone.

You cried until your throat felt raw, and you didn’t fight your body as it started to collapse to the floor, sliding off of the bed in a heap. Covering your face with your hands, your lightly dragged your nails down your skin, frame shaking as you rocked back and forth. Your stomach wouldn’t stop hurting, and you couldn’t stop shaking. In fear or anger or despair—you didn’t know.

You did know that this was all Peter’s fault. He was the one who decided he had to have you, as if you were some thing to be acquired instead of a human being with a life and feelings and autonomy. If it weren’t for him, your friends would still be alive, and you wouldn’t even be here. If it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t be feeling ripped apart by how you felt about the man who kidnapped and raped you. All of this was Peter’s fault…and even still…more than anything…

All you wanted was for him to hold you.

It was hard to say how long you stayed in the basement. The darkness and silence was endless, and it felt like months, but in reality, it was probably mere days. You did know that it was long enough for your stomach to ache from more than just fear and for your nightgown to stink from more than just sweat. You didn’t think you were capable of feeling embarrassed about that anymore. After all, Peter never made you feel like it was something to be embarrassed about, but that was before you heard the sound of the locks on the basement door.

Despite your shame, you couldn’t bring yourself to move.

Until the light from the top of the stairs outlined a familiar silhouette.

You merely stared at him as he stood on the first step, yours on him and his eyes on you. You couldn’t hear any noise coming from the main part of the house, and you said nothing when he closed the door behind him. Peter wasn’t good. You knew that since the beginning when he told you that everything he did was so that he could have you, making it all okay. Peter had never been good.

So, why did looking at him now hurt so much more than it ever had?

As soon as Peter was close enough, the first thing he did was take your face into his hands. You couldn’t really feel them, realizing that you got your wish to feel numb, and that just made your chest ache more. Just days ago you were desperate to feel the comfort of Peter’s touch, and now you couldn’t feel it, at all.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he murmured, face a mere inch away from yours.

When you didn’t say anything back, you noticed the way his face fell, lips pressed together as he eyed you. His gaze lingered on yours for the longest, thumbs just grazing your skin, and you watched the way his tongue darted out to swipe between his lips.

“We need to get you cleaned up.”

His words had you blinking, and it was only then did you notice the fresh dress resting on the crook of his arm. You didn’t ask him what day it was because it didn’t matter. You only knew what would be happening today, and it’s why the dress on Peter’s arm was so pretty. It was why you’d been locked in the basement for days. It was why Peter looked at you the way he did as he helped you stand.

“I’m so sorry,” were the words he murmured into your hair as soon as he leaned you against him.

What was he apologizing for exactly? For killing Michelle or lying to you about it? For taking you and ruining your life in the first place? Or for failing to protect you from the wrath of the other husbands? Maybe he was apologizing for what was to come, and that made you shut your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again as he brought your head to rest in the crook of his neck.

You didn’t respond—didn’t know how to—only allowing him to guide you into the bathroom after unlocking it. You couldn’t really say how you got naked, only feeling as if you blinked before finding yourself sitting in a tub of hot water with Peter raining water down over your head. He was talking to you, saying something that went in one ear and out of the other. All you could focus on was that dress on the toilet, wondering what they planned to make you do while wearing it.

When you felt the weight of Peter’s gaze, it was only then did you take note of the silence. You didn’t know if he’d asked you a question or if he simply opted to stare at you, but when his hand came up to graze the side of your face, you assumed it was the latter. Perusing you, you watched as his gaze became distracted by the shallow scrape on your arm from Bucky’s nails, and when Peter’s jaw tightened, you knew that he realized where it came from too.

“Peter,” you softly forced out, throat tight.

He gave you his undivided attention, and you licked your lips.

“What are they going to do to me?”

Your question came out almost inaudible, just barely above a whisper as you found yourself almost too afraid to ask—too fearful to want to know. When Peter’s face fell some, your own frown deepened, and when he sighed, your heart sank.

“I don’t… I don’t know,” he slowly told you, and you could see that he was telling the truth.

You knew that Peter would have no say in this, you’d known that, but faced with the knowledge that was completely in the dark only served to make your stomach twist more. Only this time, you weren’t able to stop it, and it was Peter who kept you from falling as you hurried to get out of the tub. You only just made it to the toilet in time, and with nothing in your stomach to throw up, all you expelled was bile.

One of Peter’s hands were on your waist, the other soothingly rubbing your back as you vomited again. With every heave of your stomach, you shook more and more, and when you were done, you could only stare at the wall behind the toilet.

“You’re sick,” he said, tone strained with worry.

You shook your head.

“No, I’m just… I’m scared,” you honestly told him, lifting your gaze to meet his. “…and heartbroken.”

Peter sadly tilted his head, and your lips quivered.

“Why did you lie to me?” you breathed. “Why did you…? Why did you minimize your part in it?”

You continued before Peter could lie some more.

“Why did you hold me and comfort me and tell me you weren’t as bad as them when you’re much worse?”

“I’m not,” he argued, grabbing your shoulder.

“…but you are,” you said with a frown. “At least with Steve and Tony and Bucky I know who they are. I fear them because they’ve shown me why I should.”

Peter pulled you closer, resting your head on his chest as he rocked you.

“You made me love you.”

The words came out small and choked, your face crumbling as Peter stilled, and you’d stupidly thought you had no more tears left. Your body proved you wrong, frame shaking as your chest tightened, a cry escaping you in the otherwise quiet bathroom. Peter didn’t respond right away, just holding you as you cried.

“I’m still the same person I was before you found out,” he whispered, rocking you. “…the same person you begged to run away with.”

You squeezed your eyes shut.

“I’m not proud of what I did,” he confessed. “…but it’s why I can hold you every night for as long as I want.”

He leaned down to gently kiss your forehead, and your vacant and tearful gaze was on the bathtub, now.

“You don’t have to agree with it, even I don’t agree with it, but it had to be done if I wanted you all to myself.”

You knew that justified it all in Peter’s mind, and the part of your brain that was conditioned to normalize your new reality wanted to pull him closer, but the part that desperately missed your friends and family and old life only wanted to be sick.

When Peter rinsed you off and dried you, his fingers grazed your skin as he helped you get dressed. Soothing words left his lips that didn’t really mean much because how could he calm you against something that was unknown to him too? He didn’t even know what he was comforting you from. Once dressed, he stood before you, looking you over with his fingers grazing over yours.

When your eyes met his, his gaze softened, and you didn’t stop him when he leaned in to press his lips to the corner of your mouth. Like every touch and kiss of his, now, you didn’t really feel it, and when Peter pulled away, you felt that the numbness that consumed you reflected in your own gaze. He heaved a sigh, fingering the ring on your finger.

“I still love you,” he assured you, looking at you from beneath his lashes. “That’ll never change…and even… Even when I have to do whatever it is I have to do today, I’ll be doing it with love.”

Those words didn’t exactly comfort you, and your eyes briefly closed when he walked you out of the bathroom. The stairs were hard to take, courtesy of your lack of food and what little sleep you’d managed to get. You shook beside Peter, and you knew that it was from more than just not eating. In fact, you were sure you were going to throw up again.

The house was unusually quiet—as well as empty—and that did nothing to alleviate your uneasiness. Peter’s hold on your hand was gentle, and as much you loved to hate him in this moment, you appreciated that he walked outside with you instead of walking you outside like a prisoner. You were surprised by how early it was in the day, bringing your hand up to shield your eyes from the rising sun. Days in the darkness had them hurting from the harsh natural light.

Just as you got used to it, a familiar and intimidating voice spoke.

“Leave her right there.”

Only, it wasn’t the voice you were used to being on the receiving end of. Your eyes met familiar blue ones as Peter was forced to step away from you, Bucky’s gaze very much transparent as he looked at you. His anger and disgust were palpable, and you found that you couldn’t hold his gaze.

That was a mistake.

“You will look at me,” he sneered, hurrying over to you and harshly gripping your chin.

Behind him, you could see Peter take a step forward only to be stopped by Sam. Bucky’s fingers were painfully pressing into your skin, and as difficult as you found it, you held the brunette’s gaze. It was in that moment that you realized why the house had seemed so quiet on your way out. You noted that the only person missing was Jane, and you guessed with her pregnancy and a need for someone to watch Margaret and Sharon’s children, they decided to kill two birds with one stone.

They clearly didn’t want to stress her, and that only made you more fearful of what was in store for you.

“We’re not stupid, you know,” Bucky said to you, and you swallowed. “We expect the odd escape attempt here and there.”

You weren’t used to being on the receiving end of Bucky’s venomous gaze, blue eyes icy.

“We look forward to it even,” he confessed. “None of you will ever succeed, so it helps you realize that, and you get it out of your systems.”

You blinked back tears, and Bucky took note of them, lip curling over his teeth.

“In fact…we had been anticipating yours from the moment we let you out of that basement, but I guess you really were too docile to fight back properly,” he continued, voice growing bitter. “Too docile even to tell one of us when our wife was trying to escape.”

When you blinked again, a tear finally escaped, and you didn’t know if you were supposed to respond. Evidently you were.

“What?” Bucky wondered, roughly letting your chin go. “Nothing to say for yourself?”

Your chest heaved with a deep breath, and you started to glance around.

“No, don’t look at them. Look at me,” Bucky ordered. “After all, it was my wife who anything could’ve happened to.”

When your gaze met his again, more tears spilled over, and you sniffed.

“I’m sorry-.”

“We expect you to fight back…try and make a run for it… What we don’t expect is more loyalty to a traitorous wife than the men of the house,” he interrupted you, spitting the words out and making you flinch. “…because anything could come of that. You could kill one of us.”

“I… I’m sorry,” you said again, knowing it wouldn’t change anything but also knowing it was what he wanted to hear.

Bucky stared at you for a long time—too long—just looking down his nose at you as if he could barely stand to look at you. You were all too aware of the eyes on you, all too aware of the example being made out of you. You were in the dark about what was going to happen, now, and it made you want to be sick. However, of all the things you expected…

You didn’t expect Bucky to quickly grab your arm, twisting it—and you with his other arm—before violently shoving you to the ground. It happened so fast that when you finally cried out in pain, clutching your wrist, you were already looking up at him from the grass. He wasn’t looking at you though, hands behind his back as he stepped away from you.

“There are two outcomes for you today,” he started, making his way towards Peter who looked like he was moments away from committing murder—again. “Personally, I’m partial to either outcome…”

When you started to push yourself to your feet, the dark-haired man heard it, pausing to look at you with a wag of his finger.

“No, no. You don’t get up yet…”

Heart sinking, you sat back down, clutching your arm to you as you looked between him and Peter.

“The first,” he dragged out, resting a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “We finally get to see what Peter has in him…”

You froze, skin growing cold and heart dropping to your gut.

“…see if he has what it takes to make you…” Bucky turned his gaze to you, eyes glinting wickedly “…beg him to stop.”

You couldn’t stop more tears from spilling over, the realization of what this day could possibly bring crashing down on you like a wave. When you glanced over, your eyes met a familiar green pair, and Nat’s disgust and regret was plain as day on her face. She looked at you like she wanted to take your place in a heartbeat, but you both knew that wasn’t going to happen.

You couldn’t hold in your sob, pressing your hand to your mouth.

“You can’t cry, now,” Bucky’s voice reached you as he neared you. “We haven’t even started yet.”

He forced you to your feet, and his hands were the only thing keeping you from collapsing.

When you first got here, Peter promised that that would never be you. He told you that he would never, but considering the circumstances of your offense, that choice was no longer up to him. You couldn’t stop sobbing, choking noises climbing out of your throat as Bucky continued.

“The other option is two months in the basement.”

When your eyes met Bucky’s again, there was a gleam in his eye and a curve to his lips that told you it wouldn’t be so easy as choosing which you’d prefer. You didn’t even want to say that the choice would be easy if given one because while your worst fear was recreating what Margaret had to go through during your first days here…you also knew that two months down in that darkness would break you beyond belief.

Two months down there, and you were sure you wouldn’t even be yourself when you emerged.

“It all depends on who gets to you first,” Bucky softly said, making you frown at him.

When he stepped away, you swayed on your feet, but his hand met your arm again when he turned you towards the small pond, free arm gesturing towards the dense trees behind it.

“Those legs that are near and dear to Peter’s heart are going to take you as far as you can go…”

His whispered words made you frown.

“Now, don’t think that you’re getting away…” he looked at you and you slowly looked at him. “…because you’re not. Someone will catch you, it’s only a matter of who, and that determines if this pretty little dress is coming off or not.”

His reminder of one of the possibilities made you lightheaded, and you pressed your hand to your chest when he walked away.

“If Peter catches you, then Peter will do what he has been instructed to do…”

The man in question spoke up, quietly pleading with Bucky, but the older man ignored him.

“…and I was going to participate in this little game,” Bucky said, jaw ticking as he looked at you. “…but you deserve to be terrified after what you did.”

You pressed your lips together, blinking away tears as you wrapped your arms around yourself.

“So…” he backed up, a small smile on his pink lips. “If Steve catches you…”

You couldn’t stop your knees from buckling, world spinning as you caught yourself on your hands and knees. Your skin pricked, and you felt almost on the verge of a heart attack.

“He gets to put you in the basement…” a pause. “Again.”

The sounds of the world were going in and out, and once again, you felt like you were going to throw up. Both options were the last thing you ever wanted, and once you ran into those trees, you didn’t know what would relieve you less—the sight of Peter or the sight of Steve. It was sick, really, because obviously you would rather be caught by Peter, but not if it meant…that.

…and if Steve caught you, you just knew it wasn’t going to be that simple

“Whenever you’re ready.”

Bucky’s words were mocking, filled with a mixture of disdain and satisfaction, and as you looked up at him, you didn’t know who you hated more—him or Steve. The blond in question was someone you had avoided looking at since you stepped outside, bitter to see the sick satisfaction that no doubt covered his features at your humiliation.

Your comeuppance.

Pushing yourself to your feet was a struggle, and you didn’t look at Peter, too afraid to realize that he might be who you wanted to catch you, after all, even if it did mean public humiliation beyond comprehension. You felt beyond alone as you walked down the small decline, the dewy grass so nice against the soles of your feet despite the circumstances.

It was only when you got to the tree line, staring inside, did it hit you.

You were going to be hunted and chased down like some animal, and depending on who caught you first, that was what your punishment would be. Both options were enough to make your stomach flip, and for the life of you, you just couldn’t decide which was better. With a panicked sob, you forced your feet to move.

Every tree looked just like the other to you, and there was nothing in these woods to signal some kind of progress as you ran. It was crazy to think that there had once been days when you dreamed about being in these woods, closer to freedom and away from the craziness you’d been forced into. Now, however, you were in said trees and all you could think about was who would get to you first.

Bucky’s words echoed in your mind.

It wasn’t a matter of whether either of them would catch you. Both of you knew that you weren’t getting away from here, let alone from Peter or Steve in these woods. One of them was going to find you first, and even as you brushed past harmful branches and stumbling vines, you still didn’t know which choice presented to you was better. More than anything, you wanted it to be Peter to find you, but could you be okay with being raped for the whole household to see? This wasn’t like that day with Margaret…

Both Steve and Bucky wanted to make the biggest example out of you, and so the entire household would be there to witness your humiliation. However…it was one day. One hour even at the most of Peter doing what he normally did whenever you were alone…just in front of everyone else. If Steve caught you on the other hand…

Two months in the basement was a thought that actually made your knees shake, causing you to stumble against a tree. You knew—you knew—that you couldn’t handle that, and you knew that Peter knew it too. One option was just one bad day, that was all, but the other option would turn you into even more of a mess than you already were. You’d spent less than a week down there at the most, and both times were hell for you.

The second more so than the worst, and you didn’t want to unpack why that was.

When you heard a tree branch snap, you felt yourself freezing. The tree you were next to was larger, much larger than you, and you remained perfectly still as your hand rested against it. You had only stopped for a few moments, and the whole time you’d been lost in your thoughts, you hadn’t even heard any footsteps. In fact, something in you told you that you were supposed to hear the snap of that branch.

When you dared to peek around the trunk, all of your breath left you.

The sight of Steve’s blond hair and back was a stomach turning one, and just as quietly as you peeked around, you hid yourself behind the tree once more. With one movement, you could end this torture and not have to be fucked for the whole household to see, but no matter how much you didn’t want that…you couldn’t bring yourself to move.

