#I need to draw the three of us being silly and hugging and stuff | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shintorikhazumi · 3 years ago

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“Daydream.”

A/N: I have NOT written in a while. Or posted rather. It’s been.... a month??? I’m sorry. It’s been.. hard. I also have summer classes which are slowly choking me. Yey.

Anyway, I hope... you all enjoy? I think I’m rusty. There are a lotta plotholes and some... hhrnnghh characterization that i feel iffy about. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

Anywhooooo. Thank you to my lovely platonic crushie @tanuki-pyon hihi for allowing me to use your drawing for inspiration ;-;. Thank youuu <3 Hope you like this.

Enjoy?

~Shintori Khazumi

It is a bustling city, full of life and vivid color. The songs of the late afternoon played- their notes produced by that independent street musician, backed by the passing cars beneath the balcony, the rhythmic dripping of a loose faucet in the bath, and the rustle of leaves caused by a passing breeze that caresses her cheek.

Life, color, music, and a touch.

They all paint a particular picture- one of wine-red eyes, and a charming smile; brown locks that she had tucked behind a heated ear, adorned with exotic jewelry she had purchased for her.

As she draws the cup away from her lips, she sighs in contentment, the distinctive taste of Boldo tea and the dimming rays of light blanketing the expanse of what she could see making her smile bittersweet.

It's getting late.

She knows she has to finish her packing. After all, this fleeting vacation is a dream she'd have to wake up from, come the morning rays of tomorrow. It was short-lived, but she'd like to think these few moments in the city or Buenos Aires are moments worth remembering forever.

Even if there was a possibility that they were but a daydream.

That she is her daydream.

Her phone rings, and she sighs a different sigh. It's one of disappointment and reluctance as walks into the room, swiping the blinking gadget off the table. She taps the green icon, placing the device by her ear, eyes dulling as she listens to the speaker on the other end with poorly-veiled disinterest.

["-Are you listening?! Do you understand? The moment you step off that plane, your fiance will be there to greet you. Then he will drive you to work, and you will-"]

Her face contorts in disgust at the statement. "He's not my fiance." She says, voice cold and adamant.

["Diana! How could you say that- about Andrew Hanbridge, no less! The man who has not once given up on you, unlike all the other low-life suitors out there. He's rich, intelligent, charming, and well-mannered."]

Diana scoffs at the very first descriptor of the man she was to marry supposedly. 'Rich'. Of course he had to be.

"Listen here, and listen well. You've been off on these silly trips, writing god knows what for well over ten years. It's time you grew up and got married, and inherited the corporation!"

Diana grits her teeth, hands crumpling a few papers on the table. She immediately regrets that action as she realizes her manuscripts now have ugly creases in them, much like her own plans for life. Not that those were any easier to iron out.

["Then dinner at the Hanbridges will be at seven-thirty. Sharp. I have a dress prepared for you in your room. We will be discussing your wedding with And-"]

And she hangs up.

Turning her phone off, she throws it onto her mattress, the silken covers causing the device to slide right off and onto the floor with a thud.

Diana curses as she rushes over, checking for any cracks or damage. She hasn't turned the lights on, and her open balcony does not give her much light, so she opts to run her fingers over the screen, praying she hadn't broken anything. As able as she was to afford a phone, that doesn't mean she wanted a change at any time.

...also, her number was saved here. Diana isn’t good enough with phones to know how to retrieve that.

Diana sighs again. This time it is of relief. She leans back with a plop against the side of the bed, staring blankly at her wall.

Tomorrow... she leaves.

Tomorrow, she never sees her again.

Tomorrow, she talks of marriage plans with two families who couldn't care less about what she actually desires in life.

Tomorrow... she's gone. She may as well be dead if she wouldn't even be 'living' in the first place.

Tomorrow...

What would she be doing?

Where would she be at?

Would she still have the same smile on her face as she greeted the passersby who would freeze in place, stand in awe as time stilled for them as they become entranced in the magic that was her dance?

Diana frowns.

Would someone else fall in love with her?

Like Diana has?

...Would she... fall in love with them back...?

Diana feels a pang in her heart as she slumps to the floor, now lying against the hard wood. If she were back in the UK, she wouldn't be caught *dead* in this position. Her aunt would have her head.

She blinks, staring at the ceiling.

Oh? It's quite comfortable, she thinks, consciousness slipping into nothingness.

-It's a slap to her cheek that has her sitting up in haste, body moving in a trained way of self-defense as she arrests the perpetrator in a hold face-down onto the floors.

"Diana! Diana! Fu- shit! Waitwaitwaitwait-owowowowow it huuurtsss, it hurtsssss!!!"

And it’s a familiar voice that cuts through her panic, and makes her let go rather clumsily, resulting in more hurt for Diana’s victim.

“Akko!” She exclaims, happiness and concern in her voice.

“Well, you sure look happy. Are you into this sort of play?” The girl chuckles wryly, rubbing at her joints as she fixes herself into a seated position on the floor as Diana kneels in front of her, confused at the words.

“Play?”

“Yeah. BDSM, that kind of stuff.”

Diana flushes at the bold remark, floundering helplessly as her mind ceases to produce a coherent response.

Akko watches her with open amusement, head resting against her one propped up knee. She hugs the limb, keeping her steady as she stares at Diana unabashedly.

Diana stares back.

“Wh-what.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“I-! Ah-uh, nnggh?!” Diana doesn’t know if she’s going into a seizure. Maybe she is. Maybe she should have gone to med school after all, to confirm-

“Pff-” Akko begins giggling, then cackling, then just falling onto her back, hollering in laughter on the floor.

“Wh-what! What… why are you laughing? I- Did i do something silly?”

Akko wipes a tear from her eyes, laying on her stomach and propping her head up on both hands as she faces Diana. “You’re silly.” She teases, tongue poking out, eyes crinkled moons.

Diana can’t help herself, biting onto the bait.

It’s a deep kiss, and Diana didn’t know she knew how to do it.

What do people call it? French kissing?

They pull apart and Akko presses her sweaty forehead to Diana’s, chuckling breathlessly against her lips.

“Many types of attacks today, Miss Cavendish. You are one powerful woman with a vast arsenal.” She jests, a hand reaching to cup Diana’s face and pull her back in for a chaster peck on the lips that turns into two, then three.

“I like to have many options at my disposal.” Diana sighs into every brush of their lips, returning a few of her own, nipping at Akko’s bottom lip as she leads her into a submissive position, lying on her back with Diana hovering over her.

“Boy, am I glad you do…” Akko whispers, eyes glued to Diana’s glistening mouth, the pair leaning closer and closer and- “OHMYGOSH-WAIT. THIS. This is not what I came here to do!” Akko yelps, pushing Diana’s face away and accidentally spraining her neck.

Diana groans as she rubs at her nape, cursing quietly.

“SHIT SORRY”

Diana waves her concern away as she offers a crooked grin.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry. I’m sorry, Diana. Sorry, I-”

“Akko.” Diana giggles, carefully nearing the girl once again. She leans in slowly this time- just in case-, and plants a kiss on her cheek. “How and why did you come find me?” She asks, tone joyful, yet pained.

“Because I know you’re leaving tomorrow.”

Diana hears a record scratch, and the city’s music comes to a pause. It’s deathly silent, and her breath catches in her lungs, heart painful.

Diana’s smile falls, as she places distance between them, sitting formally in front of Akko.

“You…”

“You told me in your sleep…” Akko murmurs, her words playing flashbacks in Diana’s mind- memories of a night that was not supposed to exist.

“No- I… I… Akko…”

Voices in her head play back all her duties, her realities that tell her that the woman in front of her is not a part of them. She’s a daydream, and she’s- as all daydreams are- a fleeting one.

Diana has to wake up tomorrow morning. She has to go back tomorrow.

She has to be ‘the real Diana Cavendish’ again. Not because she wants to be. But because she is.

“Diana, I need to say that-”

“Then- then…” Diana cuts Akko off before she can deal more damage to her mental state. “Then you must know… that being here… makes it harder for me not to leave.” Diana replied with a crack in her voice. “I can’t stay, Akko. I can’t. Even if I wanted to…” She whispered, unable to project her voice.

“Diana, that’s not what this is abou-”

“I can’t stay here, Akko! I’m supposed to go home and get married!”

Her eyes widen, and so do Akko’s. Diana… doesn’t know what to say. Neither does Akko. They both remain frozen in time and in place.

“I can’t… stay here… with you…” She feels a tear slip past her cheek… then another, and another, until they dribble down her chin and onto the back of her hands that are clenched on her lap. “You’re a daydream… and… and…”

“A reality you won’t face?” Akko asks, voice surprisingly steady and clear. “I’m not a daydream, Diana Cavendish. I’m not a figment of your imagination.” She speaks, voice bolder as she gets up and walks up to Diana, making the girl crawl backwards as she hits her back against the foot of the bed.

Diana gasps as Akko grips her collar, pulling her closer to her. She instinctively closes her eyes, awaiting a hit- a punch, a slap, whatever it was.

And she gasps again as the soft caress, much like the gentle winds soothe her skin and her pounding heart.

“I’m not your summer getaway, or your escape from real life. I’m not a fairytale to lull you to bedtime that you forget once the sun rises.” Akko explains with a crooked smile, tears staining her cheeks as she buries her face into the crook of Diana’s neck. Her breaths tickle Diana there, and her tears pain Diana’s heart.

Diana moves to wrap her arms around Akko, but stops midway. She… doesn’t deserve to do that.

“...hold me…”

But Akko deserves to be listened to.

And so, Diana holds her. She holds her tight, and she doesn’t let go. Not until Akko wants her to.

“I’m not asking you to stay.” Akko murmurs against Diana’s skin as the latter runs her fingers through smooth strands of hair.

Diana admits that hearing that statement hurts as much as it relieves her.

Her sense of duty tells her she has to go back to her home in England and run her company, and yet her heart told her that Akko was her home, and that not staying would mean losing something that she might never be able to earn back again.

As much as it pained her to know more, she needs to. For both their sakes. “Then what must I do? What can I- we… what do you want me to do? What do you want us to do?”

Akko pulls back slightly, grinning sheepishly as she presses her feelings into a kiss against Diana’s lips, before pulling her up with her to head towards the door.

Upon opening it, Diana sees a few bags lined up against the wall, ready for a trip to god-knows-where.

Her mind wasn’t registering this at all-

“Bloody fuck.”

“Took you long enough to figure that one out, huh?” Akko laughs, bringing their joined hands to her lips, and kissing Diana’s palm. “Weren’t you supposed to be the smart one?”

“Well… I… holy shit…”

“I had no idea you could curse like that.”

“Mother of… my… arse…”

“Mother of your arse? Really?”

“Akko.”

“Yes?”

“Akko.”

“Yes, Diana.” Akko rolls her eyes, as she pats Diana’s cheek with her free hand. “You’re supposed to take me with you.”

“Bloody hell…” Diana murmurs. “Just marry me.”

“...”

“EH?! Really?!”

Bonus :>

“So why were you in my room that night in the first place?” Diana laughs, running her fingers along Akko’s cool arm, holding her close as they snuggled together in a hammock, reminiscing a daydream so long ago.

“Ehh... are you really asking me this right now? Diana, it’s been years since that happened.”

“And yet, I know you remember it as well as I do.” Diana laughs, knowing that Akko was rolling her eyes as she scoffs against her neck. “I’m right, aren’t I.”

“Cheeky.” Diana chuckles as Akko pokes her cheek in annoyance, but explains anyway. “I was knocking on the door, but you weren’t answering. I rang, and spoke through the intercom too. Then room service came by and I said I just forgot my key and they let me in.”

Diana feels slightly concerned about the security of that hotel. But wait, there are better questions that need answering.

“... then why did you slap me?”

“...”

“Akko?”

“Because you were asleep.”

Diana guffaws, disbelieving. There was no way she was that hard to awaken. She pulls back slightly, looking Akko in the eyes.

“You couldn’t have woken me up other ways?”

Akko looks away momentarily, feet already swung off to the side, as if she is about to step out. Which she did.

“...no?”

Diana watches her skeptically, now also sitting up.

“Akko?”

“Well, you know. It was nice chatting and all, but maybe I should get back to my practice for my road show and...”

“Akko? Akko… Akko why are you walking away? Akko- hey! Come back here- AKKO!-”

And she was gone, bolting like the wind, leaving Diana stunned and comically livid.

“ATSUKO KAGARI-CAVENDISH, YOU COME BACK HERE RIGHT. THIS. INSTANT!”

#diakko #diana cavendish #atsuko kagari #lwa #little witch academia #fanfic

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bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture · 4 years ago

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Finally done with this chapter and this arc. Can’t believe I have an entire post that’s just about Tsukauchi Naomasa. The discord server is so happy. There’s a lot of Naomasa love in there, and I mean, can you blame them? Dude is the straight man in a world of shounen bullshit. Gotta respect his ability to take everything happening in stride.

[No. 21 - In Each of Our Hearts]

We have brief passage of time wherein the police arrive at the USJ. We see Tsukauchi doing a headcount of the students while Sansa is directing the other police in containing and leading the villains out of the building. Naomasa is able to determine that, aside from the one with the messed up legs (Izuku), all of the students are unharmed. As if to confirm this, we get some wide shots of the class in two panels, showing everyone to be perhaps roughed up, but not really injured.

Hagakure puts her hand on Ojiro’s shoulder, commenting on how he’d ended up in the fire zone, and on his own at that, with a small congratulations. Ojiro admits he’d thought everyone was alone, and that he’d only survived with hit-and-run tactics. He then asks Hagakure where she was, and she points out Todoroki before stating she’d been in the landslide area, and that Todoroki’s crazy strong. We see Todoroki and his worry that he could have frozen her, while Ojiro in the background just says that he’s glad she’s okay.

Aoyama, of course, then tries to take center stage. Aoyama seems like he’s about to reveal where he’d been, but then turns to the other students to ask them if they have any ideas.

He first tries the group consisting of Tokoyami, Koda, Kirishima, and Kaminari, but all of them are busy with a conversation. Tokoyami makes a comment on how he guesses ��those lowlifes’ were spread out, waiting for them. Kirishima slams a fist into the palm of his other hand and complains about how the villains had been looking down on them because they were kids.

Then he turns to Tsuyu, asking her where she thinks he was. She plays along for a bit, asking him where, only for Aoyama to dramatically turn away and pose while stating that it’s a secret. Tsuyu turns her attention back to Tsukauchi, completely uninterested in his shenanigans.

Tsukauchi states that they (likely meaning the police and pro heroes) are going to get the students back to the classroom for now, and that this is no time to take their statements. Tsuyu asks after Aizawa, and Naomasa gives her the details - both arms smashed to splinters, face is fractured. Thankfully, there’s no brain damage, but his eye sockets have been pulverized, so there’s a chance he may suffer long-term loss of vision - or so he hears. He seems to be on a call with the hospital at the time, or perhaps the station where all of this cleanup and investigation are being processed.

This is not exactly the welcome news Tsuyu or Mineta were looking for, both of them looking pretty torn up over it.

Tsukauchi continues down the list of injuries - Thirteen has terrible lacerations across her back and upper arms, but her life isn’t in danger. All Might’s injuries aren’t life threatening either; it’s likely that Recovery Girl’s healing will be enough for him, so he’s gone off to the nurse’s office instead.

Ochako and Tenya, basically in unison, ask after Izuku, worry etched across their faces. Naomasa takes a second to place the name, but confirms that Izuku also made it to the nurse’s office in time. He then states that he happens to have business there himself, so he’ll leave the rest of the cleanup to Sansa. Sansa gives a salute and confirmation.

(Meanwhile, Ochako and Ashido are both puzzled because Sansa’s not a dog. Don’t be rude, girls.)

Nedzu notes that UA will need to completely revamp their security systems. Midnight adds on how teleportation quirks are rare enough, and that it’s a shame one of them had to go and turn villain.

Another officer shows up to report to Tsukauchi, stating that they’ve apprehended what seems to be a villain in a thicket about 400 meters from the USJ. Tsukauchi asks what condition the villain is in, and the officer states that the villain seems unharmed, and that he didn’t resist arrest. He also adds that, oddly enough, the villain isn’t responding in any way, and appears to be mute.

Tsukauchi turns to Nedzu, asking for the opportunity to go over the school with a fine tooth comb. Nedzu gives him the go-ahead, saying that some won’t be happy, but the police certainly have jurisdiction. He notes that investigations are Tsukauchi’s field of expertise, so he can do what he feels is necessary.

We transition to the nurse’s office, with Izuku and Toshinori both stuck in bedrest. And honestly, I just cannot get over how tall Toshinori is, like.

Look at that. If he picked up Izuku for a hug, Izuku’s feet would maybe reach his knees.

Anyways. Plot. Yes. Recovery Girl tells the two of them that, the situation being what it was, she can’t really scold them this time. Toshinori says that he thinks he’s probably shortened his time limit again, and that he’ll be lucky if he can still get an hour a day. Izuku’s worried about him, but Toshinori shoves himself up into a sitting position with a groan, shrugging it off with a ‘what can you do? Bad things happen.’

The nurse’s office door opened, Tsukauchi letting himself in with an apology for the intrusion/interruption. He greets Toshinori as an old friend, while Toshinori’s surprised Tsukauchi is here. Izuku shoots up into a seated position, worried about if it’s okay for Toshinori to be seen while he’s not buffed up. Toshinori says it’s fine, then gets a bit silly about his introduction of Tsukauchi to Izuku.

Tsukauchi calling him out on the weird intro though. Like I said, this man really puts up with so much shounen-world bullshit as the straight man.

Tsukauchi then bring up his reason for stopping by - not to rush Toshinori or anything, but he’d like to ask about the villains. Toshinori interrupts him to ask if the students are alright, as well as Aizawa and Thirteen. Tsukauchi’s quiet for a moment, before huffing a laugh. He says that besides Izuku, the students have nothing more than a few bumps and bruises. The two teachers are also out of danger for now. If the three hadn’t put their lives on the line, the students wouldn’t have made it out unscathed.

Toshinori acknowledges the report, but tells Tsukauchi he’s got one thing wrong, which draws a surprised frown from him. Toshinori goes on to explain how in that fight, the students put their lives on the line too. To be thrown into a real battle so young and survive - now these first years know how scary the wider world can be. Has he ever heard of such a class? The villains picked the wrong fight, because the members of class 1a are going to be might heroes indeed - and he’s going to make sure of it.

All Might really does have completely faith in this class, it’s incredible.

As an aside, I know it’s probably a small editing mistake, but Izuku lying back down in one panel just to be back up in a seated position the next one is just. Fucking hilarious.

As a last weird bit. Tsukauchi just. Tapping his ear here? Either that’s a teeny foreshadowing of the quirk the fandom believes he has, or it’s just. A really weird gesture.

(I want to clarify, for people who aren’t aware of it, but Horikoshi has never actually confirmed that Tsukauchi has a truth-sensing quirk. His sister’s quirk, which is touch-based lie detection, is confirmed in the Vigilantes side manga, but not his!)

We get some narration as time passes - classes were cancelled the next day (Thursday), but the class couldn’t rest easy. After that (presumably the day after, which would be Friday), we come back to all of the class waiting for morning homeroom to start. Tenya is vibrating as he directs the class, stating that morning homeroom’s about to begin, so everyone to their seats. Sero points out that everyone else is sitting, and that he’s the only one up.

The classroom door opens to reveal a heavily bandaged Aizawa, who gives them a brief greeting as he wobbles his way in. The class is shocked that he’s back already, calling him an undeniable pro. Tenya, who finally is in his seat, snaps his hand up as he states he’s glad to see him doing well, which Ochako mutters about whether you can really call that ‘doing well.’

Aizawa shakes his head, stating that his welfare isn’t important, because their fight is far from over. The class is confused at that statement, with Katsuki, Izuku, and Mineta all questioning his statement. Aizawa clarifies himself - UA’s sports festival is fast approaching.

