#if he hadn’t shown up ironically

[faglaios]

one detail I really liked that I haven’t seen anyone touch on is how death only ever showed up when puss was close to potentially dying, which lead me to realize puss was probably going to drink himself to death at their first meeting

#fighting for my life to word the ‘drink himself to death’ bit but I’m sure you get it #(you can tell I revised it by how my tags are close to word for word lol) #fun detail I rlly liked it #like if death could’ve shown up at any moment I think he would’ve #which makes it seem obvious when he didn’t #he only showed up when puss was close to potentially dying #which leads me to think puss probably would’ve drank himself to death #if he hadn’t shown up ironically #puss in boots #puss in boots the last wish #shut up evan

[euthymiya]

“i wanna ruin our friendship!” ft. wriothesley, neuvillette, alhaitham, and kamisato ayato

in which genshin men decide being friends is not enough. why be friends when you could clearly be so much better as lovers? part two of “we’re just friends, but…” (<- read part one for better understanding of each)

contains: female reader (use of miss, milady/my lady, lovely lady, and madame) ; fluff (slight hints of angst but all happy endings) ; confessions, friends to lovers, wriothesley: implied harassment of reader by an inmate, reader is a doctor at the fortress, angry and possessive wriothesley, jealousy ; neuvillette: reader works at the palais, melusine features, neuvillette is implied to be emotional and make it rain ; alhaitham: mentions of drinking alcohol (alhaitham), vulnerable alhaitham, reader can cook ; ayato: slightly insecure reader, mentions of reader being in a lower class than ayato

WRIOTHESLEY

wriothesley is not a possessive man, despite his feelings for you.

he’s long accepted that somewhere between frequent visits to you in the infirmary and occasional lunches together as fellow colleagues at the fortress, he’s fallen hopelessly hard for you. how could he not, when you’re so gentle-natured, smart, and unfairly pretty?

but still, wriothesley is not a possessive man. when men praise you to the archons and admire your unearthly beautiful smile, he is not possessive. when he grumpily watches your fingers brush against bare chests of the wounded after pankration matches, he is not possessive. when you shyly thank an inmate who rushes to hold a door open for you, he is not possessive.

but even wriothesley has his limits. and they happen to snap over the edge today—because now, as a man corners you against the wall, pestering you until distress is clear on your face, wriothesley feels possessive.

it’s a shameful feeling, but it’s one he can’t help. he’s tolerated many things, enough of them that make him wash down the bitter taste of jealousy with the most soothing tea he can find in his collection. but this? this is beyond the patience of even a kind warden such as himself.

you, whether you or anyone else in this fortress knows it, are his to protect.

so he walks up, fisting the inmate’s shirt and lifting him up to drag away from you, jaw tight and locked as he asks lowly, “is there a problem? if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you were giving this lovely lady here some trouble.”

“y-your grace,” the man, to his credit, has a good mind to look remorseful, eyeing you nervously for a moment before rapidly shaking his head. “n-no, i was just…i was just askin’ her if she’d like some help findin’ her way is all. you know the fortress can be confusin’ ’n such.”

the inmate trails off, nervously chuckling as he quivers in the warden’s unforgiving hold.

wriothesley glances at you, raising an unconvinced eyebrow as he asks, “and do you need any help finding your way, miss?”

“no,” you shake your head, voice a bare whisper.

his jaw tightens further, glancing back at the man before he snarls lowly, “then you leave her alone. don’t let me catch you bothering her again, understood?”

“y-yes, your grace!”

wriothesley releases the man’s shirt, crumpled from his iron grip as he stares, eyes narrowed—threatening, even, as he waits for the brave soul (for anyone who bothers you where he’s in charge is the bravest of all souls) to leave. not one moment is wasted before you watch the inmate scramble away, leaving you alone with a tense, disgruntled duke in your hands.

“thank you,” you whisper, “i’m not sure how much longer he’d have bothered me if you hadn’t shown up.”

“anyone else ever try that before?” he seethes. you’ve never seen him so angry before—something about it feels almost personal.

you shake your head, stepping away from the wall as you walk over to him. “no, wriothesley,” you murmur, “no one gives me a hard time. this was a first.”

“let me know if anyone bothers you,” he grunts, fist still clenched even with no shirt to hold like earlier. “i’ll take care of it.”

you eye the way it’s tightly curled, knuckles almost ghostly white from the pressure before you gently grab his hand, working his fingers loose from his tight grip and rubbing a soothing thumb over the crescent mark from his nails along his palm.

“of course,” you smile softly, “though, i’m sure word will spread quickly that the warden doesn’t appreciate his doctor being bothered by persistent men. i don’t think there will be any repeats of this incident.”

he should feel ashamed.

you think so highly of him—defaulting to believing he’d saved you because he was only worried for your wellbeing, and not because it burned him alive to see a man so close to you, a man who desired you just as much as he did and had stooped to such unchivalrous methods to have you.

faintly, he’s aware that your hand is still grasping his, still rubbing a thumb over the angry, red marks along his palm as you study him carefully. he’s sure there’s not much he hides in his expression—you must be reading him like an open book. he can’t bring himself to care, however, not when the sight of someone else pinning you to a wall and towering over you is still so fresh in his head.

“something on your mind, your grace?” you ask, leaning closer.

perhaps, if he was a stronger man, one with more firm principles, he’d know to pull away and give you your space. but you lean closer, and he’s weak to his own desires, so he takes it as an invitation to lean closer himself.

“yes,” he admits, “i…i’m afraid i had less than honorable intentions when stepping in.”

“oh?” you raise a brow, looking at him in fond amusement. maybe you already know, he thinks, if your lack of surprise tells him anything. “enlighten me, then. what were your intentions?”

“to make sure no man comes close to you,” he mumbles, leaning closer while you do the same, your noses just barely brushing as your breath all but mingles.

“why?” you ask. it almost sounds like a plead—like you’re waiting to hear something desperately.

“because it’s unbearable to see you with other men,” he says hoarsely. if you’re uncomfortable, you don’t show it. but he has reason to believe you’re quite the opposite, in fact, when your eyes seem to brighten.

“and if i were to say i appreciate your intentions?” you ask softly.

finally, his jaw loosens—instead, he replaces the clench with a loose, easy grin, one that allows him to chuckle lowly as he stares at you with a playful disbelief.

“that so?” he hums, “perhaps then you’d care to join me for dinner today, milady—i’ll have the finest meal the cafeteria has to offer waiting for you.”

“on a date?” you ask hopefully.

“on a date,” he confirms with a slight nod.

you kiss his cheek, making his breath catch in his throat as you step away and smile gleefully. “i’ll see you at dinner then, your grace.”

NEUVILLETTE

the first day you skip your newfound routine of tea and desserts with neuvillette and the many, many melusines that join, it rains. harshly so, in fact.

you walk up to the palais, soaked from the unexpected weather as you grin sheepishly at a concerned sedene.

“madame!” she gasps, “oh, you’ve been caught in the weather!”

“it’s alright, sedene,” you chuckle, “it’s nothing new in fontaine to have unexpected rain. i suppose i should’ve planned accordingly. is monsieur neuvillette in his office? i have papers for him,” you hold up a file.

sedene fidgets for a moment, hesitant as she says, “yes…he’s in his office but…well, i should warn you that he’s not in the best of moods.”

“oh dear,” you furrow your brows, “how unfortunate. i’ll make it quick. they’re quite urgent papers.”

she nods at your promise—and just before you can turn to leave, she stops you, seemingly debating before making a final comment.

“you didn’t join us today, madame,” she starts, “for tea today during the monsieur’s break.”

“oh,” you tilt your head in surprise for a moment, “you’re right, i didn’t. i apologize if you were waiting on me. i was caught up with much paperwork to finish before i came in.”

“i see. perhaps monsieur neuvillette will appreciate knowing that, then,” she smiles.

before you can ask, she skips away, finding a group of melusines in the corner. you watch as they whisper away behind their paws, blinking back your confusion before walking towards the door of neuvillette’s office, knocking gently.

“monsieur neuvillette? may i come in? i have some papers that must be delivered to you.”

there’s a shuffle from inside, a clearing of the iudex’s throat before a raspy, “yes, of course. come in.”

you enter, walking in slowly as you close the distance between the door and his desk, smiling as you set the file down in your hands. he looks rather…well, you’re not sure, exactly—perhaps the best word would be melancholy. suddenly, sedene’s words from earlier ring in your head, and you wonder if there’s any relation between your absence and his seemingly downcast mood.

so you give him an apologetic look as you speak. “i apologize if my absence was a surprise to you today. it seems i lost track of time with paperwork. i hope you enjoyed a peaceful break with the melusines,” you hum, “you certainly need a proper break with all the duties you take on.”

against your better judgement, you reach over, brushing a strand of misplaced hair from his forehead and tucking it back in place. rarely does the chief justice of fontaine ever look less than prim and proper, if ever at all—and the action causes you to pause just as much as it does him.

he breaks the silence first, and if he notices the slight flustered expression on your face, he doesn’t point it out as he says gently, “it’s quite alright. i’m sure you’re a busy individual.”

“i do quite enjoy my routine visit,” you say shyly, “it was a shame i couldn’t join today. but rest assured, i’ll be present tomorrow.”

“i’m glad to hear it,” he seems to brighten a bit, a gentle smile pulling at the corners of his lips as he admits in a quieter voice, “truthfully, i had assumed you didn’t want to join me—or excuse me, us,” he coughs, correcting himself at the end.

“oh dear,” you furrow your brows, crinkles forming in your forehead as you quickly shake your head, “of course i love joining you. today was a rare occasion, i’m afraid. i hope i didn’t upset you, monsieur.”

“no,” he shakes his head just as quickly. he coughs, clearing his throat as he adds, “it’s just that i…well, i have come to enjoy your company. a little more than i perhaps should.”

he doesn’t meet your gaze, cheeks flushed a gentle shade of pink as you take in his words. silently after a moment, with a bright grin on your face that spreads across your lips and finds itself in the deepest of crinkles in your eyes, you slowly reach over to cup his face.

neuvillette, no matter how trained in self control, cannot help but lean into your touch, staring at you with wide eyes as you rub a delicate circle into the swell of his cheek.

“i’ve come to enjoy your company as well, monsieur. perhaps…perhaps it would be nice to enjoy each other’s company outside of the palais as well,” you offer. and then, eyeing the small opening in the door, you add, “somewhere away from prying eyes.”

neuvillette watches as the door quickly shuts, the soft giggles of the melusines muffled behind the door as he chuckles in amusement. his hand cups the back of your own, cheek laying comfortably in your palm.

“yes,” he murmurs softly, “i think i would love that.”

ALHAITHAM

alhaitham is not drunk today.

you can tell when you open the door because he’s not swaying, or slurring his words, or staring at you with a hazy look. instead, he’s perfectly sober, perfectly rational, and perfectly collected alhaitham.

you look at him in surprise before smiling in greeting.

“you’re not drunk for once,” you murmur, “i don’t think i ever get a visit from you when you’re not drunk.”

the words make him wince a bit—he doesn’t like the implication of that. alhaitham enjoys your company when he’s not inebriated, especially when he’s not inebriated, in fact. mainly because he can actually recall things that way, like the way you laugh and the crinkle of your eyes. but somehow, being drunk has become a bit of a weekly routine for him at the tavern with his friends (which really, is just cyno and tighnari, and of course, kaveh—but kaveh can hardly be considered a friend these days).

coming to your doorstep every week when he’s drunk becomes a byproduct of his habits. he can’t control them, like an involuntary muscle that moves on its own accord without his permission. just like his heart beats and pumps blood, his feet carry him to find you.

it’s natural, autonomic.

“i didn’t want to drink tonight,” he explains, rubbing his neck awkwardly. alhaitham is blunt—speaking his mind is not a complicated task. he’s sure of his thoughts and opinions, and the response people give them is of little concern to him.

but his thoughts aren’t very coherent when they come to you. he’s not sure of even a single thing, in fact. sure, he knows he likes you—really, really likes you. but sometimes, he contemplates if he’s fallen in love with you. he can’t tell, if he’s being honest, because he’s never been in love before. it’s uncharted waters for even someone as knowledgeable as him.

and then there’s the more difficult part. he’s not sure if you feel the same, or if you’d respond positively to the idea of his developed feelings. logic tells him you’re kind, compassionate, deeply understanding. perhaps you’d let him down gently and still consider him a good friend if you don’t feel the same. but for some reason, there’s an illogical part of him. one he doesn’t recognize. one that tells him that you might walk away and never look twice in his direction again as soon as you realize the nature of his feelings.

logic doesn’t win in his mind for once. it hasn’t for a very long time. it’s why he doesn’t tell you for so long how he feels.but tonight he plans to change that.

regardless of your feelings, requited or unrequited, alhaitham will tell you how he feels. he owes you that much, for all the careful care and deduction you put into handling his drunk self. for all the meals you made and let him eat before letting him crash on your couch. for all the cups of coffee you made his hungover self as you carefully tiptoed around your own home so the noise wouldn’t disturb his pounding head.

he clears his throat, fiddling with his fingers as he stares at his feet.

“do you want to come in?” you offer.

he shakes his head. “i don’t think that’s a good idea. i came…i came to say something.”

“i see,” you nod, “then by all means, share what you have to say.”

it’s not so easy. not when he tries to plan the words in his head as he walks to your home, and not when he’s standing before you. alhaitham is a linguist. he speaks over twenty languages, some of which are known to be romantic by nature. he’s read the divinest of poems and decoded the most complicated of hieroglyphics. he, of all people, should excel in putting words together.

but his tongue feels like sandpaper in his mouth as he stares at you, though. distantly, he’s aware he must look stupid. standing here, silent and stiff as you stand by your door and wait for him to spit out what he has to say.

so he says the first thing he can think—and it makes his face burn as soon as he realizes what he says. “your sabz meat stew is my favorite.”

you grin, chuckling in amusement as you murmur, “oh my, i’m flattered. you came all this way to praise my cooking?”

“n-no,” he sighs in embarrassment, “that…that’s not what i meant.”

you hum, smiling at him softly as you patiently wait for him to speak again. a part of him feels like you’re aware of something, something that maybe even he’s not aware of himself. but he doesn’t want to dwell on that—perhaps your knowledge is a product of his drunken rambles, and he’s not sure he wants to even begin imagining what that might look like. what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

“well, if you must know,” you giggle, “i enjoy making your favorite for you.”

“i enjoy your stew,” he mumbles, concentrating for a moment before his face hardens with determination and he looks at you, “i enjoy waking up on your couch, and drinking your coffee, and the way you hum when you get ready for the day. it’s enjoyable because it’s you.”

you process his words for a moment before smile slowly, eyeing him with wonder as you break into a fit of giggles. he doesn’t have time to dwell on whether or not you’re laughing at him because there’s an arm looping around his bicep, pulling him in past your door and pressing him against it as soon as it’s shut.

you’re close—it’s the first thing he notices, chest brushed against his chest as you look up at him with a fond, affectionate expression.

“you’re a smart man, alhaitham,” you murmur, “i’m sure you can figure out why i make your favorite every time you come. and make your coffee just how you like. and let you sleep in on my couch when i could be spending my morning enjoying the sun.”

he wants to tell you that he doesn’t feel very smart when he’s around you. it’s like logic is a foreign concept as soon as your smile invades his line of sight. but words are difficult enough to produce when you’re so close, he doesn’t think he could tell you even if he tried.

instead, he asks, “because you’re kind?”

“not kind enough to do groceries for two every weekend,” you chuckle. “unless…”

“unless…?” he asks breathlessly.

“unless it’s you, silly,” you snort. “do fill in the lines, will you?”

he allows himself to hope. because it doesn’t take logic to let himself hope you feel the same way he does.

“if…” he takes a deep breath, taking a moment to contemplate before boldly settling his hands on your hips, “if i come here next week sober, would you still open the door for me?”

“of course,” you whisper.

“if i came whenever i wanted, would you still open the door for me?” he asks, eyes peering into yours desperately, begging you to tell him what he wants to hear.

you sigh, gently cupping his cheeks as he closes his eyes and shudders. “always,” you breathe, “will you come?”

“yes,” he nods. his shoulders slump—in relief and in pure bliss as he lets his head drop to the crook of your neck, pressing his nose into your warm skin as you cradle the back of his head. “because i enjoy coming home to you.”

“and i enjoy welcoming you home,” you murmur.

and it’s at the same time that you kiss the side of his head and he kisses the soft skin of your neck, a stumbling mess of limbs pressed against one another as you both find your way to collapse on your familiar couch.

KAMISATO AYATO

it’s midnight when there’s a knock on your door. it’s rushed, an incessant tapping against the surface that almost has you concerned, but the familiar face through the peephole eases your worries.

and then it hits you—ayato is here. beyond the question of how he has the time to visit you so unexpectedly, there’s the concern of what people might think if he’s seen here so late, standing outside your door.

“ayato? why are you here?” you look at him in confusion as you open the door, eyebrows furrowing as he smiles at you.

“well, hello. such an enthusiastic greeting you’ve afforded me,” he says playfully, making you roll your eyes. “won’t you even invite me in?”

“well, come on then,” you huff, “it’s always something or another with you.”

“whatever do you mean?” he gasps, a hand pressing to his chest in mock hurt, “i’ve simply come to have a heartfelt conversation.”

“at this hour?” you cross your arms, scoffing at his timing. still, you could never turn him away.

it’s not of any trouble to you—ayato knows it too. but there’s something oddly vulnerable about having him in your home, and unexpectedly at that. suddenly, everything feels out of place and untidy to you, a contrast to the large, sophisticated estate you’re sure he must be used to. you shift on your feet, feeling the scrutinizing gaze of someone as important as the yashiro commissioner, standing in your small home where you have nowhere to hide.

“ah,” he nods in amusement, “how impolite of me. shall i take my departure, then?”

“i could hardly turn the yashiro commissioner away without allowing him to speak,” you shake your head, fighting back a smile as he grins. “pray tell, what could have prompted such a spontaneous visit?”

“i’d like to ask for your hand,” he says bluntly.

you blink, gaping at him in disbelief. ayato has never been cruel—in fact, he’s always been much the opposite. especially to you. he’s become painfully important, a friendship you’ve never expected but cannot fathom existing without now that you have him.

but something about this feels cruel, like he’s aware of the deeper feelings you’ve accidentally let surface in the process, feelings you try to push back desperately. how could the yashiro commissioner be seen with someone so far from his realm? someone so disconnected from his world and status?

you furrow your brows, looking at him unimpressed as you murmur, “that’s hardly funny, ayato. be serious.”

“i am serious,” he tilts his head, “i, kamisato ayato, would like to ask for your hand, milady. if you would be so kind, that is.”

his hand is offered to you—and something in your aches to reach for it. to feel his fingers intertwined with yours, to feel the rough calluses of his hands from years of swordsmanship, to feel the gentle warmth of his palm pressed up against yours.

“i-in marriage?” you ask in utter confusion.

he chuckles, hand still outstretched as he raises an eyebrow. “well, i figured marriage would be a bit sudden, but far be it from me to deny such an enthusiastic idea.”

you’re not sure why (or maybe you are, and you simply hate to admit it), but there’s a burning sting in the back of your eyes. something bubbling between humiliation and hurt and flooding in the form of tears as you stare at him unsure if he’s lost his mind, or if he’s simply joking at your expense.

ayato has never made you feel like a victim of casual cruelty from his end, so a small part of you wonders if he’s truly serious. but the more logical part of you tells you that if not a mere attempt at playfulness, what else could this be?

“this isn’t funny,” you whisper, voice small. “i hardly find such pranks entertaining, ayato. i thought you to be better than that.”

it’s silent. deafeningly so, in fact.

his hand drops—slowly, hesitant as he eyes you in uncertainty. he takes a step towards you, closing the distance enough to notice every small detail of your face, but leaving enough of a gap so as not to overstep.

“i hardly find any entertainment in offering myself up, either,” he murmurs, “do reject me gently if you intend to. i’m afraid my age is catching up to me—i have a weak heart.”

“you’re hardly old,” you snort, watching him suppress a smile as he studies you. “you’re really being serious?”

“do you doubt me?”

“i suppose not,” you whisper. his hand extends to you again, something hopeful in his eyes, something almost desperate as he stares at you and waits for you to finally take it in your grasp.

your hand slowly finds his, fingertips grazing those calluses you’ve noticed for so long, rough and firm under the delicateness of your touch. finally, it hits you he came without gloves on, and you realize it must be for the chance of feeling your skin against his, bare touch with no fabric to separate either of you.

you feel him, taking in the years and years of training that show through such toughened skin, and he watches you carefully as you trace along his palm before flattening your own against him, slowly lacing your fingers together.

“i have found the man who attacked you,” he says quietly, “and i’m ashamed to admit the…unsavory methods i was prepared to take to punish his crimes.”

“i hope you wouldn’t stoop to such levels for me,” you say quietly.

“i fear there isn’t much i wouldn’t resort to for your safety,” he admits.

“i’m hardly worth such trouble,” you shake your head, smiling softly as you reach over and cup his cheek, thumb brushing gently against the mole you’ve always ached to feel. whether from the brush of your lips or from the graze of your thumb, you’ve always wondered how it’d feel. “there are much more worthy women to be the object of your affections, my lord.”

“ayato,” he corrects. it sounds like a plead, if you listen carefully. “and not to me,” he shakes his head. “it’s you i desire. i’m afraid i cannot concentrate on my duties until i have you. the nation shall befall a most unfortunate fate if i must suffer a single night more without having you.”

“i’m starting to think i am the only hope inazuma has left,” you roll your eyes, staring at him in wonder, “it seems it has fallen to me to ensure we have a functioning yashiro commissioner.”

“i do hope you’ll take such responsibilities seriously.” his hand lays over your own, keeping your touch in place as he leans his face into your palm further, closing his eyes and relishing in your touch.

“oh, ayato,” you chuckle breathlessly, eyes watery as you step closer, closing the gap until your chest presses against his. you wonder if he can hear the rapid thrumming of your heart, if he can feel it. “you’ll be the death of me.”

“i should hope not,” he chuckles, leaning closer and closer until his lips hover over yours, just a millimeter away from brushing against them, “i fear for my own sanity should such an ill fate come before you.”

“oh kiss me, you fool,” you scoff tiredly at his antics.

he doesn’t waste a moment, pressing his lips hungrily against yours, hands wandering to your waist and instantly pulling you closer, fitting his palm to cradle the small of your back. he chases your lips frantically when you pull away, a low grunt of disapproval rumbling from his chest before he plants his lips against yours once more. he kisses you like he’s crossed oceans upon oceans to find you, fixed on keeping you not more than a fingertips distance away at all times so that he’ll never lose you again.

and finally—finally, once he’s decided he’s sufficiently stolen the air from your lungs, he allows you to pull back and breathe.

“i’m afraid i can be a rather overbearing lover,” he murmurs against your lips, pecking them lightly. “you’ll hardly be free of me should i desire your company.”

you chuckle, leaning to kiss his mole softly, cradling his face. “i believe i’ll find a way to cope,” you grin.

ayato was fun to write last time, and he was just as fun to write this time and i am realizing i have some real hidden feelings for the man the more i write him. i really enjoy doing his dialogue, though i’m not sure if i do it justice. i sure hope i do 🥹

#writing tag #wriothesley x reader #neuvillette x reader #alhaitham x reader #ayato x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #wriothesley x you #neuvillette x you #alhaitham x you #ayato x you #genshin impact x you #genshin x you #wriothesley fluff #neuvillette fluff #alhaitham fluff #ayato fluff #genshin fluff #genshin impact fluff

[grcnseer]

Surfeit of Thorns ➢ Aegon II Targaryen

synopsis :: As his twin you’d always had strong bond with your older brother Aegon, understanding one another in a way many could not comprehend. However, when the king passes and others push for his right to the iron throne, you’re left wondering if anything was truly as you believed it to be.

pairing: Aegon ii Targaryen x twin!Reader

warning(s): targcest, angsty, fem!reader, aegon gets horny when sad, switches galore, SMUT, no beta we die like stannis

note: Here’s my first piece of work for hotd, I truly hope you all enjoy it! I’m still fleshing out the characters so go easy on me. Of course likes, reblogs & comments are always welcome. Requests are currently open so feel free to send a raven!

The chamber door rattled, wood splintering to the point you were worried it would give before it ceased completely. You held your breath and didn’t dare chance moving. Surely he hadn’t given up? It wasn’t in his nature to not get his way. Risking a few steps closer to the door, your ears were ringing as you waited with bated breath.

“Please, sweet sister.” A low whine pierced the silence. “You’re being cruel.”

Heat licked up your spine, urging you forward as you landed a fist against the frame. “I’m being cruel? You left me! After all I’ve done for you— all I’ve given for you, you’re a coward!”

“Unbar the door!” He snapped, tone dropping as he allowed his anger to seep through. “I am king now. I will have it broken down if need be.”

Of course he would. 

Aegon had never shown respect for anything. It was foolish to believe yourself any different. You took a deep breath, trying your best to steady your hand as you lifted the lock. There was barely a chance to step away before it shoved open and Aegon rounded on you. 

His hands grasped at your waist, fingertips biting so sharp you were sure there would be bruises come morrow. You shoved against his chest despite the urge to succumb to the warmth seeping from him. “You’re drunk.”

“You abandoned me.” He countered, shoving a finger in your face before ripping himself away from you. “And now you’re angry with me? When I’ve done what you’ve wanted all along?"

You were utterly baffled by his statement, shock evedant on your face as you held his gaze. “Pray tell when I have ever abandoned you? This is not what I wanted!”

In all your years you had stood beside your brother. From birth you had been his shadow. He was older by a few moments, but you had been there all the same. You defended him, took blame for him— you would never abandon him. But he had abandoned you.

“You told me to make a decision because you were tired of waiting!” He seethed, arm lashing out and knocking the contents of your vanity to the ground. Jewelry scattered across the stone floor. “Now that I’ve done what you asked you’ve avoided me! You’ve asked mother to consider a betrothal!”

“Aemond told me!” You closed the distance between you, fists clenching at your side, “he told me that he found you hiding, waiting for the chance to slip aboard a ship! That you offered him the iron throne should he let you leave?”

His features twisted with annoyance, whether it was toward Aemond or yourself you couldn’t be sure. “That’s why you’re so angry? I would have come back for you!”

“Stop it.” You scoffed, not bothering to suppress the roll of your eyes. “I know you too well, brother. Or have you forgotten?”

His hands grasped at your face, cupping it between his palms. “Do you truly believe I could leave you behind? That I could leave Sunfyre behind? I would have returned after Aemond was crowned.”

You fought his hold, shaking your head and refusing to meet his gaze as he cooed over you. His grip did not let go. He had always been able to sway your thoughts with sweet words, playing on your hopes and the love you bore him. Aegon was selfish and would always put himself before all else, despite the way he was gently cradling your face. 

“Yes, I would have.” He forced you to meet his gaze, “I would have returned for you both and taken you away.” 

“It does not matter. You are king now.”

“It does matter!” Aegon pushed forward then, tangling his hand in the hair at the back of your head as he shoved you against the wall. You arched away from the cold stone, hips knocking against his and spurring a deep groan from him. His head dropped to the curve of your neck and lips brushed the sensitive skin as he spoke. “You will recant the betrothal and you will stay here, with me, where you belong.”

“And I will be stuck just as I was before, watching as you get your fill of whores and wine. Listening as mother urges you against them and into bed with your wife.”

“I begged her for you.” He whispered between hot kisses to your jaw. “Told her you were mine to wed, mine to take— mine to fuck.”

“And yet you haven’t.” You hissed, reaching up to wrap a hand around his throat. “Because I refuse to be your whore.” 

A smile played at his lips, amusement and arousal dancing in his gaze as he pushed into the contact. You didn’t want him to enjoy it. You wanted him to ache the way you had while watching him take the crown. As any hope of happiness slipped through your fingers.

You shoved him away and crossed the room, grasping the edge of your vanity with your back to him. From the corner of your eye, you watched as he filled the goblet on your bedside table and you cursed yourself for requesting a jug of sweet wine. He slumped in the nearest chair, drinking deeply from his cup. 

“You will not leave me.” He mumbled and for a moment you weren’t sure if he was speaking to you or himself. You twisted to face him, exhaustion washing over you in waves at the thought of continuing the argument, only to halt at the gleam in his eyes. “I will not allow it.”

You couldn’t be sure how long you stared at each other. An unspoken debate being held before you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. You crossed the space between you, plucking the cup from his grasp and downing the remaining liquid. “I’ve sacrificed every chance I could have had at happiness in hopes that something would change. Waiting for you to whisk me away and when the time came you ran.”

“I will annul my marriage.” It was so sudden, so baffling that you couldn’t help but laugh. A childish pout formed on his lips at the sound.

He lurched forward to snake his arms around your waist and pull you to straddle his lap; albeit clumsily as the chair nearly tipped when you fumbled on top of him. “If I am to say I wish to cast aside my wife and take you, who is to stop me?”

“Our mother and grandfather,” you countered, reaching out to cup his face in your hands. The week that had passed since his coronation gave you the time to accept the harsh reality of what would follow. All dreams of escape were ripped away as the threat of war lurked just outside the keep. “They wish to offer my hand to secure an alliance for the war they started.”

“There would be no war if not for me.” He sneered, pushing up until his chest was pressed to yours. “They will allow us to wed or I will give my crown to Rhaenyra.”

“It is not that simple—”

Any further attempt to dispute his claim was swallowed by his lips. His tongue forced into your mouth as his arms tightened around you, hands fisting your dress as if you would slip away the moment he let go. He held you impossibly and he rolled beneath you so you could feel his hot arousal pressing to your core. 

“Aegon—” You spoke against his lips, only to be caught off by a rough jolt of his hips. 

“Tell me what to do.” He begged, voice raising in pitch as he clung to you. “Please, don’t leave me— I’ll do anything you ask, just don’t go.”

Tears welled in your eyes as he dipped to bury his head in your chest, hopelessness returning with a vengeance as you laced your arms around his neck. For years you had danced around your feelings for Aegon, despite his never-ending attempts to claim you as his.

You couldn’t get past the guilt of allowing him in while your sister sat just as miserable in their marriage. It wouldn’t be fair and in your eyes, she deserved the world, let alone that sacrifice on your behalf.

“I know no other way. You must believe that I have searched.” You couldn’t hold the bitter laugh that broke through your words. “We should have left after that damned dinner.”

A hush fell over the room and the finality of your tone sank into his bones. A tremble rolled along his spine, hips rocking up to grind his hardening length against you and he let out a guttural moan. You gasped at the friction, arousal wracking your frame and you gripped the nape of his neck. “Aegon, we can’t.”

You resented the whine that lingered in your tone.

“We can.” He insisted, craning back to catch your mouth with his own. “If you are requesting leave then this,” he slotted himself fully against your wet heat, “will be your price. You’re going to come on my cock and when your husband takes that sweet cunt of yours it will be all you think of.”

You didn’t miss the way his lips curled at the mention of your undecided husband and the slick between your thighs increased at the possessive glint in his eyes. It would be easier to push away from him at that moment. To spare yourself the future torment of longing for a man that would never be within reach. Yet your mouth crashed against his in a heavy kiss, licking at the seam of his lips to request entrance that he eagerly allowed. 

Aegon’s hands pawed at you desperately, letting you explore his mouth. His tongue slid along yours, using his grasp on your hips to urge you into rhythm. “Fuck, I want those lips wrapped around my cock.”

The thought sends a flush of excitement through you, hands finding their way around his neck as you angled him to meet your gaze. “You don’t deserve my mouth on your cock.” His pupils were blown wide as you tightened your grip, only stopping when he let out a soft moan. “You’ll finish like this or you leave the way you are.”

You didn’t give him much time to think about it, increasing the pressure of your hips until his name slid past your lips. He let out a soft whimper, head dropping back against the chair. Tension hung heavy in the air as a line that had been drawn so long ago was crossed. 

Aegon had first kissed you after the celebration of your sixteenth name day. He had gotten last in his cups and caused a scene. Your mother had found you in the corridor, attempting to smuggle him away from her wrath with linked fingers and a harsh tug. His lip was bloodied by the time you arrived at his chambers and after you dabbed it away he asked if you loved him.

You had been shocked by the question, of course you loved him, why else would you bother with his antics? Then he closed the space between, hissing at the sting of his lip but not breaking away. 

His betrothal to Helaena was announced soon after.

“Lift your skirts at least,” he begged, palming at your thighs in an attempt to move the heavy fabric. “Please, I need to touch you.”

If you weren’t just as desperate to feel him you would have said no. Instead you pulled until the material was hitched and fell behind the dip of your thighs, exposing them to his hungry gaze. He wasted little time gripping your flesh and arched up to catch you in a sloppy kiss. His hip bucked, spurring a moan from you both. 

