#Warm Smile from us..... they took thrill ride of love spiders from us...... they took literally riding zebras to lotus from us.........

[karmaphone]

wheres this grover in the series lmfao

[musings-of-a-rose]

Since Forever

Pairing: Zach Wellison x f!reader

Word Count: 1150+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: @micheleamidalajedi ​ something happened with your official ask so I had to redo it this way! I am so THRILLED you requested my beloved and underrated Zach!

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Zach Wellison Masterlist

It took nearly dying while on tour for Zach to realize the one thing he would regret is not telling you how he feels about you. 

As he was laying in the medic tent being stitched up, all he could think about was you. Your laugh, your smile, the way you get this sparkle in your eyes whenever you talk about something you really love. 

He didn't know he was in love with you until that moment, just making it past the blast radius from a couple of handmade explosives and all he saw was you.

It makes sense though. Looking back on your life growing up together, Zach realized that he'd loved you since the moment you asked him to make mud pies for your wedding in kindergarten. He just didn't realize it until now. 

He hoped he wasn't too late.

Due to his injuries, he was sent home from his tour early. He’d be fine but they didn’t want people with injuries to be in the trenches, so to speak. The moment he stepped out of the airport, he hailed a cab, immediately giving the driver your address. 

Zach wipes his palms down his pant legs nervously, bouncing his leg rapidly to try and relieve some of the nerves. He’d faced giant desert spiders, starvation, dehydration, literal enemies trying to kill him, but this may be the death of him. All this waiting and the uncertainty of your answer. But he knows he has to tell you - he can’t spend another day alive without telling you. 

The cab pulls up to your home and Zach hands him some cash to cover the ride and a tip, thanking him as he practically launches himself from the cab. But once he’s at your door, he freezes, hand curled into a fist to knock on the door. 

What if she freaks out? 

What if she doesn’t feel the same? 

What if she tells me this is too weird and she never wants to see me again?

Before he can run and think more on this, the door opens and there you stand, in a tank top and little pajama shorts, looking half asleep. Shit, he’d forgotten how early it was with the time difference. She blinks and rubs her eyes, trying to focus on him.

“Zach?”

“Hey, Bean.”

She reaches out a hand, placing her palm on his chest. “It’s…you’re really here?”

“I am.”

Without hesitation, she jumps into his arms, flinging her own around his neck as she hugs him tight. He grunts in pain and he hates himself for ruining the moment for as soon as the sound left his lips, she lets go of him, dropping to the floor.

“What happened? You weren’t due back for another 4 months! Are you hurt? Did I hurt you?” She palming at his fatigues, as if she were trying to see through it.

“I was hurt, yeah-”

She gasps, hands flying to her mouth. “Are you ok?”

Zach grabs her by the shoulders to stop her from freaking out. “I’m ok, Bean. I mean, I almost wasn’t but I was lucky. They sent me home because they couldn’t have any injuries outside of minor scrapes and cuts-”

“IT’S MORE THAN MINOR??” Worry fills her eyes as she rakes them over his body.

“Bean, look at me.” Her eyes find his and he smiles at her. “I’m ok, really. They stitched me up and sent me home. If I wasn’t ok, I’d still be in the med tent.”

She nods and Zach is surprised to find tears falling from her eyes. “Can…can I hug you?”

Zach pulls her in immediately, moving her around where he has stitches and holds her tight. She holds him back and he hears her sniffling into his chest, so he kisses the top of her head. They stay like that for a minute before she pulls back, wiping at her face. 

“I’m s-sorry, Z-Zach. I l-left a w-wet m-mark on your cl-clothes.” She’s still coming down from the crying, her speech stuttered with sobs.

Zach cups her chin and lifts it to look at him. “Bean, it’s ok. I’m not worried about-”

Her lips press to his and he freezes, his brain trying to catch up with what was happening. She feels the same way?

But he takes too long to respond, his body frozen and she misinterprets his non response as a bad sign. She breaks the kiss and backs up a step, her arms wrapping around herself as she avoids eye contact with him.