…because you didn’t want the alternative either.

Steve terrified you beyond belief—something Bucky had acknowledged—and something in you just knew that he wasn’t going to find you and take you back to the house as easy as that. Outside of raping Margaret, you had never heard of Steve doling out any kind of physical abuse, but you had a sneaking suspicion that Steve would strike you square across the face if he could get away with it.

Peeking around the tree again, you watched him walk away, scanning the area before him for any sign of you. Your nails pressed into the trunk, and with a sinking heart, you both accepted and hoped that Peter would find you, making peace with what that meant for you. With Steve completely out of your sight, you didn’t know which way to go, and so you went forward, adjacent to the direction Steve went.

You felt like you were getting so turned around the further you walked, and you wondered what would happen if you just decided to go back to the house. You wondered how the punishment would be decided then—provided you actually made it back without being caught. The thought of being caught by Steve prevented you from remaining calm and thinking clearly.

Or maybe it was everything else that did that.

You could feel a familiar burn behind your eyes, and you struggled to swallow, throat feeling incredibly tight. You’d thought that you cried enough in the basement, but that kept proving to be untrue. A few tears skipped down your face before many more followed behind, and you took in a shaky breath.

How was it that you hated Peter so so much for what he did…while also wanting nothing more than to just return to your bedroom with him when this was over? You didn’t want to go back down there, alone and bathed in darkness. You wanted to sleep in your bed with Peter and you wanted him to hold you while you cried about the very thing he’d done that caused the tears.

You hated him, but you wanted to be near him.

You didn’t want to hate him from afar. You wanted to hate him while staring at his face every night and listening to the sound of his breathing and feeling his hands on your shoulder as he sat behind you in the bathtub. You hated Peter so much for what he did—and lying about it—but it just wasn’t the kind of hate where you couldn’t stand the sight of him, and you hated him all the more for that.

You were pulled from your thoughts by the sound of footsteps, and considering you’d gone in the opposite direction of Steve, you were prepared to meet your fate when your gaze would meet that of a familiar brown one. Only, the eyes that met yours weren’t brown…they were blue…and you felt your lips part.

You didn’t hesitate to run the other way, a scream climbing out of your throat when you were tackled to the ground. Steve’s hand was pressed to the back of your head as he slammed your face against the leaves and sticks, making you gasp, and when his arm snaked around your neck, a choked sound left you.

You weren’t surprised when he threw you to the dirt again.

“I knew…” he started, slowly following you as you attempted to crawl away. “From the moment Peter gave us that crock of shit about a gentler method, I fucking knew.”

You clawed at the dirt when Steve reached down to pull on one of your legs.

“I knew then that he was being too soft with you,” he spat, flipping you over. “I knew that it would come back to bite us.”

Steve squatted over you, one hand tightly curling around your throat, and you struggled to breathe as he slowly forced you to your feet. Your scraped at his hand, gaze tearful and pleading as Steve stared you down, nostrils flaring. His blond hair was a mess, an unusual sight for you, but those blue eyes were as cold as ever.

Steve really hated you.

“Bucky is better than me,” Steve hissed at you. “…because if Margaret had gotten as far as Nat did because of you, I wouldn’t make Peter stop until you were begging for him to put you out of your misery.”

You pushed at his hands, panicked, and he only shook you in response.

“You think he’s your best fucking friend,” Steve breathed through clenched teeth, sizing you up. “Instead of the man who owns you.”

When he threw you down, your head spun, and you struggled to right your vision. You pressed your hands to your temples as you cried, fighting the urge to curl in on yourself.

“That ends today…”

Steve’s words were spoken with finality, and you didn’t quite understand the meaning of them as you heard approaching footsteps. You heard Steve exhale, and when you dared to look up, your heart skipped a beat at the sight of Peter.

“Peter,” he acknowledged. “Love that timing of yours.”

Peter didn’t hesitate to hurry towards you, placing a hand on your head as you sobbed. As you’d suspected, you knew it wasn’t going to be that simple if Steve caught you instead, and you realized just how complicated it was going to be at the sound of his next words.

“We need to make sure nothing like this happens again, Peter,” Steve told him, and they shared a look, something unspoken between them that had Peter’s jaw clenching.

“So, is that why you forgot who she belongs to? Is that why you treated her like you used to treat Peggy on her really bad days? She’s already terrified of you. What more do you want?” he sneered at him, briefly looking at you and brushing his thumb over your cheek.

“I need her to be terrified of you,” Steve answered, hands on his hips. “I told you from the beginning that you were too soft with her. I told you what needed to be done for her to get it.”

“Yeah, Steve, alright, I get it-!”

“…but you don’t,” Steve yelled at Peter, staring at the younger man just like a brother would. “You don’t get it because if you did, this would’ve never happened.”

Steve gestured around, cutting you a scathing look that made you wither.

“She would’ve never felt more loyal to Nat than the men who run this household. She would’ve understood that she exists to serve you and the house as a whole by extension.”

You hated the way Peter’s hands slowed on your face, and when you looked at his own face, he looked to be deep in thought.

“Not just the wives and whatever they think is best, but what’s best for the family,” Steve paced. “You are going to make her understand that she’s not your friend and certainly not your fucking equal.”

You watched Peter defeatedly exhale, eyes falling closed.

“You are going to make her understand that, right now,” Steve snarled.

“Steve…”

Peter’s tone was pleading, and that was when you finally sat up, looking between them with a racing heart. You scooted back, but Peter’s hand on your arm prevented you from going far. When your gaze met his, his eyes had softened, something in them pleading with you.

“I will make you, Peter.”

Steve’s tone was scarily calm, and you glanced at him, lips shaking at the malice in his eyes.

“Do you understand me? I will not rest until I catch her slipping up again, and depending on my mood that day, I just might make you fuck her right there in the garden for all to see,” he quietly told him. “So, it’s either now or it’s later…but it is happening. You decide.”

In truth, you didn’t know why you were crying. You had already accepted that you’d rather get the bad thing over with than drag it out for two months. However, that was the thing, wasn’t it? Steve was going to make Peter do this and still turn around and throw you right down in that basement. Even though there was less humiliation involved, it still seemed unfair.

“Do this and…maybe I can convince Bucky to only leave her down there for a month,” Steve proposed, and by the tone of his voice, he knew that he’d won.

You barely had time send Steve a scathing look of your own before your back roughly met the ground.

Peter’s mannerisms were rough, and while you knew it was because Steve wanted them to be, it didn’t mean you had to like it. You didn’t think Peter had ever been rough with you, and you cried out at the harsh pull on your hair, his other hand painfully digging into your waist.

“See, you need to understand, sweetheart,” Steve’s voice reached your ears as he circled you. “That you belong to Peter. You exist as an extension of him, now. You exist to exalt him, and the only way that you will get it in your head that you’re his property…”

Peter had flipped you onto your stomach, now.

“Is if he treats you like it.”

You yelped when your chest was forced to the ground, Peter manhandling you in the way he knew Steve wanted.

“…and what better way to do that than to show you that he can and will take you wherever and whenever regardless of who is around to see it,” he slowly said, making sure he was heard loud and clear.

The humiliation of feeling Peter push his cock into you before Steve’s very eyes had you squeezing yours shut, a harsh sob escaping as Peter’s skin slapped against yours. His hand was on your throat, and you clawed at it, gasping when his teeth pressed into your shoulder.

“You don’t have autonomy over your body anymore. You don’t exist independently of Peter, and that extends to this family…”

Peter’s harsh thrusts made your toes curl, and what was once a rough entry had become much smoother. With no warning and feeling wholly unprepared for this turn of events, tears escaped your eyes, and your fingers dug into the grass and dirt. The feel of Peter’s cock pushing into your walls was a familiar one you’d grown to love, but the sound of Steve’s pacing steps and voice made you want to crawl in a hole.

You felt torn apart.

“Had you previously understood that, all of this could’ve been prevented.”

Steve sounded pleased with himself—and Peter—and the thought made you sick. When Peter pulled your head back, you winced, and you started to move away from him, wanting this earlier and regretting it now—especially since you were going back into the basement anyway.

When Peter’s lips grazed your ear, you shuddered.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to you, hand painfully pulling at your hair, making you cry out again.

You recalled Peter’s words from earlier, and you knew why this was happening. You understood the hierarchy in the household, understood that what Steve said went, and you knew without a shadow of a doubt that Steve would’ve absolutely made this happen for the whole house to say. You understood that this was the better alternative, but that understanding is what made you cry more.

This wasn’t something to be understood. The man thrusting into you had killed your friends and kidnapped you, and the man before you had helped. Peter wasn’t your husband or your lover but instead your captor and rapist. Nothing about any of this was right, and in this moment, you shouldn’t be rationalizing or understanding anything.

…but you did.

You understood why Peter grabbed you with no hesitation and proceeded to fuck you under Steve’s watchful eye. You understood why being raped for all to see had briefly been the better choice to you than being sent back into the basement. You understood why Peter was murmuring sweet nothings and apologies into your ear as he roughly held you down and plunged his cock into you.

You understood it all, and you hated it.

You didn’t want to simultaneously hold Peter closer and push him away as he roughly fucked you against the grass, face to face with you, now. You didn’t want him to obey when Steve told him to fuck you harder. You didn’t want to understand that Peter didn’t actually want this because if that were true he simply wouldn’t do it, right? You didn’t want to accept that this house didn’t follow the rules of the outside world and that so long as you were here—and you would be here forever—neither would you.

“Are you sorry, now?” Steve wondered, somehow able to hear his voice over the sound of your cries. “Hmm?”

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer, but you knew you gave him that anyway the moment you started crying. When Peter’s eyes met yours, he shushed you, a poor attempt to make this better somehow, and his next words made you blink.

“Do you see how much worse I could be?” he whispered, too low for Steve to hear. “How much worse they want me to be?”

You stared at him, nails digging into the skin of his arm, and with another harsh sob, you nodded.

“Do you understand what I’ve been trying to protect you from?”

Again, you nodded.

Peter’s nose grazed your own.

“Do you get it now?” he sadly asked you.

When you nodded again, unable to find your voice between cries, Peter shushed you. His fingers pressed into your skin, and his hips painfully came down against yours. When his lips pressed against yours, they swallowed the noises that escaped your throat.

“I never wanted this for you.”

…and you knew Peter was telling the truth.

#peter parker x reader #dark!peter parker #dark!peter parker x reader #peter parker fanfiction #dark fic #peter parker imagine #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagine #cop au

[roosterforme]

The Purrfect Storm | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley inadvertently becomes a pet owner after he hits a stray with his Bronco. When he meets a lovely vet tech who is willing to help, both Bradley and the cat fall for her instantly.

Warnings: Fluff, swearing, a bit of angst

Length: 6000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written for a request! Check out my masterlist for more!

Bradley was on his way home late from work, anxious to get there before the sky opened up. Dark, ominous clouds had just moved in, signaling a rare downpour was about to hit San Diego.

He zipped along an empty, wooded side street just as a loud crack of thunder rocked his Bronco. Then his headlights caught something gray dashing out of the trees, and he tried his best to swerve, but he was afraid he had just hit an animal. 

"Damn it," he muttered, pulling over and turning on his hazard lights. He jumped out of the Bronco to see if he could spot anything in the roadway. The wind was picking up, and he could feel the first few drops of rain, but as soon as Bradley saw the gray cat that was no longer able to walk correctly, he ran toward it. 

When he got closer he saw a little bit of blood matted in its fur, and he immediately felt like a villain. He also had no idea how to take care of an injured cat. 

"Here kitty?" he said awkwardly as he approached the immobile animal. He was greeted with a loud, angry meow. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry I hit you. But can you just be chill while I pick you up?"

As soon as he had both hands around the middle of the cat, it sank its sharp teeth into the back of his hand.

"Ow! Son of a bitch!" Bradley yelled, getting pelted with more raindrops. "I'm trying to help you now, you ungrateful little shit!"

Big, angry yellow eyes looked up at him as he clamped the cat's mouth shut with one big hand and then tried to scoop it up again. This seemed to work better, so he carted it back to the Bronco and set it on the back seat floor area. 

"Just relax, I know where there's a veterinary clinic," he told it with an eye roll before he climbed back in and pulled away. 

Bradley navigated a lot slower now that the rain was coming down. But when he pulled into the clinic parking lot, he only saw one light on inside. There was someone moving around at the front desk, so he hopped out into the pouring rain and gently held the cat with its mouth closed. He knocked on the door with his knuckle and watched the woman behind the front desk look at him a little warily before she headed toward the door.

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

You were alone in the clinic with the door locked, trying to finish the weekly audit so you could leave. You always stayed late on Thursday nights, and now you were going to have to drive home in this crazy storm. 

When you heard someone knocking on the door, you jumped in your seat. You tried to see who it was, but the rain was obscuring the window portion of the door, so you made your way over only to find a soaking wet man in a naval uniform holding a drenched cat.

"I'm sorry, we're closed," you told him loudly through the door.

He glared at the cat and then tilted his head back and let the rain pour on his face for a beat. Finally he groaned and looked at you with pleading eyes. "You can't do anything? I hit this cat on my way home from work!"

You sighed and looked at all of his insignia pins, including his nametag. Bradshaw. It was pretty unlikely that an officer was here to murder you, especially since a good portion of your clients were naval families. Plus, he had actually brought the injured animal here instead of leaving it in the road.

"I can take a quick look," you told him as you unlocked the door. When you opened it and finally got a good look at him, you went a little speechless. He was really tall and really muscular. And even with his brown hair wet and messy across his forehead, you could tell he was really handsome. "Come on in," you managed to say, and he slipped inside with the cat. You locked the door behind him.

"Thanks. I really appreciate this. I feel terrible enough about what happened, but this cat hates me so much right now, I'd be a little afraid to take it to my house with me in this condition."

You laughed as he winced at you, and you immediately noticed the teeth marks on the back of his hand. 

"Oh, he got you good," you remarked. "Definitely doesn't like you too much at the moment. Let's see if I can get him patched up."

"It's a male?" officer Bradshaw asked as you signalled for him to follow you back to an exam room. 

"Yeah, I figured he was, because he's huge. But he definitely is. I could tell when you held him up."

Bradley scoffed. "I should have known. Females are usually more accommodating towards me."

You laughed softly and said, "I'll bet they are," under your breath. But then you realized that you were the sucker who agreed to let him get his cat checked out after hours. So you definitely shouldn't be surprised.

"Up on the table," you instructed, and you watched him release the cat and take a huge step away from it. "Aww, come on. He's a sweetheart!" you said, stroking the cat and making him purr. "What did he ever do to you?"

You watched officer Bradshaw hold up his bloody hand with a bland look. 

"That's totally fair since you ran him over," you said with a smirk. "And I'll look at your hand after I see how much damage there is to his leg here."

"Thank you," he muttered, reaching for a paper towel to press against his hand while he dripped water all over the floor. "I appreciate it. I'm Bradley, by the way."

You glanced at him briefly and smiled as you told him your name. "And what's the cat's name?"

Bradley just shrugged. "He doesn't have a collar, and he's pretty grungy. He's probably a stray."

"You should name him then," you said as you felt around the cat's leg with gentle fingers. It was a pretty clean break that you would be able to take care of tonight without the vet here.

"Sunshine," Bradley said sarcastically. "His name is Sunshine." You looked up at him, and he was smiling at you and the cat, his handsome features betraying his stern voice as he smiled.

"Did you hear that, Sunshine? Your daddy clearly thinks the world of you, and he's going to take the best care of your leg after I splint it."

"I am?" he asked, leaning closer to you. "Come on, doc. I can't keep this cat. He'll kill me in my sleep," he reiterated, holding up his hand and the bloody paper towel. He wasn't wearing a ring.

You laughed at the concerned look on his face. "Okay, first of all, I'm not the vet. I'm just a tech. Second, someone needs to take care of Sunshine, and I think that someone is going to be you. And third, girls dig guys who have pets. Does that help make this more appealing for you?" 

He took another step closer to you, and your breath caught in your throat. He was just a few inches away and glaring playfully at you. "First of all, you seem to know what you're doing well enough, so you could have lied and told me you were the vet. Second, Sunshine here will have me sleeping with one eye open. And third, yeah, maybe that does make this more appealing to me."

Your belly swooped, and you had to bite your lip. His brown eyes were the color of deep amber up close, and his mustache made everything he said seem more playful. 

