#(( I sent it in an ask but you must not have seen? ))

[beckyninja]

Unbroken

Pairing: Robute Guilliman x FemReader

Warnings: Not much this time. Guilliman forgets his own strength, and we have some implied Genestealer ickiness.

Description: The Lady steps into the heart of Victor's darkness, but refuses to give up. Meanwhile, Guilliman has a very interesting conversation with the last member of her family.

Check out the previous parts of this series on my Masterlist. Also, remember that my Asks and DM's are always open if you have any (non-spoilery) questions. Finally, make sure to comment and ask if you'd like to be added to/removed from the Taglist.

Shink. Shink. Shink.

The shard of metal in your hand consumed your attention. Back and forth across the metal floor of your storage closet turned cell. Back and forth. Until the jagged edge smoothed and sharpened. A fragment of broken shelving you’d discovered shoved in a dusty corner, it remained the only possible weapon you’d found after hours searching.

Shink. Shink. Shink.

The repetitive motion calmed you. Helped you think. And if long years under your grandmother’s iron thumb had taught you nothing else, they’d taught you patience.

Stay alive long enough… long enough for him to-

The memory of impossibly blue eyes sent a pang straight through your heart. You gritted your teeth and refocused on the shard, on the movement. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Shink. Shink. Shink.

I can’t think of him now. No distractions.

The cold metal of the ring you still carried in your bodice brought comfort. But you shook it away as well. You’d made a vow not to passively wait for a savior, to marshall your own strength, little that you had.

And so I must focus.

Shink. Shink. Shink.

What did you know? 

Victor is either mad, or so narcissistic he cannot comprehend his own foolishness. Probably both. He has allied with horrors. But have they allied with him? Almost certainly not.

What did that mean?

Manipulation. Possible psychic influence?

You squeezed your eyes shut, cursing your lack of knowledge. Your people knew so little about the Tyranids and their capabilities. The loss of Pangea had been an awakening, but not nearly enough. 

What you’d learned in your time among the Imperials had made your blood run cold.

I, we, thought them animals. Dangerous beasts, a ravening plague, but beasts all the same. How wrong we were! 

You thought of the call to arms you’d sent out in your final act of desperate defiance. 

Did I merely summon more sheep to the slaughter? No!

Cold metal in your hand. Ceaseless movement. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Shink. Shink. Shink.

Your heartbeat slowed.

Roboute knows these horrors. He will show my people how to fight them. I must have faith in him, and in the Light.

Focus.

What could you do?

Play the role. Listen. Wait for an opportunity.

You paused to stare at the shard. For a moment, you remembered another blade in your hand, the warm stickiness of blood running over your fingers as you plunged it into-

A whimper broke through your clenched teeth.

Could I do it again?

Back and forth. Back and forth.

Shink. Shink. Shink.

Ensign Doherty’s earnest, hopeful face filled your mind, followed soon after by Victor’s malicious grin.

Something inside you hardened.

“I will.” You whispered into the silent, still air of your cell. “I must-”

The door hissed open. 

With a fluidity you hadn’t realized yourself capable of, you twisted your fingers and slipped the metal shard up your sleeve. In all other ways you remained frozen. Crouched on the metal floor. Eyes down.

Broken. Be broken.

The silence stretched on. You heard breathing, deep and regular, but with the faintest hint of a reptilian hiss. It sent a shiver across your skin you didn’t bother to try and hide. 

“Oh, cou-sin.” The sing-song tone grated in your ears. “We’ve arrived.”

You looked up and wished you hadn’t.

Victor had grown paler since you’d seen him last, his skin taking on an almost blueish cast. His cheekbones seemed on the verge of cutting through his skin. And his eyes….

Light protect me!

You’d seen madness in them before. But now they gleamed with a wrongness that repulsed your very soul. Something Else used your cousin’s face as a mask.

Teeth too big and too white grinned down at you. “Our new allies are so very eager to meet you.”

***

The Allied Fleet sailed through the void. Imperial and TerraNovan, side by side, charging to face a common enemy.

And rescue a common love.

The complex logistics necessary to ensure smooth integration and collaboration had pulled Guilliman from the edge of insanity. He’d forced the beast within back into its cage of discipline. But he felt it pacing, lurking in the darkest corners of his soul, waiting to be released once more. 

MINE. It snarled. Return to me what is MINE.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. 

“Are you well, Lord Guilliman?”

Coming from the wasted figure before him, the inquiry was almost laughable. Conrad, Prince of TerraNova, the other cousin, looked as though a sharp word would send him crumpling to the floor. 

His clothing, a simple monastic robe, hung from his thin shoulders. Dark-ringed eyes seemed magnified by a pair of antique spectacles. He leaned heavily upon a carved wooden staff, the only part of his apparel that bore even the slightest hint of ornamentation. 

A similarly-garbed older man stood at his elbow, eyes fixed upon the swaying young man with paternal concern.

Guilliman didn’t bother to answer the question. “Continue, Prince.”

Conrad winced. “I… I would prefer to be called ‘Brother’ though…,” his large eyes flashed to the towering Ultramarines flanking the Primarch, “... I can see where that might cause confusion. It doesn’t matter, I suppose.”

Guilliman felt his patience stretch that much thinner. “It does not.”

The young man swallowed. “I was saying I… I do not know what help I can be in the coming battle. Those of our Order who escaped the Monastery’s burning,” his voice thickened.

The older man placed a hand on his shoulder.

Conrad took a shuddering breath. “We are scholars, not warriors.”

The older man spoke for the first time. “We have a few of the Light-blessed amongst us. Healers. They will be put at your disposal when it comes time to treat any wounded.”

“Y-yes.” Conrad bobbed his head. “There is that. But, I suppose the real reason I came is to… to reassure you.”

“Reassure me.” Guilliman kept his tone flat.

“Yes!” For the first time, a spark came into Conrad’s eyes. “I am not Victor, Lord Guilliman. I have no designs on the Throne. Light, if I had my way I’d have never left the Monastery! I will swear the Oaths of Loyalty to my cousin, when she is crowned Matron… and to you, as Patron. And I will help her in whatever small way I can.”

Guilliman blinked. He’d never been able to see much family resemblance between you and Victor. But this young man, with his set jaw and earnest, honest expression. He reminded him of you. 

Despite himself, Guilliman felt a twinge of warmth for the reluctant Prince.

It would be a relief to know not all members of her family are raving lunatics.

The Primarch nodded. “You will remain here, Prince, until I am satisfied your professions of loyalty ring true. You say there are physicians among you?” 

The older man bowed and nodded. “The Light-blessed, yes.”

“I am unfamiliar with the term.”

Another bow and nod. “They are those who have been gifted from birth with extraordinary powers of the mind-”

“Psykers?!”

The outburst came from Commander Sicarius, who looked down upon the robed men as if they’d transformed into crawling monstrosities.

“You would bring unsanctioned psykers among us?”

The Prince spoke next, a tremble in his voice. “It is my understanding that such people are treated… differently in the Imperium. But I assure you, our training methods, not to mention the Dampening of all such individuals proven to lack the necessary mental fortitude-”

The older man interrupted. “There have been no recorded Breaches in over five millennia. The Light-blessed among our Order are some of the most disciplined and trustworthy men I have ever met.” He lifted his chin, though his eyes didn’t reach the Primarch’s face. “I would stake my life on their reliability.”

Of course they would have psykers. Guilliman winced internally. I should have anticipated. Why did I never speak of this with her? So many things we should have discussed. I thought we would have time.

He could sense Sicarius readying a fiery diatribe at his side, and lifted a hand to cut him off. “How widespread are these ‘Light-blessed’, Brother…?”

“Father Gregory, my Lord.” Another bow from the older man. “To answer your question, few are born with the gift. Fewer still pass the Trials and are permitted to keep it. I only knew of a scant dozen scattered throughout the Orders before the purge. We have… five Light-Blessed brothers with us, Healers of the highest quality.”

His hesitation did not go unnoticed. Before Guilliman could comment, Sicarius barked.

“My Lord! At the very least they should be restrained and confined!” 

In a fraction of a second, Guilliman considered a thousand new Theoreticals and Practicals.

“In our current situation, we cannot afford to waste a single potential resource, Sicarious. These men will be brought onboard the Macragge’s Honor and evaluated by our own sanctioned psykers. If they prove stable, they will be utilized.”

He made eye contact with the Prince. “They will not be harmed.”

Conrad gnawed his lower lip. “Lord Guilliman-”

Father Gregory’s eyes widened in alarm. “Brother Conrad, don’t-”

“I think he knows already, Father.” He limped forward. “I will submit myself to be evaluated first, Lord Guilliman.”

“Your honesty does you credit, Prince.” Guilliman almost allowed himself to smile. 

Conrad flushed. “I… don’t know what use I can be. I’m a Messenger, not a Healer. It’s not the most useful gift in these days of communications technology. But… I do want to help my cousin.” His shoulders sagged. “It would be nice to have family again-”

The Prince’s spine snapped straight so suddenly Guilliman heard his vertebrae creak under the strain. His head craned back as if yanked by an invisible fist, his eyes rolling until only the whites showed. And all around, Guilliman felt the electric crackle of the Warp.

Muted. Tamed somehow, but unmistakably the Warp.

A dozen bolters aimed at the Prince. Sicarius drew his blade, leaping between the psyker and his Primarch. 

“No!” Father Gregory wrapped his arms around Conrad, lowering his spasming body to the floor. “Wait, please!”

Then Conrad screamed your name.

“Hold fire!” Guilliman bellowed, shoving Sicarius aside and striding forward until he loomed over the prostrate Prince. “What is happening?”

“A psychic Message, though I’ve never seen him react like this before.” Father Gregory cradled Conrad’s head. “Conrad! Calm yourself. What do you see?”

“T-tunnels! Crawling, swarming things! Things with claws and teeth and hate. She’s showing me… showing me… oh, Light!”

“Light surround him.” The older monk intoned. “Light make clear his mind and clear his sight.”

Guilliman dropped to one knee besides the pair. “Speak, boy!”

“Hurt… they’re hurting… we hurt them.” Conrad shook. “They need… more. More! More! Making more. Infecting… changing… don’t trust them! Not human anymore!” His tremors eased, his voice growing stronger. “The images fade… the amplifier… old… won’t last long….”

Father Gregory gasped. “A psychic amplifier! I thought they’d all been lost!”

Guilliman ignored him. “What else?”

“A moon… Varangia… riddled… look out! The ground collapses!”

With a gasp, the Prince sat upright. The tremors ceased. His eyes focused.

“She’s gone.”

“NO!”

Guilliman grasped his thin shoulders and felt something break beneath his gauntlets. The Prince cried out. 

“My Lord! Please, stop!” Father Gregory clawed uselessly at his armored fingers.

The Primarch stood, barely conscious of the men huddled at his feet. 

“Varangia.” He growled.

The mercenary headquarters, according to Captain Takahashi. A jungle moon, orbiting a gas giant. She guessed it to be Victor’s destination. She guessed correctly.

He calculated flight times, taking into account the damaged state of many of the TerraNovan ships, the underpowered Warp Drives of the civilian vessels.

“I want the most recent repair reports on the TerraNovan warships. Now.” He spoke to no one in particular, yet heard frantic movement as the baseline crew scrambled to fulfill his commands. “Sicarious, Ultramarine veterans of Tyranid engagements are to be deployed to all allied ships with high troop concentrations. I want them made aware of what they’ll be facing, and how to most effectively combat it. I also want reports back on any unfamiliar TerraNovan weaponry. Something they did hurt the creatures. I want to know what.”

“It will be done, my Lord!”

“Vox Master, contact all ship and troop commanders. We will meet to discuss a plan of attack in precisely thirty minutes. Inform Captain Takahashi that all surviving members of the Predator’s original crew are to be placed in quarantine immediately until inspection by a sanctioned biomancer.”

“Yes, my Lord!”

The message, your message, played over and over again in his mind. 

Stay alive, my love. Keep fighting! Please.

***

With a final, desperate shove, the rusted hatch clanged open. Wet heat slapped against your skin. Sunlight stabbed into your skull, intensifying your already agonizing headache.

That’s what I get for using centuries old psy-tech.

You were just glad you’d walked away without permanent brain damage. But, as a wave of squeals and chittering rose from the tunnel beneath you, you knew brain damage was the least of your worries.

With a choked gasp, you flung yourself through the hatch and skidded down a gravel embankment, tearing more skin from your limbs in the process. Your gown hung in ragged ruins around you. Glancing down, you shuddered at the blood soaking your bodice.

Not mine.

You still clutched the metal shard in your fist. You doubted you could drop it if you tried.

Light, the sound he… it… made when I- no! Don’t think about it. 

Focus.

Easier said than done. As you half ran, half crawled through a field of scorched earth and bomb craters, your mind kept slipping back into horror.

“Come, cousin, meet our new Patriarch!”

“Just look into his eyes… there you go….”

“Let it happen. And soon, everything will be so clear.”

“Oh, Light! Light, Light, Light!” The sobbing prayer burst from your cracked lips.

That… thing! That horrible bloated monster! It touched my face, held my head, tried to put its… in my….

You still didn’t know how you found the will to break free of its hypnotic gaze. But you had. And you screamed. And you slashed. And you ran.

Through endless tunnels alive with horrors that flopped and twitched like crippled insects. Past things that looked human, but weren’t. 

You’d come so close to being one of them.

Sobs turned to gasps of hysterical laughter as you reveled in your escape. In the message you’d sent. Surely, the Light had guided you to that old piece of psy-tech, kept the creatures off of you long enough for you to use it. Even the mind you’d found had felt familiar, somehow. 

You could only hope he or she had gotten your message into the right hands. You’d done all you could do.

The jungle’s edge grew closer with every step.

If I reach it, maybe-

A chorus of inhuman shrieks rose from the fortress behind you. But you didn’t falter. You didn’t freeze. Help would come, you knew it. And until then, you’d fight on.

Unbroken.

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[lsunstreakerl]

Making my way through your o!dark bull tag and was just wondering about that ai if Charles didn’t mate Max at his first heat? Just how insane would he go trying to find that finishing school and getting Max as his omega even then 😭

I got a couple requests for o!darkbull, so even though this was sent slightly outside of the kink prompt window, I'll be using your ask for the ficlet! 4.6k words, charles POV, explicit, dead dove. (slightly.)

parings: charles leclerc/max verstappen

relevant heads up: tags below the cut, and also it's darkbull. if you're new to darkbull, don't start here <3

dead dove: omegaverse, omegas as subhuman (bought/sold) w little/no rights, no discussion of consent, dubcon/noncon due to charles ignoring max asking to wait, drugging.

Charles never stops looking.

From the first race that Max misses, with no word and no way to contact him, Charles knows something is wrong. The other kids say that maybe he's sick, but Charles knows better.

Max would never miss a race.

Charles checks every category, wobbles his way through shaky conversations in languages he doesn't speak, spends weeks trying to figure out where else Max possibly could have gone.

Pierre calls him obsessed, but that's not quite it— Max is Charles' rival. How are they supposed to be rivals if he's gone?

Lorenzo eventually pulls him aside, plopping him in the chair in Papa's office, leaning against the desk. Papa is looking at him gently, squeezing his fingers.

"Do you want us to find him?"

Obviously. If Max has quit racing, Charles will just fly out there himself and drag him back onto the track. He can't imagine Max in the normal world— the other boy belongs in fireproofs and a helmet, talking at Charles about track temp. Anything else is just wrong.

------

Lorenzo pulls him aside a week later, while Charles is kicking Arthur's ass in a video game. He brings them back into the office, although Papa is out on business.

Charles doesn't understand at first. Max isn't—

He's the furthest from omega that Charles has ever met, but that's what Lorenzo is trying to tell him, that Max had presented, that he'd been sold off to a finishing school.

The words aren't making sense. Charles understands the concept of a finishing school, of course— freshly presented omegas learn how to be ideal mates— but he can't imagine any of that applying to Max. Rough, aggressive on track Max, who's always taken advantage of every bit of space he's given.

He'd thought for sure Max was going to be an alpha. The thought of him as an omega, and what the presentation must have been like...

Charles has seen Jos. There's no possible way that Max had a nest, or anyone checking on him— and if he's been sold to a finishing school, it means he hadn't gotten any help for his heat either. They're strict about that kind of thing.

If it's true, then it means Max will never touch a kart again. He won't race, he won't be Charles' rival, he won't see him again. Charles needs to forget about him.