“I-I’m sorry, Zach. I didn’t mean to fuck things up. Can we just forget about it and move on?”

Work, brain! Make words!

“No.”

Her eyes meet his briefly, filling with fresh tears that were caused by his blunt response. 

“Please, Zach. I don’t want to lose you as a friend.”

Zach shakes his head. “No, I meant I’m not forgetting the kiss.”

She sobs and takes a deep breath. “Can’t you? I don’t want to lose-”

His large hands come up to hold her face as he pulls her to him, pressing his lips to hers. His tongue gently brushes against her soft lips and she parts them, her hands coming up to fist in the fabric of his fatigues. She’s perfect and warm and here and she feels the same for him. She has to, right? She is kissing him. Or is this because he was injured overseas?

Zach pulls back, her head still in his hands as he stares into her eyes.

“Why did you kiss me?” He asks.

To his surprise, she shifts nervously, almost looking…embarrassed?

“Bean?”

“Because I’ve been in love with you since we were kids.”

His eyebrows raise as he takes her in, the same face he’s known practically his whole life, fully appreciating how breathtaking she was. 

“But if you don’t feel the same, that’s ok. We can forget it and I’ll just get over it and-”

“Don’t you dare.”

“I-what?”

Zach smiles, a little chuckle coming from his chest. “Don’t you dare forget those feelings.”

Her eyes finally find his. “Why?”

Zach makes sure she’s looking at him when he speaks. “Because I’ve been in love with you since we were kids.”

A smile slowly stretches across her face as she realizes what he’s said. “R-really?”

He pulls her face close to his, speaking low and quiet before kissing her. “I love you so much, Bean.”

She grips the fabric of his shirt and starts to pull him inside, Zach gently closing the door behind him with his foot, neither one of them breaking the kiss that they’d each longed for for so long.

—----

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[loptyrs-moved]

The Spider’s Web

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 2,051 Pairing: Cole/Original Character Tags: voyeurism, monster dildo, sex toys, yandere, dubcon, consensual sex afterwards Original Post Date to AO3: 03/15/2021 Preview:  Cole had methods, and those methods kept him safe from detection. But he never counted on Padmini still being at home after sneaking in, and now he can't seem to take his eyes off of her.

WARNING: Dubious Consent Ahead. If this makes you uncomfortable, please keep scrolling. 

This wasn’t what Cole expected. When he conducted his undercover work , he didn’t count the subject of his research to be in the same vicinity as him. Let alone to find that he was mistaken on her day's plans, and found her home alone in her tiny apartment. Usually he would turn back, and regroup when things didn’t go according to plan. He had a set way of doing things to prevent any sort of detection. It was his tried and true method. Damn his curiosity. Damn the urge to figure out what the noise was that came from her bedroom.

After months of studying Padmini from near, and afar, he never thought he would find something so… heavenly. The door to her bedroom was cracked open just enough for her cat to come in out with ease, giving the young detective a clear view of Padmini with a hand buried between her legs, whimpering and whining. The other hand was busying itself with one of her breasts. She rolled one of her nipples between her fingertips. A flash of light that came from her window caught the little barbel jewelry that pierced the dark nub, sending a jolt through him. He had to leave. He needed to. Every rational thought urged him to turn around and find the nearest exit to plan his escape, and find someplace safe to deal with what he just saw. But lust was stronger than rationale.

If he was quiet enough, he could watch for maybe a little longer … long enough to watch her unravel under her own fingers. Watching her slide the two digits inside, and curl them stirred up a familiar heat from deep inside his chest. It only festered on lonely nights when thoughts of her plagued him, and refused to leave him alone. Her smile, her laugh …  they were both so infectious. The way her fingers — the same fingers she used to pleasure herself with — intertwined with his as they shyly held hands sent chills throughout his body. How would her lips feel against his? What would she feel like pressed against his body? They were thoughts he had as he would usually alleviate the loneliness with his hand. But this… this was entirely different. Padmi’s desire was out in the open. He never thought about her doing the same thing — desperately trying to find some sort of relief that she wasn’t able to get from anyone else. Despite having throngs of other men ready to fuck her silly. Disgusting, Cole thought. None of them deserved to see her like this. None of them would be able to handle her if they knew how greedy the little researcher was. But even after she came, Padmini wasn’t satisfied. Fingers weren’t enough. Not for her.