"And fourth," he added, "do all women dig men who have pets? Or are you speaking from personal preference here? Either way, it does sound appealing to me."

You were gaping at him now, and a startled laugh escaped your parted lips. 

Meow!

"Sorry, Sunshine," you told the cat, patting his matted, damp fur until he was calm again. "You're right. This is about you, not Bradley." You positioned yourself in front of the cat and grinned over your shoulder. "I think it's all women, but it's definitely me," you whispered with a smile. You were met with a crooked grin as Bradley pushed his damp hair back from his face. 

"Good to know," he told you softly.

And now it was time to get to work. You made a mental list of all of the supplies you would need, then you turned to Bradley and reached for his good hand. He grabbed onto yours without hesitation. "Here, keep a hand on Sunshine and make sure he stays on the table," you said, running your thumb along his calloused fingers. 

"Alright," he said a bit reluctantly, squeezing your hand before letting go of you and holding the cat.

"I'll be right back with everything I need for the splint."

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

Bradley watched you leave the small room, and he took a second to breathe in deeply and let it out slowly. You were fucking adorable. And he was very attracted to you. 

"Don't mess this up for us now," he told the cat as he waited for you to return. By the sound of things, the storm was still raging outside, but Bradley was in no hurry to leave anyway. He was still wet from the rain, and he probably looked like a mess, but it didn't matter. He'd stay here all night with you if you'd let him.

You strolled back into the room with some bandages, splints, and a weird thing covered in velcro. "This will only take a minute," you told him and Sunshine with a smile. He watched you measure the split against the cat's leg before cutting it to length. Then you set the bone in place with your fingers, gently talking the whole time so the cat would stay calm. Next you quickly wrapped the splint up tight with the bandage. 

"Now I need your help," you told Bradley, and you took his hand again. "Hold this bandage just like that so I can clip it in place." 

Bradley did exactly as he was told, and soon you were wrapping the velcro around everything to keep the cat's leg in one position. 

"Done!"

"Impressive," Bradley remarked. Even the cat looked way calmer now as he curled up on the exam table and ate the snack you gave him.

"Okay, now let me check you out," you said, holding out your small hand and letting him rest his palm against yours. "I'll need to clean it to get a better look," you told him, gazing up at him. "Might sting a bit."

"I can handle it," he reassured you as you led him to the sink. 

"I'm sure you can... Lieutenant? Is that what I'm looking at here?" you asked, nodding to the pins on his chest as you sprayed his hand with an antiseptic and dabbed at it with a cotton ball. 

"Yes, ma'am. Lieutenant Bradshaw," he told you, earning a smile.

"At ease, sailor." Your gaze was playful as you looked up at him and grabbed a clean cotton ball.

"Aviator, actually," Bradley informed you. 

"Oh, wow. Your daddy is fancy," you said over your shoulder to the cat who was now grooming himself on the exam table. 

"I still can't believe I have a cat now," he muttered, making you laugh as you taped some sterile gauze to the back of his hand. "You should give me your number since I don't know what I'm doing. You know... just in case. You wouldn't want Sunshine to suffer in any way, would you?"

You smirked up at him as you finished taping him up. Bradley just gave you his most innocent look in return. "You're something else," you told him.

"Something good?" he asked, and he watched your lips curl into a soft smile.

A loud rumble of thunder had Sunshine standing up and hissing. "It's okay," you told him, turning to reach for him, but then the power went out, bathing everything in complete darkness.

Bradley heard a thump that sounded like Sunshine had jumped off the table, and when he reached out, the cat was no longer there. 

"Oh no, he's loose somewhere in the building," you said, taking out your phone and turning on the flashlight. "Sunshine!" you called, shaking the bag of cat treats. Bradley followed you out into the hallway, but he bumped into the back of you.

"Sorry," he said, stopping himself with his hands on your shoulders. 

"It's okay," you said softly as he took his hands away from you and tucked them into his wet pockets. 

"Can he hurt anything? Or get hurt?" Bradley asked, looking up and down the hallway as you shone the light around. 

"Aww, you sound like a concerned pet parent."

Bradley groaned. "He's growing on me, I think."

Your laughter rang out in the semi-darkness before the light went out. 

"Shit, my phone died," you told him.

Bradley checked his only to find he had about ten percent of his battery left. "Mine is not far behind yours."

"Don't use it, just in case we need to call someone," you said, turning to face him. Bradley could feel your hands on his chest very briefly. "Oh, there you are," you said softly. "Come with me to the waiting room, and I'll get you some towels."

Bradley felt your fingers dance down along his arm until they tangled with his. Then you were leading him back to the front of the building. It was a little easier to see up here, as a streetlight outside provided some light. 

"Don't move," you instructed softly, and Bradley could make out the shape of your profile as you turned away from him and disappeared. 

He was stuck here now. He wasn't sure if he should be thankful or upset. But he couldn't leave Sunshine loose in the clinic for the night. And he supposed you were stuck here too, since you couldn't leave him here alone with his dumb cat.

Bradley saw you in the shadows when you returned. "I got you some towels and a set of scrubs you can change into. My boss is about your size."

"Thanks," he replied, taking everything from your hands. "Where should I change?"

You laughed. "It doesn't matter. I can't see you."

"What if the power comes back on?!" 

You laughed harder, and Bradley loved the sound. "Go back behind my desk, and I'll turn around."

Bradley took a few steps and then slammed into a file cabinet. "Ow!"

"Oh sorry, don't hit the file cabinet," you said in a sweet voice laced with laughter. 

"Don't worry. I won't." Bradley awkwardly stripped out of his damp uniform and underwear with you standing ten feet away from him. He had to peel the fabric from his skin and hang it over your chair as neatly as he could. 

"So you're an aviator. What do you fly? Super Hornets? Helicopters? Comanches?" you asked as he ran one of the towels along his naked body. 

"You know a lot about naval aircrafts. And to answer your question, Super Hornet." He slipped into the well worn scrubs and tied them up at the waist. They were a little snug, as was the shirt, but it was better than being wet. 

"It's hard to live near Fightertown and not pick up on a few things," you told him. "You need help getting back around the file cabinet?"

"Nah, I'm good," he said, and somehow he found your hand in the darkness. And somehow you let him hold it. 

You laced your fingers with his and softly said, "Maybe we should try to find Sunshine one more time? Otherwise, I think we're stuck here for the night."

Bradley silently prayed that Sunshine was tucked safely away somewhere he couldn't be found in the dark. "That's a good idea," he confirmed out loud. Because he did feel kind of bad making you stay at your workplace all night, especially since he barged in on you unannounced with the cat. "I'm sorry I've been such an inconvenience when you were just trying to be helpful."

"Don't worry about it. I'm a sucker for injured animals. And brunettes."

Jesus. Bradley had been afraid maybe you had a boyfriend or something. But now you were flirting with him again, just like you had been earlier. You were also holding his hand a little tighter. And each time you wanted to change directions, you placed your other palm on his chest. 

"This is kind of fun," he murmured when you had your palm on his chest, guiding him into a different exam room. 

"Is it?" you asked with a giggle. 

"Yeah," he said, smiling as you pushed him where you wanted him to go. "It feels like one of those games from when you were in high school, you know? Spending time alone with a cute girl in the dark."

He could hear you exhale and feel it against his neck. You were so close to him. "Seven minutes in heaven?" you asked close to his ear. 

"Yeah, seven minutes in heaven," he confirmed, grinning like a lunatic.

"I never played that in high school," you told him, letting go of his chest to feel around the exam table for the cat. "Did you?" He felt your palm come to rest on him again. 

"Once or twice. But I was a real nerd back then. I just made it further with you than I ever did in high school," he admitted. Your soft laughter filled the room, and now Bradley was praying in earnest that Sunshine was very, very well hidden until the morning. 

"I find it hard to believe you used to be a nerd. You're very...."

"I'm very what?" he asked as you effortlessly lured him all around the dark clinic with you. 

"Sizeable," you told him as you ended up back in the hallway again.

"Sizeable?" he balked. "Did you just call me large?"

You were laughing again, and he really wished he could see your face right now. "I meant it as a compliment!" you insisted. 

"Ohhh," he said, feigning ignorance. "You must have never given someone a compliment before. Here, let me show you how. You're funny, smart, and very cute."

"Thank you," you whispered, leading him into one more exam room. 

"I wasn't done yet. You're also surprisingly good at navigating in the dark."

You laughed again, and your hand landed on his chest, but this time it was because you tripped and ended up pushing him up against the wall. 

"I take that back, you're terrible at navigating in the dark," he whispered, keeping his fingers laced with yours and steadying you with his other hand at your waist. "Are you okay?" 

This time your breathy laugh was very close to him. "You know, I was going to pretend I tripped on your cat, but I think you've just got me flustered. It's a good thing you're so sizeable, otherwise you might be splinting my leg right now."

Bradley felt your hand move up to the scars on his neck, and your fingers danced to his ear and up into his hair. He guided you a little closer so your entire body was skimming against his, and he could hear your breath hitch. 

"Yeah, it's a good thing," he agreed. His eyes fluttered closed in the dark, and he instinctively found your lips with his. One chaste kiss led to another and another, your lips brushing his. You parted your lips just enough to tease his bottom lip as your fingers gently pulled through his messy hair, and Bradley felt you melt into him. His heart was beating faster now, and he wanted to push you up against the wall.

Meow!

You gently released his lips, rubbing your nose against his as you took a small step away from him. Bradley quickly laced his fingers with yours again and cleared his throat.

"That didn't sound like Sunshine," Bradley said, trying to keep you as close as possible. He sighed in relief as your palm found its way to his chest again.

"It wasn't," you whispered. "There's a cat in a kennel in the back room. Let's go check on her."

So Bradley followed your lead to the end of the hallway, his heart still beating a little fast. 

"This is Ginger," you told him, guiding him over to a large cage. He could barely make out the cat inside with the scant light coming through the window. 

"What's wrong with her?" Bradley asked, kneeling down to get a better look. 

You sighed, never releasing his hand. "Her owner, if you can even call him that, didn't bring her here in time after she had a broken leg. You're really a very good pet daddy to Sunshine, even though you are clearly reluctant." You squeezed his hand. 

"What's going to happen to Ginger?" he asked, reaching his fingers through the cage to pet her fur. She meowed and nudged his fingers with her head. 

"Not sure yet. Her owner won't sign the paperwork for us to re break and try to set her leg correctly. He also won't agree to pay for medical care. I tried to kidnap her, but my boss wouldn't let me."

Bradley gave the cat one last scratch and stood up. "What if I steal her, and you pretend like you have no idea what happened to her?"

You giggled again and pulled him closer to you. "Oh, I like that idea. I also like the idea of you having two cats. That's adorable."

Bradley was grinning in the darkness. "I like being adorable."

You just hummed and whispered, "I think we're stuck here for the night." He could feel your breath on his neck again. "There's a loveseat in the breakroom. One of us can sleep on that."

"You take it. I can sleep on the floor."

You started to lead him in the direction of the breakroom, but it was very dark in there. He could barely see anything. 

"Maybe we could share it?" you asked so softly, Bradley was afraid he might have misheard.

"Okay....we can share it," he replied, and he sat down hard as you guided him over to the small sofa. His heart was beating a little faster again as he blindly tried to move the loose pillow against the armrest, and then he was reaching for you.

You were laughing softly. "How do you want to do this?"

Bradley's heart was hammering now. He wanted to kiss you again. "However you want." With a palm against his chest, you pushed him back against the pillow on the armrest, and he stretched himself out on his back across the loveseat. It was uncomfortable, and his feet were hanging way off the far end, but as soon as you eased yourself down against him, everything felt perfect.

"Is this okay?" you asked next to his ear as you kind of wedged yourself up against the back of the loveseat with your body halfway on top of his. Your chest was pressing against his, and Bradley could feel your leg come to rest between his knees. 

"Yes," he managed, his voice coming out raspier. "Is this okay?" he asked, wrapping his hand around your waist. 

You answered with a soft hum and let your palm rest against his chest like you had been doing all night. Oh no. He liked you. This felt too good, and Bradley probably wouldn't make it through the night with his heart intact. But he let you snuggle up against him in the pitch black room.

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

You weren't really sure if this was a good idea, but your night had taken a turn for the better when Bradley and Sunshine arrived, so you decided to just go with it. 

"Are you comfy?" you asked him, and you felt the deep rumble of his voice against your cheek and hand.

"Very. Are you warm enough?" 

If anything, you were too warm, pressed up against him like this. His body temperature was hot, and so was he. Bradley had managed to get you pretty giddy by this point, after sharing just a few kisses. The thing you couldn't understand was how comfortable you felt with him already. You'd just met him, and now you were both spending the night in the clinic together, but you weren't nervous or wary of him. 

"I'm beginning to think Sunshine premeditated this whole thing," he told you with a soft laugh. "Because I've been looking for a while, and I've never met anyone like you."

You bit your lip and angled your face toward his. "What does that mean, Lieutenant Bradshaw?"

You could feel his hand tighten a little bit on your waist at your use of his rank. "It means I like you. A lot. And I'm desperately trying not to be creepy, because we're kind of stuck here together since the power is out and we can't find my cat, but I'm hoping you like me too."

In an instant, you let your lips connect with his again as you eased yourself a bit further up his body. As your fingers stroked along his cheek and up into his hair, you pulled your lips away from his and said, "I do." 

But as soon as the words were out of your mouth, Bradley was luring your lips back to his lips. He was so big and strong, but his kisses were soft, and his hands were undemanding against your lower back. He let you take the lead, never making you feel like you were trapped on the loveseat with him.

So you let yourself indulge in the sensation of his mustache against your skin and his legs tangled with yours. When you tugged your fingers through his hair, he groaned softly into your mouth, and you smiled against his lips. 

"Are you going to let me have your number?" he asked as you pulled away a few inches to catch your breath. 

You pressed your lips to his cheek and said, "Probably."

"Damn, what do I have to do to get a solid yes?" he asked, and you could tell he was smiling. 

"Tell me more about yourself," you whispered.

"I can do that," Bradley replied, running the tip of his nose along your cheek. So he told you all about his job, which sounded extremely exciting. He didn't tell you much about his family, other than he was pretty much alone. And he told you about his friends, who all sounded like a riot. 

"Sounds like you only have one thing missing in your life," you whispered against his neck.

"A girlfriend?" he asked, brushing his lips against your forehead. 

You had to bite your lip to keep from squealing. "I was going to say a cat," you told him. 

"Nah, Sunshine already took care of that, wherever he is. Tell me about you."

Bradley asked all the right questions at all the right times as you told him about yourself. He didn't think it was weird that you had a deaf, three-legged dog. He seemed to like that you volunteered at the animal shelter. And he invited you to get a drink with him at some bar called the Hard Deck tomorrow night. 

You yawned and snuggled against his neck, whispering, "I think I would like that." And soon you were falling asleep in his arms. 

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

Your pillow never felt this warm and comfortable. And why hadn't your alarm gone off? It was so bright in here, it must be time to get up for work. 

You stretched your arms just as you heard, "Good morning," whispered in a very raspy voice. 

"Oh!" you gasped, your eyes suddenly open, wide awake. You were staring at Bradley as he smiled hesitantly back at you. "You're so handsome. I was beginning to think I had imagined how you looked before the power went out."

He just laughed and seemed to take that as his cue to run his fingers along your arm. "That was a fun sleepover. Don't usually get to wake up with anything cute draped across me."

"Oh, Sunshine will remedy that, I'm sure," you said teasingly, letting your lips brush against his. Bradley was instantly smiling. 

Then you heard some purring from the doorway. "Speak of the devil," Bradley whispered. "Come here, Sunshine. We were looking for you."

But he just purred louder and louder. "He's probably hungry. I need to feed Ginger anyway, so I'll feed him too."

You peeled yourself off of Bradley and got another good look at him as he lounged back against the arm of the loveseat. You giggled, because he was way too big for the piece of furniture, and the scrubs you gave him were a little small. 

"What?" he asked, looking kind of smug.

"Nothing. But you need to get up before my boss comes in," you said, biting your lip and turning toward Ginger's kennel. But a loud knock on the front door had you panicking. Your boss would have just let himself in. "I'm going to check to see who it is."

"Want me to come with you?" Bradley asked, instantly at your back. 

But you were looking up through the front window, and you immediately recognized Ginger's owner. "No, I'll be okay," you grumbled, straightening your scrubs as you headed toward the waiting room. 