The class gasps, clamoring about how that’s so totally ordinary.

And with that, we’ve wrapped up the chapter and the USJ arc. I’ll probably do a few side posts before moving on to said arc, since the sports festival is 23 chapters long (ch 22-44) - longer than everything that’s happened up to this point in the manga!

If you have any questions / thoughts / observations you want to share, feel free to! I like hearing what y’all think about this early stuff, especially those of you who were anime-only and so seeing some of this stuff for the first time or used differently by the show.

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jcmorrigan · 4 years ago

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Somehow, I can imagine Vinny, Al and Victor ""adopting"" Taylor so...👀

I’m just going to do this one off the top of my head and see what happens

-Taylor was accepted into RMU, but oh no! They don’t have enough money to cover the dorms. Their parents are just “It’s too bad you don’t have any friends in G4 to stay with″ and Taylor realizes...oh no...I have friends in G4.

-They didn’t want to admit how much they actually hoped Revenge House would accept them when they called. Taylor will tell anyone who asks that they called for the sole purpose of getting shot down and ruling this out.

-Vincent: “I see. Well - “ Albert: “YES” Victor: “I’ll fix up the guest bedroom” Vincent: “...I guess you’re staying with us then”

-There are a few house rules. Don’t go in the basement (there are cyborgs in there). Don’t roam the house after curfew (that’s when we let the cyborgs out). Don’t feed Winston (Taylor isn’t sure if this one is a joke or an actual warning).

-Otherwise they get a pretty nice bedroom, soft bed, quality blankets. Not soundproof and they can hear the screams and weird metallic noises from the rooms two floors down, but hey, they won’t complain.

-At first, the guys pretty much leave Taylor to their own devices. That’s the nice thing about them being a legal adult: they don’t actually have to be good or attentive parents

-Victor and Albert are the two who pay them the most attention. Victor actually carries on conversation like a normal person. Well, mostly. He still always kind of sounds like he’s gathering information to use for nefarious purposes, but Taylor’s used to that by now. Also being called “my dear Taylor” was offputting at first but now they see it’s a genuine term of affection.

-Albert is...an interesting guardian. He’s always approaching Taylor to talk about non sequiturs, usually morbid, and Taylor has gotten used to this and kind of enjoys it. “Speaking purely in hypotheticals, what do you think tastes better: the spleen or the lungs?” “Spleen. Why are you even asking me this? That one’s obvious.”

-But weirdly Albert is in exchange the one who actively cares the most for Taylor. He makes sure they’re stocked up on supplies, and by that I mean Taylor enters their designated bathroom to find no fewer than twenty toothbrushes, all different colors, bound with a ribbon and a note that says “Pick your favorite! ~AK”

-Also instead of taking them shopping for new college wardrobe, Taylor is awoken at 6 a.m. by a phone call from Albert. “I’m at Hot Topic and they have an assortment of androgynous leather accessories. What’s your size?”

-Vincent and Taylor don’t interact much, at first. But they develop a relationship based on their lack of relationship. They both enjoy the value of comfortable silence. They can be in the same room doing separate things and know they don’t have to bother with greeting one another outside of a quick nod or 0.2 seconds of eye contact.

-Right away, though, they all make it clear that Taylor gets free food. The trio does their usual routine of making extremely high-quality luxury food and just lets Taylor chill out doing nothing until the dinner bell rings. The catch is that some of these things, they weren’t sure were food before this, but hey, turns out they don’t hate sashimi.

-Classes start. Every day when Taylor gets home and brings their books and assignments of the day to the dining room to study, Albert and Victor flock around them. Albert: “How was school? Did you make any lasting memories? Do you have an ARCHNEMESIS yet?” Victor: “Does Professor Browne still have a stick up his ass, metaphorically speaking? Has anyone of your preferred gender asked you out yet?”

-Until dinner time, the dining room is Taylor’s study sanctuary.

-They know better than to bring friends home, however. Not a single college pal who’s entered Revenge House has left with at all a good feeling. Some of them have considered calling the cops because there’s no way these people aren’t going to murder Taylor in the dead of night (sillies...Taylor’s the one person they WON’T murder in the dead of night)

-And as for dates? Unfortunately, the few times Taylor has been asked out, they’ll keep it secret and arrange a meetup at a neutral location and show up at the restaurant only to, halfway through the date, realize that they can spot distinct flashes of pink, red, and black positioned around the restaurant like the Bermuda Triangle and greeeaaat, their guardians followed them to spy on the date.

-Which isn’t always bad because one time somebody actually tried to take advantage of Taylor in the alley out back of the restaurant and before any articles of clothing could be forcibly removed, the offender practically explodes from the impact of being shot by Victor, punched by Vincent, and stabbed by Albert at the same time (the bullet almost clipped Albert but it was worth it)

-Taylor’s never sure how to introduce these people. Parents? Guardians? Friends? Roommates? Usually, it ends up something like “This is my...this is...this is Vincent. He’s Vincent. That’s it.”

-They go out as a “family” unit sometimes, usually to dinner or something where they can all just have conversation. There’s usually going to be some rando who walks past the guys and goes “Your daughter is adorable!” and Albert pulls out a rather long and wicked knife while saying “Their preferred pronouns are they/them, and I HIGHLY suggest you respect that.” Victor and Vincent glare on in the background.

-Taylor is torn because they like having guardians who respect their gender identity but also some of these people are just making honest mistakes

-Victor: “I just want to warn you that when you engage with other college students, you may be pressured to try smoking, drinking, and other narcotics. In a strange environment, any of these may be laced with poison or spiked with different drugs. Here in Vincent’s mansion, our stashes are always pure, so if there’s anything you want, just ask us and we will get you a safe supply.” (Though “safe cigarettes” and “safe hard liquor” are oxymorons to a 19 y/o but Victor is trying. Taylor doesn’t even want any of those things)

-Sometimes, though........Taylor has to be the parent figure to these three

-They might end up trying to drink away their sorrows, falling asleep in a vomit-covered living room. Taylor will clean up any obvious mess and get them some pillows.

-Taylor: “So, did you ever want to...talk to me any more about the childhood stuff that was bothering you?” Albert: “...Yes”

-One night, though, they make a big breakthrough. They find evidence for the Myers revenge scheme and confront Vincent with it.

-Vincent tells them everything. Not without getting a little emotional.

-Taylor’s just like “Oh.”

-Somehow this turns into a hug.

-The guys FORBID Taylor from getting directly involved with Myers. That said...they do act a consultation role sometimes.

-Eventually they meet some of the basement cyborgs. Also they’ve gotten pretty friendly with the Dream Eaters. If all the guys are out of the house and Winston is doing his usual hermit thing, Taylor will be “babysat” by a group of awkward yet well-meaning monsters. (The Dream Eaters have been instructed to keep the cyborgs from eating Taylor, though, and they’ve had to actually step in several times. The Dream Eaters also like the taste of human flesh but Albert said this one is NOT FOOD so they respect that.)

-Those days when the guys come home dragging a corpse/an unconscious person, and Taylor catches them, and the guys stare at them like deer in headlights until they say “I never saw this. Carry on.”

-At some point, though, Taylor decides they want a little more, so they suggest “Do you guys wanna go to the mall and catch a movie?”

-Cue a mall trip that involves Vincent criticizing all the secondhand clothing, Victor flirting with the cashiers at every boutique, and nobody knows exactly what Albert is up to but there’s blood leaking from the dressing room so let’s not ask.

-They go to see a fall blockbuster that Taylor really enjoys and the three guys are having varying degrees of enjoyment toward. If it’s got deep themes, Vincent will be happy. If it’s got romance, Victor will be happy. If it’s horror, Albert will be happy. If it’s a superhero film, NOBODY BUT TAYLOR IS HAPPY (so they kind of like taking the guys to Marvel stuff to annoy them on purpose)

-They talk the guys into accompanying them on other Taylor-style adventures. Like bowling. Bowling was either the best or the worst idea they had, because it turned into a four-person DEATH MATCH. (Figuratively, this time. Maybe literally next time.)

-Vincent draws a HARD LINE IN THE SAND at pizza, though. He will not even look at a pizza, let alone eat one or enter a pizza establishment.

-After some months, Taylor and Vincent are conversing more, but it’s usually Taylor asking questions about how the legal system works because Vincent can explain it better than anyone else and in a way that doesn’t fly over Taylor’s head.

-Sometimes, though...Taylor gets sick. The first time, they didn’t actually expect any of the guys to do anything about it. But Vincent drops off hot meals without a word and leaves, and rude as he is, the food’s always DELICIOUS and particular faves of Taylor’s. Victor is the “Text me if you need anything, sweetie” guy who will drop everything if Taylor needs an ice pack or a barf bin. Albert will sit in the room at a safe distance to talk to Taylor about random things and make sure they don’t get lonely. Also, Taylor will have weirdly no nightmares whatsoever, and they know Albert has something to do with this.

-Sometimes...Taylor is sad. All three of the guys will sit around them, encouraging them to talk about everything that’s bothersome. Brief hugs will be exchanged (Victor’s are a bit too tight since, y’know, metal arms, but that’s fine by Taylor). And then if there was a particular entity that caused the sadness, well, that entity might end up dead in a pool of blood in a back alley later.

-There’s also a contract on the table stating that if Taylor is ever incarcerated, then Vincent, Victor, and Albert will break them out of jail at the earliest convenience. Taylor isn’t sure when this will ever have to be used but they’re glad it’s there.

-They make an even more amazing meal than usual for Taylor’s birthday and spend way, WAY too much on gifts. Some of which aren’t even things Taylor wanted (”It’s...a baseball bat with barbed wire around it. Uh...just what I always wanted? Thanks, Albert.”)

#vincent edgeworth #victor blake #albert krueger #taylor lee #blakeworther #ask to tag for content #somehow i REBLOGGED this instead of tagging it the first time #i blame tumblr

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nextqueue · 4 years ago

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All An Act (part one)

Genre(s): romance, slow burn, angst, drama

Pairing: Ji Chang Wook x OC black female

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: Aliah is a new foreign actress in South Korea who just got her first big break as a lead actress in a drama. Her co-lead is the ever amazing Ji Chang Wook whom she has always had a silly little crush on.

[a/n]: I am not the best with summaries so please read and let me know what you think. (you can leave summary ideas also I don’t mind). The overwhelming lack of black writers and black characters in fanfics on this app is wild to me so I will only be writing from the angle of a black reader, if ya don’t like it I am 100% sure you can find plenty of stories to cater to your demographic here. All feedback is welcome! Hope you all are have a blessed day or night (depending on where you are from)!

“Okay Aliah, we are going to go over the kiss scene now.”

I feel my palms start to sweat and feel for one of my coping skills but find none because of the wardrobe. I start flicking my nails against each other to placate the need to chew on them.

“Hey. There is no need to be so nervous. I got you.” his hands engulf my face and my heart rate picks up without my permission. This is not helping at all. I want him away from me, I need him away from me. I won’t be able to breathe if he is so close. I can’t think.

The director yells action and I lose all my anxiety.

He looks into my eyes willing me to understand what he is trying to convey. My eyes close on their own. The kiss was shy at first like how we discussed at the meeting then something snaps and we both seem to forget about acting. The way he pulls me to him makes me think he wants more so I give him more. I open my mouth to him and he happily dives in. His hands slide down my back and come to rest on my hips, pulling me flush against him. He is hard. I rub against him a little then pull away when a soft groan leaves his lips. I barely remember my next lines and everyone can see his internal struggle to remember his lines.

He recites his lines perfectly after covering up his slip up by pretending he is short of breath, genius really. This is why he is one of the best actors in Korea and I aspire to be like him.

The director yells cut and we both snap out of our stupor. I feel my face, willing it to cool down I remove myself from the set to catch my breath and process what just happened. I kissed Ji Chang Wook. The Ji Chang Wook. My hand finds its way to my lips of its own volition. Touching where his lips once laid. My makeup artist comes to touch up my makeup snapping me back to reality.

“Hey. Calm down. It was just a kiss kiddo.” she rubs my arms lovingly.

“I know.”

“But?”

“But...it’s Ji Chang Wook. I have been a fan of his for years now and this all just seems so surreal.” I spread my legs to make it easier for her to reach my face. She is a tiny little thing, barely reaching my shoulder.

“I understand that but you have to focus.”

“Was it really that bad?”

“No, but I could tell you weren’t just acting because I am constantly in your face.” she looks me dead in my eyes, challenging me to say she is wrong. I can’t do anything but look away and blush.

The director calls us back for a few more takes of the scene, I can do nothing but try to still my heart for the rest of the evening. It seems like forever before the shooting is finally done and my lips, I know are completely swollen and raw from the intensity of the kisses. The director had us try at least fifteen different kisses from different angles. With each one Chang Wook was patient and gentle, always talking to me before and after and making sure to hold me gently in between. I couldn’t help but feel special.

I’m not so dense that I would think he would catch feelings from a couple of kisses and touches. Packing my stuff up at the end of the shoot I try my best to keep the events of the day out of my mind. I don’t want to dream about him, tonight, I have managed not to so far and we have been filming for three months so far. Tonight is different though. I know I am going to, my emotions are too high and I was far too sensitive to his touches all day. The way his hands gripped my face each time like I was made of glass. The way he gazed into my eyes as if he was asking permission each time. As if he was trying to tell me something other than what the script was saying. The way his lips would brush against mine before claiming mine. The way it seemed like he was trying to brand the shape of his mouth onto mine. Wanting me to only know his lips, his shape, the feel of him, the taste.

I feel something cool touch the back of my neck making me jump and turn to face it. It is him. Standing there jacket and jeans on with a smile on his face, looking like the most perfect boyfriend.

“Hey, you okay? I was calling your name.” I watch the way his lips form words partially because it’s a habit. After all, I’m hard of hearing, but mainly because I like looking at his mouth.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just deep in thought, I guess.” That wasn’t necessarily a lie.

“Mmm, okay. I was wondering...what you were doing after. Would you like to go get something to eat?”

I look around in bewilderment barely registering that he is addressing me. I search for my manager and best friend, seeing her across the set talking with the director. He follows my line of sight and looks back at me with a soft smile.

“If it is okay with your manager of course.” he concedes.

“Oh...uh… it should be fine but let me text her.”

I watch for her reaction after I message her. She checks her phone briefly then looks over at me giving me a thumbs up. My phone pings, she is asking if I have my keys and if my phone is charged enough. I nod at her and she shoos me away after giving Wook a glare. He bows to her then turns back to me with a brilliant smile on his face.

“Great! Let’s go. I have somewhere I wanted to take you. I think you will like it.”

He leads me outside the set to the parking lot where he guides me to a motorcycle. I almost missed the fact that he is talking to me about riding his bike because his hand is resting on my lower back and seems to be attempting to burn a hole through my clothes.

“I hope you are okay with riding my bike.”

“I am more than okay with it! I love motorcycles!” the smile that graces his face was everything I could have ever wanted.

Grabbing the extra helmet from the back of his ride he turns to me looking expectantly at my hair. I quickly take my locs down from the complicated bun they are in and put them into a low ponytail. I missed one and he tucks it back in with the rest before sliding the helmet on my head. His fingers expertly clip the strap under my chin and tighten it. With each brush of his fingers against my skin, I feel my entire body heat up significantly.

“Comfortable?” I nod and give him a small smile.

“Good. Do you know how to ride?” I nod again.

“Great.” he hops onto the beautiful beast of a vehicle and starts it. It sounds amazing and the excitement of riding finally hits me dispelling the nervousness of being with him a little. He looks back at me after he slips his helmet on, nodding towards the space behind him. I happily hop on and settle in behind his large form, finding the footrest easily. I grab onto the sides of his jacket but he has another idea. Grabbing my hands he wraps them around his torso making sure my palms are laid flat against his stomach. The nervousness settles back in tenfold, I tense up against my will. My thighs squeeze him and my hands subconsciously curl into his shirt. His stomach flexes and I swear I hear him chuckle a little.

Soon we pull out of the parking lot and begin flying down the highway back to Seoul. I relax some once we have been riding for a few minutes. The cool air feels good against my skin making the ride more enjoyable than stressful. I feel warm everywhere my body touches him and find myself drawing closer to him. My hands spread out over his stomach, I lay my chest to his back and rest my head against his broad shoulders. I feel safe.

Far too soon, we reach our destination. A little shop out of the way of the hustle and bustle of the city. He lets me dismount first then gets off to help me take my helmet off. He pulls my hair out of its hold and slips the tie around his wrist. He takes my helmet along with his into one hand then grabs my hand to lead me into the shop. The smell of beef and seafood hits me as soon as we cross the threshold. Wook calls out to someone for a table and they answer back telling us we can choose anywhere to sit. Clearly having been here before he leads me to a table in the corner of the shop a little way out of sight. Understandable, considering his fame. He makes sure I am seated comfortably at the little table before he seats himself and this warms my heart.

I look everywhere but at him when he sits, yet I can feel his gaze heavy on my face. I am saved when this cute little old lady comes to give us the menus and hugs Wook tenderly. I can’t help but smile at the interaction. She scolds him for losing weight and not visiting often enough, then she turns to me.

“Now who is this beautiful woman?” she asks him while bowing to me. I shyly bow back as deep as I can from my seated position.

“This is my co-star in my new drama. Her name is Aliah.” for some reason my heart hurts a little at his explanation but it really shouldn’t because all he did was tell the truth.

“Pleased to meet you, Miss.”

“Oh, you speak Korean well!” her praise is the standard for everyone that hears me speak the language so effortlessly.

“I approve. Treat him kindly please.” I bow again to her as she leaves, her words confusing me.

“She is my grandmother’s best friend and like family.” Wook explains.

I nod in understanding then reach for a menu but his hand on top of mine stops me. Looking up at him I find he is watching me intently.

“I can’t help but notice you don’t speak much around me. Why is that?”

Of course, he noticed it. I don’t actively mean to do it’s just whenever he is close around me I clamp up. Honestly, I don’t know how I have been able to be around him every day and act with him. I just become a nervous anxious mess around him outside of acting. Acting is easy. Real-life isn’t.

I steel myself before looking into his eyes.

“You make me nervous.”

“I do?”

I nod my head. He still has his hand on top of mine.

“Oh, well I’m sorry. I don’t mean to. Is there anything I can do to help?” he removes his hand from mine and I desperately want it back.

“No. It’s really not you. I just…” I trail off realising what I was about to say. About to say I just like you is all.

“If it makes you feel any better you make me nervous as well. I don’t know what to do or say to get close to you and I just feel awkward. I asked you here so maybe I could do just that, get closer to you.”

His rambling reveal shocks me. I would have never thought in a million years I could make him nervous. A giggle escapes me against my will and he looks up at me sharply.

“Sorry!” I clamp a hand over my mouth but the smile won’t leave my face.

“No, it’s fine.” his eyes seem to twinkle with mirth at my outburst.

“Should we order?” I nod enthusiastically. I ask him what he likes best here telling him I will eat whatever he orders since it is my first time. He orders a beef platter, seafood platter, a lunchbox, and a few bowls of rice for both of us. I am pleasantly surprised he ordered so much food but silently thank him nonetheless. I am starving after a whole day of filming and just snacking.

After our mutual admissions conversation began to flow easier. We talk about everything and anything. He shares stories about his family and I share mine. We laugh as he cooks the food over the grill for us. I tell him about my struggles coming to Korea as I pour Cola for the both of us. We continue chatting in between swallows of food until the subject of relationships comes up.

“So, do you have a boyfriend?” he asks the question so nonchalantly it irritates me a little. I would like there to be some sort of hesitation when asking. Looking him dead in the eyes I tell him no, I hope he understands the message behind my eyes. ‘No, I don’t have a boyfriend because I want you’.