“Fuck— ‘s not enough, I need more,” Aegon lurched forward, knees hitting the ground as he sunk his teeth into the flesh of your breast. Your back was barely cushioned by the rug beneath you and the air was knocked from your lungs. His speed increased, rubbing your clit with deep and desperate thrusts. 

“My cock aches for you.” You were both panting, heat filling the room as you flattened your feet and lifted to meet him. A broken moan ripped from his throat and he smack a palm against your bare thigh, “take it— it’s always been yours.”

You took a sharp breath, brow furrowing at his words. Take it. You knocked the arm that was holding him up, using the bow of his elbow as you pushed forward.

He fell to his back, eyes snapping open in surprise as you straddled his lap. The words playing at his lips vanished as you grasped his throat and bent to meet him with a glare. “Don’t lie, it’s unbecoming of a king.”

Aegon laughed and you were quick to cut it off with a squeeze of your fist. He let out a choked moan, hips lifting desperately for relief, but you held steady against him. His hands grasped your hips and before he could take control you fumbled for his wrists. 

You never thought there would be a time you were thankful for your twin's weakness. A simple roll of your hips was enough to gain the upper hand and you pinned his arms beside his head. Before he could whine in protest you covered his mouth with your own, teeth knocking as you grinded against him. His tongue pushed past your lips, luring you closer and sucking at your bottom lip until it was red and swollen. 

A particularly harsh thrust sent you spiraling, heat filling your chest as you broke away to release a pitched moan. His head dipped between your breast, licking at the skin before biting until he was positive you would be marked by him. 

“I love you,” Aegon mumbled between kisses, followed by a whisper of your name as his cock twitched against your cunt. You tangled your hands in his matted silver curls and leaned back until you could see his face. His eyes were glazed, a sheen of tears glistening in the candlelight, and the pure need creasing his features sent a spark of pleasure straight to your core.

The only sounds were shallow breaths and frantic open-mouthed kisses as you chased your highs. You were soaking through his breeches, the material sticking to you both as his length settled between your folds. Synchronized moans bounced off the walls. 

“Love me,” he begged breathlessly.

“I do!” You hissed, tugging at his locks while your peak washed over you in waves. White flashed behind your lids, a far-off cry of his name ringing in your ears as you pulse against him. 

Aegon’s thrusts were wild, nearly lifting you from the ground until he lost rhythm completely. He growled as he spilled, chest heaving while his cock twitched and jumped between your thighs.

Your head dropped against his shoulder, ghosting kisses against his collarbone until he slumped beneath you. He collapsed to the ground with a laugh, arms snaking around your frame to keep you tucked against him. 

“How do you expect me to let you go now, sweet sister?”

#aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #hotd x reader #hotd smut #aegon targaryen smut #hotd.works🕯 #oneshots♟ #help what is this #shame shame shame #surfeit of thorns verse #sot verse #works

[chaiiitime]

A smutty homage to Daniel’s beard

Warning : 18+, sexual content

Her breath stuttered, catching on a moan. “Daniel …” she whimpered as she tipped her body forward, her hands catching on the wrought-iron of their headboard, her clit sliding perfectly over the bump on the bridge of his nose.

She looked down at him, eyes heavy-lidded with singular focus as he placed a wet open-mouthed kiss right at the centre of her. It was an indecent sight, his dark full beard against her bare cunt.

Her pussy clenched when she lifted herself up slightly from his mouth and saw how her slick clung to the hairs of his beard, how Daniel’s tongue snaked out and licked along his upper lip, catching any drops of her arousal as if he couldn’t bear wasting any of her taste.

His nose slid along her pussy, parting her folds as his tongue delved deep inside of her, gathering her honeyed slick before he circled her clit. His tongue curled around her sensitive bundle of nerves — wet, hot and rough.

Her body jolted, an electrifying bolt of pleasure coursing through her core as he sucked her clit into his mouth, his teeth scraping over her. She could feel him smirking against her as she let out a keening sound.

“You like that, don’t you?” He said smugly as he bit her inner thigh, the soft skin there already abraded by his beard.

She nodded dumbly, so out of it as she was with pleasure. A soft litany of moans and gasps fell from her lips as she all but rutted against Daniel’s face. He groaned as if she was a feast laid out only for him, the sound vibrating through her core and spurring her on.

Her hips undulated desperately over him now, bordering almost on erratic. She’d forgotten that Daniel could see every single of her imperfections from this position — the stretch marks along her hips, the way her belly was not as flat as she would have liked. She was mindless of how her breasts swayed with her movements, instead revelling almost in the wanton image she painted for him.

Daniel slid his hands up the back of her thighs, gripping her ass and bringing her impossibly closer to him, slowing her movements down so that he could concentrate his efforts, take his time to bring her to the edge.

He knew how to read her body, knew when to go faster, when she needed a little pain to tip her over. Her thighs tensed around his head, his nose was so deep in her cunt, he could barely breathe. He fucking loved eating her pussy, fucking loved being surrounded by her wet heat, fucking loved indulging in her sweet taste.

Daniel wanted to push her body to its limit, knew what he wanted from her as his hand came around her thigh and he thrust two long fingers inside of her. Her walls fluttered around him as he rubbed the spongy spot he knew by heart. He was soon rewarded as her walls clamped down on his digits and she let out a moan that seemed to come from deep within her.

Then she was coming, waves after waves as she squirted. She couldn’t seem to stop as Daniel lapped up her juices, making desperate sounds as his fingers caught her arousal that was dripping down her thighs and she watched in fascination as he licked it off his fingers.

Body limped, she slouched to the side and looked at Daniel in shock. His beard was drenched with her … her cum and she watched as a drop of clear liquid rolled down his throat, mixing with his sweat. It ignited a sort of shameless dirty pleasure inside of her that had her questioning the person Daniel had turned her into.

Daniel looked at the shocked pleasure on her face and laughed. They’d played at making her squirt before, after Daniel had shown her a video and she’d tentatively let him play out his little kink. He hadn’t thought the second time would be so easy.

He threaded his hand in her hair, bringing her close for a messy kiss, letting her taste herself on his tongue. He rubbed his beard that smelled like her along her neck, over her breasts, spreading her own juices over her body as she moaned helplessly.

Then, he tugged her head back and looked into her eyes. “My beard is all dirty, you better clean it,” he demanded as he tilted his head back slightly, presenting his throat and chin to her.

THE NEXT MORNING she walked in on Daniel standing in front of the sink in the bathroom, a towel loosely wrapped around his hips and a razor in his hand.

“What are you doing?” She asked incredulously.

He looked at her confused. “Shaving,” he said.

“Why?” Her voice was almost indignant.

“What do you mean why? The beard has started to scratch, so I’m shaving it off.”

“Are you mad?” She said as she grabbed his wrist and steered him away from the sink. “Sit,” she ordered as she pushed him into the wooden stool in the bathroom. She moved around, wetting a hand towel with warm water and grabbed the small bottle of her precious argan oil from the cupboard.

She straddled him as Daniel’s hands wrapped around her to hold her securely against him. She placed the warm towel on the lower half of his face, letting the warmth soften his whiskers.

“Feels good?” She asked and Daniel hummed. He watched with a smile as she placed the towel aside and dripped some of the oil onto her hand. He tilted his head back, letting her pamper him.

She started at his neck, where the whiskers were rougher, pricklier and worked her way up. She framed his sharp jawline with her hands, carding her fingers through the hairs at his chin, where they grew a bit longer. The hairs here were not as rough, they were springy to the touch, almost soft.

Her thumbs softly massaged along his upper lip. November was her favourite month of the year when he shaved down the sides of his beard and grew out his moustache. It wasn’t that it didn’t look sleazy on him, it was the slight sleaziness that made it look so hot on him. The moustache hugged the curve of his Cupid’s bow, and brought out the poutiness of his bottom lip. Above all else, she loved how it tickled her when he kissed her, when he was eating her out in other secret places.

“There, done,” she said as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Is it still scratchy?”

Daniel smiled indulgently at her. “You know the beard would have grown back in two days if I had shaved it off right?”

“I know,” she said as she bumped her nose against his. “But it would have been a shame to miss out on those two days when the season is starting soon and you’ll be away from me.”

“Then we shouldn’t be wasting any time now, should we?” Daniel murmured in her ear as he lifted her up and carried her to the bedroom, his towel coming undone on the way.

#daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo fanfic #daniel ricciardo smut #f1 fanfic #f1 smut

[whyse7vn]

KIM SEOKJIN

RIGHT:

The moment doesn’t feel real.

You stare up at the white ceiling. The room is dark you can barely see it.

It’s late. How late?

You turn your head to the left a small digital clock now in view.

11:45 PM

It’s late.

The moment doesn’t feel real.

It’s like you’re here but you’re not here.

Your gaze is on the ceiling again. Your laying on your back, fingers intertwined resting on your stomach. Your mind thinks back to the clock.

The clock, there’s a shift in the covers next to you, that’s not your clock. Your eyebrows furrow, there’s another shift.

Oh

right.

That isn’t your clock. This isn’t your bed. You turn your head to the right. His back is to you. This isn’t your house.

“Jin?”

“Mmh?”

His response is instant. He turns around and cuddles into the side of your body. His head now rests in the crook of your neck. You can feel his breath on your skin. His right arm wraps around your torso.

Suddenly you’re hyper aware of everything. The clothes you wear despite being Jin’s and way too big for you, feel as if they’re tightening around your skin. The room feels busy. Your body is hot. The part of Jin’s body that rests ontop of you feels as if it’s burning.

You tell yourself this is normal. The sharing a bed part, the cuddling part. Ten years of friendship makes this normal, for you guys anyways too many secrets shared too many embarrassing moments witnessed to freak out over such trivial things.

Ten years of friendship.

Friendship?

Today felt like anything but ten years of friendship. He had cooked for you

just for you

on valentine’s day. No questions asked no plans made he just did.

He didn’t know you were coming but still did. For you.

Just for you.

You laughed, danced a little, drank a little, cleaned together, watched a movie and now you’re in bed together.

Just as friends?

No. There was too much tension in the air today, way too much tension. Sure Jin has never really shown any outward romantic interest in you like say Jungkook and Taehyung have but then again not everyone is Jungkook and Taehyung and not everyone shows affection and like Jungkook and Taehyung do.

Maybe you’re overthinking this. No you’re definitely overthinking this. You shouldn’t even be thinking about this.

Not even a full week ago you—

Guilty.

You feel guilty now, real fucking guilty.

You breath quickens. Your mind spiralling.

Taehyung and you just— and what about Jaehyun? Would Yoongi be mad? Is Hobi really ok? You should call Jimin but have you been ignoring Kook? what about Joon?? Isn’t it Jaehyuns birthday today? And Jin—

“Hey”

His voice gentle

concerned.

It brings you out of your spiral almost instantly.

“I’m here, don’t cry i’m here”

You were crying? You hadn’t even noticed.

Jin now sits up on his side, one arm supports his weight the other gently wipes your tears away.

“Breathe with me baby, breathe you can do that f’me can’t you?”

You nod your head not trusting your voice in the moment. Tears cloud your vision. You breathe.

Nothing feels real.

“There you go, doing so well let’s slow down a little yeah? It’s just you and me i got you nothings gonna hurt you i promise”

You wordlessly nod once more and attempt to slow down your breathing.

A few “Good girl”’s and “I’m here”’s later your tears stop and your breathing is back to a somewhat normal pace.

You’re embarrassed.

“I’m sorr—”

“You don’t need to apologise”

Your hands cover your face.

“What’s on your mind?”

It’s such a simple question but it almost brings you to tears once more.

What’s on your mind?

What isn’t?

Who isn’t?

You feel disgusting. Like a whore.

It’s ironic really. You’ve been called a whore for practically your whole career by fans, friends the media sometimes as a joke other times not. But you’ve never really felt like a whore sure you’ve done your fair share of sleeping around couple dates here and there but you’ve never felt as gross as you do now.

What’s on your mind?

You think back to Jin’s question.

“You” Its partly true.

“Me?”

“Yeah”

There a beat of silence.

You’re the one to break it.

“Do you think…

i’m a bad person?”

“I could never think you’re a bad person”

He pauses.

“We could never think you’re a bad person”

“We?”

“The remaining 6 of us i don’t need to name them do i?”

He smiles at you.

You frown, you’re not convinced.

“You don’t know that though”

“I know”

“Even if—”

“Even if. Especially if.”

“What?” You’re caught off guard by his answer.

“You don’t even know what i was gonna say”

“I have my theories”

“Which are?”

“How about we got theory for theory?”

“You’re the one with the theories i’m the one with the facts”

“I guess you’re right”

“I normally am”

“Normally?”

“Yeah…don’t really know if i’ve been doing things right lately”

“Why?”

You sigh.

What do you have to lose?

You look him in the eyes.

now or never

“I-i slept with Taehyung”

“And that wasn’t right?”

“Well it was. It-it felt right it was right but i didn’t just sleep with him it was more than that and-and now i’m here with you...”

“Being with me isn’t right?”

“No! i’m not saying that i’m just saying being with you right feels right too and that isn’t right”

Jin doesn’t speak.

“Like i’m feeling things for too many people and that isn’t right”

You’re met with silence again. You feel defeated. You feel stupid. You feel exposed.

“Says who?”

You look at Jin puzzled.

“Well technically no one? but thinking about everyone’s feelings tells me it’s not right”

“Now that’s not right, personally i see no wrong in you feeling right with Tae and me”

“Really?”

“Really”

“You know when i say right i mean feelings? like i mean romantic feelings“

“I know”

He caresses your face.

“I’ve known”

His last sentence hits you hard for some reason. He’s known? He’s known that you were talking about romantic feelings? Or he’s known it’s not just him and Taehyung? Maybe he had known that you never really liked Jaehyun as much as you should have? Perhaps he had known you feel guilty? Known you can barely look yourself in the mirror anymore? Or is it that he had known you almost found yourself at Jimin’s apartment today?

“You don’t owe anyone anything you know that right?”

Your eyes sting. He continues.

“You shouldn’t feel like you have to choose. I would never make you choose. I know you need the other members as much as they need you as much as i need you. If being with them feels right as much as it feels right being with me who am i to deny you?”

There’s so much you could say right now. So many things you want to say, to ask. You open your mouth to speak but the words don’t seem to find you.

You bite your lip, tears spot your vision once more. You’ve cried an awful lot today first tears of guilt and now tears of sadness? Or perhaps it’s relief? You’re unsure.

Just like you’re unsure on whether this moment is real or not. Unsure if you’re even here. Unsure if this is right.

You can barely make out Jin’s figure between your watery vision and the darkness of the room. His hand now strokes your hair.

“Thank you” The only words you’re able to say. You don’t even know what you’re thanking him for or if you’re even thanking him.

“Thank you” You repeat. The only words that feel right to say in this moment.

He kisses your forehead “Let’s get some sleep yeah?”

—

1.3k words of pure shit my fault guys 😅🤗

if it wasn’t clear this was valentine’s day here for context

tags: @piw6n @92jinnies @birdie-vhs @kooksmilitarywife @hob3loveofmylife @jujubiism @bloopkook @ratchetpizza1 @myntalks @arloo00 @watamotee33 @y2kcy3brz @taiwan0618 @freyadanvers @gguksbeloved @raetf @bbsantc @winuvs @medicinemybish @bxnnyhime @leleluvsbts @baetukki @zyaaaszn @thelilbutifulthings @jazminethecreator @k4ngelz @jmnscutie @threeopossumsinacoat @cynicalyoongs @lightningpussy54 @eunthv @gigiiiiislife @lowkeykin @elissasimp @socksfirstalways @knjlvr06 @lailaisarmy @thvkives @xstfudaisyx @xxxanimangxxx @solstice34 @ml8dy @hoeforseoks

#!gc jin #!gc seokjin #kim seokjin #gc offline #jin x reader #jin x you #jin x y/n #bts x reader #bts x you #bts x y/n #bts text #bts imagines #bts fluff #bts crack

[world-of-aus]

Warnings: None.

Author's Note: Chapter one of A Second Chance At Life, it's been a hot minute since I've worked on a series so hopefully I haven't lost it! Thank you all for reading and I truly hope you enjoy this piece. Happy Readings!

Bucky’s on the iron gate, Steve, Sam, and Natasha all by his side as they watch you in the gated arena with Grant. His boy has the brightest smile Bucky thinks he’s ever seen grace his son’s lips; it almost mirrors the one he gets when he sees Natasha waiting for him on the porch with his uncle Steve.  

Grant had been excited this morning to show his uncles and aunt his rope work and had been even more thrilled to show his skills when he discovered there was a guest joining them. A guest Bucky hadn’t been aware was coming till Steve dumped the news on him ten minutes before your arrival with the redhead Steve called his wife. He had been livid with his best pal when he discovered the reason for you joining them this morning. 

‘I don’t need your help with this Steve I told you last night I was going to get on it, and I will get on it.’ 

‘Buck you have a lot on your plate, Natasha just wanted to help, let us help you with this.’ 

Bucky had struggled to bite back the ‘but he’s my son’ that laid on his tongue, his face becoming stoic, cold as he glared down his friend. He hadn’t budged a bit, not even when Natasha brought you through the house to introduce you to the brooding brunette, the scowl on his features unmoving despite the warm smile on yours. His son Grant, god bless his soul had made up for his father's bad mood, bounding up to you with a smile as warm as yours and an all too cheerful greeting. 

He should have dropped his mood then, watching the way you got down to grants level to take his hand in yours exchanging a greeting that rivaled the one he had with his Aunt Tasha. You had taken a few minutes to get to know the boy before you, displaying just as much enthusiasm as his son did while he told you all about the arena they had out back. 

They had all been surprised when Grant all but pulled you along through the house, not even waiting for his dad or his uncles as he bolted with you out the back door to the gated arena.  

“She’s good with our boy Barnes, look at him he’s absolutely smitten.” Sam chuckled watching you help Grant get the rope over his head like Bucky had shown him just yesterday. Bucky grunted under his breath but continued to watch, hearing your quiet words of encouragement to the boy. The five of you watched the boy twirl the rope a few more times before he attempted the throw, Grants shoulders falling when the rope didn’t quite reach where he had hoped.  

The broad-shouldered brunette is all but ready to jump over the fence and get to his boy, but Steve’s hands clap his shoulder keeping him in place. He turns to glare at his best friend but Steve is redirecting his attention back to the arena. You’ve got both of Grant's hands in yours dipping your head even lower to meet his downtrodden gaze, he can’t quite make out what you’re saying but you’re surprising all of them when you get the rope in your hands. Grant seems to chirp up and this time Bucky can hear you holding his so to a promise not to laugh. 

The way you get the rope over your head says you’ve done this before, but he can see the way you hold back. Grants cheering you on like you did him, and when he shouts for you to throw, well Bucky’s never seen a more half-ass throw than the one you produced. He watches with amusement in his eyes as his son freezes mid jump small hands smacking over his mouth as he stifles his giggles. You put on quite the act for his boy Bucky will give you that Grant absolutely taken with you as he comforts you like you did to him. 

“Looks like I’ve got some more work to do to get on your level bud.” 

“My daddy can teach you! My daddy’s great at helping me, he’s got me to where I am now right dad?” 

All eyes having seemingly fallen on him, “come on dad come show y/n! Please!” Bucky really wishes he could’ve learned how to say no to his sons requests at times but he knows that’s not the case when he finds himself begrudgingly climbing the fence stomping his feet over to where the two of you stand. 

Grant can hardly contain his excitement, “you’ll get it this time y/n, dads the best there is!” 

 Bucky pulls his sour mood out of his ass for his son, though you’ve done nothing wrong for him to be so stoic with you his walls are just much to high for anyone to get in. You take it in stride allowing him to guide you, engaging with Grant when he jumps in to add something his father has taught him. 

Bucky knows this isn’t your first time holding a rope he can feel it, can see it in your movements. Though you continue to act like you haven’t, asking questions here and there not only to him but his son as well. When’s he’s got you swinging the rope he points out to the exact same spot he did to Grant yesterday, the same one he tried to aim for today.  

It's quiet except for the whoosh of the rope above your head, Bucky sees the moment you start to falter the rope, but when his sons hopeful voice flits up into the air he feels you lock it in, your aim precise as the rope goes flying. When it hits the marker Bucky knows this isn’t your first time, but he doesn’t mention it, instead watches Grant run at your legs his cheers filling your ears, and though you’ve just met his son you get your arms around him the best that you can. 

“Did it for both of us bud, say you wanna give it another try now that your dad’s here?” 

“You’ll watch me?” Grant asks, and Bucky watches you drop to his level, “Of course, I'll be right here.” You inch over to let Bucky level himself with his son, Natasha, Sam and Steve having entered the arena to join them, Natasha is at your side, Steve and Sam rallying around Grant as they help Bucky with his boy. 

The five of you watch the boy swing the rope eyes on the prize as determination sets in. Time slows when Grant releases the rope, all eyes on the twine sailing in the wind, it thuds, picking up dirt around it. Grants aim? Spot on. The small, gated arena explodes in cheers as the five of you get to your feet cheering Grant on. 

“Did you see it! Did you see it! I did it! I did it!” 

There’s a chorus of agreement all around as you continue to cheer the boy on, his excitement contagious as Bucky hoists him high. “Think that deserves some riding time.” Bucky exclaims. The light in his boy’s eyes is worth it all, “can y/n ride with us?” All eyes fall to her, even Bucky’s, his features soften, his son had warmed up to you instantly, and his son was a great judge of character so maybe he could too. “Would you like to join us?” he finds himself asking. 

“Of course, if it’s no trouble to you.” 

Bucky nod’s, “you ever ride before y/n?” Sam questions from next to Steve. “I’ve ridden a few times, wouldn’t say I’m as professional as Roger’s but I’m fairly decent.” 

“Can I ride with y/n?” Grant questions wiggling in his fathers hold 

Bucky meets your gaze for a brief second before your finding his son’s gaze again, “Only if it’s okay with your dad.” 

He knows everyone's looking at him now, “you hold tight to those reigns, and no horseplaying Grant.” He says setting his son down. 

“Yes sir I promise!” Bucky watches his son grab your hand again all but pulling you out of the arena and towards the barn. 

Steve, Sam, and Natasha gather around their friend as they look after the two of you, “so what do you think Barnes,” the redhead questions with a grin, “how’s she doing so far, you think she’s qualified enough to care for our Grant?” 

He grunts under his breath, “she’s alright, don’t know about qualified just yet, it's only been an hour.” 

“Good thing we have some time.” she responds with a laugh moving forward to make her way towards the barn. 

“She’s a really great person buck, Natasha wouldn’t have brought her along otherwise” Steve adds. 

“Yeah man,” Sam agrees, “and she’s great with kids too Cass and Aj love her, always asking Sarah and I about her.” 

Bucky hums in thought as the three of them walk into the barn, Natasha on one horse, you and Grant on another, the boy secure in your hold as you maneuver the horse forward. 

“Y/n and I are gonna go get a head start with Lil man, try not to be a couple of rotten eggs.” Natasha grins, Grant giggling at his aunts words. 

“I’ll make sure to be very careful with him Bucky,” you say meeting his eyes. 

And you were, Grant was your focus as you rode along open land of the farm, your arms tucked protectively around the boy careful with him like you had promised. Bucky had never seen his boy so happy, well that was a lie, he had seen that glee before, had seen it with Natasha, Steve, Sam, had seen it every day that he got to spend with his boy.  

“You feeling alright Barnes?” 

Bucky looks over his shoulder watching Natasha saddle up to him with chestnut, he reaches out to run his fingers along the horses. 

“Just thinkin is all.” he replies looking back out to the vast field where you follow after Steve, Grant’s laughter filling the air as you give his uncle chase. 

“She’s good with him,” Natasha notes watching the same scene with him, “she is,” he agrees. “But -” 

Bucky sighs, “I’m scared I'm doing wrong by him Nat, this is the first year that he won’t be out there on the road with me, what if something happens and I’m not there, what if needs me and I’m not there.” 

Natasha reaches out squeezing his shoulder, “Bucky you and I both know you could never do wrong by that sweet boy out there, you’ve given him everything you could give and more. You’re that whole boy’s world, he loves you. I know you’re scared to be away from him for so long, but I know y/n would make sure that it wasn’t like you were away at all.” 

He looks over at his friend, “how can you know that?” Natasha’s looking over at you, you’re smiling the brightest she thinks she’s ever seen you smile since you returned home, hearing your laugh ring in the air for the first time in years and knowing its genuine. “Because she’s going to love that boy as if he was her own.” 

Bucky’s looking back out to the field, “If she’s willing to start a week before we leave, the job’s hers, if she wants it.” 

Natasha is grinning bringing herself and chestnut closer, “you won’t regret this Barnes.” 

He hopes he wouldn’t. 

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au

[avatarmerida]

Stay

I can’t focus on other thing rn becuse @turquoisespace35’s mythology AU has taken over my brain so here’s a little drabble I wrote for it based mostly on this and this part 💛💚

———

“I don’t want you to go.”

He said it as firmly as he could. He had practiced it over and over again but still his voice shook. She had been honest with him from day one and there was still so much he hadn’t told her. He knew it might be selfish, might be impossible, might be too much, but he also knew she wouldn’t want him to hold it in. It wasn’t an order or request or even an invitation, it more like like a dream.

Once the moon entered the sky the gates would open and she would be able to leave. No one had ever been able to leave before. How ironic the one person who could was the only one he didn’t want to. He didn’t have a good reason or solid argument. It wasn’t logical or practical but it was true. He just knew that he wanted her to stay with him, everything else was just noise.

“What?” She asked in a tone Hunter couldn’t quite place. Was she shocked? Offended? Scared? Or had she just not heard him?

“I… want you to stay,” he tried rephrasing it. Maybe this was more honest. He didn’t want to be too honest too quickly because he knew what he really wanted was too much. He wanted every minute of every hour to be touched by her presence. He wanted to experience every sunrise and sunset with her. He wanted to cover his dreary island with vibrant flowers for her and sit beneath the apple tree as they exchanged stories. He wanted stories with her, he wanted to make memories they could revisit and share and have more time together than they had apart. He wanted the complicated simplicity she has shown him for the rest of his days. He wanted to ensure she knew nothing but kindness and gratitude for the rest of hers.

But above all he wanted her.

“But Hunter, I have to go back…” she started just as he knew she would.

“I know, I know,” he stammered, looking at the ground. “I know you do. I know you have a life back there. I know you have friends and your fathers and a future but I just… I needed to tell you. I know it’s crazy but I just needed to tell you or I’d regret it but Willow I just… can’t imagine the island without you.”

She smiled. “I have to go back,” she said again, scooting over to sit closer to him, reaching over to bring his face up to see hers. “To tell everyone how wonderful you really are.”

“What?”

“The emperor can’t keep spreading these lies about you,” she said softly, a few of his snakes nuzzling her hand to help express Hunter’s joy. “You’re not a monster and I won’t let him keep sending soldiers here to hurt you. All these statues, I know they were made out of fear. I know you would never try to hurt anyone. I know you’re kind, and sweet, and smart and me going back alive and unharmed will prove that. I need them to know you like I know you.”

I don’t care if they know me, he though. I only care if you do.

“And when I come back, I’ll bring you the sweet bread my dad makes and we can have a proper picnic when we watch the sunset and maybe figure out how-.”

“You’d come back?” He said breathlessly.

“Of course I will,” she said simply, scratching the closest snake to her on the top of its head. Will, she had said. Will, not would. A promise not a possibility. She didn’t even hesitate. “I’d miss you too much. All of you.”

“But why?” It would be easier to stay away, it would be understandable. He didn’t want it to be true so he wasn’t sure why he wanted her to put more thought into it. He just couldn’t understand how she could be so sure of him.

“Because I like you.” Again, she didn’t hesitate. She didn’t flinch. If she needed to lie she could’ve said anything, but Hunter knew she didn’t need or want to lie. She never had before.

“I… I like you too.” He said softly and the snakes hissed at him to speak up! They agreed! Say it again! Say it louder! Say it with confidence! “We uh, all like you.”

Her hand remained on the side of his face, her thumb gently brushing his cheek. She did this often, saying it help her memorize his features. The fact that she found them worth remembering made Hunter’s heart spin. He leaned into the touch and placed his hand over hers, intending to hold it there as long as she would allow. “So it’s settled then.”

He more than just liked her. He liked apples, he liked to read, but she was more than sustainably or a way to pass the time. She was his whole world.

“But what if they don’t let you come back?” He whispered, feeling unshed tears stinging his eyes. They had sent her here to die and when they saw she hadn’t, what would be next? Would she be celebrated? Would they send her to islands with more to fear to test her abilities? Would they deem her sentence unserved and try to kill her again? “W-what if they don’t believe you or what i-if they-.”

“Hey,” she cut him off and pressed her forehead to his. The snakes rested atop her head and by her checks, her calmness contagious. Their silence gave Hunter a moment of peace, a chance to focus on this moment with her. She was not worried. Somehow she was so sure of everything. She was so sure of him. She was so sure of this. “Have I ever lied to you?”

“No.”

“So when I say I’m coming back, I’m coming back,” she said with confidence. “I’m not gonna let the emperor or the rules or anyone stop me. I don’t know how they’ll respond but I have to try. You deserve that. But no matter what, I will be back with you.”

“I just… want to keep you safe.” He admitted, turning his head to the side to kiss her hand before bringing it down to their side. Their fingers danced together until they delicately intertwined as though they could not be kept apart. He knew she could take care of herself. He knew she was strong and tough and smart. But he also knew how cruel the outside world had been to her and he would do anything to ensure she was only treated the way she deserved to be treated for the rest of her days. He looked down at their hands, how they fit together so naturally. They shouldn’t work, but they did.

“You have,” she whispered, resting her nose beside his. He could feel her breath hovering across his lips. There was something else in her voice, as though he had done something else. As though she knew there was more he wanted and she was waiting and wanting to tell him he had that too.

This would not be his last night with her. They would have more long walks talking about nothing and everything. They would have more quiet evenings making up stories and blissful mornings gathering berries and finding reasons to be near each other. But there was something that a night like this inspired. Maybe it was the chatty snakes atop his head who had been constantly pleading with him to do all of this much sooner. But the sunset seemed to linger to offer them the ambience, as though telling the moon it could not come to open the gate until Willow had a farewell worth remembering. Until she knew exactly what she was returning to.

“I just… want to keep you… because…”

He didn’t give her a chance to ask for him to clarify as the small space between them vanished as his mouth covered hers. His other hand rose up to cup her cheek as he dared to repeatedly press his lips to hers. He wanted her to know it was purposeful. He wanted to give her the chance to pull away, but she seemed just as drawn to him as she titled her head to follow him as he moved.

Their lips had touched once before, after he had shown her the spot where the sunset was the brightest on the island. It has been only a moment and he had convinced himself it was accidental, that she had merely been trying to see him better.

But this, oh he knew what this was. He wanted her to know too. It was all the words he couldn’t say, that he didn’t know how to say, that hadn’t been invented yet. The snakes went crazy and hummed and hissed as they tried to process the emotions he felt. But it was too strong and too new and so they trusted him to sort it out for himself, not wanting to spoil anything. It was every time he wanted to be closer to her but walked away, it was a question and explanation all in one, it was natural and unnatural at the same time. His feelings for her were so simple, but that was what made them complicated. This was a goodbye and hello wrapped into one. This beautiful, building contradiction that she returned with vigor, reaching out to place her free hand on his waist to pull him closer.

“Well I guess I don’t have to leave right away,” she said softly as he pulled away for a brief moment to breathe. Her breathing was labored and her face was flushed as she let go of his hand to wrap her arm around her neck to bring him back down to her as she deepened the kiss. Hunter felt as though he was about to burst, feeling her lips form a smile against his. They were so soft and Hunter was so focused on how comfortable and warm he felt that he relaxed and crashed into her, nearly falling off the bench as Willow proceeded to kiss him with power and eagerness. But Hunter managed to steady them, not intending on letting clumsiness end the moment early as his whole world held him tightly.

He moved his arms to the small of her back, holding her just as tightly as he was convinced he was about to float away and only she could keep him bound to the earth. They both knew that her mission would not be simple, would not easy. They didn’t not know how long they would be apart. They didn’t know what trials awaited them. They only knew what they meant to each other, and they believed that this feeling was strong enough to endure anything and everything.

Willow let out a small laugh, and Hunter didn’t think much of it. He loved the sound of her laugh, the more of her that could be in the moment the better. But then her laugh became louder and a Hunter became worried he was doing something wrong. He had never kissed anyone before but he was fairly certain it wasn’t usually a laughing matter. As he slowly pulled away to see the cause, she followed him not wanting to leave the moment. She laughed again.