After she was finished with her hand, she opened a drawer, and what came out from within made his stomach flip.

Cole’s breath caught in his throat. A hand clamped over his mouth to conceal any noises that could slip past the barrier. Wide, stormy eyes watched in awe as Padmini eased the head of a monstrous cock inside her dripping hole. Slick after her vigorous fingering, the pointed tip slid inside her with ease before promptly filling her up with its thick, red shaft. A shaky moan tumbled from her lips as she continued to push herself down, determined to take the entire thing before lifting her hips, and moving back down again.

His mouth felt drier than any desert. The front of his pants grew incredibly tight from hearing her moan. Eyes followed her movements as she rode the monster dick. Ears memorized how Padmi keened when the knot pressed against her wet cunt. How needy. How greedy she was… ready to accept the beast inside her womb.

God how he WISHED he were that beast. He never envied a toy so much in all his life.

Her hips ground down against the dick inside her, making Cole's stomach tighten. Tawny fingers dug into pillows as she began to work herself on the creature's knot.

" Haah … M-more," she moaned breathlessly. "Deeper …"

His tongue darted out to lick his dry lips. His hand moved over his own hardened cock as he drank in the sight of his dear Padmini fucking herself like a slut. Her usual braided lilac hair was wild as her bangs stuck to her sweaty face. Soft breasts bounced freely as she continued to ride the toy, and his mouth watered at the thought of taking one of her cute, pierced nipples into his hot, hungry mouth. If he were to suck — if he were to bite, what would happen? Would Padmi pull his hair, and tighten around his cock? Or would she sing for him like a sparrow, and ease into his mouth as his tongue toyed with the hardened nub?

The very idea of it made Cole throb with desire. He could barely take just watching her through the crack in her doorway. But there was an inexplicable thrill in watching her pleasure herself like this. She was so free with her affections, giving it to those who perhaps didn’t deserve it to begin with, but with her desires …  well it was different. She gave way to other’s wants before her own. Padmi was so giving. Selfless, one would call it. She didn’t ask for much usually, but now he had seen her greedy side… and he couldn’t get enough of it.

As she used more lube to help her fit the knot inside, Cole palmed himself through his slacks. He twitched as he watched her rub her clit furiously to help ease the toy in. Fingers unsnapped the button on his pants as he continued to enjoy the debauched sight before him. A low hiss escaped slipped past grit teeth as the cool air surrounded his heated length. Precum was already dribbling down his shaft as he began to touch himself.

He timed his strokes with her rhythm, matching it so they would be together. Even if she didn’t know he was there. Watching her like a panther in the shadows.

A loud moan shook Padmi to her core as she felt the head of the toy reach a place that fingers couldn’t. The thickness of it all, and the knot slowly making its way in was driving her insane. And Cole could see it written all over her beautiful, flushed face. Half lidded inky eyes were dark with a pleasure that sent shivers down his spine. He could have sworn he saw hearts dancing in pitch black pupils as she desperately chased release. Cole bit his lip, holding back any noises of his own. Nails dug into the doorframe. Her moans were burned into his memories. Each cry was sweeter than the last, and he wished he could claim them all for himself. Cole would cover every inch of her body in kisses if he could, while generously leaving his marks for all to see. He would worship her. If she’d let him.

His panther ear twitched as a lustful cry echoed from her bedroom. Knees buckled as the fat bulge finally was giving way, and filling her up—just like she wanted. “Knot me, baby, please ! ”

The taste of iron filled his mouth as his sharp teeth sank into his hand, keeping his own noises at bay. His tail swished impatiently. His strokes became more frantic the harder she fucked herself. Lust ran hot through his veins like adrenaline. The warm pit in his stomach only grew the longer he watched Padmini slam her hips down on the dildo. Wisteria locks poured down over her shoulders like a heliotrope waterfall. This image of her a wreck, with arousal running down her squishy thighs only intensified his hunger for her. How he’d love to stuff her full of his cock and cum until the only name she knew was his own. He’d devour her if he could. He was so close… and so was she.