“No? Why? Is there anyone you are interested in?” he is staring down at his rice, stabbing it and mixing it kind of roughly. His tone changed. At the end, it changed. I realise he is acting, something I have come to realise is not okay with me. Liars are my biggest pet peeve which is ironic considering my line of work now.

“Because I am picky I guess. I have someone in mind but I’m not sure he would feel the same way.” I decide to mess with him a little, if he can act so can I.

“Picky? What do you mean by that?”

I set my utensils down giving him my whole attention.

“Well before I even came to Korea there was this idol I had always loved and respected from the time I was a little girl. You know Bang Yongguk?” he nods and sets his utensils down as well.

“It was him. For years he was my standard for men. His morals and the way he approached the world was so gentle and open. I fell for his character and personality rather than his looks.”

“So is it him that you are interested in still?” I have his full attention now. It’s now or never Aliah.

“No, it’s not him, although I would love to meet him and speak to him at least once in my lifetime.”

“There is a new man.”

“Yes.” his eyes trace the lines on my face, his fingers tap a quiet rhythm into the table. His body is leaning towards mine. I am sure mine is doing the same.

“Who is this new man? Describe him to me.”

“I think you already know who he is.” I pick my utensils up and resume eating, breaking the spell we were in. He stares at me for a few moments before also finishing his food.

He calls for the cheque when we finish and I try to pay for my half of the food at least but he refuses, saying something about how when I am with him I will never have to pay for anything. He thanks the Granny then grabs our helmets making his way out of the shop. The Granny stops me before I can exit and pulls me down to her to whisper in my ear.

“He thinks highly of you. He has never once brought anyone here let alone a woman."

"How come?" her admission startles me.

"This is his safe spot. He comes here when he wants a home-cooked meal but isn't able to go home. I'm the closest thing to family he has in the city. He doesn't bring anyone here because he wants to keep his personal and family life completely separate from his line of work."

I slowly nod as she sends me off after dropping that bomb on me. It makes me view Wook in a completely different light once again. This is something that has been happening since the first day we met.

I know he comes from a single-parent family and is an only child. I am not surprised he turned out as well mannered and kind as he is after speaking with his mother once over a video call. The way he approaches people though is unique, he watches them first to see how they react to the environment then approaches them in a way that makes them comfortable. The first time we met he approached me with a smile on his face and kind words on his lips. He made me feel comfortable like I was part of the team. Anything I didn’t understand he was kind enough to translate. He was patient and quite understanding almost to the point where it became overwhelming, almost. He knew exactly when to back off and give me my space.

The ride home was peaceful, so peaceful I fell asleep. Never in my life have I felt so safe with someone who was not my immediate family.

“Aliah. Hey. Wake up beautiful.”

I open my eyes to Chang Wook’s face inches from mine. He is holding me up in the seat of the bike. I rub the sleep from my eyes and smile at him. It’d be nice to wake up to his face every day. I caress his cheek taking in all of his features, the unevenness of his eyes, the slight crookedness in his jaw, the few blemishes he has are all that makes him so perfect to me. In my haze, the only thought running through my head is to kiss him. God, I want to kiss him so badly.

“We are here.” I know he feels the shift in energy, the tension I created, so why isn’t he acting on it.

He helps me off the bike and takes the helmet off then takes my hand, leading me inside the apartment complex. I don’t want him to go. That’s all I say to myself as we reach my door and I key in the code.

“Do you perhaps...want to come inside?” I shyly ask. I know hope is shining brightly in my eyes, I should feel embarrassed but I can’t bring myself to care enough to be.

He hesitates, a war clearly raging within him.

“As much as I would love to, and trust me I want to so very badly, I don’t think I should.” he kisses my hands and bids me good night. I watch him until I can no longer see him down the hallway then I rush inside and run to my living room window. I catch the last glimpses of him as he exits the building, mounts his bike and rides away.

What was I thinking! Honestly, what was I planning to do after if he came in? Becky is asleep in her room, I vowed to wait until marriage, he doesn’t seem like the one-night stand type. Stupid, stupid, stupid, that’s what you are stupid. A dummy. What is this man doing to me?

#kdrama #kpop #fanfic #writing #ji chang wook #orginal character #blacklivesmatter #blackoc #black writers #blackhistory #we really need more poc writers here #ambw #blackwriter #representation matters #nextqueue #tumblr #tumblr writing community

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itsivyberry · 4 years ago

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tri-wizard champion {5}

The Maze

Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Reader

a/n: my Christmas gift to you because 2020 has sucked ass and I want to finish this series before it’s over❤️ enjoy also READ THE MF TRIGGER WARNINGS THEY ARE REALLT IMPORTANT THIS TIME

word count: 4590

warnings: major character death, lots of blood, anxiousness, mentions of vomiting, sad sad stuff dude, also literally loss of a limb (there’s a warning before it begins, please don’t read if you can’t stomach it)

summary: the truth about the Y/L/N’s is to be revealed soon when Y/N is facing the dangers within the maze of the third task.

tag list: @drawlfoy @fanficflaneuse @ccelinewritess @accio-rogers @babyhoneystvles @nekee-lilac02 @dracofeltonmalfoy

masterlist

{ 1 } { 2 } { 3 } { 3.5 } { 4 } { 5 } { 6 }

gif credit: @harrysweasleys

The final task approached rapidly.

News about the sudden death of Barty Crouch spread throughout the student body quickly.

Y/N was growing anxious, more than she ever was for any other task. The spots from the grindylows had faded to a lighter color, similar to the two gashes on her back.

But now here she was, waking through a doorway to face the entire Hogwarts student body along with families and the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students clad in a black and yellow outfit to represent Hufflepuff.

The three Hogwarts champions stood by their entrance to the maze. Cheers could be heard from every angle at which they stood, a lively march being played by the band.

Many students had homemade banners with the champions’ last names written all over. Y/N smiled at the sight of Draco holding a large banner with a silly drawing of her and Y/L/N written in big, bold, sparkly letters. She gave him a funny face and a thumbs up, and he blew a kiss right back mouthing “good luck.”

“Sonorus!” Dumbledore casted the amplifying charm, and the sounds of cheers and music died out. Students clambered to sit down, eager to hear about the task.

“Earlier today, Professor Moody placed the Triwizard Cup deep within the maze. Only he knows it’s exact position. Now, as Mr. Diggory...” cheers erupted at the sound of Cedric’s name, and Amos held his son’s hand high in recognition, “...Miss Y/L/N and Mr. Potter...” cheers grew louder and students stood, yelling for Harry and Y/N, including Ron, Hermione, and Draco, “...are tied for first position, they will be the first to enter the maze, followed by Mr. Krum...” more cheers, “...and Miss Delacour.”

“The first person to touch the cup will be the winner. I’ve instructed the staff to patrol the perimeter. Should, at any point, a contestant wish to withdrawal from the task, he or she need only send up red sparks with their wands. Contestants! Gather around. Quickly!”

Y/N rushed up, following Cedric to where Dumbledore stood. Her heart was pounding.

The five champions huddled up, and Dumbledore placed his arms around Y/N’s and Krum’s shoulders.

“In the maze, you’ll find no dragons or creatures of the deep. Instead you’ll face something even more challenging. You see, people change in the maze. Oh, find the cup if you can. But be very wary. You could just lose yourselves along the way.” The ominous undertone to his voice gave Y/N goosebumps.

Draco watched intently, trying to listen to what Dumbledore was saying to the five teens, but had no luck. His heart was pounding just as hard as Y/N’s was.

“Champions, prepare yourselves!” Dumbledore instructed, and the crowd cheered again.

Without thinking, Y/N turned around and bolted to the stands, stopping right in front of where Draco was.

“Wish me luck!” She said, jumping up to wrap her around a around his neck and pulled him close. He sat up to lean over the railing blocking the two of them, hugging her so tightly. “Awes” and “oohs” circled around the two of them.

“Good luck.” Draco whispered in Y/N’s ear, pulling back just enough to press his lips on hers in a rushed and anxious kiss.

She pulled away quickly, touching her feet to the ground and smiling warmly at him, before rushing back to her designated entrance to the maze, unknowing of what she should find inside.

Y/N looked into it, her heart hammering. It was too foggy to see any clearer than maybe 6 feet in front of her, and the hedges were impossibly tall.

Her thoughts began to bite at her. What if I don’t make it through in time? What if something in there kills me? What if I get lost and nobody can see the red sparks?

She wished she had the support of a representative like the other champions did. Y/N looked over to see Amos giving Cedric a tight hug, whispering something in his ear.

Just as quickly as he had hugged his son, he made his way over to the young girl and gave her a big hug too. “You’ll do amazing, Y/N. I wish both you and Cedric the best of luck.” He said into her ear.

“Thank you, Amos.” She smiled at him, allowing him to step back over to his son.

Cedric smiled at her, but it was wobbly. He could tell she was just as nervous as he was, and tried his best to comfort her with the distance between them.

“On the count of three. One-“ Dumbledore’s voice was cut off by the canon exploding early. Y/N couldn’t breathe as she watched Harry take the first step into the maze. Cedric followed right after, and the lively music from before flooded through the small arena.

The second Y/N stepped at least two feet into the maze, the entrance sealed off. It was deafening, how silent it had suddenly become.

Draco watched closely, as his girlfriend was suddenly separated from the eyes of the spectators. He knew her parents were watching somewhere in the crowd, feeling just as nervous as he was.

The only thing Y/N could hear was her own staggered breathing and the snaps of twigs beneath her feet. The passage was narrow, and she kept her want tightly in her hand.

The maze seemed to change every passing second, passages forming quickly. She was running now, trying to make sure she wouldn’t get crushed.

The first scream caught Y/N’s attention. It was loud, and bone chilling, and echoed throughout the entire maze. She was so sure the other champions must’ve heard it.

She was frozen. The scream must’ve come from Fleur, she had decided, and was silently praying the girl wasn’t hurt.

It was when an explosion over head, red sparks from only a passage over, had broken Y/N from her trance.

From outside the maze, everyone was silent at the first sight of surrender. Draco was repeating a mantra in his head.

Don’t be Y/N. Don’t be Y/N. Don’t be Y/N. Don’t be Y/N. Don’t be Y/N. Don’t be Y/N. Don’t be Y/N.

A glimmer caught her eye. She had barely moved from the entrance, not nearly putting in as much effort as she thought she would.

Y/N walked slowly towards it, whipping around and keeping her eyes open for any threat. A twig cracked behind her, and she screamed when something tackled her to the ground.

Draco heard the second scream. He knew it was Y/N after Fleur was removed from the maze. It took all of his control not to jump from the stands and force his way into the maze to find her himself.

“Y/N? Oh, Merlin I’m so sorry!” Cedric pulled himself off of her. “I thought you were Krum! He’s gone insane!” He helped her up.

Y/N’s eyes were blown wide and her breath was short. “You- you scared me! Don’t do that!”

Cedric must’ve seen the glimmer too, a glowing object in the distance.

“Together?” He asked her, not taking his eyes off the prize.

“Together.” She spokes quietly, taking the first step towards the cup.

Indistinct shouting not very far from the two Hufflepuffs made both of them jump. Krum, who’s eyes seemed to be incredibly cloudy from what Y/N remembered they actually looked like, was shooting hexes at Harry.

Harry’s defenses were down. “Get down!” Cedric yelled, jumping in front of Y/N and dodging the hex that had missed Harry. Y/N shrunk into the hedge to the left of her, covering her face with her hands.

“Get down!” Cedric yelled once more, Krum yelling another indistinguishable hex at Harry who was now on the ground.

“Expelliarmus!” Y/N gained the courage to jump up, hitting Krum square in the chest. He was thrown further away from the three of them, and seemingly unconscious.

Cedric ran over to him, kicking his wand from his hand. Y/N and Harry both realized he was about to cast another spell on him, Godric knows which one.

“No! Stop!” Harry yelled, holding him back. “He’s bewitched, Cedric!”

“Get off me!” He shoved Harry harshly.

“He’s bewitched!” Harry repeated.

“Cedric! Stop! Listen to him!” Y/N yelled, holding him back as well. Cedric shoved her to the ground so hard, her wrist snapped in half from the angle at which she hit the hard dirt. She cried out and it echoed, using her elbow to sit up and her feet to push away from the two boys. She had already caught a look at the ungodly angle her hand was suddenly bent at, and it made her want to vomit.

Cedric realized what he had done at the sound of his best friend’s scream. He was about to hold his wand up to send sparks for both Y/N and Krum, but Y/N jumped up before he could.

“Stop! We’ve already made it too far.” Her voice trembled. She was shaking violently, keeping distance between her and the two boys.

It was silent for a moment, the deafening sound taking over between the three teenagers just as when they first entered the maze.

“Together?” Cedric asked quietly, repeating what he said earlier, and looking at both of them.

“Together.” Harry and Y/N said at the same time.

Just as Y/N took a step towards them, a violent gust of wind hit her back and loud cracking echoed.

“Go!” Cedric yelled, grabbing Y/N’s good hand and running towards the cup. Harry ran after them, as quick as he could.

They made it to the center of the maze, and there stood the magnificent Triwizard Cup.

“Go on! Take it!” Cedric yelled.

“Together!” Harry yelled back, looking at Y/N who still had tears streaming down her face.

“One, two, three!” The three students jumped forward in the nick of time, grabbing ahold of the cup. A bright white light filled Y/N’s vision, and she was suddenly dizzy.

The three of them dropped onto the ground. She could sense their location had changed before she opened her eyes.

Harry and Cedric were on the ground near each other, gasping for breath. Y/N was thrown on the ground along with the cup, just a few feet away from them. The shock was beginning to wear off, and the pain was almost unbearable in her wrist.

“Come on, Y/N. Get up.” Cedric spoke quietly, the stillness of their new location scaring him. “You okay?” He asked both of them.

“Yeah.” Harry stood, looking around. Y/N allowed Cedric to help her stand, and she could finally see where they were. He held her broken wrist loosely in his hand, putting a protective arm around her shoulder.

A graveyard. The cup was a portkey. The sky was dark and cloudy, fog covering the rolling hills. Y’all tombstones towered over the three of them.

“Where are we?” She whispered.

“I’ve been here before.” Harry spoke suddenly.

“It’s a portkey. Harry, the cup is a portkey.” Cedric smiled mischievously down at the glowing cup.

“I’ve been here before.” Harry repeated. “In a dream.”

“Cedric! We have to get back to the cup. Now!” Harry’s voice was filled with fear and realization.

“Harry, what’s wrong?” Y/N asked, her eyes filling with tears again, thinking the worst that could possibly happen. Were they set up?

“What are you talking about?” Cedric pulled Y/N closer, trying to keep her safe from whatever Harry had realized.

A door creaked open loudly in front of them. It made Y/N jump, and the first tear rolled down her cheek.

Harry began shouting when a figure walked from the doorway. A scruffy man turned as he collapsed on the ground, and a fire was lit from under a large cauldron in front of the doorway. Cedric released Y/N from his hold, rushing over to Harry.

“Harry! What is it?” He spoke, his voice cracking from fear.

“Get back to the cup!” Harry yelled out of pain again, sounding rather irritated.

Cedric put distance between him and Harry as the figure stepped out from the doorway. Y/N immediately recognized him as Peter Pettigrew, a good friend of her parents before he betrayed them all for Voldemort. Her eyes were wide when she realized what he was holding in his arms.

“Who are you? What do you want?” Cedric spoke, holding his wand up as a threat.

“Cedric, back down now!” Y/N yelled pulling his shoulder back. He shrugged her off.

“Kill the spare. Keep the girl alive.” A raspy voice spoke.

“Avada Kedavra!”

“No! Cedric!” Harry yelled, attempting to stand but was too late.

A bright green light temporarily blinded her. She watched the unforgivable curse hit Cedric and throw him over her head and behind her. The second his corpse hit the ground, a loud sob escaped her mouth.

Peter rushed over to Harry, using his wand to force him to stand. He backed him up into a statue that locked him in place.

“Do it! Now!” The raspy voice spoke again.

Peter hesitated for a moment. He walked over to the cauldron, keeping a hold of the blanket in his hands but dropped whatever was holding it into the boiling substance.

“Bone of the father unwillingly given.” A disgusting bone was levitated from the ground, caught on fire and into the cauldron.

Y/N’s breathing was too short when the realization of a dead body behind her set in.

“Flesh of the servant...” he turned suddenly, rushing to Y/N and forcing her towards the cauldron.

“Stop! What are you doing to me!” She yelled, trying to release herself from his grip, but it was too strong.

“Willingly sacrificed.” A large knife was pulled from his sleeve. He forced her broken wrist above the steaming substance as she thrashed against him.

********THIS PART IS GROSS PLEASE PLEASE DONT READ IF YOU CANNOT HANDLE REALLY GORY STUFF!!!!!!!!!!! ‼️‼️‼️‼️

With no hesitation, he dug the sharp knife into her wrist, cutting through the bone and severing her hand into the liquid below. She screamed, louder than she ever thought she could. Blood spurt from her hand, staining the grass by her feet. Peter threw her on the ground, away from him and Harry.

She made quick work, ripping part of her shirt to wrap around her wrist, trying not to pass out from the loss of blood and the sight of her bone. Y/N had been taught what to do in this situation, just not to herself. She could barely even register what was happening as her fight or flight took over.

“And blood of the enemy...” he used the same knife to cut part of Harry’s sleeve. “Forcibly taken.” Peter dug the knife into his wrist, blood rushing down Harry’s arm and dripping from his elbow. He cried in pain, and it made Y/N wince.

Peter tapped the hilt of the knife over the cauldron, letting a few dropped of Harry’s blood sizzle into the liquid.

“The Dark Lord shall rise... again.” He spoke, breathing loudly.

Harry’s screams broke Y/N from her daze due to the blood loss. The entire cauldron caught on fire, melting away to reveal none other than the slimey, naked, disgusting body of Lord Voldemort.

Black smoke surrounded him before his pale feet touched the ground, forming into a cloak of some sort.

Y/N could hear him inhale deeply, running his hands along the pale, veiny skin on his head. She could tell this was the first time in a while he had taken his human form.

Peter stepped forward, his face full of awe and adoration.

Voldemort walked forward to Peter, looking down and laughing quietly but maniacally and the form he had taken.

“My wand, Wormtail.” Voldemort spoke harshly toward his follower, holding out his hand. Peter brandished the wand, bowing deeply and holding it out to Voldemort.

“Y/N, hey, look at me! You’re going to be okay. We are going to make it out of this. Stay close to the portkey.” Harry whispered, turning his head to see Y/N in her awful state. She looked petrified, seemingly wishing this was some sort of nightmare.

They watched as Voldemort took the wand from Peter, inhaling deeply.

“Hold out your arm.” He commanded Peter.

“Master...” Peter started to cry. “Thank you, master.” He began to hold out one of his arms.

“The other arm, Wormtail.” Voldemort spat. Peter’s eyes went wide as he held his other arm, allowing Voldemort to take a grip on it.

He shoved the tip of his wand onto the bare skin of Peter’s wrist, and the dull ink that once was there grew darker, revealing the Dark Mark in its true form.

Thunder rumbled throughout the graveyard. Y/N jumped, trying to stay as quiet as she could.

Voldemort looked up into the clouds. Y/N followed his gaze, and right before her eyes a dark skull formed. The skull opened its mouth, and a thick trail of smoke bellowed out of it, heading right towards where they were. The smoke broke off into different paths, becoming darker.

The second the smoke touched the ground, a person appeared. There were too many for her to count. Dressed in dark cloaks, skull masks and pointing hats, she couldn’t identify any of them.

“Welcome, my friends. Thirteen years, it’s been, and yet... here you stand before me as though it were only yesterday. I confess myself... disappointed.” Voldemort spat again, his voice echoing through the graveyard.

“Not one of you tried to find me. Crabbe!” Voldemort yelled, rushing up to one of the figures and ripping the skull mask off. Dark smoke followed.