------

He tries.

------

Charles destroys his room on his next rut. His bed is a mess, rips down the sheets and holes in the pillows from his teeth. It's worse than his presentation rut had been, which is... not what's supposed to happen.

Papa calls in their home doctor, someone he knows from work, and the older alpha pokes and prods at Charles. He takes blood and saliva, tests his reflexes, and asks if he remembers anything from his rut.

Charles almost says no— but it's not true. He has flashes of blonde, snippets of a lisp and pale skin, remembers the freckle on his lip.

He tells the doctor he was thinking about a boy from karting that he hadn't spoken to in months. A boy he didn't even see after he presented as an omega.

The doctor makes considering noises, poking at him a few more times before leaving. Lorenzo is concerned, Arthur is laughing that he's broken, Papa is annoyed about the destruction, and Maman is more than happy to still let Charles rest his head in her lap.

------

Charles has attachment syndrome. It's not anything terrible, or even really that bad— it just complicates things. His body has decided that he has an omega already, they're just not mated yet, and his rut addled brain just wants to fix that.

Papa and Lorenzo have a few hushed talks before they sit Charles back down. They tell him he can have Max when he's done with finishing school, as long as Charles does well karting and stays on top of his studies. He'll be expected to help manage the family business when he's a bit older, so having a solid educational background is more important than he'd like it to be.

They also tell him they'll try and get some of Max's things from the finishing school before Charles' ruts, and that the school will be informed. He doesn't entirely understand, because he wasn't aware you could preorder a mate, but that's what it feels like.

------

Two weeks later, he spots a fancy letter on the table. The postage is from Switzerland, and he's only confused for a moment before he realizes that it must be the finishing school. He's too excited to remember the house rules, running with it up to the office, bursting through the door—

Papa has a gun pointed at another man.

------

Apparently, Charles is in the mafia.

------

He starts the family business early. Between karting and studying, his thoughts about Max are less frequent than they had been, but they're still a constant in his life. He'll be eating breakfast and wondering what Max is having, he'll pass the stores when he's out with Papa and Maman and wonder if Max likes the new omega styles.

He gets his first tattoos inked into his skin, learns how to tell when people are counting cards, and chops off someone's hand.

His rut catches him slightly by surprise, and poor Arthur gets the brunt of his short temper before he's sent up to his room, but Lorenzo brings him a vacuum sealed package, leaning against the doorframe.

"Just so you know, Max is earmarked for you, but you're still going to have to bid on him. Papa and I decided to let you have control over one of the clubs for the next few months, and however much you make from it is the bidding money you get."

Charles swallows, nodding. He can make enough money from one of the clubs, that's easy— as long as there's nobody else with deep pockets that wants his omega. Lorenzo tosses him the package.

"Courtesy of the school, for your 'medical needs'."

He leaves before Charles can say thank you, and he tears in the package with his nails. The scent that hits him sends his head reeling, and he's pulling the clothes out, burying his nose in them and letting the scent fill his room. Max has low, rich notes to his scent, but there's a tinge of sweetness lingering at the edges.

He's hard already, the haze of the rut creeping across him, but it doesn't feel as violent as before— just a desperate need to get off.

------

He doesn't remember much from this rut either. It breaks while he's knotted into a cocksleeve, teeth sunk into black fabric that smells sweeter than the other items. Closer inspection reveals it's a skirt, which has him rutting his hips into the bed, wishing more than anything that Max would be here, where Charles can get his hands on him.

He picks his way through the rest of the clothes. The school had sent him a soft cream sweater, saturated with Max's scent, particularly strong at the collar of it and the wrists, right where Max's scent glands are. He has a dress top, made of navy silk, and it takes him a few minutes to figure out how it would even be worn— there's too many holes and loose ends for it to make sense. They'd sent him a pillowcase as well, and Charles switches it with his own.

Being able to lay his head down and inhale Max's scent has him relaxed, allowing his mind to finally settle for what feels like the first time in years.

The idea that this will be constant for him soon— it makes him excited. He's started looking at places in Monaco, somewhere for Max to have a pretty nest for him to come home too, and lots of space for the eventual trophy wall he's going to need.

Just a few more months.

------

Charles runs the club like his life depends on it. When he's not karting, he's in the back. He more than doubles profits, brings in new customers, and makes it very clear how important it is to him that things run smoothly. The digits in his bank account steadily increase, and so does his reputation. He has three new tattoos and a contract with Sauber by the time he's twenty.

Max graduates in four weeks, and Charles bites his nails down to the quick waiting for his invitation to the auction. He's got the keys to their new flat, and he'd paid a service to deliver plenty of nest building materials. He's been nervous shopping, buying pretty things off the rack that he thinks Max will look good in, and the jewelry drawer at the new flat is worryingly full already.

He has four different collars ready, unsure which will look best on his omega, but he wants to be prepared for anything. Arthur has relentlessly been making fun of him, and Lorenzo had taken him out to buy a new suit for the auction.

Charles knows nobody else is going to get Max, but the anxiety still gnaws at him, grating against his nerves for weeks.

------

The finishing school is beautiful. It's up in the mountains, and the large glass windows sparkle in the late evening. Everything about it reminds him of elegance and grace, and the entire campus feels distinctly omega. It's a space designed for training them, so he's not entirely surprised, but it's still awe inspiring to see in person.

The chauffeur lets him step out in front of the reception hall, and he feels his nerves sink away. He has more money than he knows what to do with readily available, his rings are cool against his fingers, and Max is somewhere on the other side of the doors. All Charles needs to do is bid, and then he and Max will be able to head home back to Monaco.

He's got plans.

------

There's a few alphas here Charles knows— high profile people he's met at events and galas, and several alphas closer to his age that he strikes up casual conversation with. It's supposed to be a blind auction, where nobody knows who the omegas are, but Charles knows.

Max is one of the last three, top of his class, and projected to be extremely expensive. Charles isn't too worried— if you have the winning bid, you're not allowed to bid on any others, but everyone knows the best of the group are towards the end.

That doesn't stop the first few omegas from having bidding wars over them. Charles doesn't pay them much mind, because they're not who he wants, but he admires their grace, the perfect posture and pink cheeks. He's done his own research over the last few months, found that this school is one of the best in the world, and the money being laid down tonight reflects that.

He sips on his drink as he waits. The younger alphas he'd been chatting with all secure winning bids, and he sees a few of the older alphas he's familiar with bid closer to the middle as well.

He sits up straighter when they call Max's name. He swears that he can pick up his scent, even from the across the room, and his heart is beating in his chest as the first bids go in. He waits, letting the numbers climb higher and higher, looking closely at Max. His walk is steady across the stage, and he settles easily on the stool, one ankle lightly crossing in front of the other.

His chin is lifted, and he's slightly different from the others so far— Charles realizes a moment later it's because he's holding eye contact. There's something unyielding about him even now, and he faintly registers the bids starting to slow down before he finally lifts his own, adding his name to the ring.

The numbers climb to a dizzying height, but seeing Max in person, years after he'd lost him... it's better than any drug. There's a brief bidding war between Charles and an older alpha, but he comes out ahead, and when the gavel strikes he feels a deep sense of satisfaction.

Max is his now, the way he's supposed to be. For good.

------

Charles is given the keys to a private holding room where they've set up Max and his things, should Charles want him to keep them. He's also given instructions to call the chauffeur whenever he's ready to leave— which will be sooner, rather than later.

There's a private jet waiting at the nearest airport, ready to take them back to Nice as soon as possible.

He straightens the sleeves of his suit before stepping into the room. Max is waiting, kneeling on the middle of the floor. His hands are folded neatly behind his back, head tipped down to expose the back of his neck, and—

It feels wrong. It's not Max, not the way Charles knew him, not the way Charles wants him. He can smell him, no trace of the softer notes of his scent, but he's doing a good job masking whatever his actual feelings are.

His scent is perfectly mild. Submissive.

Charles brushes his fingers lightly against his hair before he lowers himself close to the ground, resting on one knee. Max blinks, but otherwise doesn't have a reaction, eyes downcast.

"Max."

He still won't look at him.

"Alpha."

His voice barely has any trace of his lisp, and he'd spoken softly, pitching his voice quieter than Charles. If he didn't know better, he'd think it isn't Max at all, but he'd seen him on stage, staring back at them defiantly. There's a freckle just above his lip, exactly where Charles remembers it.

"Max, it's me. We're going home tonight, back to Monaco."

There's the slightest shift in Max's scent— so brief Charles isn't sure if he's imagined it or not.

"Yes, alpha."

Charles clenches his jaw. He needs to get them out of the unfamiliar environment, back onto his jet and then into their flat. Somewhere where Max knows it's just them.

He stands, taking a step back. Max doesn't have many things, just a singular duffel and a small suitcase near the door. They'll take it home with them.

"Follow me, please."

Max doesn't respond, but he stands smoothly, even though he'd been kneeling on unforgiving hardwood. He stays close to Charles, at his right and exactly a step behind him the entire time.

Charles' steps stutter at a split in the hallway, unable to remember which direction he'd come from, and he hears Max's voice soft behind him.

"The chauffeur pick up is to the left, alpha. Kitchens are on the right."

Charles goes left. Max doesn't offer any further help.

------

There's a nesting space in the back of the jet, a recent addition that Charles had almost forgotten about. He waits for their private section to be sealed off before he pulls off his suit jacket, and he's about to toss it off onto one of the chair when it's lifted lightly from his hand instead, and Max hangs it up in the small closet with practiced motions.

He blinks.

"You don't have to do that, Max."

To his surprise, Max lifts his head, meeting his eyes with a frown.

"Would you rather it be somewhere else?"

"I just mean that I can handle my own jackets. You don't need to clean up after me."

Max's frown stays put, and there's a tiny flare of unease in his scent as he shifts on his feet before sinking to his knees in front of him.

"I'm here for whatever you need, alpha."

The ugly feeling in Charles gut curdles again. He doesn't want a picture perfect omega— if he did, he would've bid on one. He wants Max.

"Stay here."

"Yes alpha."

Charles makes his way to front of the cabin, promising extra wages and a paid vacation for the pilot if he can land them somewhere else short notice. It takes a few minutes of phone calls, but they make it work, and he navigates back to the private section.

Max is exactly where he'd left him, but there's an unhappy note in his scent, faint enough that if Charles hadn't spent the last six months with his nose buried in his things, he wouldn't have noticed.

"We're landing a bit early, sorry, I rerouted us to a different airport. There's a nest behind you, if you'd like to arrange it for the flight."

Max swallows.

"What would you prefer?"

Charles is frowning now, tapping out a text message on his phone. He wants more independence from Max, but he's getting the feeling that won't be as easy to coax back out as he'd hoped.

"The nest."

At least in a nest Max will be more comfortable than his knees.

------

Max won't sleep. There's hours left on their flight still, and while he's made an admittedly beautiful nest, he's simply watching Charles attentively, waiting for a command. It makes him uneasy, and he's not sure how long Max was awake before the auction, and for what they're doing—

He'd rather him be well rested.

It's easy enough to leave the private section again, opening the med kit and poking around before he finds what he's looking for. It's a liquid sleep aid, near impossible to taste, and he's going to put it in a sparkling water anyways.

He walks it back to the nest, passing the glass to Max.

"You hungry at all?"

Max takes the glass from him, and Charles notes that his nails are neat and blunt, well manicured.

"No, alpha."

They're going to need to break the alpha habit. Charles doesn't like how it makes him feel, and it's different than when people back home call him 'sir', because he's earned that title. The only thing he's earned over Max is that he presented differently.

He makes his way back to his seat, checking his emails as he watches Max out of the corner of his eye. It's a fast acting drug— Max is only halfway through the glass before his eyelids are dropping, and it's only a few minutes longer before he's curled in the nest, passed out.

Charles rumbles low in his chest, pleased.

Max's chest moves with steady breaths, scent mellowing out as he rests, and Charles watches him a moment longer before getting into his own bag, tugging out a collar. It's the lightweight version, still equipped with a tracking chip and identification, but it'll be more flexible around Max's neck. For what they're doing tonight, that's what he wants— and he'll put him in a heavier duty leather collar after he bites him.

Max is deadweight as Charles tilts his head up, getting the collar fastened. His neck would be thicker if he still raced, but he can't, and he feels precariously fragile under Charles' hands as he checks how tight it is.

Snug, but not too tight. The deep maroon looks good on him, and Charles is already thinking of the clothes he has back home and how they'll look on Max.

He runs a hand through his hair, fingers scratching into his scalp as he leans his head back against the wall, dozing off.

------

He's woken up as they start the descent, and it takes him a few minutes to get Max awake and aware— and even then, he's still slightly groggy. Charles makes a mental note that he's a lightweight. His blue eyes squint as he fights the lingers effects of the drug, and Charles helps him to his feet. There's a car waiting for them once they get out of the airport, and then they're headed to the track.

Max wakes up further during the car ride, folding his hands in his lap. He deliberately doesn't look at Charles or out the window, instead lowering his gaze, staring quietly at nothing.

Charles is not a fan of the complete submission— he's hoping this helps fix it, if only by dragging up Max's core, the things that make him Max, the things Charles know can't be erased, only buried.

Max must be watching out the window at least halfheartedly, because his scent spikes when they get onto track grounds, a soft hint of sweetness creeping through, and Charles has to hide his grin.

There's fireproofs laid out and waiting for them, race boots and gloves and helmets. The karts are at the entrance to the garage, prepped and ready for them both, and Charles leads Max into the shadowed corner of the garage.

Not that it particularly matters— he's had the cameras cut for the entire garage anyways.

Max is looking up at him confused, and Charles tugs gently at his shirt.

"Go on then, get changed. We only have a few hours."

This is also a lie, but Charles has plans for when they're done, and running illegal operations has taught him to be timely. Max nods, tugging his shirt off with a practiced motion, and Charles watches his waist, the curves of his chest.

He's lean, but he's filled out while he was in the school, and his chest almost makes Charles want to call the whole thing off, pin him to the floor and grope at his pretty tits forever.

He has plenty of time for that later. For now, he strips his own clothes, pulling the fireproofs on. It's nothing like his Ferrari set, but they do the job, and the bonus is that they look great on Max. There's a sweet scent starting to slowly permeate the air, and Charles is beginning to pick out the notes of tentative excitement.

He steps forward to help Max secure his helmet, and he feels deeply possessive as he secures the velcro across Max's neck, right above the maroon of his collar.

His omega.

"15 laps, everything is allowed, and there are no convenient puddles tonight."

Max's eyes scrunch briefly.

"Everything?"

"Yes, everything."

------

Charles isn't even sure he gets run off the road this much in sim racing— Max races exactly as hard as he remembers, and it's almost embarrassing that he's losing to an omega who hasn't been in a kart in years, until he remembers it's Max.

He loses. It's not by much, but it's enough that once he's pulled himself up out of the cart, he's already unstopping his helmet, herding Max back into the garage as he claws at the velcro of his fireproofs.

"You cheated, how did you even—"

Max's back hits the table, knees buckling slightly at whatever scent Charles is giving off. His scent is sweet and rich, filled with genuine joy, and his lisp is stronger when he speaks.

"It's not cheating, you are just bad—"

Their rental helmets get tossed aside, and Charles lifts Max to sit on the counter, mouthing at his neck just behind his jaw. He pushes his legs apart, pressing them together before gripping at his waist.

"Yes, of course, whatever you say,"

He licks a hot stripe across Max's skin, immediately obsessed with the way he shivers under his hands.

"As long as you are saying something."

Max whines, thighs squeezing at Charles' hips. There's a slight sour note to his scent as he tilts his head back further, exposing his neck.

"'M not supposed to, Charlie—"

Charles nips at him lightly, rolling his hips against him. Max's ankles hook behind his back, and the sweet notes to his scent are back, the ones that Charles had smelled on his skirt, the ones he can smell now.

"I don't care what they taught you there, chéri. If I could've gotten you out sooner, before you even went in—"

He snarls lowly, pulling Max closer to him.

"—then I absolutely would have."

Max shivers again, and Charles can smell slick under the race suit. He can't help the way it makes his lip curl into a smug grin, and he presses his lips into the curve of Max's neck, fingers pulling away the collar and tossing it aside.

Max moans.

"Oh— Are we doing this here?"

Charles gets his mouth across his scent gland, scraping his teeth across it as Max jerks, scent spiking. It's almost cloyingly sweet, sticking to his mouth and his hands and his hips, and he wouldn't want anything else.