He looked and saw the source: the snakes were peppering her face with tiny kisses of their own.

“Sorry, hehe, it tickles,” she giggled as the snakes continued, much to his horror (though he could hardly blame them). But he quickly got over it, as the sight of her laughing in the rosy pink light of the setting sun drew him back in as he lunged forward to reunite their lips.

This time he did cause them to fall off the bench and Willow laughed as she was surrounded in affection. She hadn’t even left yet and already she missed him.

As Hunter and Willow continued to prolong their farewell, they didn’t notice the moon enter position. There was no urgency to act when it did, they had a few hours to seize it. But as the door opener slowly, three soldiers cautiously entered the domain. Swords at the ready, hearts determined, Luz, Amity and Gus walked forward to recuse their friend. A year of training had prepared them for anything, they had no idea what the monster was capable of. Luz scanned their surrounding when a familiar laugh made her cast her eyes down to the ground. She drew her sword and called to the others in panic.

“Oh my Titan, the monster is trying to eat Willow’s face!”

#huntlow #huntlow au #toh au #willow park #hunter toh #huntlow mythology au #huntlow fanfiction #winter toh

[hqbaby]

eight — sorry, my bad

fuck ur instincts — suna x reader & atsumu x reader

you and suna are just fooling around—so why does he care so much when you start falling in love with someone else?

previous — masterlist — next

word count. 1.3k content. swearing, sexual conversations, short sex scene with vaginal penetration

“Ouch,” Hinata says, stopping behind Atsumu. “Man, that must hurt.”

The blond looks over his shoulder, shirt in hand. “What’re ya talkin’ ‘bout?”

They’re in the locker room, getting showered and dressed after a day of long and gruesome training. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Bokuto hadn’t shown up late and drunk, causing his team to lose the scrimmage and pissing Sakusa off. There was a bit of a squabble after that, but they managed to get it together in time for the next match.

“He’s talkin’ ‘bout yer back,” Aran snickers. “Rough night?”

Atsumu squints, trying to understand what they mean by that. Then it hits him. “Oh,” he says, eyes growing wide. “That.”

Yaku comes up behind him to see what the other boys are talking about. “Holy shit! Y/N did that?”

A few lockers over, Suna freezes at the sound of your name.

“Hey!” Oikawa’s piercing voice cuts through everyone's chatter as he marches his way over to the other setter. “Quit talking about my best friend with these jerks.”

“I’m not!” Atsumu throws his hands up innocently. “Blame Hinata. He’s the one that pointed it out.”

The other boy pulls a face as Oikawa turns to look at him with a fire in his eyes. “I was just worried about Atsumu!” he insists, backing away slightly. “I mean, come on. Look at what she did to him!”

Your best friend scowls but looks at Atsumu anyway. He stops in his tracks when he sees it—sees them, all his previous anger washed away. Oh fuck, he thinks. The poor guy.

“Atsumu, I am so so so so so so sorry,” he says, ignoring the freaked out look the other boy has on his face at Oikawa’s sudden change in demeanor. “She’s a demon, I’m telling you. Satan’s spawn. I’ve been telling her mother since we were twelve that her real daughter must’ve been kidnapped and replaced by a monster because…”

Suna sees the marks on Atsumu’s back. Clearly yours. He knows because he’s been blessed with the same ones on several occasions and teased by his teammates about them to no end. Of course they never knew they were yours. No one knew.

He looks straight ahead at the open locker in front of him, quietly putting on his shirt and taking his bag out.

This shouldn’t bother him. It doesn’t, he tells himself. It really doesn’t. You’ve slept with other guys before, he knows that. You’re allowed to. It’s not like he can stop you. It doesn’t matter, none of it does, not when you come back to him at the end of the day. Not when he gets to hold you long after those other guys are gone. Not when you always choose him.

He slams his locker shut and pops his earbuds in, waving at the boys who say goodbye to him as he leaves.

That’s probably why you were busy last night. Why you didn’t read his message as soon as he sent it, like you usually do. Why you texted him back with a slew of apologies at 1 AM. It was all because, last night, you chose Atsumu instead of him.

Of course you did.

He feels pathetic. What did he expect was going to happen when you started seeing one of his best friends? Atsumu doesn’t hide you the way he does. He deserves more from you than Suna ever will.

He pulls his phone out and shoots a text. 

Fuck, he really hates himself right now.

“Explain.”

You perk up at the sound of Kaori’s voice, smiling as she approaches you on the bench. “Explain what?” you ask sweetly. “Love your hair today, by the way.”

She narrows her eyes at you. “Yeah, yeah. Cut the crap.” She gestures at the three marks on your neck, there are two small ones that you would've gotten away with if not for the giant one beside them. “What are those?”

You keep smiling. “Curling iron, curling iron, allergic reaction,” you say, pointing at each one as you assign their causes. “Sucks to be me, I know.”

“Y/N.”

“Kaori, I love you.”

She groans. “What happened to ‘no marks’?”

“Well, this was the first time with this guy,” you say sheepishly. “Didn’t exactly tell him the rules.”

“First time?” Kaori raises a brow. “Was it…”

“Yeah…”

“Oh fuck!” she exclaims. “Okay! What the fuck? And you didn’t tell us?”

“I’m telling you now, aren’t I?”

Yukie comes up to the two of you, drawn into the conversation by your screaming. “What is it?” she asks. “What’s going on?”

“She slept with Atsumu!”

“What? And you didn’t tell us?”

You pout and put your face in your hands. “Oh my god, could you be any louder?” you say. There are a few other girls in the room, but it’s not like they don’t know about you and Atsumu at this point. And you know more about their sex lives than you probably should anyway, so it all evens out. But still.

“Dude,” Kaori says, kneeling down in front of you and forcing you to look at her. She opens her hands in front of her and makes her palms face each other, holding them an inch apart. “Tell me when to stop,” she tells you, slowly moving her hands away from one another. She pauses when they’re four inches apart. “Bigger?”

You nod, feeling your face heat up as she continues moving her hands. She stops again. You wince. “Bigger.” With wide eyes, she increases the distance between her hands until you say, “Stop.”

“No way.”

“Yes way.”

Yukie gapes, staring at just how far apart your other friend’s hands are. “What the fuck.”

Kaori drops her hands and bows down in front of you, Yukie following suit. “You’re my new god, Y/N,” she says. “Fucking beast, I’m telling you.”

You roll your eyes and grab their arms. “Get up,” you say as the two of them resist you. “I’ll make you do laps if you don’t. I’m serious.” They know you're (probably) not serious but they get up anyway, sitting down on the bench beside you. Sometimes, you’re happy to be captain. Power is one hell of a drug.

“Was he good?” Yukie asks. “Like on a scale of one to ten.”

“Eight?”

“You’re lying.”

“I don’t know!” you throw your hands up in defeat. “He’s just… nice. And, I don’t know, I think I’m starting to like him a little.”

“No way! You have a crush on the guy you fucked?” Kaori asks sarcastically. “It’s like that’s totally never happened before!”

You frown. “Rin doesn’t count.”

“Oh, baby,” she says, smirking, “he always counts.”

Suna throws his head back, hips thrusting uncontrollably as he feels his orgasm creep up on him. His breath is ragged as his whole body starts to tense up. He can feel it, he’s so close.

“Fuck! I’m right there!”

“Come for me, Rin!”

“Feel so good, so good. I’m coming! Fuck! Y/N!”

He cum spills out into the condom as his whole body freezes. His eyes shift down to the girl beneath him who looks up with an awkward smile on her face. He’s such an asshole.

“It’s Ayame,” she says meekly as he slips out of her. She sits up with her legs pulled to her chest.

He takes the condom off and knots it before tossing it into the trash. He stays on the edge of the bed, back turned to the girl. “Right. Ayame,” he murmurs, “sorry.”

“It’s alright,” she tells him and he knows she probably means it. She’s one of those girls who would do anything for him. It’s why he texted her in the first place. He knew she’d say yes to whatever he asked for. “It’s Y/N L/N, right? I mean, she’s really pretty. Everyone wants her.”

A dry chuckle. “They do, don’t they?” he says quietly. He glances back at the girl and shrugs. “Sorry,” he says again. “My bad.”

notes. this was honestly one of my favorite chapters to write in the whole series 😩 like we have some atsumu and reader silliness with their friends AND suna angst??? all the things i love writing <3

if you haven’t seen the results of the poll from last chapter, you can find them here!! totally not what i expected but ykw i’m not complaining

#hqbaby.fyi #hqbaby #haikyuu #suna rintarou #suna #suna rintarou x reader #suna x reader #miya atsumu #atsumu #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu x reader #haikyuu x reader #suna rintarou fic #suna fic #miya atsumu fic #atsumu fic #haikyuu fic

[spider-stark]

A DARK AGE pt.2

previous part -

series summary - it's been nine months since you watched your best friend, Gwen Stacy, plummet to her death; an event that ultimately caused new york's hero to abandon the city entirely. now that he's finally returned you find yourself being forced to confront the ugly truth you've been running from.

chapter summary - desperate to get Harry Osborn out of your head, you find yourself following a lead that sends you straight to Peter Parker.

series warnings - 18+, minors DNI, series will contain depictions of violence, sexual content, dark themes, and more. please read at your own risk.

word count - 12.8k

// a dark tasm!fan fiction // masterlist // send me your thoughts // newspaper headline //

YOU HAD been worried that the ice-cold stare of Harry Osborn would remain stuck in your brain for the entire cab ride back to New York City.  

Fortunately, by the time you’d made it to Yonkers, about thirty minutes out from Ravencroft’s facility, the distressing imagery in your head faded as your ears were suddenly blasted with a series of rushed ding-s from your cell phone.  

You welcomed the noisy distraction, even if it only further agitated the throbbing headache you felt coming on.  

All the messages were from Betty Brant and likely could’ve been summed up in one long message rather than a dozen short ones. And, for the most part, all the texts did were confirm your fears: her search for Peter’s whereabouts had been a fruitless effort.  

Well, almost fruitless.   

You couldn’t quite give Brant credit for the one lead she’d received given the fact that it had essentially just fallen in her lap, but you still typed back a simple—good job, nonetheless.  

While you were off pointlessly torturing yourself behind Ravencroft’s iron gates, a woman had called the Bugle and had the misfortune of being answered by Jameson himself.  

According to Brant, the lady asked for you by name, and when Jameson told her you were busy and she’d need to call back later, she turned frantic. He said she sounded as if she were on the verge of tears, begging him to get a message to you ASAP.  

Please tell her to stop by my house! Tomorrow afternoon! She knows the address already, I promise! Tell her it’s May Parker, okay? M-A-Y P-A-R-K-E-R!  

Of course Jameson knew who the crackpot (his words) was once she said her last name, having spoken to her once or twice during Peter’s limited time at the Bugle.  

What he hadn’t told Brant was that it took everything in him to bite his tongue, to not tell the woman every horrible opinion he held in regard to her nephew. Jameson knew that it would do no good. He also knew that it wasn’t her fault that Peter hadn’t shown up to the hospital that night.   

Still, he couldn’t help but find himself seething with rage, speaking through gritted teeth until he could finally hang up the phone. He had absolutely no interest in finding Peter Parker, even if he was the only one to ever get a clear shot of Spider-Man.  

Good riddance had become his motto when it came to both Peter and Harry. You were one of the few things in this world that mattered more to Jameson than a good lead, which was exactly the reason why he had no interest in Peter’s whereabouts when he first went awol and left the Bugle without notice—he didn’t care. Even if Peter had come back to work, he would’ve just been fired anyway. Jameson had no interest in keeping him around, regardless of the quality of his work. 

But despite his hatred for the boy, he knew you were looking for him. While Jameson was unaware of Peter’s secret identity, he knew for certain that Peter had connections to Spider-Man, given that it was the whole reason he had employed him in the first place. You figured there was likely no one in this world that Jameson wanted to keep you from more than Spider-Man. But in what was surely not an easy choice to make, he begrudgingly passed the message from May along to Brant, messily scrawled onto a Doughnuttery napkin that had been stained with chocolate frosting.   

He refused to withhold a lead from you.  

Of course, when first deciding to track Peter down, you had considered going to his aunt, but she was always meant to be a last-ditch choice. After all, rumor had it that Peter had abandoned her too, moving out shortly after Gwen’s death. You didn’t see a need to add to her grief unless it felt necessary, yet it seemed she wanted you to.  

A part of you hoped that the mystery surrounding why May was so adamant about speaking to you would serve as a distraction for the night. You didn’t want to think any more about Ravencroft, and certainly not about the boy they kept locked behind those iron gates.  

Deep down, though, you knew that wasn’t possible. Try as you might, there was nothing in this world capable of distracting you from the thoughts of Harry Osborn.  

He was a plague, one that you had been fighting off ever since that night; and seeing him in person seemed to have only granted him the opportunity to further sink his claws into you.  

You often found yourself reliving the moment you first saw him—the Green Goblin. A monster composed of distended veins and spindly bones, appearing so completely and utterly inhuman—so unlike the boy you knew that you didn’t even recognize him at first. At first, there had just been fear, a sense of pure unbridled terror.  

But then, once he spoke, you knew. You knew what he had done, recognized him in spite of the monster the serum had transformed him into. Bile instantly stung at your throat, threatening to spill past your lips and onto the asphalt beneath your feet. You couldn’t stop thinking of how much it had burned, swallowing it down over and over again, as many times as it took before your body finally stopped trying.  

You fought so hard against that visceral reaction, the sensible part of you that had seen this new form he’d taken on and screamed at you to run. You wouldn’t let yourself do that. You couldn’t bear the thought of turning your back on your friend, even after seeing what he’d turned himself into.  

But then he grabbed Gwen and once she was in his arms you realized that he wasn’t the same anymore. Then once he’d finally let her go, once you’d watched her take her very last breath, you swore you’d always hate him. Harry Osborn was not your friend; it was a simple fact that you still stood behind.  

But trauma was a peculiar thing.  

Usually when Harry haunted your thoughts, the Green Goblin was always the focal point. Flashes of Gwen’s lifeless body dangling from Spider-Man's web, the sounds of squelching flesh and cracking bones. You would remember the metallic taste that filled your mouth as you looked over at him that last time, just before everything went black.  

Tonight, though, you’d found yourself thinking not of the Goblin, but of your friend. The friend that had once been good as dead to you. Memories that had once been shoved aside in favor of sinking into the tragedy you’d experienced, only to be brought back to light after seeing his face today.  

You tossed and turned in your bed, your head pounding as thoughts of posh charity events, late-night talks, and inside jokes fought to keep you awake. It wasn’t until the next day when you’d finally arrived at Aunt May’s house that you received a much-needed break from him. 

The thick plastic covering on the couch crinkled loudly beneath your weight as you sat down. You used every ounce of effort in your body to try and appear calm as she moved past the coffee table, sitting across from you in a sage green armchair.  

It was new.  

“I’m so glad you came, y/n.” May offered you her sweetest smile, the gesture accentuating the thin lines around her eyes. She looked older somehow, even though it hadn’t even been a year since you last saw her. “I was worried that bitter man at the newspaper wouldn’t tell you I called.”  

You barely stifled your laughter, then immediately wondered if she could tell that even that sliver of emotion was fake. It was second nature to put on an act, especially when it came to work matters. To appear excessively friendly, using it as a tool to quickly build some sort of rapport with someone, hoping it would get them to spill whatever information they might have.  

It didn't seem necessary to put up an act around May, but you found it difficult to turn it off.  

“Jameson can be a little… testy, at times.”  

She immediately snorted at your words, believing them to be a drastic understatement.  

“But I’ve gotta say,” you continued, trying to steer the conversation, “I was a bit surprised when he said you called.”  

Guilt settled over her soft features, dusty pink lips settling into a thin line as she stared down at her lap, watching the steam rise from her cup. “I know. I meant to call sooner, more often, but I just...” she sucked in a breath, lifting the cup to the edge of her lips, “I didn’t want to make a big fuss of things.”  

She was drinking chamomile tea. You knew this because you were offered some as soon as she opened the front door, cheerfully telling you that she’d just boiled a fresh pot of water. While you didn’t consider yourself an expert on May Parker, you couldn’t help but make note of the fact that you’d never seen her enjoy herbal drinks before.  

You leaned forward a touch, your elbows resting just above your knees as you did so. “What would you make a fuss over?”  

This meeting was different than Ravencroft.  

At Ravencroft you were a sheep grazing among lions. Showing weakness would gain you nothing, save for failure and potential death. But in a place like Aunt May’s home, the roles immediately reversed.  

Here, you were the lion. And, to gain the trust of sheep, you needed to come off as if you were entirely transparent. Wear your heart on your sleeve, bare every emotion you had, and express as much concern as possible, fooling them into believing that you were truly on their side.  

But this time was different, you tried to remind yourself, working diligently to ensure your emotions didn’t come off as fake or exaggerated. You could be genuine. You really were on her side, right?  

“Peter’s been...” She hesitated as her wedding ring clinked against the porcelain cup in her hands as she nervously tapped her fingers. She never took it off, even after Ben died. “different.”  

Your chest tightened, elbows digging further into your thighs. “What do you mean?”  

“He changed after what happened to Gwendolyne.” she began to explain, though she remained hesitant. “It started off small. Quitting the newspaper, refusing to finish his college applications. And maybe that’s when I should’ve stepped in, tried to snap him out of it or something. But after what he’d gone through... what he had lost...”  

There was a knowing look in her eyes, a sense of understanding. It was then that it fully clicked for you, realizing that May had been through something similar to what Peter went through. She knew what it was like to have your entire world change in the blink of an eye. “I just hoped that with time it would pass.”  

“And it didn’t, did it?” You guessed, painfully aware of the answer.  

If it had changed, if he had gotten better, then you wouldn’t be sitting here right now.  

May shook her head. “No.” She uttered, her hooded gaze still avoiding yours, remaining fixed on her cup. “It got worse.”  

There was something in the way she spoke, the solemn tone you’d never heard her take before, that sent chills running down your spine.  

“How so?”  

"Little ways, at first.” Her voice broke, clearing her throat before taking another sip of tea. “He started acting out. Getting mean. Rageful.”  

Your heart ached for the woman, fighting the urge to reach out and hug her as you watched her hazel eyes turn glossy.  

“He was almost never home anymore, and then one day he just... didn’t come back.”  

She wiped away the unshed tears, lightly shaking her head and muttering an apology.  

“Where is he?” You asked her, instinctively looking towards the old staircase that led to his bedroom.  

Years had been wasted in there, sitting cross-legged on his worn-out rug and exchanging complaints about Flash Thompson or Miss. Ritter. On good days, the two of you would build Lego sets and eat your fill of junk food. On bad days you’d both tuck yourselves away in his bed, hidden underneath a stack of blankets as old movies played from his laptop.  

It had been a while since you’d let yourself think of those memories, and you hadn’t quite expected it to hurt as much as it did to acknowledge that those days were gone. 

“Columbia.” She spoke.  

Your eyes widened as your head cocked to the side. “University?”  

Warmth spread across your cheeks as embarrassment settled in, feeling a bit silly for speaking the thought aloud. Of course she had meant Columbia University. Still, it shocked you a little when she nodded, confirming your thoughts. Given the way she spoke of Peter’s decline, you hadn’t expected him to be attending college.  

“So, you still talk to him?” You quickly followed up with another question, this one less painstakingly dumb than the last.  

May scoffed, the loose hair framing her face swaying about as she shook her head. “I don’t know if I’d call it talking. But he checks in on occasion, just often enough to keep me from having a heart attack.”  

You glanced down at her cup of tea, willing to reason that maybe Peter had been the reason for her sudden interest in herbal drinks. After all, they were known to reduce stress, and Peter seemed to be causing a great deal of it.  

There was another sound of disapproval, a click of her tongue as her voice went low again. “You raise a boy for over ten years,” she started, the smallest spark of anger burning within her, “only to end up getting a postcard in the mail every month.”  

“A postcard?” You wondered aloud, likely looking as puzzled as you felt. “You don’t have his phone number?”  

She snorted. “I don’t know if he even has a phone anymore.”  

For a moment neither of you spoke, and you found yourself studying her features, looking for any sign that she might be lying. You knew that there was no point in it, that May had no reason to lie to you. There would be nothing for her to gain, plus she had reached out to you for help. Still, it was second nature for you to remain apprehensive.  

It was hard to believe that Peter had all but completely cut ties with his aunt. May had raised him, practically given her entire life just to ensure that he had everything he could ever need, only to up and abandon her out of the blue—just as he had done to you.  

Nothing about it made any sense to you, and the thought alone was enough to fill you with not only rage, but also fear. Was Peter that far gone?  

You didn’t want to think about that right now, instead focusing on the sharp pain sneaking up your left side from sitting hunched over for so long. Forcibly relaxing your muscles, you leaned back against the couch cushions, listening to the way the plastic squelched as you shifted.  

“Is that why you called?” You finally asked, pressing a hand to your ribs and rubbing over the sore area. “To see if I could help Peter?”  

May took another long and thoughtful sip of her tea. Then, once she was finished, she leaned forwards and placed it on the coffee table that stood between you both. “No.” She stated firmly, only for her eyes to narrow and then go back on the declaration, “Not entirely, at least.” 

You frowned at her, confused.  

“I wanted to call because I realized that you needed someone, too.” You froze instantly, suddenly feeling as if the air had been knocked from your lungs. “I’ve been so caught up with Peter and trying to find a way to help him that I nearly forgot he wasn’t the only one who lost someone.”  

May glanced up for perhaps the first time in this whole conversation. You couldn’t help but feel as if the roles had changed, sinking further into the cushion behind you. She took note of everything, your stiff posture, the subtle bouncing of your leg, the timid look in your eye. You had become the sheep, being carefully discerned by the lion.  

“I never got a chance to tell you how sorry I was—still am, for your loss, y/n. You didn’t just lose Gwen that night, you lost all three of them.”  

Her heedful words landed the final blow, feeling like a piercing knife against your throat.  

Suck it up, you kept repeating to yourself, change the subject.  

Scrambling to compose yourself, nearly choking on your own tongue, you tried to ignore the look of concern she gave you. You didn’t need sympathy. “I’m managing.” You told her roughly, only able to conjure a barely believable smile. “It could be worse.”  

“Sure,” May tentatively agreed, “but it could also be better.”  

You decided it was best to not acknowledge her words.  

“You said not entirely.” You reminded her, working hard to ensure that your voice didn’t shake. You weren’t sure why it was shaking in the first place, torn between naming anxiety or anger as the culprit. “When I asked if you wanted me to help Peter, that’s what you said. What makes you think I can help him?” 

May’s face screwed up, staring at you as if it were obvious. “Because no one else can. The three of you—you, Harry, and Gwen—were the only ones that could ever get through to him.” She paused, considering her next words. “And you’re the only one left.”  

There was a weight that settled on your shoulders, shoving you further into the couch. You didn’t like the way that it sounded, for more reasons than one. There was too much responsibility that came with it.   

“Columbia’s campus is big.” You told her, void of any emotion. “Do you know where he’s staying? Anything that might help me find him?”  

This time it was May’s turn to sink back into her seat, shoulders slouching forward as she turned apologetic. “I know he’s living on campus, but I don’t know which building. Whenever he writes he always keeps the details to a minimum.”  

As much as you appreciated any information she offered, it wouldn’t help you much. You had been right in your earlier statement; Columbia was a big school with at least two dozen residence halls. Finding Peter amongst those students was comparable to finding a needle in a haystack.  

You knew that you could enlist Betty Brant’s help, but even then, it could take days before one of you happened to find him.  

Finally, a bit exasperated, you dared to ask. “Anything else?”  

May smiled, weary and filled with regret. “Just be careful, y/n. I’m not sure what Peter had gotten himself into, but I’ve seen the news.” Her hands trembled as she spoke. “I know what they think he did. What Spider-Man might have done.”  

She spoke the vigilante’s name like a forbidden word, as if it were one she had sworn she’d never speak aloud, and your eyes grew wide as you just barely breathed out, “You know?”  

May’s smile remained despite the somber gleam in her eyes as she told you simply, “No one washes the flag.”  

You found the students at Columbia University nauseating.  

Most of them were pretentious assholes that stunk of cigarette smoke, not because they actually smoked them, but instead because letting them lazily hang from their fingers matched their desired aesthetic.  

They were all desperate to give off the same vibe as a fifteen-year-olds dark academia Pinterest board, leaning against a wall with a copy of Allan Ginsberg’s Howl tucked beneath their arm. You wondered if any of them had ever read it, snorting to yourself when you thought of how they’d likely dogeared a few pages to make the book look worn.  

“This place is huge.” Betty Brant marveled from beside you, spinning in a circle as she took in its vastness. When she was done making herself dizzy, she looked at you. “This is gonna be impossible.”  

You smiled at her inept observation, challenging her. “Why?”  

Her brows snapped together, a single hand incredulously waving around the two of you. “Have you looked around?” She quipped. “There are literally thousands of people here! If we find him today, then it’ll just be dumb luck.”  

You didn’t judge her for her innate pessimism. After all, you felt just as overwhelmed as Betty Brant did currently when sitting on Aunt May’s couch, listening as she told you that she had essentially nothing to offer in terms of helping to find Peter. It was easy to assume the worst in a field where you’re so often dealt the shittiest of hands—but Jameson and the other seasoned reporters at the Bugle had taught you well. There was always a way to turn things around.  

“Know your target, Brant.” You lightly chastised, a teasing smile that Brant felt looked out of place on you. While she still didn’t know you well, she’d seen you around the office a lot, and she struggled to remember a time when you didn’t have a permanent grimace etched on your face.  

Your fingers delved into your bag and reached for a few papers that you’d printed off at the Bugle, just moments before you’d snagged Brant up by her arm without warning and forced her to come with you to Columbia University. You held one of the papers out to her, which she swiftly took and began reading.  

"There are only two programs offered at Columbia that Peter would care about: photography or biochemistry.” You explained to her. “I went on their website and got an idea of a mock schedule for both and copied down the names of the buildings they’re in. It’s still not a sure shot-”  

“But it gives us somewhere to start.” Brant finished your sentence, her big eyes flickering back up to yours as she lowered the page you’d given her.  

You grinned. “Exactly.”  

“So, we’re splitting up?”  

She was nervous about that idea, clear by the way she started to tug at the edge of her royal blue cardigan. If it were someone other than Brant you might be concerned, but Brant always came off a little antsy, making it easy to brush it off; although it did leave you wondering why the girl stayed so high strung. One day you’d ask her about it, you thought, but not right now.  

"It’s better that way. We'll cover more ground.” You told her, your pitiless statement doing little to quell her nerves as she gave another sharp tug to her garment, anxiously looking around at the swarm of students passing around you both.  

You did your best to look sympathetic, “Just call me if you need me, alright?” Brant stared back at you, resembling a small child whose mother was dropping them off on their first day of school. It was pitiful, and you nearly groaned as you forced yourself to say, “If you call, I’ll answer. Promise.”  

Brant hesitated for a second before nodding, still uneasy but far more willing now to leave your side. As you turned away from her you reminded yourself to never have children, desperately hoping and praying to any God who might listen that Brant would not call you.  

As you started to meld into the crowd, falling into step with a group of girls around your age, the thoughts of Brant and her child-like anxiety were replaced with something far more juvenile. You had just barely glanced at the girls walking next to you, at first only giving them a quick glance. Soon, though, as you continued towards your destination, you found yourself fixating on them.  

They smelled like cloves and bergamot, probably the scent of some over-priced perfume you’d never even dream of taking off the shelf and their clothes were nicer than anything hanging up in your closet. One had a Tiffany’s necklace dangling around her throat like a collar and another had pin straight platinum hair. In short, they looked expensive. But, at the same time, they looked incredibly beautiful.  

It made you hyper aware of yourself, of how different you looked in comparison. You weren’t wearing any nice jewelry, and your hair was messily tied back, making you feel as if you were the opposite of both the girls that had caught your attention. Realizing this, you looked around at the other girls surrounding you, noticing that all of them looked that way. Posh, put-together, and completely and utterly gorgeous.  

A strange feeling crept up your spine, one you hadn’t felt since you were in high school. Self-loathing.    

There was a time when you prioritized your appearance, or at least more than you do now. You could still remember what it was like to stroll into an Oscorp charity event, dozens of eyes glued to you. Men would watch with bated breath as you passed them, silently dreaming of a day where you’d actually notice them.  

That would never happen, of course.  

You always went to those events with either Harry or Peter, and they often left you with little reason to acknowledge anyone else in attendance. Even so, you remembered the power you held. Remembered what it was like to feel desired by someone, even if it wasn’t by who you wanted.  

After the accident, though, you’d stopped caring about how you looked. It felt so trivial to put any more effort than necessary into your looks, often throwing on the same outfit several days in a row to save time in the mornings. But in this moment, you found yourself feeling differently, insecurity slipping into your mind. Had you let yourself go? Surely not...  

It didn’t matter! You suddenly shouted at yourself, fists balling up at your sides as you tried to silence the thoughts that were fueled by foolish insecurity. Despite believing every word of the statement, it didn’t help to make you feel any less self-conscious.  

Passing by the mirrored windows of the mess hall, you found yourself slowing down, falling behind the group of girls as you hesitantly turned to catch a glimpse of yourself. You cursed yourself for looking, hating that you even cared about this sort of thing right now. But once you looked into the reflection you froze, realizing that it wasn’t yourself that you saw in the reflection. It was Gwen.  

“It’s not that bad!” She would lie to you, her voice jumping several octaves as she did. A hand would reach out, sage green fingernails combing through the frizzy mess that framed your face, trying to flatten it. “It just needs a little...” her head cocked to the side, teeth exposed as she sucked in a breath, “work.”  

Gwen was always a terrible liar. She wasn’t like you; she never had been. She was completely incapable of hiding her hand, always living with her cards exposed for the world to see—for them to take advantage of. It was what you’d always admired most about her, her willingness to trust in everyone, to see the good in anyone. It was also what you despised the most about her, and you tried not to dwell on the complexity of that.  

“You know what? It doesn’t even matter!” Gwen’s shoulders lifted exponentially, a mess of blonde curls violently swaying as she shook her head about. “You still look hotter than half the girls here, alright?” She grinned at you, the same sweet smile that you missed more than anything. “I promise!”  

And she meant it every word of it, but rather than offering you any comfort, the words just filled you with envy. You envied Gwen far more than you liked to admit. You wanted to be like her, even now, to be able to see the good in every situation, to be even half as lovely as she was.  

You tried to swallow your guilt, though it only made your stomach hurt. You had promised yourself that you were done envying Gwen.  

But you weren’t done missing her.  

Still entranced by her doe eyed stare, you felt your phone begin to buzz in your pocket, distracting you enough that you turned your gaze to your bag, instinctively going to dig for the device. By the time you thought to look back up, the vision of her was gone and you were looking at only a reflection of yourself.  

You wasted no time in looking away.  

When you sobered up enough to read the caller ID, you groaned loud enough to turn a few heads of students passing by. Now, in an interesting turn of events, you wished that Brant was the one calling you, staring down at Director Samson’s name flashing across the screen. You silenced it.  

Not today. You started walking again, effectively trading your thoughts of Gwen for ones of Ravencroft and Harry Osborn. Or ever again.  

Dodge Hall was the first stop on your list.  

You were willing to bet that of the two programs you listed to Brant that Peter likely picked photography, which was precisely why you had delegated the biochemistry labs to Brant.  

There was a chance that you were wrong and that he’d decided to major in biochemistry, maybe in some desperate attempt to be like the father he swore he hated, but you held out hope anyway. You wanted to believe that even in whatever odd stage of life Peter was in he was working to forge his own path, rather than following the one he’d once considered his birthright.  

Stopping in front of the building that housed most of the University’s photography classes, you grimaced. It significantly lacked character, offering nothing more than a bunch of lifeless bricks with boring cement pillars on either side. You had yet to see anything about this school that made it seem worth the astronomical tuition students paid to attend.  

“I know that look-” a high-pitched voice filled the air, the grating sound intensifying your already sour expression, “Dodge might not have the most intricate architecture on campus, but for what it lacks in appearance it makes up for in its rich and extraordinary history!” 

You didn't want to turn around, fully recognizing the chirpy she-devil by diction alone. Still, you forced yourself to do it anyway, realizing that there was no possible escape route. “Mary Jane!” The vile taste of her name in your mouth left you feeling queasy, “what’re you doing here?”  

No, seriously, what the fuck was she doing here?  

A perfectly manicured hand flew to her overly plump lips, packed full of filler and overlined with a red lip pencil. An exaggerated gasp somehow managed to slip past them. “Oh my gosh!” The copper-haired beauty squealed, sounding as if she had inhaled at least a few liters of helium. You forgot how much you hated her voice. “y/n! I didn’t even recognize you!”  