With just a flick of his hand, Voldemort was now revealing the figures.

“Macnair! Goyle!” Y/N recognized the names. Crabbe and Goyle, two of Draco’s closest minions. She was silently praying there wasn’t a Malfoy among them.

“Not even you, Lucius.” Voldemort walked up to the last standing figure, ripping of the mask. A crow flew away violently from behind them.

Y/N was trying to stop the bleed of her wrist, but it soaked through the fabric she had wrapped on it. She was fighting off the black spots of her vision.

“My lord,” Lucius was brought to his knees. “Had I detected any sign, a whisper of your whereabouts-“

“There were signs, my slippery friend. And more than whispers.” Voldemort interrupted him.

“I assure you, my Lord, I have never renounced the old ways.” Lucius removed the hat from his head, revealing a familiar platinum blonde. Y/N let out an involuntary sob as she realized, but soon quieted down.

“The face I have been obliged to present each day since your... absence... that is my true mask.” Lucius continued as the other Deatheaters around them stood.

“I returned.” Peter spoke shakily, raising a hand for recognition. He gasped and doubled over when Voldemort rushed over to him, the cloak bellowing behind him.

“Out of fear, not loyalty. Still, you have proved yourself useful these past few months, Wormtail.” Voldemort’s voice softened just the slightest bit.

Y/N didn’t have time to realize when he was walking over to where she sat on the ground, over by Cedric’s body.

“Oh...” he spoke, pushing his face around with his foot. Y/N winced as he tutted loudly. “Such a handsome boy.”

“Don’t touch him!” Harry yelled, shrinking back when Y/N flinched and Voldemort glared at him.

“And who might this be, Wormtail? I see you used her for the spell.” Voldemort sneered, looking down at Y/N.

“Y/N Y/L/N, my Lord.” Wormtail spoke up. From behind Voldemort, Y/N saw Lucius whip around with an unrecognizable look on his face.

“Y/L/N?” Voldemort repeated, and Peter nodded. “Stand, girl, now.” He demanded.

Y/N stood slowly and shakily, keeping her composure in front of the Dark Lord himself.

Voldemort’s hand whipped out to grab her wrist, taking a look at the damage that was done. She inhaled sharply, letting out another sob from the grip he had.

“Well done. You have served me well, Y/N.” Voldemort said, dropping his grip and letting her arm fall limp. She kept a hard face despite the tears running down her cheeks.

Her eyes flickered to Harry. He had an expression that said “back down.” Voldemort followed her line of sight to look at the boy he hated so very much.

“Harry. Oh, I’d almost forgotten you were here. Standing on the bones of my father. I’d introduce you, but word has it you’re almost as famous as me these days.” Voldemort paused, maintaining eye contact for a second more.

He turned suddenly to his followers. “The boy who lived. How lies have fed your legend, Harry. Shall I reveal what really happened that night 13 years ago?”

“Shall I divulge how I truly lost my powers? Yes, shall I?” Hs muttered to himself, walking away from Harry.

“It was love. You see, when dear, sweet Lily Potter gave her life for her only son, she provided the ultimate protection. I could not touch him. It was old magic. Something I should have foreseen. But no matter, no matter. Things have changed.” Voldemort ended his monologue, rushing up to Harry and raising a hand as if to strike him.

“I can touch you... now.” He brought his pointer finger to touch Harry’s scar.

The screams that filled Y/N’s ears were agonizing. She shrunk into herself, wincing away from the noises. When Voldemort screamed along with Harry, ripping his hand away from his face, the screams stopped.

“Astonishing what a few drops of your blood with do, eh, Harry? Pick up your wand, Potter!” Voldemort released the statues grip on Harry, letting him drop to the ground.

“I said, pick it up! Get up! Get up! You’ve been taught how to duel, I presume, yes? First, we bow to each other. Come on, now, Harry. The niceties must be observed. Dumbledore wouldn’t want you to forget your manners, would he? I said, bow.” He was speaking so quickly, almost going crazy at the thought of fighting Harry once and for all. With a wave of his wand, Harry was forced into a bow.

“That’s better. And now!” Voldemort growled, running towards Harry and throwing him onto the ground. Y/N watched, using her feet to shove her back farther from the scene. When she hit something, she turned around quickly to see Cedric.

“No, no, no, no.” She kept repeating, grabbing his face in her hands. It was as though she finally realized what had happened. She had lost her best friend. Sobs were heard from where she sat on the ground. Her tears dripped down her chin and onto Cedric’s cold face as the dual behind her continued. She winced at every hex that was sent to either of them.

“I’m so sorry, Ced. Please. Please.” She begged him, grasping at his shirt, still sobbing violently.

Y/N never took her eyes off of Cedric, even when Voldemort and Harry cast such strong spells that they collided, created a blinding light from behind her. It was went Harry’s Expelliarmus spell finally hit the tip of Voldemort’s wand when she turned around to see an abonormallt large spark erupt.

It took the form of Cedric, alive and smiling at the two of them. Another old man, presumably a muggle, took place on the other side of them. Two more sparks formed to be a woman and a man. The man was speaking quickly to Harry.

“Harry! When the connection is broken you must get to the portkey! We can linger for a moment to give you some time, but only a moment. Do you understand?” Harry nodded.

“Harry, Y/N,” Cedric spoke from above. Y/N’s tears began to start again at the sound of his voice. “Take my body back, will you? Take my body back to my father.”

“Let go.” The woman’s voice was heard. “Sweetheart, you’re ready. Let go. Let go!” All four spirits rushed forward when the connection was broken.

Harry ran quickly over to Y/N and Cedric.

“Hold onto him! Accio!” Harry pointed his wand at the portkey, grabbing Y/N’s hand as she wrapped her arm around Cedric’s. The portkey took them right back to the arena.

The three of them landed hard on the ground. Cedric’s body was sprawled, and cheering erupted. The lively music started once more, nobody noticing what had happened. Harry was crying now.

“Harry, let go of him. Let go of him!” Y/N sat up, pulling Harry off of Cedric’s body.

He knocked her off, the exhaustion finally hitting her as she collapsed on the ground. Fleur rushed forward, and Y/N had never been so glad to see her.

She screamed loudly, looking around and covering her mouth with her hands in terror.

“Harry!” Dumbledore yelled, rushing from his spot in the stands. Hagrid hesitated to continue clapping when he realized what was happening. The music finally died down with the sounds of a trumpet flailing.

“For God’s same, Dumbledore, what’s happened?” The minister rushed to the ground by Harry and Cedric. Two Beauxbatons girls were helping Y/N up, her head lolling as she finally began to lose consciousness.

“Help! We need help here!” One of the girls called, her accent thick. Draco rushed up so quick, breathing heavy. “I’ll take her.” He spoke to the girls.

Y/N looked up quick at his voice. “Don’t touch me! Don’t let him take me! Get away from me!” She screamed, thrashing away from his hands.

He seemed so hurt and confused, putting his hands up in surrender. Y/N could tell he looked scared, more than she was at the mere sight of him.

Madame Promfrey was quick to rush up to Y/N, Taking her from the girls and putting her on a stretcher. “She’s coming with me alone.” She spoke harshly to every student surrounded it Y/N. Gasps were heard as the stretcher was levitated and everyone could see the damage.

“That’s my boy!” The faint cry of Amos filled Y/N’s ears. She used all her strength to lull her head to the side, watching her best friend’s dad collapse next to his son’s corpse. Her face scrunched up as hot tears escaped her eyes, dripping from the bridge of her nose onto the fabric of the stretcher.

Y/N eventually succumbed to the darkness, not caring who could see how hurt she was. Every student saw the blood soaking her shirt, how dirty she was, and her missing hand. It was an awful sight, and some people had to turn away so they wouldn’t lose their dinner.

Pomfrey was quick to take her to the Hospital Wing, fixing her up and cleaning her off so she could rest comfortably.

~.•*✰

Students would linger in over the next few days, checking up on Y/N to see how she was doing. She was always the same every time; asleep, but alive.

There wasn’t much Pomfrey could do about her hand. Tragic, it really was. Y/N would have never been considered as a follower to Voldemort, much less a loyal servant to him.

Dumbledore helped shield her from the press and the students that were begging to know what had happened in the maze. He made sure Y/N wouldn’t wake up to threats or feel incredibly unsafe somewhere she called home.

Professors were now worried about how to tell the students about the death of the golden boy, and how to not let it slip that Voldemort is back, alive, and rapidly gaining power.

But that was an issue for when Y/N woke up, and the truth about her family would finally be revealed.

~•.*✰

a/n: wow! Sorry about this one! I decided to leave on a cliff hanger, lol my bad. I’m done using the movie as a reference so the last chapter is coming straight from the noggin onto my cellular device. Merry Christmas tho, hope y’all got everything you wanted! Happy holidays and happy Hanukkah, Kwanza, or whatever you celebrate during this time! Love you all so much

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forasecondtherewedwon · 4 years ago

Photo

Schwarzenegger Holiday

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: E Word Count: 11,874

Includes the following prompts:

snowed in

making latkes together

“You didn’t think I’d let you spend the holidays alone, did you?”

Summary: When MJ’s granted a sudden visit to the safehouse where Peter’s been hidden for six months, she’s... nervous. What if he doesn’t want her to come? What if he doesn’t like her that way anymore? She has 24 hours to figure out what they are to each other and make peace with it. That’s the plan. Until they get snowed in.

MJ’s leg is jumping in the backseat of the SUV, the bop of her foot barely audible over the thickly-packed snow grinding under the tires. Anywhere else, this large, white vehicle would be conspicuous, but she supposes it’s fading in pretty well against this wintery backdrop. Probably less visible from above too; she quits bouncing her foot long enough to unbuckle her seatbelt and slide over to glance up at the sky, until the driver brusquely reminds her to keep her face away from the windows.

She’s dying to snark back and ask what the darkly tinted windows are for if they aren’t good enough to conceal the face of the vehicle’s occupants, but this guy kinda scares her. He’s something more secret than the Secret Service. If Nick Fury (the real Nick Fury this time, apparently—she has a whole backlog of questions and complaints that there wasn’t time to bring up during the handoff) hadn’t done an extra security check on the driver before sending MJ off with him, she’d be really worried right about now. Her suitcase is in the trunk and she’s clutching the box May gave her to her hip, wondering how she’ll be able to use its contents for self-defence if the need arises. Tear open the bag of flour and throw it in the guy’s eyes maybe?

Her strategy with the flour is sturdy, but there’s something else in this box for which she has no plan. There wasn’t time for her and May to discuss it, like there wasn’t time for MJ to interrogate Fury on where exactly he was while Peter was grappling with Quentin Beck all over Europe. Time, time, time. It’s been months, actually, since any of them seemed to have enough of it. She’s curious to know how the summer, fall, and now early winter have passed for Peter. He doesn’t even know she’s on her way. Nervous, MJ bites at the skin around her thumb nail. She hopes he’s happy to see her.

When Jameson totally fucked up her first date (and her new boyfriend’s whole life), Peter fled. He had to. Luckily, he’s being protected—so MJ’s been told—though the trade-off for safety is isolation. If it were her, she’s not sure she’d mind being handed an extended stretch of time to catch up on her reading, but she knows Peter’s different. Peter needs people. (She needs Peter.)

MJ knows that May Parker misses her nephew desperately. That’s why she tried to get the woman to go in her place, but everything with these Super-Secret Service assholes has a reason and a rhyme, even when the Scrabble tiles for Peter’s situation clearly spell ORANGE. May visited him for his birthday. Ned spent the weekend over Thanksgiving. Taking time away from work and school qualifies as a ‘noticeable absence’ and those need to be minimized. In the plainer terms May used when she explained the circumstances (at the same time that she proposed MJ take a trip to see Spidey the Desperado), none of the people formerly known to be close to Peter Parker can draw attention to themselves. They’ve been watched on the street, questioned by reporters, photographed by tabloids, and otherwise surveyed by who knows what methods operated by who knows whom. The last is MJ’s assumption; she isn’t stupid.

Apparently, becoming Peter’s girlfriend right before his identity was leaked to the world bumped her up to the third most important person in his life. She’s yet to learn whether Peter views her that way. The people protecting him do not have a schedule coordinated with him, so this trip wasn’t his call. Windows of opportunity open and close, schemes are adjusted, and girlfriends get left on doorsteps hugging boxes with the ingredients for latkes, crossing their fingers for a warm reception. MJ hasn’t figured out what she’s going to say to him after six months of nothing.

Then again, that’s basically how their friendship in high school went until her crush on him stopped crushing her enough to allow her to get the occasional insult out.

If he’s gotten over his feelings for her or just isn’t in the right headspace to entertain her, this is going to be awkward. At least it’s only until tomorrow. The same driver (for security reasons, blah blah) is picking her up before noon. One night of struggling to transition from dating back to just friends would, ultimately, be bearable for her, if that’s what Peter needs. She’d be able to talk it out with him without pining for their quick first kisses on Tower Bridge. Or their sloppy make-out session in the airplane bathroom when they woke up from their nap with half the ocean still to cross and the sudden feeling of relief that they were both alive. Yeah. MJ could definitely put that stuff behind her. In fact, maybe it’s better not to think of it at all and go into this visit assuming Peter’s feelings have cooled in light of other priorities. That way, this can be a night away from home hanging out with a friend, and not being left undisturbed with Peter ‘Where’d Those Abs Come From?’ Parker in the middle of nowhere.

She upends the mixing bowl in the box over that other item May included.

After so much doubling back and zigzagging down what have to be the most deserted roads in Upstate New York, the driver rolls to a stop in the shadow of a cabin-like house. It’s too house-like to attract the attention of wandering hipsters thirsty for cottagecore, but too cabin-y to suggest anything beyond temporary residence. MJ judges it to be a convincing safehouse. She climbs out, hefting May’s box, and accepting her suitcase from the driver. He moves much more swiftly, evidently uninterested in assessing the dwelling’s façade. Probably not his job. Even with her arms full, MJ steps precisely in the man’s footprints in the snow, just to see if her overexaggerated precaution will get under his skin. He ignores her. By the time she reaches the porch, he’s already completed whatever secret handshake or password exchange or retinal scan he had to do with Peter and is brushing past her, back to the milk-white SUV. She turns and stares after him, her last tie to civilization (until tomorrow), squinting against the light glinting off the snow.

Eventually, when the vehicle is gone and everything’s quiet, MJ accepts that she’s stalling. Eyes lowered, she faces the open door.

She starts at his feet. Red socks, the wool bobbled, the toe of the left twisted slightly like he put it on wrong and didn’t fix it. Her throat’s thick as she scans up his legs, in sweatpants, and remembers them encased in the Spider-Man suit as he crouched on the streetlight and watched Jameson blow his life apart onscreen. Hovering by his thighs are his hands. Oh, his hands. Though MJ’s gripping the box and suitcase with all her might, she’s recalling the gentle way he fit his fingers between hers. With a shaky breath, she can’t wait any longer and her gaze darts up to his face. Peter’s wearing this look she’s seen in videos of soldiers being reunited with their dogs—specifically, she’s seen it in the eyes of those dogs. The look is mushy and wet-eyed and begging for an eyeroll, possibly some verbal ridiculing, and instead, her heart reacts by flopping around unfamiliarly inside her chest. Him, is the sound of its thumping as it stumbles into her ribs. Him, him, him.

“Hi,” she says, voice coming out high. “Don’t hug me. The porch is wet and I’m holding a box.”

“I see that.”

He speaks. MJ’s mouth twitches into a relieved, silly smile. She’s missed the sound of his dork speaking so much that three words have her tripping over the threshold, almost slipping as her snow-slicked boots hit wood floor.

“The box is from May,” she explains, putting her back to Peter in order to set it down and to collect herself all over again. She’s here. He’s here, right where he’s supposed to be and where she was expecting him, but looking at her like that and with a jawline erupting in a faint scruff. It feels like a million years since she saw him last. It feels like a day.

“Can I hug you now?”

The suitcase she just drops.

MJ whirls to throw herself into Peter’s arms, hiccupping a relieved breath when he squeezes her close. Before she shuts her eyes to concentrate on the sensation of him solidly in her grasp after so long apart, she gets a glimpse of the living area beyond, the unlit fireplace. It’s homey and she isn’t sure if that makes her sadder, knowing he’s been living here alone. His hands slide over her back and she realizes she’s been hugging him a long time.

With a tight, uncertain smile, she draws back, cupping his shoulders, then dropping her hands to swing at her sides.

“Are you surprised to see me?” MJ asks. She already knows he should be, but she has to do something besides just stare at him.

“Yeah.” Peter laughs. “Take off your boots and stuff, come sit down.”

He’s smiling at her even as she’s fumbling to untie her laces.

“Sorry,” he laughs again. “I’m not trying to stare. I’m just not used to—”

“People?”

“Well, I see some people. I get supplies. But not super often and not people I… know.”

She saw how his face went pink before settling on that final word.

“You didn’t think I’d let you spend the holidays alone, did you?” MJ teases, now shrugging out of her coat. She didn’t notice that she forgot to zip it up when she got out of the SUV. She stuffs her gloves down the sleeve and passes it to Peter to hang on a hook by the door.

“I didn’t really think that was anybody’s call,” he admits.

His tone is joyfully unconcerned, but she frowns a little, experiencing second-hand frustration at the way Peter’s life isn’t so much being lived right now as run.

“I didn’t either.” She shrugs. “But your Avengers handlers, or whatever their job titles are, contacted me through May, so I figured I might as well come out. Not that I didn’t want to see you. I did. I really wanted to see you.”

God, now she’s probably come on too strong, overcorrecting after worrying she sounded like she could take or leave being reunited with her boyfriend.

“I really wanted to see you too,” Peter assures her. His expression softens. “We didn’t get a lot of time, before.”

“I’m only here until tomorrow,” MJ warns.

“Oh, no, that’s perfect. That’s great. I wasn’t expecting you at all, so this is incredible.”

He goes to grab the box, but she shouts, “No!” Peter stares at her. “Uh,” she says, “can you take my suitcase instead? I don’t know where to put it.”

“Sure.”

She follows him into the living room in her sock feet, wishing she packed slippers.

“The floor can be cold,” he says before she can voice her regret. “I have slippers around here somewhere that you can wear, and it’s warmer when there’s a fire. We can light one tonight, if you want.”

“That sounds nice,” MJ agrees.

“You can put that down in the kitchen.” He points her through a door. “I’ll just take your bag to the bedroom. The, uh, second bedroom. There are two bedrooms. I wasn’t gonna put it in my room. I don’t want you to think—”

“Peter, it’s fine.”

He nods jerkily and walks, glancing back once. She spies the promised slippers and shoves her feet into them before racing into the kitchen. Instead of systematically emptying the box and laying out each item, MJ rifles desperately through to the bottom and grabs the thing she avoided the whole way here. What was May thinking, including condoms in the care package? Well, logically, she can guess. Peter, mostly alone, opening the door to discover his girlfriend, arrived for an overnight stay. Yes, she can see exactly why May wanted to take precautions on their behalf because MJ definitely didn’t think of that and she doubts whoever brings Peter his updates and frozen pizzas has thought to equip him with prophylactics. They’re mostly concerned with keeping him alive and out of the hands of the authorities, not getting him laid.

Knowing Peter will return any moment, MJ looks frantically around the kitchen. She thinks she hears his footsteps. Shit. She yanks a pullout drawer open and chucks the box of condoms in next to the Cheerios, hitting the drawer shut with her hip as Peter walks in and grins at her. She plasters an anxious smile on in response.

He joins her at the counter and they begin to unload the box.

“Wait,” he says, partway through, “is this the stuff for latkes?”

“Mhmm. May told me she didn’t want you to miss out on any of your regular holiday traditions, even if she couldn’t be… Peter?”