"Mhm."

He hums the affirmative into Max's neck, one hand starting to tug his fireproofs all the way off as he gently pushes him onto his back. Max is beautiful under his hands, better than any fantasy he'd ever come up with during rut, and he's not going to waste any time when it comes to claiming him.

He's waited long enough.

He gets his fingers down between his legs, brushing against damp fabric, and he's pleased with the way Max spreads his legs further, every inch the perfect omega.

Charles slides one hand up his side and across his chest, groping his tits as he leans down, lips pressed to the dip of his collarbones.

"Forget the fucking school, Max. If I have to take you to a track every time, fine. But I don't want a pretty little high society omega, I bought you."

Max whines, hands finally coming up to grip at Charles' side, fingers digging into his skin.

"Charlie, please—"

"Good boy."

He slides two fingers into Max, scissoring a few times to make sure there's enough space. He could add a third finger, but Max is dripping wet, and Charles still wants him to feel it.

It's short work to shove his own fireproofs down, running his fingers through Max's slick before wrapping them around his cock. He leans forward, one thumb hooking Max open as he presses in, and Max's fingers scrabble at him wildly as his scent spikes.

"Alpha, alpha I have never—"

Oh. Charles had almost managed to forget about that. He runs a hand across Max's thigh, trying to even out his scent to something reassuring.

"It'll feel good, chéri, you just have to relax and take it."

He hitches Max's thigh slightly higher, and fucks all the way into him in one movement, hissing slightly as Max's nails dig harshly into his sides, the sharp sting of blood when his omega tenses underneath him.

"Ah— too much, Charlie, I need,"

He whines softly, tight and hot around Charles' cock, scent anxious.

"I need a minute."

Charles rumbles lowly, thumb brushing across Max's thigh.

"You'll adjust faster if I keep moving, chéri. It'll feel good, you just need to—"

He leans forward, sliding one hand around the back of his neck and gripping tight, getting him into a scruff.

"—Take it."

He puts a Command behind the words, and Max goes limp, open and relaxed as his eyes glaze over. Charles rolls his hips, enjoying how Max feels around him, before he sets a hard pace, chasing his own pleasure.

Max will come when he bites— most omegas do, as a result of the endorphins it releases— so he's not worried about him in the meantime. Omegas are built to receive, to feel fulfilled when their alphas are happy.

Charles feels plenty happy just like this, fucking Max, finally together.

Max groans softly underneath him as Charles' knot starts to swell, and he tugs him just a bit closer, mind swirling with thoughts of Max back at home, or in the garage, or bent over his drivers room couch before a race—

He gets his teeth around Max's neck as he comes, biting down hard. This is his omega, and he's going to leave a claiming mark so deep no one else could ever say otherwise.

Max jerks underneath him, squeezing tight at his cock as he comes, heels pressing into Charles' spine as his legs shake. Charles laps at the blood in his mouth, surrounded by the scent of Max.

He belongs to him now.

For good.

[womshame]

The Quiet Cage

Synopsis: When Y/N becomes the nanny to a widowed child, she slowly finds herself drawn into a life she never chose — one of quiet control, emotional dependency, and subtle isolation. As years pass, the lines between care, love, and possession blur beyond recognition. In Liam’s perfect home, escape is never violent — it’s simply… forgotten.

⸻

You never expected the job to change your life.

It was supposed to be a summer gig. Something temporary while you figured things out — while you tried to find purpose again after dropping out of grad school. The ad had been simple: “Single father seeking part-time nanny for weekday afternoons. Competitive pay. Must be kind, reliable, and patient.”

You sent your resume on a whim.

The next day, you received a response. A man named Liam Rivers invited you to his home for an interview. The address was in an affluent neighborhood you’d only seen from the bus window. You showed up in your nicest blouse, heart pounding, and were greeted by a tall man with neatly combed dark hair and tired green eyes.

“This is Noah,” he introduced his son, a quiet five-year-old who clung to his leg and peeked at you with wide, unsure eyes.

You crouched and smiled. “Hi, Noah. I’m Y/N. I like your dinosaur shirt.”

The boy’s face lit up.

And just like that, you were hired.

⸻

The first few weeks passed in a blur of puzzles, snack times, and storybooks. Noah was shy but sweet. He had a soft spot for plush toys and made you re-read The Very Hungry Caterpillar every evening before Liam came home.

Liam was always courteous. Soft-spoken. He thanked you religiously and paid you at the end of each week with crisp bills in a white envelope. You learned that he was a structural engineer, often working remotely but swamped with meetings and reports. His wife had died three years ago in a car accident, and since then, it had been just him and Noah.

He didn’t smile much, but when he did, it was sincere. Grounding. There was something magnetic about the quiet way he observed everything — how he watched you read to Noah from the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, eyes unreadable.

You started staying late sometimes. Not because he asked — you just felt bad leaving when Noah begged for “five more minutes.”

“You don’t have to,” Liam said once, when you carried a sleeping Noah to his room after your shift ended.

“I don’t mind,” you replied.

He looked at you for a long time before nodding. “Thank you.”

⸻

By month two, you were spending more time in the house than your own apartment.

Liam had upgraded your hourly rate without you asking. He stocked the fridge with your favorite drinks. One night, when it stormed, he insisted you sleep in the guest room rather than risk driving home in the rain.

“It’s really okay,” you’d said.

“I’d feel better knowing you’re safe,” he replied.

You stayed.

The next morning, you woke to pancakes and Noah wrapped around your waist, babbling about how you should move in so you could always be there when he woke up. Liam didn’t laugh at his son’s comment — he just looked at you, thoughtful.

“I should be going,” you said, brushing your hair behind your ear.

“I packed you breakfast,” Liam said quietly. “It’s on the counter.”

⸻

It got harder to say no.

Liam never asked for much. But when he did, it felt less like a request and more like something inevitable — like gravity. You started skipping plans with your friends. They stopped inviting you out after a while, tired of the unanswered texts.

“You’re always with that kid,” one of them snapped over the phone.

You bit your lip. “He’s not just a kid. He needs me.”

“Liam has money,” your friend said. “He could hire a dozen nannies.”

But he hadn’t.

He’d hired you.

And when you canceled on dinner that Friday, he looked at you across the table — just the two of you, Noah already asleep — and said, “I know this might sound strange, but I feel like you were meant to be here.”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

Liam leaned forward. “You bring light into this house, Y/N. Into Noah’s life. Into mine.”

You flushed, unsure how to respond.

“You’re not just his nanny. You’re part of this family now.”

⸻

He started buying you things — little gifts at first. A necklace. A soft scarf. A new pair of flats when yours wore out.

You protested, but he shook his head. “You take care of us. Let me take care of you.”

He called it “us.” Like you belonged.

Noah clung to you constantly. He cried when you left, even if it was only for a few hours. Liam never stopped him.

“He’s sensitive,” he’d say. “And he loves you. You’re like a mother to him.”

That word caught in your chest.

Mother.

⸻

One evening, you told Liam you were considering going back to school part-time. You missed learning. Missed doing something.

His expression shifted, just slightly.

“You’d be gone a lot,” he said carefully.

“Not too much. I could still help in the evenings. Maybe weekends—”

“Noah wouldn’t understand.”

You paused. “He’d adjust.”

Liam’s jaw tensed. “He’s already lost his mother. If you pull away now, it’ll break him.”

The guilt hit you like a punch. “I’m not trying to leave him. I just—”

“I know,” he said softly. “You’re trying to grow. But just… think about it, okay? He needs stability. And so do you.”

⸻

He made sure you felt needed.

Every day brought some new crisis only you could solve. Noah wouldn’t eat unless you made his plate. He wouldn’t sleep unless you tucked him in. He cried when Liam tried to take over. Cried so hard that Liam stopped trying.

You felt tethered.

But that’s what families were, right?

⸻

One night, you found a framed photo of yourself on Liam’s desk.

It was candid — from last month, holding Noah at the park. You didn’t remember anyone taking it.

Your stomach twisted. When you asked, Liam said, “It helps me through the day. Reminds me what I’m working for.”

There was no malice in his tone. Just quiet reverence.

You should’ve been alarmed.

But you weren’t.

You were tired.

And no one else called anymore.

⸻

You stopped going home.

Eventually, it felt natural to sleep in the guest room. Then in Liam’s bed, after too much wine and not enough protest. He was gentle. Careful. Devoted.

You told yourself it was just temporary.

That lie unraveled when you woke to Noah crawling into bed beside you, wrapping an arm around your stomach.

“Morning, Mommy.”

You froze.

Liam just smiled.

⸻

He proposed a month later.

There was no ring. No grand gesture.

Just him, holding Noah’s hand, saying, “Let’s make this official.”

You stared at him. “Liam—”

“I know you’re scared,” he said. “But this isn’t new. We’ve already built a life together. This just makes it real.”

You wanted to say no. You tried to say no.

But Noah looked up at you with such hope.

And there was no one left to call.

⸻

The wedding was small. Just the three of you and a civil officer Liam knew through work.

You didn’t wear white.

That night, Liam whispered, “You saved us. I’ll never let anything take you away.”

⸻

You didn’t see the slow erasure of your old life until it was too late.

Your phone stopped working. Liam said he’d get it fixed — then never did. Your social media accounts vanished, “to protect your privacy.” You never renewed your driver’s license. Your bank card expired. He handled all the groceries now, all the bills. You hadn’t touched cash in months.

You were safe.

You were loved.

You were caged.

And the bars looked like bedtime stories and warm pancakes.

⸻

The last time you tried to leave, Noah screamed so hard he vomited. Liam held him while he cried, meeting your eyes over his shoulder with something cold and final.

“You’ve broken his heart,” he said.

You dropped your bag.

And never packed again.

⸻

Somewhere deep down, you knew you weren’t free.

But freedom had started to feel like a cruel thing — a sharp wind that would rip you from the only hands still holding on.

So you stayed.

You smiled.

You read the books.

You kissed the boy.

You let the man who loved you too much believe it was love at all.

And when he wrapped his arms around you at night, whispering, “We’re perfect now,”

you didn’t say a word.

Because maybe, just maybe, you were.

⸻

⸻

Five Years Later

The garden was in full bloom.

You stood barefoot in the grass, the morning dew cold against your skin as you clipped lavender stems into a basket. The sun hadn’t fully risen, casting a pale gold over the hedges Liam insisted on trimming himself every weekend. Everything in the yard was manicured, gentle, precise — like your life.

Inside the house, you could hear the faint clatter of dishes. Liam was making breakfast. He always did on Sundays. He said it was a ritual — something to keep the family grounded.

You didn’t argue.

Noah was twelve now. Tall for his age. Quiet, like his father. He rarely asked questions anymore — he didn’t need to. He already knew the rhythms of your days. He knew you’d be there when he woke up, that you’d pack his lunch just the way he liked it, that you’d be waiting at the gate after school, smile ready, heart carefully measured.

When you stepped back inside, Liam was at the stove.

He glanced over his shoulder. “There you are.”

You offered a faint smile. “Lavender was getting wild.”

He walked over and kissed your cheek, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear like he always did. The basket slipped from your fingers onto the counter.

“I scheduled your dentist appointment,” he said casually. “And your prescription’s ready for pickup.”

You nodded, letting the words pass through you.

“You’ll take Noah this afternoon, right?” he asked, handing you your tea — perfect temperature, just the way you liked it.

“Yes.”

“I’ll be working late. Board meeting.”

“Okay.”

He looked at you then — truly looked at you. His gaze was still as intense as the day you met. Still that same fire, tempered now into something softer. Less volatile. But more permanent. Unshakable.

“You’re happy,” he said, not as a question.

You paused.

He set the tea down and took your face in his hands. “Aren’t you?”

The world held its breath.

And you said the only answer that made sense — the only answer that would keep the house standing, the boy safe, the garden blooming:

“Yes.”

His eyes softened.

He kissed you like a vow, like a claim, and when he pulled back, he whispered, “I knew you would be.”

⸻

Later that night, after dinner and dishes and stories read aloud in dim yellow light, you sat at the edge of your bed while Liam undressed beside you.

Outside, the wind moved through the trees. Peaceful. Controlled.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror — hair neatly braided, face unlined, voice long buried.

Somewhere far away, the version of you who once dreamed of cities and libraries and laughter was gone. Dismantled piece by piece and replaced by this: wife, mother, anchor. The perfect woman for a perfect world built entirely by someone else’s hands.

You crawled under the covers.

Liam pulled you close, kissed your forehead, and murmured, “Sleep, my love. You’re safe.”

And as your eyes drifted closed, you realized something terrifying.

You believed him.

⸻

[lunammoon]

Oh I LOVE Alma and also that you seem to be picking up EXACTLY what I'm putting down.

I also have a non-de Riva Rook who could have possibly met Lucanis on and off because if their specific job and something that FURTHER adds to the "Oh this must be a dream." is that because of Ezra's particular role within the Watch (someone who deals with blood mages specifically to free spirits and reverse corruption) has left a large neon sign on their soul that basically screams (HELLO SPIRIT! I AM HERE TO KICK ASS AND RESCUE YOU AND I AM A MULTITASKER) so he's got Spite yapping in his ear like "Helper! Here to help. You! Here to help. Me! Here. To. Help. Us! Kill Jailor! Destroy Blood! Set. Us. Free!"

Lucanis KNOWS what Ezra's job is. The reason they've met is because often the mages that Lucanis was sent to take out were doing blood magic experiments that Ezra was sent to disrupt and destroy.

It's part of the reason why Ezra saving him was something his mind considered a plausible daydream. He's seen the fake body (because I refuse to believe that Zara wouldn't have taunted him with it) he knows that everyone thinks that he's dead. BUT from what Ezra has said about their work and what he's witnessed, the Mourn Watch finding out about the Ossuary and sending a team of Watchers to investigate and eliminate doesn't seem too far-fetched for his mind to dismiss automatically. And considering Ezra's unique skillset, they specifically would have been on that team if not leading that team. So Lucanis has had several dreams involving Ezra along with faceless members of the Watch and sometimes Illario coming to save him that seem to always end just as or right before they kill Calivan.

It's weird that in this "Dream", Ezra is here with a Tevinter Mage, a Dalish Elf, and/or a Ferelen Dwarf none of whom seem to be dressed up like members of the Mourn Watch. It's also weird that in this "Dream", Spite seems to recognize Ezra. This isn't the first dream he's had where Ezra was sent by Caterina, but is is the first "Dream" where an Ezra who's been sent by Caterian isn't accompanied with other Crows, typically Illario, sometimes Viago and Teia, one time that in hindsight he should have KNOWN was a Dream from the start but it had happened just after Spite had been forced into him so he surely can be forgiven for seeing his friend Ezra and his Grandmother outside of his cell and not questioning it.

Ezra is outside of his cell with the Tevinter Mage, the Dalish Elf, and the Ferelden Dwarf, and Spite is shouting in his ear about a "HELPER!" as their eyes spark with yellow and the wards put up after his most recent escape attempt shatter and magic gently scratches at the back of his eyes the way Ezra's always has and just like the last few times he's certain that this isn't real but just like the last few times, he can't stand the idea of this being real and him missing out on a chance to escape because of his hesitation and Ezra getting trapped here too and he knows Zara would taunt him if that were the case, so he holds out his arms for them to remove the shackles and accepts the coffee (Ezra brings him coffee often in his dreams. This time it tastes different. It tastes more real. He thinks that every time.) and the coat that they throw over his shoulders. (They do that every time. Even outside of his dreams when the would find some poor soul chained in a magister's workshop they would always offer their coat and when asked they offhandedly mentioned that that's part of why they bring the coat in the first place)

This Dream of Ezra is acting more erratic than the previous ones and so are their companions. Their companions despite not being crows have voices and opinions (they stand between him and the Dwarf's arrow when Spite comes out). They coax half of Zara's demons back into the fade with the soft slam of their staff (that quiets even Spite for a moment), which hasn't happened before. Before destroying his phylactery, they rolled up their sleeves, set it on the ground, DUNKED THEIR ARM UP TO THEIR ELBOW in his blood so that they could make sure that there weren't any other vials of his blood snuck somewhere. They found four, five if you count them staring up at the ceiling, with their pointer and thumb looking up, frowning and after asking if Calivan's office was located above them (it was) remarked that he likely had vial on him and then began tracing something on a scrap of paper with their still blood covered finger, pressing it in his hand, and saying that "it won't block the compulsion completely but it SHOULD disrupt it enough for them to have time to break it the rest of the way."