“Yeah, it’s been a while.” You droned, likely appearing just as displeased as you sounded. It was difficult for you to sound pleasant around Mary Jane.  

Mary Jane had always been a thorn in your side. For the most part she was entirely harmless, but her ever-so-perky attitude always left a bad taste in both your mouth and Gwen’s. On top of that, she lacked morals, made clear by the last time you’d seen her.  

It was immediately after Gwen’s funeral, and you’d just happened to find Mary Jane and a few other reporters from the Daily Globe swarming the Stacy family, pining for an interview. It was disgusting, and if you’d been in better shape, you swore that you would’ve knocked her square in the face that day.  

Mary Jane reached out and touched your forearm, giving it a firm squeeze. “You look so good!”  

You didn’t even bother thanking her, instead deciding to brace yourself for what might be coming next. You had known her long enough to know that all her compliments were a double-edged sword, an insult waiting just around the corner.  

“After Genna’s funeral you looked so thin and sickly,” her button nose scrunched up as she looked you up and down, “it’s so nice to see you look far more...” a slight tilt of her head, accompanied by a sickeningly sweet smile as she squeezed your arm again, “plump!”  

The smile you gave in return was far less pleasurable than hers, bearing a closer resemblance to a snarl. “Gwen.” You pointedly corrected, choosing to ignore her weak attempt at insulting you. “Her name is Gwen.”  

She only waved her hand, dismissing your correction. The simple act made your blood boil, teeth grinding together as you fought to stay silent. You didn’t have time to start a fight with her.  

“Ugh, silly me! I’m so bad with names!” She pretended to laugh it off, playing it as an innocent slip of the tongue. You could see the malice behind it, though, her emerald eyes glistening with spite. Mary Jane was a journalist, which meant that remembering facts was quite literally her job. Pretending to forget Gwen’s name was just another idle attempt at getting under your skin.  

It worked.  

“Did you check out the Globe yesterday?” She started right back up, trapping you in another conversation and preventing you from finding an excuse to slip into Dodge Hall and start your search for Peter. “Who am I kidding! Of course you did!” Mary Jane twirled a strand of red hair around her finger, her egotism on full display as she beamed. “Dozens of newsstands sold out within the hour! Amazing, right? To sell out physical copies in this digital age!”  

You only hummed in response, aware that she only wanted to hear herself talk. But God, you hated the way she spoke. Her constant need to enunciate every other word, her squeaky voice filled with false sincerity, always searching for validation in every conversation.  

”Bushkin agreed that we only sold out because of my story on the front page! He said my talent for writing could be enough to revive print entirely!” Her chest swelled with pride; hands clasped over her heart as nonsense continued to spew from her.  

Barney Bushkin was the publisher for the Globe, which made him Mary Jane’s boss. He also had a reputation for being a sick old pervert with an affinity for girls that were far too young for him. His opinion meant nothing to you since you knew that he would say absolutely anything if he thought it would increase his odds of getting a quick look up one of Mary Jane’s too-short skirts.  

”I’m not surprised you sold so many copies,” you egged her on, taking immense pleasure in the way her smug smile grew at what she mistook for praise, “fear mongering has always been a useful tactic for sales.”  

For a moment you could’ve sworn you saw her eyes turn as red as her hair, fiery rage coursing through her veins at your comment. But it was gone nearly as soon as it had appeared.  

”Well,” she cleared her throat, smoothing the wrinkles out of her white blouse, “I’d hardly call my article fear mongering. I just presented the facts.”  

You couldn’t deny that Mary Jane was a pro at composing herself, remaining collected even when you knew she wanted to explode. Image was important to her, meaning she couldn’t ever afford to let her nice girl act falter.  

”You called Spider-Man a murderer.”  

You didn’t always share her skillset, willing to let yourself come off as brash and plain-spoken.  

”And last I checked there’s an active warrant for his arrest.” Mary Jane retorted sharply, the only sign she was willing to give that you were annoying her. “So, like I said, I presented the facts.”  

You sucked in a breath, holding back your argument. You wanted to tell her that her facts were skewed, that she was reporting with only one source and effectively trying to demonize a man who had saved the city countless times. But you didn’t. Fighting with her would be a waste of time, and you had better things to do.  

"Yeah, well, I should really get going.” You gave a curt smile, nodding in the direction of Dodge Hall. “Always good to see you, MJ.” You took care to place extra emphasis on the nickname, fully aware of just how much she hated it.  

Still, she barely let it get to her, hiding her own scowl as you started to edge towards the building. You noticed the way her left eye twitched, though, showing that she was nearing a breaking point. If you had more time, you’d likely try and push her over the edge.  

“Why are you here?” Mary Jane suddenly mimicked the question you had first asked her, the one she had never actually gave an answer to.  

You paused, only having made it less than a few feet away from her. “Visiting a friend.”  

If all went to plan, that wouldn’t technically be a lie.  

“Peter?” She blurted his name out in a way that left you feeling strange. There was a hesitant look on her face, almost as if she were afraid that you’d say yes. You didn’t like it.  

“Yeah, actually.” You frowned, watching her face drop at the confirmation. “Why?”  

She refused to meet your stare, staring past your shoulder at the entrance of the Hall. “He’s not in there.”  

In all the years you’d known Mary Jane, you’d never heard her sound so uncharacteristically dispirited. Her perky persona seemed to vanish in thin air, leaving behind someone that was entirely unfamiliar to you.  

It was incredibly uncomfortable.  

“Wait, do you know where he is?” You asked.  

“Of course I do.” She quickly answered, cutting her eyes at you. “But if you’re the one meeting him then shouldn’t you know where he is?”  

Jealousy settled in. Why did she know where Peter was? Mary Jane and Peter had never been particularly close, likely due to the lifelong rivalry that you and Gwen had held with her. The idea of him even interacting with Mary Jane left you feeling unsettled.  

“Well, we were supposed to meet here.” You lied, turning a tad defensive as you shrugged a shoulder in the direction of the building. “But it’s been a busy morning. He might’ve forgot.”  

You paused, debating whether you wanted to continue. There was a good chance that you didn’t want to hear the answer to the question resting on the tip of your tongue, and yet you made yourself ask it anyway. “Were you just with him?”  

Please say no-  

“Yes.” Her answer came quickly. “We had plans to get dinner but-um,” she suddenly became extremely focused on her own feet, awkwardly kicking at the sidewalk, “he had to... cancel. Said he was gonna be too busy developing photos all night.”  

Her too-perfect face screwed up in an unsightly sort of way. You almost thought that you should feel guilty for accidentally making it seem as if Peter had ditched her for you. But you didn’t. Instead, you felt sickly satisfied, taking pleasure in her sorrow. You reveled in it, finding it easier to focus on that than the idea of why she and Peter were going to get dinner together in the first place.  

”Mm, that sucks.” You let out a disinterested hum, taking a page from her book as you continued without waiting for a reply, “Is that what he’s doing now? Developing photos?”  

Mary Jane gave a stiff nod.  

”Great.”  

Despite how painful it had been to sit through what felt like a never-ending conversation with her, Mary Jane had ended up being of vital importance. If Peter was developing images today, then that meant he had to be in the darkrooms. And, thanks to your Google research, you knew exactly where they were—Watson Hall, just a brief walk from where you were now.  

You wasted no time with stepping around Mary Jane, having no intention of even wasting a goodbye on her as you started towards your destination. But, as you moved around her body, she reached for you, her thin fingers once again wrapping around your forearm. She squeezed harder than last time, your head snapping in her direction, eyes narrowing in a threatening stare as she held you there.  

Surprisingly, she gave you a threatening look of her own.  

“Before you go,” you found it eerie the way her voice remained syrupy sweet, a sharp contrast to the menacing expression she wore, “I just wanted to tell you how much I adored that little sympathy piece you wrote for your friend in the looney bin.” 

You pulled your arm from her grip, your body going tense at the mention of the article you’d written to try and sway the public during Harry’s trial. Jameson hadn’t allowed it to go to print, reminding you that your judgment was still clouded by grief. He didn’t understand why you were so desperate to keep Harry out of Ryker’s Island, but he had hoped that by letting you at least post the article on the Bugle’s website that it would offer you some sort of closure.  

It hadn’t. It was shortly after publishing the piece that you had went straight to Harry’s lawyers, giving them all the information they would need to plead insanity.  

Mary Jane stepped closer, ignoring your effort to create distance from her. She was close enough that you could nearly feel the heat radiating off her body. You didn’t like it, but you refused to let yourself back away from her.  

“I can’t say that Peter agreed.” Her lips curled into a cynical smirk. “I mean, honestly, after the reaction he had to it I’m shocked that he can even stand to be in the same room as you!” The sound of her laughter infuriated you. “I suppose it’s true what they say about time, yeah? That it heals all wounds—even a knife in the back.”  

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t blink, couldn’t think.  

All you could do was stare at the devilish woman in front of you, seething with a type of hatred that you were certain could eat you alive. Your nails sunk into the heel of your palm, an effort to refrain yourself from using them to claw that nasty complacent look right off her face.  

Mary Jane noticed this and decided to take your silence as a sign of her victory.  

“It really was great seeing you, y/n.” She gushed, the false tender statement only fueling your anger. As she turned to walk away, she glanced over her shoulder, winking at you. “Don’t be a stranger.”  

One day, you swore to yourself with a particularly loud huff, spinning on your heel and stomping in the direction of the darkrooms, you would kick Mary Jane’s ass.  

When you posted the article—the one you hoped would sway the public’s opinion of Harry—you knew Peter would see it. More than that, you knew that he would be adamantly against it. 

Unlike you, Harry hadn’t given Peter a reason to care whether he lived or died.  

If anything, he had done nothing but give Peter motive to kill Harry himself. You hated that thought. While you didn’t believe that Peter had murdered Sytsevich, you worried that if given the chance he would have killed Harry that night. You wanted to believe that he wouldn’t have been capable of following through with it, though. Just as you weren’t capable of sitting idly by as Harry was sentenced to Ryker’s Island, knowing that he would be as good as dead in there.  

Maybe you’d been stupid not to consider that the article was one of the reasons why Peter had never bothered to reach out to you, even once things had settled down. Maybe it was your own fault that he’d abandoned you, that the article had been the final nail in the coffin of your friendship.  

Your stomach ached, your mind still reeling as you shoved open the large doors of Watson Hall. A rush of frigid air washed over you, goosebumps erupting against your skin.  

Was it possible that Peter hated you as much as he hated Harry?  

No. It couldn’t be. What Harry had done was beyond abominable, something that could never be forgiven. You hadn’t done anything nearly as bad as him.  

Yet, on the other hand… is the one who comes to a monster's defense just as bad as the monster? You weren’t sure of the answer to that question, though you started to rationalize it to yourself anyway—you weren’t defending him, you just didn’t want to watch him die if there was something you could do to stop it! 

But why not? Gwen wasn’t a monster, yet you still watched her die, standing on the sidelines and doing nothing to try and stop it.  

There was nothing I could’ve done! Your mind screamed in defense of itself as you approached the staircase leading to the second floor, roughly gripping the rail as you started climbing up.  

Why had Peter talked to Mary Jane about the article in the first place? That question was easier to think about than the others, infuriating but still less emotionally taxing, so you let yourself fixate on it. As far as you knew, Peter hadn’t liked Mary Jane any more than you and Gwen did, always keeping his distance from the she-devil.  

When did that change?  

At the top of the stairs, nestled in a corner of the left, there was a single door with a large black sign hanging off of it. The words DARKROOM IN USE were written in bold letters. You stared at it for a moment, your mind finally going blank as you did.  

Peter was behind that door—your best friend, Peter.  

Your palms started to sweat as memories started flooding back. Instantly, you bit your cheek, trying to ignore them. Now wasn’t the time for a trip down memory lane, especially not when you could still recall the bloody way that road ends.  

A knock echoed through the somewhat barren Hall as your first collided with the door, your nerves growing with every passing millisecond. All you could do was focus on the different feelings fighting to consume you, the thudding of your heart, the slickness of your hands, the churning of your stomach.  

“Peter?”  

Saying his name felt wrong, but you said it anyway as you knocked again, a bit harder this time. “It’s y/n,” you told him, as if it were even possible for him to forget the sound of your voice, “can I come in?”  

Once again you were met with silence.  

You considered turning around. Maybe Jameson had been right in thinking that you shouldn’t chase this story. After all, it wasn’t your job to prove Spider-Man's innocence, and if Peter wanted your help, then he knew how to find you. You could call Brant right now and tell her that today was a bust, or even lie and say that Peter didn’t want to help with the story. You could walk away.  

But you didn’t let yourself do that, once again feeling that weight of responsibility that May had unintentionally placed on your shoulders. There was no one left in Peter’s corner, no one that would be willing to dig him out of whatever dark hole he’d landed himself in.  

You had fought to save Harry’s life, and so it only felt right that you tried to do the same for Peter.  

Without bothering to knock again, you reached for the knob and twisted, hastily slipping inside the room, trying to limit the amount of light the leaked in behind you. You didn’t know a lot about developing photos, but you’d never forgotten the way Peter would groan whenever you’d come in unannounced, accidentally letting the light ruin his work.  

The door clicked shut behind you as you looked around. It wasn’t a big room, just large enough for two or three people to comfortably fit inside. Any more than that, though, and they’d likely be bumping elbows the entire time. There was a table in the center of it, lined with tubs holding various chemicals that you’d never learned the names of. A clothesline hung around the perimeter of the room, a few newly developed photos lazily dangling from it. On the far wall there were two desks, various images and tools scattered across them.  

Everything in the room looked sinister, courtesy of the red tinted light that hung overhead.  

”Fucking creepy.” You muttered to yourself, crossing your arms over your chest as a chill inched down your back. This room felt significantly colder than the rest of Watson Hall, only adding to its unsettling vibe.  

The darkroom was empty, despite the sign on the door saying it was in use. The realization nearly made you breathe a sigh of relief, a part of you finding comfort in the thought that you wouldn’t actually have to confront Peter right now. But as you stepped further into the room and towards the twin desks, all your newfound relief dissipated.  

Resting against the leg of the desk was a fluorescent yellow bookbag, decorated with a variety of cheap pins ranging from local bands to images of outdated memes. You remembered the first time you ever saw that bag, lying on the floor of Peter’s bedroom just a week or so before the start of Junior year. He threw a fit when Aunt May had come in, tossing the ugly bag on his bed and raving about how she had gotten it on sale just in time for back-to-school.  

You made fun of him for months, always making note of the way its vibrancy clashed with his darker style. Secretly you had loved that bag, silently appreciative for how easy it made it to find Peter in the crowded halls of Midtown High. He would always beg Aunt May to get a different bag, but she refused, saying that they shouldn’t buy another until he had worn the yellow one out.  

Looking at it now, it seemed that he had finally achieved that goal. The yellow fabric was a touch duller now, though not by much, and there was a noticeable tear in the seam of the front pocket. Kneeling beside it, you traced your finger over a trail of blue thread, having been carefully used to stitch the fabric back together.  

You wondered why he had decided to fix it instead of just replacing it like he had always wanted.  

Straightening back up, you scanned over the rest of the desk. There was a black reusable water bottle perched on the edge, a set of keys attached to a Deftones lanyard lying beside it. A bit of sweat trickled down the edge of the bottle, collecting on the surface of the desk. You reached for it, shifting it just enough to hear ice knocking against the metal walls. It had barely melted, meaning that it hadn’t been long since Peter had gotten here. Still, you had no clue where he was now.  

Closer to the center of the desk was a neat stack of already developed photos. A girl graced the top of the stack—pale skin with bleach blonde hair, neatly pushed back by a black headband. You reached for it without hesitation, a single digit tracing along her grinning face.  

Peter took pictures of a lot of people, you included, but it was undeniable that Gwen had always been his favorite subject. Looking at this photo, you couldn’t help but understand why. She was effortlessly beautiful, capable of taking your breath away without even trying.  

You could never blame Peter for always trying to capture that beauty, fully aware that if you were him, she would’ve been your favorite too.  

Without much thought you decided to slip the image into your bag. Peter had dozens of pictures of Gwen, while you only had a measly few. He could spare one.  

The other images were far more recent than the first, with only one or two others featuring Gwen. There were snapshots of random Columbia students, a few cityscapes, and even one of the devil herself—Mary Jane, posed in front of the same mess hall that had ensnared you earlier. In the reflection you could see Peter, smiling from behind his camera.  

You gritted your teeth and rolled your eyes at the image. Were they really friends? The picture seemed to serve as enough of an answer, but you still couldn’t help but hope that you were wrong. Had Peter truly traded you in for Mary-fucking-Jane?  

You roughly shoved that photo to the back of the stack, doing your best not to think about it as you continued to snoop through the rest of them. None were particularly interesting, save for the last two. Their dark composition offered a stark difference from the rest, while simultaneously making it difficult to tell what Peter was even photographing.  

Taking one in each hand, your eyes darted back and forth between them, squinting as you tried to make out the subject, a task that was made all the more difficult by the rooms dim red lighting. You brought one closer to your face, making out a few trivial details. At the far edge, there seemed to be a street sign's corner, and in the middle a few streaks of dim light reflecting off a rain puddle.  

Moving it away from yourself, you shifted your focus to the other one, thinking it appeared to be just a close-up of the first image. Then, slowly, you realized your mistake. It hadn’t been just a zoomed-in shot, as the reflection in the puddle made it something else entirely—a self-portrait.  

But it wasn’t the warmth of Peter’s familiar brown eyes being reflected in the hazy liquid. Rather there was an outline of the two lifeless white lenses that belonged to his other self, the version of him you sometimes wished to forget.  

The sight made you feel sick, sweat starting to form along your neck as you hastily flipped the photo over, desperate to avoid his sickening stare. However, what you saw on the back of the image was almost as bad as being forced to stare at Spider-Man's reflection. Scrawled in Peter’s barely legible handwriting was the date APRIL 2ND.  

A new panic quickly trickled into your veins, fully replacing the one that had been born from the lifeless gaze of his mask. You read yesterday’s date over and over again, as if it would suddenly change. It never did, and a sizable knot formed in your throat as you slowly began to look up, shifting your focus to the forgotten photos pinned to the clothesline.  

Your jaw fell slack, the photos in your hands following suit and landing on the desk below them. When you first entered the darkroom, you hadn’t paid much mind to the photographs hanging up, assuming they weren’t of much importance. Now, though, you recognized them for what they truly were—the sister images of the ones you’d been holding. Flashes of 102nd Avenue, Aleksei Sytsevich lying lifeless on the ground, milky white shards of bone peeking through his flesh. And there were photos of his mask, and those goddamn white lenses, spattered with Aleksei’s blood.  

Peter hadn’t just been at the crime scene; he had documented it.  

Your palm pressed roughly to your mouth, fingers digging into your cheek as you made yourself swallow the vomit fighting its way up your throat. Your own trauma fought desperately to rear its head as you analyzed the gory images, but you refused to let it take hold, scrambling to keep control as you forced yourself to snap into action.  

After grabbing your phone, you wasted no time snapping pictures of the photographs hanging from the line, of the ones sprawled on the desk, of everything you could find. You didn’t know yet what you would do with them, but you refused to leave this room without collecting every bit of evidence you could find.  

Once you were certain you had gotten it all, you worked to straighten the stack of pictures you’d gone through, adjusting them so they appeared as if they’d never been touched in the first place. Then, with your heart hammering inside your chest, you darted for the door without a second thought, paying absolutely no mind to the strange looks given to you by passing students as you rushed for the stairs.  

You couldn’t stop moving, only slowing your frantic pace once you’d nearly made it to the exit doors. You rounded the corner as you tried to pull up Brant’s contact with shaky hands, wanting nothing more than to call her and get the fuck away from this campus. But, as soon as you went to press her name, your phone went flying from your hand and slid across the linoleum, your body pressing smack against another.  

Sugary notes of vanilla flooded your senses, making your thoughts turn hazy. Your palms were flush against the soft cotton of someone’s shirt, and you could feel their fingers wrapping firmly around your shoulders, trying to steady you enough that you wouldn’t stumble back from the impact.  

”Oh-shit!, sorry! I didn’t even see you-”  

Their voice wasn’t the first thing you recognized, instead you found yourself caught up in the material beneath your hands. They were wearing a black Ramones t-shirt, a barely noticeable tear on the edge of the collar. But you noticed the tear instantly because you were the one who had bought the shirt. You got it at the record store on 6th Avenue—Rough Trade, was the name of it—and the man behind the counter gave it to you for half off all because of that tear.  

You only ever got to wear it once before Peter nabbed it off your bedroom floor, never to return it. 

”y/n?”  

Your body betrayed you, immediately melting as the familiar sound of your name falling from his lips rang through your ears. Your heart had still been pounding in your chest this entire time, yet as your eyes met his for the first time in months, it fell still.  

Peter didn’t fully share in your reaction. Instead of appearing as if he were lost in the same nostalgic haze you were caught in, he looked as if he had seen a ghost. His skin blanched, eyes growing unnaturally wide. For a moment you thought he was going to say something else, his lips parting, yet nothing came out.  

In your lifetime, you had only known of a few things that could render Peter Parker speechless. You had now become one of them.  

”Hi.” You squeaked out, a single hand lifting from his chest and offering an awkward wave that filled you with humility.  

This wasn’t easy.  

You weren’t sure how to act around him, how to behave. For nine months you had envisioned this moment, conjuring up countless things to say to him, all the insults you wanted to hurl his way. But now that it was happening, you found yourself torn between wanting to hug and choke him.  

It seemed best to do neither.  

”Um, hi?” Peter’s grip on your shoulders tightened, just for a second, as if he were trying to prove to himself that you were really standing in front of him. Once he seemed satisfied with your physicality, he stepped back and released his grip on you entirely, subsequently making your other hand fall from his chest.  

”You’re not-I mean-you don’t go here.” He rasped, laughing awkwardly as he ran a hand through his hair, trying to ground himself.  

”You’re right, I don’t go here!” You pointlessly confirmed, voice raising several octaves as anxiety took over. “Very observant.”  

You cringed at the statement. Very observant?-you thought to yourself, biting down on the edge of your tongue as you watched Peter’s brows knit together-could've said anything, and that’s what you picked?  

He didn’t even acknowledge the useless comment, only letting it hang in the air between you as he continued to wait for a true answer.  

“I came to see you.” You choked out an honest answer, starting to shrink beneath his heavy gaze. You tried to step back, instinctively wanting to create distance between the two of you, but all you achieved was pressing yourself against the wall.  

There was no escaping him.  

He was quick to respond, making it clear just how high-strung he was. ”How did you find me?”  

”I’m a reporter.” You reminded him, offering it up as a vague answer to his question. He’d likely expected the response, given the way his eyes narrowed in frustration. “Finding people is part of my job description.”  

Peter always said that getting an answer out of you was like playing a game of charades, one that others very rarely won. You were a pro at dancing around the facts, only ever revealing them when they served to benefit you.

It was one of the many reasons you were so good at your job. 

“Is that why you’re here?” His question carried a sharp edge, his irritation growing stronger now as his jaw tightened. “For the Bugle?”  

Your body became tense, your shoulders squaring off as anxiety once again tried to shove to the surface. As you thought of the images you’d seen, the ones that were hanging just upstairs, your blood ran cold. You did your best not to let it show, instead trying to hide your fear behind a look of confusion. “Why would I be here for the Bugle?”  

At first, he only stared at you, his brows raising in an incredulous manner. You forced yourself to stare back despite the discomfort it brought you. Then, finally, he answered. “You wanna talk about Spider-Man, right?”  

Your heart sank into your stomach, lips turning dry as they parted. There was nothing good about the way the vigilante’s name rolled off his tongue, and you didn’t like it one bit. The semi-hushed tone he’d spoken in, laced with an essence of bitterness that one wouldn’t expect from the person that donned the mask.  

Hesitantly running your tongue along your now chapped lips, you responded in a shaky voice. “Why would I wanna talk about Spider-Man?”  

Harry’s advice rang through your mind—the same advice that had been mirrored by Aunt May, to remain wary of Peter—and you suddenly felt lightheaded. There was no way he could know that you found out about his identity that night, right?  

No, of course not. It was impossible. 

Peter appeared far more relaxed than you, his shoulders lazily lifting into a shrug. He didn’t seem to notice the sweat forming along your brow, making you think that you were doing an alright job at hiding your emotions. “Jameson wants new pictures of him, doesn’t he?” He threw out a guess.  

Your shoulders instantly sagged with relief, your lungs aching as you lightly blew out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Given what you’d seen upstairs, you decided it would be best to stick to Harry and May’s advice. Peter didn’t need to know that you were aware of who wore Spider-Man's mask. Not right now, at least.  

“I'm right, aren’t I?” Peter insisted impatiently, interrupting your racing thoughts and snapping you back into reality.  

“Do you have new pictures of him?” You hastily snapped back.  

“No. I don’t.” He lied straight through his teeth, once again running a hand through his already messy hair as he squeezed his eyes shut. It was obvious that he wasn’t planning to share any details of Spidey’s newly developed photoshoot hanging in the darkroom, and it would be against your best interest to press further, so you stayed quiet. When he opened his eyes again, he stared directly into yours. “And I don’t plan on taking any, so if that’s why you’re here then you’re wasting your time.”  

You couldn’t recall ever hearing Peter sound so exhausted before. His recent lack of sleep was made painfully evident by the varying shades of purple painting the skin around his eyes. How long had he looked this way? Has it been since Gwen? In some sick way you hoped that you were right, knowing that grief being the cause was better than the alternative—the idea that his lack of sleep related to his involvement with Aleksei.  

A part of you still refused to consider the images you’d seen as damning evidence that Peter had been the one to kill Aleksei Sytsevich. You couldn’t let yourself think that, refusing to believe that Peter Parker was anything even close to a murderer. It wasn’t possible.  

But, as much as you hated to admit it, they proved that he was in some way involved. An accessory, at least. For some reason, hopefully a good one, he hadn’t stopped Aleksei’s murder from happening.  

That came with its own dangerous implications.  

You clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth, trying to decide what direction you wanted to steer the conversation in, which angle would serve you best. With a deep breath, you made your choice. “Well, it’s good that that’s not why I’m here then.”  

He looked surprised. “Wait,” he laughed awkwardly, “you’re not writing a piece on him?”  

There was a thin line creasing the space between his brows, a strange expression on his face. His reaction wasn’t entirely unexpected, especially because you were known for your articles on Spider-Man. But this wasn’t a look that showed he was shocked to hear you were passing up on a story, it was a look of pure offense.  

You fought the urge to ask him why he cared so much, curious to find out if he had been expecting you to rush to Spider-Man's defense in the media. The only reason you held yourself back was the fear that maybe you were wrong, that maybe he hadn’t wanted you to defend him at all; perhaps he just wanted more press for his potential crimes.  

”Seems like the Globe has it covered.” You told him, trying to sound disinterested. You hoped that he would buy your act. “No need to waste anymore ink on a story that’s already been told, right?”  

Peter knew you well enough to know that there was more to it than that. Fortunately, he was willing to reason that your potential avoidance of Spider-Man related to that night, the last night all of you were together, and the events that neither of you wanted to talk about. Besides, even if he did want to mention it, he couldn’t do so without exposing his identity to you, an identity he wasn’t aware you already knew about.  

So, as much as he didn’t want to let it go, he had no other choice.  

”O-kay.” He stretched the word out, shaking his head lightly as he worked to regain his bearings in the conversation. As he did so, a few strands of hair fell against his forehead. He was quick to push them back. “Well, if that’s not it, then why are you here?”  

There was only a second of hesitation, air hissing between your teeth as you sucked in a breath, crossing your fingers behind your back. You hoped Gwen would forgive you for the lie you were about to tell.  

”Helen Stacy.”  

The first emotion to wash over Peter was pain. It was obvious, showing in the way his shoulders slumped forwards and his bottom lip trembled, wincing as the surname of his dead lover echoed through his ears. It was the second emotion that was harder to detect, having been more cleverly concealed than the first. Anger.  

You could see it in his eyes, his pupils dilating as he started to see red. Your own gaze flickered to his sides, stopping on his clenched fists, knuckles turning a pale shade of white. It made you feel uncomfortable, especially since you were the one on the receiving end of that look. You nervously cleared your throat, starting to fiddle with the strap of your bag.  

“She called the other day and asked about running a memorial piece for Gwen’s anniversary. Obviously, she thought it would be best if Gwen’s friends put it together—you know, do it how we used to for the school paper. I’ll do the writing; you take care of the pictures.”  

It was hard to sound confident as you elaborated upon the fabricated situation, too busy trying to focus on anything other than his heavy gaze. You focused on the floor, mostly, staring over at where your phone still laid on the ground. Still, even without looking at him, you could feel the weight of his attention. The air around you began to grow thin, every breath turning into a battle. You felt like you were being slowly suffocated by his fury, your lungs burning within your chest.  

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea-”  

“You can’t say no, Pete.” You cut him off, forcibly lowering the walls surrounding your own trauma, using it to manipulate him. You didn’t feel bad about it, either. “We both lost our best friend that night, and that sucked. But Helen lost her kid. This is the least we can do for her.”  

As the last word fell from your mouth, you forcefully pried your gaze off the ground and begrudgingly met his once again. Terror slid into your veins as you did, your body already preparing itself for that seething look of his—but it vanished. There was no trace of anger on his face. All that remained was the slightest glimmer of remorse.  

His fists unclenched, mindlessly cracking his knuckles. Then he sighed, followed by a reluctant nod. “You’re right. She’s been through a lot, and if this will help bring her some sort of... I don’t know-” he waved his hands slightly, looking troubled by his own choice of words, “closure, then I’ll do what I can to help.”  

Your mouth curved into a smile.  

It seemed like a good sign, you figured, that he was willing to help. It reignited whatever hope you had left that despite whatever mess he had gotten into as Spider-Man, that he was still the same selfless Peter Parker you’d always known. He could still be saved. And, fortunately, you had now crafted the excuse you needed to get closer to him and figure out how to save him.  

”Great!” You spoke a little too loud, your excitement coming off a touch too strong. You tried to lessen it, though the uncharacteristic reaction certainly hadn’t gone unnoticed by Peter. “Meet me at Sylvia’s tomorrow at six, okay? We can start going over everything and make a rough outline for the memorial!”  

Peter immediately went still when he heard the name of the restaurant the four of you used to frequent. He hadn’t set foot in Sylvia’s since Gwen’s death, too afraid to face the memories hiding within its walls. He tried to speak, tried to tell you no, but he didn’t have the chance as you interrupted him again.  

“Here,” You pulled a business card from your bag, thrusting it towards him with a pointed look, “in case you forgot my number.”  

You didn’t hide the animosity behind the statement, using it as another tool to play on whatever guilt he might harbor for what he’d done to you. It seemed to work, given the fact that he promptly shut his mouth and chose not to argue. Instead, he cautiously reached out, plucking the cards from your fingers.  

“Try not to ghost me for another nine months.” You playfully added on, the words joined by a smile that resembled something of a threat as you reminded him, “After all, I know where to find you now.”  

Peter just returned the smile, tight lipped and far less ferocious than the one you’d given him. He knew that eventually you’d want an answer as to why he’d been avoiding you, but not right now. Now wasn’t the time for it.  

So, he stuffed the card in his pocket as you skillfully skirted around him, going to grab your phone off the floor. Once you had it in your hand, you started towards the exit, already starting to dial Brant’s number. “I’ll see you tomorrow, y/n.” Peter called after you, watching as you pushed the door open and stepped over the threshold.  

There was an eerie sense of familiarity accompanying his goodbye, one that left your heart swelling as the words sought to soothe any of the still-bleeding wounds that remained from that night. The comforting feeling was almost enough to make you forget about the images you’d seen in the darkroom, the ones that now also lived within the camera roll on your phone.  

Almost—but not quite.  

Brant answered on the first ring, seemingly overjoyed as another lie easily fell from your lips, confirming with her that Peter agreed to help take photos of Spider-Man so you could try and plead his case to the public—the reason she thought the two of you were searching for Peter. She was just as eager as you were to leave Columbia’s posh campus, swiftly agreeing when you asked her to meet you outside of the mess hall so the two of you could head back to the Bugle.  

Now, waiting alone in front of the mirrored windows, you stared silently at the reflection in front of you. A girl with platinum hair, neatly tucked back by a black headband, stared back at you with her familiar bright green eyes. They were filled with enough dismay to make your chest ache, ridding you of any comfort that Peter’s familiarity had given you.  

”You’re gonna have to see him again.” The somber tone she used was unbefitting of someone that you could only think to describe as sunshine personified; everything you ever wished you could be. “You’ll need his help.” Gwen told you. “You know that don’t you?”  

You knew she wasn’t talking about Peter.  