MJ observes him, sympathy wringing her heart like a wet washcloth. He turns away from her and raises a hand to his face. She hears a sniff and assumes he’s wiping at his eyes and cheeks. She reaches out, hesitates, overcomes, lays her hand on his shoulder.

“I told her it should’ve been her coming instead of me,” she mumbles.

“No, no,” Peter assures her, still facing away, “I’m so happy to see you, MJ, seriously. I just miss her.”

“She misses you too.”

When he turns to face her, eyes still shining, MJ rewards his vulnerability by taking his hand.

“It’s not fair,” she tells him.

“It’s what’s gotta be done,” Peter says with a resigned shrug. “What I want isn’t as important as fixing this mess so I can go back to being Spider-Man. People need me.”

“You’re people too. There are people you need. That’s part of your humanity.” She’s ramping up now, arguing on his behalf with no one there to argue against. “Without that humanity, you wouldn’t be a good Spider-Man. You wouldn’t be a good guy. Protecting you shouldn’t just be about sticking you somewhere and watching you by satellite or whatever! Exposing your identity is a psychological attack and Nick Fury and the rest of them should be doing everything to ensure you can weather this storm psychologically, including keeping you connected to your family and your friends and—"

“My girlfriend.”

MJ exhales.

“Maybe not her,” she jokes. “She might just come in here and rant at you about reducing your stress, which is kinda counterproductive.”

“If I could listen to you rant every day, I’d be happy.”

She flushes and busies herself with putting May’s gifts away, probably all in the wrong spots, but Peter never corrects her, just works quietly alongside her until there’s nothing left in the box. Because she wasn’t permitted to bring her phone, MJ checks the time on her watch. It’s early afternoon.

“What do you do all day?”

Peter’s face lights up.

“You wanna see the room?”

“I recognize that look. This has something to do with Ned, doesn’t it?”

Her hypothesis is proven right when he leads her down the hall and opens a door to reveal a room housing a dozen Lego models. Everything’s probably Star Wars related, but she’s lost beyond the Death Star.

“Ned,” she says.

“Ned. He brought them when he came. I’ve done them all… well, a few times each.”

“I know I should be delicate with you because you’re a genius hermit, but, Parker, that’s so lame.”

Peter laughs out loud.

“That’s not all I do. Come on.”

He takes her hand (it doesn’t seem like he’s thought for a second about scrapping their relationship) and they walk back to the living room. On one of the couches, he has his Spidey suit laid out. But it’s freaky, like a skinned animal, with the innards of its tech exposed and skinny screwdrivers scattered on the floor nearby. He’s been tinkering. Because they have nothing else on the agenda, he explains the maintenance he’s done, more features he’s discovered. The list of protocols and capabilities seems almost endless. Watching him speak so enthusiastically, she wonders if maybe this is Peter’s version of holing up with a tall stack of books.

“No tracker in the suit?” she asks when they sit down at opposite ends of the remaining couch, legs stretched out and resting against each other.

“Nah. All that stuff’s turned off.” He lays his arm along the back of the couch and tips his cheek against it. “Where do your parents think you are right now?”

“At Betty’s.”

Her family knows she pines for Peter, but they don’t know she’s been granted this opportunity to see him. She doesn’t know what they’d say. Like the majority of New Yorkers, they like Spider-Man and don’t believe that he murdered Quentin Beck. That doesn’t mean they’d want her as involved as she is—though involved feels like a strong word when she hasn’t seen him since the day he was exposed and had to ride the first leg of this journey with a blindfold on. Seemed pretty antiquated. Her parents just want her to be safe, like how May wants Peter to be safe. MJ recalls the condoms. Ok, not quite the same.

“They think we’re in some kind of study lockdown, prepping for a decathlon thing in January, phones off,” she continues. “Betty doesn’t know I’m here, but Ned told her enough that she’ll lie for me if my parents call her. I’m thinking of promoting her.”

“How’s the team doing this year?”

MJ studies him. I spend every practice thinking about you even more than Flash talks about you, she thinks. I went home and cried the day Mr. Harrington told me I’d have to fill your spot. Nobody’s as smart as you. I’m bored without you. Sometimes I worry that I’m not a good captain and I just want to talk to you because I know it’d make me feel better, but you’re not there.

She pokes her toes into his thigh.

“Decent,” she says. “Flash wanted our name changed to the Midtown Spider-Men, but Mr. Harrington said no.”

When Peter groans and tucks his face into his arm in embarrassment, MJ does what she’s been too shy to do yet: she moves down to his end of the couch and kisses him as he turns his head to look at her. He holds her securely around the waist as she darts back in for a second kiss, a slower one. There’s no one around to spy, no one to interrupt. Everything in her zings upward like a hurled snowball and the kiss gains momentum. It’s not as hasty as the one on the flight home—it’s deeper, more grownup somehow. The prick of his facial hair enhances that adultness. For her, this is a kiss that says she’s been surviving without him, but now that they’re together, she prefers catching up this way rather than with words. They kiss like they can’t be stopped. MJ cups the back of Peter’s head, then his face, as their mouths nudge and coax, their tongues tracing each other’s lips before retreating. They separate to breathe and she presses her face to his neck, letting him hold her as she sits, still twisted with her feet on the floor, wearing his slippers.

“That’s one of the toughest things to do without,” he tells her. “I forgot it felt that good.”

“Too good,” she says wryly, lifting her head.

“Hey, based on what you were saying about my psychological needs, I’m due something ‘too good.’”

Really, it just isn’t possible not to think about the condoms as she smiles at him and chews the inside of her lip. Having sex with Peter is something she’s contemplated. She contemplated it when she watched him play trombone with the marching band during football games, and when he smiled as he walked down the hall at school with Ned. She contemplated it when she silently observed his late entrances to decathlon practices, and when she muffled her moans in bed at night, fantasizing about him. They kissed in London and sleeping together went from a daydream to an inevitability; they separated in New York and it went back to a dream. But now…

She’s only here for one night though. It’s too soon. When MJ kisses Peter, she knows she wants to keep going, but she doesn’t want to do anything impulsive and hurt them both more when she has to leave tomorrow. They need to think about this together. She should probably tell him about the condoms, so they have all their metaphorical cards on the table. And yet, she’s not able to jump from a single reunion kiss to asking if he wants to have sex on one of her future visits (if there are future visits). It’s not organic. It feels like working out their romantic plans on somebody else’s schedule. That makes her feel gross, cheated even.

MJ sags back from Peter and asks him to give her a tour of the rest of the house.

—

She’s rubbing the skin off an onion when, pausing in the grating of a potato, he turns to her and suggests something that proves he has gone a little screwy living alone: he wants to cook the latkes in the fireplace.

“You have a stove,” she points out.

“Yeah,” he agrees, now grating vigorously.

“We cook these in oil, right? You want to put a pan full of oil on an open flame?”

“We don’t fill the pan to the top or anything.”

“Ok, right, but still,” MJ persists. “Oil. Fire. A house you kinda need to stay standing because, one, it’s your secret hideout, and two, the sun’s gone down and it’s freezing outside and we’ll be cold without shelter.”

“How could we be cold if we had a burning house to stand next to? Kidding.” Peter grins at her. “It’ll work, MJ. I’ll be careful.”

“You will? No way am I letting you do this alone.”

“Aww.” He leans towards her and kisses her cheek.

“I didn’t say that to be romantic. I’m genuinely worried that you’ll set the place on fire.”

“I know.”

They continue preparing the batter and, after pouring oil into the heavy pan May packed for this, MJ warily hands it off to Peter. He carries it into the living room, where he lit a fire half an hour earlier. Setting the pan down away from the fire, he retrieves his nanotech suit and tugs his sweatshirt off to put it on, extoling its temperature-control virtues. He’s sure it can withstand a little heat. After all, it handled the cold of space no problem. MJ watches him nervously.

At least the fire’s died down some, so when he grasps the handle of the pan to hold the base over the heat, there aren’t any flames licking up his arm. Once the oil’s sizzling, Peter withdraws the pan so that MJ won’t have to reach into the firebox to distribute the batter. She spreads each glob out quickly to avoid melting the spatula. And, after standing way back because the oil pops from the pan to splatter Peter’s metal sleeve, it doesn’t go terribly. Though some of the latkes seem overcooked to her, he assures her he likes them better crispy. The way he says it has her touching the lump her black dahlia necklace makes beneath her sweater.

They return their latke paraphernalia to the kitchen, then settle on the couch again to eat.

“Good?” MJ asks. She likes them, but she’s never eaten a potato pancake before, so she has no frame of reference.

“Best ever.”

She smiles at Peter, watching him chew for a minute.

“You’ll miss this house’s fireplace when you’re back home.”

“This is my favourite meal in a long time and it has nothing to do with the fireplace,” he says. Her heart genuinely skips a beat. With quiet pleasure, she goes back to eating.

At home, she has her phone and her books and the TV—so many reasons to postpone loading the dishwasher. Here, there is no dishwasher and MJ realizes it’s really nice to dry while Peter washes the dishes by hand. Until he somehow cuts himself on the grater, bleeds in the water, and they have to leave the remaining dishes in the sink for a rewash while she forces Peter to the paltry selection of first aid equipment in the bathroom. Thankfully, the nick in his finger is small enough to cover with a single band-aid. She glares at him the whole time.

“I don’t even need this!” he says. “It’ll be healed up by the time I go to bed.”

“Keeping it clean until then won’t hurt you. Just take care of yourself, please?”

MJ isn’t aware that she’s pleading until she glances from his bandaged finger to his face and takes in his expression. He’s looking at her like he’s starting to get that she cares. Really cares. Cares more than it would take to come all the way out here just because someone else arranged it for her and provided the ride.

“Ok,” Peter gently agrees.

Without the usual evening distractions of a night at home (and after MJ refuses to construct a Lego Star Destroyer, whatever the hell that is), Peter pulls out the checkers he found on day two of his stay. Apparently, he was stir-crazy enough by then to raid ever nook and cranny of the house in search of entertainment for his overactive mind. They sprawl out in front of the fire. Neither of them know the rules, so he stacks his checkers into towers while she lays down patterns and skips them across the board. That devolves into deciding to create a single high stack, which devolves further into attempting to flip the checkers of the collapsed tower into the air with their thumbs, like tossing a coin. Peter flicks one as MJ’s leaning forward and it drops straight down the front of her sweater. He makes an offhanded joke about retrieving it and they laugh until their eyes meet and they remember that they’re alone, that it doesn’t have to be a joke. They scatter the last of the checkers scrambling to get close to one another.

She kisses him fiercely. The fire makes one side of her body hot, one of her eyelids glow orange before her closed eyes. Every time they do this is one time closer to having to let him go, but MJ isn’t interested in that right now. His neck is warm under her palm and her foot slips on the empty checkerboard when his fingers hook behind her knee to draw her leg towards him. They aren’t in each other’s laps yet, but it’s close. She’s getting used to the scratch of his scruff against her cheeks, chin, and upper lip. Can Peter feel her sweating when he slips a hand up the back of her sweater? Is his shiver as she moves her leg over his more than a sign that he wants to scoot closer to the fire? Pulling back from the kiss, she lets him strip her sweater off. The checker plonks out. He smiles as he spots the pendant hanging against her t-shirt. He groans more than he did cutting his finger as she takes his hand and places it on her ribcage, urging him with her eyes to reposition his palm where they both want it to be. MJ watches him swallow. Looking down, she sees firelight rippling in the flower’s black glass and Peter’s hand rising to cup her breast. She leans into it and grabs the back of his neck for another kiss.

As she’s psyching herself up to straddle her boyfriend’s lap, there’s a trill from nearby.

“What was that? I thought you didn’t have a phone.”

MJ releases Peter and—it’s not her fault—her gaze skims down his body as he stands. There’s a noticeable bulge in the front of his sweatpants.

“It’s an alert,” he says, tone so serious that she feels bad for staring at his erection. She only sneaks one more glance as he unearths a tablet from amongst the tools he’s been using to fiddle with his Spider-Man suit. Two glances.

“What happened?” she asks. “Are you in danger?”

“I’d protect you if there was any danger,” Peter promises, not looking away from the screen. He says it like it’s obvious, but the statement floors MJ, preventing her from quipping back about being able to protect herself. “But it’s not that. Just the weather.”

He tilts the screen in offer and she rises to stand next to him, looking at a swirling graphic.

“Snow?”

“Mhmm.”

“But it’s already snowed,” she says. “This is worth sending you an alert about? How do we set this thing to ‘do not disturb unless someone has a missile locked onto this house’?”

“Jesus, MJ.”

She shrugs.

“Or just a shifty-looking mail carrier driving by. Whatever. I don’t want to be narrowminded in my assumption of the appearance of a modern assassin.”

“Sometimes the people looking out for me go overboard about the wrong things,” he allows. “Looks like the snow isn’t coming until around three in the morning. We’ll be asleep. It won’t bother us.”

“It’ll bother me if I have to hear that sound again for no good reason.”

Peter tosses the tablet back onto the couch.

“I’m supposed to keep it on, but we can ignore it.”

“Yes,” she agrees, the heat of the fire around the level of her knees inspiring new heat to rise higher. “Let’s ignore it.”

“We can just get ready for bed. You’re probably tired from the drive today, right?”

And he’s looking at her so honestly, so innocently, that MJ finds herself nodding at his solicitousness. He’s too busy being kind to appreciate that she wants to stay right here by the fire and rub up against him until she sees stars. But maybe he doesn’t think they’re there yet. The timeline of their relationship is slightly fucked up, what with Peter having to flee the city as a fugitive. Have they been together the past six months or is this their second date? Maybe shyly holding hands is still their speed and MJ is majorly jumping the gun in wanting to pull his pants down and get a better look at what she started by putting Peter’s hand on her boob.

So, he puts the fire out and she brushes her teeth, then changes into her pajamas in the second bedroom. The house has central heating, meaning it’s still warm, but the walls and bedspread are bland, there’s no atmosphere without the hearth. MJ realizes she’s kept Peter’s slippers all day when she sits down on the edge of her mattress with a sigh and kicks her feet free. He’s right, she should be tired. The travel and the overwhelming joy of getting to see, hear, and touch him should make it easy to crawl into bed and let the sound of the wind—it’s picking up, carrying snowflakes—lull her to sleep.

MJ doesn’t even get the blanket folded down before she’s up, opening her door and crossing the hall to Peter’s room. Her hand hovers over the doorknob, then raises, ready to rap on the door instead. No, fuck it, she twists the doorknob and steps into his bedroom. Peter’s lying on his back in the dark with his eyes wide open. She leaves the door open behind her so the light he left on in the bathroom (in case she needed to get up during the night) can continue to show her the look on his face. The look of relief.

“I was gonna come to you, but I wasn’t sure…” He trails off.

“That would’ve been ok with me,” she assures him, holding her arms as the chill of standing around in a t-shirt starts to get to her, “but I don’t mind coming to you.”

“Come to me then,” Peter says, pushing back his bedsheets and shifting over.

“I missed you so much,” she gasps.

“I missed you.”

She strides to the bed and feels his arms tug her close even as she’s still drawing the blanket over herself. Peter hugs her hard and it’s ok that it’s horizontal because he’s also held onto her a hundred feet in the air, the two of them swinging between buildings. Any way he wants to hold her is ok.

What MJ thought, when she barged in here, was that they’d have some dramatic, fiery scene with passionate kissing and creaking bedsprings. She regrets undervaluing Peter’s warmth. As a person, but also physically. Cuddling into him beats slipping between cold sheets in the other bedroom. It’s nice to be wrapped around him in a moment that isn’t immediately following an attempt on his life, knowing that he isn’t going to leave her this time. Though she’s the one who’ll have to leave the next day, trusting Peter to stay put while she sleeps is what gets her to start drifting. This is better than having him as a captive napping buddy on the airplane. No motion sickness. They’ve already landed. He kisses her temple and she ducks her head into his chest, imagining she can count his heartbeats instead of sheep, knowing the steady glug of her own heart means more to him than he could tell her in words alone.

—

This morning is not last night.

The first thing MJ does is raise her head to squint at the time on the digital clock next to Peter’s bed. The second thing is pressing her mouth to his as he mumbles a sleepy, “Good morning.” It’s 6am, a disgusting hour at home, but here, a perfect time to start the day, and seize that day, as she is seizing a fistful of the t-shirt he slept in. She can feel him smiling. She can feel him reacting in lots of ways.

When she doesn’t slow the kisses, loosen her grip on the front of his shirt, or draw back entirely in embarrassment, Peter pulls her beneath him. It’s a lazy motion, like a cat swiping at something with a paw. His weight rests comfortably on top of her. Shifting around rucks her t-shirt up, so she drops a hand to his waist and slides his up too, until their skin meets from their ribs to the bands of their pajama bottoms. Her boyfriend groans and gropes for her thigh, hiking it against his hip. The noise and the blatant display of want (in addition to the erection now pressing directly between her legs) have MJ rubbing against him excitedly. She attempts to simultaneously kiss him harder and get his shirt off over his head. They struggle together, laughing, and once it’s gone, Peter drops back onto her with fervour.

His hands grip her hips, skim her waist, get tangled up in her hair. MJ catches one and guides it beneath her t-shirt. Their gazes lock and he seems to buck against her involuntarily, lightly squeezing her breast. With an airy moan from her, their kisses turn rabid. Their hips rock agonizingly out of sync for a minute—maybe less, maybe more, her mind isn’t on the clock anymore—then his erection strokes firmly up the center of her and they figure it out. They have to. She’s suddenly hellbent on feeling that again and, honestly, Peter doesn’t look any less devoted when their kisses are forced to stop thanks to the violence of their clothed grinding.

She comes first, clutching his back and his shoulder. He comes with a sharp flick of his hips that brings to mind the way he looses a web from his wrist. Kinda the same principle, she concludes, feeling the dampness of his pajamas against her abdomen before he flops to the side with a blissful, disbelieving sigh. MJ stretches out her legs and curls her toes. A grin creeps up her face.

“Good morning,” she replies.

Peter lets out a solo laugh.

Then he just says, “Wow.”

Still smiling, she buries her face in his pillow and lets him move around her as he gets up for the day.

“It’s early,” she says, lifting her head at the creak of him pushing the bedroom door wider.

“I know.” He stares at her adoringly. There’s no other word for it. “Being in bed with you is… too good. If I stay, I’ll go back to sleep, and I don’t want that. I want to see you as much as I can before you go.”

MJ’s smile fades. Right. That.

“And you’re walking out of the room,” she points out.

“Because I have to take a shower,” Peter laughs. “A short shower. Then you can shower, or not shower, and we’ll have breakfast and make the morning last as long as we can, ok?”

Can she just make him tuck himself into the box of kitchen stuff she brought and take him back home with her? Being apart from him again—willingly turning her back on this house and making new tracks in the snow—feels impossible. They aren’t supposed to be apart. But MJ nods, knowing it’s easier on them both that way. She watches him head towards the bathroom and reminds herself that this stay with him has already meant more to her than she anticipated.

She’s in her room gathering toiletries and clothes when she hears Peter shut the shower off. That’s on purpose. She doesn’t need to wonder any more about her lack of restraint today; seeing him walk back into his bedroom soaking wet and likely dressed in nothing but a towel would definitely test her. His presence in her thoughts as she shampoos her hair under the low pressure of the showerhead is sufficiently distracting. She braids her hair when she’s done, simply to focus herself with the task (and because she didn’t bring a hairdryer and accepts that her boyfriend’s probably not hiding one here someplace). Pausing at the door, she takes a deep breath, determined to look him in the eye and not just stare at the floor and blush because he’s touched her skin and brought her to orgasm. She smiles to herself in a moment of private congratulation.

Peter would probably hear her approaching footfalls no matter what, but with his too-big slippers flapping on her feet, MJ’s prepared for him to be looking at her when she makes her entrance into the kitchen. She’s not prepared for the box of Cheerios sitting on his table. Shit. Only now does she remember the condoms and where she stowed them. As she looks on, trying to think of what to say, Peter cheerfully pours himself a bowl and adds milk.