“ Cole, please —! ” Padmini sobbed. His heart stopped. Did… did she… ?

His hand left his erection. Cole stared into the bedroom as he found familiar dreamy eyes gazing over at him hiding in the shadows of the hallway. A flash of a smug grin crossed her face before the knot finally filled her to the fullest, forcing a near scream from her lungs. Padmini buried her face in pillows as she was overcome with searing pleasure. A white hot sensation washed over her like a wave as she began to cry his name in incoherent sobs.

Oh. Oh.

It didn’t take long for Cole to make it into her bedroom and undress himself. Before they both knew it, a large hand had pried hers from the pillow she clutched onto for dear life. Nails bit into flesh, sending pleasurable little pinpricks through his body. The tighter Padmi squeezed, the more aroused he got. “Shh… I’m here now, my dear. I’m here,” Cole whispered hotly as he slowly brought her down from her high. Padmi trembled like a leaf, but she wasn’t even remotely close to finishing. Not with him here with her now at least. It took several minutes for Padmini to be able to relax well enough to pull the toy out, but it didn’t stop the panther man from pulling his human up to her knees into a heated kiss. Hands frantically ran over heated flesh as tongues explored one another hungrily. There was a sudden puff of pink sparkles, revealing the curse was broken, but there were far more important things on their minds. Plushy breasts pressed against his firm chest as her fingers ran through his jetblack hair, desperate to touch him. Cole could feel the desire in Padmi’s fingertips as she pulled him closer. A low groan bubbled from deep in his chest as her hand caressed his neglected length. Slippery fingers trailed over the swollen shaft before a thumb swiped over the head of his cock. Cole moaned into her shoulder as Padmi began to stroke him slowly with the same hand that was drenched with her own arousal. The slight squeeze made him shiver, making his nails dig into her supple hips. “Did you like my show, Cole?” she purred. Her thumb pressed at the underside of the head and pressed a kiss to the base of his throat. Teeth grazed his collarbone, setting his skin on edge. Kisses were littered along his pale shoulders as she continued teasing his needy cock. “Did you wish that it was you? Because I did…”

He twitched in her hand. Hips moved on their own, meeting her strokes. Padmini’s words filled Cole’s head with a fuzzy cotton sensation he couldn’t shake, and they drove him crazy. “Ask me,” Cole hissed.

She stopped her motions. Sable eyes looked up at him confused. “Ask you wh--”

In a blur, the hand Padmi had on his length was in his iron grasp. His ashy grey eyes were burning with a fire she had never seen before. There was no hiding it anymore, for all the feelings Cole had for her poured out for her all at once. They were overwhelming, and suffocating, but they all made him feel alive. Was it love or lust? Was it devotion or obsession? It didn’t matter now. All he knew was that he needed her. Now. “ I love you so much, my dear Padmini, ” he growled. “ But I wish to claim you, and devour you, and make you MINE . Ask me, and I will.”

A mix of fear and lust crossed her face, sending a thrill through him. He could feel her heart jump at his words, excited by the idea of being consumed by desire. Cole needed her like his next breath. More perhaps. She pulled away from him momentarily, returning to where she began. Legs spread open, revealing her dripping sex, enticing him. Teasing him. Her dark hooded eyes drew him in like a siren song. Her fingers trailed over the tops of her thighs and ran over her unmarked body.

“I’m completely at your mercy. Be as greedy as you want with me, because I will be with you.”

Any sane thought he had was forgotten as Cole gave into the beast within. “As you wish.”

[honesthammie]

4th prompt part 2

The silence was appreciated as your mind wrapped up today's event. You had met your soulmate in a goddess of a woman. Everything you had discovered so far was perfect. You watched as she pulled a metal disk and metal stick from her pockets. The metal stick made a strange buzzing sound and glowed a faint orange at the tip as she hovered over the disk.