When you didn’t reply, she decided she needed to convince you further, tailoring her approach so it had the best chance of swaying you. She reached a handout, and you knew that if you had closed your eyes, you would be able to feel her fingertips brush against your palm as she squeezed your hand.  

God, you missed that feeling. You missed her.  

And it was because you missed her that you refused to close your eyes. Refused to let your brain mimic something that was no longer real.  

Gwen’s doe eyes turned glossy, her rosy lips puckering into a pout that could make even the most unyielding man fold. ”He’s gonna need your help, too, y/n.” 

You bit your cheek, thinking of the bottle of pills laying in the bottom of your bag, the ones you hadn’t had to take in so long now. You were getting better.  

"You can’t save one without saving the other.” Gwen tried to tell you, although it only served to make you angry at her, unable to figure out why she would feel that way. She shouldn’t want you to save Harry, not when he was the reason she wasn’t here right now!  

If she were here, really here, then maybe you would tell her that. Remind her of how well her altruistic lifestyle had ended.  

But she wasn’t. So, you didn’t.  

Instead, you turned on your heel, forcing yourself to turn away from the reflection. You immediately saw a flash of royal blue in the sea of students as Brant forced her way through the crowd. Fine—you thought to yourself, offering Gwen a silent answer as you started to make your way towards Brant.  

”This place is a goddamn maze!” You heard Brant huff noisily once you were in earshot of each other, her bobbed hair swaying manically. She clearly hadn’t had a good time, but you weren’t really interested in hearing about it, either. Instead, you found yourself distracted by her appearance. Her neatly styled hairstyle, sharp winged liner, and stylish outfit. It made you think of the girls from earlier, the ones who had made you so self-conscious, and it gave you an idea.  

If you were going to do this—follow Gwen’s advice and save both of your boys—then you needed to try and save yourself, too. And, luckily, you and Brant seemed to be about the same size.  

“Do you wanna go shopping?” You asked bluntly, watching as Brant doubled-back, clearly not expecting your question.  

She blinked, thinking it over before hesitantly replying, “Um, sure?”  

Ravencroft could wait until tomorrow morning. 

tag list - @pompeygirl89 @pockyandme

a/n - hi anyone who's bothering to read this! i'm super excited about this chapter for a variety of reasons and i hope that you enjoyed it! feel free to leave any comments or tips, i always appreciate them and can't wait to write more harry & dark!peter content in the next part <3

#peter parker imagine #harry osborn imagine #tasm imagine #peter parker fanfiction #spiderman imagine #dark spiderman #dark peter parker #yandere spiderman #yandere peter parker #gwen stacy imagine #gwen stacy #tasm fanfiction #tasm fic #tasm spiderman #peter parker fic #peter parker #peter parker x reader #harry osborn x reader #spiderman fanfiction #mcu imagine #harry osborn #mary jane watson #mj watson #webbverse #dark mcu #peter parker x y/n #a dark age

[hellfirenacht]

Wing Man Part 8

Fic Summary: Steve 'the Hair' Harrington is your best friend, and is constantly striking out. Sick of this, you two make a deal; you'll wing man for each other. Hooking Steve up with dates is easy, but he finds himself struggling to find you a date. At least, until Dustin starts talking about his new cool friend Eddie.

(1 2 3 4 5 6 7)

Chapter Summary: Eddie explains himself, and you two make plans to hang out on purpose.

a/n: Sorry I haven't been updating! I swear, I'm almost always thinking about this fic but I've been trying to figure out where to go with it. I'm started to see how I want to shape the story (over 40k words in, go figure). Thank you all so much for your patience!

Also, I've had a lot of people ask me about Paige and have shown interest in what happened between her and Eddie. She is actually from Eddie's prequel novel, Flight of Icarus! I'll still explain bits and pieces during the story, but I highly recommend reading the novel for the full context. I am trying to write this in a way you don't need to read FoI, but it does give extra context to the story.

Anyway, we continue.

Aside from the mixtape playing in the van, it was surprisingly quiet between you and Eddie. Despite his eagerness to show up and take you out, now that you were sitting in his passenger side seat again, he had no idea what to do next. The sound of Iron Maiden was rumbling through the van, crackling through the old speakers. 

It wasn’t often that Eddie was at a loss for words or couldn’t come up with something to say. After embracing his role in the Hawkins High ecosystem as the resident loudmouth freak he could always come up with something to say to break the ice or cause a ruckus. 

But, being loud wasn’t exactly a substitution for actual charisma. He could hold the attention of his Hellfire Club during the game, and keep them safe enough from most bullies even. But intimidation was different than... whatever the hell he was supposed to be doing here. Flirting? That seemed right. He knew he should be trying to flatter you or compliment you or do something to show that he had an interest in you. 

“So,” you were the one to break the silence between the two of you. “What have you been up to for the past two weeks?”

Eddie know what you actually meant was “What the fuck, man?” which was a really fair question. 

“I should have called you sooner.” It was best to go ahead and rip the bandaid off now and get this conversation out of the way. “I’m sorry, I wanted to but I couldn’t.”

“Why not?” you asked, leaning against the passenger side door as you looked at him. Despite your eagerness to get out of Family Video with him, he could see that you weren’t going to just let him not explain why he hadn’t talked to you. Not that he was going to leave you hanging like that anyway. 

“My phone blew up.” Eddie said bluntly. 

“Your phone blew up? Like... actually exploded?” you asked, trying to see if he was fucking with you. 

“Remember that huge storm a few weeks ago? Turns out that old trailers don’t exactly have the best wiring sometimes so when lightning strikes it knocks out power for a few days and fries some important wires.” he explained. “So... yeah, we just got a new phone today and when I tried to call...”

“So, I didn’t answer my phone so you decided to track me down?” There was amusement in your voice which he took as a good sign. “Seems like you could have done that part earlier. I’m not hard to find.” 

“I’m not exactly interested in stalking.” Eddie snorted. “I’m already on enough people's shitlist in town.”

“Oh, you’re no fun.” you laughed. “You know where I live, you could have shown up at my doorstep in the rain or used random phones around town to leave weird messages about how you can’t stop thinking about me or sent me letters with cryptic meanings.”

“Where do you come up with these things?” Eddie laughed, feeling the tension between the two of you start to dissipate. 

“I read a lot of bodice-ripper books.” you shrugged. “Trashy romance novels are a guilty pleasure sometimes.” 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a weirdo?” 

“Steve did about an hour ago when I suggested that Bozo the clown could be the shit out of Pennywise from It.” 

Eddie wasn’t sure what he expected you to say, but it wasn’t that. Every time you had shown up in his life, you had completely thrown him off. He was starting to suspect that no amount of “Munson Magic” was going to work on you. Not that he wanted to work his dad’s charm on you to begin with. 

What he really wanted to do at that moment was ask you about your little bet with Steve. No, wait, not a bet. A deal? Maybe he should have asked Dustin more questions, or at least waited until after Hellfire to talk to the kid- 

”So what’s the plan?” You broke through his thoughts once again. “You show up out of nowhere and have me get into your unmarked van to take me to a second location... is there a second location in mind?”

There wasn’t, Eddie really hadn’t thought that far ahead.He’d panicked after his talk with Wayne and had shown up to Family Video on the chance that you’d been there. He’d run straight out the door with every intention of finding you and let you know that he was stupid for not trying harder to call you before. 

”I figured we could just... drive.” He wished he could ignore the sudden parallel between you and Paige. He wished that he could just forget about what happened in ‘84. Fuck, him and Paige never even had an official date, only hooking up in his van for a few weeks before everything blew up. 

Wait, was this a date? Crap, that had been the plan right? Show up, ask you on a date and then... then he’d be on a date. What the FUCK was he actually doing? He was acting so fucking awkward now- everything had been easier before. Why did Dustin have to open his big mouth about this?

“Just driving sounds great.” you said, and Eddie once again tried to relax. Every girl he had been with had wanted something from him. Nicole Summers and Cass Finnigan just wanted bragging rights that they got with the freak, and Paige had wanted him to be a rock hero. What did you want from him?

“Have you eaten?” It wasn’t exactly late, but it wasn’t really early in the evening either. His uncle always asked him that whenever one of them got home, and it had taken Eddie an embarrassingly long time to realize that it was Wayne’s way of showing that he cared. 

“I could eat.” you replied, which at least gave this... whatever this was, some structure for the night. Eddie didn’t have a lot of cash on him, but he could probably scrape together enough to get you each a burger or something. 

When the Iron Maiden tape clicked off and spat itself out, you took it upon yourself to pull it out and look it over. “Got any other tapes in here? I need to judge your music taste.” 

That made Eddie laugh “You and every other person in this town. I have a few more tapes in here.” He tapped on the center console which you eagerly dug into, flipping through the different cassettes with eagerness. 

“Metal. Metal. Metal. Metal.” You said, going through each cassette one by one. “I’m starting to see a pattern here, Eddie.” 

“What gave it away?” He said deadpan. “Was it that I play guitar or the fact that we’ve only bonded over music so far?”

“And Chris Morrison.”

“And Chris Morrison.”

“It was your hair, actually. You look so much like Eddie Van Halen it’s actually uncanny.” You looked up from the tapes and he could feel your eyes studying his face. He was glad that it was dark out now, as he could feel warmth rising in his cheeks at the comparison. Was that a compliment? Were you into him looking like Van Halen? 

“Van Halen?” Eddie asked. “I figured I was more of a Kirk Hammett type.”

“The hair yes,” you agreed, still staring at his face as he continued to drive. “But your smile is definitely more Van Halen.”

When was the last time someone had ever looked at him with that much consideration before? Something in Eddie’s gut twisted as he glanced over at you for a split second to meet your eyes. Huh, that was weird. Had anyone made him nervous like this before? Yeah he’d been attracted to Paige but this was starting to feel different. 

He really needed a cigarette right about now. 

“I hope that’s a compliment.” Eddie managed to say as he fumbled for the packet of Camels in the cupholder by him. 

“Oh, it is. I promise.” you replied, digging out a lighter and helping him light the smoke in his mouth. The world's tiniest supernova...

Eddie hated that the closest thing he had to compare notes on when it came to a healthy romance was two months with Paige and a handful of movies that he barely watched. 

You went back to his tapes, and seemed to pick one out. You removed the tape that had been spat out, put it back in the appropriate case (which Eddie found himself appreciating), and he was surprised to hear the old riffs of Muddy Waters playing. 

“A palate cleanser.” you said, leaning back into the passenger side seat. 

Eddie felt his mind reeling from your choice of music. Muddy Waters had been how his mom introduced him to rock at a young age. The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the well loved tape as he pulled into the drive in of the next fast food joint he’d seen. 

When he pulled up to the window to pay, a fresh ten was shoved in his face before he could even reach for his own wallet. It took a moment for him to realize that you were wanting to pay. 

“You got me out of work early, it’s the least I can do.” you said, not giving him the option to say no as cash was exchanged for a bag of questionable but cheap food. You held the bag in your lap as Eddie started making his way out of town. 

“So is this an ‘eating van’ or a ‘non-eating van’?” you asked, messing with the top of the bag. 

“I think I’d starve if I didn’t eat in here.” Eddie snorted. “Knock yourself out.”

You wasted no time digging into the fries and taking a few for yourself as Eddie went to the only place that he could afford to take you right now that might be date worthy. 

Luckily, Lover’s Lake was quiet and private on weeknights. If Eddie had taken two minutes to plan this better, he would have thought to maybe clear out the back of his van and set out a blanket and have a picnic. When it came to music and D&D he was great at planning out details, with dates? Not so much. 

This isn’t a date. He reminded himself for the hundredth time tonight. She’s just a girl that you ran over to spend time with the second it occurred to you that she might have an interest in you and she really willingly hopped in your van and your friends actually like her-

Shit. This had to be a date right? Neither of you had said the word but that’s what it was... right? 

Eddie was snapped out of his thoughts with the sweet smell of hot potatoes and grease was wafting under his nose. You had shoved a few fries in front of his face and Eddie wasted no time in taking them. You continued to absently feed him fries as he found a spot to park.

The two of you divided up the food on his dashboard, and Eddie rolled down the windows to let the cool autumn air in. 

“So... what are you gonna be for Halloween?” Eddie asked, wincing internally. When was the last time anyone he knew had dressed up for Hallowen? Okay, so Hellfire Club did tend to dress up on Halloween for a special one shot but that was different- no one came to school in costumes anymore.

“It depends on my plans.” you answered. “Halloween is on a Thursday so I’m usually working. If I have a morning shift I’ll probably do zombie makeup for work, if Steve and Robin are working with me that day I think we’re gonna attempt to be Luke, Leia, and Hans.” 

“And are you gonna be Leia?” Eddie asked. 

“Ideally, I wanted to be Chewie but I don’t have the time for that.” you laughed. “Robin and I voted on Steve to Be Leia. Robin will be Luke, and I’ll be Hans Solo with a teddy bear.”

“Please tell me that Harrington isn’t going to be in the bikini.” Eddie laughed. 

“Keith said costumes had to be work appropriate so, sadly, Steve will not be gracing the store with his sweater-vest chest hair under a bra.” You sighed dramatically. “It’s like he hates the idea of us having fun!” 

“What if you have to close?” Eddie prompted, adjusting in his seat to lean against the door to face you as best he could. Next time he was absolutely clearing out the back to give you both more room. 

“Oh, I am not closing.” you said firmly. “And if Keith thinks he can schedule me that day he can suck it because I have plans.” 

You already have Halloween plans. Of course you would. It’s not like you had to worry about school on a weekday like he did. Eddie tried not to deflate in front of you and remained calm. 

“And what plans would that be?” he asked. 

“Have you ever seen The Rocky Horror Picture Show?” you asked, a smile tugging at your lips. 

He had, once, with Reefer Rick a few months ago when picking up his usual supply. A quick pick up had turned into a game of pool, which had turned into the two of them high on Rick’s couch watching an old VHS tape while Rick laughed his ass off and yelled at the tv before passing out in the middle of Tim Curry seducing Brad and Janet. 

“Once.” Eddie said, not giving the exact details of circumstance. “With a friend, I didn’t really get it.” 

“Did you see it in theaters or did you just watch it at home?” you asked, finishing off your food. 

“Friend’s house.” 

“Oh, no wonder you didn’t get it. Rocky Horror is an experience, you can’t just pop the tape in and watch it. You have to come see it in a theater.” As you spoke you were absently folding a napkin in your lap turning it into what looked like a heart. When you were done with that one, you started with another shape with a different napkin. 

“Is that an invitation?” Eddie asked, tearing his eyes away from the way your fingers moved for now. He found his heart pounding in his chest, unsure if you were actually wanting him to come to this, and from the knot forming in his stomach as the shapes you were folding reminded him of the times he met you before. 

“It is.” you confirmed, the ninja star you had shaped with the napkin was placed on the center console as you grabbed another napkin. “...It could also be a date.” 

Despite the period at the end of the sentence, Eddie heard the slight waiver in your voice on the word date. It was that same nervous stammer that had been in Paige’s voice when she offered to let him move in with her in California, it was the same hesitant inflection that one of his Hellfire players used when they weren’t sure if Eddie would approve of what crazy plan they had for their character. 

Aside from that first awkward meeting at the Palace Arcade, you had been pretty confident and upfront with him. Now here you are, laying out your intentions and seeing what he would do. 

What would he do? Eddie had shown up at Family Video with no real plan. He only knew he wanted to see you again, and he knew that Dustin and Steve were trying to set you two up. And it’s not like Eddie was completely against the idea of going on a date with you. You were sharp, and you kept him on his toes, and when you smiled at him it felt like his brain might short out. 

But he had also panicked when he had thought that you were going to kiss him before. After Eddie’s disastrous break up with Paige two years ago, it’s not like he’d been completely against any physical relationships. There had been a grand total of two other hook ups that he’d sabotaged. People weren’t interested in getting to know the freak, they just wanted to say that they had been with him. So both times, Eddie had made sure that he’d been a lousy date and a decent enough lay before deciding that he’d rather had a date with his right hand and a Heavy Metal magazine.

Eddie would rather the rumor mill call him a boring date rather than set a standard that he’d go out with anyone who asked. He wondered if he had, would Steve have put his name on the town marquis for the world to see? Would Eddie ‘the Slut’ Munson be treated any differently than Eddie ‘the Freak’?

Shit, you were still waiting for a response. 

“A date.” Eddie finally managed to echo your last words back at you. The napkin you had been messing with in your hands was now taking the shape of a ninja star. 

“I mean, if you’re interested.” you said quickly. “It could just be a friend thing. Or you probably already have plans for Halloween-”

“I don’t.” Eddie interjected. “It could be a date.”

He watched your shoulders relax and you smiled up at him. “It’s a date then.” You grabbed a napkin and your green marker out of your bag and scribbled something down, handing it over to him. 

“In case your phone blows up again, here is the date and time and location for the Halloween showing of the movie.” your eyes narrowed slightly at him. “And my work schedule has been hectic but I consistently work on Sunday’s and clock out at four.”

Eddie got the message loud and clear, he would know where to find you now. There wouldn’t be any excuses for not reaching out, but two could play at this game. He took the marker from your hand and grabbed his own napkin, scribbling his own phone number down and handing it over to you. 

“I’m at school all week, but I still play at the Hideout on Tuesdays.” He answered back. “Friday is Hellfire.”

With that, the playing field felt a little more level. Both of you now had the power to track the other one down or call when needed.   

“So what are you going to be for Halloween?” you asked, tucking the napkin with his number into your bog. 

“Oh, haven’t you heard? When you’re the town freak every day is Halloween.” Eddie chuckled. 

“So what, you’re gonna put on a polo and khakis instead?” He liked the way you scrunch your nose when you laughed. “Ditch the jewelry and cover your tattoos?” 

“That would probably scare some of the teachers at school.” Eddie had considered doing exactly that, but he really didn’t think he’d want that kind of attention. “No one dresses up at school anymore.”

“Boring.” You sighed. “I tried dressing up for Halloween my senior year but when I got to school my friends convinced me to change clothes.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “You don’t seem like the type to let other people tell you what to do.” 

“Now I’m not.” you shrugged. “I’m not in high school anymore, and all those people that I saw everyday? Turns out I was only friends with them because I saw them every day. Once you get away from that forced routine you realize that it’s all bullshit.”

Eddie could relate, probably better than anyone else. He was so sick of the day to day hierarchy of highschool that he’d scream it from on top of a table. Literally. 

“What were you trying to be before your friends killed your fun?” Eddie asked. 

“A pirate. It was last minute but I had a bandana, an eyepatch, a sock puppet with feathers glued to it for my parrot, and a wire hanger I was carrying around as a hook.” you laughed at the memory. “I ended up dropping the eyepatch before my friends made me change because I kept running into people. My wire hanger was confiscated, some asshat stole my parrot, and one of my friends gave me a sweater to change into. I didn’t even make it to first period in that outfit.”

Eddie had made it a point to not pay attention to anyone outside of his small group at school, only ever keeping an eye out for lost sheep that didn’t have anywhere else to go. He wondered, if he had seen you that morning in the brief window before you were pushed back into conformity would he have noticed you? Talked to you? You had already been nice to him before. 

“Wait,” Eddie over at you, taking in the picture you had painted for him. “You made a sock puppet parrot?”

“I needed a parrot, or else no one would get it!” you explained. “But then when I took it off and left it to go use the bathroom it was gone. I finally found the thief in fourth period because they kept playing with it and squawking my own parrot at me. But by that point I had just cut my losses and had given up on Halloween.”

“Are you usually this crafty?” Eddie asked, once again looking at the final napkin you were folding into what looked like an old cootie catcher. 

“I get bored easily.” you said. “If I don’t have something to do with my hands I can’t focus.”

“How’d you start with the whole-” Eddie grabbed one of his slightly used napkins and gave it a wave. “Folding thing?”

“Fourth grade show and tell.” you said. “I did not prepare anything and so I spent a full ten minutes in the school library to find something to show. I found a book on origami, found the easiest thing to make and realized that I actually enjoyed it.”

If that was a mystery, it sure did get solved right there. Eddie wanted to ask about Steve and Dustin. He wanted to ask you why him? He could keep his mouth shut, let this whole thing play out and see what happened. Eddie could sit here, and enjoy the fact that a girl was giving him the time of day and leave everything up in the air just like he had with Paige. 

“So I heard you and Steve had a deal going on.” Eddie said. “Something about getting dates?”

You froze for a second, the completed cootie catcher in your hands. Things were dead silent for a grand total of ten seconds. Ten agonizingly long seconds. Even the cassette player had clicked off and was now whirring as it rewind the Iron Maiden tape. 

Then you started laughing. A lot. 

“Jesus, Eddie!” you said, wiping your eyes with the ninja star as a tear threatened to spill down your cheek. “I tell you I have origami as a hobby, and you follow up with ‘So I heard you and Steve are trying to get dates.’ Seriously?”

Eddie remained silent at your reaction, trying to process your laughter. You didn’t seem scared or nervous that he had called you out, and he had to admit that he hadn’t completely thought through the consequences of asking you that question. 

“Who blabbed?” You asked, after your laughter had calmed down. 

“Henderson.” Eddie admitted and, in an attempt to ease any lingering tension he leaned forward to rest his elbow on the center console and held his chin in his hand as he looked at you. “That shrimp informed me that you found me so irresistible that you begged Steve to set you up with me.”

“Is that right?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Oh yeah,” Eddie agreed. “Told me all about how ever since Chris Morrison shot you down, you’ve been desperate to get my attention to get back at him.”

“So which is it, am I attracted to you or am I using you to get back at a guy I talked to once in high school years ago?” you asked. Eddie saw a glint in your eyes, the same one he’d seen that first night at the arcade when at the air hockey table. 

“Both are true.” Eddie continued to explain, a shit eating grin on his face. “You see, you were originally going to use me to get back at Chris, but then you saw me play guitar and instantly fell in love.”

“Damn, this sounds like the plot of a terrible movie.” you laughed. “So is this the part where I tell you that ‘It started out like that, but I swear it’s not like that anymore!’? Do I beg on my knees that my feelings for you are genuine, even though we’ve hung out a grand total of two-and-a-half times?”

Five times, but who’s counting? 

“What’s the half-time?” Eddie asked. 

“You ditched me at the arcade after I said I’d be right back.” you stated matter-of-factly. “I’m hoping it’s not a pattern where you start dropping off the face of the earth just when things start getting good.”

“Between you and me,” Eddie leaned in closer. “I thought Dustin was trying to set me up with Steve. Not you.” 

Cue more laughter from you as you threw your head back. “Are you kidding me?! Dustin makes me and Steve show up to an arcade and tries to force a meeting with you- and you thought you were supposed to be dating Steve?!” 

“Not dating!” Eddie clarified quickly. “You see, Steve and I only have one thing in common and that’s Dustin Henderson. Kid practically worships Steve. I thought he was trying to get us to be friends or something.”

“Oh my god, you thought Dustin was trying to hook his two dads up!” Your cootie catcher was now crumpled up in your hands, stained with tears from your laughing. “I’m a homewrecker!” 

Yeah, this really wasn’t going the way Eddie had expected it. 

“Shit, Eddie, I’m sorry.” you said, your laughter calming down into giggles instead. “Have I been reading this whole thing wrong? I mean, if you have more of an interest in Steve I could probably set that up. He’s only ever shown interest in girls but you have long hair and are pretty enough-”

“No.” Eddie said. “I don’t have an interest in Steve- you think I’m pretty?” How were you able to throw him off so easily? He could tell that if you had been able to join Hellfire you would have been a menace at his table.

“Extremely.” you said, your voice more sincere now. 

The two of you just stared at each other for a while and Eddie felt that same twisty feeling in his gut again. You thought he was pretty. That was good, right? Did you like pretty boys? You were pretty- he liked that a lot. 

“I...” Eddie started and then dug deep inside himself to find the words he wanted to use. “Prettier than Steve?” Those were not the words he wanted to say, but he said them anyway. 

“Steve is conventionally attractive but, as I said before, not my type.” you said. “I like guys with long hair anyway.”

Eddie really couldn’t tell if he was nailing this or blowing it. “So, what is your type?” 

“I’ll tell you mind if you tell me yours.” you countered. 

Had Eddie ever really thought about what his type was? Yeah, he’d had ill-advised crushes and had been attracted to various women in comics and tv but did he have a type? He tried to connect all the girls in his mind that he’d been with, trying to find a pattern. 

Someone who actually pays attention to me. That’s pretty sad, Eddie. He came to the conclusion. Yeah, aside from his disastrous kiss with Ronnie five years ago, every girl he’d been with had been the one to show interest first, and you were no exception. But had he actually had feelings for the others? Not really. Attraction? Yeah. Feelings? Well, with Paige he had been far too busy dealing with Corroded Coffin, his dad, and school to really decide what he felt for Paige. Any other small flings had been dead on arrival.

So why did he keep wanting to spend time with you?

“Don’t go spreading this around,” Eddie started. “But if I had to pick a type, it’d be She-Hulk.” 

“She-Hulk?” you mulled that over in your mind. “So tall, green, and angry?” 

“Strong-willed, and funny as shit.” Eddie corrected. 

“And green.”

“And green.” 

“If I had known that earlier I would have picked Kermit the Frog as my Halloween costume this year.” you teased. “I don’t have a character off the top of my head, but I like people who feel.. Real.”

Real. The word that Paige and him had used over and over in those two months. 

“What’s real to you?” 

“Not high school.” you said. “Someone who’s not afraid to exist and be themselves. I’m most attracted to anyone who can let go of their desperate ego and just have fun. High school was boring because everyone was so wrapped up in their own bs of looking cool that they didn’t do anything that they actually wanted to do. Shit, even I fell into that.”

Eddie didn’t want to ask if he was real to you. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for an answer. There were lots of times he wished that he wasn’t still in school, but this time really hit harder. He was starting to really like you, and yeah part of him was terrified of that. 

The two of you finished off the last of your food and Eddie shoved all the leftover trash into the brown bag and tossed it in the back so you wouldn’t be stepping on it. 

“I don’t know much about real anymore, but I think you’re pretty badass.” Eddie finally said. “I mean, you brought a wire hanger and a fake parrot to school for a costume. That’s pretty brave, even if your friends did talk you out of it.”

“I’m more mad that the parrot was stolen and used to annoy me than the lack of costume.” you said with a small laugh. “They weren’t even funny. They just kept repeating what I said. It was easier to just shut up at that point.” 

“Didn’t think to make them say anything embarrassing?” 

“Oh, I tried. But, jocks don’t know the art of a good ‘Duck Season, Rabbit Season’ gag. Anything embarrassing I said they’d just turn it around. I’d say ‘I pissed myself in gym.’ they’d reply with ‘you pissed yourself in gym’. No love for comedy.” You took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. “If you’re going to be a bully, at least give me a good story to tell later, you know?”

“I once got slammed against a locker by a jock who called me ‘a myriad freak.” Eddie said. “To this day, I still don’t know what he was trying to mean by that.”

“See? At least that’s funny.” you said, and then. “Holy shit, we’ve gotten off topic.” 

“There was a topic?” Eddie leaned back on the seat again. 

“Yes, an important one that I was very interested in before we started talking about bullies and high school and She-Hulk.” you nodded. 

Talking to you was so easy that he hadn’t realized how many topics the two of you had blown through in a short amount of time. He looked at his watch real quick and realized it was creeping towards 11 pm now. Had the two of you really been talking that long?

“What topic was it?” 

“You flirting with me.” you said, your lips pulling back in a cheshire grin. “I’m pretty sure you were at least, before I became a homewrecker between you and Steve. Normally I’d hate to break up a happy family, but I might have to make an exception this one time.”

“Was I flirting?” Eddie tilted his head with his own grin. “I’m pretty sure I was just telling you that I thought Dustin was trying to make me be friends with Steve. If I had known that the shrimp was trying to introduce me to a cute girl-” He would have shot it down and canceled Side Quest Day- “I wouldn’t have left the way I did.”

“You think I’m cute?” 

“Extremely.” 

You nodded. “Alright, then it’s a good thing that we’re going on a date. I’m glad to know that I’m not coming between you and Steve.”

It was just past midnight when Eddie dropped you off at your apartment that night. This time when you leaned over the center console towards him, he didn’t freeze up or panic. Eddie let you hug him and he hugged you back, his cheeks growing hot momentarily when he felt your lips press against his cheek and he was able to breathe in your scent. 

“See you later, Eddie. Oh, and for the movie- I highly recommend dressing up.” you looked him up and down. “Actually, just wear what you’d normally wear. I think you’ll fit right in.” 

Eddie made a mental note to ask Rick later on what he was supposed to wear for this. 

“I’ll call you.” he said. “I promise. I mean it this time.”

“Not if I call you first, I have your number now. And worst case scenario, I know where you play.” you responded. “See you Tuesday, Eddie.” 

And with that you were gone again, leaving Eddie alone in the van feeling much better than the last time he had given you a ride. There were still questions he had. He still wanted to know why exactly everyone was wanting the two of them to meet again, and why you always so readily agreed to meet up with him. But those were questions for another day. 

“You had a missed call.” Wayne said as Eddie made his way into the trailer. “Didn’t leave a name or number. Said she’d call you back.”  

Eddie laughed and shook his head, guess you meant it when you said you’d call first. 

“Don’t stay up too late watching tv.” Eddie said before heading towards his bedroom. He once again found himself falling asleep with his copy of The Hobbit, the origami flower tucked safely in the back. 

Ending note: This fic takes place during October 1985. Stephen King’s It did not come out until September 1986. I would like to ask you all politely to suspend your disbelief for the historical inaccuracy of a piece of dialogue that probably didn’t add much to the plot. If this horrible inaccuracy bothers you, please repeat to yourself “it’s just a fic, I should really just relax” which is what most of us should be doing anyway.

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

Tag List: @k8loo @terrormonster55 @sp1dyb0y1008 @crocwork-clockodile @ali-r3n @mxcheese @josephquinnschesthair @gagasbee @peaches-roses-sins @witchwolflea @vintagehellfire @royale1803 @cumslutforaemond @prestinalove @browneyedgirl320 @perpetualmess @thebook-hobbit @mistonk @cultish-corner @grishaversecaptivated @sortagaysortahigh @halialex1119 @bakugouswhOr3 @siriuslysmoking @pookiesnatcher @sky-full-0f-fl0wers @takemetoneverlandbabe @killjoynotes @maelibo

#nacht post #nacht fic #eddie munson x reader #wing man

[shady-tavern]

Perfect Nemesis Part One

As usual with all my hero and villain stories, this one has a warning for blood and injury, though nothing too graphic will be described.

***

You tasted sweat and dust on your tongue, the ground beneath you cracked and half crumbled and your ears rang. You couldn’t make yourself move, your limbs too heavy and hurt radiated in a big, cresting wave through your body.

You couldn’t breathe as someone loomed over you, scuffed boots with white laces appearing in your vision. The hand that gripped you and dragged you to your feet, your costume torn and blood seeping past to stain the colorful material, was icy. The touch felt searing with how cold it was and you were terrified.

You were dragged up until you met burning red eyes and you tried to fight, but your body wouldn’t move. A second hand rose, magic winding around the villain’s fingers and their grin was mean and terrible and full of ugly, righteous glee.

You didn’t want them to touch you, you tried to pull away, but their fingers pressed against your chest and you were going to die it hurt so much -

You woke with a desperate gasp, as though you had held your breath in your sleep. You fought free of your blankets, arms trembling and you sat up, pressing a hand over your chest. Your heart was pounding.

Just a dream. Just a nightmare.

You sagged back against your pillows, wiping sweat from your brow with trembling fingers. Just a dream. You stared up at the ceiling, the slowly rising sun outside just barely casting it’s first light past your windows.

You managed to slow your breathing, going through your grounding techniques until you no longer felt the phantom press of pebbles, until your tongue stopped tasting like dust and sweat. Until you no longer felt that terrible, cold hand press against your chest, about to rip everything you were and held dear away from you.

As got out of bed, you still felt uneasy down to your bones, nervous in a way you knew would last for hours. A sort of anxiety that haunted your bones like ghosts haunted old, abandoned houses.

Today would not be a good day.

Your hand fell to the ring you always wore, gripping it and the surrounding fingers tightly. It was made of simple, plain iron, scratched up and a little dinged in one or two spots after years of accompanying you through battles.

People had called it ugly in the past. Your last boyfriend had even tried to convince you to take it off for good, offering you a prettier ring in exchange. You hadn’t been able to tell him that you needed this ring.

You would never forget the villain who had attacked you back when you had been a sidekick, while the Hero Society had approved of your rise in rank to become a full fledged hero soon. 

Your mentor had been so proud, had helped you with the paperwork to apply for the promotion. She had even made sure you’d get to live and work somewhere you wanted instead of getting a random, open position.