(It's not the first time he's had a "Dream" where Ezra did something once they got access to his phlactery but he doesn't like to think about those dreams.)

And then Calivan is dead without Ezra dying or turning on him and they're standing in front of the portal out and he's through and when he blinks he's out and he's not back in his cell and the dreams never last for this long.

He doesn't think he could dream the heartbroken look in Ezra's eyes when he quietly asks them if this is a dream, if they could please wake him up now. Because he's never gotten this far in a dream and whenever he has a dream where he gets farther than he has before and he wakes up a part of him breaks even more.

It's not a dream. He's out. It's real.

I've seen people do the whole Rook who knew/was close to Lucanis pre-Ossuary and I love it. It's incredibly juicy and I especially love the whole "dispite everything it's still you" aspect of it, but now what I've got in my head is that same kind of IDEA EXCEPT the presence of Rook flips a switch that causes him to go "Damn. This escape attempt seemed like it was going so well! But they're here. This is obviously too good to be true. I'm dreaming again" and it isn't until they beat Calivan that Lucanis suddeny freezes and Rook's like "What's wrong? Is there another phylactery?" and Lucanis is just like "I'm awake"

"Yes..."

"You mean this is real?"

[lulublack90]

Prompt 16 - Property

@wolfstarmicrofic May 16, word count 725

First part

Remus called the nurse in immediately and requested help to have a shower. He hated having to ask for help, but this was important. Sirius had seen him at his worst yesterday, and he wanted to look at least halfway decent. 

“Can you deal with me?” Nurse Pomfrey asked. “We don’t have a male member of staff on this morning.” 

“No, that’s fine, Poppy. Besides, at this point, I think you’ve seen me naked more times than I have myself.” 

Nurse Pomfrey had been a new nurse the first time Remus had been brought to this hospital when his local one had finally decided that they didn’t have the facilities to figure out what was wrong with him. She’d been with him every single visit he’d had over the years. She called him every birthday and Christmas. She owned a small property close by the hospital, and Remus had stayed with her a few times when he’d come for appointments, but wasn’t ill enough to stay in the hospital. She was family, and Remus trusted her far more than any doctor in this hospital. 

“Come on, then let’s get you cleaned up. I’m guessing whoever sent you those is who you’re trying to impress?” She raised a knowing eyebrow at him. Remus felt his face heat. 

“Erm, yes,” he laughed nervously. “Would you like one?” Her face broke out into a smile. 

“Let’s get you clean, and I’ll have one as a little reward.” She helped him up and, with Remus leaning heavily on her, they made their way over to the bathroom. 

The lukewarm water washed away the dried sweat from yesterday and, with her trusty sponge and Remus’s shower gel, Poppy soon had him smelling fresher. She towelled him off and got him a fresh pair of pyjamas, and helped him back into bed. “Let me know when this mysterious young man gets here, I’d like to get a look at him,” she told him as she tucked him in. 

“You and me both,” Remus confessed. “I only got a glimpse of the back of his head yesterday. I think his parents made a donation or something. The doctor with all the hair was showing them around,” Poppy rolled her eyes. 

“Doctor Lockhart,” 

“Prat,” Remus huffed. Poppy snorted as she plumped his pillow up. 

“I won’t tell him you said that if I can have two chocolates,”

“Tell him, I don’t care, but take all you want, I’ll only eat them,” he waved his hand towards the mostly full basket. 

“Don’t mind if I do,” she said, popping one into her mouth. She froze, and just as Remus began to get worried, she let out a little moan. “Oh my, these are delicious!’

“Right! I don’t know how I’m going to go back to Mars bars when I’ve had these,” Poppy finished her chocolate and looked at him. 

“When you say they made a donation, you’re not talking about the Blacks, are you?” 

“Erm, maybe. I think that’s what Doctor Too Many Teeth said. The woman called him Sirius, so I think that’s his name,” Remus shrugged as he popped one of the chocolates into his mouth. 

When he looked back at Poppy, her eyebrows had disappeared into her fringe. 

“Be careful, my love, they are a notorious family and not for good reasons. I’m not sure how well they’ll take their eldest son sending expensive chocolates and meeting with another boy,” Remus swallowed. He understood what she was getting at. 

“I’ll be careful, Poppy. It’s probably for another photoshoot anyway. I must have looked awful yesterday,” Remus tried to laugh it off, but why would Sirius have spent the time putting that cold cloth on his head when the cameras weren’t even there if that was all he wanted? 

A soft knock at the door tore him from his thoughts. 

“Hi,” the most beautiful person Remus had ever seen greeted them. 

“Hi,” Remus replied breathily. Poppy stood up from where she’d perched on the edge of his bed. 

“Call me if you need me,” she said, popping another of the chocolates into her mouth before winking at him. She gave Sirius her best scary nurse look and left them to it. Sirius watched her with amusement as she left the room before turning to Remus. 

“Hi,” he said again. 

“Hi,” Remus grinned. 

Next part

[skyward-floored]

Next morning, part 2

The next part of the swamp Link fic series with him and Zelda, you can find the first part here if you so desire.

Masterlist

————————————————————

Link led Zelda through the village once again, the same curious and suspicious looks cast her way. Zelda didn’t notice them nearly as much as the night before though, her thoughts fixed on the meeting ahead.

Why did the chief want to see her? Had something happened? He wasn’t going to blame her for the monster Link had seen, was he?

Link was quieter than he was last night as well, a thoughtful look on his face, but he always smiled when he caught her looking at him, and pointed out a few things that were more easily made out in the morning light. Zelda was so worried it was difficult to listen though, even when Link showed her a huge catfish that swam under the path under their feet.

They finally reached the root tunnel that led to the Chief’s room, and Link stopped as a dark green Zora came out, her pale sunset-colored fins a little longer than most of the others Zelda had seen. She looked vaguely familiar, and Zelda was pretty sure she’d seen her last night at some point. Had they been introduced? She didn’t remember.

“Kattail, what’s going on?” Link asked, and the Zora shrugged, fiddling with a flower at her fin.

“I couldn’t say. Your pa’s finally back though, and he didn’t look happy. I think it has something to do with the... visitor,” she said, glancing with narrowed eyes at Zelda. “...But I couldn’t say.”

Zelda swallowed as Link’s brow scrunched. “I see. Chief in a good mood?”

“My pa’s never in a good mood,” Kattail snorted, then moved to let them pass. “I’ve gotta go, otherwise I’d hang around. Good luck, Link.” Her eyes briefly met Zelda’s. “You’re gonna need it.”

Zelda swallowed nervously, and she and Link passed by Kattail into the tunnel. Zelda felt her eyes on her back the entire time as they went.

The tunnel seemed longer than it had yesterday, the flowers only half open. Zelda brushed more dried mud from her dress as they entered into the chief’s grotto, and she noticed the water seemed more ripply than it had been the night before as well.

Chief Baiyu was already sitting up, and speaking with a small group of Zora with intense looks on their faces. Zelda noticed the one he’d sent off yesterday speaking hurriedly, and Link frowned beside her.

“Pa? What’s going on?” Link asked, and the Zora looked over.

Morning light flickered off his scales, and Zelda briefly studied who must have been Link’s father. He was a darker shade of green than Rina, and a little taller than most Zora she’d seen, but his eyes were kind as he looked at Zelda, a gentle daffodil yellow.

“Your pa had quite the night it sounds like,” Chief Baiyu hummed, a claw stroking his chin. “Gillian, you were saying?”

“Ah, I’d better start from the top so they know what’s happened,” Gillian said, and Chief Baiyu rolled his eyes.

“Fine, fine. Just get on with it,” he grumbled, and Gillian smiled.

“Is everything okay?” Zelda asked worriedly, and Gillian’s smile faded.

“Right. So, as you all know, I went to find the princess’s group last night,” Gillian began, turning to Link and Zelda. “There’s only a few places they really could have been, and so I went to the most obvious first. But on the way I found a whole group of monsters. All different kinds.”

“Different kinds together?” Link interrupted, and his father nodded.

“Yes. Bokoblins and octorocks, and I even saw two aligalfos,” he said worriedly. “They seemed like a cohesive group.”

“Monsters don’t do that,” another Zora murmured, a more blueish-green.

Zelda felt a pang of worry. No they certainly don’t.

Gillian sighed, tapping his claws on his spear. “Not usually, no. I picked off a few of them, but there were too many for me to face alone. They went deeper into the trees, and by then it was rather late, so I kept going towards the path so I could find the Hylians. Then...”

He hesitated, glancing at Zelda, and the Chief waved him on.

“Go on, go on,” he said impatiently, and Gillian sighed.

“I came to a clearing, and found the remains of a fight,” he said, face grim. “Hylian footprints and gear scattered around, blood on leaves, monster remains... it looked fierce. And as far as I could tell, it... it looked like none of the Hylians survived,” Gillian said quietly.

Zelda felt the blood drain from her face.

“What?!” Link exclaimed, his eyes huge. “Are you serious?”

Gillian nodded.

“None of them?” Zelda whispered, and Gillian gave her an apologetic look.

“It’s possible I’m wrong, Princess, but... I didn’t find any survivors, or signs that anyone got away. I looked as much as I could. I’m sorry.”

Zelda would have sunk to her knees if Link hadn’t caught her, and a hand went to cover her mouth in horror. She hadn’t had a large entourage, but there had still been multiple people traveling with her, a group of soldiers, her personal knight, a maid Zelda had had since she was a child...

“It looked like a coordinated effort,” Gillian continued, and Zelda did her best to pull out of her shock to listen. “It was done by monsters, no doubt about it, but it didn’t seem like a senseless sort of attack. It seemed targeted.”

“Monsters aren’t capable of that sort of thing,” another Zora spoke up, though he sounded uncertain. “They’re mindless beasts, they don’t join forces, or plan, they just attack.”

“Then why were they able to take out an entire group of armed Hylians?” Gillian asked quietly.

It was silent for a moment.

Zelda distantly noted that she was shaking.

“Well, they’re just Hylians,” Chief Baiyou finally grumbled. “Jabryun knows they barely know their way around a weapon, no less know how to handle the swamp. I’m not surprised they were all—”

“Chief,” Link said sharply, and Baiyou blinked, seeming to have forgotten Zelda was still in the room.

Zelda herself felt rather sick, and had barely heard what the chief had been going on about. Gillian’s words kept swirling around in her head until they were all she could hear, her heart pounding wildly.

Dead.

Her whole entourage.

What was she going to do?

“Zelda?” Link asked quietly, and she swallowed, looking over at him. He was giving her such a worried look that she nearly burst into tears right then and there.

“Are you alright, princess?” Gillian asked, seeming not to have heard Link, and Zelda took a deep breath, and managed a wobbly smile. Time to draw on her diplomacy skills and keep her emotions nicely tucked away for now. Luckily for her she’d learned a thing or two in her years as a princess.

“Yes, I-I’m... yes,” she answered, taking another steadying breath. “Do we... what should our next steps be?”

Chief Baiyu hrmmed. “Well you can’t stay here forever. I’d like to not to be accused of ill intent, and if you stay here then that’s what’s gonna happen. Already doesn’t look good. Last thing I need is Hylian trouble. We’ve got the solstice trades soon too, I don’t have time to keep tabs on a lost princess.”

“We can’t just kick her out either, Chief,” Gillian said pointedly, silencing Link with a look when he opened his mouth. “Or we’ll have even more trouble. We need to get her safely home somehow.”

“Should some of us escort her?” a chartreuse-colored Zora asked. “As a sign of good faith?”

“No Zora have gone into Hyrule proper for hundreds of years, and I’m keeping it that way!” Chief Baiyu snapped. His fins frilled outwards, and he looked bigger because of it. “What would the Hylians think if their princess showed up with her group dead and surrounded by Zora? I will not put my people in danger just to protect one girl, even if she is the princess.”

“Then I’ll do it,” Link said, stepping forward.

All the Zora stopped and looked at him, and Link gave them a determined look, still holding Zelda’s hand. Zelda looked at him in surprise, and he breathed out.

“I’ll escort her home.”

“Are you sure, Link?” his father asked cautiously. “It’s not a short trip.”

“Yeah, but I’m better suited to a job like this than any of you,” he said, gesturing at himself. “Nobody will bother me because of scales I don’t have, and I can go a lot further, and longer on land. We can’t just get Zelda to the edge of the swamp and send her on her way. I can escort her home.”

He looked back at her, and gave her a small smile.

“I want to help. This is a way I can do it.”

Zelda felt warmth through the grief that had been chilling her, and she managed to give him a hesitant smile back. Would he really go so far just for her?

Chief Baiyu hummed again, looking displeased as he tapped a claw on his chin. “I don’t like it.”

“Chief, we don’t want a war, remember?” Gillian reminded pointedly. “We need to get the princess home. This... is probably the best way to do it.”

Chief Baiyu made a grumbling sound, a bit like what Zelda thought a giant frog might make.

“...Perhaps. But if these monsters can take out an entire group of Hylians, what chance do you think you two have with them still on the loose?” he said seriously, staring at Link and Zelda with intense orange eyes.

Zelda swallowed. He had a good point.

Link didn’t look worried though, merely determined, and he gave a casual shrug.

“I’m sneaky, and fast. I know plenty of hiding spots big enough for me and Zelda. We’ll be able to be more quick than a big group, and if it comes to it, I can fight off something if she needs to get away. Plus I assume you’ll be nice enough to give us more of an escort to her temple at least, since that’s still in the swamp.”

He gave Zelda a glance. “...I mean, assuming she still wants to go there.”

“If it’s at all possible, then yes,” Zelda replied quietly. “With news of this... attack, it’s even more important that I do what I came here to do. Hyrule obviously needs my prayers.”

Though what good will prayer do? They’re already dead, it can’t change that.

Zelda shook off the bitter thought.

Father thinks this will help, so that’s what I’m doing.

“No detours,” Chief Baiyu snapped, and Zelda startled out of her thoughts. “And no escort except Link. I want her out of my swamp. As soon as possible.”

Link crossed his arms. “A detour there won’t take too long, Chief. If it’s where I think it is it’ll only be a few extra hours. And it’s not like she’ll be here in the village, I don’t see why it should matter to you,” he said pointedly.

“Because— well... because,” the Chief hissed, and Zelda saw Link fight back a smile.

“I’d be willing to go as an escort,” Gillian spoke up, and two of the other Zora voiced their agreement. “Surely you can spare three of us for a few hours, Chief?”

Chief Baiyu growled and blustered for a few moments, and Zelda lightly cleared her throat.

“I would be greatly in your debt if you would agree to this, Chief Baiyu,” she said, and he looked straight at her. “I and my father, the king. Hyrule would be very grateful.”

Chief Baiyu paused, and Zelda watched him hopefully. Surely he couldn’t resist having a king in his debt?

Please. Please agree to this.

I don’t have any other options.

“...Fine,” Chief Baiyu finally agreed in a grumbling voice. “Gillian, I leave it to you to deal with this. Get a group to escort her to her temple, then get her out of my swamp.”

He turned, but Link cleared his throat before he could fully sink into the water.

“One more thing Chief. Me and my siblings ran into a bokoblin earlier,” he informed. Baiyu twitched a fin. “Skulking around right near the edge of the village. It’s gone now, but we thought you should know.”

Chief Baiyu exhaled, and Zelda thought he suddenly looked very tired. “Yes. Thank you, Link. Don’t die on your trip.”

And he turned away, sinking into the water until he was barely visible.

Everyone took that as the dismissal it was, and made for the tunnel, Zelda walking wearily beside Link. The other Zora walked past them once they came out, some giving Zelda sympathetic looks, others ignoring her, one or two flat-out giving her suspicious looks.

Zelda barely noticed them. Grief had sunk its aching claws into her, and she was having trouble focusing on what was around her.

Though she did notice when a Zora bumped her, muttering something under his breath that made Link shoot a glare at his receding back.

“Ugh, it’s always Ponds,” Link huffed, then looked back at her. “You all right, lady?”

Zelda only half heard him, all the emotions she’d stuffed down now trying to come back up. The faces of her group kept flashing through her mind, Gillian’s words echoing in her ears, and she barely felt Link take her hand and tug her along to a more quiet corner of the village until he lightly squeezed her hand.

She blinked, looking around, then leaned back against a tree when weariness suddenly assaulted her.