You unlocked the door and let him inside, fully aware that nobody seemed to care when your office hours actually started. "We actually don't open for another hour, but if you're here to sign the paperwork for us to try to fix Ginger's leg, I can get that ready for you."

But he just scoffed. "I'm not signing it. There's no way I'm spending that kind of money for a cat. I can't believe you even think that's reasonable."

You had to bite your tongue. It was only a few hundred dollars. 

"I'm just here to pick her up so I don't have to keep paying for you to board her," he added impatiently. 

But your brow scrunched up. "What are you going to do with her?"

He was rolling his eyes now. "Does it matter?"

You pressed your lips together in a tight line before you said, "It matters to me, yes."

"I'll just leave her somewhere. Maybe someone else will find her or maybe not, but I already got a new kitten for my kids."

Your blood was boiling now. "You're not serious," you said, raising your voice. 

"Just give me the cat, and don't charge me a kennel fee for today."

Bradley strolled out into the waiting room and asked, "Is there a problem?"

He eyed Bradley in his scrubs and said, "Your clinic has the most ridiculous prices. I just want to pick up the cat and go."

"You can't have her!" you told him. 

He shook his head and turned to Bradley. "Are you going to let your employee talk to me like that? Go get the cat!"

"She can talk to you however she wants," Bradley mumbled. He must have seen the anger in your eyes, because he started to block the hallway leading back to the kennels. 

You didn't care what this man thought he was going to do, he wasn't leaving here with an animal. "I'm not going to send Ginger with you if your plan is to abandon her."

"Well I'm not going to pay for any more services!"

He was only motivated by money, which might just make this easier. "Then sign her away to the clinic and leave," you told him, already rummaging in your file cabinet for the form you needed. Unfortunately this kind of thing happened from time to time. 

You glanced at Bradley where he stood with his thick arms crossed over his chest, thankful he was here. You were shaking with anger as you handed the form and a pen to Ginger's owner. And as you watched him sign his name, Ginger became property of the clinic. 

"And now you can get the hell out of here!" you told him, and he looked completely outraged. "You're abusive, and we will not allow you back for any of our services in the future." He was turning toward the door as you raised your voice. "And I hope your new kitten runs away and finds an owner who doesn't suck!"

He slammed the door behind him, and Bradley rushed over to you. "Are you okay? That was wild."

But all of the anger was gone now, and you just smiled up at him. "Wanna meet my new cat in the daylight?" you asked. 

"Yeah, I do," he said, and you kissed his rough cheek. 

You and Bradley sat on the floor in front of the open kennel door, holding hands. Inside the large cage, Sunshine was sitting next to Ginger as she ate her breakfast. 

"She's pretty. I couldn't tell what she looked like last night," Bradley murmured, reaching in and stroking her behind the ears. 

"I'll get her leg reset today, and I'll pay for her medical bills. Hopefully I can take her home with me in a few days."

Bradley cleared his throat. "I guess I should leave before your boss gets here?" 

"Yeah." But you really didn't want him to.

He nodded toward Sunshine and Ginger. "Looks like he made a new friend. If I can't get your number for me to use, you have to give it to me so we can set up a cat playdate. For Sunshine?"

You couldn't help laughing at his antics and the cute pout on his face.

"You can have my number for you. And Sunshine can have my number to reach Ginger. And if the offer still stands, I'd love to meet you at that bar later."

Bradley's face lit up as he got his phone out and handed it to you. "Sounds great. I'll text you the address." You entered your name and number and handed it back to him.

"I'll meet you there," you promised.

"I can't wait," he replied, but you were already kissing him. 

"You need to go," you whispered a second later. 

He pressed his lips to yours one more time before he reached in to get Sunshine. "I know, you don't want to leave Ginger. But I secured you a playdate," he told the cat. "Oh, how much do I owe you for fixing his leg?"

"Nothing," you said as you stood with your new cat in your arms, and Bradley followed you out to your desk. 

"That hardly seems fair," he replied, grabbing his khaki uniform from your chair. 

You just shrugged, setting Ginger down gently on your desk. "I did it off the clock anyway. Don't worry about it. You can buy me a drink later."

Bradley grinned at you. "I'll buy all of your drinks. And when we go out to dinner tomorrow night, I'll pay for that, too. Same as the movie I'm taking you to next weekend. Oh, and all of the concerts and museums we're going to visit together? I'm paying."

You giggled. "That actually sounds kind of perfect."

"You only like me because I'm a pet owner," he whispered, kissing you softly. 

You kissed him harder and ran your fingers through his hair one last time. "It certainly didn't hurt your cause. I'll meet you at the bar."

He nipped your lips one last time, and then held Sunshine up closer to his face as he headed for the door. "I owe you one. You want tuna for dinner? I'll feed you tuna every day."

You watched him walk outside and pull out of the parking lot, and then you plugged your phone in to check your messages.

You already had one from Bradley with the address for the Hard Deck. Then another one came through that said Thanks for one of the best nights of my life.

"I hope you liked Sunshine," you told Ginger. "Because I really like his dad."

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

Thanks for reading this one! Hope you liked it @morallydiseased! And thanks for your help @thedroneranger!

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@swthxrry

@chassy21

@yaboid19

@solacestyles

@avoirlecoupdefoudre

@daisyhollyxox

@callsigndiamond

@harper1666

@throwinsauce

@beebslebobs

@awesomebooklover17

@wintercap89

@whosyourgnomie4

@rosesinmars

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@wishfulwithwine

@backinwonderl4nd

@monte-carlando

@tetragonia

@gingerbreadandpaper

@emptyloverofmine

@apparently-sunshine

@chaoticassidy

@missmirandafe

@topgunbb

@changlingkhat

@sugarcoated-lame

@callsign-jupiter

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@andycanbeemotional

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@tallyovie

@shanimallina87

@starlightstories

@teddyluvs2sing

@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@lilyevanswhore

@o-the-o-grim-o-reaper-o

@hecate-steps-on-me

@xoxabs88xox

#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x you #rooster fanfic #rooster x female reader #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #rooster bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster x reader

[cambion-companion]

alicent gets SO much hate from the fandom even from aemond writers 😔 i trust you and your good taste that you don’t hate her and write something where aemond’s wife and alicent absolutely ADORE each other and aemond loves to see it and is so happy about his two favourite people in the world being so close

Yes, the more I watched the show the more I grew to like Alicent until her line "Hesitance to murder is not a weakness", then I was like "yep I love this woman."

The Driftmark scene is such a powerful one, I included some of the dialogue. Alicent's reaction was justified, no one was backing her up, or taking responsibility for MAIMING her son, so she felt the need to escalate the situation. And good for her.

Word count: 1366

Aemond x reader | fluff | Pro Alicent Hightower | Sweet drabble

The shouting is what had alerted you to something being amiss in the castle, raised voices echoing up the empty stone corridors as you poked a curious head out your bedroom door.

You had been sent to be princess Helaena's handmaiden at the age of thirteen, finding the Red Keep to be suffocating most of the time, thankful for this chance to travel elsewhere. Driftmark had proven to be lovely, even if the reason for your journey was not at all a happy one.

Pulling on your heavy nightrobe, you made your way hastily toward the sound of shouting coming from a firelit room at the end of the hallway. You peeked in, seeing that it was indeed very crowded, children clinging to their parents as Viserys and Alicent argued. You spotted Helaena over by the large fireplace standing beside her brother, Aegon. Next to them, sitting on the sofa, blood covering his swollen face...you gasped audibly, drawing the attention of those standing nearest to the entrance.

Aemond clearly very injured, the boy you'd become close friends with had stitches running down the left side of his face, his eye...you blinked back a sting of sudden tears, his eye had been slashed out. Not caring what gossip arose from your actions, you hastened to Aemond's side. He looked up at you in mild surprise at your sudden appearance, his expression turning stony as he tried to turn the injured side of his face away from your probing gaze.

You touched his hand that clutched at the cushions, opening your mouth to say something, but a scuffle of movement behind you caught your attention as Alicent went for Viserys' knife and turned toward Rhaenyra and her children.

Rhaenyra intercepted her, the two women locked in a standoff with the other, Alicent gripping the blade tightly in her shaking hand.

"You've gone too far." Rhaenyra said emphatically, still holding tight to her once-friend's arms.

"I?" Tears streaked down Alicent's face as she continued struggling. "What have I done, but what was expected of me? Forever upholding the kingdom, the family, the law while you flout it all to do as you please!"

"Alicent, let her go!" King Viserys, old as he was, looked livid as he yelled at his wife.

"Where is duty? Where is sacrifice?" She continued, taking no heed to the king. "It is trampled under your pretty foot again."

"Release the blade, Alicent." Otto's measured voice this time, trying to reason with his daughter.

She continued staring at Rhaenyra, refusing to drop the knife, her expression morphing from desperation to a look of betrayal. "And now you take my son's eye, and to even that you feel entitled."

"Exhausting, wasn't it?" Rhaenyra at last responded. "Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness. But now they see you as you are."

With a sharp cry, Alicent broke away from her grasp, bringing the dagger down, cutting deep into Rhaenyra's arm. The room fell deathly silent, each person present sensing the gravity of what had just occured. The dagger fell from Alicent's open palm, clattering on the stone floor.

The heavy air was broken as Aemond spoke, drawing your attention back to him as he approached Alicent. "Do not mourn me, mother." His voice was soft, tired. "It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon."

You knew his words were more to draw attention away from what had just occurred, his mother injuring the heir to the Iron Throne. Though young, Aemond was no fool, and neither were you. You were aware of his abiding love for his mother, watching as he took her hand in both of his, laying his injured head against her chest.

The scene cleared quickly after that, parents ushering their frightened children back to bed. You lingered in the hall, wanting to stay by your friend's side. Helaena touched your shoulder, smiling at you weakly before departing the room as well.

After several long moments, the room was empty save for you, Aemond and Alicent. It took minutes more for Alicent to come back to herself, taking a deep breath and looking down at her son. "Come, Aemond, you need to rest in order to heal."

Her gaze lifted to you, seeming surprised to see you standing still by the fire. "Y/N, the hour is late. You should also be in bed."

You noticed Aemond didn't look at you, standing motionless, gripping his mother's hand loosely.

"Can I be of any help at all, your grace?" You weren't sure why, but the question you posed, and the earnestness behind it, had an effect on the queen. Her expression softened, lip trembling slightly. "I will call on you in the morning, Y/N. For now, get some sleep."

Call on you she did, and for many weeks following it was Alicent and Aemond you spent the majority of your time with. Helaena didn't seem to mind, in fact she would accompany you often, helping where she could, fetching hot water and healing ointments for her younger brother.

Aemond's demeanor at your presence, at first tense and cold, eased as time passed. He looked at you more, allowing you to change his bandages and read to him at night.

Alicent was warm toward you, quickly becoming someone you looked to as a maternal figure, filling an ache in your heart you'd been unaware was there. Her gratitude for your help and care was obvious, it grew apparent not many others in the castle shared your sympathies for the prince. You heard many unkind whispers spreading throughout the Keep, doing your best to pay them no attention.

One day, Aemond almost fully healed, you were packing up the many salves and ointments the maesters had provided. Alicent approached you, touching a warm hand to your shoulder as she often did. "Y/N, you have gone above and beyond any expectations I had of you in helping my son. You are the handmaiden of my daughter, I know you are friends but why do you care so for Aemond's wellbeing?"

You looked up into her face, smiling slightly. "I heard what happened, I saw how alone you were that night. No one else helped, and I don't think that's fair."

"Oh child." Alicent's eyes grew bright with unshed tears as she pulled you against her in a tight hug. "You are a balm sent from the Mother Herself." She lowered herself to crouch at your level, cupping your chin with her hand. "If you ever find yourself in need of anything, you come to me."

She placed a brief kiss to your forehead before sending you out of the room, back to your normal duties.

From then on, the two of you became close as though she were your actual mother and you, her daughter. Many years passed; she was the one you went to when you had questions about growing into womanhood, about all troubles that weighed upon your mind. Your bond with Aemond only strengthened as well, he sought you out often in your reading nook of the library. You would stay up late nights with the prince discussing all interesting things from the history of dragon riding to the customs of Ancient Valyria.

When you were sixteen and he thirteen, Aemond began teaching you some Old Valyrian, at your request. He saw how much Alicent adored you, her face brightening into a fond smile whenever you walked into a room. He loved you for it. There was precious little that brought true happiness to Alicent, her affection for you soothed her troubled heart.

Aemond observed your interactions often with a soft smile upon his face, his feelings for you slowly growing from friendship to something more. He couldn't name what it was that had changed, there were precious few in his life whom he could say he genuinely loved. His mother was top of that short list, his one defender, the woman who had vouched for him when no one else did. Your evident devotion to her, the time you spent talking to her, leaning your head on her shoulder, had left a warm impression upon Aemond's heart. He wouldn't forget the peace you brought those he cared for most, and he intended to make sure you stayed in their lives.

#aemond x reader #aemond fluff #alicent hightower #aemond x oc #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond fanfic #prince aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x y/n #pro aemond targaryen #aemond stannies #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond fanfiction #aemond imagine #aemond oneshot #aemond drabble #aemond hotd

[bookishcarmela]

Shadows of Affection

warnings: violence

Coriolanus Snow x reader, slight Felix Ravinstill x reader

Chapter 5: the new experiment

When you woke up, the sun hadn't yet risen, and as much as you wanted to stay in bed, you knew you had to get up. you sat up slowly, moving Coriolanus's arms off of you and getting out of bed. Corio shifted in discomfort before settling back in bed. You looked down at him for a second; even in his sleep, he never seemed to find peace. Though comfortable in bed, he still seemed to be in a state of internal turmoil, a raging war going on in his head. Turning away, You used the phone to call for your driver to take you home.

By the time you finally arrived home, the sun had risen. Entering the house, you were surprised to be greeted by Christa, who ran to you and checked you for injuries. "Ms., I've been waiting all night for you to come home. I had feared something awful had happened," she said, her voice shaky. "Your lord father is not pleased, not pleased at all. He has instructed me to tell you that you are to meet him in his office right after school."

That couldn't be good, you thought, but you weren't surprised. Christa kept checking you and looked like she was going to faint when she saw your bloodied uniform in your hand. "Christa," you said calmly, "it's okay. I'm alright, not injured, and I stayed the night at a friend's house. Everything is fine." Christa took a deep breath but still seemed uneasy. you gave her your uniform and went upstairs to your bedroom to clean up and get ready for school

you thankfully timed everything perfectly and made it out of the house on time, ensuring you wouldn't be late for anything. As you approached the Citadel, where Dr. Gaul's lab was held, you noticed the screen in front of the entrance coming alive with the events of the previous night. Again and again, they aired the tribute slitting Arachne’s throat, you arriving to help her, and the gunning down of the murderer.

you didn't notice it was you at first. It felt like you were watching this happen for the first time. you had tried your best to forget what happened yesterday, to push it all down until you couldn't feel it anymore. It normally worked, but now, watching Arachne die in your arms, it started to come back. you looked down at your hands and saw her blood, heard her pleas to save her, but you pushed it down again. You didn't have time to feel sad or afraid; you had work to do, people to take care of. Besides, you didn't know why you were acting this way. It wasn't the first time you saw someone die, not the first time you felt someone else's blood on your hands. You had seen worse, been through worse. So why did you feel this way? Maybe it's because you knew Arachne, had spent almost every day with her, knew her family. you shook your head, pushing all those thoughts away, and continued to the lab. 

The Peacekeepers at the entrance didn't even bother to ID you anymore, having seen you come in almost every day. You stopped by the front desk to check for any mail for Dr. Gaul and, to your surprise, the Peacekeepers handed you the proposal that Coriolanus and you had crafted last night. He must have woken up shortly after you and dropped it off. you doubted anyone else would drop off theirs after what happened last night, which would make it less suspicious when you approved it and presented it to Dr. Gaul.

The proposal was perfect. Reflecting on the classroom discussion with Dr. Gaul and the electricity in the audience when they’d fed the starving tributes at the zoo, the two of you focused on the food. For the first time, sponsors would be able to buy items—like a piece of bread or a chunk of cheese—to be delivered by drone to a specific tribute. A panel would review the nature and value of each item. To sponsor, one had to be a Capitol citizen in good standing not directly related to the Games, ruling out Gamemakers, mentors, Peacekeepers assigned to guard the tributes, and their immediate family members. Regarding betting, you suggested a second panel to create a venue that would allow Capitol citizens to officially wager on the victor, establish odds, and oversee payments to winners. The proceeds from either program would fund the Games, essentially making them free for the government of Panem.