The villain, on your last day as a sidekick, had utterly wiped the floor with you. He had sneered down at you when you had lain on the ground before him in that half-finished parking lot, construction equipment everywhere. 

You’d never forget the dark look in his eyes. The hatred in his voice as he had cursed you, his magic so thick it had choked you nearly unconscious.

Your mentor had shown up back then before he had been able to complete the spell, so he had quickly adjusted, cursing you to lose something vital instead of leaving you crippled inside and out for life.

Your mentor had stopped you when you had gone unhinged after the curse had taken hold. Pain and a sudden lack, an absence inside of you had had you howling with something that would have been grief had you still been capable of feeling such things.

Your mentor had restrained you, had kept you safe and comfortable and contained as others had come in to help. No one had been able to break the curse, but they had been able to do something else instead.

The moment the ring had been slipped on it had felt like you had been whole again after having been split in two, wandering around with only one eye and one ear and one half of a working tongue and mouth. Without the ring, everything had been wrong, you had seen and perceived the world in a warped, half-alive at best manner.

Because it wasn’t just simply empathy that the villain had taken away from you. That was only what other people called it, what you even called it to make it easier for others to understand. The villain had taken away everything good, everything warm and soft and capable of kindness and care within you. Kindness towards others and yourself.

Only after empathy had gotten ripped out of you had you understood just how intricately it had been tied to who you were as a person. How much it had driven you and your desire to do good, even if you didn’t always like people or felt up to the task.

Your empathy had made you hand-craft gifts for loved ones, had made sure you gave pep-talks to yourself and went to therapy. It made sure you got bubble baths and bought your favorite chocolate and took the time to make a good meal on your days off. It made sunrises bright and hopeful and made you dance and sing to music, no matter how silly you might otherwise feel.

Your empathy had made you feel alive.

You had never once taken the ring off after receiving it, vividly remembering the days without it. You had spent all that time not caring for other lives or for big and small wonders and pleasures.

How the people you loved and cared about had been less than strangers. They had felt like dust, like something you could and would carelessly wipe aside. Wipe out even should you consider it necessary. Everything within you had been dead and barren, salted earth after a war had left everything razed to the ground.

The moment the ring was considered a success and you had returned home safely, your mentor had gone on a hunt, capturing the villain who had done this to you. He had gotten dragged in front of a jury and sentenced to prison for life.

He had refused to remove the curse, no matter the threats and bargains people offered. He had said that the Society was welcome to torture and kill him, he would never let go of this final victory over them all.

'Besides, even if I wanted to, I could not remove it,' he had said with a haughty, victorious tilt of his head. 'It would take something quite awful indeed to even get a hold of the curse and something else entirely to remove it. I won’t say more on the matter.'

And he hadn’t.

'Why?' your mentor had snarled, standing half in front of you. And while she had always been on the slim and short side, right now she was bristling and tense like a lion in front of her cub and you had felt unexpectedly safe.

The villain had looked at you and all those sparks of safety had died as surely as stars in the night sky.

'Because you are good,’ he had told you, dark and bitter. 'Because you save people and no one saved me when I needed a hero.'

Even after six years and a lot of therapy you still remembered that moment vividly. You still had nightmares. You had never stopped being terrified of losing the ring one day. It was a constant fear that lived under your skin and made you paranoid. You checked if the ring was there multiple times throughout the day, making sure it hadn’t come lose or started to slip.

So no, today would not be a good day, but the world didn’t care about that. You dragged yourself out of bed to get ready, staring at your hero costume as you brushed your teeth. After getting cursed you had bothered the Society to get you a new costume, your mentor supporting you every step of the way.

It had felt wrong to go with the bright colors and a metallic H on your back you had chosen previously. You had wanted to call yourself Hopeful as a hero. Corny, yes and absolutely a little bit kitschy, but you had liked the idea of giving people hope.

You hadn’t been able to go through with it after the words the villain had spat at you, after knowing how close you now were to losing everything that made you you. A small band of iron was all that stood between you and walking through the world torn apart inside.

Imagination you called yourself these days, after your powers. It was, ironically, rather unimaginative, but when you had to re-do your paperwork, you hadn’t been able to come up with something better. You still weren’t able to think of a better hero name and by now you didn’t care to. People knew you as Imagination and that worked just fine.

You bagged your costume and gear in a nondescript sport’s bag and went to a hidden office of the Society. This one masqueraded as a travel agency and you got dressed in your separate dressing room, before you set foot into the backroom. 

You weren’t the only one ready to clock in to work and you exchanged a friendly greeting with your colleague and friend, your partner in this part of the city.

Peony was a hero capable of growing all kinds of plants and flowers at will and he had an innate kindness to him that made him very pleasant company indeed. 

He always decorated his hair with a crown of peonies and his costume with whatever flower he liked that day. He gave flowers to anyone sad or upset when he worked in order to cheer them up. Alongside with you he had a high track record of turning villains around and ending fights peacefully.

Or rather, you turned new villains around, for the older or well established ones would have only laughed and spat at your efforts before trying to tear you to shreds. Not everyone wanted to change. Not everyone wanted to be saved.

It had been hard at first to make yourself soft towards young, inexperienced villains, but you hadn’t wanted to become bitter and cynic after getting hurt. After getting cursed forever.

Countless hours of therapy and hard training had ensured you could take the chance of talking villains down if they seemed receptive. Of course some had tried to backstab you, but there were enough people who were just desperate or hurt and often enough they just needed someone to offer a helping hand. They just needed a little bit of kindness.

'No one saved me when I needed a hero'. Sometimes that accusation bounced around your head restlessly, no matter how much good you did. Those hate filled eyes followed you into your dreams.

"Are you alright?" Peony asked, carefully feeling along his glued down mask, making sure it had dried well. The last thing any of you wanted was to have your masks torn off by villains or overly invasive paparazzi. Those existed too, irritatingly enough. "You look tired."

"I’m fine," you lied. Today was a bad day and it would pass, you reminded yourself. You’d be more careful and you’d truck through your work hours and tonight you’d go and call your therapist and try to get back on track in time for work tomorrow.

"Hm." Peony hummed softly and a moment later he held out his hands, a flower crown woven out of small, magenta lilacs and dark blue cornflowers rested on his palms. Like the colors of your suit, only less muted. "For a little bit of good luck," he said with a warm, kind smile.

You felt yourself soften, smiling back at him and bowing forward a bit so he could put it on your head. "Thank you."

"Of course, I know we don’t get to hang out outside of work, because of secret identities and all, but you’re my friend," he said with a warm smile. "And we have each other’s back, always. Radio me in if you need some company or assistance today, alright?"

"Alright," you said and you knew that Peony would never judge you for needing a bit of help. You had helped him out a couple of times when he had had bad days and he understood what it felt like to have the past snap at your heels like hungry hounds.

There was hardly a hero who didn’t carry around some shadow, some memory of terror and defeat. Some had it worse than others, but sooner or later everyone met a villain that crushed them under their heel.

Some heroes had managed to rise to the occasion and had defeated the villain at long last, others had needed help and backup to take down the one who had tried to break them. Some never again returned to active duty.

You made sure your gloves were secure so your ring could never, ever slip off during a fight. It was, at this point, the single most important thing about your outfit, aside from it’s protective properties.

Your sleeves were even designed to make sure your gloves stayed in place by you pulling the cuffs over the gloves, keeping the hem in place with thumb holes. You could not risk losing the ring. You would not ever risk it. Besides, gloves were almost expected in your field of work, no matter if one was a villain or hero.

Your work day started out quietly enough. People waved at you, you posed for a few pictures, making sure to paste your signature smile onto your face. Just because you wanted to go crawl under a blanket and watch TV the rest of the day didn’t mean you had to let others know.

You helped a lost girl find her fathers and carried the groceries of an elderly couple up the stairs to their front door. Simple, little things that actually made you happy. This was what you wished being a hero could be all about more often. Just walking through the streets, helping anyone who needed a hand.

Right before your lunch break - because of course villains had to have awful timing - you heard the sound of something splintering. It didn’t quite sound like the sharp, high-pitched sound of glass, nor the gravelly crack of asphalt and stone or the screech and snap of metal.

Jolting around, you stilled when you saw cracks spidering through the air itself, as though part of the world had turned into a mirror someone had punched. You had just half a second to recognize those powers, before you saw him.

Endless.

A villain with reality manipulating and altering powers who should not be here. This was not his city. You hadn’t heard of him losing a territory battle or handing his territory over to someone else either.

You had just a moment to feel utter confusion mingled in alarm, before those eyes found you. Ones that held an intense glow of magic and a grin curled across his face. It wasn’t hard for you two to recognize each other as enemies, not with the masks and armored costumes.

Your muted magenta and dark blue, his black with gleaming, metallic blue accents, mirroring the shine of his eyes easily visible through his half-face mask. He shifted to face you, his body tensing up the only warning you got before he lunged into action.

Showtime.

You had heard about Endless’s powers, of how he cracked the world around himself open like an egg, as though he was pulling the stitches of reality apart at the seams to poke his fingers between. To pull forth whatever laid beyond.

You had heard, but not understood what it meant. How it felt to meet that star speckled void that he pulled forth from the cracks, easily manipulating the matter as he saw fit. Something primal in your hindbrain was alarmed and then swiftly terrified when you felt that void skim past your skin, just barely missing your face.

The very foundation of your existence wanted to run and suddenly you understood why Endless was so feared even though he had never killed or crippled anyone, be they hero or civilian. Anyone would want to run from the thing that could unmake them.

But for the first time in your life, your own powers were the perfect counter. You had been born with the ability to summon things you could create within your own mind. Your own version of manipulating reality.

You watched Endless’s eyes widen as the air around you shimmered in a crystalline manner and you pulled forth two sleek panthers. Your favorite weapon fell into the hand you kept hidden at your side by shifting your stance, waiting for your moment to strike.

"Oh my," Endless breathed and you only heard him because he had come close enough that he could almost touch you if he stretched out his hand. "How very lovely."

The beasts leaped forward to distract him, while you ducked beneath another swipe of his void-wrapped fist, striking at his unguarded flank.

The blow struck, but Endless hadn’t climbed the ranks without being able to tank a few hits.

The fight was fast and harsh and, in a way, exhilarating. You hadn’t ever fought like this before, where it took every ounce of your concentration, pulling creations into existence while dodging the very power that made the feral part of your hindbrain gibber in fear.

You almost thought it would end in a true draw, the two of you getting tired, movements slower, blows and dodges getting sloppier. The world around you was a mixture of splintered cracks and that crystalline shimmer of your powers.

Right up until you managed to conjure a snake in Endless’s blind spot and when the summoned animal wrapped around his foot, just as he wanted to kick out at you, it ended in him getting yanked back instead.

Your hit connected with his shoulder and he fell to the ground, breathing hard, sweat dripping down his chin, but as he stared up at you, a grin was on his face. It had something wild around the edges and was so delighted it gave you pause.

"Beautiful," he said, his eyes glowing brighter. The tone of his voice caught you off guard, impressed and delighted and something else. Something that was just slightly breathless, just slightly…almost soft with reverence. "I’m so sorry to cut this short, I wish we could have finished this."

Before you could do more than feel bewildered, the ground beneath him cracked apart, that void surging up to swallow him. You jerked forward, only to immediately flinch back. You knew you could not reach into that void, could not follow him without being unmade.

As the void smoothed back over like waves calming after a big splash, the cracks around you faded away, returning the world to how it was meant to be. The sound of distant traffic and shouting civilians filtered through and it was only then that you realized how quiet it had been previously.

How far away the world had been, how nothing had been able to reach you with so much shattered reality everywhere around you.

"Imagination!" Peony’s voice made you jolt and a moment later he landed beside you, clapping you on the shoulder. His press smile was on his face, while his eyes were impressed. "Good fight, my friend!"

It…had been. You realized that you had been the first person in nearly five years to make Endless back out of a fight. You hadn’t won the battle, but when you glanced up at the clapping and cheering crowd, you realized that you had won in the eyes of the public.

Peony swiftly whisked you away to avoid the excited crowd and paparazzi that had been rushing towards you, cameras and microphones at the ready.

"Are you alright?" Peony asked as the two of you sat high up on a skyscraper, wedged in behind an old, big gargoyle. Your shoulders pressed together and you tipped your head back to stare up at the sky.

"Yeah, you said with a smile, then you frowned. "I thought Endless called Imperia home, not our city."

Imperia, the capital city, was a veritable cesspit of villains and underground crime. That Endless had made a name for himself in a place that ruthlessly chewed up and spat out anyone who faltered, who misstepped only the slightest bit, meant something.

You doubted that anyone but you truly had a good defense against him and these void powers. Powers that could destroy anything that was real near immediately - but your creations were only half real. They existed because you wanted them to, not because they were actually a part of reality. That made them harder to break.

"I don’t know," Peony answered after a moment of silence. "Maybe the Society knows what’s up."

*.*.*

The Society, in fact, had no idea why Endless had given up his bitterly fought for territory in Imperia. In fact, no one was able to find out anything as the weeks turned to months and instead of answers, you only got more questions.

And you gained a nemesis. 

You had never had one before and you could have entirely done without ever getting one. Endless however had decided that you were ’the shit’ as an impressed teen had once said and he just had to take you down.

Endless didn’t always seek you out when you were on patrol, especially since he had plenty of things to do himself, but whenever you spotted him, you knew he had come for you. After that first fight, you had never again managed to get the upper hand against him. Until now, everything had ended in a draw where the two of you had been forced to retreat.

He was dangerous and cunning and you really had no idea why he bothered fighting with you as much as he did. There was no need for Endless to go up against you or to seek you out for battles.

He was powerful enough that he could have just slipped past you to cause destruction elsewhere. To go pick off the younger or weaker heroes and sidekicks, the ones he could kick around like squeaky toys. 

He could have even gone straight for the official Society headquarters, since he had once let slip that he knew where it was. You didn’t know for sure if he actually did know, but the threat had been big enough that the Society was currently busy relocating, having closed down the headquarters for the time being.

He could have…well, he could have done a lot more damage, was what you were trying to say. You were glad that he didn’t though, that he didn’t kill people and never involved civilians if it could be avoided.

Endless had even stopped attacking a fellow hero the time your colleague had gotten knocked out in a fight against him, just as you had arrived. Rather than hit your fellow hero again to kill him or to inflict career ending injuries, Endless had just stepped aside.

He had allowed you to carry the woman to safety, though he had done so with running commentary. Everything had been said, from compliments to teasing remarks until you couldn’t help but snap back. And then he had grinned, achieving what he had wanted: that you spoke with him.

That you looked at him, bantering back before you knew it.

It was simultaneously the most fun and the most intense time whenever you fought him.

And recently he had gotten into the very distracting, very flustering habit of murmuring those compliments and teasing remarks at you whenever your fight caused the two of you to end up close to each other.

It was so easy to forget the world when he made the noise disappear, when everything was so far away with the way he cracked the world apart.

And yet, he never locked you in, he never put you into a cage you couldn’t escape, for wherever those cracks were, it was impossible to reach past them. But there were always spots to slip through for you and you just knew that was on purpose.

It was unexpected to look at a villain and realize that a part of you trusted him. Trusted him to not hit below the belt, to pull his punches before something truly awful happened. When you fought him, you could forget about the ring on your finger and how you could never, ever allow those gloves to come off.

"Why me?" you found yourself asking at your next clash, the fight between you no longer a harsh meeting of two blunt forces, but something refined and sharp. Almost like a fierce dance.

"Pardon?" Endless asked, elegantly ducking beneath your weapon and kicking the two-headed hound out of the way that you had summoned today. "Your beautiful lethality distracted me for a moment."

"Why fight me?" you asked, ignoring his compliments. He was just trying to make you trip up, you were certain he’d stop once he realized it wasn’t going to work, no matter what he said.

Endless blinked, looking taken aback for just a split second, before he stepped in close with a quick maneuver, close enough to almost touch you.

His voice was quiet and almost soft as he said, "If it’s not obvious, I am doing a worse job than I thought."

When you looked as confused as you felt, he made a low noise and the next second you smoothly slid back a step, head jerking to the side to avoid getting touched by the void he drew forth.

"I’ll figure out how to make my intent clear," he said in that tone that never failed to send a small shiver down your spine in the best of ways. His gaze flickered past you and his smile got a regretful little quirk. "For now, I fear our time is almost up."

To your surprise, he leaned in again, close enough that your noses were almost touching. You realized that you had stopped moving a second later, that the hounds stood still, waiting for your next command. 

"I don’t believe you find me quite so despicable," he murmured, his fingertips brushing your hand.

The one with the ring. Cold reality crashed over you, a sudden stab of alarmed fear that had nothing to do with Endless himself and his powers and you found yourself flinching back, hand tucked against your chest before you could stop yourself.

No other villain would have gotten that reaction, would have seen that moment of vulnerability. Plenty of villains had grabbed your wrist or hand before, especially if they had matter or mind manipulating powers. It was hardly the first time.

But something about Endless made it feel as though your barriers were paper thin. You had gotten careless.

His eyes widened at your reaction. "Apologies," he said, gaze flicking between you and your hand. Then his gaze snapped past you and he muttered an unflattering curse at the people you knew were about to join you.

With a last, thoughtful and apologetic glance your way, he folded into the cracks, disappearing into the void.

The world smoothed out, but your heart kept racing and you forced yourself to lower your hand back to your side and look normal and unaffected.

You were deeply relieved that Peony showed up moments later, whisking you away with an excuse to save you from the people. When you sat crouched behind the same gargoyle as last time, he said nothing when you curled up tight, hand clutched against your chest and forehead pressed against your knees.

He knew about the ring, about what had happened to you. It wasn’t hard to find out, not with how public both the fight and trial had been. Peony had slowly, over time, asked you more questions about it. Always carefully and gently and you had recently told him the rest of the story. How you didn’t remember what curse you had been afflicted with, only how it had felt to receive it.

And what happened if you ever took your ring off.

Peony was a solid line of warmth against your side and sometimes you felt a light tickling against your shoulder or head. By the time you looked up, uncurling a little, you blinked when you realized he had almost entirely covered you in flowers.

"Why is Endless bothering with me?" you found yourself asking as he carefully set down a handful of daisies in your now revealed lap.

"I think he’s flirting with you," Peony said and when you stared at him, wide eyed, he laughed. "Oh, he is. Couldn’t you tell?"

You grumbled beneath your breath, looking away and feeling embarrassed. Embarrassed and…aw, shit. You also felt flattered and touched and gooey warm. You liked Endless's attention and his words and how he fought you and how close the two of you could get to each other.

"I think you should ask yourself why you indulge him so," Peony continued, creating some tiny roses he put in your palm when he motioned for your hand. They were a pretty pink. 

"But he’s a villain," you found yourself saying and he snorted and started to tick off his fingers.

"Thunder and Goldstar, Justice and the Furious Two, Deadend and Dawn and of course, we can’t forget the most iconic and notorious romance between Dragon and Nightmare," he said. "They are villains and heroes who are more than enemies, if you catch my drift."

"Nothing was ever confirmed," you muttered and he shot you a look.

His voice was softer as he said, "Not officially, no. But I know you saw at least some of their fights. In all honesty, it even looked like Nightmare recently proposed to Dragon in the middle of their battle."

"Wait, what?" You sat up straight at that, sending a shower of flowers to tumble off of you. Peony just simply made a few more and tossed them straight at your face, petals silk-soft and sweet smelling.

"Endless isn’t awful," he said. "Arrogant, yes. Highly dangerous? Oh abso-fucking-lutely, but he’s no killer. He fucks with the government and some institutions and companies over for fun. No one knows what he really wants most of the time. His moral compass is probably so firmly in the gray zone he might as well rename himself into Raincloud, but you have my blessings."

"Thanks, Mom," you joked back and he smiled, nudging your shoulders together.

"I’m glad you’re doing better," he said, which made all the sarcastic mirth smooth out into something softer and genuine. "Want me to patrol with you the rest of the day?"

You were quiet for a long moment, staring down at the flowers littered all around you. All your favorite flowers and some of his.

"Yeah," you said at last. "Thanks."

"That’s what friends are for." He made a flower crown and gently set it upon your head. "Now come on, before someone yells at us for slacking off."

*.*.*.*

If you had expected Endless to back up, you were sorely mistaken. Not that you…not that you wanted him to. Still, you had no idea if you should reciprocate, if he really was flirting with you like Peony said, or how to go about it.

Endless certainly had stepped up his game after last time. Now every fight it seemed less and less like he wanted to get close to you in order to trade blows, quick strikes and just as quick parries, but to slip around your defenses like water and say more and more things in a low voice only you could hear.

If your battles had looked like dancing before, now your fights really were just a steady back and forth, a push and pull that had left all attempts at actual hitting behind ages ago.

Endless never again touched your hand, but now his fingertips brushed your elbow, your shoulders, your lower arm. He tugged at your utility belt instead of destroying it like another villain would have and you found yourself reaching back.

But he did glance down at your hand every time the two of you fought. The outline of the ring wasn’t easily visible beneath the gloves, but it felt like he had figured out exactly where the ring was.

You ignored it, you much rather focused on the bantering, on the way the words he said in that utterly pleasant and very flustering voice made you feel. You much rather bantered back, the world with all its troubles and realities locked away beyond those cracks he formed around you without ever locking you in.

You should not have ignored it.

It was Peony who called you just as you were about to finish patrol a couple of days later. It was getting quite late and you had volunteered for an evening shift to clear your head after you kept thinking about Endless. 

You had even found yourself watching some of his old fights online. It was…pleasant, possibly even alluringly impressive, to see him in action. His competence, his skills, his cunning and adaptability.

"Can you meet me at the old warehouse district?" Peony asked, voice tense and lowered over the phone in a way that told you something was wrong and he didn’t want to be spotted. "At the barrel intersection? There is a group of villains and far too fucking many explosives."

"On my way," you said, already changing tracks and hurrying towards the district. "Wait until I’m there."

"Hurry," he hissed and ended the call.

You arrived in record time, finding Peony hiding behind the barrels that lined the intersection on one side. It wasn't officially named Barrel Intersection, but that was what the two of you called it.

The old warehouse district was a quiet neighborhood, a mixture of storefronts and still used warehouses and industrial apartments on the more expensive side.

It also offered a lot of backrooms for villains to meet in and plot. Weirdly enough, you couldn’t see anything. The windows of the apartments were all dark and the storefronts lit, showing that no one was inside.

Actually, it was impossible to see much at all from the spot where Peony crouched.

"Where are they?" you asked in a whisper, as you ducked down beside him. "Did they leave already?"

"Alley," he whispered back and slipped into the shadows, face and shoulders tense in a way you hadn’t seen in quite a while. Or ever, possibly. It must be worse than you had thought.

You followed, only to notice that the flowers he usually decorated his outfit with were different. 

That wasn’t too strange in and of itself, Peony picked a new flower for his outfit every week, but it was always something cute and sweet, something that delighted the kids he saved and made crying people smile when he offered them a sunflower or cherry blossoms or tulips. And he always wore peonies around his head.

You weren’t well versed in flowers, but even you recognized the ones you could see now. Belladonna and nettles and a crawling of moss down his shoulders.

"Peony?" you whispered, confused. A low warning tingle spread through your limbs. You warily glanced around. Something was off.

"This is going to be horrible," Peony said so softly you barely heard him and something in his voice was different. It took you a second to realize it was sadness, laced with pain and grim determination.

A second you shouldn't have wasted with puzzling over his tone.

Vines stronger than anything Peony had created before snapped forward to wrap around your limbs, dragging you to the ground with a power and strength you hadn’t been able to fight.

In a split second, your mind ran through all the things an enemy could have done to Peony. Possession, mind control, mind manipulation, blackmail and a plethora of spells. Right up until cracks spidered along the wall and Endless oozed out of the void.

Both of their faces were solemn and grim, something you weren’t used to seeing. You fought the vines, shifting your hands and focusing on your powers when Peony took a step forward, a very familiar item in his hand, gas filling the alley with a sharp hiss.

The hero society had gas canisters that allowed heroes to nullify the powers of their partners in case of aforementioned mind control and other trouble. Those measures worked only short-term, a few moments at most, just long enough for either the afflicted hero or the responsible villain to be taken out.

You felt your powers hit a block, the shimmer around you vanishing in an instant. That was when a first creeping of fear and betrayal set in.

"What do you want?" you hissed as Endless stepped forward and Peony kept you pinned to the ground, the vines keeping your limbs still no matter how hard you fought.

"I’m very sorry about this," Endless murmured and reached for your hand. The one with the ring.

Panic immediately slammed into you and you found yourself saying, "No." even as he forced your fist open to pull your thumb through the hole in the sleeve and push the sleeve back. 

The moment he pulled your glove off, betrayal hit you fully like a hit to the gut, like a vile stench that threatened to make you gag and dizzy.

"Don’t," it came out like a pleading croak and you were only distantly aware of the fact that panicked tears were starting to gather in your eyes. You had thought he’d cared about you. You had been…had been fool enough to start to fall in love with him.

Endless said nothing, wrestling with your hand until more vines appeared, pinning your fingers into place. All but one. You looked at Peony, who stood back, silent and watching.

"I thought you were my friend," you rasped out just as Endless slipped the ring off your finger.

Your world shattered into something cold and warped, your breaths feeling crisp and clear in your lungs. Tears stopped gathering and your hammering heart slowed immediately, all those conflicting and painful feelings dying away, leaving only a yawning absence. A gnarly, ripped open wound across your soul that could easily be torn wider.

Your fingers twitched as you felt the effects of the gas wear off and you gathered your powers close, your mind already conjuring up something. Something unexpected that would give you the wriggle room to get free.

"Gloves off, huh?" you said, your voice coming out flat and cool. "Very well."

People thought that a lack of empathy meant that only rage and violence were left behind. That only something vile existed now, as if everything about human emotions could be neatly divided into 'good' and 'bad' at all times.

A lack of empathy meant there was also a lack of rage, of betrayed hurt, of the desolate realization that you had gotten played by two people you had grown to trust so very much. That you cared for so very much.

It felt different compared to when you had first gotten cursed. Back then the cosmos-bright wrongness within you had utterly consumed your mind. But now that wasn't the case.

You knew this curse. Your body knew it. Had lived years like this, even if the ring had been a neat little temporary loophole.

You had known you’d always end up like this again. The absence was still there, the torn open wound where something had been ripped away from you, but it did not consume your mind.

Your gaze snapped to the two threats in front of you as Endless dropped the ring and reached out again.

The advantage of having pulled your punches previously, of having had morals, was that they did not expect what you would do. They would not count on you summoning creatures that resembled nightmares.

Startling them was the advantage you needed and the monsters that tore out of the shimmering air moved fast like spiders, leapt like predators and had a maw of teeth like sharks.

The vines around you slackened and you ripped free, smoothly rolling to your feet and backing away behind the protective press of nightmare bodies. Two of the creatures had skittered up and along the wall, dropping down from above.

You took the moment of distraction, of hurried fighting, to focus on your biggest creation yet.

You hadn’t made things too big before, always aware of the civilians and the buildings around you as well as your own health. The damage you could cause not only to human life but also to people’s livelihood and possessions.

That didn’t matter anymore. Other people and their problems did no longer concern you. It felt as though the air behind you grew solid for a moment, no longer just wavering and shimmering, but a hard crystal surface, flat and shiny like a mirror, stretching to cover the space behind you from wall to wall.

The ground trembled faintly as the hydra stepped out, three heads swiveling to pin on the two men who had just defeated your skittering critters. One maw dripped acid, the other had smoke curling up and the last snapped its teeth, lightning arching.

"Please tell me you have another canister," Endless said, body tense and ready, as Peony stepped up to his side with a nod. "Cover my back?"

"Always," Peony answered, hands lifting and vines, thick and thorny, breaking out of the walls of the alley, writhing and destructive.

The hydra lunged with a screech, only for the lightning head to suddenly turn into chopped up, bleeding pieces, courtesy of Endless cracking it apart. You had always wondered if he could break flesh as easily as air. Your answer, evidently, was yes.

What a good thing that Hydra heads grew back in double their number. Acid sizzled, fire caught on wood and scorched stone and lightning from the new head lit up the area with quick flashes, while the fourth head lunged forward in a poison filled bite.

With the hydra blocking their path and obscuring their view of you, you had a comparatively easy time avoiding the vines, even as head after head got decimated. You took a second to create your usual weapon, only instead of the blunt hammer, it came out more deadly. Sharper.

That moment, your hydra got wrapped in vines, the heads getting pinned together, mouths forced shut. You watched the broken cobblestone and bricks, vines crawling from below and a new idea found you.

You hadn’t attempted to mix your imagination with the world around you before. You had only just summoned. You closed your eyes for a moment, heart beat steady and calm. You were not harried or frenzied or afraid, all you felt was…hollowed out. Empty. Like a yawning abyss had opened inside you that kept it’s frayed, torn mouth wide open at all times.

It took a second, the hydra growling and writhing, the smell of blood and smoke and something sharp and stinging thick in the air. Some of the heads must have fought free, for you saw a chain of lightning bursts flicker past even with your eyes closed and the golden, bright flare of fire.

When you opened your eyes, the crystalline matter of your summoning was woven into the alley around you, shimmering between walls and ground, layered over and sunk into stone and glass and metal.

You tugged, then realized it would take far, far more power than that. So you yanked and pulled, sweat starting to drip down your face and your heart beating faster with effort and just as your hydra got hacked into so many pieces all at once that it disintegrated, the alley around you heaved like it had come alive.

Because it had. You heard an alarmed shout as the entire alley reassembled itself, your stance shifting to keep your balance on the dragon head that raised itself out of earth and stone, built out of the material around you and held together by the matter of your imagination. 

It was easily the most powerful thing you had ever made and it made your legs tremble with how thoroughly it had drained you. Now you no longer only felt empty but exhausted down to your bones as well. You just barely kept your grip on the dragon, realizing that you had to finish this fast before your powers failed you.

It seemed you had overdone it. It would be worth it, if you won.

You met Endless’s eyes, the man who was your perfect nemesis, your perfect opponent. Peony was nowhere to be seen, aside from a splatter of blood on the ground and there were no hiding spots he could have been in without betting crushed when you had torn the alley apart. He had gotten eaten by the hydra.

Almost distantly, as though detached, you wondered what Endless was capable off if he, too, stopped pulling his punches.

You weighed the weapon in your hands as the dragon roared, wings sweeping out like giant sails, crushing the top of a nearby building to rubble. You weighted your powers against Endless’s. His intent and willingness to harm you against your ability to avoid being sliced apart like your hydra. 

Your legs trembled again, nearly buckling. You did not have the strength to draw this fight out any longer, nor would you be able to negotiate properly like this should it become necessary. You’d need to rest before making a decision, unless you managed to kill him.

It was worth a try.

"I knew you were holding back on me," Endless shouted up at you, but his usual smile was nowhere to be seen and he was out of breath. "I think it’s only fair if I do the same, isn’t it?"

You had seen the world crack like a mirror before and you expected to see much of the same again. And you did, for just a moment.

Before the cracks that spidered from his touch met in the air and then the world broke away in big pieces, the void devouring the edges of your dragon, forcing you to make it curl in tighter as it swiped and stomped and spat fire at Endless, who dipped in and out of the void too quickly to be caught.

You were about to take flight to gain the upper hand when Endless did smile, grim and triumphant. That was the only warning you got, as a crack appeared above you and Peony came tumbling out of the void, looking vaguely ill. His mask and half his outfit were gone, the void slipping off the edges where it had started to devour him.

For just a second you met his eyes, then you saw the canister he held in his hands and when you tried to dodge, your legs buckled at last, sending you tumbling onto the dragon’s hard head.

Peony landed at your side just as the canister hissed and you felt that wall slam up against your powers once more. The dragon collapsed in an avalanche of hard material and the only reason you didn’t get buried in a massive pile of rubble was Peony. He grabbed you and hauled the two of you away with vines.

Vines that tied you to the ground the second he landed and Endless took one big step forward to stand over you. They were both bleeding, Peony wrapping an arm around ribs that were most likely broken, while a gash down Endless’s shoulder made blood soak into his outfit and drip to the ground from his fingertips.

You stared up at them, fingers flexing and exhaustion making them tremble faintly. It seemed you had miscalculated. Not that it would matter for long, they’d finish taking you out any moment now.

"Careful," Peony whispered, looking tense and worried.

"I know," Endless said and it made no sense to you. They had blocked your powers for now and they could finish you off without worry. And even if you did manage to survive and wriggle free, you were too tired to summon anything else. Probably even too tired to run.

You distantly remembered your mentor saying that a lack of empathy made you reckless and careless with yourself to a frightening degree, that any sort of worry and concerns got wiped away.

Endless moved to kneel over you, knees bracketing your ribs.