“Zelda?” Link asked, and a tear abruptly slipped down her cheek. She couldn’t help it. Now that she’d made it through the meeting and was away from the judging eyes of the Zora, her tears were done waiting, and she let out a thick sniffle.

How had it all gone so wrong?

Link didn’t say anything more as she slid down the trunk, just sat down beside her, their sides touching. He quietly set a hand on her shoulder, and Zelda buried her head in her hands.

She never should have convinced her father she needed to come here. If she hadn’t, then her whole group would still be alive, Link wouldn’t have to take her home...

“I’m sorry,” she sniffed after a moment, trying to get a hold of herself. “I’m...”

“It’s okay,” Link reassured, and after a moment’s pause, pulled her into a hug. “I’m sorry, Zelda.”

Zelda startled, momentarily shocked at his arms around her, then sank into the hold with a hiccup. It was improper for her to cry on Link’s shoulder, improper for her to even be alone with him, and probably rude for her to do this to Link who she’d only known for a day now, but she didn’t care.

He was offering her badly-needed comfort, and as selfish of her as it was to take it, she couldn’t make herself push it away.

“Thank you Link,” she whispered through her tears, and he merely nodded, holding her while she grieved her entourage, grieved the peace in Hyrule that was getting broken more by the day, and her own terrible, awful, uselessness.

[skitskatdacat63]

2011 Japan Post-Qualifying

[hcdragonwrites]

Just one night (a @journey-to-the-au Drabble)

Ok this is the part two! This is the comfort/ fluff of what happens after Six Eared Macaques previous rampage from Nightmares. I am glad I split these into two so people can pick and choose.

Mild trigger warning: Brief mentions of attempted SA (again nothing goes into detail at all but still sometimes this can still be a trigger.)

It’s over.

The nightmare is over.

Then why does it feel like i'm breathing but I can’t catch my breath?

Willow felt her heart beating too fast, her mind repeating the nightmare.

The cave still smelled of blood.

The imposter was dead. He lay there, finally revealed, a monkey of gray blue fur with a face of shadows. Nothing to be distinguishable of who, or what, his personality had been before it assumed the skin of their leader. Of her friend.

Of Wukong.

Her Wukong had come through the water of Water Curtain Cave in a flash of gold, eyes blazing red. Almost like a Heaven send. A blessing.

In that moment Willow had stepped forward, to the embrace of this nightmare she had dutifully taken as her yoke, a blur or fiery orange had smashed its way through the curtain of water.

“IMPOSTER!” He had called in challenge, his staff coming free of his ear. With a flick of the Kings wrist, the weapon grew in tremendous size.

The imposter had turned, hackles rising, bloody mouth circling back into a snarl. Wukong had roared. The imposter had screamed. Then they were upon each other. It had been a battle, long and difficult. Fur had flown, stone had shaken. At times the combatants had traversed the skies, shooting like two wayward stars from a bow through the Heavens. More blood fell.

In the midst of it, the imposter had cleaned the remnants of its meal from his mouth, making it impossible to tell the twisting and twining fighters apart. Which was which?

Willow had waited as finally, after gods and other immortals had been unable to tell who was who, Mama Courage and Wisdom stepped forward. Willow couldn’t hear the words being spoken between the celestials and Wisdom. She could only hear a ringing in her ears, a drumming of her heart.

She couldn’t catch her breath.

Willow's palms were wet with sweat and white. Whiter than porcelain. Courage took one of those hands, holding it tight. Breaking her numbness, her shock. Willow grasped the hand, holding on. The fear still coiled in her gut, a snake tightening its hold on her. But Courages hand was the anchor she clung to as her body battles within itself.

Wisdom had found him out, had picked out the real Wukong. A mother knew her child. That’s when the imposter had lost. He had felt it, probably, sensing the shift in the wind. In that moment he tried to run. The mirage of his disguise had fallen off in the fright. Wild white eyes, teeth bared of flesh. And now.

He was nothing more than a stain on the floor.

“Don’t you want to kiss me?” The words echo, still alive within Willows head.

Willow was trying to drown those words out.

She’s failing.

The storm inside her body is a rage of water, threatening to drag her down. Those blue eyes flash sharply in her head and Willow feels herself shake.

“Willow?”

She startles. She flinches, shaken from the very real echo of what had almost happened. “Reaffirm our union… Maybe more later.”

Willow looks up, kneeling on the stone floor of the cave. She doesn’t remember when she sat back down. Wukong stands before her. He blocks her view from the rest of the cave, from what the other troop members are beginning to clean up. He blocks her view from the bodies. But Willow still sees the imposter, has to see it. She has to kill the fear in her head that at any moment, any second, those ice eyes can come back and stare into her. To ask things of her that make her soul pull away and her body go cold.

“Willow?”

Wukong stands before her, eyes o so vulnerable. His voice is bleeding uncertainty, his hands fidgeting. He looks to her then looks away, confused on what to do.

Willow also doesn’t know what to do.

How do you tell your friend that someone wore their skin and killed and began to stalk her every step? Willow feels Mama Courage beside her, the hand squeezing. She looks up.

‘It’s him Willow. It’s our Stone Monkey.’ She signs and taps in her unique monkey way. It had taken a long time for Willow to learn this sign language, struggling but wanting to understand. Now, after decades of living together she had mastered this speech. ‘Go. You both need each other.’

‘What of you? He needs his mothers too.’ Willow signs back, not trusting her voice. That storm inside her throat is threatening to release, the track of her tears still wet. Mama Courage notices this and frowns in concern.

‘He needs a friend more. He needs you.’ She signs back. ‘And you need him most of all. To banish that demon, that nightmare. You are still shaking.’

It was true. Willows body still shook as if she had caught a deep bone chill. The blue eyes flash in her memory. Ice cold and drowning her from within Wukongs face. She had been chilled in a sense.

Before she could respond, Mama Courage had stepped away. She disappeared behind Wukong, going to help Wisdom with the mess and to spread the word of what had occurred. To reveal the truth.

Now it is just the two of them.

“It’s ok Willow.” Wukong spoke, gaze still averted. “I asked my Master if I could spend a night to … to fix the problems at home.” Willow watched as those hands wrung against each other. “But if - if what has happened- if my face brings you concern- makes you uncomfortable— I understand.”

Willow saw him step a bit off, unsure of what to do.

The eye of the hurricane was moving over Willow, that numb silence beginning to break.

Another half shuffle. He was moving closer to the carnage behind him, further from her reach. Further from her.

He’s just as afraid as I am that something has broken between us. The realization hits her like a slap.

The great wave within her, the one she had tampered down to keep her calm, to keep her cool as she had faced that monster covered in blood—

It broke through her.

Before Wukong could step further back, to disappear, to help, Willow had his face in her hands.

Willow braced her courage and stared into those eyes, determined to banish the fear that somehow, the monster had escaped. The Monkey King's eyes widened, gold within a sea of red. Willow pressed a kiss to his temple, a test.

If you are my sweet boy, my handsome monkey, she thought vehemently, this will prove it.

If you are that monster … I’ll see it in your eyes.

Willow waited.

Wukongs face was full of surprise. He blinked rapidly, uncomfortable about the intense eye contact. He looked away, looked to the side. Then he looked back up.

“Willow… what … what happened ?” For he could sense something beginning to churn within his friend. A tipping point of sorts and he, the cliff she balanced on.

The monster is dead.

Relief.

Willow breathed out. The air in her lungs shook.

Relief broke the iron in her spine. What little courage she had clung to swept away and she let it. In the dozens of decades she had been with Wukong, had cultivated and grown their trust and friendship, she had found and grown a safe place to be herself. Not Earth Reaching Willow of Polestar Palace, Eldest Daughter. To be her true self. To be one with the emotions she had suppressed. The feelings she had to repress as a princess unless she gave the wrong impression, put on the wrong face, among her fathers courtiers.

I want my friend. The longing was fierce and wild. It scorched her veins and pricked her eyes with fresh tears. A strangled sob passed between her teeth as she tried to stifle it with her fist.

“Willow?”

I need my friend - I need him.

She could be just Willow here, in his arms. She didn’t need to be a shield. She didn’t need to be a princess. She pressed her face into the crook of his neck, holding.

“The last thing I want is for you to go.” She whispered. And that’s when it fell. The tears came fast and hard, her body shaking with it. The hurricane was passing over here, the eye of the storm now past. The wind within her was full of the past years spent with the imitation of her friend. His watching eyes, his burning brushes against her hands. Those days when he had hinted, suggested, and plainly stated he wanted more—

Wukongs hands held her arms, cooed in her ear. “It’s ok Willow. Let it out. Breathe.”

“Don’t go…” she whispered, making a mess of tears on his shoulder.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m here. I’m right here.”

Nightmares. She felt them all coming across her mind then, each time she lifted her face to catch a breath. The nightmares flashed into her head. But they weren’t nightmares.

“He can’t hurt you Willow. He can’t hurt anyone ever again.” Wukongs voice was fierce in that promise as he turned to press a kiss to her temple. Sealing the promise as he rubbed her arms like a mother to a babe.

They were memories. Of all the times the imposter, the Six Eared Macaque, had pressed her for touches. Had asked for kisses. Had attempted many times to get her away from the eyes of others. Earth Reaching Willow had walked the halls feeling eyes always upon her.

He had cornered her one terrible night and had reached for her. Willow had felt like a rabbit caught in a snare as his hand had caressed her face, had trailed to her lips. He had been interrupted by Rin Rin coming in to ask for bouquet suggestions, wanting to know what blossoms to pair best with what greens in preparation for a feast. Her friend had saved her that night and she didn’t even know.

None of them had known.

Each time the memory popped up, Willow flinched away, trying to curl deeper into the orange fur. Trying to burrow into her friend because he was real. And she needed that reality from the wake that was her mind. It grounded her, allowed her to be scared. Willow breathed him in. The imposter had never smelled quite right, had never felt quite right, hadn’t talked quite right. At least to her.

Wukong, this Wukong- her Wukong, smelled of the world, of growing things and sunlight, of ozone and wind. Of rain upon dry stone. The Six Eared Macaque had been floral and fruity, sweet like a honeyed nectar trap, like a carnivorous flower. And she the unwitting fly.

All the things he had tried to do to lure her in had failed. Willow had survived.

Barely.

My Wukong is here. My friend, my confidant, my partner in this eternity. I do not have to be brave anymore. I don’t have to be strong. Here, I can cry.

Nothing could ever replicate the muscle memory, the familial way that Willow and Wukong both folded into each other's embrace. They had hundreds of years to build this body-deep familiarity with one another. This instinctual trust.

Not even a six eared all knowing demonic monkey could copy that.

Willows sobs were not slowing. They were gaining traction instead. All the fear of years of living with a masked monster in their midst, all the close calls that Willow was remembering now, battered her. Wukong shifted a bit and she felt more than saw Wukong grow in size. Her arms moved apart, having to move from holding his face to grab his middle.

“I’m going to move us Willow. Is that alright ?” His voice is soft, questioning.

My sweet friend, so tender in his asking.

She can’t trust her own voice but nods. Then they were up, an arm beneath her leg and another holding her back. As the sounds of the waterfall retreated, Willow felt the tightness in her chest start to loosen. Breaths she couldn’t take before, that seemed to catch in her throat, came easier.

Each step took them away from the roar of the water. With each crash of tears, Willow curled into her friend. Mama Courage had been right. She had needed him.

Wukong finally stopped moving, settling the both of them down onto the stone floor. They were in an alcove, a bit of a stone hollow off of the main passageway. Willow looked up at Wukong then as he crossed his legs. He nestled her into his lap. His tail wrapped her own lags, a warm blanket against the cold.

“Comfortable?”

“Mhm..” Willow sniffed. Her nose would be stuffed later but she didn’t care. Couldn’t care. She wiped her eyes and tried to see through them.

Wukong looked terribly sad, his face on the brink of breaking itself.

“Oh darling…” she hiccuped. Willow touched his forehead. The golden circlet was cold across her fingers. “It’s not your fault.”

She could see it hurting, eating away at her friend. A worm within an apple core, destroying all the good fruit about it.

They only had one night. One night.

Willow wished for more than just a night.

“Wu-Wukong.” Her voice came out thick. Her monkey leaned into her touch, those golden eyes warm and full of love.

“You don’t need to relive those things.” He said. “Not tonight. Not ever again if you wish. You don’t even have to trust me again. My face … it has been used for terrible things…monstrous things. I see it in all of your eyes.”

Unspilled tears pooled in his face. “I can see it in your eyes. In my mothers. In my friends. In Ba and Ma and Liu and Rin Rins eyes.”

“You all have ghosts in your eyes and I can’t banish them. Because I caused them. ”

Those sad words were spoken with such sorrow, with such rejection that Willows was moving before she could think. Willow pulled his face down to hers.

“This isn’t your fault Wukong.” Willow said.

“It is completely my fault…”

“Oh my sweet Monkey…” She said into his fur. I wish you didn’t have to go- I wish you could stay here, stay with us with me, to help chase those memories into the dark. “How I missed you.”

Wukong swiped some of her tears off her cheek, rumbling not words but noises.

“But you have a pilgrimage to be a part of. You are needed there.” Willow says.

“I’m needed here.” The guilt is eating him, swallowing him up bit by bit. The words he couldn’t say were evident in his eyes. If I had been here none of this would have happened, they said.

“You will always be needed here.”

“Maybe not as welcome.” Wukong pulled back, looking away. “ A stranger took my face and committed atrocities. That face, my face, hurt you. My mothers. My friends. My home.” His voice is shaking. From anger, from sorrow, she did not know. Wukong was powerful. He had challenged Heaven, had defeated dragons, outwitted gods. He had shapeshifted into a thousand different things, had gained a weapon that matched his own abilities. He was a warrior, a King who cared for his people.

Wukong hadn’t been able to protect them. It ate at him. Swallowed him in an endless loop of pain.

“I wasn’t here to protect you.” He whispered. Wukong had burst through the cave, seeking his doppleganger with anger. When he had seen the bloody remains of Cloud, the smiling face of his imitation covered in blood and approaching his mothers and Willow—

He had lost it.

“Wukong look at me.”

He didn’t move his head, despondent. Willow dug her fingers in deeper to the fur, twisting the large monkey about just enough to see him clearly.

She carded those fingers through Wukongs fur, half comfort for her and half comfort for him. Those fingers plucked and pulled, tugged and tended in the ways the monkey king had shown her, all those years ago when she first came to Flower Fruit Mountain.

“It’s better than brushing,” He had said. “It’s a way we say we love one another and strengthen that love. A language spoken through our hands.”

Willow spoke that silent language now. She moved the fingers through and around his face, over his ears. Willow silently kissed the tears from his cheeks as she cried her own. His pain was hers. And hers was his.

In that silent and dark place the two took shelter against the world. Willow from her own memories. Wukong from his own perceived failings.

The story of what happened fell slowly from Willows lips. She held nothing back. Wukong would either stiffen or growl, huff or pull her closer at each new unearthed memory. Willow lived them again here and now, feeling the night slip between her fingers like grains of sand. She had only one night.

One night to banish that blue-eyed monster from its association with Wukong. I won’t let that demon take him from me.

It was a fierceness that surprised Willow. It gave back some of her strength, allowing her to speak nakedly about the truth of what had happened since Wukong began his pilgrimage.

I won’t let him be poisoned to me. I won’t let my experience of a few years erase more than a lifetime of memories.

Willow would not leave that between them. She loved Wukong too much to lose him to some faceless cannibal that had been a drop in the ocean of time they had spent together.

It would take more than a night Willow knew, to repair what things had been shaken. But she would get the worst of it done. She would find a way to see him again before his journey was done. She needed him. And he needed her.

If I have to blackmail all of Heaven I will. I’ll air my fathers own dirty laundry to steal a few moments with Wukong on the road. Then once he’s home I won’t let him go till he knows he’s wanted and loved by all of us. He’s family.

Willow cried and in turn counseled her friend. Wukong simply sat at times to listen, at others times he spoke of promises and things he would do, ways he would make it up to her. Willow would shake her head.

“Just be you. Just always and forever be my lovely Monkey.”

“I promise.”

And together, in the very heart of the mountain, the two wept. Once the sun rose, Wukong brought Willow back to his mothers. He said his goodbyes. The pain and indecision on his face was at war with itself. Willow, when her turn came to say goodbye, took Wukongs hand. She wrapped her pinky around his.