When you arrived in the lab, you found Dr. Gaul peering into a large terrarium filled with hundreds of snakes. Their artificially bright skins almost glowed in shades of neon pink, yellow, and blue. Not much thicker than a pencil, they twisted into a psychedelic carpet that covered the bottom of the case. "Ah, here you are, little dove,” Dr. Gaul said with a grin. “Say hello to my new babies."

you drummed your fingers gently against the tank. "Good morning," you said nonchalantly before walking up to Dr. Gaul and handing her the proposal. "Ah, and what do we have here?" she said, grabbing the papers and skimming through them. "Hmm," she said. "And what do you think, little dove?"

"It's not terrible," you responded. "It has good ideas. I would make a few tweaks, but if done correctly, I feel as though it could benefit the Games to a great extent," you added nonchalantly.

"Interesting. I'm surprised anyone even bothered to do it after last night... festivities," the word rang in your head. How could someone use that word to talk about a child's death? "I'm not surprised that he was the only one to turn his in. He's quite determined, a top student even," you said. Dr. Gaul snapped her head up at me and surveyed your face thoroughly. "Oh, and who wrote it?" you gave a slightly confused look. "Coriolanus," you said. Why would she ask you who wrote the paper? It should have his name on it. You swear he wrote his name on it last night. She stared at you for a second before smiling. "How delightful," she said before walking upstairs on the side of the tank. You followed her and watched as she opened the tank lid and dropped the proposal in. I tilted my head to the side and gave her a curious look. "Did you not like it?" you asked. She just grinned and let out a laugh. "Quite the contrary, little dove." "Then why did you-" "Just watch and learn, little dove. I have a new game in the making," she interrupted you. "Now, our guests should be here any minute. Why don't you go fetch them for me?"

you simply said, "Yes, ma'am," and walked towards the entrance, curious about what she had planned. Like clockwork, as soon as you reached the entrance, the elevator doors opened to reveal Coriolanus and Clemensia. You face paled for a second; I had completely forgotten it was a group project. You had only mentioned Coriolanus. Shit, I thought, shaking off the nerves in your gut. You stood up straight and greeted both of them before showing them to Dr. Gaul. You could feel Coriolanus's eyes on you, but you refused to meet them. 

When You finally reached Dr. Gaul, she hadn't moved an inch. “There you are,” Dr. Gaul said with a grin. “Say hello to my new babies. Aren't they beautiful?” 

“Hello there,” said Coriolanus, putting his face close to the glass to see the writhing mess.

“Is there a point to the color?” asked Clemensia.

“There is a point to everything or nothing at all, depending on your worldview,” said Dr. Gaul. “Which brings me to your proposal. I liked it. Who wrote it? Just you two? Or did your brassy friend weigh in before her throat was cut?”

you felt that wrenching feeling start to resurface at the mention of Arachne. Clemensia pressed her lips together clearly upset. “The whole class discussed it as a group.” “And Arachne was planning to help write it up last night, but then... as you said,” Coriolanus added.

“But you two forged ahead, is that it?” asked Dr. Gaul. What is she playing at, you thought. “That’s right,” said Clemensia. “We wrote it up at the library, and I printed it out at  my apartment last night. Then I gave it to Coriolanus so he could drop it off this morning. As assigned.” Dr. Gaul addressed Coriolanus. “Is that how it happened?” 

“I did drop it off this morning, yes. Well, just to the Peacekeepers on guard; I wasn’t allowed in,” he said. Something was strange about this line of questioning. “Was that a problem?”

“I just wanted to make sure you’d both had your hands on it,” said Dr. Gaul. This isn't good; this isn't right. She’s up to something bad; you can see it in her eyes.

“I can show you the parts the group discussed and how they were developed in the proposal,” he offered. “Yes. Do that. Did you bring a copy?” she asked. 

Clemensia looked at Coriolanus. “No, I didn’t,” he said. “Did you?” 

“They took our book bags.” Clemensia turned to Dr. Gaul. “Perhaps we could use the copy we gave you?” “Well, we could. But my assistant lined this very case with it while I was having my lunch,” she said with a laugh, shooting me a knowing look. you felt like you were going to vomit; there's no way she would know. There's just no way she'd make them.

“Suppose you two retrieve it?” Dr. Gaul suggested.

I felt like I was going to faint. Surely she couldn’t be serious. No one knows what a bite from one of those things could do; they had no real antidote. The snakes were a new experiment, and there was no telling what one of those things could do; they were untested. Clemensia gave Dr. Gaul a clenched smile.

“Of course. Do we just reach in through the trapdoor on the top?” Dr. Gaul removed the entire cover. “Oh, no, let’s give you some room. Mr. Snow? Why don’t you start?”

Oh dear god, she was really going to make them do it. I have seen Dr. Gaul do questionable things, but I never thought she would go this far. It wasn't Coriolanus that I was worried about, though; we didn't know much about the snakes, but we did know that if they were familiar with your scent, they would do you no harm. With the proposal in there, he should be fine; they should be familiar with his scent. It was Clemensia I worried about. If she stuck her hand in there, Lord only knows what would happen.

The situation grew tense as Coriolanus sought some form of guidance looking at you, but all you could do was watch helplessly. "Watch and learn," Dr. Gaul's words echoed in your head. But what was there to learn from potentially risking someone's life over an assignment? As Coriolanus smoothly retrieved the paper, the snakes didn't seem to mind his presence. Then, Clemensia reached in.

“They can’t see too well, and they hear even less,” Dr. Gaul explained. “But they know you’re there. Snakes can smell you using their tongues, these mutts here more than others.” Clemensia attempted to lift a sheet, and the snakes stirred.

“If they're familiar with your scent — a warm tank, for instance — they’ll ignore you. But a new scent, something foreign, that would be a threat,” said Dr. Gaul. “You’d be on your own, little girl.” Alarm spread across Clemensia’s face. She hastily withdrew her hand, but not before several neon snakes sank their fangs into her flesh.

Dr. Gaul's chilling demeanor hung in the air as Clemensia's screams filled the room. The lab assistants swiftly took charge, and as they injected her with a black fluid, her condition worsened. The colors of the snakes' venom mingled, dripping down her fingers. The lab assistants swiftly wheeled Clemensia away, leaving you and Coriolanus in a state of shock.

You and coriolanus attempted to follow them, but Dr. Gaul's stern voice halted you. “Not you, Mr. Snow, little dove. You stay here.” Coriolanus, in his concern, stammered, “But I — She — Will she die?” 

“Anyone’s guess,” Dr. Gaul replied casually. Turning her attention to you both, she asked, “So, you wrote the proposal alone?” Coriolanus looked at you, and you nodded in approval. He then confessed, “No, I didn’t. Ms. Royce assisted me in writing the proposal.” Dr. Gaul, seemingly pleased with this admission, issued a warning. “Good. The truth, finally, Mr. Snow, if I see that side of you again, I’ll cut you off. If Dean Highbottom punishes you for it, I won’t stand in his way. Are we clear?”

Coriolanus and you exchanged a glance. “Very clear,” he said. “It’s good, your proposal,” she remarked. “Well thought out and simple to execute. I’m going to recommend my team review it and implement a version of the first stage.”

“All right,” Coriolanus responded, and you remained silent.

Dr. Gaul laughed. “Oh, go home. Or go see your friend if she’s still there to see. It’s time for my crackers and milk.” Coriolanus and you exchanged a look of relief before turning to leave. 

“Not you, little dove. We need to talk,” Dr. Gaul's voice stopped you, and Coriolanus gave you a puzzled look before proceeding towards the exit. 

Dr. Gaul's shift in demeanor was unnerving, her voice taking on a disconcertingly soft tone as she addressed you directly. "You know I've been good to you, haven't I, dear?" Her words felt like a weight. "I've taken care of you since your father's tragic end, guiding you, supporting you."

Her gaze bore into me, a look that conveyed a mix of intensity and expectation. "And yet you still lie to me. I’ve no use for liars. What are lies but attempts to conceal some sort of weakness? You should know this by now. I see potential in you, a potential I saw in your father when he attended this academy. But he decided to waste that potential, and look where that got him. I'm trying to help you, little dove, show you everything you can be. But if you lie to me, I can't do that. People who lie to me are seen as a threat, an enemy. You don't want to be my enemy, now, do you, little dove? Because you know what I do to my enemies." you swallowed hard, nodding, "I promise I will never lie to you again. I promise," you replied. Dr. Gaul offered a small smile before dismissing you. "Good girl," she said, the unsettling edge still lingering in her voice. "Now run along, it's time for my crackers and milk." Her words echoed in your mind as you left, leaving behind an uncomfortable feeling that lingered long after you had left her presence.

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #a ballad of songbirds and snakes #sejanus plinth #coriolanus x lucy gray #lucy gray x coriolanus #the hunger games #my fic #fanfic #tom blyth #tom blyth x reader #lucy grey baird #young coriolanus snow

[odue-sp]

Izuku Midoriya x Male Reader

info; m/n has a problem with personal space and people touching him. m/n's quirk is tendrils, he is able to form them anywhere on his body they're usually invisible (warped areas). They're supposed to be visible but he's able to make them disappear.

Part One.

•••

M/n is a retired hero, he isn't exactly known by the public, only heroes know of him. He isn't favoured due to how shallow he is, only working for money and for selfish reasons. Of course, they can't say he isn't powerful, his quirk is quite amazing.

After acquiring the amount of money the ex-hero wanted. He disappeared. Some say he turned into a villain because of money or that he was badly injured.

After the USJ incident, many were trying to bring more heroes to protect the newer generation. M/n was no exception.

Of course, it all changed when it was broadcast that a student was kidnapped. M/n was shallow, but he couldn't stand it when children were targeted. His eyes stared at the tv.

— · —

The school was crowded with reporters and many concerned yet angered citizens. They weren't let in.

"Quiet. I can't think." He muttered, pushing past the crowd who shouted in anger before realizing it was a new face... Soon, they targeted him until he got annoyed. Something seems to grow from his body... It looked invisible but the crowd could feel danger.

"H/n," a voice snapped the young hero out of his murderous thoughts. "They're loud. My ears hurt. The air is sickening. The ground feels much dirty with them swarming the school. Their breaths stink. Did they even bathe," He rambled as his quirk activated, his slowly rose in the air to face Aizawa who scoffed at his words. "Sensitive as always." Silence, he stared into the crowd. "No, I just hate pests. Especially ones who blame heroes for not being quick to save a life," the tired teacher glared. "H/n. Watch it," he warned. "If we rush in, what do you all think would happen? They surrender and hand us the child?"

His e/c stared into their souls. His quirk grew as he became angered. "Such immature thoughts. Since you know how they think, then you go save the kid." He lowered himself and walked into the school. His invisible tendrils swayed back and forth in anger.

"Are you done with retirement?" Aizawa asked the former hero who scowled at the thought. "And be shit talked about being shallow? Fuck, no," A smack to the back of his head. "Quiet." M/n sighed. "I don't know... I want to help but..." The two became quiet. "Everyone thinks I became a villain. How funny is that." He scoffed.

The two headed to the class, Aizawa dragged the male with him merely because he wasn't sure if the other could be left alone. A loud gasp was heard. "H/n?!" The s/c male jumped at his hero name being called. Ah, right. M/n never expected to love anyone or even have a family, he showed his face willingly. A bush stared at him before handing him a book. "Could I have your autograph?" He spoke quietly. He glanced over to Aizawa... "Sign it."

The teen gasped at the signature. "I think that's my first signature I've done." He spoke nonchalantly, Izuku gasped loudly. After the kidnapping, he was always one edge, and guilt racked his brain... It was nice. Aizawa leaned over whispering about the situation.

Then class started. Everyone whispered about M/n. Of course, no one knew who he was. Then Aizawa began to speak... "This is H/n. Don't bother trying to say you know him. The only person I would believe is Midoriya." The lessons continued.

— · —

Slowly, Izuku was breaking the barrier that M/n made. He cried to the hero who awkwardly hugged him after Bakugou was saved. It was painful for the young hero who couldn't believe that his idol could no longer help. M/n sighed bitterly at the memories. He sat in the living area of the dorms, everyone had left for class and it became normal for the ex-hero to show up.

He was used as an example and as a sparring partner. Everyone thought he was quirk less at first due to his quirk ability to remain naked to the eye and how well he was able to dodge... That mystery was finally broken as the male had to use his quirk for the first time with Todoroki. Izuku fangirled the moment he realized that he got to see his quirk in action.

He closed his eyes laying on the couch.

Izuku sighed as he scribbled on his paper, he looked over to Ochaco... He no longer felt the need to impress her or even try to get her affection... He wanted. "M/n." He muttered as he slammed his head on the table. Everyone jumped looking at the greenette. He fumbled with his word before running out in embarrassment for his thoughts.

"M/n?" He whispered out finding himself staring at the retired hero who seemed to be protective over the class. He stared at the h/c before leaning down... "I think I like you," he whispered before tearing up. "It's disgusting isn't it?" He whispered in pain as he shook his head.

A new goal.

"M/n," he leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Please, wait for me. When I become a man and a successful hero to support you. Please just wait until then." He whispered to the sleeping male who still slept.

Izuku left, rubbing his eyes.

M/n's eyes opened as he watched the young hero leave. "... Kids these days." He muttered nonchalantly and continued to sleep until Aizawa or Hizashi kicked him out.

#male reader #male reader insert #x male reader #male y/n #pseudo's ff #seudo's ff #mha izuku #midoriya izuku #bnha izuku #midoriya izuku x male reader #deku midoriya #mha x male reader #bnha x male reader

[am-i-a-failure-if-i-dont-try]

Percí hadn't meant to pseudo-adopt the homeless kid that lived in her garbage can. And, now that she was thinking about it, she had never meant to adopt a kid at all. Her family was crazy enough. They didn't need her to continue the bloodline, no matter how much her father pestered. Besides, who would she copulate with? All of her friends were hooked up - except Nico but even she could see the thing he had for Will. Thus, she had come to the conclusion that she'd take up the mantle of crazy cat lady. And she'd already gotten started! Well, actually, Mrs O'Leary was a dog but that was a technicality. Anyway, back to her Incredibly Important Point. She did not want to have/adopt any kids. But...

The kid had been injured. Clearly he was getting kicked around and damn her, she had a soft heart. Gabe had done the same thing to her but, in this case, the kid didn't have a mother willing to commit murder. At least, Percí didn't think he did. So, on the fourth night that he chose to sleep on her garbage, she threw on a bathrobe and slipped Anaklusmos into her pocket. Then she went to introduce herself.

The kid was more injured than she had thought. He looked sickly, his bones were thin, bruises littered his face. Someone was definitely kicking this kid around. Percí cursed her hero-thing and nudged the kid. He must've been really out of it cause he didn't budge nor wake. She stares at the clouds like Zeus would give her some answer. Then she slid her arms around the kid and brought him inside. He was thin. Thinner than Nico, and Nico survived on pomegranates and grapes. Percí settled the kid on her couch then searched her thoughts. What would Mom do?

Percí grinned and moved into her kitchen to grab the bruise salve. Will had designed it for Rachel after the redhead had sword played with Percí and gotten a concussion for the fifth time. To be fair, Percí had gone easy on her. Mortals were just built like eggs. Either way, it'd work fine for the kid. He looked to be about twelve - which only made her want to help more - and was already on his way to becoming what one of the Aphrodite kids would call a 'heartbreaker'.

That being said, they called her a 'heartbreaker' and she wasn't even dating anyone!

Anyway, the kid. He was muscular for a preteen. Black hair windswept to one side. A pale face with a strong jaw. He was lean and tall and his torso looked like hell. She sighed and applied the salve, gently bandaging what had to be bruised ribs - if not broken. When she finished, she went back into the kitchen and dialled a familiar number. The phone beeped and Percí left what was most likely not the most disturbing message Sally Jackson had ever gotten. "Hey, mom. I kidnapped a kid and you're now a grandmother. If he doesn't run away, I'll bring him by for the holidays. Love you."

Then Percí did the healthy thing. She turned on her coffee machine and prepared herself for a long night of keeping watch, downing caffeine, and cursing the gods!