He took a deep breath and held out his hands without touching you. "Here goes nothing. If you have some prayers left to say, say them now."

You had never felt his powers used on you. You had felt the void, had known it would try to pull you apart like bad stitching, but he had never cracked you.

There was a split second of something wrong registering, before everything just went utterly numb and detached. You stared up at Endless as he reached into the cracks that had just pulled apart cloth and skin and tissue, bone and organs to reach something else.

You would have called it your soul had you cared to and he reached right for the ripped open wound where everything that made you human, that made you feel like a person, had gotten torn out in a sloppy, brutal manner.

Peony hovered close by worriedly and you found yourself looking at him, his face turning into an apologetic grimace. Why? Had he not intended for you to die when he had betrayed you?

Endless’s fingertips touched the edges of the wound the curse had ripped into you, took a deep breath and exhaled slow. The glow of his eyes brightened and you felt a second crack, a shattering within the shattering.

For a moment the world around you seemed to exist only in bits and pieces that came and went without feeling connected to each other. Cracked stone beneath you, one hand gloved the other not, the smell of ozone and fire, the dark, smog filled sky above, your inhale, a heart beat.

A soul-bound wound shattering.

The second Endless pulled back, you saw that he held something writhing and vile between his fingers, tendrils of void wrapped around it. Then he curled his fingers around the curse, letting it be swallowed by the void.

You felt the second the curse was unmade, the world rushing back in all the details it had lacked as it vanished. The taste of exhaustion on your tongue, the heavy pain in your limbs from overextending yourself so brutally, the ache of your heart and your great confusion.

The last thing you noticed before blacking out was Endless carefully smoothing away the cracks he had made on your chest, still without touching you, looking exhausted and grimly victorious.

.

Part Two

#my writing #part one #perfect nemesis #villains and heroes #this used to have a slightly worse cliffhanger #until I realized just how long part 2 had become #and I did not want to make a part three #I hope this is fun to read! #can't remember of any additional warnings #please let me know if anything should be tagged or mentioned #I was so torn between making this a poly relationship or not #just saying #the potential is there #short story #superpowers #I hope someone has as much fun reading this as I had writing it #I'm serious this one is long #but then again #which of my 'short stories' aren't

[cherienymphe]

Violet Eyes & Violent Delights (Aegon II Targaryen x Reader)

WARNINGS: NON-CON, manipulation, loss of virginity, mentions of incest (Helaena x Aemond), power imbalance, mentions of consensual fidelity 

➥ banner by @maysdigitalarts​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ ​​​​​​​​|  ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics​​

summary: You picked a flower, and Aegon picked you for himself.

~

You always belonged to Prince Aegon.

Even when you didn’t know it.

You were never supposed to get distracted from your duties nor stray too far from the other serving girls. It was an easy enough rule for your young mind to comprehend, but it was a beautiful day, and the sun shown down on the flowers just right, and you wanted to pick some.

Aegon wanted to pick you for himself.

You hadn’t known that was possible then. For someone to just pluck another person all for themselves like you often plucked flowers. The queen had been beside herself, a look upon her pretty face that you had not been able to decipher until years later. She had rubbed her hand over her chest, pink lips pursed as she flicked her eyes between you and her eldest son, the latter with a tight grip around your wrist as he awaited her answer.

“Well…your sister will require a lady-in-waiting one day. I suppose that we can get her started early-.”

“Helaena?” Aegon had scoffed, a deep frown on his face. “I want her for me, mother.”

Her face had fallen, taut now.

“You don’t like it when I enjoy the company of my nephews, Aemond is a twat, and Helaena is…stupid-.”

“Aegon,” she snapped, eyeing you once more.

Even if you felt it was your place to speak, you had not known what to say then. One moment, you were picking flowers, and the next you were being pulled through the corridors by prince Aegon himself.

“You’re pretty,” he had told you. “…and my mother says that I can have anything my heart desires.”

You had been rendered speechless to be in such proximity to the royal family, but the more he went back and forth with the queen, the more you thought that the eldest prince just wanted a friend. Your free hand landed on the arm that held yours, and the action had caused the prince to pause in his quarrel with the queen, turning to look at you.

His own silence had triggered his mother’s, and you could feel her eyes on you. It was the strangest situation to find yourself in then, and you had cleared your throat, feeling overwhelmed.

“I will…be grateful for any place her majesty finds for me here.”

The red-headed woman had sighed, looking down at you two with a furrow between her brows. That was your first lesson in just how stubborn and determined Aegon could be, and just how much the queen would spoil him.

“I will bring it up with your father,” she had firmly told him in a quiet voice.

Years later, when you would ask Aegon what the king had said that night, he would tell you that the older man had all but waved it off, declaring that his eldest son should be allowed any friend he wishes. Overnight you had gone from a serving girl to prince Aegon’s…companion.

Getting work in the castle as an orphan had been a feat on it’s own, but to become so close to the family that sat on the iron throne was another entirely.

“I do not feel right in this,” you had said one day, gingerly touching the nicest dress you’d ever had the pleasure of wearing.

“My sister has so many. She could really stand to lose them all,” Aegon had murmured from behind a cup.

You did not agree as Helaena seemed very precious to you. In fact, you did not agree with the prince on a lot of things, but you quickly learned that your opinion hardly mattered in his eyes. In fact, a lot of things about you hardly mattered. It took longer than you would have liked for you to realize that you were not so much the prince’s friend, but instead his trinket, his possession to do with as he pleased.

You belonged to him…and no one else.

“Even if you did have any right to talk to her, she would not want to hear your crazy ramblings,” he’d sneered at his sister one day.

The white-haired girl had shrunk in on herself, timid eyes finding the floor. Aemond had been nearby, quiet and disapproving as he watched with a frown. You had wanted to say something to defend the innocent girl, but without saying as much, Aegon had made your place here pretty clear.

He had made it so that you could have a life of comfort and leisure and fine things…and he could just as easily take it away.

“She was only being friendly,” you had told him later that evening.

The look that Aegon gave you, you would have thought that you were attempting to cut his throat. You had looked away, head falling as he neared you. He did not respond for what felt like a long time, and you wished that you could take it back.

“Do you wish to be hers instead?”

You frantically shook your head.

“No, I only meant-.”

“What need would you have for Helaena?”

You had looked at him then, lips parted, and he frowned at you.

“She did not find you. She did not beg mother to keep you around. I am the one who went to her to get you nice things to wear and a nice bed to sleep in. You are mine…not hers, and if you wish it to be different, then I can just let her give you all those things instead.”

The threat was clear enough for your young mind to comprehend even then. You had swallowed, slowly shaking your head at him, and it took a moment before the prince looked satisfied enough with your answer.

Your dynamic was something you grew to get used to. It was no longer weird for you to follow after Aegon like a lost puppy. Somehow, his heavy footsteps ahead of yours became something like a comfort to you. You no longer second guessed his disapproving stare at one of your dresses, a nasty sneer on his lips as he snapped at one of the maids to find you something better.

You donned what only Aegon approved of, you wore your hair in whatever way he liked, and when you spoke, it was only after a quick glance in his direction. You were well into your adolescence when you realized that you were not Aegon’s friend. You never were.

You were his doll.

He made you up and dressed you up as he pleased to sit prettily at his side. He insisted that you go everywhere with him, and while the king did not mind your presence at dinner, his spirit still jovial even with his failing health, the queen however still eyed you with that look you had yet to place. However, when you felt Aegon’s fingers absentmindedly touching your shoulder that night, like he had every right in the world to, and her face fell like her worst fears had come to pass, you understood then that she was terrified.

It had started small.

Your eyes would wander, and you would find them meeting a gaze that was already waiting for your attention. Aegon’s shoulder would brush yours when dining, his chair as close to yours as humanly possible. Even in the most mundane of settings, you would feel the faint touch of his fingers stroking along your sleeve, careless to all who might see.

Only his drunk lips betrayed his sober thoughts.

“Do you love me?”

You had blinked at him, hovering over his prone form, tucking him in as you often did when he got too much ale into him. His pale blond hair hung in his face, and there was the barest of frowns on his features as he stared at you through tearful and bleary eyes.

Queen Alicent’s fearful expression was ever present in your mind, and you wondered how you never saw it before.

You were not ignorant to the ways of men. You saw the way they behaved when they had too much to drink or even when they were sober and feeling particularly bold. You knew what Aegon had dragged his brother out for one night when the latter was only thirteen years of age. You knew it was the same thing Aegon himself had been eager to seek for himself only a year before.

You felt so cold as you realized what the queen had tried to prevent years and years ago.

Even in this moment, as the prince eagerly awaited your answer, he could not help himself to touch you. His head lolled, and his hair went every which way, and he could hardly keep his eyes open. Yet, his hand still found the strength to toy with your sleeve and trail his fingers over the back of your hand. Aegon did that a lot, and you wondered if he even noticed it now seeing as it was almost second nature for him.

“Of course, I care for you,” you eventually replied, straightening a little. “As I care for everyone in your family who has never been anything but kind and…so very gracious to me.”

Aegon’s hand fell, and he was quiet as he merely stared at you. Your heart pounded, and cautiously, you straightened and backed away.

“You should…rest. You will have a hard enough morning as it is.”

He said nothing more, and you did not look back as you left his chambers.

You could not get to yours fast enough, only a wall away from his own, and you pressed your back to your doors when you closed them. Your nails scraped against the wood, and your heart threatened to leap from your chest. The truth was not only that you did not love Aegon, but that you never would.

Prince Aegon Targaryen, second of his name, was not a good man.

His marriage to his sister had come and gone, and he treated her no better than he did before. He was quick to anger, and slow to forgive, and you bore witness to this more than anyone. Aemond had the reputation for being especially cold and intimidating, but Aegon possessed a cruelty that made your stomach turn. You knew of the time he spent in Flea Bottom, unfortunate enough to be forced to go with him sometimes, and you were not stupid.

The unmistakable white hair and light eyes a child or two possessed was telling.

Aegon was a selfish and demanding prince with a dark heart that desired any and everything it should not. Somehow, over the years, that had come to include you without you even realizing it. His pet. His doll. His poor servant girl that he had saved from the plights of poverty and decay.

His cold violet eyes starred in your nightmares many nights…

…because the truth was that he scared you beyond belief.

The same man that had changed your life in the course of a night was the same one who left you shaking most days. Where you once felt like his shadow, the roles had reversed somehow, and you felt like he was always over your shoulder instead. You felt like it was his breathing that you felt down your neck instead of the cool autumn air. His fingers along your spine instead of the soft fabric of your dress.

His presence was oppressive and paralyzing, and you feared that if you offered to give it all back as if these past years had never happened, he would not even let you go. Aegon may have never touched you in the same manner he did those poor serving girls who often ran shaking and crying from his chambers, but you were well and truly his.

You were right on Aemond’s heels as he smoothly made his way down the steps. His long blond hair swayed against his back with every movement, and you found yourself absentmindedly admiring it. You did that more often than you wanted to admit, and you quickly looked away, reminding yourself how devoted he was to his sister.

The Targaryens and their odd customs would never grow on you, you were sure, but you supposed that if Helaena had to find comfort in one of her brothers, better it be the lesser of two evils.

Sometimes you envied her in that way. You did not know how, but your future seemed so assured to you. Every time you thought about it, all you saw was the eldest Targaryen prince, and somehow someway, you knew that is all it would ever be.

It seemed inevitable, and not just to you, but to all those around you.

Once you had shown up, a drunk Aegon was much more eager to leave the brothel, preferring to hang off of you than his own brother. His breath wreaked of wine, and his hand was tightly curled around your waist. You followed Aemond down the familiar path as you snuck his brother back into the castle, nights like this a regular occurrence.

When he fell back onto his bed, eyes already fluttering closed and lips parting, his fingers were tight on the fabric of your dress. It took a lot of strength to pry them away, and even then, even in his sleep, they tightly wound through yours. You sighed to yourself just as the youngest prince spoke.

“You know what my brother is like…”

You looked over your shoulder at him, gaze meeting his as he watched you two with his hands behind his back. The fairness of his skin was made all the more so by his dark attire, and as he stared you down, you frowned.

“I…do not-.”

“I know you hear the whispers,” he quietly interrupted. “We all have.”

You swallowed, heart sinking as he brought up Aegon’s disgusting nature.

“I know you see the fear in their eyes whenever he comes around…whenever it’s their turn to tend to his chambers and food…”

You looked away, shaky gaze finding the floor.

“It’s either them or you,” he brutally murmured, causing your stricken gaze to land on him again. “…and my brother has never been one for patience.”

“Aemond-.”

“Do you think…that playing the ignorant fool…will save you?”

You furiously blinked, not even realizing you were crying until the tears hit your cheeks.

“Why are you saying this to me?”

“…because perhaps you stood a chance once, a long time ago, but the moment has passed.”

He blinked at you, and if you did not know any better, you would say that the look in his eye was pitying.

“…and I do not believe in delaying the inevitable.”

You sharply exhaled at that, chest tightening, and Aemond left you without another word. You stared after him with parted lips, wet cheeks cold from the air that hit them before turning your face away, visage crumbling as he voiced what you were always thinking.

There had always been some part of you that wondered if Aegon only did to those poor women what he really desired to do to you. There were many nights you had lied awake wondering how much torment you could save if you only gave in, but there was a part of yourself that you never wanted to face. A part of yourself that was selfish and still hoped for marriage to a nice man and a good life beyond Aegon’s reach. You had convinced yourself that it was still possible somehow despite the phantom grip prince Aegon had on the back of your neck.

When you finally pulled your hand from his, you were desolate in returning to your chambers. Aemond’s words were heavy in your mind for days, so much so that you found yourself staring at him almost with a glower, silently begging him to take them back. Inevitable. Gods, how you hated that word, but it was true.

Your life had become inevitable.

You had plucked a flower, Aegon had plucked you, and from that point on, your life became inevitable.

“They are talking of marriage for my baby brother,” Aegon slurred, chuckling to himself. “…finally.”

He stumbled into his chambers with your help, plopping onto his bed.

“Truthfully, I do not know why our mother did not just…marry him off to Helaena. We all would have been much happier for it,” he almost sneered at the mention of his sister.

You went to pull away when he reached up, fingers digging into your arms through your sleeves, a look in his eyes that you could not place. They were glassy and lilac and almost pleading beneath that layer of coldness.

“Do you wish to marry some day?” he murmured, looking up at you.

“Doesn’t every girl?” you replied, avoiding an answer.

Aegon briefly looked away, scoffing to himself before those dead eyes met yours again.

“I suppose so… I suppose you want a beautiful gown and flowers in your hair and a sweet wedding night to match…”

His tone was almost mocking, and you frowned at him.

“I suppose,” you weakly told him, trying to get him to lay down.

“…and…do you want those things with Aemond?” he almost seemed to force out, glassy eyes trained on you.

His words took you by surprise, catching you off guard.

“Aemond? No,” you lightly chuckled, shaking your head. “No…”

It was a stray thought here and there, but nothing more. Aegon seemed to study you, jaw ticking and gaze hardening.

“I see you look at him sometimes…the way you look at him lately…”

Your frown deepened.

“Aegon-.”

“He’d never touch you,” he suddenly spat, making you flinch. “Not unless he wanted to lose that other eye.”

You hissed at the venom in his words, attempting to step back, but he only held you in place.

“Don’t be cruel,” you cried.

“I am not being cruel, I’m being clear.”

You could not move, and Aegon’s fingers absentmindedly massaged your arms. He pulled, causing you to stumble closer, and he lowered his head, pressing his forehead to your stomach.

“Why don’t you love me?” he murmured.

It sounded like he was talking more to himself than you, but then he lifted his gaze, chin resting on your stomach now. His blond hair fell back away from his face, and despite the tears in his eyes, there was an anger there that made you shudder.

“I get it. I am not…the kindest…and I am no gentleman like my brother,” he sneered. “…but have I not…?”

Aegon licked his lips, the top one curling over his teeth a tad.

“Have I not given you everything?”

His hands slid down to your wrists, tight around them, and you winced.

“Have I not given you all?”

You had no response to that for he was right. Everything you had, you owed to Aegon, and some part of you had always dreaded the day he’d come to collect. He abruptly stood, and you almost tripped over your feet. He drunkenly eyed you with a wild look in his gaze before reaching out and ripping the comb out of your hair. You helped at the slight tug, eyes wide as he threw it to the ground.

“Your pretty pins…your pretty necklaces,” he ripped the jewels from off your neck. “…the clothes off your very back are because I gave them to you.”

“I-I know that,” you shakily said to him.

His hands found your throat, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to be alarming. You reached up to touch his arms, and Aegon’s gaze flickered between your eyes. His breathing was heavy, and you blinked out more tears.

“You say that,” he murmured, roughly brushing a thumb over your mouth. “…but I think it’s time I finally remind you.”

“Aegon-.”

“…time I finally get what I am owed.”

Prince Aegon’s lips were rough on yours, tasting of sweet wine. He kissed you like he was trying to take all of your breath away, and in the back of your mind, you noted that this was your first. You were unsure of what to do, pulling at his hands and trying to lean away.

“Wait,” you mumbled. “Stop, I-.”

“Stop?”

He pulled away from you, a deep frown on his face.

“What right do you have to tell me what I can and cannot do?”

Your gaze was pleading, hands futile as they pushed at his chest.

Aegon’s lips were just as hungry as before, teeth nipping at your lips and hands rough on your body. He cared little for your dress, ripping it off of you in any way possible. The cold air had you pressing yourself against him despite yourself, and he was eager to trap you in his arms, nails dragging along your skin.

The fear of what was happening wholly hit you once he tried to lay you down, and although the small grin on his pink lips told you that he enjoyed the small fight, the ravenous look in his eyes betrayed his impatience. You could do nothing but cry when your back met his bed.

Aegon took his time in kissing his way down your body, a childish eagerness in him as he seemed not to know where to play his lips next. He wanted to taste all of you at once somehow, and even though it was impossible, he was determined to try. With his face between your legs, you tried to run away, but his arms snaked around your thighs and held you in place.

“I will show you,” he promised into your skin. “I will make you addicted to my very touch.”

The conflicting feeling of pleasure from someone you feared made your head spin. Your hands flailed, unsure of where to put them at every swipe and swirl of his tongue. One eventually tore at the sheets while the other reluctantly found his hair. Your stomach clenched, and your chest arched, and you fought between pushing him away or pulling him closer.

When wave after wave of ecstasy washed over you, you did not know how to handle it. It was the most intense thing you had ever felt, and Aegon did not let up until you were practically sobbing again beneath him. Drunken lips danced their way up your frame, kissing your skin in no certain pattern, and Aegon’s hand slid along your neck.

“I plucked you…like you were my very own flower…”

Your lips parted into a silent scream, nails clawing at his skin when he pushed into you with no warning. Your vision blurred all over again, tears falling past your ears, and Aegon’s fingers pressed into the bone of your jaw.

“I watered you…I made you bloom…”

His hips snapped against yours, his thrusts short and forceful. He leaned in to bite at your neck and shoulder, marking you and tasting you. You pushed at him to no avail, and Aegon seemed to let out a growl of frustration, fucking you harder.

“I will reap the benefits of what I have sewn,” he said through clenched teeth.

His hand was harsh in your hair, tugging on it and yanking your head back. Your nails pressed into his shoulder, and you cried beneath him. Aegon either paid your tears no mind, or he actually enjoyed the sigh of them. His cock pushed into you and stretched you in ways you did not think was possible.

Much to your horror, eventually, your pain gave way to more pleasure. It still stung and was still uncomfortable, but that same heat as before began to creep along your body. It started deep in your gut before slowly spreading to every part of you. Aegon hovered over you, looking down at you and repeatedly looking down to where he disappeared into you.

You were afraid to look.

You were afraid of what you might see.

“So pretty,” he said to himself, pressing his forehead to yours. “…and all for me.”

His words had you squeezing your eyes shut, turning your head away with a cry. His mouth was at your ear, labored breathing and soft lips. His blond strands brushed your skin, and you cringed when he placed a kiss just below your ear.

“You will know true satisfaction by sunrise.”

You were still wiping away a stray tear when your chamber doors were opened. The woman behind you paused, fingers still on the laces of your dress when he spoke, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut.

“Leave us,” he deeply said, tone leaving no room for argument.

When you had quietly snuck out of his chambers during the early hours of the morning, you knew that your solitude would not last long. It did not mean you were not allowed to mourn it though. You remained still as he approached you, and a shiver traveled down your spine when his soft fingers grazed the skin of your back.

He said nothing as he finished her job, hands running down your sides, greedily tracing your curves as he stepped closer. It was only when his arms came down over you, the cold feel of a necklace on your skin, did you finally lift your gaze to meet his in the reflection. Aegon looked more than satisfied with himself as he secured the piece of jewelry at the back of your neck.

Your lips parted, another tear skipping down your cheek as his chest brushed your back. He reached around to take your chin in his hand, holding your head in place while he pressed his lips to your cheek. They lingered there, and he held your gaze.

“Flowers…for my flower.”

#aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #hotd fanfic

[ellephlox]

Embers and Ashes

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Summary: It's not easy to keep a low profile when you've got the power to heal, but you've managed to carve out a home for yourself in Hell's Kitchen. By day you're an assistant at a literary agency, and by night you mend broken bones and bloody cuts. It's a double life that constantly forces you to question your morality, because the wounds you seem to magically heal don't vanish forever — they've got to eventually go somewhere.

But after you make the mistake of healing the wrong people, you become Daredevil’s next target, and suddenly your double life becomes far more tangled than you could ever have predicted.

Set post-S3. Slow burn Matt x Fem!Reader. Chapter one will be posted here on tumblr, but ensuing chapters will be uploaded to AO3. You can read Ch. 1 on AO3 here, if you'd prefer.

Warnings: Description of injuries and profanity.

Most normal people in the city dreamed of being an Avenger. 

You overheard them at work constantly, ever since it became increasingly commonplace for people to crop up with super-strength or freakishly accurate aim with a bow and arrow:

“I actually ran into Spider-Man this morning — the real Spider-Man! I begged him to sign my arm, obviously, because there was no paper around, and he actually did it! Look, right here. I'm going to get it tattooed after work.”

“Well, last night I had a dream that I was recruited by the Avengers. It was absolutely amazing, Debbie — Tony Stark wanted me to be his girlfriend! God, it was fantastic. He even let me try on his Iron Man suit.”

“Oh, I’d give anything to be enhanced. I’d want to be able to fly. Or teleport. Any power, really, if it could get me a one-way ticket to fighting with them.”

“But did you hear my friend got threatened by Daredevil the other night? That red horned suit is gone, though. He’s in that black suit from the days when we called him the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. I’d love to run into that guy — he’s so strange, isn’t he? Handsome, in a mysterious way.”

At this point in these types of conversations you always tried to tune them out. Their rosy idea of enhanced ignored the things that you saw whenever footage of the Avengers was shown on the evening news. After the battle in New York, they raved about Captain America’s strength, that magic hammer of Thor’s, and the way Dr. Bruce Banner metamorphosed from a man into a monstrous hero, as though it were the best thing in the world to have super-powered abilities.

But when you had watched that footage on the news, after the battle was over, all you saw was the blood. The bodies. The expressions on the Avengers’ faces, of the anguish and turmoil they had witnessed. Being enhanced was a curse, not a gift, and you came to resent the word itself — not for the political controversies it provoked, but for its connotation. In the mouths of anyone else, enhanced was a good thing. 

But you knew. 

As you held the temples of the man lying in front of you, his skin burnt severely from his fingers to his wrists, you knew. 

He writhed, his hands flopping like gasping fish. They were scorched as though in a paisley pattern, leathery and swollen. Second-degree, if not third-degree burns, you thought, as the man jerked away from the light emanating from your own hands, but you kept your grip steady. Slowly the skin began to return to its normal color — splotches fading like they were diluted, heaves of scars sinking back and reshaping as though they had never been there, the energy of his wounds transferring into your hands and through your bloodstream. 

You knew, better than anyone, that every gift had a price.

 

TWENTY-ONE HOURS LATER

It was snowing, yet your hands were blistering. 

The plows hadn’t come through yet, and there wasn’t much foot traffic on this side of Hell’s Kitchen, so the sidewalks were thick with snow. Despite your best efforts to hop in the few existing footprints, snow kept falling down into your boots. Your toes were numb, and your ears felt like they were about to get frostbite; you weren’t dressed for the weather. There hadn’t been time to grab a hat and thicker socks when you left your apartment, because you were more preoccupied with the searing burns that were popping like budding flowers on the palms of your hands. They weren't yet to the severity of the burns you had healed on Lynch's hands the previous night, but it was only a matter of time before they began to worsen. 

Only one more block. 

It was past midnight, and all you wanted was to be in bed, curled up with your pillows and quilted blanket, but just before falling asleep, you’d felt the skin tear open on your hand as though someone were holding a blowtorch to it. It was unnerving. You'd estimated another eight hours, until morning, before the energy you had taken from Lynch's wounds would make itself known.

Clearly I was wrong. You seethed with irritation at yourself and at the fact that Lynch had burned his hands in the first place as more snow collected in your boots. A warm pair of socks would be really, really nice right now.  

But situations like this came with the job, even if most people didn't realize it. Whenever people discovered you were able to heal — and they never truly knew it was you, because you were careful to keep your identity obscure — they assumed it was simple. As though you could just lay your hands on someone’s bleeding wound and it magically stitched itself back up. Poof, problem solved! Sort of like all those Avengers your coworkers persistently chatted about. Yeah, if only healing were as easy as doing a few fancy finger movements to open up a portal into another dimension. Doctor Strange doesn't know how good he has it.

Because fancy finger movements definitely wasn't how it worked for you. It wasn’t even close. 

You inhaled sharply as another burn made itself known, this time higher on your hand. A quick handful of snow against the welt soothed it slightly, but not much, and you picked up your pace down the street.  Your destination was an unassuming brick building, wedged between a hardware store and auto repair shop. LYNCH FUNERAL HOME AND CREMATORIUM, read the sign outside, underneath a layer of graffiti. It was one of your closest friends who owned the funeral home, and the previous day he'd sent you an emergency call for help, though you still hadn't heard the story of how he'd burned his hands in the first place. Not that it mattered much. You didn't ask questions very often; healing was your only responsibility. 

There was no one else on the street. There wasn't even much light, because most of the street lamps that weren’t burned out had been buried in a pale coating of frost. Your thoughts turned abruptly to the reports of the so-called vigilante Daredevil, who had reportedly been back on the streets lately. With what you had done in the past, and even with what you were doing now… well, you hoped you never crossed paths with him. Quiet streets like this always made you wonder if today was the day you’d run into him, but it had never happened. Sometimes you wondered if the media simply made him up as a fear tactic to keep crime off the streets of Hell’s Kitchen. 

You hurried inside the funeral home, searching for the only person who you knew would be up and about. Please, be here, please, please…

He was. “Grey,” the man at the desk said, surprise crossing his face when you burst into the crematorium. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Grey . Just like the word itself, it was ash on your tongue. It wasn’t your real name. Years ago it had been bestowed on you as a code name, a way to keep your identity impersonal from the people you worked with. But it stuck, and now you could count the number of people who knew your real name on one hand. 

“Emergency visit, Thato,” you said, showing him your hands. “I’m sorry. I thought I could manage it until tomorrow, at the very least, but—” You cringed as another burn blistered forth, erupting on the pad of your thumb. “Ow. Shit.”

Thato got to his feet, wincing in sympathy. “Never apologize for this. It’s not your fault.”

You shook your head. “I should be getting better. Improving… this . And I’m not.” It was true. For years, you had been at this same level. If you healed someone — which wasn’t really healing , if you were being technical; it was more like taking their injury and transferring it elsewhere — you could only hold onto it for a short amount of time. 

Option One was taking that energy from the injury and transplanting it onto someone else — typically, a corpse. You had a strict policy for yourself to never inflict a wound from someone else that you’d healed onto someone who didn’t receive the wound in the first place.

Option Two was just holding onto that energy until it began to manifest itself on you instead. And that was never pleasant. 

Case in point: the damn burns on my hands right now. 

You glanced at the door to the morgue. “Please tell me you’ve got bodies in for cremation?”

“As a matter of fact, one arrived tonight,” Thato said, and he put his hand gently on your back to steer you inside. “Let’s go.”

The morgue was cold. Goosebumps pricked up your arms. Thato worked quickly, and within a minute he was pulling out a storage drawer. A woman, her body pale and lifeless, slid out in front of you. 

Even when the bodies were dead, this was never easy.  You averted your eyes, opting instead to look at the ceiling, and placed your freezing hands on the sides of the dead woman’s head, against her temples. Gradually, after a minute, your hands began glowing — not the yellow glow of the man the newspapers called the Iron Fist, nor the red glow of that Avenger you’d seen on television, Wanda Maximoff. Instead, it was a pale slate color, as though smoke itself had become a source of light. It was this color that earned you your nickname. 

“Grey,” your brother had told you, lifting your chin up roughly to stare you down. 

He wasn’t really your brother, but he might as well have been. You’d known him as long as you could remember. Kane was the one who raised you, who had been with you since... for a long time. “Got it? Here with us, that’s what you’ll answer to.”

“But my name is—”

“No. When you’re with us, you don’t use your real name,” Kane said. Of course, just like your name wasn’t really Grey, his name wasn’t truly Kane. “You use Grey instead, okay? Grey Arztin, if anyone ever asks for a last name.” He handed you forged identification papers. 

“Why Arztin?” you asked, reading the name, and fumbling over the pronunciation of the word. 

“It means doctor, in German. Come with me. I have people for you to heal.”

“But I’m not very good at it.”

“Then you need to practice that ability. It’s going to be your greatest gift someday, Grey.”

The energy pulsed in your own temples as it transferred to the corpse, and slowly you began to feel it drain out of you. There was no comparable feeling to this moment, when the build-up of pain was finally relieved from your mental storage space — your cache, you liked to call it.  And, suddenly, burns just like the ones on your own hands bloomed across the white hands of the dead woman — raw, fiery welts, discolored in the center and streaking from her wrist bones to her fingertips. They were identical to the burns that had stretched across Lynch's hands the day before, down to the charred bit of skin just below the thumb knuckle. When the energy was gone, you dropped your hands, and the smoky glow faded.

The few burns that had already marked your own skin were still there, of course, because your healing abilities could never fix what had been done to your own body — yet another shortcoming of your power — but they wouldn’t get any worse. It was over. 

The corpse was rolled back into her drawer. The family would never know that her hands now bore severe burns that hadn’t been there at her time of death. She’d be cremated tomorrow, Thato assured you. It would be as though you had never even touched her. Guilt curled in your stomach at her desecrated hands. Maybe she had been a pianist. Those hands might have been held by someone else, once upon a time — a mother, a lover, a child. She could have used those hands to climb mountains or type out a novel on a laptop or serve plates of food at a restaurant. 

Now, because of you, they were mottled and burnt. 

“She’s dead,” Thato reminded you quietly, once you were outside of the morgue and back at the funeral home desk. “She’ll be burned anyway.”

“I know.” You played with the edge of the desk. “I just always feel bad. It feels like I’m… spitting on her memory, or something.”

“It’s a price you have to pay,” he agreed. “But it’s in exchange for the good you do, each time you use your skill. You even bore some of the price yourself.” He nodded at the burns scattered across your own hands. “I don’t like to see you feeling bad, Grey. Anything I can do?”

You smiled. “It's okay. You already helped me. Thanks, Thato. Really.” 

I don’t want to keep doing this, you wanted to add. I’ve had enough of all this. The healing, the transferring of the injuries and scars and bruises, the role I’ve played in Hell’s Kitchen. I’m done.

You wanted to tell him, so badly that it made your chest feel tight. Thato had been your friend for as long as you could remember. But if you told him, then your brother would find out, and if your brother found out…

Well, Kane wouldn’t be very pleased with you. He'd see it as a failure on your part, or worse, a betrayal. But it didn’t matter anyway, because you couldn’t leave the organization. Not after everything Kane had done for you, and especially not while you were the one thing that stood between him and death every night that he risked his life. 

You tightened your jacket around your shoulders before heading back out into the night, towards your apartment. You took your time; your earlier exhaustion was gone, and with your hands bandaged now, you were able to appreciate the falling snow as it amassed silently, insulating the streets from the sounds of the city beyond. 

But you might not have had such a leisurely walk back if you’d happened to tilt your head upwards and look at the roofs — if you had been able to hear the footsteps above as someone followed you in the shadows, if you had known the man they called the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen stalked you, having listened to every word of the conversation in the crematorium.

#daredevil #matt murdock #marvel #matt murdock x reader #daredevil x reader #reader insert #reader #mcu #x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #slow burn

[rosesofenvy]

I was very inspired by @sha-biest goldenfuture au so I wrote a drabble for some of her most recent posts that I’m linking below! (they're also linked in the fic)

The arm incident

Leoichi

Kendratello

Check out the goldenfutureau tag if you’re confused!