“When I see you again I’ll tell you of all the things we’ve done.” Willow whispered, pressing her forehead to his. “I will tell you of the seasons change and I will tell you of the coconut toddy and sweet plumb wine we drink for you on your birthday. Of Ba and Ma’s latest stunts, of how Liu and Rin Rin act cuter than ever as they continue to court. I will tell you of all the babies born and all of the younglings who try to prove themselves to their amors.”

Willow felt Wukong shake a bit. She tightened her hold on his other hand, squeezing. “I will tell you of the new trees we plant, of the new games we invent, of the new relationships we cultivate.”

“The most important thing I will tell you though is how much we love and miss you, Wukong. How we are all eagerly awaiting you back at home. How, even now, I can’t wait for your return.”

“You … mean that?” He stared, golden sunset eyes misting over with new tears.

“Oh love. You don’t have to ask. I always miss you.” She smiled. “You are my handsome monkey. My lovely monkey. My best friend. I want you to be happy. And if ever those fellows you travel with make you guess or judge yourself harshly— then I will remind them why I chose you. Of all the beings and people of the world and Heaven, I picked you. And you picked me.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“The sooner you go.” Willow said softly. “The sooner you will come back to Flower Fruit Mountain. And the sooner I can enjoy those peaceful days with my husband.”

Wukong gave one last desperate look back, and it took all of his family’s willpower not to call him, to beg him to stay. Instead, Willow waved smiling at him. Mama Courage and Mama Wisdom both held each other, smiling at their boy.

Marshal Liu stepped closer to the smaller group, along with Ma and Ba and Beng. A silent gesture of we will take care of them, in that action.

Wukong smiled, half heartedly, and leapt through the water. Gone as quickly as he had arrived.

Willow turned then, hands clasped within their robed sleeves. She had a task to do now.

“Marshal Liu?”

“You have an idea, don’t you Mrs Willow?”

“Are my thoughts that evident?” Willow smiled as Marshal Liu nodded. He kept pace with her. walking as Willow turned deeper into the cave.

“I need a few scrolls of parchment.” The idea had already taken shape in her mind. Wukong may be stuck within his duties to his pilgrims. But she was not. She would have to be wise, be careful. She didn’t want to turn this into a heavenly spectacle. She did have a few contacts, however, that could be trusted with the whole truth of her urgency. “I need to write a few letters to Heaven.”

“Heaven?”

“Yes. I know Liu. I don't write home often.” As the sounds of the waterfall faded again, Willow felt her heart thrum with determination. “One night is hardly enough time to heal what has been wrecked here. And I intend on calling on a few favors.” She would send her letters, seeking out sympathetic ears discreetly. She would help Sun Wukong heal just as much as he had helped her. They would do so together. Even if the distance may be great I will find a way.

[gideonisms]

Prev post I post this in a "I hope they do fuck" type of way

[raeathnos]

.

[connormoving]

sorry it took me a second to get to those i rbed it instantly forgot and went to go do my little conlanging.

[tsuutarr]

Rich! Yandere x Chill! Reader

Work is a drag – your supervisor expects mountains from you while allowing himself to pick pebbles. He expects you to be there before him and leave after him even though he allows himself to arrive late and leave on time. He expects you to respond to every email and ask questions but ignores emails sent his way. He condescendingly laughs at you and gets annoyed at you making mistakes even though he’s made plenty himself.

In conclusion, you’re about to lose it. Go absolutely bonkers.

Still, you gotta earn money somehow, so…

You really have no choice but to continue onwards.

But seriously, who thought a cycle of work and work and more work was a good idea? You have a few choice words for them. Especially since you’re forced to stay longer than you want to because your stupid supervisor decided to give you work at the last minute, two minutes before you clock out.

By the time you arrive home, you’re dead tired, absolutely unable to keep your eyes open. You tell yourself that you need to get changed, eat dinner, brush your teeth, catch up on your weekly show… but your body is too tired to obey any of that, so it’s lulled into a long, dreamless slumber.

When you come to, you wake up on a gorgeous bed in a gorgeous room. You’re disoriented, absolutely positive that you’re dreaming. But you don’t wake up even after pinching yourself so… this must be real?

Your thoughts are interrupted as the doors to the room open, showcasing a handsome man. You’re pretty sure you’ve seen him on the news somewhere. Probably. Anyway, the point is that he’s handsome.

“Are you feeling all right, Darling?” he asks, voice velvety smooth and deep like dark chocolate.

“I guess?” you say, feeling surprisingly calm. He blinks at you.

“Ah… are you not going to ask where you are…?”

“Oh, right.” You nod. “Where am I?”

“You’re at one of my mansions,” he responds, smoothing out his dress shirt. “I’ve selected the best one, just for you.”

“Oh wow.” Flashes of your dingy one bedroom apartment flash through your head. “That’s great.”

“And of course, you’ll have everything provided for you. If you need anything, just tell me – I can get you everything you desire.”

“That’s amazing,” you respond. “I’m in.”

“Wha–” he looks at you, shocked. “I knew you were in dire financial straits but… aren’t you going to be wary of me, Dear? I mean, I kidnapped you?”

“My guy, the economy is awful, I hate my job, and I really just want to enjoy life for once. I am not complaining.” Shrugging your shoulders, your gaze remains steady on him. “Besides, you’re easy on the eyes.”

A bright red blush splatters itself across his cheeks, forcing him to clear his throat. “W–well, I’m pleased that my appearance is desirable to you.”

“Yup,” you reply, before looking at him curiously. “So like… did you stalk me or something? Put trackers on me?”

“Wha–”

“Well, it kinda seems like you’ve been after me for a while, I guess. Sorry if I’m wrong?”

“Well, no, you’re not… incorrect. But does that not bother you?”

“I mean, social media already has all my info anyway, so…” you hum thoughtfully. “Hm. Anyway. Does kidnapping me mean that you won’t let me go out again? A lot of stories have the guy locking their love interest up.”

He blinks. “I… suppose so…?”

“I don’t entirely mind, but I feel like I’ll probably go nuts if I’m not allowed to go out at all. Can’t we compromise? Like… you can have your trackers on me or have someone follow me around. Actually, why don’t you come along?”

He blinks. “Pardon?”

“I mean, it’s a fair trade, isn’t it? I have friends and family that I gotta see so I don’t go insane, but like, I don’t mind spending most of my time here. And if I do go out, you can just keep track of that. Plus it’s not like I have money or power to actually run or something anyway.” You nod, certain.

“You… you’re certainly rather… receptive to this whole situation.”

“Again, the economy is trash and you’re hot.”

He clears his throat, looking embarrassed. “W–well, it isn’t the worst idea in the world, I suppose. However, the world at large is quite dangerous. You can’t fault me for wanting to keep you locked up. It’s the best way to keep you safe–”

“Oh, I know!” you snap your fingers. “Let’s get married.”

“...Excuse me?”

“I mean, that way you’ll legally be my family. Then you can be with me ‘til death do us apart. Or something.” Satisfied, you nod. “Good idea, don’t you think?”

Gears whir inside his head as he looks at you, completely flabbergasted by your proposal. He’s happy that you seem satisfied with the situation and want to marry him but… but…

“Good idea indeed,” he agrees, fully abandoning any notion of common sense (not that he had much to begin with). 

Your willing acceptance of your situation wasn’t what he was expecting, but… who is he to complain?

It’s working in his favor, after all.

[lulublack90]

Prompt 19 - Studio

@wolfstarmicrofic May 19, word count 784

Previous part First part

Remus woke up early. Poppy helped him shower, which was a lot harder in her enclosed shower than it had been at the hospital, but they managed. He put on the best clothes he’d brought with him, which were a pair of brown corduroys, and his favourite jumper. He’d been told he dressed like a grandpa, but Remus didn’t see it. His clothes were comfortable, and to him, that was all that mattered. 

He eyed the wheelchair waiting by the front door. He’d never really used one except to get in and out of a hospital. He never went anywhere when he was at home, so there wasn’t much use for one. But as his muscles were still shaky, making him unstable, and just the short amount of time he’d been standing in the shower had been almost too much, and he’d put most of his weight on the bar Poppy had in there. He didn’t have another option, he’d have to grin and bear it. The doorbell rang, and he forgot all of his worries about the wheelchair. Sirius had seen him at his worst anyway, and the chair would allow him to keep up. 

“Good morning, Poppy, you look more beautiful every time I see you. Run away with me?” Sirius asked, staring dreamily at Poppy. 

“Oh, hush, you,” Poppy bated a hand at him before ushering him in through the door. 

“Hi,” Remus smiled shyly at Sirius. He got up from the armchair he’d been sitting in and slowly stumbled his way across the room. Sirius flung out an arm and held him up when Remus’s knee buckled. “Sorry,” he whispered, embarrassment colouring his cheeks. Sirius tucked him firmly under his arm and gave him a squeeze. 

“Don’t know what you’re apologising for,” Sirius told him with a sweet smile curling his lips up.

“Bless, don’t you two look adorable,” Poppy sighed as she took them in. “You wait right there, your mum will kill me if I don’t get a picture for her.” Poppy disappeared into the kitchen to get her phone. 

“Do you mind?” Remus asked, worried that Sirius would find it too much. They barely knew each other, and he hadn’t even mentioned Sirius to his mum when she’d called him before he went to sleep every night. 

“It’s fine,” Sirius reassured him. Remus’s legs were protesting again. He silently begged Poppy to hurry up and take the picture so he could sit down. Sirius must have sensed Remus’s unease as he surreptitiously moved his arm so it supported Remus more and took the pressure off Remus. Poppy returned and held her phone in front of her face. 

“Ready? Alright, 1. 2. 3.” The shutter sound went off a few times, and she beamed at them as she lowered her phone and began to flip through the pictures. Sirius helped Remus into the waiting wheelchair and spun him around so they were facing the door. “These are so lovely,” Poppy kept saying as she flicked back and forth. She eventually showed them after she was done, admiring her handiwork. 

Remus gasped. He was grinning from ear to ear, and so was Sirius. He looked the most relaxed he’d ever been when photographed. Usually, he hated it. 

“Can you send these to me, Poppy?” Sirius asked. 

“Of course, darling. You can do it yourself now if you like,” Sirius quickly sent them to his phone and opened them to look through them again. 

“This one's my favourite,” he told Remus, showing him the one where Sirius had let his head rest against Remus’s shoulder. Remus was so glad he wasn’t hooked up to the monitors any more as he was certain they’d explode with how much his heart was misbehaving right now. 

“I think this one's my favourite,” he said, flicking to the last one where both of their eyes were sparkling at the camera.

“That’s my second favourite,” Sirius grinned at him and moved behind him to start pushing the wheelchair towards the front door. 

“If you get into trouble, call me, and I’ll come get you both,” Poppy told them as she waved them off. 

“We will, don’t worry,” Sirius assured her. 

“So, where are we going first?” Remus asked once they were on the footpath and Poppy was out of earshot. 

“An art studio a friend of mine is opening. We’re having a private viewing,” Remus had never been to an art gallery, let alone a private viewing. He told Sirius so. “Good, then it’ll be a real treat for you. You’re going to love Marlene, she’s nuts,” Sirius hummed a cheerful tune as he pushed Remus down the road, and their date had officially begun. 

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: break-up, angst, hung-up yandere, anger issues, insecurity, threats to regrets

♡ GN reader

Thinking about pro-athlete ex-boyfriend… 

You know, the one you broke up with because he couldn't focus on anything but his career, the one you just couldn’t stand by and watch any longer as he nearly ran his health into the ground—not to mention your relationship—all to reach his goals.

He’d been so mean—meaner than you ever thought possible when you told him you couldn’t do this anymore—said it was a real class act of you to abandon him now when it mattered most. He’d made it about you not wanting a pipe-dreaming wannabe sportsman for a boyfriend, how you never believed in him anyway, how you never cheered for him, how he thinks you don’t even want to see him succeed. 

He’d been so loud and so ugly you’d been in shock for weeks afterward, unable to wrap your head around it. You didn’t even dare tell anyone—feeling it was a beast of burden you ought to keep for yourself. Oddly enough, you felt that if anyone knew or saw him like that, it would be not just detrimental to him and his image but embarrassing for you both.

And you hadn't spoken to him since. At least not face-to-face. He’d sent you a few drunk texts then and there, which you’d replied to in short, though mostly ignored. You’d thought about blocking him at one point, but you didn’t want to be dramatic, either. And suppose, in some way, you were still waiting for an apology.

But months passed, and nothing like it ever came, and so, instead of being bitter, you accepted that was just how the two of you ended. And that was that. 

Still, it's a little awkward. You wonder if you should congratulate him on his rise in popularity, how he’s finally getting all those long hours spent training back in full—but somehow, you feel it would just sound petty coming from you. And so, you don’t bother.

He’s got other people in his life cheering him on now—he doesn’t need a measly text from his ex. No, it's better to leave it be, is what you think.

Which is why it’s surprising when you get the dinner invitation. 

And following the initial surprise, you don’t really know what to expect of it either. But you end up accepting—some part out of curiosity, wondering what he might want after all this time, and another part hopeful it was to finally address the awful break up so that the both of you could move on without it hanging heavy over your heads and hearts.

This, however, was the last thing you had in mind when sitting down with him for the first time in a long time.

“Will you marry me?”

Your whole body flares up with something reminiscent of the feeling when you trip and fall—that type of split burn that rushes through you from head to toe and then leaves you feeling cold all over. Heart in your throat, you’re speechless.

Or no, you just don’t know where to begin.

“What are you doing?” you end up accusing—a little too harshly, maybe, but who could blame you? Looking around, you’re glad your table’s in a more private sector of the restaurant before you look back at him, eyes wide and brows knit. 

“I–we broke up a year ago and haven’t seen each other since—and you’re—” Your eyes fall back to the thing in his hands. It’s an outrageous ring. “Asking me to marry you?”

He makes no move to withdraw the offer—keeping his hands where they are, on your side of the table. “You said yes to the dinner. That must mean something. I thought—”

“Yeah. It means that I still worry about you,” you say. “It doesn't mean–”

“I fought my way up. I’m finally at the top,” he cuts you off in earnest. “I’m the best, and the world finally knows it now–”

“I don't care about any of that,” you state, feeling it should have been something you told him from the very beginning. “I'm sorry. But I never cared about you being the best. I just wanted…”

You just wanted the two of you to be like other couples—together and happy. You just wanted that to be enough, but it never was for him.

“Never mind…” you end up saying. “I think I should go.”

You’re about to get up when his hand, suddenly around your wrist, tightens in a harsh grip.

“I don't think you understand,” he utters, voice lowered with a hint of a growl. “It’s either this ring or I bury you in rumors that won’t leave you a moment’s worth of peace.” 

You go stiff while looking back at him.

Did he just… did he just threaten you?

You blink. He's got that same warped expression you remember from the last time you saw him, that very odd look as if the guy you know has been switched out with someone entirely different.

Only this time, it just as quickly disappears, and he lets go of your wrist, quickly pulling his hand to himself.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that–I’m just—” he apologizes with a stutter, looking startled.

He puts his face in his hands. Then there's a sound—close to a sob.

“I’m just a mess without you.”

Goosebumps rise on the surface of your skin when hearing it. And swallowing thickly, you sit back down again, albeit a bit begrudgingly. But spotting how he trembles, you just can’t stop feeling sorry for him.

You sigh. “No, you’re not. You just…” Reaching across the table, you stroke his arm. “You just lose your head a little sometimes, that’s all.” 

He peaks up from his hands. A sheen under his eyes reflects the ceiling light, and your heart twists in your chest.

He really is a mess.

“But I know you…” you try smiling. “You were always destined for greatness.”

He takes your offered hand in his, stroking it, then sniffs, voice fluttering weakly, “Yeah, well…”

He keeps his head low, resting it in his other hand as if he just couldn't muster the strength to sit straight or even attempt to pull himself together.

“If I'm so great, why wouldn’t you stay?”

He sounds as if he’s been holding things back for the entirety of the year since you left. Broken now... it's all spilling out.

“Because," you start, even though your throat’s tight and you’re fighting back tears of your own, your mind hasn’t changed.

You didn’t come here to get back together. 