“Two things,” he says while she shuffles cautiously into the room. “First thing: you won’t believe what I found in with the cereal. Talk about a prize in every box.”

“Loser,” she mutters, rolling her eyes even as her cheeks flush.

“Super weird that that’s not the biggest thing I have to tell you, but I definitely want to get back to it, but, second thing, it snowed.”

She narrows her eyes.

“Uh, yeah, I remember.”

“Ok, well, it really snowed. Serious snow. Big, high, white and drifted snow.”

“You’ve slipped into song lyrics.”

“I got an alert,” Peter says, lifting the tablet he showed her the night before from the table.

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“It came through when you were in the shower, though it is harder to hear the noise from down the hall.”

MJ gives him a questioning look.

“I might’ve been on my way to the bathroom to, uh, see if you needed anything,” he explains, blushing guiltily, “when I heard it and had to come back out here.”

“Is this your handlers overreacting again?” But even as she asks, she turns towards the window. Of course, for security reasons, the blinds are down and the curtains are shut. “Can I look?”

He nods and she crosses the kitchen to take a quick peek, not wanting to jeopardize his safety. The level of the snow dips down near the side of the house, but the drift rises steeply. Within a few feet, it appears high enough to come up to her hips if she waded outside. And it’s still falling.

“There’s a lot of snow out there,” MJ informs him in a mildly panicked tone, snapping the curtains back into place.

“Mhmm. Cheerios?”

“You should be eating the eggs I brought you while they’re fresh,” she counters.

Her comment is half-hearted and distracted though and she too goes for the cereal. Between spoonfuls, Peter, across from her when she sits down at the table, unspools the consequences of the heavy snowfall.

“So, obviously, this isn’t an emergency, but it’s not ideal. You’re probably gonna have to stay another night.”

“Ok,” MJ says slowly. “Another night. But my parents are expecting me home tonight.”

“I’m sure Fury or somebody’ll get in touch with May and have her make something up. Trust me, nobody wants any questions to come up that’ll lead back to me.”

“What’s the ‘probably’ depend on?”

“Hmm?” He slurps the milk off his spoon.

“You say I’d probably have to stay tonight. Does that depend on how much more snow we get?”

“Um, yeah, that and a couple other things,” Peter says vaguely. MJ frowns at him.

“I came all the way out here to be with you, Parker. I could not be more in the middle of things than I am right now. Tell me what you know.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” He lets his spoon clink into his bowl. “So, the snow for sure. I mean, I’m guessing they have something heavy-duty that could plough the road if they had to, but getting a plough here would be conspicuous thing number one and having this rural road cleared when the rest of the area won’t be would be conspicuous thing number two. If you left that way, I’d have to leave too, get put in a new safehouse—”

“I don’t want to cause that big of a problem,” MJ assures him, finally pouring out her own bowl and trying to find some comfort in breakfast.

“You’re the furthest thing in the world from a problem,” Peter says with a quick smile. “But alright, so, with the alert, they suggested another option.”

“Which is?”

“To airlift you out.”

She bites down on her spoon as her jaw tenses.

“I don’t, um, really enjoy heights.”

“Yeah,” he laughs, “I remember.”

“You dropped me and it wasn’t funny.”

“Aw, that was months ago. Can’t we laugh about it now?” Her expression is his answer. “I actually did figure you’d feel that way. This would’ve been a helicopter, no landing, just somebody coming down a ladder to grab you and help you up into the chopper.”

“Don’t say ‘chopper’ like you’re Arnold Schwarzenegger. You’re way too much of a dork to be using that word. And yes, before you ask, I am criticizing you to mask my fear over how horrifying that sounds.”

“I told them no.”

“Wait… I thought… you didn’t have communication, right? Like, that’s why you can’t talk to your aunt.” Or me, MJ tacks on internally.

“Oh, it’s not a conversation. They just send through the planned course of action and usually I don’t have a choice, but this time I could basically give them a yes or no, proceed or no-go, you know?”

She sighs shakily.

“Thank you for not making me do that.”

“Well, based on the weather, they could ask again, so you always have a chance to change your mind, if you want.”

Peter’s not meeting her eye.

“Why the hell would I change my mind about dangling from a helicopter in a blizzard?”

“If you wanted to go,” he says quietly. “You’re the other thing this plan depends on. Like you said, your parents are expecting you and—”

“Peter,” MJ says, “the fact that I’m not being subjected to an extreme chopper rescue is only the thing that I’m second most grateful for. Getting to spend more time with you is number one. If they don’t have to draw attention to this house, and if your aunt covers for me, that’s great.”

Looking up, he gives her a mostly-convinced smile. Seeing it, she knows she has to press further. She taps her slipper against the top of his foot under the table.

“I hope it snows for a week,” she says firmly.

Peter beams. He lifts his cereal bowl and holds it out to her.

“Cheers,” he offers. After a derisive snort, she taps her bowl against his.

They eat in a comfortable silence for several minutes. Blocking out the death-defying premise of the recent plan, MJ considers the ramifications of staying put. She trusts May. May will know what to say to her parents, she’s very compassionate—and hopefully a believable liar. Well, MJ figures she’d have to be, with Spider-Man under her roof. School’s on winter break, so she doesn’t need to worry about an alibi for her teachers, though the flu would’ve worked as an excuse. It seems like she’s good from every angle. Resting her cheek against her hand as she scoops the remaining Cheerios onto her spoon, she observes Peter and feels herself smiling just to see him in front of her. His face in real life is still sorta miraculous.

“So,” he begins when she grabs his bowl (the guy’s been doing his solitary dishes for months—she doesn’t mind helping out), “I have a really important question.”

“Still a no to the helicopter.”

MJ has her back to her boyfriend, placing the bowls in the sink, when he responds.

“Should I shave?”

She turns, frowning in confusion.

“That’s up to you.”

“Well, see, maybe I would’ve this morning, except I promised I would be quick in the bathroom, and then anyway, I figured you’d be leaving soon and there wouldn’t be that many more opportunities for us to—”

“Oh my god,” she says as she catches on. “Please stop.”

“But if it bothers you,” Peter presses, rubbing the back of his fingers up his stubbled cheek, “when we’re kissing…”

“It doesn’t. It’s different, but… I’m good. You don’t have to shave for me.”

“Hypothetically though, if we were kissing for a longer period of time, I wouldn’t want to hurt your skin.”

“God, Peter, how long are you imagining we’d be kissing for that my face would be damagingly abraded?”

“Then,” he says, spreading his hands to their apparent future possibilities, “what if it wasn’t rubbing against your face?”

Spinning away from him, MJ stares with wide eyes at the wall above the sink.

“Does the idea of me kissing your neck freak you out?” Peter asks her back. “I don’t have to do that.”

Her shoulders slump as she laughs.

“My neck,” she murmurs to herself. “He meant my neck.”

“What do you— oh.” Goddamn enhanced hearing. “Uh, well, I-I didn’t know you had stuff in mind.”

“I don’t have anything in mind,” she says, turning to look at him.

Peter grabs the Cheerios and gets up to put them away. Holding her gaze, he pulls the box of condoms out of the drawer as he slots the cereal in.

“These showed up when you did. Unless some assassin broke in and left me a really sickening present.”

“I didn’t pack them, your aunt-slash-wingwoman did.”

His expression changes several times as he digests that.

“That seems like something May would do,” is what he lands on.

“It’s… thoughtful of her. Responsible parenting,” MJ agrees stiffly, trying to deal with the visual of Peter casually holding a box of condoms. Cool. Fine.

“So, the thought of… It’s just May making sure, in case anything… Yeah. I got it.”

But that’s not quite right.

“I’ve thought about it,” MJ blurts. “Not for this weekend, because I only expected to be here a night and this is something we should, you know, discuss.”

“Totally,” Peter says eagerly.

“I just don’t want you to think I haven’t…” She waves a hand.

“Thought about it,” he finishes.

“Yeah.”

“Me too. I’ve thought about it. Like, a lot,” he divulges with a relieved laugh that he quickly concludes with a clearing of his throat. “A normal amount.”

“That’s good,” she assures him. Her gestures feel gawky, her features feel misplaced on her face.

“I’d definitely be up for discussing it, especially after, uh…” Peter ruffles his damp hair as his face flushes. “…this morning.”

MJ’s suddenly made up of thoughts, so many thoughts that there’s no room for words, no possibility of speaking. This morning. Uh huh. Valid recollection on her boyfriend’s part. This morning was fantastic and kind of but not wildly unexpected and certainly closer to the sort of thing they’d need those condoms for than the few times they’ve made out have been.

“That makes sense,” she says, voice weak when it finally comes out, along with plenty of nodding. Too much nodding, really.

He sets the box on the counter.

“We could talk about it now.”

“We could do that,” MJ agrees, pulse accelerating with every additional second he spends looking at her. “The thing is, it’s early, it’s really early, and if we talk about that now, we’re gonna lose the whole day.”

Peter’s eyebrows raise.

“God, yeah, you’re right. You know, I think I’m, like, oversimplifying this discussion in my head because, yep, definitely, if you have a lot you want to say about it before—or if, even!—we, uh, proceed, then you should absolutely take the whole day to just get all your thoughts out there. For sure. I… yes. I support you and you should take all the time you need. More than a day! You could definitely take more than a day, obviously. You know that. I hope you do. Whatever you want, MJ.”

“I actually just meant that if we started talking about it, we’d lose the whole day to doing it.”

“Oh.” He sits with that thought for a minute, eyes roving the kitchen ceiling. “Why would that be a problem?”

He asks with such genuine confusion that MJ has to laugh, and that relaxes her.

“If we can’t think hard enough to determine why it’d be a problem, it’s a problem,” she reasons. “I want to think this through. I want us to both be ready. That alone—” She points at the condoms. “—doesn’t make us ready.”

“Ok. We’ll completely forget about them. No problem.”

Fueled by the intense focusing power of sexual tension, they pass the morning learning something that may actually be checkers as it was intended to be played. Anything around them making sense is an accident, as far as MJ is concerned, and mastering the probably-rules of the game isn’t really a win because it means they have to scramble to find something else to distract them. Peter takes up a post on the ceiling, cross-legged, and lets the body of his Spider-Man suit dangle down while he retools something in the hands. When he puts on the mask and starts talking to Karen, MJ quits watching him and goes into the kitchen to make them an early lunch of an extra-large omelette. It seems like a nice idea to curl up and eat together until Peter touches her hip a certain way and she looks at him too long. They force themselves to sit on separate couches.

After lunch, he digs out some non-Stark-tech supplies, like paper and pens. He lights a small fire and she draws. Once he starts paying more attention to her drawings than to his stuff, she draws for him, pulling her legs back so he can share her couch. She crafts caricatures of their friends, plays them across the page in short cartoons that are semi-faithful to the boring goings-on of their lives at Midtown this fall without Peter. He falls asleep with his head resting against the back of the couch and she executes swift sketches to capture the softness of his features. She doesn’t know how long his supine pose will last. She never knows how long anything will last, with him. He stays asleep, so MJ leaves her drawings and steals into the Lego room, disassembling at will. Peter’s a little panicked when he walks in half an hour later, but sorting the pieces she’s jumbled will give him something to do while she takes her own nap, she reasons.

But where to? The spare room doesn’t call to her in the slightest and returning to his bed will bring thoughts that’ll only keep her awake. She needs to revive after their too-early morning; she troops back to the couch and passes out with the warmth of the fire near her feet and the jangling of plastic Lego bricks in the other room.

The rustle of paper is the first thing MJ hears when she wakes up. She can’t remember dreaming last night, but during her nap, her subconscious played a short film of the two of them giggling as Peter cooked his Spidey suit in the fireplace. Weird. She blinks, tracing the sound to her boyfriend, cross-legged on the floor with his back against the couch as he flips through her rough portraits of him.

“Maybe you can do one of you,” he suggests without looking back at her. “And I can keep it when you leave. I don’t have any pictures of anybody.”

She hesitates a moment, then leans to wrap her arms loosely around his shoulders from behind.

“How’d you know I was awake?”

“I heard your breathing change.” A pause. “It sounds pretty creepy when I say it out loud, but I’m just doing what you do.” Peter twists to look at her, putting his hand over the back of hers on his chest. “Observing.”

“Right.” MJ glances down abruptly. “Like with the cereal drawer this morning and what you observed in there.”

“I hate to tell you this, but it sounds like you’re gonna talk about the thing you said we shouldn’t talk about.”

“I found clarity in unconsciousness.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means our problems don’t just disappear. Obviously.” She waves one hand in front of him, indicating the room where Peter’s presumably spent most of his waking hours since arriving here. “We have to solve them.”

“Is it… us having sex… a problem?”

“I don’t want it to be. I just want us to be, you know, in agreement. Not rushing into anything.”

“I think…” Peter sighs and shifts so he can look at her without contorting. She withdraws her arms from him and sits up, crossing her legs in her lap, planting her elbows on her knees. “I think we’re not gonna get everything we want. How can we, with these conditions? I don’t even know when I’m gonna get to see you again. We can wait, which is alright with me, but I can’t tell you how long we’ll be waiting for.”

“I’m not asking.”

“Because you know I have zero control here,” he says in a tone full of more irritation than she’s seen him display yet. “I don’t even choose what I eat for breakfast! It’s not like they’ve asked me to write up a grocery list. I am so sick of Cheerios. Out there, I was helping people, but stuck here… I don’t know, MJ. I’m basically powerle—”

She folds forward and kisses him, grabbing his face to hold him in place for a few extra seconds until his lips copy hers and quit trying to form the rest of that word.

“No,” MJ insists, face still close to his, “you’re not. And just so you know where I stand…” She takes a deep, terrified breath, pushing out the only truth she’s ever had trouble articulating: “…you are everything I want.”

Peter’s eyes are awed and hopeful as his gaze darts across her face.

“What about what you said about not rushing?”

“That was for your benefit. Personally, I can’t rush what I’ve already decided.”

“Especially not when May sends you here prepared, I guess,” he checks with a coy smile.

“We don’t have to do anything else,” MJ emphasizes, sidestepping the dork’s comment. “It’s amazing just being with you—and I will deny I said that so bluntly if you ever tell anyone.”

She smiles so he knows she’s teasing. He still jerks his head back in mock offense. Suddenly, his expression clarifies to… horror.

“You don’t wanna do this because you’re worried, do you?” Peter demands. “Not because you think I’m gonna forget about you or stop caring about you like this?”

“No.” But she averts her eyes because she did have that concern on the drive here yesterday, right up until they hugged. “I’m not trying to use sex for anything. If… if you did stop… and you wanted to be just friends again, that’s not something I could prevent. I realize now that I can’t focus on that possibility because—”

“Because it’s not a possibility at all.” He ducks his head until her gaze is trapped by his. Shaking his head, Peter says, “I’m sure about you, MJ. I’m not sure when I’ll be home or if the world—or even just the neighbourhood—will still want a Spider-Man by the time I can be that guy again, but I know the first thing I’m gonna wanna do when I get back is give you a kiss. Not as friends.”

“What about now? Do you want to kiss me now?”

“I always wanna kiss you.”

Right as he stretches towards her—seemingly poised to prove what he said—MJ jerks back. Peter looks up at her quizzically.

“Anything while I was asleep? Any alerts? I don’t want a whole team to come storming in here while I’m taking your pants off.”

It takes her boyfriend a few seconds to get his words out.

“I-I don’t want that either,” he says, voicing cracking as his cheeks redden. He shakes his head. “No alerts. Nothing. That means no change to the plan for you to stay here tonight.”

“Good. I was sorta getting used to the idea. They would’ve had a fight getting me out of here.”

She raises her chin confrontationally and Peter grins.

“And some people think Spider-Man’s trouble. They should meet his girlfriend, who marches in with a box of condoms and won’t leave until he sleeps with her.”

MJ gapes at him.

“That’s not what I did.”

Peter pushes up to his knees, smiling as he cradles her face in his palm.

“It’s basically what you did.”

“You massively oversimplified the events of the past—” She squints and makes a guess. “—thirty hours.”

“I was hitting the highlights,” he argues, sliding his hand to the back of her neck to draw her down to him.

Her laugh is as brief as one of her quick heartbeats as Peter’s fingers stroke her neck and he angles his head.

“Is that how you’re going to tell this story to our grandkids?”

The mirth falls from both of their faces; they absorb her facetious quip in the same instant. Then, their mouths slam together—MJ diving down, Peter surging up. Though she has the high ground (and doesn’t say as much to the guy with a roomful of Star Wars Lego), he builds momentum out of nowhere, driving her up until he’s hovering, then lowering, on top of her. She’s holding him as tightly as she can as they continue to kiss hard.

On instinct, she assumes, their bodies copy the morning’s posture with her thigh against Peter’s hip. He grasps it and presses his hips to hers. MJ swipes her tongue along his when she feels him hardening between her legs. This was always only a maybe, she thinks, eyes moving fast behind her lids as they follow the red glow of the fire that the movement of his head is causing to shift across her face. But this definitely feels like they know where they’re going. Somebody’ll need to go get the condoms from the kitchen at some point. Peter swings his head to kiss down her neck and MJ sighs. Yeah, at some point.

These clothes might not come off as easily as the red suit on the opposite couch, but his eagerness compensates for the fact that he can’t just tap his chest to drop everything to the floor. When both their top halves are bare (as with anything, Peter does not mind lending a hand in undressing her), he pulls MJ up so he’s sitting with her straddling his lap. He groans into her mouth as she traces the muscles of his abdomen and she hops forward to nudge her hips into his again.

“If I don’t go now,” he pants, “I don’t know when I’m gonna get up to grab a condom.”

So, he’s been thinking the same thing she has. MJ smirks.

“You should probably get one,” she encourages.

But he has her jeans undone and her hand down the front of his sweats—still over his underwear, for the moment—before he manages to repeat his words with any resolve. She throws herself aside and stares into the fire, licking her lips to chase the memory of his mouth’s pressure, while he scurries to the kitchen. His naked torso is beautiful in the glow when he jogs (dork) back in.

“You think it’s safe to leave that?” MJ asks, nodding towards the fireplace. “My preference would be not doing this on a couch the first time.”

“Second time?” he jokes.

“Maybe,” she says seriously, just to see the dumbfounded look it puts on his face.

“Yeah… we can, yeah… It’ll be fine. So, you wanna… my bed?”

“The traditional yet practical choice.”

He happily sighs out his, “Yeah,” and she wonders if he heard anything following her agreement to a theoretical second round. Probably not—he spoke staring at her boobs.

“What if I carried you?” Peter blurts as she’s about to stand.

“…I can walk.”

“Yeah, but… can I carry you?”

She watches him for a moment as he awaits her answer. She’s watched him so many times, but never while he was waiting for her, trying to find something to grasp in the silence, this guy who’s more than human and always flitting from one web to the next. MJ ends his freefall.

“Ok, Peter.”

As giddy with nerves as she was on their first date when he held her tight and wrenched her off her feet, she stands. He steps in close, taking her face softly between his hands, kissing her. She hops into his arms the second he lets go and laughs at Peter and herself when the action tips him back. He holds on though, pulling her thighs in snugly around his waist before catching her back to press her to his chest. MJ’s scared to kiss him as he walks them to his bedroom; arms wrapped behind his neck, she stares at him instead. They’re about to do this. He’s going to be inside her.

“You got it?” she checks once he’s sat her on the edge of the bed.

Peter plucks the condom from his pocket to show her. MJ nods in acknowledgement and he sets it on the nightstand. With a condom nearby—this assurance that they are responsible people and can therefore do whatever the fuck they like—she reaches for his hand and draws him in. Kissing, she scoots back and he crawls over her. She gasps when he moves his mouth enthusiastically to her neck and he jerks his head up with a self-satisfied expression.