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I'll Be the Sweetest Thing To Ever Scare You (5350 words) by rosesofenvy Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018), Samurai Rabbit: The Usagi Chronicles (Cartoon) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Leonardo (TMNT)/Yuichi Usagi, Donatello/Kendra (TMNT) Characters: Leonardo (TMNT), Donatello (TMNT), Yuichi Usagi, Kendra (TMNT), Michelangelo (TMNT), Raphael (TMNT), April O'Neil (TMNT), Cassandra Jones | Foot Recruit, Agent John Bishop (TMNT) Additional Tags: goldenfutureau, shabiest golden future, Post Movie, Violence, Loss of Limbs, bishop is a dick, kidnapped donnie, saving donnie from bishop, both leo and donnie lose an arm, Confessions, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of Hurt, lots of comfort, Nightmares, Injury Recovery, lowkey donnie whump, but kendra makes him laugh so it's all ok

Summary: Leo doesn't regret his choices to safe Donnie from Bishop, it just means a longer recovery for everyone involved.

Enjoy :)

Leo doesn’t regret his decision. 

Donnie had been missing for a week, a week of no contact, a week of frantic searches, and a week of desperate calls to every friend and enemy they had ever encountered. They spared no expense in their efforts to find him, but it was almost a slap in the face to find that Donnie had been so close to them all along - he hadn’t even been taken out of New York. The sudden burst of Donnie’s mystic energy, coordinates and maps tracing to his exact location had been a source of relief and frustration as they mobilized and moved out. 

Leo doesn’t regret moving when he did. 

Raph and Mikey were holding down the lower levels of the base, guaranteeing their escape route since their abilities were dampened by whatever that mad scientist Bishop had cooked up. Leo was in charge of the extraction of their brother since he was by far the fastest and they were relying on the element of surprise here. Someone who’d been able to take down Donnie without their knowledge wasn’t someone they were taking lightly. Whatever Bishop had installed in the building had disabled most of their mystic powers, he can’t even risk using his portals if he didn’t want to lose a limb. 

That doesn’t matter, he didn’t need mystic powers. He would tear this building apart with his bare hands if that meant he’d get his brother back safe. Faceless scientists run screaming past him, those who attempt to stop his progression are swiftly taken care of. Whether or not those rebuffs are nonlethal doesn’t matter, what does matter is that he’s reached the main lab. Kendra had shown him the blueprints, this entire floor was a blackout but he could assume it followed the general path that the previous labs had. As he bounds up the stairwell - and enters the open floor plan, every sense screams to high alert. 

Even though Kendra was controlling every electrical aspect to the lab, this floor only had emergency lights. Even with the low glow of bulbs placed too far apart Leo’s senses are overwhelmed. There’s too much. Wires sparking from where they’d been torn from the wall blood on the floor static from a radio system now defunct thanks to Kendra’s interference blood on the wall his brother's blood everywhere. It reeks of iron and metal and sickness and despite the nausea curling in his gut Leo doesn’t hesitate to sprint forward because there’s his fucking brother. 

Leo doesn’t regret throwing himself directly into the path of danger despite every time he’s been told to stop being such a self sacrificial idiot. 

Donnie is crumpled near some sort of shadowed metal robot. Leo can’t quite make out the details with the intermittent flicker from the emergency lights, but it doesn’t matter as he darts across the length of the lab. He couldn’t see any humans in this room, something that made his scales itch with paranoia as he searched the dark corners of the lab for movement but he can’t afford to waste his attention on the absence of a being when what he came for is right in front of him. As he’s almost to Donnie, the robot his brother is kneeled in front of activates with a flash of red and a creaking of metal. 

Leo regrets not moving faster. 

There’s a blankness in Donnie’s gaze that makes Leo’s heart clench as the softshell staggers to his feet, clearly exhausted and with blood dripping from a number of wounds. Despite standing, he sways and Leo can see that Donnie doesn’t or maybe can’t register the danger directly to his right. Leo can’t tell if Donnie even recognizes him.

“Donnie! Move! ” Leo screams, finally getting in range of his brother, but it’s still not enough. There’s a red light shining over the both of them, a warning burst of heat just as Leo wraps his left arm around Donnie’s shell and uses his momentum to shove them both out of the way. The blaze that wraps around Leo’s shell and scorches his arm clean off is so sudden that he doesn’t register what had happened until Donnie is on the floor beneath him. Pain radiates from the remains of his arm and he gasps through clenched teeth as he takes in Donnie’s uncomprehending stare and the blood slowly seeping from the partially cauterized remains of the softshell's left arm. Leo slams his panic button as he takes in the physical wounds Donnie had suffered over the past week. 

“You gotta keep your eyes open for me, we gotta wait for Raph, no passin' out yet.” Leo pants desperately, trying to follow his own order as he practically collapses over Donnie, "Is anyone still here?” 

Donnie’s eyes flicker open, and Leo follows the path of his gaze up to where he recognizes an observational balcony. Leo didn't see it before in his desperation to grab Donnie, but there’s an outline of a man holding some sort of control panel. Bishop. Leo’s grip on Donnie’s shoulder tightens, but the human makes no move towards and instead sinks into the shadows where Leo couldn’t follow. The building shakes and Leo tries to lift Donnie, but it’s useless with the weakness that has filled his limbs. Pounding footsteps reach his ears and Leo turns to see Raph emerge from the same stairwell he had run up just moments earlier. 

“Leo, Donnie!” Raph’s voice is frantic as he runs into the room. Leo feels his muscles going limp despite his best efforts to remain conscious as their older brother scoops them both up, then punches the machine to destroy the glass embedded in the robot that had nearly killed them both. The floor splinters beneath their feet and Raph wastes no time making their escape. 

Leo regrets not being able to stay conscious during the destruction of the lab. He would’ve liked to revel in the downfall of one of Bishop’s pride and joys. 

Waking up in the med bay was unfortunately a familiar experience for Leo. The steady beep of a heart monitor - although it was doubled for some reason, the scent of antiseptic, and the herculean effort it took to pry open his eyelids. 

The light was nearly blinding as he tilted his head to the side, registering the flow of drugs from the IV drip making his limbs feel heavy and grimacing at the dryness of his mouth. Mikey was sitting in a chair at his bedside, and at his movement the box turtle leaps up and grips the bars to the bed. 

“Leo! Are you awake?” 

Leo can’t do much more than click in response, already wanting to go back to sleep but the stress in Mikey’s expression keeps him conscious. How long had he been out for Mikey to look so concerned? What had even happened this time? What were they all doing before…

“Here, I’ve got some water for ya,” Mikey says quickly, grabbing a cup and urging Leo to drink, “Do you want-” 

“Donnie?!” Leo interrupts, voice rough as the memory of his brother, bloody and bruised, surfaces. He realizes through the sludge of the painkillers that he’d managed to grab Mikey’s hand before he could help him with the water and his grip was trembling as he searched Mikey’s face for answers. “Is he here? Is he ok?” 

“Donnie’s fine,” Mikey reassures, pointing over Leo’s shoulder, “look he’s right there.” At Mikey’s gesture Leo lets his head fall to the other side and can see Donnie laying flat on his plastron still passed out. That nausea swirls again at the sight of all the bandages and wires that seemed to mirror what was hooked up to Leo so he tilts back towards Mikey with a small sigh of relief. 

“Does Yuichi know?” He asks after he takes a few sips of blessedly cool water and can talk without it feeling like his throat is being carved to pieces. 

“Can you worry about yourself for two seconds Leo?” Mikey murmurs miserably as he fidgets with Leo's blankets, “What do you remember? Raph didn’t see what happened and Kendra couldn’t pull cameras since Bishop had everything disabled on that floor.” 

“I had to get Donnie out of the way,” Leo replies with a frown, “If I didn’t then…” It all hits him at once. The scene in the lab, the blood, the pain of a part of him being rendered from existence. He rolls his gaze down to his right arm, feeling an odd choking feeling overtake him as he realizes that his arm ends at the bicep, wrapped tightly in stark white bandages. 

“Bishop had built something, I couldn’t see all of it since the power had been cut to most of the lab, but Donnie had just been left there. When I was trying to get to him, it lit up and I realized…” He trails off, swallowing hard as he recalls the sharp angles and the alien features of the robot, a shape that had often haunted nightmares, “If I didn’t get him out of the way, then he would’ve-” his words are cut off by his own choked sob. He’d been so close to losing his brother. Donnie was so close to being gone because of some stupid fucking scientist. 

“Ok ok I got it,” Mikey quickly says, trying to calm the rising heart rate of his older brother and prevent those pained noises from escalating.  

“You gotta tell Yuichi, Mikey you gotta call him, it’s been a week he’s probably worried sick, ” Leo gasps, tightening his grip on Mikey’s arm. The guilt of unintentionally keeping Yuichi in the dark was eating at every ounce of air in his chest. 

“I will, I’ll get Raph to do it right now ok?” promises replies, holding onto Leo’s hand with both of his until he can feel Leo’s grip loosening and can see his eyelids fluttering. 

“Okay,” Leo mumbles, the burst of energy leaving him as quickly as it had arrived. “Mikey imma sleep now ‘kay?” 

“That’s fine Leo, rest up,” Mikey whispers, patting Leo’s hand as the slider relaxes and almost instantly falls back asleep. Mikey breathes a sigh of relief once he’s sure Leo’s under then sends a text to Raph. 

-------

Yuichi knew that it wasn’t necessarily uncommon for Leo to go radio silent on missions, it came with the territory of keeping the world safe. However, it’d been a week at this point and with the abruptness of Leo’s departure, he was anxiously pacing the length of his room and overthinking everything that could’ve gone wrong. It had become his habit within the week, spending his downtime in this way but the routine is interrupted when his phone begins buzzing. 

He leaps at where it had been set on his bedside table, dropping it on the floor once before he manages to hold onto it, seeing Leo’s caller ID and nearly crying with relief. 

“Leo! It’s been a week, are you ok? What happened to Donnie?” He rattles off once he answers, clutching his phone up to his ear and holding his breath for the response. 

There’s a beat of silence before Raph replies. 

“Hey Usagi, I don’t want you freaking out ok?” Raph greets gently, “I’m gonna tell you what happened and then Mikey’s gonna bring you over here.” 

“What went wrong? Is Leo hurt?” Usagi questions anxiously, feeling his phone beginning to creak with how tightly he was holding it. All of the worst case scenarios he’d been considering claw their way to the forefront of his mind. 

“Leo and Donnie were both seriously injured in the escape from the lab that Donnie was being held in, but they’re both alive and recovering,” Raph reports, “Leo’s been in and out of consciousness for the past day and he just woke up for longer than just a few minutes. He’s been asking for you. Are you ok to come over?” 

“Yes yes of course,” Usagi replies quickly, darting around to grab his katana and tug on his shoes, “Get me over there.” 

A golden portal opens in front of him as he’s pocketing his phone and Usagi doesn’t hesitate to step through. Once the spots clear from his vision he sees that Mikey had pulled him into the atrium of their lair, both Mikey and Raph waiting for him. He can see the exhaustion in their expressions and it makes the anxiety that had been simmering begin to boil over. 

“Where is he?” Usagi demands, dropping his katana onto the nearest empty surface and flicking his ears to see if he can catch any sound of the slider. He can hear the slightly raised heartbeats of the brothers in front of him before he catches the steady electrical beeps further into the lair.

“I’ll take you to him,” Mikey says, raising his hands in a placating gesture, “He’s still kind of out of it from the painkillers, but he’s been asking about you since he woke up.” 

Usagi knows that’s supposed to reassure him but it just makes his heart beat harder as he follows Mikey to the medical bay. He’s seen Leo hurt before, but it was very rare that he or any of the brothers had to be completely hospitalized. Their healing factors often kicked in before it was needed, so the thought of both of them being injured badly enough to need serious painkillers was nerve wracking. Since Donnie was on the far side of the room, Usagi’s gaze catches on the softshell before he fully enters and turns to see Leo. 

He’s not sure what to look at first, eyes flickering from the bruises under Leo’s eyes to the bandages wrapping around his upper chest and his right arm - his right arm that was gone from the elbow down. He can’t help his gasp, moving quickly to Leo’s bedside. Leo opens his eyes at the vocalization, gaze taking a moment to focus before he smiles gently. 

“Yuichi,” He says, voice soft but clearly rough from disuse as Usagi scans the lines of IV’s and wires before leaning over and cradling Leo’s head. He wraps his arms as gently as he could, tucking Leo’s head against his own as he whispers his name. He waits until he can hear the steadiness of Leo’s heartbeat before he takes a shuddered breath and shifts to hide his face against Leo.  

“‘Chi?” Leo inquires, drawing back a bit as he can feel the heat of Yuichi’s tears against the side of his neck. 

Yuichi moves back just enough to meet Leo’s eyes as he bites back the angry choking thing that wants to scream about unfairness and instead presses his cheek against Leo’s, seeing the tears budding in the slider’s eyes. 

“Don’t you dare do this again,” He whispers fiercely, “Next time you leave, I’m coming with you.” He can feel Leo’s tears mingling with his own, and it takes only a tilt of his head to connect the two of them in a kiss. Usagi would normally worry about the fact that Leo’s brothers were likely still nearby, and would be concerned if Leo was in any pain with the proximity, but all he can think about is how he nearly lost the slider and he would’ve only known when his brothers had been able to contact him. He curls the fingers he has cradling the back of Leo’s neck, feeling the slider sigh into his mouth before he pulls back and searches out Yuichi’s hand with his remaining one. Once their fingers are intertwined, Leo visibly relaxes. 

“I won’t Yuichi, promise.” 

“Damn straight,” Yuichi says firmly, “And if you think I’m leaving anytime in the near future you’d be sorely mistaken.” 

“Well the angle you’re standing at doesn’t look comfortable,” Leo offers quietly, “Care to join me?” 

Yuichi frowns at the number of wires that Leo was connected to before carefully arranging himself on the bed beside Leo. He can feel the tension fade as he carefully tangles their legs and props his head against the side of Leo’s. The slider melts into his side, sighing in comfort and it brings Usagi back to many of their sleepovers. If there wasn’t the scent of antiseptic and the sounds of heart rate monitors, he’d be able to pretend that it was just another night after coming back from a mission. The sleepless nights spent worrying over Leo’s condition catch up to him, and he allows himself to rest with Leo tucked into his arms. 

-------

Kendra had seen a lot in her time. Being a teenage hacker often meant seeing things that she really wasn’t supposed to. Sometimes it was what the neighbors Tuesday afternoon drunken parties entailed, sometimes it was the ledgers of foreign governments and lists of experiments that were far from ethical. 

Helping two of the Hamato’s through their amputations? That was new. She can’t help but thank her instinct to pursue medicine (sure it was veterinary medicine but it had helped them out here hadn’t it?) as she clears away the materials she’d used for stitches.

She wasn’t sure what to think when she was first contacted about Donatello being missing. It seemed that the Hamato’s had just been going through each of Donnie’s contacts to see if they’d heard anything. She wasn’t sure if she was surprised that she was one of the first on his list since she was contacted mere hours after his disappearance, but she was not ashamed to admit that she threw herself back into her computer hacking days to provide her services. 

It was odd, returning to watching cameras and scanning security footage for any signs of the freakishly large turtle instead of attending to her much more morally correct job of a veterinarian. When Donnie’s systems finally pinged his location and the brothers had ran in yelling about his mystic energy, she remained as the “woman in the chair” despite every instinct to strap on one of Donnie’s battleshells and join the fight herself. 

She watched through security cameras while she remotely detonated the lab’s systems - reveling in the panic on the scientists faces as they realized that rooms were locked and sirens were growing louder thanks to her call to every station in the area regarding illegal experimentation and unauthorized lab usage. They wouldn’t be able to access the building until she opened the doors, but it was good to rile them up. The building would be going down regardless thanks to April and Casey’s actions to rig the foundations with Purple Dragon grade explosives. She had already evacuated nearby blocks, the only danger was to those that had chosen to imprison and experiment on Donnie and whatever other poor mutants Bishop had gotten his slimy hands on. Unfortunately the only area she wasn’t able to see, much to her and everyone else’s frustration, was the lab that Donnie was being kept in. 

This means that the only thing she sees when the battle ends is Leo and Donnie being carried out by Raph before she loses access to her systems as the cameras explode into a golden light. Whatever Raph had done to that lab had disabled what was hindering their powers then if Mikey was able to begin the detonation process. She hurries to the med bay, keeping her panic tucked away as the blood that had been trailing the trio flickers through her mind. There’s another flash of golden light just as she’s set up the beds and the brothers appear through Mikey’s portal. 

She still doesn’t allow herself to panic as she helps with the surgery, an odd mix of modern medicine and magic keeping the two brothers alive and stable until she steps back and deems it all they can do for the moment. Through numb lips she explains the aftercare and the Hamato’s set up schedules and watches. She should be surprised that she’s included in these, but she also knows that the only way she’s leaving Donnie’s side is if she’s dragged out. Well, after she scrubs their blood from her clothes anyway. She borrows some of Donnie’s while hers are being treated, drawing comfort in the too large hoodie as she sets up post beside Donnie’s bed. 

Leo wakes up first, unsurprising since he hadn’t been locked away for a week in a psychopath's care. Their healing factor has clearly kicked in as within a day Leo is taken off the heavy painkillers and requests to move back to his room. Kendra tries not to be impatient as she routinely checks on the stitches, monitoring for infection between her shifts with Donnie. The brothers regularly switched off with Kendra - barring Leo since he was bed bound - but Kendra insisted on spending as much time as possible with Donnie. He should be waking up soon after all and if she didn’t get to tell that stupid idiot her true feelings she’s going to lose it. 

It’s late on day two when she hears movement, glancing over to see Donnie’s eyes open wide and staring at her uncomprehending. She freezes, staring back and not even daring to blink as she waits for understanding to wash over Donatello’s expression. 

It doesn’t. 

Instead he snarls, lips drawing back to expose sharp teeth and she scrambles to press the call button (more of a localized panic button for the med bay) before Donatello tries to sit up, becoming off balance and falling to his side as he tries to balance with an arm he doesn’t have. “You’ll hurt yourself,” Kendra barks, hands going to help him sit up when he snaps at her arms, then hissing a warning when she doesn’t immediately draw back. She is so not qualified to deal with a hostile mutant turtle who had probably been through an excess of uncertified medical procedures over the past week if his injuries were anything to go by. Thankfully she doesn’t have to worry about her hand being bitten off as Raph and Mikey come running in. 

She backs off, only so that Donnie doesn’t feel overwhelmed and becomes more violent, but remains in eyesight in case he tries to rip out the IV’s. Mikey does disconnect the heart monitor since its high-pitched scream was doing none of them any favors and she could see how quickly Donnie relaxed at the quiet. It still clearly takes a moment for him to recognize where he was and who was around him with his brothers reassurances the only reason he’s willing to settle back onto the bed with a low whine. Kendra steps in, quickly checking fluids and changing out the painkillers since they were low. She can see the concern on both Mikey and Raph’s expressions, but completes everything clinically before returning to her spot at his bedside. 

“You can leave now, I can handle it,” She says only a bit harshly. It was true, she’s sure she can handle whatever reaction Donnie may have now that he’s aware of where he is. She knew the dangers of an unfamiliar face attempting to administer care, but now Donnie could see her and understood why he was hooked up to the various equipment. She had no concerns about her safety. 

“If you’re sure…” Raph says hesitantly, “You know how to get a hold of us.” 

“Yep, now go back to bed, you two are dead on your feet,” Kendra says, trying to be cold but it’s difficult when all she can do is trace the bandages wrapping Donatello’s shell. She hears the brothers leave and heaves a sigh of relief. From the glaze over Donnie’s eyes, she can tell the painkillers have a hold on him but she can't help but slowly reach out to grasp his left hand. 

“I know you’re probably loopy because those are high grade as shit,” She starts quietly, “But if I don’t get this off my chest before you fall asleep again I think I’ll actually lose my mind.” 

Donnie blinks slowly at her. 

“You’re an idiot,” She whispers harshly, “You scared the hell out of us you know? You scared the hell out of me.” She squeezes his hand, feeling him squeeze back before she can force herself to continue. “You know I didn’t even realize it until your brothers called me, but I care about you. I care about you, the guy who humiliated me every chance he could get, the dumb turtle who put a stop to a whole ass alien invasion, and the absolute dickhead who got kidnapped and hurt by an actually crazy scientist and leaving me behind.” 

She doesn’t know when she started crying. 

“You’re really making me say it, Donatello Hamato, but I like you, and if anything - I mean anything - happens to you again? I’m going to kill whoever did it with my bare hands.” 

She’s not sure if Donnie understands, but she can see the corner of his lips quirk slightly before his eyes slip shut and he stills. His breaths become deep with sleep but his hand still remains firmly grasped in Kendra’s. She doesn’t let go until Mikey comes in to take over. 

-------

A week goes by in silence. Not from all of the Hamato’s, Kendra doesn’t think it’d be possible for them to be quiet for more than ten seconds. No. Donatello has not said a single word, or even made a noise of discomfort since he’d first woken up. He rarely even signs, much to the disappointment and worry of his brothers. He doesn’t ask for food or water, although they’re brought to him anyway, and he remains in his room nestled under his blankets and only moves when absolutely necessary. Despondent is the word that immediately springs to Kendra’s mind and she hates it. 

They retain their rotating shifts, although Kendra takes as many of them as she can. The last thing Donnie needs is an interrogation from his family, since it’s clear that he’s still gathering his thoughts over what had happened to him and shows discomfort any time his brothers try to remain alone with him. She justifies her veterinary knowledge, but she can also see Mikey whispering to Raph whenever the older brother looks like he’s going to protest. Thank whatever pizza thing they worship for the younger brother’s empathy. Kendra sets up a cot that Donnie had in his lab and sleeps across the room when she can. 

This is how she knows Donnie’s having a nightmare almost exactly a week after he’d moved back into his room. 

He didn’t sleep very often, fiddling at all hours with some form of tech since he had to avoid screens with his head injury or pretending to sleep as he laid on top of the mattress. Kendra’s relief at his breaths finally evening out is short lived as a few hours after he slipped under she hears him begin to thrash, then cries out in pain as he aggravates the wounds on his shell. She’s out of the cot and onto his bed in seconds, cupping her hands gently onto his face and tapping gently at his cheeks. His eyes snap open and for a moment she wonders if she’s going to lose a finger or two before clarity comes to his vision. For the first time in a week she feels like he recognizes her. 

She finds herself wrapped in an embrace, a surprising development but not one she’s going to take lightly as she feels Donnie trembling against her. She squeezes, not enough to hurt but enough to ground as Donnie’s forehead falls heavy to her shoulder. The two of them sit there, Kendra gently rubbing Donnie’s shell until she feels his breath hitch. 

“He…made a control panel…like the technodrome…” His voice is raspy from disuse and Kendra almost wants to stop him so he could get a drink or something, but she also understands that this is important both for Donatello to say and for her to hear. Regardless of how sick the thought of hearing what caused these wounds makes her feel. 

“Or…tried to…’t was…nothing like her…” 

Kendra recalls the ship that had hovered over New York. She thinks of its size and the terror it struck into its citizens. She couldn’t imagine anyone willingly recreating that, this Bishop Bastard was even worse than she thought. Mikey had told them a bit about how the ship had been controlled - access directly to the nervous system as far as they could tell. One sleepless night Donnie had even described what it had felt like to control the ship, Kendra never forgot the almost melancholic expression on his face as he recalled connecting to it. 

“There was no synergy…just pain…it tried to control…it tried to take…take… take ….” The anguish in Donnie’s voice has Kendra holding him all the tighter, burying her face in his shoulder in the only way she could try to comfort. The words are spilling out of him now, faster and every word sounds worse as he explains in fractured segments what Bishop had done. 

“...I felt violated …it tried to control me even though it was supposed to be controlled. Bishop was furious…he didn’t understand why it wasn’t working…” Donnie let out a broken laugh, “took it out on me…but it was nothing compared to it…nausea got worse…every time I was hooked up to it…”

She can feel him shudder at the memory and she squeezes him the best she can, hoping that the weight of her against him was helping to keep him grounded as he continued talking. 

“He kept upgrading it…and connecting me to it…” He pauses, exhaling hard and coughing a bit as he does so, “It noticed too late when I took control...That’s how I got the signal out. You already know the rest…”

Kendra can feel that he’s done, the way he slumps against her and the ragged breathing as he attempts to reign in his thoughts. She’s never been great at comforting people in the conventional sense, but she has a feeling she can share what she was feeling about the whole situation. 

“What an absolute shithead.” 

She feels him jolt in surprise before he snorts, finally finally returning her hold and tugging her closer to him as he laughs. It’s the best sound  she’s ever heard. 

“Yeah, he really was an absolute dick! A real piece of work, shit from the sewers!” Donnie manages to choke out between chuckles and Kendra can’t help but lean into his laughter. 

“So just to make sure I wasn’t just high on painkillers…you did say you liked me right?” Donnie murmurs after they’d both calmed down enough to lay comfortably on the bed. Donnie doesn’t let Kendra go, drawing comfort in her warmth as she messes absently with his hand. She pressed her palm against his own, twining and untwining their fingers until he spoke - then she abruptly dropped his hand. 

Kendra groans, rolling over to hide her face against the mattress despite their tangled legs keeping her mostly facing Donnie, “Yes, yes unfortunately I did.” 

“What was that? Could you repeat it?” Donnie asks cheekily, laughing again when Kendra lifts her face from the mattress to scowl at him. 

“Yes! I did! Got a problem with it ?” 

Donnie’s face is priceless, shifting from teasing to blushing in a way that makes Kendra smirk victoriously as she gently rubs his arm. 

“I…suppose…I like you too,” Donnie manages to stutter out. 

“You tell anyone I got mushy like that and I’ll strangle you,” Kendra mutters. 

Donnie barks out a laugh, “Wouldn’t dream of it Kendra.” 

Kendra knows deep down that this isn’t over. Bishop was still out there, a destroyed lab surely wouldn’t keep him down for long. For the moment however, she’s going to enjoy Donnie’s warm embrace and do what she can to help him feel safe even if that means tearing down the bastard herself.

#rottmnt #rottmntfanfic #samurairabbitusagichronicles #samurairabbit #leoichi #kendratello #goldenfutureau #ao3 #fanfic #leonardo hamato #usagi yuichi #rottmnt kendra #donatello hamato #honestly all characters are featured a little bit in here

[airas-story]

Everything and Something

“Is life after death real?” Tony asked.

It took a few moments for the words to compute and Stephen blinked as he looked up from his book. “What?”

“Life after death. You seem like the type of person that would know about stuff life that.”

Stephen raised an eyebrow at that. “I do?”

Tony shrugged. “You were the one who taught me that souls were real. Before you I was absolutely adamant that they weren’t. Plus, you’ve died before. Like… a lot.” He winced at the words and Stephen could see that Tony was hoping that hadn’t come off as insensitive.

Stephen wasn’t overly offended. It wasn’t like Tony was wrong.

“My deaths during both of my time loops hardly counted since there was little to no time between them and starting over,” Stephen pointed out. “And the time that Thanos killed all of us was different, we were only sort of dead, contained by the soul stone.”

Tony made a face at that. “So you’re saying that you don’t know?”

Stephen considered that. “Not for sure,” he acknowledged. “There are spells that allow you to talk to someone who has passed on. Though they’re not encouraged. But the fact that you can ‘summon’—“ it wasn’t quite the right word, but it worked for this explanation, ”—a ‘ghost’ it would stand to reason that they must have still been in some realm of existence.”

Tony hummed thoughtfully at that, brows furrowed.

“Why?” Stephen asked, curiosity tugging at him. “You’re not normally philosophical about this sort of thing.”

Tony shrugged. “I’m not exactly philosophical,” he defended, as though that was some sort of slight. But then to Tony, just maybe it was. “I just… I wonder, sometimes, you know. Sometimes… well, sometimes things feel so unfinished. Questions, you know?”

Stephen did. “What exactly are you thinking about?” Stephen asked, sure that there was something.

Tony watched him for a moment, clearly deciding whether this was a vulnerability that he was willing to show Stephen.

Stephen waited patiently. He knew that Tony had shown him more vulnerabilities than he allowed most people to see, but that was no guarantee that he would this time.

“I just… I wonder, sometimes, if I’ve wasted my life.”

Stephen raised an eyebrow at that. “Wasted your life? You? Do you recall working to save half of the universe?”

Tony shrugged. “Sure, but…” He frowned, as though trying to put together the right words. “I’m not sure that was what Yinsen meant.”

Stephen frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Yinsen. He was with me in Afghanistan. He… He saved me. And he… the last thing he told me was to not waste my life. Me. Not Iron Man.”

Stephen considered that. “What do you think he meant, then?”

Tony was quiet for a moment. “He once told me that I was a man with everything and nothing.” There was something in Tony’s eyes, a slow, heavy grief. “I still have everything… I just… sometimes I wonder if I’m any less empty than I was before." Tony looked away, shaking his head as though annoyed with himself. “It’s ridiculous.”

“It’s human,” Stephen contradicted. He reached out, taking Tony’s hand. “And, for what it’s worth, while I won’t claim I’m everything, I hope I count for something.” He met Tony’s eyes. “You have me.” Tony stared at him, awe and hope and pain. Some part of Stephen ached that after all this time Tony still couldn’t bring himself to fully believe it. It wasn’t a slight against Stephen; Tony simply didn’t believe he deserved good things. “You have me.”

#ironstrange #tony stark #stephen strange #Yinsen #mentioned at least #a man with everything and nothing #sometimes I think of Yinsen and get sad #so does Tony

[drakaripykiros130ac]

Breaking down the kid fight in Driftmark:

I will keep score of the wrongs done by both parties in this fight.

Aemond claimed his dragon, good for him. Still messed up to take the dead woman’s dragon the day of her funeral, but whatever. Vhagar was grieving herself since she is the one who actually killed Laena, which puts into question whether her accepting Aemond was truly because she wanted him as her rider, or simply because she was in pain, old, grieving and in desperate need for companionship. I personally think it’s the ladder.

Rhaena and Baela, still grieving their mother, confronted Aemond about Vhagar, as is their right. At the same time, Jacaerys was grieving Harwin Strong.

When questioned by Rhaena, Aemond insulted her and Laena’s memory, showing nothing but cruelty through his words.

Greens - 1

Blacks - 0

In response, Rhaena lunged herself at Aemond, which resulted in Aemond pushing her to the ground.

Greens - 2

Blacks - 1

A grief-stricken and angry Baela punched Aemond in response, and Aemond in turn, threw an even greater punch her way.

Greens - 3

Blacks - 2

In response to the girls being hit, Jacaerys and Lucerys joined the fight against Aemond.

Greens - 4

Blacks - 3

Eventually, Aemond has his hand clasped around Luke’s throat with a rock above his head. In addition to this, he makes death threats (mentioning the fire at Harrenhal - which ironically - his own mother is responsible of) and utters the word “bastards”, which is not a simple insult but rather a direct treasonous act, if spoken without concrete evidence. An act which in itself threatens the lives of Jacaerys and Lucerys. All this makes an additional 3 wrongdoings.

Greens - 7

Blacks - 3

In response to all this (his life threatened, mention of Harwin’s death and the “bastard” comment), Jacaerys pulls out a knife and starts fighting with Aemond.

Greens - 7

Blacks - 4

Aemond has Jacaerys trapped and it is clear that he intends to bash his head with that stone - a clear intent to kill.

Greens - 8

Blacks - 4

Lucerys, frightened for the danger his brother is in, picks up the knife and slashes Aemond’s face in self-defense.

Greens - 8

Blacks - 5

Bottom line: If Aemond hadn’t been so cruel from the beginning (after all, Baela and Rhaena had done nothing to him. They barely knew each other.), and hadn’t shown clear intention to murder (foreshadowing for the future), he would have still had his eye right about now. He alone is responsible for his downfall.

I see him as a pathetic human being, filled with hatred and gossip by his mother (a true momma’s boy), lacks intelligence to rise above childish pranks (he is an adult who rides the biggest dragon in the world and is still acting like a pissed little kid. Daemon himself sees right through him and is amused) and as a wise Tumblr once said: his entire personality is based on the eye he lost.

Brynden Rivers (Bloodraven) lost an eye as well many years later, in the first Blackfyre war. But he wore the scar with pride, and never let it define him.

#house of the dragon #team black #anti alicent hightower #anti greens #anti otto hightower #anti aemond targaryen #anti aemond stans #pro team black #rhaenyra targaryen #anti team green #queen rhaenyra #hotd #lucerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon #baela targaryen #rhaena targaryen #anti team green stans