"You want to go places, I just can’t follow.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Hawks, Enji ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Naoya ♡ HQ – Kageyama, Oikawa, Sakusa, Miya twins ♡ CSM – Aki ♡ BLLK – Reo, Isagi, Rin, Sae, Yukimiya, Karasu, Shido ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi ♡ WB – Sakura, Suo, Kaji

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[foxy-eva]

Send Nudes

Summary: Chaos ensues after you accidentally send Spencer a nude pic

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader 

Category: Smut

Content Warnings: (18+, minors DNI) dub-con (Spencer receives an unsolicited nude pic), embarrassment, awkwardness, tension, heavy kissing, male masturbation, oral (fem receiving), handjob, protected penetrative sex

Author's Note: I wrote this for @imagining-in-the-margins Wrong Recipient Challenge!

Word count: 3.2k

Masterlist

Panic. Embarrassment. Shame. 

It was hard to describe what you felt when you stared at your phone, realizing that you had just sent Spencer Reid a nude picture of yourself. 

It was a mistake, of course – right when you wanted to send him a screenshot of an article, you stumbled over the mess in your apartment and selected the wrong picture. Frozen in place, you watched in horror as the read receipt showed up instantly. 

Spencer had just seen your naked body light up on the screen of his phone. 

A picture he never asked for and probably didn't want to see. It wasn’t a bad photo, some might even call it aesthetically pleasing. But you had never intended for anyone else to see it. It was just a way for you to make yourself feel good about your body. 

You contemplated your options. Burning your phone, moving across the country and changing your identity sounded intriguing but difficult to arrange. Instead you decided to text Spencer, hoping that soon you’d both be able to laugh about the embarrassing thing you just did. 

“I am so sorry about that. I really didn't mean to send that! Can you please delete the pic and forget about it?” 

You didn't get a response. Spencer was never great at texting but you had really hoped to hear back from him. It was hard to tell if he felt just as embarrassed or maybe even offended – you certainly wouldn't want to receive unsolicited nude pics either. 

You had barely gotten any sleep when you walked into work the next morning. Worst case scenarios had plagued your mind all night – from another painful workplace sexual harassment seminar to maybe even losing your job over your mishap – you had no idea what would expect you today. 

Everything seemed normal when you got to your desk, except for the fact that your favorite coworker didn't even look at you when you walked by him. Spencer usually liked sitting beside you in the conference room and also on the jet, but he did neither of those things that day. 

“Wow you really must have pissed Reid off, huh?” Luke whispered when he sat down beside you on the plane. 

“Did he say anything to you?” you wanted to know. 

“No, he didn't. What did you do? Spill coffee over his favorite chess board?” he teased. 

“Oh it’s so much worse than that,” you whined while heat rushed to your face. 

Emily decided to discuss the case before Luke could ask more questions. Spencer avoided you for the next couple of hours until you decided you both had suffered enough. 

A quiet moment in the coffee kitchen of the police precinct seemed good enough to approach him.

“Hey Spencer,” you said and noticed how he almost jumped at the sound of your voice. 

“H…hi,” he mumbled, his eyes fixated on the floor.

Stepping closer, he finally looked at you for the first time that day. The rosy shade spreading over his cheeks was impossible to ignore. 

“I’m very sorry about the… you know. I didn't mean to send it but I understand if you feel offended by it,” you sincerely told him. 

“I’m not… offended.”

You took a deep breath before you continued talking, “All I want to say is… if you want to discuss this incident with Emily or even HR, I would understand. I never wanted to make you uncomfortable in any way.” 

“No, it’s okay, really,” he lied. “We can just forget about it.” 

Spencer Reid was good at many things. Lying, however, definitely wasn’t his strong suit. You decided to drop the subject for now, aware that talking more about it would probably not make him less uncomfortable. 

The tension between you two was palpable for the rest of the workday. When you stepped into your hotel room that night, you were relieved to finally have a couple of walls between the two of you. 

If this thing didn't resolve soon, you’d have to talk to Emily about it eventually. But there was still hope that it wouldn't come to that. The embarrassment about your mishap was already bad enough as is.

The three knocks on your hotel door startled you. With your heart beating uncomfortably fast, you walked over to the door to find Spencer on the other side. 

He walked into your room without saying a word. Then he began slowly pacing up and down your room, still silent. He looked at you for a second but his sight fell to the floor immediately after that. 

“I uh…” he began before taking a deep breath. “I lied to you earlier.”

“About what?” you wanted to clarify. “Wanting to go to HR?” 

He shook his head. “I said that we can just forget about it but I don’t think I can do that.” 

Your heart felt heavy at his words. His discomfort pained you and you wished nothing more than to be able to take it back. “I’m so sorry Spencer.”

“I deleted the image off my phone but…” he paused to finally look at you. The expression written over his face was hard to read. What you didn't find was the discomfort you expected. Instead he looked… cocky?

He continued, “...it seems like it’s burned into my brain. And I can’t help but wonder, was it really an accident?”

“What?! Of course!” you squeaked. “Believe me, I would never want to send you a picture like that unprompted.”

That was when you saw a subtle smirk on his face. “Interesting choice of words.” 

You thought about it for a moment. Had you really just implied that you would want to send him nudes if he’d ask you to? 

“That's not what I meant,” you tried to brush it off. “And please don’t give me a lecture about Freudian slips.”

His presence filled the room and you felt like you couldn't take deep enough breaths to satiate your need for oxygen. His demeanor was so different from what you were used to and you had trouble wrapping your head around it.

His next question was even more surprising. “Who did you take this picture for?” 

The undertone in his voice was unsettling and you started feeling defensive. “I don’t see how that's any of your business but just for the record, I took it for myself. I do that occasionally to make myself feel good about my body.” 

It seemed as if he was content, almost relieved with your answer. You scanned his body language again and replayed his words in your head. Then it hit you all at once. Spencer was not here to scold you for what you did. 

He was jealous. And he wanted to make sure no one else got to see your picture. 

A grin formed on your face as you realized that you could play this game too.

Your tone was laced with a certain playfulness when you asked, “What did you do after you saw the picture?”

The change of your demeanor seemed to take Spencer by surprise. “I just told you, I deleted it.” 

“I don't think that's all you did.” He audibly gulped and you noticed his cheeks taking on a reddish color. Stepping closer to him, you whispered, “Did you touch yourself, Spencer?”

A shaky breath left his mouth before he confessed, “Yes.”

“Naughty boy,” You teased him. “You really liked that image, hm?” 

Nodding, he took a step forward until there was barely any space between the two of you. “I can't stop thinking about you.”

His words boosted your confidence. “I know I look great in that pic. But I think I would look even better in this lighting right here, don’t you think?” 

Before you could bring to action what you had insinuated, you felt Spencer's hands cupping your face to pull you into a kiss. The surprised gasp escaping your throat was muffled by his lips against yours. 

He kissed you with a fervor that knocked the air out of your lungs. Weakness rushed to your knees and you had to hold onto him to not tumble back. One hand pawed at his shirt while the other one held onto his shoulder. His lips felt soft yet firm against yours. 

When his tongue begged for entrance, you let it. As he deepened the kiss, you could feel heat rushing through body. A few moments ago you really thought you’d have the upper hand in this game you were playing but now realized you were just as pathetic as he was. 

Maybe sending him that image was a Freudian slip of some kind. Or maybe it was just some odd plan the universe had to bring you together. Either way, you were grateful for how things turned out. 

Your hands became curious as they wandered over Spencer’s body. The tingling in your fingertips could only be soothed by feeling his skin underneath them, so they quickly began unbuttoning his shirt. Spencer showed a similar interest in feeling more of you by the way his fingers dropped down to the hem of your shirt. 

Piece after piece both of your clothes fell to the floor, only ever breaking the kiss for as long as necessary. When you stood completely bare in front of one another, you dared to press your body against his to feel him. 

It was impossible to tell who moaned first when his length pressed against your stomach. With a firm grip on his shoulders, you moved him back until his legs made contact with the edge of the bed. You pushed down until he sat on the mattress, staring up at you with a curiosity in his eyes that made your heart jump. 

As you stepped back, his tongue darted out of his mouth to lick over his lips and you wondered if he thought about tasting you. To your surprise, he managed to not break eye contact until you challenged him, “Go on, take a look.”

His sight scanned your body, lingering on your breasts for a second before moving further down, taking everything in. You couldn’t hold back from looking at him, too. A rosy color had spread all over his cheeks and chest and when you dared to drop your eyes to his cock, you noticed how it twitched slightly against his thigh. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he cooed when your eyes met again. 

“Better than the image?” you teased, smirking at him. 

He only nodded before looking at your body again. It was like he was mesmerized, as if a miracle had just unfolded right before him. It became obvious that he was ready to worship you if you’d let him. But first, you had something else in your mind. 

“Show me exactly what you did when you saw my picture,” you told him. 

He raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “Wh… what?” 

“Don’t be shy now,” you snickered. “Come on, I wanna see how pretty you think I am.” 

The sweet smile on your face seemed to encourage him enough to let his right hand move towards his hardness. It was as if he needed reassurance when he found your eyes and you nodded.

He wrapped his fingers around his cock, giving himself a squeeze and you watched as precum spilled over the tip. Slowly, he began moving his fist up and down his length, swiping his thumb over the head each time he got to the top. The groan that slipped from his lips could only be described as absolutely sinful. 

You couldn’t deny how much the sight in front of you turned you on. Spencer was so incredibly beautiful and the thought that your body had the ability to make him feral like that drove you insane. 

Arousal gathered at your entrance the longer you watched him. This show was no longer enough for you, you needed more. Your hands found the curve of your chest, gently kneading them before your fingers began toying with your hardened peaks. Spencer’s eyes were fixated on your hands, his mouth hanging wide open and unabashedly moaning at the sight while accelerating the pace of his hand. 

Then suddenly, he stopped and got up from bed. Desperation was written all over his face when he looked at you. 

“Please,” he begged as he stepped closer. “I need to touch you.” 

It was everything you wanted right then, too. 

“I’m all yours, Spencer.” 

His mouth was on yours in an instant and he didn’t waste any time to move you over to the bed to push you onto the mattress. He followed quickly, towering over you as he kissed down your neck, making you moan in anticipation of what would follow. 

He moved further down your body, kissing and nipping on the tender flesh of your breasts before focusing his attention on your nipples. The sensation was almost unbearable and you could feel how your arousal began coating the insides of your thighs. 

Spencer smiled against your skin when he noticed you rocking your hips against his leg every so slightly. His confidence grew as he realized that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. 

“Needy,” he chuckled as he kissed down your stomach. “That’s cute.” 

Right then you couldn’t care less about being in charge, you just wanted to be taken care of. When his lips brushed over your inner thigh, you opened your legs further to give him better access. He lay down between your legs and didn’t waste any time before he began leaving feather light kisses against your folds. 

You watched as he licked his own lips, tasting your essence on them before he found your eyes. 

“You’re so wet,” he teased and let a finger move along your slit. “Is that all for me?” 

He expected a witty response, like you telling him to bring his mouth to good use for once. So it took him by surprise when you simply sighed, “Yes.” 

There was no more game to play. No more back and forth of who was in charge. It was just the two of you, equally as desperate to finally do what you both had been dreaming of for weeks.

“Good,” Spencer whispered, his hot breath tickling your core, before he finally granted you some relief. 

His tongue moved through your folds, collecting your taste before he focussed on your most sensitive spot. He experimented with different motions for a few moments, paying attention to your reactions until he found what you enjoyed the most. Your hand flew to his hair, your fingers intertwining with his curls to hinder him from moving away – even though he had no intention to do so, anyway. 

With one arm wrapped around your thigh he hindered you from bucking uncontrollably against his face while his other hand found your entrance, letting two fingers slip into you with ease. He moved with great precision, adjusting the angle and the pace according to your reactions, bringing you closer to your breaking point with every second passing. 

The sounds of your pleasure filled the room as you began dancing along the brink of euphoria. With just a few more skillful motions, he pushed you over it. Your walls pulsed around his fingers while your entire body shook. He worked you through your orgasm before he lay back down beside you, placing a gentle kiss against your lips. 

You were still panting when you found his eyes. The warm amber of his irises was almost completely swallowed by his pupils, the lust visible in his eyes contradicting the saccharine smile he showed you. 

“You okay?” he breathed as he wrapped one arm around your waist. 

“Yeah,” you confirmed while one of your hands moved down his body. 

Tentatively, you let your fingertips brush along his length, feeling his velvety skin under your touch. “Now what are we gonna do with you?” you purred as you wrapped your fingers tightly around him, making him gasp. 

With a torturously slow pace, you moved along his cock. “Tell me, Spencer. What do you want?” 

“I uhm…,” he audibly swallowed. “I have a condom in my pocket.” 

The fact that he brought a condom to your hotel room when he came over early amused you. He never had any intention of just talking to you. 

“So, you want to fuck me?” 

“Yes,” he admitted unabashedly. “If you want that, too, of course.”

With a nod you confirmed that that was exactly what you wanted as well. Right after you let go of him, he grabbed his pants from the floor to take out the foil wrapper. You watched as he ripped it open and carefully rolled down the condom. 

Then, he kneeled down between your legs, taking a moment to admire the beauty of the woman in front of him. 

“Come here,” you cooed and he leaned over you without hesitation. 

Reaching between your bodies, you guided him to your entrance. He closed his eyes when he slowly entered you, relishing the sensation of stretching you open inch by inch. When he was fully inside you, he kissed you before he began moving with slow thrusts.

Wrapping your legs around his hips, you brought him even closer. When he was sure that you could take it, he accelerated his pace, fucking you against the mattress until you were sure you would lose your mind. 

Spencer’s body began trembling and he suddenly stopped moving. 

“Sorry, I’m really close,” he whined and tried to pull out slightly. 

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded as you kept him in place with your legs around him. “Please, I need it.”

One of your hands moved down to where your bodies were joined to desperately draw circles around your little nub, making you clench hard around his hardness. 

“Fuck,” he whimpered as he began moving again. “I can’t, ah–” 

With just a few more deep thrusts Spencer came, his cock twitching inside you as his whole body shook. It was enough to throw you over edge too, entering a state of pure bliss together with him. After you had both come down from your high, you welcomed him inside your embrace, your fingertips gently dancing over his back as he caught his breath. 

For the sake of getting cleaned up you separated for a few moments, only to lay back down together soon after. A shaky breath fell from Spencer’s lips and caught your attention. 

“So…,” he began talking but didn’t continue. 

You propped yourself up on one elbow to find his eyes. “Yeah?”

“I wanted to ask if maybe–” 

“You want me to send you that pic again?” you interrupted him with a grin on your face. 

“No,” he laughed. “I mean… that’s not what I wanted to say.”

Still in a teasing mood, you snickered, “But you would like to see that pic again?”

“You know what,” he chuckled as he lifted the blanket to get a peek at your naked body. “I think I actually prefer this.”

“Good,” you chirped. “If you want to see more of me you’ll have to take me on a date though.”

Placing a soft kiss on your lips, he whispered, “Deal.”

Thank you for reading! Please like, reblog and leave a comment to show your support and help me stay motivated to write more stories!

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[waitimcomingtoo]

Uranus

Pairing: Peter Parker x Avengers!Reader

Synopsis: you fix Peters science project while he’s out on a date with another girl

Masterlist

You walked by Peter’s room and paused in the doorway. The empty bedroom reminded you of where he was tonight and it send a sick feeling down to your stomach. The scent of his cologne lingered in the air as you looked at all the discarded outfits he had left on his bed.

“I’m not cleaning his stupid room.” You decided and walked away. You were barely halfway down the hallway when you turned and sprinted back to his room to start to put things away. You knew it wasn’t your job to take care of him but you simply couldn’t stop yourself from tidying up. You assumed he’d be getting back late from where he was and probably wouldn’t want to clean up all his clothes just to get into his bed. As you folded a pair of his jeans, you looked up into his vanity mirror and sighed.

“You’re so pathetic.” You told yourself through a groan.

“Stop talking to yourself.” Your reflection replied and pointed at you with a scathing finger. You jumped and looked down to see your finger was pointed as well.

“Right.” You mumbled and left his room.

You then went into the living room and saw Peter’s science project sitting on the couch. He had been building a model of the solar system for weeks now for his astronomy class with a little help from you here and there. All you did was hold pieces together after he glued them but he still insisted that he could not have done it without you. You smiled at the memory of the two of you working on it together and picked it up.

“Why would he leave it where someone could sit on it?” You sighed and moved it to the bar counter in the kitchen. You left the living room to use the bathroom just as Thor was entering the room. He stepped onto a bar stool with ease and took a seat on the counter to eat the apple he had taken from a lunchbox labeled “Sam’s: do not touch”. He munched his apple for a moment before feeling something digging into his back. He sat up a little and pulled a small ball out from under him that was painted to look like Mercury.