"What are you doing?" You asked after watching her in curiosity for a few moments. You would've let her continue as her face was quite the sight. Her eyes were sparkling with intent and her nose had the most adorable scrunch.

She stopped for a moment as you spoke as if thinking on what to say before continuing. "I'm scanning for any spider eggs in the building so we can take them with the other spiders to a planet of their own. A planet without civilisation but full to the brim with creatures they can eat. I think, the fam got them all. No, fam still doesn't seem right. The team does sound better!"

"A planet? What, are you some kind of alien?"

"Yes. Would that be a problem?" She asked. From the way her eyes sparkled, I believed her. Great, no wonder why she seemed so ethereal! So when I say, she's out of this world, it'd be a fact and not a flirtatious comment! For fuck sake, that's one of my best lines as well! Maybe I could use it when the time is right?

"Nope. After the discoveries of my life recently, that's actually the most believable thing. Please don't ask yet. However, those spider babies trust me. You aren't going to get them to listen without me. I spent at least a full 5 hours with them, they trust me more than you. Come on little Miss Sunshine, hop to it, the spiders won't wait forever." I spoke with confidence. I knew she knew, she needed me. That's why she followed me. "I'm (y/n) by the way"

"Great name! Love that name, was always one of my favourites. I've always fancied myself as a (y/n) but the faces never seem to fit it. I'm normally a John but I can't be now I'm a woman. Why don't you give me an alias for when I'm undercover?"

"Hmmm. I quite liked the name Alice and you certainly suit that name. Is there a name people call you when you aren't undercover. What do family call you?"

"Alice. I love that! I'm keeping Smith. Alice Smith. Perfect! Knew you'd be the one to help me. People tend to call me the Doctor. So do I for some reason. Wish I knew why."

This cute blonde alien was more mysterious the more we talked. She told me of how her ship goes in time as well as in space. She told me of the time of when she met Robin Hood with an older face and a companion named Clara. All this talk and I wasn't bothered once by it. I could listen and watch her all day as she talks about adventures she's been on. She puts all the theatrics on and waves her arms about with so much passion and her eyes show her emotions so clearly. But I also saw age. If she's older than she looks, just how old is she? Not that it bothers me, it's just, if she's like hundreds of years old, she's probably had other lovers and I don't know if plain old me can compete with that.

Sooner than we realised, we came towards a blue Police box. She clicked her fingers and waltzed right in. This must be her TARDIS. I walked inside with awe. The ship was beautiful inside. Like a gem hidden as an ore. The golden and blue lights perfectly reflected her personality.

"It's fucking massive Sunshine! Ya didn't warn me about walking into a football field! No wonder why thousands of spiders seemed no problem! Fucking hell!" I stated as my eyes scanned the room in front of me. Then I felt a little tug on my right trouser leg. I looked down and saw a little spider wanting my attention. I bent down and picked him up. He seemed happy to be held like that so I kept him in that position as I wondered towards the Doctor.

I had so many questions I wanted to know and I'm sure she has too. But now was not the time for that. We needed to get these spiders to their new home. I continued to watch the Doctor as she danced around something she called a console. She was pressing buttons and pulling levers and many more things until the ship made a strange wheezing noise and I was thrown off my feet. Thankfully I was caught by someone. I looked up and saw an oldish man.

"Hello Love! I can tell this your first time here. We all fell down when she first did that with us. You learn to find something to grab onto. I'm Graham by the way." Graham spoke gently but loudly over the noise of the ship. I couldn't help but giggle, my grandad used to call me Love too.

Then as quick as the ship started, it came to a gentle stop. I looked around and notice the same 2 people from earlier. The girl was smiling and laughing to something the boy mentioned. They must be old friends. I then noticed the Doctor walk towards the doors and open them just enough for her to check outside.

"Right (n/n). I'm calling you that as we are friends now. Go on, it's your first new planet and you care about these spiders more than we do so I think it's best if you check everything it perfect for them!" The Doctor spoke with excitement. She even clapped her hands for a moment, obviously not being able to control the surge of energy running through her.