The kid woke up around three in the morning. Percí took a sip from her coffee to mask her reaction to the kids electric blue eyes. Eyes that were eerily similar to Jason. Dammit, Zeus, what'd you do now? The kid watched her warily then examines the bandages with narrowed eyes.

"Who the fuck are you?" the kid asked.

Potty mouth, Percí noted. "You can call me Blue," she responded, her New York accent clashing gently with his Midwestern one. "And you?"

"Kon-El," he replied, as if in habit before wincing. "I mean, uh, Conner."

Percí smirked. "Well, Conner, care to tell me why I found you passed out in my garbage?"

#crossover #percy jackon and the olympians #female percy jackson #dc comics #pjo crossover #dc crossover #kon el #percy jackson #adoption #after the giant war #percy lives in metropolis now #cause i said so #percy has a soft heart #kon el is getting adopted #and appreciated #and anyone who objecta can meet the business end of riptide #trauma dump #percy is strong

[blues824]

what about Michael afton x Shinobu like Male reader?

This is Michael Afton from the movie because Josh Hutcherson did such a good job. 

Michael Afton

You were a childhood friend of his, and you were there to comfort him when his brother was abducted. This meant you two became close, and you were even there helping him take care of his little sister when she was born. A secret relationship started between the two of you.

Abby loved you, seeing you as another brother figure. She was very supportive of the relationship, especially since you helped her feel better whenever she was sad or physically hurt. You would also babysit her when Mike had to work, and you refused to let him pay you back because you didn’t want her going to their aunt, and that was the payment you wanted.

You would not stand idly by and let someone else have their sibling be taken away from them like you had… even when you couldn’t prevent the first abduction.

Now, when Mike got the interview for Freddy’s, you were immediately suspicious of the man running the restaurant. However, you just accepted this as the best situation because your boyfriend needed to earn income of some sort. 

For the first shift, you watched Abby as you usually would so that Mike wasn’t distracted. The little girl wanted to go with her older brother, but both of you refused. Giving him a kiss before he headed out, you started making dinner.

After the second shift, Mike came home talking to you about an officer named Vanessa Shelly who mentioned 5 murdered children at the restaurant. He then told you about the dream he had during his first shift, and you pieced everything together as well.

So, that being said, you wanted to accompany him on a shift. The thing is: Max went missing out of nowhere. Neither of you had any idea what happened, so instead you decided to bring Abby along. It surprised none of you that the animatronics got along so well with the little girl. 

Fourth shift comes around, and Abby is injured. Luckily, you were a med student and knew how to treat it. You and Mike decided that it would be best if she stayed home the fifth night with you so that Jane wouldn’t have to watch her. Unfortunately, that is when the Golden Freddy animatronic broke into the house and it tried to kill you.

Your experience with fighting came in handy, and you ran to grab Abby and run all the way to the Pizzeria. You would keep this family together if it meant your life would be taken away as a consequence. Once you made it, however, you realized that Mike was injured and the animatronics had turned murderous. You already pieced together that Steve had something to do with it.

Vanessa explained that she was Steve’s… or William’s daughter and he had the robots under his control. You promised to watch over Abby as she drew the picture, and then everything else happened. You helped Mike carry Vanessa out because she had been stabbed, and you promised that you would look after her because you would be doing rounds with the doctors.

#fnaf #fnaf x reader #five nights at freddy's x reader #five nights at freddy's #michael schmidt x reader #michael afton x reader #michael afton #michael schmidt

[vampireapple]

Grief

Warning: this story contains violence, murder, and suicide.

.  .  .  .  .

Humans have strong pack bonding instincts. They are predictably protective of those they consider theirs. They predictably react with danger or violence when their people are threatened. 

What is not predictable is how they react when one of those closest to them dies. 

.  .  .  .  .

The pirate ship they had been sent to capture was drifting in front of them. Captain suspected a trap. 

Three days ago a pirate crew had taken a pair of humans. Their crew had been dispatched to rescue the humans. Five hours go the pirate ship had appeared on their radar, not moving.

Captain ordered the ship captured and boarded. The boarding crew had barely left before they returned, reporting that the ships toxic chemical alarm system was blaring. The crew put on the proper protection and reboarded. 

Everyone on the ship was dead, all sixteen pirates and both humans. Some looked they died from the poison in the air. Others clearly died from violence. The saddest was the humans. They were in a locked cell. The male had clearly been brutalized. The female was curled around him. She had seemingly less severe injuries, indicating she most likely died from poison. 

Captain ordered the security logs and video feeds seized to be reviewed for investigation. The resulting information was... disturbing. 

The humans had been bound on opposite sides of the same cell and left there for nearly a day, presumably as the pirates made their escape. Five pirates finally entered the cell and took turns beating the male to death. It was difficult to watch, made all the worse by the female's reaction. She screamed and begged, thrashing against her bonds, and injuring herself. When the male finally died, she made such a horrible keening wail, as if she herself were dying.

The pirates left the cell for another three hours before two of them entered to remove the female. She was limp until all the rope was removed. She exploded into movement, incapacitating both pirates. She ran, not to an escape pod, but to the engine room. She sabotaged the engine, cutting power to most of the ship. Then she attacked the air filtration system, pumping poison through it. She took several large tools, broke the door so it could not be opened, and went after the crew. She killed four of them before the alarms went off. The pirates went to the engine room, desperate to get inside. She went back to the cell, to be with the male. 

The families of the humans expressed grim satisfaction at the death of the pirates. Justice had been served, they said. 

Humans were known to be a vengeful race. It was understandable to kill those who murdered the male. But to kill all of them? And not even try to escape or survive? Humans were a scary race.

.  .  .  .  .

It was an accident. A freak, one in a billion accident. But that didn't matter. Her sweet baby was still dead. Cheerful Miriam would never again bring her emm a pretty rock or colorful leaf. When Jonathan died of an aneurysm five years ago Rebekah had shattered. She loved her husband dearly, had no idea how to go on. But she had to go on. She had a toddler depending on her. She had to pull herself together. Miriam became Rebekah's world. Now her daughter was dead. 

Rebekah did not want to live anymore. 

.  .

Gerker was saddened by his coworker Rebekah's death. She was a good worker and a good human. Her self-termination was a waste he could not understand. He resolved to ask another human coworker, Sarah, about it at lunch. 

Sarah raised an eyebrow as Gerker joined her and two others at the lunch table, but didn't comment. They were not friends, but everyone in the office was friendly.

"If I may, Sarah," Gerker started "I would like to ask you a question about Rebekah."

Sarah closed her eyes, took a deep breath, held it, let it out, and opened her eyes. "Yes, what question did you have?"

"Rebekah's self-termination seems so pointless. She had much of her life left."  Gerker missed the way Sarah went very still. "She could have found another mate and had anoth-"

Sarah jerked to her feet, her chair clattering back to fall on the ground. She grabbed her ceramic mug and raised it, ready to strike Gerker. Hot liquid spilled over on the floor, the table, Sarah, but she took no notice. The expression on her face, her body language, filled Gerker with dread. He shrank back in his seat. Suddenly he understood why humans were so feared.

They had the attention of everyone in the room. The three other humans, Noah, Hannah, and David, stood and moved closer, putting Gerker in a rough circle of humans. Their body language was not threatening, not yet, just watchful, and ready. The others at the table wisely moved away.

"Did you say that to Rebekah?" The menace in Sarah's voice had shivers going through Gerker.

"Wh- what?" He squeaked.

"Did you tell Rebekah that she could just start a new family?"

Tension in the room elevated as Noah, Hannah and David went from watchful to angry. David jerked, as if he was restraining himself from attacking Gerker.

"No! No, I swear! She was dead before I could tell her!”

Sarah did not waste time by walking around the table, she flipped it over and came within inches

of Gerker, ceramic mug still elevated in a strike position.

"Do not ever,” Sarah snarled, venom in every word "tell someone they can just start a new family. Never."

The room was silent as Sarah stared down Gerker. Noah held out a hand to her. After two beats she took it, allowing herself to be lead from the room. Hannah and David glared at Gerker before following them. 

Most in the room vowed to never speak to a human about death again.

.  .  .  .  .

Vanessa heard someone walk up behind her, but she ignored them as she finished with the breaker box. No need for someone to get an electric shock. When she was done she turned around, not really surprised to see the first mate standing there.

"Hutchington's leave has been extended by another week," he informed her. "His grandfather has also passed."

Vanessa rubbed her face and signed. Her partner had left five days ago to attend his grandma's funeral, and was supposed to be back in two days. "Yeah, I was kind of expecting that."

"Oh?"

She signed again. "Rick's grandparents were basically the dream. High school sweethearts, married right after graduation. They were together for 81 years."

"That does not explain his grandfather's passing. Was he also ill?"

"No, he most likely wasn't. He was probably grief stricken."

"So he was ill."

"No." Venessa made a frustrated sound. How to explain this? "He loved his wife so much he couldn't bear to live without her."

The first mate stared at her, uncomprehending.

"It doesn't happen all the time, but it's not unheard of, especially with couples that have been together a long time. They just... go to sleep and never wake up. When that happens, we say they 'died of a broken heart'."

"... and this is expected?"

"No, not expected, exactly. But not shocking. People just... loose the will to live without the one they love most."

Venessa turned away, done with the conversation. Sympathetic sadness tightened her throat as she put her tools away. Poor Rick. Poor Rick's family.

The first mate did not understand, but he declined to pursue the matter. He did not want to upset Venessa further. The entire situation was bizarre. Only a human could expire from an emotion.

.  .  .  .  .

Author's Note: My favorite uncle unexpectedly passed in March 2022. A friend lost her battle with cancer in June 2022. Grief had been heavily on my mind when I wrote this July 2022. This was the first time I experienced catharses from writing, so this story, as grim and dark as it is, will always be special to me.

EDIT: Here is a link to a sister story In Memoriam

#humans are space orcs #humans are weird #humans are deathworlders #earth is space australia #aliens #grief #murder #sucicide #violence

[rosewaterandivy]

iv. hunger hurts, but starving works

summary: it’s all fun and games until the fall festival.

pairing: s.h. x witch!reader

w.c.: 4.7k

warnings: my blog is 18+ MDNI; vague allusions to magic and the like (tarot specifically), serial kisser steve, we get by with a little no help from our friends

a/n: sorry for the ouchies last week, hopefully, some meddling from everyone's favorite metalhead and space cadet will help.

series m.list | playlist | currently spinning:

The weeks pass all too slowly. Leaves turning fiery shades of orange, amber, red, and gold before falling gallantly to the ground; littering the streets and sidewalks only to be soaked with rain and snow. Tracy manned the shop, convincing you to take some time off and promising to oversee the rescheduled H & M appointment. But sulking around the aunt’s house did little to alleviate the hollow feeling in your chest.

Women, like clockwork, still came down the bluestone path at twilight seeking absolution and eternal devotion from their paramours through the aunt’s skill. They paid in cash and hardly ever heard a word of advice: “He’s no good for you, honey,” said to a woman sporting a bracelet of bruises around her wrists, “Darling, there are more people involved than you realize,” whispered to another who insisted on bagging the married principal of the high school, his expecting wife be damned.

“I don’t care, I have to have him,” was the perfunctory response. 

Kelly’s eyes easily found yours, cutting through the dark staircase where you sat huddled under a worn quilt. You don’t need to see this, her soothing alto sounds out in your mind. She jerks her head toward the door, Take a walk, we’ll call you for dinner.

It was no use arguing with her. With a heavy sigh, you stood from the stair and slunk off to change. There was a secluded stretch of beach just off the backyard of the property, one you were familiar with frequenting when things all became a bit too much. But, as of late, you’d preferred the quiet comfort of your bed. 

In fact, you couldn’t recall the last time you’d even left the house. Content to laze away your days in languid drips, sleeping through the waking hours only to haunt the witching ones. The family grimoire remained tightly shoved in your bookshelf, slowly worming its way out from between biographies and murder mystery paperbacks. You’d given it a good push back into the shelf a few days ago, but here it was, halfway from tumbling out again.

Throwing on an old college sweatshirt and fleece-lined leggings, you lace up your boots, and toss on a beanie and your father’s old work jacket. The scent has long since faded from it, but if you close your eyes and wish hard enough, the warm, pleasant scent of pipe tobacco and the spice from his cologne comes through. Taking a deep breath in, you revel in the closest thing you have to a hug from your dearly departed father.

Swiftly, you take the stairs two at a time and round the bannister just as Moira pricks the woman’s finger in the kitchen. Your aunt gives you a short smile as you close the backdoor with a soft click.

It would be one thing, if this time away from the shop was doing you any good. As it stands, you’re barely able to get any peace waking or dreaming because every thing hurtles you headlong back to him. And it hurts— alcohol is only capable of so much, after all, and you’re having more difficulty making yourself go cold than you’d anticipated.

As if you’re injured just by knowing him— his touch, his taste, the sounds he makes, how he looks sleep rumpled and barely awake. Numbing yourself with drink doesn’t chase away the dreams, it only makes them worse; though you’ve only kissed the carpenter, you could swear you’d been waking with lovebites on your neck and a soreness between your thighs.

It was infuriating and driving you batshit crazy.

Only in the sense that it made the waking all the more difficult. If you were a weaker woman, you wouldn’t be hitting snooze so much that your alarm clock had eventually given up the ghost and turned itself off. If you were a weaker woman, you would luxuriate in your dreams where his touch was warm and welcome. If you were a weaker woman, you wouldn’t be the walking wounded with a gaping cavern cleaving your heart in two.

But you weren’t that kind of woman; instead, you were stubborn as a mule, as everyone in your life liked to frequently remind you. Things would be better off this way; sure, people were hurt but at least they were alive; the Callahan curse stopped with you.

It had to.

The beach was deserted, as to be expected. The waves ebbing in and out, their white frothy peaks illuminated in the fading twilight. A chilly wind blew through as it pleased, making you wish for a scarf to bundle up with. Burrowing further into the collar of the coat, you shoved your hands into the large pockets to stave off the nip in the air.

Leaning on a nearby boulder, you let out a deep breath. The sea air tickled at your nostrils, briny and damp, as a light mist began to fall. It was coming on dusk now, the scant autumn light dipping below the horizon. Losing yourself to melancholy, you don’t even notice the jingling of a collar as a dog bounded toward you.

Thinking its found a new playmate, the dog breaks into a run, a streak of black in the coming night. Eyes adjusting to the scene, you quickly scramble up the boulder pressed against your back. The dog, undeterred, places its big paws on either side of your frame thinking you’re playing hard to get. 

Hands braced at your side against the boulder, you dig a heel into the sand beneath your feet and attempt to get some distance between the dog and yourself. In an unfortunate display of an utter lack of coordination, you end up cutting your hand on a particularly jagged section of rock just as the dog lands a long lick to the side of your face.

“Woah there!” You call out, bewildered.

The dog continues, unabated, as you fall with a plop to the cold sand, head knocking against the boulder in the comedown. Delighted that its new playmate is at a more accessible level, the dog yips and barks, jumping a bit here and there in its excitement.

“Lucy?” Another voice shouts out into the night, a masculine baritone. A figure comes into view not long after, bundled up much like yourself, with leash in hand. “Luce!” The dog, Lucy, turns quickly to regard her owner, ears at attention and head cocked. He whistles sharply followed by a snap of this fingers, and she trots away, but not before a final lick to your face.

Making to stand on your own two feet, you momentarily forget the cut on your palm, letting out a low hiss of pain as the sand makes contact with your skin. You wince at your own stupidity, it’s going to be even more of a bitch to clean now. Shifting your weight to the opposite side, you brace yourself against the rock to stand. 

But before you can fully rise, the sweet scent of freshly chopped wood and spice invades your senses. A warm puff of air, “Shit, I’m so sorry— she’s normally fine off-leash and I didn’t see you through the mist—”

“It’s fine,” You grouse, hating the skittering of heat beneath your skin at the sound of his voice.

Steve steps back, eyes concerned. “You’re hurt.” 

You want to laugh, cackle, at the absurdity that is your life; a regular comedy of errors. Instead, a bark of laughter slips from your throat as your eyes flutter shut. It would be very helpful if the ground could stop moving now. His hands come out to steady you as your vision tunnels and you sway to one side. 

“I’m fine,” You insist, though it is obvious you are anything but. 