“Hm. Thats strange. I don’t remember putting that up there.” Thor frowned as he rolled the planet between his fingers. You walked back into the living room and smiled at Thor until you saw what he was holding. Your heart stopped at the same time your feet did and you let out a dramatic gasp that sent you into a coughing fit.

“Thor!” You exclaimed. “You just destroyed Peter’s science project!”

“These tiny colorful balls were his science project? What was it on? Tiny colorful balls?” Thor asked as he stood up to look at the science project he had completed crushed.

“No. It was a model of the solar system. And you just crushed it. How did you not feel that when you sat down?” You whined as more parts of the project fell from Thors jeans and back into the counter.

“Lady Y/n, you must be mistaken. I’ve seen the solar system with my own eyes. And then I had my eye cut out. And then I had my eye replaced and saw the solar system again. Peters little balls looked nothing like it.” Thor told you, making you roll your eyes up to the ceiling and stamp your feet like a little kid.

“I don’t care about your optic history.” You groaned. “Peter’s been working on it for weeks and your giant butt just crushed it in seconds.”

“Thank you. I eat a lot of yams to get these yams.” Thor smiled at the presumed compliment and patted his thigh. You watched him for a moment before letting out a deep sigh.

“Okay.” You was all you could stay in your effort to remain calm.

“I don’t see what all the petulance is about. If he formed one solar system out of tiny colorful balls, surely he can do it again. All the pieces are right here.” Thor pointed out.

“Yes, but that doesn’t erase the fact that you ruined the project he spent weeks working on. He’s gonna be devastated when he sees this. And who taught you the word “petulance”? Have you been watching The Twilight Zone again? I don’t know why you do that. It always scares you.”

“Never you mind.” He wagged a finger. “I do feel bad for the boy. I’ll collect the tiny balls since it was my behind that crushed them and then Peter can glue them back together.”

“He can’t. It’s due tomorrow and right now he’s on…I don’t know. He’s just busy and he can’t fix it tonight.” You sighed and started to collect the scattered pieces of the project.

“Busy doing what? You’re here and his small balls were finished. What else could the boy be doing?” Thor wondered. You paused for a moment and felt that sick feeling in your stomach again.

“He’s on a date.” You said for the first time out loud since Peter told you his plans for the evening. You’d been quietly stewing all day over it and letting it settle in a massive dark cloud over your head.

“Well I’m sure the man he’s with will be understanding that he has to come home to fix his balls.” Thor told you.

“Stop saying balls!” You scolded. “And the date is with a girl, for your information. A very pretty girl from our business class who smells like a vanilla and my broken dreams.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Lady Y/n. I never knew why but I know that small boy means a lot to you.” Thor said sympathetically and put his hand on your shoulder. You gave him a sympathetic smile and patted his hand.

“Seems like a lot of things are broken tonight.” Thor continued. “Your dreams, Peters balls-“

“Say balls one more time.” You said through clenched teeth.

“Or what? You’ll stab me?” Thor challenged you.

“What? No. Jesus Christ. Who hurt you?” You mumbled and pushed his hand off your shoulder.

“My brother. And then he hurt me again. And then my sister hurt me. And then my brother once more before he died before my eyes. Enough about me, why are your dreams broken?”

“It’s complicated.” You sighed. “Can I tell you something personal?”.

“No.” Thor replied and left the room without another word. You shrugged in defeat and wondered why you even bothered.

“Well that was a fine howdy do.” You mumbled and finished collecting the pieces. You laid out all the broken bits of Peter’s project on the kitchen counter and folded your arms. It would be a lot of work for Peter and you had no idea what hour he’d be getting back. As much as you hated the idea of him being on a date, you more so hated the thought of him coming home happy and his smile falling when he saw what had become of all his hard work.

“I need to fix these balls.” You whispered to yourself. You grabbed Saturn and one it’s broken rings and started to see how you could glue them back together.

“No. I can’t do this.” You said out loud. “I can’t fix every little thing in Peter’s life just to make him happy. I’m not his girlfriend. I’m not the one he asked on a date. I’m just a friend.”

You put the pieces down and folded your arms to keep your hands off it. You knew you should walk away, but you couldn’t stop thinking about all the nights you walked past his room and saw him working on the project. He’d put so much effort into it and now it was in pieces on the counter.

“A girlfriend would spend the next few hours working on a project that has no impact on me just to save Peter the trouble. A good friend would feel bad that his work got destroyed and offer condolences when he got home. And I’m a good friend. Not a girlfriend. It’s not my problem. So I’m walking away.” You decided and left the room. You lasted all of three minutes before you ran back into the room with a tube of crazy glue.

“I gotta fix the balls.” You exclaimed and plopped yourself down at the table. Once you organized all the planets and parts of the solar system, you went to Peter’s room to get the sketched out drawing he had made of the project to use as a blueprint. You silently thanked Peter for being so meticulous and followed his sketch to rebuild his project.

Time went by slowly but your hands cramped up quickly as you worked on the model. It was around the time you glued on Saturns 30th moon, you understood why it took Peter so long to complete the project. All the moons and planets looked the same to you so you had to carefully study his drawings and rely on your memory of when you helped him with the project to guide you as you worked. You had to stop every so often to rub your eyes and roll out your wrists to keep them from getting stiff.

You drifted off into sleep at some point when staring at Jupiters moons became a little too mind numbingly boring. Peter got back from his date about midnight and strolled past you on his way to his room. He backtracked when he realized you were asleep at the table and frowned. His completed science project was beside you, save for one missing moon next to Jupiter. His eyebrows knit together in confusion over the sight so he gently shook you awake.

“Hey. You awake?” He asked in a soft tone as he shook your shoulders. You shot up immediately and nearly knocked your head into his.

“I’m not snoring.” You blurted as you pulled the hair that was stuck to your cheek away.

“I know.” He chuckled. “What are you doing here? Why is Ganymede stuck to your face?”

“Why is what?” You asked through a yawn. Peter smiled and pulled the missing moon off your cheek and held it out to show you.

“Ganymede. The largest moon in the solar system.” He told you and put it in its correct spot on the model.

“There is no way you saw a random gray ball stuck to my face and correctly identified it as Gammy meme.” You insisted.

“Ganymede.” He corrected. “And I only know because I labeled them. See?”

Peter pulled the moon back off to show you a tiny G written on the bottom with the word “Jupiter” in parentheses beside it.

“They’re labeled?” You nearly shouted. “Well that would’ve been helpful four hours ago.”

“Four hours? That’s how long you’ve been here? What happened?” Peter frowned and took a seat beside you. You gave him a sheepish smile and looked at the model.

“I’m sorry, Peter. Thor sat on your project by accident.” You admitted. “I’ve been putting it back together ever since. I think I got most of it the way you had it but I never found Pluto. I honestly think it went up his ass and he just didn’t realize.”

“You spent four hours fixing my project?” He asked with a surprised smile.

“Of course I did. I know how hard you worked on this. I didn’t want you to have to start all over.” You told him. He gave you a fond smile and placed his hand on top of yours. Your eyes flicked to your hands and you gulped but said nothing.

“I really appreciate this but you really didn’t have to do this. You should have called me. I could’ve come home and fixed it myself.”

“But I knew you were really excited about tonight. I didn’t want to interrupt your date.” You said without looking at him.

“Well that was very selfless of you. And I hate to tell you this after all the work you did, but the date was bad. I would’ve loved an excuse to leave.” He admitted, making you smile involuntarily.

“It was bad?” You asked and quickly cleared your throat to cover up your smile.

“Woah. Don’t sound too happy.” He snorted.

“What?” You asked in a high pitched voice. “I’m not. Why would that make me happy? But please elaborate anyway.”

“It was bad.” He grimaced. “Like, season 6 of Glee level bad.”

“That bad?” You gasped. “So many forgettable characters. So many odd couple choices.”

“They sang Let it Go. They worked Let it Go from Frozen into the plot and made them sing it.” Peter shook his head.

“That was not the worst for me. The worst was when Mr. Shue rapped Same Love. They let the straight adult rap a song about being gay when the entire cast of queer young people were right there. And wasn’t there a child in the club for some reason? And twins who were lowkey dating?”

“Yep. All of that. And yet, my date was still worse.” He shrugged. You looked down at your lap and smiled a little before quickly dropping it.

“It was that bad, huh?” You asked and tried not to sound too interested.

“So bad.” He sighed. “She was a great girl, don’t get me wrong. We just had no connection whatsoever. She didn’t laugh at any of my jokes and then there were a few times where I thought she was joking so I laughed but she didn’t and then we sat in awkward silence.”

“That’s the worst. I hate awkward silence. I once pretended to forgot the word for “seatbelt” just to keep a conversation going with an uber driver. I kept calling it a strap on.”

“Wait, is that not what a strap on is?” Peter played dumb. “Should we Google it to make sure?”

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes. “Keep going. I want to hear more about this awful date with the girl you’ll never see again.”

“There was just no spark. We realized pretty quickly that we didn’t have anything in common. At one point, she asked me if Star Wars was the “movie with the things you can’t feed after midnight”. So I don’t foresee a second date.”

“Wow. She had to have a serious lack of knowledge about two major huge pop culture movies to ask that question.”

“I know. I told her yes and she believed me.” Peter replied, making you laugh. He laughed as well over how ridiculous the whole night had been before stopping to look at you. When your laughter died down and you realized he was staring at you, you smiled shyly and looked over at the project to avoid eye contact.

“Well, I’m sorry it didn’t go well.” You told him. “Maybe the next girl will understand you more.”

“Yeah. I hope so.” He said in a soft voice and never stopped looking at you.

“You’ll have better luck next time. To be honest, I thought the date was doomed as soon as you told me you were going for sushi. You hate raw fish.”

“Because I’m not a seagull.”

“Because you’re not a seagull, yeah.” You laughed. “I think of that every time I eat sushi. I’m no better than those damn seagulls.”

“Don’t say that. You’re way better. A seagull would not have done all this for me.” Peter insisted and gestured to the project. You looked over at the solar system you had given too many hours of your life too and smiled as you realized something.

“I had to fix it. I didn’t want you to be stressed.”

“But didn’t this stress you out? Designing this thing gave me gray hair and premature menopause.” Peter replied, making you laugh softly.

“A little.” You admitted. “But I felt better when I remembered why I was doing it.”

“Why were you doing it?”

“Because I’d do anything for you, Peter.” You said simply. You watched his ears turn pink and he turned his head so that you wouldn’t see his smile.

“I’d do anything for you too, you know.” He said in a quiet voice.

“Careful.” You warned him. “You already owe me big time for fixing this unnecessarily detailed solar system. If you tell me you’d do anything for me, you’re really at my mercy.”

“Uh oh. Sounds dangerous.” He laughed softly. You shared another moment of eye contact and smiled softly at each other.

“It’s late. We should probably get to bed.” You suggested.

“You’re right. Thank you again for this.” Peter said and picked up the project. You didn’t know if you were sleep deprived or delirious from working on the project all night but you felt compelled to share every secret you had with Peter.

“Honestly, Peter, I was happy to do this stupid science project because it kept me from thinking about you on your date.” You told him as you got up and rubbed your tired eyes.

“Really? Why didn’t you want to think about that?”

“Because whenever I did think about you on your date, I wanted to throw up.” You admitted. “And then rip out my hair. And then eat my hair and throw it back up. And then kill my self or something.”

“Well,” Peter said slowly, “I see your urge to rip your hair out and raise you the fact that I only said yes to this date because she wears the same perfume as you. And I needed a night off from staring at the ceiling and thinking about what would happen if I just told you how I felt.”

You stopped mid yawn and gave him a confused look. His eyes were darting everywhere except for your eyes and you could see the rosy glow on his cheeks even in the dim light of the kitchen.

“Oh? And how do you feel?” You wondered and crossed your arms. Peter gulped before sitting up straight in his chair.

“I don’t know. Why did me being on a date make you so upset?” He challenged you. You narrowed your eyes at him and he looked nervous but didn’t back down.

“I asked you first.” You shrugged.

“Well I asked you second.” He replied. “And as Aristotle or whoever once said, first is the worst. Second is the best. Third is the one with the hairy chest.”

“Ew, what?” You grimaced. “It’s treasure chest. Third is the one with the treasure chest.”

“That makes no sense. Why would a person in third place, the very last place, be rewarded with a treasure chest? They’re the loser so they get a hairy chest. Now that’s sensical.”

“No it’s not.” You scoffed. “It makes even less sense. If I come in third place, does that mean my chest will grow hair? Or does it mean I will be given a torso with a hairy chest? Or, hear me out, does it imply that my chest is already hairy. And that’s why I came in third.”

“You did what in third?” Peter mumbled.

“Shut up. Can we get back to what we were talking about?”

“You’re right. We should go to sleep.” Peter said and tried to walk past you. You placed a hand on his shoulder to keep him in place and he gulped.

“Hold up.” You told him. “I’m cashing in that favor you owe me right now. We gotta talk. Sit back down.”

“I’m sat.” Peter said quietly and sat back down in his seat. You pulled your chair up to be across from him and sat down as well.

“I’m going to ask you again and I don’t want to hear another single reference to chests or placement.” You prefaced. “How do you feel?”

Peter scratched the back of his head to spare some time because he knew he was caught. He suddenly got a shy smile on his face suddenly and looked over at his project.

“Can I show you something?” He asked you as he pulled the sun off the center of the project.

“Dude.” You sighed. “I just glued that.”

“I know. And I’ll fix it. But look.” He said and turned the sun over. You looked at him in confusion and leaned forward to see what he was talking about. On the bottom of the sun in Peter’s hand writing were your first and last initials.

“My initials? Why? You smiled in surprise and looked up at him.

“Because the solar system revolves around the sun.” He explained. “But my solar system revolves around you.”

You stayed quiet as he put the sun back on the model and took your hand. A look of skepticism stayed on your face as he looked into your eyes.

“I know I do a good job of hiding it. But there is a piece of you in everything I do.” He said. “There always has been. This was just one of my more obvious ones.”

“Wow.” You said after a beat. “I really should’ve looked at the bottom of these.”

“Yeah. You should’ve.” He laughed and leaned in a little.

“Yeah. I should’ve.” You cracked a smile and leaned in as well. You stared into big brown eyes for a second and decided this was the last night you and Peter were just friends.

“Can I ask you one more thing?”

“Is it about the solar system?”

“No.” You rolled your eyes. “Did you kiss her tonight?”

“I don’t know. Ask me that question again one minute from now.” Peter said as he closed the gap between you and kissed you. You wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him closer since you’d been waiting for this for a while. And it was everything you imagined it would be. When the kiss started to heat up, Peter slipped an arm around you and picked you up with ease. He hastily placed you down on the counter and you jumped apart when you heard a crunching sound.

You pulled out of the kiss and looked down to see that Peter had placed you directly on top of the science project that you had just spent hours fixing. You both stared at the scattered pieces in stunned silence for a moment before he gave you a sheepish smile. You didn’t smile back and instead stared daggers at him while trying to explode his head using your mind.

“I can fix it?” He said through a nervous laugh. You held your hands up in defeat and hopped off the counter without a word.

“What? That’s how this night ends? Come on.” Peter whined and followed you as you left the room and continued your silent treatment towards him.

“You’re seriously going to walk away after that? We had something going there. Don’t go now.” He whined some more and trotted after you like a puppy.

“Go get something going with the planets I spent the last four hours glueing back together.” You grumbled and held up your middle finger for him to see as he trailed after you.

“Come on.” He half laughed, half groaned. “You can’t send me to bed after a kiss like that. We need to at least talk about it. Let’s go back and…” Peter trailed off when you passed his bedroom and he caught a glimpse of his clean floor.

“Wait, did you clean my room too?” He asked, knowing he had left it a mess before he left for the date. You froze in your tracks for a moment but decided to keep the upper hand instead of admitting to Peter that you were so down bad that you had in fact cleaned his room.

“I don’t know. I don’t have all the answers, Peter. Goodnight.” You said and slammed your door in his face. He barely had time to react before you opened your door back up and grabbed a fistful of his shirt.

“Get your ass in here, loser.”

“Don’t you mean get your anus in here? Because it sounds like Uranus?” He said with a proud smile. You stared him dead in the eyes and didn’t crack even a hint of smile.

“Do you want to come in here or not?”

“I already unzipped my pants, yeah.” He admitted as he dashed through your bedroom door.

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