“The sheets are cold,” she lies defensively. Peter just smiles and burrows his face back into the warm crook between her neck and shoulder.

“They’ll get warmer.”

MJ can’t believe it when she’s the one being stripped out of her pants first (her boyfriend is such a willing undresser). She feels vulnerable, between the sheets in only her underwear, but she’s determined enough to relocate Peter’s hand from her waist to her breast. He thanks her in a passionate mumble that raises hairs on the back of her neck as he darts in to kiss her firmly. Parting her thighs, she thanks him in return, for the kiss or the way he’s kneading her nipple between finger and thumb or something, relieved when he lowers his hips and she can feel his erection under his sweats. Fuck, a week ago, she was trying to convince herself that she’d be lucky and get Peter back next year. This is the greatest surprise.

Though she doubts she could knock the wind out of him, he huffs when she squeezes her thighs to his hips and unbalances him, rolling him over and landing on top.

“Wow, you wanna do it like this? I mean, yeah, awesome.”

Sitting astride him, MJ rolls her eyes.

“I just thought it’d be easier to get you out of your pants this way, since you seem like you’ve forgotten that you need to actually take them off.”

Peter shakes his head rapidly.

“I just didn’t want to rush you, like you said. Or freak you out or scare you,” he rambles.

This idiot.

“Why would I be scared? Are you concealing a weapon or something?”

“No,” he jokes with a goofy smile, pressing his hips upward, “I’m just happy to see you.”

“You so did not deserve those condoms.”

“Didn’t I?” Peter asks, the two of them working his sweatpants and boxers down. (She’s touching his thighs. His bare thighs. Jesus.)

“No. Huge mistake. You’re not mature enough for this. I’m going to tell your aunt.”

As long as MJ keeps talking, dropping onto her side and slipping her own underwear off is just a background thing that’s happening while she speaks. Her heart is hammering.

“Oh, are you?” he questions, running a warm, tentative hand down the curve of her naked hip.

“Mhmm. She’ll be really disappointed in you for, uh, wasting supplies.”

“Maybe I could make it up to you and you could forgive me.”

Peter’s fingers trace low over her belly, making her stomach flinch with the anticipation. He touches between her legs, the contact the subtlest flirtation. The look in his eyes says he doesn’t know what he’s doing either, but that he wants to do it together. Holding his stare, she rolls onto her back.

He proceeds when she widens the space between her thighs. His touch feels… fine, but not exciting, and MJ wonders if it’s because she’s watching him, possibly making him nervous. She closes her eyes and instinctually angles her head to press her forehead against Peter’s shoulder. Gradually, he strokes her with more assurance and she quietly mutters “yes” each time he does something that feels good. By the time he’s gotten her seriously wet and turned on, she’s gripping the sheet with one hand and his wrist with the other, urging him to go faster. Her body’s not satisfied but humming as Peter jolts recklessly across her to snatch the condom. He kisses her right as she’s opening her eyes at the disturbance.

“Yeah?” he asks, dick in hand.

She nods, breathing quickly and needing him to act before the sensations he’s stirred up dim.

“Yeah.”

It’s out of character, how slowly he moves next. He’s capable of care in abundance, of course, but patience? Caution? Restraint? None of these are words that would come to mind if someone asked her to describe her boyfriend. They cling to each other as he works his way deeper in incremental thrusts. Because he’s trembling, she holds him tight. She probably would regardless. Things almost stall, but then he gropes between them, locating her clit, and her clutch on him squeezes and releases, allowing him to suddenly slide all the way home.

“Fuck,” he says softly, head hunched down beside hers.

MJ rubs her hands over the quivering muscles of his back, certain the two of them are generating enough heat to melt the snow around the house and all the way up the road.

“I’m gonna come if I do anything,” Peter says in a desperate tone. “I can’t move.”

“You can move.”

“No. I… I wanna take care of you. MJ, please.”

Between them, she finds his hand and guides it in rubbing her clit. His body’s held taut above her and she turns her head to meet his searching eyes. Her neck arches involuntarily at her first unexpected moan and Peter clamps his eyes shut like it’s all too much. So she watches his tense, determined face while manipulating his fingers over her. When she’s close, coating his cock in her arousal many times over, MJ tells Peter to open his eyes. Then, she begins to rock her hips, letting him glide in and out. Their hands continue to stimulate her until she orgasms with a wet cry and pulls his fingers away. They hold hands hard and he thrusts with crazed strokes, coming with an understated choked noise.

He hasn’t quit shaking when he climbs off of her to deal with the condom.

“I don’t know,” Peter says, sliding back into bed and allowing her to weave her limbs around his. She smiles at how baffled he sounds.

“You’re ok.”

“This feels like shock, like I get after a bad beating.”

She sighs exasperatedly at this news. She might’ve suspected his secret identity for a while before he confirmed it, but she doesn’t know everything, isn’t in on all the missions and outcomes yet. When he gets home—after all this bullshit—she’ll demand to be kept in the loop.

“I guess you’re just overwhelmed.”

“That felt really fucking good,” Peter confesses in a low, stunned voice.

MJ starts to giggle and can’t stop. Tears stream down her face, into her hair, onto her boyfriend’s skin. He laughs too, but holds her greedily all the while. It reminds her how temporary this is.

Except, no. It’s not. No one can stop them from remembering this after she goes and he stays. No one can stop them from making plans, having hopes. Days are temporary, like snow, but feelings can last. How she feels about Peter definitely can. She’s made it this far and, on his end, so has he. On impulse, MJ kisses his forehead.

“I know what’ll help. Something to eat. We can see what else you have that can be cooked in the fireplace.”

“Frozen lasagna?” he proposes.

“Why not? Let’s try it.”

#my writing #promptmas #spideychelle #spideychelle fanfiction #peter parker #peter x mj #peter x michelle #peter parker x michelle jones #michelle jones

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mythicalsecretsanta · 4 years ago

Text

12 Days of Christmas... Almost (E)

This gift is for: Cal (AKA @mythicalamity) Surprise! Keeping this secret from you for the last month wasn’t easy! Thank you for being the kindest, most loving friend I’ve ever had in this fandom and for being a pretty spectacular person in the real world as well. Merry Christmas, Cal! From your Secret Santa, @fanbabble

Link to AO3, or read below:

The Holiday season was in full swing at Mythical, as much as it could be at least. The virus had put quite a damper on festive activities across the world and Myth Ent was no exception. There were lights strung up and a Christmas tree, but there would be no company Christmas party this year, no cookie exchange, no getting together at each other’s homes for dinner parties or gift swaps. The mood in the office was a little low and Link found himself looking for ways to encourage positivity and the good feelings of the season. That’s why when Stevie suggested a secret santa gift exchange, Link took the idea and ran with it. Employees would play secret santa leaving their secret giftee presents for the 12 days leading up to Christmas. Not only would this game bring a bit of fun into the office, but it could also be done safely as social distancing was a literal part of the rules. You couldn’t reveal your identity to your giftee until the final day of the exchange. It was perfect!

Rhett was less than excited about the prospect. He complained to Link about not wanting to participate. He was nervous he wouldn’t know what to get the person he chose or how to keep the secret. Rhett’s enneagram three-ness was getting in the way of him enjoying himself again. He was worrying too much about impressing the person he got, rather than letting himself relax and have fun with the idea. Link finally convinced his friend to participate.

“How would it look if one of the owners of the company didn’t play along?”

“Fine. But if my gifts turn out to be duds and ruin someone’s Christmas it’s your fault!” Rhett said as he stood to join Link and walk down the hall to the Mythical kitchen for the name exchange.

Chase mixed the names of everyone in a Santa hat. The in-office folks would be in one drawing and the staff who were working virtually would draw amongst themselves. In all there were about 15 names in the hat that Chase held shut in his grasp. The group took turns reaching their hands in to pick a slip of paper with their giftees name written on it. The PAs went first, followed by the camera men, then the directors, followed by Chase, Stevie, and finally Rhett and Link.

Rhett stuck his hand into the Santa hat. His gaze was trained on the little opening.

“No peekin’!!” Link smacked his arm and scolded him.

“I’m not! Besides There’s literally only one name left in the hat, Link.”

The kitchen filled with the crew’s laughter.

“Can’t exactly pick and choose who I want, man.”

Rhett glanced at his friend and then looked at the little slip of paper. The apples of his cheeks became more obvious as a small smile spread across his face. He grasped the paper close to his chest and then tucked it into the pocket of his jeans.

Everyone in the kitchen celebrated the exchange with a cupcake whipped up by the Mythical Kitchen and then retreated back to their personal space to finish up the day’s work.

Before the office door was even fully shut Link was in Rhett’s space.

“Who’d ya get?”

“What?! I’m not telling you. It’s not fair.” Rhett sat down in his office chair and opened his laptop.

“Come on, Bo. Tell me. I got…”

“STOP” Rhett put his hands up to his ears as if to block out what Link was about to reveal. “I don’t wanna hear it. Let’s do this right. Keep it a secret.”

“Since when do you care about keeping this kinda stuff secret? You usually can’t wait to tell me everything and anything,” Link was teetering on the fine edge between annoyed and amused.

“Well this year is different. If this is one of the only ways the company gets to celebrate then I wanna do it right.”

“Fine,” Link huffed. He flopped down on the leather couch and draped his arm over his eyes. “You don’t want to tell me, that’s your business, but don’t come begging for gift ideas when you come up dry.” And with that healthy dose of snark the smaller man settled in for an afternoon nap.

The next day Link walked into their office and threw his jacket over the back of the gray chair that sat by the door. He put his backpack on the floor by his desk and was just about to head to the office kitchen for a cup of coffee when he noticed a box sitting by his desk lamp. He picked it up and examined it.

“Dang, my santa must get here early.”

It was only 7 AM and Link had just arrived to an empty building. The box was wrapped in shiny green paper and tied with an elegant red bow. He turned it over in his hands looking for some kind of tag or label. When he found nothing, Link slipped the ribbon from the package and pulled off the lid. Inside was a perfect golden pear tucked into a pillow of soft fabric. Link wasn’t sure what to do with the gift so he sniffed it to confirm it was a real piece of fruit. He lifted the pear out of the box and saw that a small note was hidden underneath. He held the pear in one hand and opened the slip of paper with the other.

“On the first day of Christmas,

My true love gave to me,

A partridge in a pear tree”

-You may be a “sweet peach” but I think we’d make a great “pear” Love, Your secret admirer

Link read over the note three times before he could totally comprehend what it said. He turned it over to look for any kind of identifying mark or signature. There was nothing to be found. He blushed hard and tucked the note into his pocket. It had been a long time since he had had anyone in his life, much less a Love, but he knew no one at Mythical felt that way about him and even if they did it would be totally unethical to pursue anything. Link was sure it was just some kind of joke by one of the writers and tucked the green box into his backpack before heading off to get his coffee.

When Rhett came in half an hour later, he was all nervous energy and talking 90 miles a minute. He said it was because he had almost gotten into a car accident on the way in. He had found his Secret Santa gift sitting on the back of the toilet in the bathroom and showed it to Link.

“It’s gotta be Jordan, man,” Rhett said as he held out the bag for Link to inspect, “Who else would give me a bag of cotton candy?”

Link peeked inside the gift bag and said, “Seems kinda obvious, but it’s possible.” He couldn’t help but let his thoughts wander back to the little green box he had received and the love note that it contained.

“Earth to Link,” Rhett took the bag back and set it on his desk. “You alright man?”

Link shook his head to clear his mind and refocus on the man before him. “Oh yeah, sorry. Must need more coffee.” He held up his empty mug and headed toward the office door.

As he reached for the doorknob, Rhett asked quietly, “Did you get your first gift yet?”

Link paused and laughed without looking back, “Yeah, pair of socks. Womp womp,” then he headed out the door.

Over the course of the next few days, Link continued to receive themed gifts from his Secret Santa that left him giddy and baffled at the same time. The first two were silly, Turtle and Dove chocolates for Day 2 and three fried chicken legs for Day 3. They were both accompanied by notes that talked about how much the gifter liked Link and they were both signed “Love, Your secret admirer.” Link still wasn’t sure what to make of the declarations, but he played along and let himself feel special for the moment. Even if he was still convinced it was all a joke. Until Day 4 that is.

On Day 4 Link walked into the office late to find a small book tied up with a ribbon. “Native birds of the National Parks” The gift was incredibly thoughtful and one that he would definitely use on future adventures. A folded piece of paper was tucked inside the chapter about Denali National Park. It read,

“On the fourth day of Christmas,

My true love gave to me,

Four calling birds”

- Bird calls are beautiful, but the idea of calling you mine is even better. Love, Your secret admirer

Link opened the book again to the page about the birds of Denali. There was only one person he had ever told about wanting to visit the park covered in glaciers and snow. Rhett. Could his secret admirer be Rhett? Link’s head swam with the possibility.

He had been in love with his best friend for most of his life, but he had kept it hidden away out of fear of losing the one person in the world who was most important to him. Surely, Rhett was not the person who was his Secret Santa. Link felt a burst of warmth spread across his chest as he let himself entertain the idea for a moment. What would it be like to finally feel those arms around his body? To finally kiss Rhett’s lips? To own his heart as well as his friendship?

As he stood there lost in his own thoughts, the man in question came barreling into the office. Link stuffed the book into his desk drawer and turned quickly to face his friend.

“Hey, Rhett, how’s it going?”

Link did his best to maintain his cool. He watched his friend as he moved about the office getting settled for the day. He assessed his behavior for any clues or signs that he might be the “Secret Santa Secret Admirer.”

“Pretty good. I added some new reps to my workout and now my abs are killing me.” Rhett rubbed his hand across his stomach. His t-shirt pulled taught and drew Link’s eye to the spot. Link felt his breath catch from the promise of what was underneath. His eyes roamed over the broad chest and thick arms. The way the shirt sleeves hugged Rhett’s biceps was criminal. Link knew he would have to control his thirst better if he hoped to get any hints about what role Rhett actually played in all of this. He cleared his throat and got a hold of himself.

“What time did you get here this morning?” Link asked as casually as he could. He fiddled with the monitor on his computer to appear slightly uninterested in Rhett’s response.

“What? Just now. You saw me walk in.”

“I thought maybe you came in and left again.”

Rhett turned and opened his laptop. He busied himself with things on his desk while it booted up.

“Nope. Just rolled in.”

“Oh cool,” Link paused before adding, “How’s your secret santa going?”

Rhett reached for a pen and knocked his coffee mug off balance spilling yesterday’s brown stuff over his desk and onto his lap.

“Shit!”

Link jumped up and grabbed the roll of paper towels he kept by his desk. He pulled off a handful and held them out to Rhett.

“Can you clean this up for me, Buddyroll? I have to go over to wardrobe and find some different pants to wear or I’ll smell like an old coffee pot all day.” Rhett grabbed the towels and dabbed at the wet spot that stretched across his thighs.

“Yeah, go ahead. I got this.” Link began to mop up the spilled coffee as Rhett headed out the door. His interrogation would have to wait for another day.

Days 5 and 6 were once again oddly funny gifts. If Rhett was the secret admirer it would make sense because he was the funniest person Link knew. A lifetime of laughter with Rhett had been the tradeoff for hiding the fact that he loved the man immensely. The idea that his love might be returned was more than Link had ever let himself hope for.

The notes included with the gifts were just as tender as the previous ones. Day 5’s onion rings were accompanied by a slip that described Link as “more valuable than a golden ring” and day 6’s half dozen eggs had a note that read “You are a good egg, who makes my heart happy.”

Link enjoyed the sentiment, but nothing struck him as particularly suspicious. Day 7 was, however, a game changer.

That morning as Link walked past the dark studio a glimmer caught his eye. He set his backpack and Jade down and walked onto the GMM set where he found a string of origami paper birds strung together on a piece of gold silk ribbon. The swans were hanging across the back of the set from wall to wall. There must have been at least 50. Each bird’s wings was dipped in silver glitter and twinkled in the low light giving the set a magical air. Link stood back and took in the beauty.

When he looked closer he saw each swan was made of sheet music. Link held one small bird in his fingers gently and examined it. He would recognize those chords anywhere. It was Merle. These paper swans were made with sheet music of Merle Haggard’s song, “Always Wanting You.”

“This has to be a gift,” Link whispered to himself.

Link held his breath, afraid if he moved he would scare away the one idea he wanted to be true most in the world. That his secret santa was not only Rhett, but that the man was in love with him as well.

A larger piece of paper flapped at the end of the string of birds. Link grabbed it and saw that his name was indeed on the front of the folded slip. He opened it and read:

“On the seventh day of Christmas

My true love gave to me

Seven swams a swimming”

- Like Merle said, “Always wanting you, but never having you makes it hard to face tomorrow.” Love, Your Secret Admirer

Link couldn’t believe what he was reading. This had to be confirmation that Rhett was his secret admirer and secret santa. Jade sniffed at his shoes as if she were looking for the answer to a question he didn’t know. Link gently took the chain of birds down, gathered his things, and headed back to his office.

When he opened the door, he was surprised to see the big man sitting at his desk already. He was speaking loudly on the phone about a new project they were working on.

“No, damn it. I don’t want to cut that part! I purposely included it to help the flow of the story.”

Rhett’s voice bounced off the brick walls. His tone was harsh. Link thought better of questioning him right now and tucked the birds into his backpack. He sat back on the couch and opened his laptop for the day. Jade snuggled into Link’s side and he petted her head mindlessly. His thoughts were only of Rhett. As he waited for his computer to boot up, Link watched Rhett.

“It has to be him. Who else would use Merle?” Link thought to himself, “Oh you’re being an idiot. Everyone knows you love Merle Haggard, dummy. It could be anybody.”

Link sunk down into the leather cushions and sulked. Not knowing for certain was exhausting. Only 5 more days to figure out this mystery. He glanced down at the paper swans one more time and smiled softly.

Day 8 brought a bottle of chocolate milk and a note that read, “You’re the milk to my cookie”

Link drank it in front of Rhett at lunch to see if he would get a reaction. Nothing. Well, with the exception of the way those green eyes sparkled when he belly laughed at a joke or the way Rhett put his hand on Link’s back as they left the office to head to record an episode of Ear Biscuits. Link noticed those things, but he couldn’t be sure if they were a reaction to the milk or to being close to Link in general.

Link had caught Rhett in a lingering gaze more than once since the Seven Swans gift. And when they were alone together it felt like a spark was fizzing between the two of them. Something was going on, Link was sure of it. He just needed a little more proof before he could confront Rhett. His friendship was entirely too valuable to risk on an assumption.

On day 9, Link climbed into the driver’s seat of his car. He reached down to grab his sunglasses and was surprised to find something extra resting on the console. It was an old school cassette tape. Just like the kind he and Rhett used to exchange in high school. They would spend hours making the tapes and then driving down the back roads listening to their creations and singing at the top of their lungs. If he was honest, those times were when he first fell in love with Rhett.

Link flipped the cassette over in his palm. On the outside of the case where the album art would usually be, was his name. Link immediately recognized it as Rhett’s handwriting. He opened the case and found a piece of paper folded in fourths tucked inside. It read:

“On the ninth day of Christmas

My true love gave to me

Nine ladies dancing.”

- I kept trying to find a funny pun for this day, but all I could focus on was singing these songs with you as we drove down the highway in North Carolina. I’ve tried to hold out to the end of the 12 days, but this secret is an old one and I don’t want to keep quiet anymore. If you feel the same, find me in the office at work and tell me. If not just toss this cassette in the trash and pretend it never happened. Love, Your Secret Admirer

Link was quiet for a moment and then, “Rhett! It’s Rhett! He loves me!” Link yelled at nobody in particular. Just saying the words out loud made him feel less like it was all a dream and more like it was real life. He threw his things into the passenger’s seat. In his flustered state he tried to check the time on his sunglasses and put his phone on his nose. He shifted into reverse and sped down the block.