I held the spider in my arms and the doors opened in front of me. I closed my eyes for a moment as the light blinded me temporarily. I could feel the warmth of a sun and the cool breeze the gently whipped past your face giving you the perfect cooling needed. The planet smelled sweet yet sour like Toxic waste sweets. I could hear many creatures making strange noises, some were doing a high pitched growl and some others were doing deep scream. Then there were nicer sounds like birds tweeting but in a lower key and something sounded like a piano, specifically an old ragtime piano.

I slowly opened my eyes and noticed the silver sky and its 4 suns in each direction. I noticed that the high pitched growl was from a small flying frog like creature and the deep scream was from a big rabbit- horse like creature that was just chewing the purple leaves off the metal looking trees. The bird like sound belonged to a small Robin like creature, but instead of a red chest it was a beautiful blue hue and it had silver eyes that sparkled just right. The Ragtime piano sound belonged to a dog-raccoon like creature that scampered away with its mouth full of the fallen berries that the rabbit-horse dropped from the leaves. The grass beneath was as black as ink and the pond to the right of me was a strange red colour.

"Well what do ya think? I personally think it's perfect but you seem to know these arachnids better than me so, I could be wrong, although, I'm not often" The Doctor spoke with eagerness. I noticed her looking at me as I took in the world around me. Why does this feel all too familiar to me? Why do I like the escapism of Earth? Why is this so, freeing?

I took a deep breath in. "Its perfect Doc. The spiders will love it here! They'll adapt pretty quickly I believe. The creatures are big enough to satisfy them. Although the sounds are a little off putting." I put the spider in my arms in the oddly cotton soft grass and watched as the thousands of others followed in its footsteps. Some carried the baby spiders and others carried the eggs. They had already found a cave to lay the eggs and started weaving some webs within 10 minutes.

Once I was happy with everything, I said my goodbyes and entered the strange ship once more. I could feel fresh tears sting my eyes like tiny hot needles. I get so attached so quickly and I noticed the string warm up and I checked on my soulmate, she was looking at me with an all too familiar look, the look of complete adoration. So the string tells me when her love for me evolves until we kiss? I mean, that's when it disappears for everyone else.

"This was great Sunshine! I had a ride of a lifetime, I really did. So I guess, you can drop me off home, I'm probably not wanted and I don't wanna ruin your team dynamic here."

"Why on Earth would you think that? I was actually wondering if you'd like to join us. Those spiders trusted you and having someone like you would really make the adventures more thrilling. Besides, I really like you and there's something special about you and I can't place my finger on it. I don't like not knowing things. If I drop these off home for a bit, would you mind if I ran some tests on you?"

"Really? Sure. I don't mind. I actually wanna know aswell. You see, I know what's special but I don't want to tell you in front of the others, its a bit embarrassing." I asked whilst blushing. She nodded her head and set the TARDIS coordinates to Sheffield. The Doctor promised she'd be back in a week and set the TARDIS to float in our solar system whilst she got to work on me.

We walked into what I can assume is some sort of med Bay. The walk had conversations about the last planet and how we thought the spiders would adjust. Eventually she sat me down on a white bed.

"So, you said you knew why you were special. I don't like cliffhangers so I'll give you a custard cream if you tell me." She said as she got a paper document and waited for me to speak.

"I don't know how or why but have you ever heard of the red string of fate story?" I asked, wondering how to word this without sounding weird. She nodded her head in understanding. "Well, when I turned 16, I could see everyone's red strings. The world was covered in red. I was confused at first until I read that story."

"Hmm. That is interesting because all stories have some truth to them. Some are exaggerated and some are exactly as said. Well that story is a good example of that. Thousands of years ago, there were 2 species of human, homo sapiens and homo spectrians. Spectrians were low on numbers in population as they'd spend almost all their life playing match maker. You'd know Spectrians as Cupids. However when battles and wars happened, Cupids were out of a job as everyone had to focus on the country and not themselves. This is where arranged marriages started happening and Cupids were becoming depressed. Eventually the Cupids decided to blend in with the humans and became virtually extinct. You might be the only Cupid left in the universe, other than Valentine himself." She explained it so well.