And he’s warm, as always; you idly wonder what it’s like to be a living furnace, to have that much heat running through your veins. Must get annoying in the summer, that’s for sure. Like magma just surging over and over, cooking you from the inside out.

“Uh, it’s not that bad, actually.” Steve chuckles, trying to steady you on your feet.

Oh.

Had you been babbling this entire time? How embarrassing.

“No!” He’s quick to respond, “Not at all. You’re just uh—” Steve wraps his wrist with the slack from the leash with one hand, the other coming to wrap around your hip. “Did you hit your head, or something?”

You give him a slow blink in response.

“Right. Okay,” He sighs shortly and glances back up the hill at the aunt’s house. “Let’s get you back home and cleaned up, hmm?”

The last thing you recall before succumbing to the beckoning darkness behind your eyes lids is the brush of his cheek, rough and dusted a smattering of stubble, against your temple and the whistled tune of your favorite song.

The muted buzz of a conversation rouses you from slumber. Fuzzy at first, like static between stations on the radio, becoming clearer and clearer until—

“Are you sure she’s alright?”

One of the aunts tuts in reply, “Positive.” Ah, must be Kelly then, her low voice ebbs and flows throughout the room, “The cut looks worse than it is and she’s always been a quick healer.”

“We’re lucky you were there though!” Moira from farther off, the pantry maybe. “God knows how long she’d have been down there on her own.”

“I don’t know about that,” the man hedges uncomfortably. “It’s my fault that it happened. If Lucy hadn’t—“

“Now, now,” Kelly sounds closer now, “Don’t go blaming yourself for what amounted to a happy accident.”

Happy? You passed out from a knock to the head and sliced your hand on a rock, but no harm no foul— this was a lucky turn of events, apparently.

“Ugh.” Your tongue feels sluggish in your mouth, slow to maneuver at your whims. “What the—“

Your hand, the one not wrapped in gauze and medical tape, flops against the wood grain of the kitchen table. Fingers scoring along years of wear, knives thrown carelessly against its surface. 

Blinking is a struggle too, your lashes feel positively glued together. “Why am I on the table?”

“Better the table than the cold sandy beach.” Moira says with a wink to Steve. “Our neighbor was kind enough to escort you home.”

Kelly snorts, “Escort is a generous term.” 

Sitting up on your elbows, your head looks to the right, only to find Kelly nursing a margarita.

“Poor thing had to haul you up the hill and wrangle Lucy at the same time.”

“It’s not a big deal,” He demures, sounding far too close for comfort. “You kinda passed out and I just sorta—“ His cheeks are tinging pink under your slow owlish blinks. He brings his hands up in a mimicry or carrying something and icy realization washes over you.

“You had to carry me?!”

Kelly laughs from her perch against the hutch, “It’s not the end of the word peach.”

Moira picks up her cue with a wink, “Oh, woe is me! A big strong man had to carry me like a damsel and return me to my maiden aunts.”

Pushing yourself up fully, you swing your legs over the edge of the table, keeping your eyes straight ahead. Your feet find the ground easily enough and before a word can be spoken, you’ve left the kitchen to bound upstairs and shut yourself away.

In your absence, a hush falls in the kitchen, all save for Lucy snoring by the fire in the living room. Steve taps his fingers against the wooden table, walnut if he had to guess. The warm amber tone of the lumber popping against the darker grain— a beautiful and well-loved piece. He lets a nail trace a divot or two as the aunts prattle around the kitchen preparing dinner.

A hand grasps his shoulder, “Steve,” Kelly stands behind him, her empty margarita glass discarded on the countertop. “Would you like to stay for dinner? It’s the least we can do considering…” She nods her head, eyes looking upwards to where he can only assume your bedroom is.

“Oh, I don’t know if that’s the best idea,” He awkwardly fumbles for an excuse, something believable enough but not the outright truth of ‘I made out with and rescued your niece who wants nothing to do with me. Oh, and I’m also, maybe, in love with her.’

Moira closes the oven, having just checked on the roast. “Nonsense, we insist.”

He swallows, adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “I should really get going—”

“Now, I know you’re not going to spur two old biddies who have invited you to dinner.” Kelly’s voice is warning enough, her eyes light with mischief. An unspoken, you’ll stay if you know what’s good for you.

“So, what can I get you to drink?” Moria asks from across the kitchen.

“I’ll take a beer, if you have it.” Steve says from his spot leaning against the counter, his eyes glance up at the sound of footfalls upstairs. Your socked feet treading this way and that above him.

“Well, aren’t you in luck!” She crows, tugging the fridge open, “I just bought some today. Hope it’s to your liking,” She tosses him a can, that he catches with ease.

Eyeing the label, he gives her a small smile in thanks. “It’s my favorite, actually.”

“How do you like that?” Moira chimes in, setting the table for dinner. “Steve, would you be a dear and grab the pot behind you to place on the table?”

And Steve, for all his good intentions and attempts at a polite exit, finds himself settling own for dinner with your aunts. You stay upstairs throughout dinner and dessert, with only the occasional tread on the wood floor to signal your presence. And each time a creak or groan sounds from the floorboards, his eyes cast upwards wondering what you could possibly be doing up there, and how much you must hate him.

Lucy, however, has the time of her life at the Callahan house that evening. In lieu of her usual kibble, she is treated to a panoply of treats, hand served pot roast from the table, and luxuriating in affection from the aunts. Steve keeps an eye on her, and tries to prevent the aunts and their spoiling of her— “She’s a good girl, she deserves it,” “It’s just a treat Steven, no need to coddle.”

And if she’s aware of her role in the events that transpired this evening, she doesn’t show it. In her hard-won experience, sometimes people just needed a little push. And if that push came from her or through other means, well then, so be it.

Opting to skip out on dinner, you retreated to your bedroom and changed into some comfier clothes— a well-loved sweater and flannel pajama pants, a pair of cashmere socks from Moira several Christmases ago— and snuggled down in bed.

What a no good, very bad day you’d had.

Trying to avoid the very man who haunted your thoughts, only to get a rather enthusiastic greeting from his dog and injure yourself in the process. Just fucking great.

A soft knock sounds from your bedroom door, jarring you away from your thoughts. With a grumble that you were on your way, you reluctantly leave the warm cocoon of the bed and shuffle toward the door.

Turning the knob in your hand, you open the door only to come mouth to mouth with none other than Steve Harrington. It’s an unfortunate turn of events, he’d leaned forward to knock again and collided with you while trying to balance a plate from dinner.

It’s brief, but no less enticing than the kiss at the shop. It’s messy, teeth clacking awkwardly together, lips mismatched, mouths open to sprout apologies. It hurts like a kindness— he’s so warm and inviting, it would be easy to get lost in someone like Steve.

A breath of your name as he pulls away, flushed in embarrassment. “Fuck, I didn’t mean—”

And it’s like he broke you with gentle hands, without even trying. You can feel your heart plummet to your stomach, quickly replaced by a roar of fury. How dare he? First the shop, and now this? 

“You can’t just go around kissing people Harrington!” You hiss, taking the plate from his grasp. “What is wrong with you?! Did you just get out of prison or something?” 

He rocks back on his feet, fiddling with his glasses for lack of something better to do. “I know, I know,” His voice is a low murmur, “And I didn’t mean to, I swear to god, your aunts just asked me to bring up a plate for you.”

The longer you look at him, the worse it gets; all bashful and pink in the cheeks, wire frames bringing the green of his hazel eyes into sharp relief. All compounded by the humiliating fact that you would kiss him again in a heartbeat.

At the mention of your aunts, you cast your gaze down to the base of the stairs, catching Kelly’s eye. Her smile immediately raises your suspicions, the last time you saw that smile, Moira won the election to become president of the PTA by unanimous vote. She gives you a languid wave and wink before turning away and into the parlor.

“I, uh, I should go.” Steve says backing toward the stairs, “I am really sorry about that, it won’t happen again.”

A roll of your eyes, “Yeah, I’ll believe it when I see it Romeo.”

Steve quickly thanks your aunts for their hospitality and readies Lucy for the walk home, you can hear his voice as it trails up from the parlor, pitched higher and softer for the snoozing pup downstairs. A smile lights on your face despite your best intentions. Setting the plate on your desk, you step toward the windows overlooking Willow Street. 

Porch lights illuminate the sidewalk and front garden of the house, and soon enough, a man and his dog appear too. Something being said about repairing the garden gates and a friendly wave to your aunts. He glances up to find your silhouette in the second storey windows, arms crossed and guarded. Steve ducks his head and turns toward home before he loses himself again; a full moon lighting his way back home.

You’d returned to the shop not long after, just long enough to let your hand heal up and recover your pride. Tracy was her usual self, for which you were grateful— she’d checked up on you a few times since the storm, not wanting to smother you. 

As a result of her running the business solo, you found yourself manning a booth at the fall festival. It was a town tradition and one you had managed to studiously avoid in your years of being a local business owner. Unfortunately, it was time to pay the piper.

And, as luck (or lack thereof) would have it, your booth just so happened to be right next to the H & M Construciton one. You hadn’t seen any sight of Harrington yet, but it was only a matter of time, you were sure of it. Tracy had signed the pair of you up offering tarot readings, nothing fancy, just a three card spread. 

“I can’t believe you,” You’d huffed when she shared the news, “You know I don’t like offering readings.”

“Well geez princess,” She said with a smirk, “If you’re gonna get your panties in a twist, I’ll do the readings.”

As it was, the booth was pulling in a fair amount of business already. Shop regulars stopping by to say hi and sign up for a reading, Tracy shuffling her worn tarot deck and dealing like she was at a blackjack table. 

Of course, once receiving their readings (scarily accurate), they were immediately besotted by the fortune-telling dog next door. To be fair, she was pretty damn cute in her little turban and lolling pink tongue. 

A cheery woman was seated alongside Lucy, bright blue eyes and blonde hair, while a dark and lanky man stood toward the back of the booth. Steve was nowhere to be found. 

“You should go an introduce yourself,” Tracy suggested as a teenage girl left the booth, a spring in her step from what the cards foretold. “They’re your neighbors after all.”

Considering you’d kissed their roommate twice now, you figured it would be impolite to dodge a formal introduction. Shoving your hands into your coat pockets, you ambled over to their booth, Lucy announcing your arrival with a soft woof and wagging tail.

“Hey Lucy,” You greeted with a pat to her head, and she nuzzled her head into the palm of your hand. A laugh slips up your throat at her antics, but she’s far too precious to be refused.

Two pairs of eyes are on you and you can feel their stares. “Hi,” You offer with a weak wave, “We’re neighbors, the uh, Callahan house down the street?”

The blonde’s mouth falls into an ‘o’ while the man behind her reveals a wicked grin. They look at each other for a split second, some shorthand ESP you can’t translate, before turning back to you.

“I’m Robin,” Says the blonde offering her hand, she jerks the other behind her to point at the man. “And that’s Eddie.”

“Oh, nice to meet you,” Her hand is warm against yours, comforting. “We’re Steve’s roomates.”

“Right, of course.” You wave at Eddie and shove your hand back into your pocket. “Welcome to the neighborhood.” You rock back on your heels, “And, uh, thanks for the work on the built-ins, they look great.”

He steps forward wearing that same grin, “Not at all, happy to do it.” Eddie crosses his arms, ringed fingers grasping at his elbows. He inclines his head toward you, brows raised like he knows something you don’t. “Harrington was mum about why he couldn’t finish the job,” He says casually, “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, now would you?”

You attempt to school your features into a semblance of calm detachment. “Nope, no clue.” You give Lucy one last scratch behind the ears, “Anyway, thanks for taking care of it and I’ll see you around.”

“Sure, sure,” Eddie nods, “See you real soon.”

Turning back toward your booth, you’re startled to find Tracy shuffling the cards for none other than Steve Harrington himself. 

For as long as he can remember, Steve has had this recurring dream; not a nightly occurrence by any means, but it would crop up at least a couple of times a year. A seaside town, the turning of the season, the sound of trailing laughter and creaky floorboards in an old Victorian house.

Hadn’t been able to make heads or tails of it for years. That was, until he moved to a particular small town; yours, as it so happened. 

And now his nightmares are replaced with dreams and visions of you— dancing with your aunts through the kitchen, a margarita glass in hand, sleep-rumpled and bed-headed blinking owlishly from your bed, running along the sandy coastline Lucy hot on your tail, and, blessedly, the furrow of your sweat drenched brow, mouth falling open in a breathy pant while you tremble and shake above him.

Hadn’t been able to crack it until he stumbled into your shop that day. All it took was the sound of your voice and one look at you for Steve to know, deep in his bones, that he’d found the home he never quite had.

The love he felt for you coursing through him like a drug, was all-consuming. You called his name, and it whispered and roared like an orchestra. And all he can think is how you’d been wasted in the arms of everyone before him; and likewise, how he’d only been wasting time with every other girl back in Hawkins.

But life, like love, is rarely ever fair.

So your rejection, though not wholly expected, had been heard loud and clear. So much so that Steve’s not expecting you to give him a short smile and wave from where you stand at the cider stand. But it’s clear by your body language that you won’t return to the booth until he’s cleared off.

He shyly waves back.

“... this can’t be right.” With one hand Tracy scoops the cards up and shuffles them back into the deck. “We’ll just try again.” She says to Steve before calling out toward you, “Hey, babe?”

Three cups of cider in hand, you poke your head into the booth reluctantly, “Need somethin’?” Setting two cups on the table, you nudge one toward Steve, listening as Tracy mumbles something about making heads or tails of the three card spread.

She smiles, a small pull of her lips as you walk closer, ducking your head to hear her whispering. Tracy clears her throat and says, louder for his benefit, “Can you just hang out for a minute? I wanna make sure the last spread wasn’t a fluke.”

Steve leans back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest, reticent. Sure, Eddie’s ex had read his palm before, but tarot cards were beyond him entirely. He wasn’t sure what your presence had to do with the reading, but he wasn’t about to question it. Tracy instructed him to cut the deck again, his fingers approximating roughly half of the cards and set them to the right.

She shuffles them again, “So the first card is your past, the middle is your present, and the third is your future. Obviously,” she sets the first card down, “Tarot is an ancient storytelling system and a way of making sense of things.”

Tracy places the remaining two cards face side down next to the first and takes a breath. “Let’s see, shall we?”

The first card reveals a tower, the second a pair of cups reversed, and the final card—

A gust of wind blew a fourth card from the deck, landing next to the third card in the spread. Tracy drew in a steady breath, eyes cutting to you. “You do it. The energy’s off, I can’t—”

You back away raising both hands, “I don’t read for people, you know that.”

“But this—”

“Tracy, enough. It’s not gonna happen.”

Steve inspects the cards in question while the pair of you exchange furtive whispers. A tower, two of cups reversed, a wheel of some kind, and the lovers reversed. If the spread itself was anything to go by, it seemed that his future could go one of two ways as evidenced by the third and fourth cards.

“Well, if you’re not going to do anything helpful, you could at least talk to the aunts.”

You roll your eyes at that, “As if. Can you imagine? They’d have a field day with this.”

Tracys scoops up the cards once and for all, slotting them back into their silk pouch and drawing the strings. “Babe, I love you, but I’m beggin’ you to get your head out of your ass.” She nods toward Steve, “Talk to them. For him if not for yourself.”

“Fine,” You hiss turning tow to leave, “But I’m going to complain the entire time.” 

“Love you, mean it!” Tracys calls out as you walk away before winking at Steve.

Shoving some cash in the charity donations jar, he grabs the cup of cider and his jacket from the back of the chair before jogging to catch up with you. Impressively, you’d made some headway back toward the aunt’s house, muttering to yourself all the while. He falls into step beside you, taking quiet sips from the warm drink, the scent of cinnamon and apples wafting through the air. 