Link’s heart was pounding in his chest. He was breaking every speed limit on the way into Burbank, but he did not care. Let a cop try and stop him now, nothing could keep him from getting to Rhett. Link pulled into the parking lot in record time and he bolted out of his car and through the studio doors. He was running at full speed back to the office he shared with Rhett. His Rhett. Link took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

The office was empty. Where was he? Link knew he didn’t pass him on the way through the building. He stood still for a moment and wrung his hands trying to think of what to do next. Just when he was starting to worry that Rhett had panicked and ran, he heard footsteps coming down the stairs of their loft.

Link watched as Rhett appeared slowly, first feet, then legs, torso, and finally that glorious head of hair.

“Link…”

Rhett barely got the word out before the smaller man was launching himself across the office and into his arms. He melted into the embrace and pulled Link tighter against him. They took just a moment to look into each other’s eyes before their lips met. The kiss was strong and full of promise. Link opened his mouth to deepen the kiss and the passion kicked in. Rhett lifted Link up with his hands under the smaller man’s thighs and carried him to the couch.

They pressed heated kisses into skin and hair. Marking their love on the other’s body wherever they could find purchase. Hands roamed pulling hair and grabbing biceps. And when Rhett laid Link down on their couch and pressed his body to the cradle of Link’s hips there was no denying that both men were hard with desire already.

Link gasped with the sensation of being so close to Rhett. The feeling of his hard cock pressed against Rhett’s made his head swim and he pulled back to catch a breath. Rhett took the opportunity to say something he’d been holding in for decades.

“I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Each declaration was punctuated with a kiss. Link’s collar bones, his neck, his temple.

Link pulled Rhett close and whispered into his ear, “I’ve loved you my whole life.”

It was all the permission Rhett needed. He worshiped Link’s body and rocked against him until they were both finishing in their jeans like teenagers. Sticky and satisfied the pair laid together on the couch exchanging lazy kisses and gentle touches. Trying to make up for all the lost time they denied themselves.

Link was half asleep and half in awe of the way Rhett looked. He laid silently and listened to Rhett as he said, “I can’t believe it worked. I thought for sure you’d throw the cassette away.”

Link ran his fingers through Rhett’s curls gently.

“You doubted me? Haven’t you figured it out yet, Bo? All you have to do is be the brave one and I’ll follow your lead.” He placed a kiss on Rhett’s tshirt right about his heart. “Thanks for being the brave one.” Rhett kissed the top of Link’s head and grunted in affirmation.

Link snuggled into Rhett’s chest and closed his eyes. Just as he was about to doze off the smaller man popped up and looked Rhett in the eye.

“Don’t think just because you love me, you’re getting out of giving me gifts. I have three days left and I want my secret presents.” Link flashed his crooked grin and poked at Rhett’s side.

Rhett let out a booming ho-ho-ho laugh before pulling Link back down against his chest.

“You can have anything you want, Link. Diamonds, rubies. I don’t need any presents though because I’ve already got the most valuable gift of the season… you.”

#mythical secret santa 2020 #type: fic #rating: E #gift swap #rhink #submission

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e-king-court · 4 years ago

Text

It’s that time of year again...

...and by that I mean it's my birthday.

I don't generally celebrate my birthday. It became A Thing after my parents divorce, and since then, it is definitely a cursed day (last year I got a whole pandemic, so...)

This year, however, I decided I wanted to write me a story. Some months back, while scrolling through Facebook (I know, I know) I came across a post of a post that was a plot bunny. It was a tweet from user @JohannesEvans that read:

Hot goth in the woods that keeps answering the door and sighing and going "no, I'm not the witch, he lives over there" and points across the street to a dazzling pretty boy wearing a gold waistcoat who's waving excitedly at them

I immediately wanted to write it. So I did.

Now, to no one's surprise, I didn't start this story until roughly a week ago, so... well, it's almost done. So, for now, just to say I've properly celebrated my birthday, please allow me to share with you the first half or so of this silly story. It's rough, really rough, and doesn't have a title. I'm not thrilled with it, but... guilty pleasures, etc. Enjoy!

Quiet. That’s what the little alternative community in the woods had offered. Peace, acceptance, solitude. Quiet.

So Locke bit back a curse when someone knocked on his door for the hundredth time that day. Poppy seeds scattered across his work bench when he jumped because of course he hadn’t used a measuring spoon. Why would he use a measuring spoon for the smallest ingredient? Obviously, pouring straight from the bottle is the best way to measure poppy seeds.

The knocking persisted. Locke sighed and set the bottle down with a thud and rattle of chains. He stomped his way up front and tugged the door open, startling the pair of young women standing on his doorstep. Their eyes widened and the three of them stared at each other for longer than Locke thought was polite.

“Can I help you?” He didn’t growl. This was good communication skills.

The two seemed to shake themselves. “Are you Mr. Devereux?”

Locke sighed. “Which Mr. Devereux?”

They blinked and exchanged a confused glance. “We, um… we’re looking for a spell.”

“Then you want the witch.” He pointed a long arm over their heads toward the obnoxious display across the street. “That Mr. Devereux.” As one, they turned and Locke followed their gaze.

Sebastian was lounging in a pool chair, a cheap thing with neon yellow piping and no pool in sight. He was surrounded by colorful plants, flowers, and enough suncatchers to make any light fairy jealous. Locke was dismayed to see that he was sunning. Long legs, waxed and bronzed, stretched up to the hem of a pair of nautical striped boyshorts. A too small gold waistcoat revealed a pierced belly button and parted with sequined lapels and a collection of charms and pendants against his chest and the hollow of his throat. Golden blond hair was classically cut, cropped close to the sides and left almost strategically messy on top. Locke was not surprised to see the flash of glitter, either put there intentionally, or polluted from the obnoxious, glittery, sun-shaped sunglasses taking over most of his heart-shaped face.

His smile was almost blinding as he waved. “Hey, gorgeous!”

Locke frowned as his face went hot and wished for the hundredth time since moving in that he was the kind of goth that wore full face makeup. “That’s the witch.”

The women gawked at Sebastian, turned and gawked at Locke glowering in the doorway, and then looked at each other.

“Umm… sorry,” the apparent speaker of the duo said, and they turned and fled across the street, whispering to each other as they went. Sebastian stood and stretched, that waistcoat riding higher and those boyshorts hugging… well, everything. Locke sighed and shut the door with a snap.

Newlight Falls was advertised as a quiet town with a village-like atmosphere, tucked away in the old growth forest and home to those who didn’t fit in elsewhere. It was home to all sorts of paranormals, which included an uncommon amount of witches, plenty of fairies, and the obligatory pack of werewolves. Being that it was only an hour away from three major cities, it had become a bit of a tourist attraction, replete with warm-weather festivals that the fairies almost exclusively coordinated. Locke wasn’t a fan, but they were good for the town and good for business.

Even with all that, Locke fell in love with the place almost as soon as he saw it. He’d found the listing on Will’o, trying to find something close to the doctors he needed, but not directly in the city. Not only was his dark little cabin perfectly suited to him, but being back in the woods meant plenty of shade and long trails that he could disappear into if the festivities got to be too much.

It was also supposed to be haunted, which, perfect, but so far he hadn’t experienced much more than a few things being moved and a book or two knocked to the floor. No great shakes, really.

With the image of Sebastian’s sparkling navel piercing embedded in his mind, Locke sulked back to his work room to clean up the poppy seeds and see if the tea could be saved.

“Locke!” Benji’s happy voice boomed, big arms open and face nearly split by his smile.

Locke returned his smile but stayed sequestered on the front stoop out of the sunlight. Benji came to him without question, wrapping him up in the kind of bear hug only large goblins could give. He grunted and gave Benji’s back a pat as the air was squeezed out of him. “Hey, Benj.”

“Good to see you, you look good. This place looks great,” he said, stepping back to appraise the front of the house. To most, it needed some work, but Locke was partial to the busted exterior shutters and chipping grey paint.

“Thanks, the web is real, orb weaver, real beauty,” he said, motioning to the port window overhead.

Benji’s smile went tight and strained. “Love it,” he grunted like it hurt. He cautiously turned his attention away from the spider. “Thanks for letting me come.”

“Of course! Make my favorite sibling miss Fairy Fest after listening to him whine about it for ten years? Fat chance. C’mon, I’ll show you your room,” he said, motioning Benji in.

Benji grabbed his suitcase and thundered up the steps. “This place has a guest bedroom?”

“Eh….” Locke whined and didn’t answer further. It did, but the guest bedroom was where he’d put his workroom and it would have been too small for his hulking brother anyway. Instead, Locke had cleaned up his own bedroom and got a cot for his workroom. It wouldn’t be the most comfortable, but he could deal with it for the week that Benji was visiting. It wasn’t often they got to spend time together one on one.

They wandered in. Locke waved over the small living room, through the doorway to the small kitchen and dining nook, the water closet under the stairs, and then brought him up to the attic that made his bedroom and the full bathroom for his use during his stay. Benji caught on quick, but didn’t say anything, no doubt having considered how small the house was.

“We’ll have to share the shower, but otherwise, this room is yours for the week. I, uh… can’t say I’d be real thrilled if you picked someone up at the Fest, but, I’ll be the best wingman I can be,” Locke said, drawing the curtains back from the port window to let some light into the room.

Benji chuckled. “I wouldn’t do that to you. Thanks, man, this place is great. Mostly,” he said, eyeing the spider visible through the window.

Locke smirked. “Ghost isn’t too rowdy, either.”

“Ahha, of course you’d have a ghost,” Benji said with a self-deprecating laugh. Locke’s grin went cocky and he thumped his way back down the stairs.

“I gotta make a product run when dusk rolls around if you want to see the town proper tonight. There’s not a lot except some kitschy shops, but you might like one of the little restaurants for dinner,” he said, wandering into the kitchen.

Benji hummed and sniffed the air, eyes landing unerringly on the box that took up most of the little dining table. It was full of Locke’s teas, creative little blends in labeled linen baggies waiting to be delivered to the shops in town he was contracted with. “Sure, I’d love to see the place.”

“Cool, you can carry the box,” Locke said, wandering back to his workshop. Benji’s laugh made the windows rattle.

A few hours later, with the sun set enough that it didn’t irritate Locke’s eyes and skin overly much, he was leading an easily distracted Benji through town. The whole town was decked out for Fairy Fest, covered in lights and flowers and full to bursting with fairies. They flitted about in showers of sparkling color, some already celebrating by tossing petals or handful of pixie dust over the myriad of tourists also steadily filling the streets. Locke would have felt out of place in all his black and chains, but there were plenty of darker fae around, too. If anyone stood out, it was his rather large foster brother, his impressive figure causing people to practically dive out of the way, even as poor Benji apologized.

“Stop apologizing, Benj, you’re only walking,” Locke said with a smirk.

Benji was all tight frowns. “I feel bad, though.”

“Don’t, you’re fine. This is us, though,” he said, veering for a shop door. Benji followed, uttering a few more unnecessary apologies as they went.

The dark little mystic shop was one of Locke’s favorites. It was an evening shop and sold pretty much the same stuff that the rest of the kitschy shops sold, but it was themed dark. Spangled black and purple curtains and tapestries kept most of the natural light out, the shelves all made of cast iron and mahogany. The goods skewed toward occultish, but nothing available to the general public could cause any trouble. Even the obsidian athames were blunter than a letter opener. There were more exotic wares in the back, but the owner, Ms. Gloushire, was highly selective when it came to those sales. Even Locke, who was a resident, didn’t have her convinced, but he was getting there. Not that there was anything fancy he needed for his teas.

Benji, of course, veered right for the collection of polished stones and crystals. Locke grinned and teasingly hissed for him not to touch all of them. Benji glared at him but didn’t put down the peacock ore he’d already snatched from the display.

“Ms. Gloushire?” he called when he saw the front end empty.

“Is that you, Locke!?” a muffled shout echoed from the back.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, sliding his sunglasses onto the top of his head.

A moment later Ms. Gloushire was whacking her beaded curtain out of the way and she smiled warmly at Locke before her eyes settled on Benji. “Oh, you have a friend today.”

“Yep. My brother, Benji,” he said. “I have the tea for you for the Fest. The Starry Night, Full Moon, and Crossroads.” He set his box down on her counter beside the register and pulled back the flaps.

Her face lit up and she rubbed her hands together. “Ooh, excellent. Everything work out all right with your last check?”

“Yes, ma’am, not problems at all,” he said, smiling softly.

“Good. All this newfangled equipment. I know it’s more convenient for the Norms, but electronics and magic don’t always mix well. But if everything’s fine, then it’s fine,” she said, casting her new POS system a distrustful glare as she dug into the box of teas. Locke just chuckled and waited patiently for her to finish her counting and inventorying. Satisfied, she marked it all down and set the box aside.

“All right, dear, everything looks to be in order. If I need anything else, I’ll call you,” she said.

“Yep, you know where to find me. I gotta stop at Coriander’s. You have a good night,” he said, flicking down his sunglasses.

“You too, Locke. Pleasure to meet you, Benji,” she said with a suspiciously sharp smile. Benji tittered nervously, thanked her, and they were off.

The stop at Coriander’s was brief and uneventful. Locke handed over the second box of teas, things packaged in lighter bags with more spritely names, while Benji was one again glued to the shiniest objects the shop had to offer. Even with Coriander chatting at top speed about a new topic every few seconds, they were done relatively quickly. He said his farewells to the bubbly sprite, flicked his sunglasses down, and turned toward the door, only to be blinded anyway.

Sebastian was in the doorway, pushing his outrageous sunglasses onto the top of his head as he meandered into the shop. As soon as he saw Locke he smiled and Locke frowned at the butterflies in his stomach.

“Hey beautiful,” Sebastian said, smooth and a little high. His eyes instantly flicked to Benji and his expression went briefly blank, before he smiled again and got a little swagger. “Well, well, who is this delightful new face?”

Locke glanced over his shoulder and wasn’t surprised to see Benji’s face dark with blush. His greenish skin and purplish blood made him look a little brown, but it was definitely a blush. Locke didn’t blame him.

“Sebastian,” he said. “My brother, Benji. Here for the Fest.” He cleared his throat before his voice broke and ignored the look Benji gave him.

Another expression briefly flickered across Sebastian’s face, this time more surprised than blank, and quickly settled into a coy grin. “Brother? Well, welcome to Newlight Falls, Mr. Benji. I’m Sebastian Devereux, Locke’s neighbor,” he said, sauntering forward and offering his hand. He was a head shorter than Locke, which had Benji nearly towering, but as usual Sebastian’s confidence was unwavering. Locke figured it would have to be with a neon pink sequin sarong over those...shorts.

“Good to meet you, Mr. Devereux,” Benji said. “Which neighbor would you be?”

“The one across the street, handsome. Incase you ever need to borrow a cup of sugar,” he said with a wink. Benji grinned stupidly and Locke nervously fussed with his lip ring. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have some tea to stock up on.” He winked at Locke, who barely resisted watching as Sebastian sauntered past. He huffed, tugging his hood closer to his face, and hurried out of the shop, leaving Benji to scurry after him. Maybe the hood and sunglasses disguised his blush enough? He certainly hoped so.

“So how are the infusions going?”

Locke looked up from pushing around his caprese. “Hmm? Oh, they’re fine. They’re infusions.” He cut a bite of cheese and tomato. “I had one last week and I think I’m scheduled for the week after next. Mostly vitamin D right now.”

Benji nodded, obliterating a half-pound cheeseburger and fries. “I remember summers are harder.”

Locke shrugged. “Yeah, but being here has been really great. The woods are so dense that I don’t always get a rash, so I can be outside more during the day.”

Benji’s face lit up. “Oh! That’s really cool! Mom and dad will be happy to hear it. See? I told them this was a good move for you.”

Locke huffed. “What, me telling them how great it is wasn’t enough?”

Benji waved him off. “You know how they are, they always worry about you.”

It wasn’t unwarranted. Locke had been a sick kid with all kinds of health issues and sensitivities, not the least of which was chronic anemia. At the time, being in and out of foster homes like he was, it had been difficult to narrow down his symptoms. Until Dan and Lori snagged him, the pale, scrawny, constantly exhausted thing that he was, and gave him a solid foster home to grow up in. Within the first year they’d discovered he had vampire heritage, which explained the majority of his weird symptoms. It wasn’t enough that he had to have transfusions, but it still meant he was anemic and allergic to too much direct sunlight. After that, with the support of his new foster family, Locke improved enough that he was able to finish school, and even got a degree.

Now, with a healthy lifestyle, he could live pretty normally, even if he still needed to be monitored monthly. Newlight, on top of being paranormally inclusive, also happened to be an hour away from the office that handled his case, which was still better than the two and a half hours he’d been traveling while still living near Dan and Lori. They might not have adopted him, but they still considered themselves his parents, and made quite the fuss when he moved so far away from them.

“Well, I really am doing great. You can tell them that I'm happy and healthy and even the ghost doesn’t bother me too much,” he said.

Benji snorted. “Lori would flip her lid if she knew you had a ghost.”

Locke grinned and didn’t think Lori would honestly be too surprised.

Other than the caprese salad, the choice of restaurant had been deliberate. It sat across from a stretch of woods with a marked path, and that path just so happened to let out a few yards from Locke’s house. The dark fae of Newlight loved to fill it with all sorts of mischief, some of which was quite pretty depending on the mood. With it being tourist season, and the endless woodland trails a huge attraction, Newlight had strict ordinances for what was and wasn’t allowed on the public paths. Benji was hesitant to take the woods home, but Locke assured him it was quite safe so long as they stayed on the path.

True to form, the woods were full of eerie giggles and mysterious lights, shrubs shaking and twigs snapping in the shadows along the lit path. The usual lamps that ran along the ground had been replaced with overhead string lights, zigzagging back and forth like a trail of will-o-the-wisps. Since the sun had finally set, Locke was able to shuck his hoodie and take off his sunglasses. Extreme temperatures had never really bothered him, but the summers could be pretty oppressive. It was nice to feel cool night air on his skin.

Half way home, a fairy appeared, a curvy woman in a diaphanous lavender dress and long, curling black hair. She hovered her way across the path, watching them with a wicked grin and shining black eyes.

“Evening, Iris,” Locke said casually. Benji made some choking noises behind him and Locke suppressed a grin, imagining his brother was blushing so hard he was almost purple.

“Hello, Locke. Who’s your friend?” she asked, moving a little closer.

“This is my brother, Ben.”

Her grin got even more mischievous. “Nice to meet you, Ben,” and she was off again, disappearing into the trees on the opposite side of the path. A symphony of chittering laughs hit them and Locke snorted.

“Wow,” Benji huffed as they kept moving, eyes nearly glued to the spot.

“She works in Mrs. Gloushire’s sometimes,” Locke said with a shrug.

“Oh yeah?” Benji mumbled absently, still searching through the darkness. Locke wanted to tease him, but it was his turn to blush when another fairy appeared.

“Hello, Galena,” he nearly deadpanned, glad it was so dark.

Galena was tall and willowy, built lean like a swimmer and burnished like bronze. He was dressed in what Locke could only call a poison green loincloth with a braided rope of poison ivy draped across him like a sash and pinning back half of his long, curling brown hair.

“Hello, Locke.” He did a little spin, purple wings beating wildly. “What do you think of my Absinthe costume?”

Locke blinked. “Isn’t that the same costume from last year?”

Galena scoffed. “You’re no fun!” he snarked, but blew Locke a kiss anyway and darted off again. Locke sighed and picked up the pace.

“Are the woods always like this here?” Benji nearly whispered to a chorus of laughter.

Locke shrugged. “No, they’re just excited for the Fest. It’s pretty quiet outside of tourist season.” Benji just hummed softly and got a little closer when something shrieked nearby.

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