Too lost in your own world, you hardly notice his proximity— infuriating Tracy with her wily ways, stupid Steve with his soft smile and cozy-looking self, and your aunts who were no doubt cackling at this very moment watching you and “the nice carpenter” walk down Willow Street. It’s only when his hand accidentally brushes yours that your thoughts still. Taking a deep breath, you shake the thoughts loose and will yourself to shove your hand in your pocket. His brief touch searing you in its wake.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #carpenter!steve #Spotify

[oscconfessions]

Blackhole blackhole balckhole blackhole blackhole 😍 My name is Walter Hartwell White. I live at 308 Negra Arroyo Lane, Albuquerque, New Mexico, 87104. This is my confession. If you're watching this tape, I'm probably dead, murdered by my brother-in-law Hank Schrader. Hank has been building a meth empire for over a year now and using me as his chemist. Shortly after my 50th birthday, Hank came to me with a rather, shocking proposition. He asked that I use my chemistry knowledge to cook methamphetamine, which he would then sell using his connections in the drug world. Connections that he made through his career with the DEA. I was... astounded, I... I always thought that Hank was a very moral man and I was... thrown, confused, but I was also particularly vulnerable at the time, something he knew and took advantage of. I was reeling from a cancer diagnosis that was poised to bankrupt my family. Hank took me on a ride along, and showed me just how much money even a small meth operation could make. And I was weak. I didn't want my family to go into financial ruin so I agreed. Every day, I think back at that moment with regret. I quickly realized that I was in way over my head, and Hank had a partner, a man named Gustavo Fring, a businessman. Hank essentially sold me into servitude to this man, and when I tried to quit, Fring threatened my family. I didn't know where to turn. Eventually, Hank and Fring had a falling out. From what I can gather, Hank was always pushing for a greater share of the business, to which Fring flatly refused to give him, and things escalated. Fring was able to arrange, uh I guess I guess you call it a "hit" on my brother-in-law, and failed, but Hank was seriously injured, and I wound up paying his medical bills which amounted to a little over $177,000. Upon recovery, Hank was bent on revenge, working with a man named Hector Salamanca, he plotted to kill Fring, and did so. In fact, the bomb that he used was built by me, and he gave me no option in it. I have often contemplated suicide, but I'm a coward. I wanted to go to the police, but I was frightened. Hank had risen in the ranks to become the head of the Albuquerque DEA, and about that time, to keep me in line, he took my children from me. For 3 months he kept them. My wife, who up until that point, had no idea of my criminal activities, was horrified to learn what I had done, why Hank had taken our children. We were scared. I was in Hell, I hated myself for what I had brought upon my family. Recently, I tried once again to quit, to end this nightmare, and in response, he gave me this. I can't take this anymore. I live in fear every day that Hank will kill me, or worse, hurt my family. I... All I could think to do was to make this video in hope that the world will finally see this man, for what he really is.

#confession #/bfdi #/bfdi/black hole

[healdeals]

My name is Walter Hartwell White. I live at 308 Negra Arroyo Lane, Albuquerque, New Mexico, 87104. This is my confession. If you're watching this tape, I'm probably dead, murdered by my brother-in-law Hank Schrader. Hank has been building a meth empire for over a year now and using me as his chemist. Shortly after my 50th birthday, Hank came to me with a rather, shocking proposition. He asked that I use my chemistry knowledge to cook methamphetamine, which he would then sell using his connections in the drug world. Connections that he made through his career with the DEA. I was... astounded, I... I always thought that Hank was a very moral man and I was... thrown, confused, but I was also particularly vulnerable at the time, something he knew and took advantage of. I was reeling from a cancer diagnosis that was poised to bankrupt my family. Hank took me on a ride along, and showed me just how much money even a small meth operation could make. And I was weak. I didn't want my family to go into financial ruin so I agreed. Every day, I think back at that moment with regret. I quickly realized that I was in way over my head, and Hank had a partner, a man named Gustavo Fring, a businessman. Hank essentially sold me into servitude to this man, and when I tried to quit, Fring threatened my family. I didn't know where to turn. Eventually, Hank and Fring had a falling out. From what I can gather, Hank was always pushing for a greater share of the business, to which Fring flatly refused to give him, and things escalated. Fring was able to arrange, uh I guess I guess you call it a "hit" on my brother-in-law, and failed, but Hank was seriously injured, and I wound up paying his medical bills which amounted to a little over $177,000. Upon recovery, Hank was bent on revenge, working with a man named Hector Salamanca, he plotted to kill Fring, and did so. In fact, the bomb that he used was built by me, and he gave me no option in it. I have often contemplated suicide, but I'm a coward. I wanted to go to the police, but I was frightened. Hank had risen in the ranks to become the head of the Albuquerque DEA, and about that time, to keep me in line, he took my children from me. For 3 months he kept them. My wife, who up until that point, had no idea of my criminal activities, was horrified to learn what I had done, why Hank had taken our children. We were scared. I was in Hell, I hated myself for what I had brought upon my family. Recently, I tried once again to quit, to end this nightmare, and in response, he gave me this. I can't take this anymore. I live in fear every day that Hank will kill me, or worse, hurt my family. I... All I could think to do was to make this video in hope that the world will finally see this man, for what he really is.

I'm sorry Mr. White I dont think thisis a good time

#asks #long post #suicide mention #NOT THE WALTER WHITE FALSE CONFESSION COPYPASTA

[bi-aeiugjghhh-imsosexyfrfr]

My name is Walter Hartwell White. I live at 308 Negra Arroyo Lane, Albuquerque, New Mexico, 87104. This is my confession. If you're watching this tape, I'm probably dead, murdered by my brother-in-law Hank Schrader. Hank has been building a meth empire for over a year now and using me as his chemist. Shortly after my 50th birthday, Hank came to me with a rather, shocking proposition. He asked that I use my chemistry knowledge to cook methamphetamine, which he would then sell using his connections in the drug world. Connections that he made through his career with the DEA. I was... astounded, I... I always thought that Hank was a very moral man and I was... thrown, confused, but I was also particularly vulnerable at the time, something he knew and took advantage of. I was reeling from a cancer diagnosis that was poised to bankrupt my family. Hank took me on a ride along, and showed me just how much money even a small meth operation could make. And I was weak. I didn't want my family to go into financial ruin so I agreed. Every day, I think back at that moment with regret. I quickly realized that I was in way over my head, and Hank had a partner, a man named Gustavo Fring, a businessman. Hank essentially sold me into servitude to this man, and when I tried to quit, Fring threatened my family. I didn't know where to turn. Eventually, Hank and Fring had a falling out. From what I can gather, Hank was always pushing for a greater share of the business, to which Fring flatly refused to give him, and things escalated. Fring was able to arrange, uh I guess I guess you call it a "hit" on my brother-in-law, and failed, but Hank was seriously injured, and I wound up paying his medical bills which amounted to a little over $177,000. Upon recovery, Hank was bent on revenge, working with a man named Hector Salamanca, he plotted to kill Fring, and did so. In fact, the bomb that he used was built by me, and he gave me no option in it. I have often contemplated suicide, but I'm a coward. I wanted to go to the police, but I was frightened. Hank had risen in the ranks to become the head of the Albuquerque DEA, and about that time, to keep me in line, he took my children from me. For 3 months he kept them. My wife, who up until that point, had no idea of my criminal activities, was horrified to learn what I had done, why Hank had taken our children. We were scared. I was in Hell, I hated myself for what I had brought upon my family. Recently, I tried once again to quit, to end this nightmare, and in response, he gave me this. I can't take this anymore. I live in fear every day that Hank will kill me, or worse, hurt my family. I... All I could think to do was to make this video in hope that the world will finally see this man, for what he really is.

[naruparty13fan]

My name is Walter Hartwell White. I live at 308 Negra Arroyo Lane, Albuquerque, New Mexico, 87104. This is my confession. If you're watching this tape, I'm probably dead, murdered by my brother-in-law Hank Schrader. Hank has been building a meth empire for over a year now and using me as his chemist. Shortly after my 50th birthday, Hank came to me with a rather, shocking proposition. He asked that I use my chemistry knowledge to cook methamphetamine, which he would then sell using his connections in the drug world. Connections that he made through his career with the DEA. I was... astounded, I... I always thought that Hank was a very moral man and I was... thrown, confused, but I was also particularly vulnerable at the time, something he knew and took advantage of. I was reeling from a cancer diagnosis that was poised to bankrupt my family. Hank took me on a ride along, and showed me just how much money even a small meth operation could make. And I was weak. I didn't want my family to go into financial ruin so I agreed. Every day, I think back at that moment with regret. I quickly realized that I was in way over my head, and Hank had a partner, a man named Gustavo Fring, a businessman. Hank essentially sold me into servitude to this man, and when I tried to quit, Fring threatened my family. I didn't know where to turn. Eventually, Hank and Fring had a falling out. From what I can gather, Hank was always pushing for a greater share of the business, to which Fring flatly refused to give him, and things escalated. Fring was able to arrange, uh I guess I guess you call it a "hit" on my brother-in-law, and failed, but Hank was seriously injured, and I wound up paying his medical bills which amounted to a little over $177,000. Upon recovery, Hank was bent on revenge, working with a man named Hector Salamanca, he plotted to kill Fring, and did so. In fact, the bomb that he used was built by me, and he gave me no option in it. I have often contemplated suicide, but I'm a coward. I wanted to go to the police, but I was frightened. Hank had risen in the ranks to become the head of the Albuquerque DEA, and about that time, to keep me in line, he took my children from me. For 3 months he kept them. My wife, who up until that point, had no idea of my criminal activities, was horrified to learn what I had done, why Hank had taken our children. We were scared. I was in Hell, I hated myself for what I had brought upon my family. Recently, I tried once again to quit, to end this nightmare, and in response, he gave me this. I can't take this anymore. I live in fear every day that Hank will kill me, or worse, hurt my family. I... All I could think to do was to make this video in hope that the world will finally see this man, for what he really is

ooc: @timothyburleday twins

[cenri-monpi]

My name is Walter Hartwell White and this is my confession. I live at 308 Negra Arroyo Lane, Albuquerque, New Mexico, 87104. This is my confession. If you're watching this tape, I'm probably dead, murdered by my brother-in-law Hank Schrader. Hank has been building a meth empire for over a year now and using me as his chemist. Shortly after my 50th birthday, Hank came to me with a rather, shocking proposition. He asked that I use my chemistry knowledge to cook methamphetamine, which he would then sell using his connections in the drug world. Connections that he made through his career with the DEA. I was… astounded, I… I always thought that Hank was a very moral man and I was… thrown, confused, but I was also particularly vulnerable at the time, something he knew and took advantage of. I was reeling from a cancer diagnosis that was poised to bankrupt my family. Hank took me on a ride along, and showed me just how much money even a small meth operation could make. And I was weak. I didn't want my family to go into financial ruin so I agreed. Every day, I think back at that moment with regret. I quickly realized that I was in way over my head, and Hank had a partner, a man named Gustavo Fring, a businessman. Hank essentially sold me into servitude to this man, and when I tried to quit, Fring threatened my family. I didn't know where to turn. Eventually, Hank and Fring had a falling out. From what I can gather, Hank was always pushing for a greater share of the business, to which Fring flatly refused to give him, and things escalated. Fring was able to arrange, uh I guess I guess you call it a "hit" on my brother-in-law, and failed, but Hank was seriously injured, and I wound up paying his medical bills which amounted to a little over $177,000. Upon recovery, Hank was bent on revenge, working with a man named Hector Salamanca, he plotted to kill Fring, and did so. In fact, the bomb that he used was built by me, and he gave me no option in it. I have often contemplated suicide, but I'm a coward. I wanted to go to the police, but I was frightened. Hank had risen in the ranks to become the head of the Albuquerque DEA, and about that time, to keep me in line, he took my children from me. For 3 months he kept them. My wife, who up until that point, had no idea of my criminal activities, was horrified to learn what I had done, why Hank had taken our children. We were scared. I was in Hell, I hated myself for what I had brought upon my family. Recently, I tried once again to quit, to end this nightmare, and in response, he gave me this. I can't take this anymore. I live in fear every day that Hank will kill me, or worse, hurt my family. I… All I could think to do was to make this video in hope that the world will finally see this man, for what he really is.

i wish to have sex with u too pls

[justanechoflower]

My name is Walter Hartwell White. I live at 308 Negra Arroyo Lane, Albuquerque, New Mexico, 87104. This is my confession. If you're watching this tape, I'm probably dead, murdered by my brother-in-law Hank Schrader. Hank has been building a meth empire for over a year now and using me as his chemist. Shortly after my 50th birthday, Hank came to me with a rather, shocking proposition. He asked that I use my chemistry knowledge to cook methamphetamine, which he would then sell using his connections in the drug world. Connections that he made through his career with the DEA. I was... astounded, I... I always thought that Hank was a very moral man and I was... thrown, confused, but I was also particularly vulnerable at the time, something he knew and took advantage of. I was reeling from a cancer diagnosis that was poised to bankrupt my family. Hank took me on a ride along, and showed me just how much money even a small meth operation could make. And I was weak. I didn't want my family to go into financial ruin so I agreed. Every day, I think back at that moment with regret. I quickly realized that I was in way over my head, and Hank had a partner, a man named Gustavo Fring, a businessman. Hank essentially sold me into servitude to this man, and when I tried to quit, Fring threatened my family. I didn't know where to turn. Eventually, Hank and Fring had a falling out. From what I can gather, Hank was always pushing for a greater share of the business, to which Fring flatly refused to give him, and things escalated. Fring was able to arrange, uh I guess I guess you call it a "hit" on my brother-in-law, and failed, but Hank was seriously injured, and I wound up paying his medical bills which amounted to a little over $177,000. Upon recovery, Hank was bent on revenge, working with a man named Hector Salamanca, he plotted to kill Fring, and did so. In fact, the bomb that he used was built by me, and he gave me no option in it. I have often contemplated suicide, but I'm a coward. I wanted to go to the police, but I was frightened. Hank had risen in the ranks to become the head of the Albuquerque DEA, and about that time, to keep me in line, he took my children from me. For 3 months he kept them. My wife, who up until that point, had no idea of my criminal activities, was horrified to learn what I had done, why Hank had taken our children. We were scared. I was in Hell, I hated myself for what I had brought upon my family. Recently, I tried once again to quit, to end this nightmare, and in response, he gave me this. I can't take this anymore. I live in fear every day that Hank will kill me, or worse, hurt my family. I... All I could think to do was to make this video in hope that the world will finally see this man, for what he really is.

#undertale #flowey #ask flowey #ask blog #art #ask undertale #small artist #undertale art #undertale fanart #paper art #breaking bad #walter white #how am I supposed to RESPOND to this

[walmart-the-official]

My name is Walter Hartwell White. I live at 308 Negra Arroyo Lane, Albuquerque, New Mexico, 87104. This is my confession. If you're watching this tape, I'm probably dead, murdered by my brother-in-law Hank Schrader. Hank has been building a meth empire for over a year now and using me as his chemist. Shortly after my 50th birthday, Hank came to me with a rather, shocking proposition. He asked that I use my chemistry knowledge to cook methamphetamine, which he would then sell using his connections in the drug world. Connections that he made through his career with the DEA. I was... astounded, I... I always thought that Hank was a very moral man and I was... thrown, confused, but I was also particularly vulnerable at the time, something he knew and took advantage of. I was reeling from a cancer diagnosis that was poised to bankrupt my family. Hank took me on a ride along, and showed me just how much money even a small meth operation could make. And I was weak. I didn't want my family to go into financial ruin so I agreed. Every day, I think back at that moment with regret. I quickly realized that I was in way over my head, and Hank had a partner, a man named Gustavo Fring, a businessman. Hank essentially sold me into servitude to this man, and when I tried to quit, Fring threatened my family. I didn't know where to turn. Eventually, Hank and Fring had a falling out. From what I can gather, Hank was always pushing for a greater share of the business, to which Fring flatly refused to give him, and things escalated. Fring was able to arrange, uh I guess I guess you call it a "hit" on my brother-in-law, and failed, but Hank was seriously injured, and I wound up paying his medical bills which amounted to a little over $177,000. Upon recovery, Hank was bent on revenge, working with a man named Hector Salamanca, he plotted to kill Fring, and did so. In fact, the bomb that he used was built by me, and he gave me no option in it. I have often contemplated suicide, but I'm a coward. I wanted to go to the police, but I was frightened. Hank had risen in the ranks to become the head of the Albuquerque DEA, and about that time, to keep me in line, he took my children from me. For 3 months he kept them. My wife, who up until that point, had no idea of my criminal activities, was horrified to learn what I had done, why Hank had taken our children. We were scared. I was in Hell, I hated myself for what I had brought upon my family. Recently, I tried once again to quit, to end this nightmare, and in response, he gave me this. I can't take this anymore. I live in fear every day that Hank will kill me, or worse, hurt my family. I... All I could think to do was to make this video in hope that the world will finally see this man, for what he really is.

I had an English teacher like that once

#walmart the official #walmart