"Can Cupids see their own string?" I asked. She paused for a moment. Her eyes flickered between heartbroken and hopeful. I felt the string flicker between cold and toasty warm just like her eyes.

"No. Cupids weren't supposed to have soulmates. But I guess you are technically half human so maybe that makes sense. Do you know who your soulmate is?"

"She's amazing. She's like a Goddess. When I first saw her I immediately thought, She's too fucking perfect for someone like me. She incredibly smart too but, can be oblivious. I mean, I only met her a few hours ago and I'm fucking smitten with her. She reminds me of sunshines and rainbows. I'm just waiting for her to make a move." I told her. She looked at me for a moment, processing this new information. She smirked for a moment once she figured it out.

"Well my soulmate had me wrapped around her finger the second she jumped in front of a spider to save her life. A bold move like that normally makes me mad but, she did it so well. I haven't known her long but I can see me being by her side forever, travelling the stars. She reminds me of those stars actually. The way she sparkles in the light. I love you (y/n) with both of my hearts." She spoke softly as we slowly leaned in. When she finished, she planted her soft lips on mine and the red string was gone. Not that I noticed until an hour later when we picked the team up and held hands to announce our relationship.

Maybe dating a sunshine is exactly who I needed.

[e-king-court]

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.

[honeylikewords]

could we maybe get something for miguel + valentine’s day since it’s coming up?

I am so sorry for to be so late on this! I was originally going to write this before Valentine’s day, but then everything just exploded into chaos and it got a little lost in the sauce. It’s been a long time coming, but I hope that even though it’s not still February, we can appreciate the love, candor, and sweetness of Valentine’s all year ‘round with our favorite Spider-Man.

So without further ado... here we go!

Miguel always struggled with Valentine’s Day.

Neither of his parents were especially affectionate, and certainly not romantic, nor inclined to indulge in a holiday so centered around love for one’s partner, considering their... circumstances.

There were never any roses, never any cards, never even the merest breath of the words “I love you” between the two of them on the fourteenth of February, much less any other day of the year. It was like the day didn’t exist; the fourteenth slipped by, pointedly ignored. The stern silence of it was deafening to a young Miguel.

He didn’t bring the little punch-out cardboard Valentines to school-- neither of his parents believed in the waste of money on such a frivolity, and wouldn’t spend their hard-earned wages on candy for children they’d never even met-- and he grew disdainful of the gauche red-white-pink frills of the holiday, watching all his classmates dumping superhero and princess and puppy-printed cards into each other’s boxes, all aglow with the thrill of giving and receiving attention, tittering naively about who liked whom and whose Valentine’s cards were cutest. Every passing year, the day felt more like a holiday to showcase Miguel’s isolation than to glorify the love around him, and it embittered him more and more.

By his adulthood, he found the whole affair embarrassing; to him, it was a pastiche of care, a pretense, a falsehood. He gagged silently to himself as he’d walk the streets of Nueva York on February fourteenth, rolling his eyes at the overly-affectionate couples rubbing noses and cooing over one another in every restaurant and shop in the city, cluttering the streets with their cloying, choking cutesiness. 

Every year was an ordeal, a burden. He’d have to slog through countless commercials of overly-groomed men presenting their equally foppish girlfriends with cheap-looking jewelry molded to match the motif of the season-- the anatomically inaccurate heart, schmaltzy as ever-- and through congested aisles of supermarkets and drugstores, packed to bursting with polyester plushies and synthetic roses so red they made his eyes water, the checkout lines clogged with shrink-wrapped boxes of waxy chocolates.

It was exhausting. Annoying. Unparalleledly perturbing.

And then, out of the blue, Miguel had to go and fall in love. 

And found himself completely out of his depth by the time February rolled around.

It wasn’t that Miguel didn’t love his girlfriend-- he did, with all his heart!-- but he just didn’t know how to earnestly express himself in accordance with the expectations of the holiday. He’d held it in such high contempt and viewed it with such hostility for so long that the idea of having to engage with it as an actual, active participant left him feeling befuddled, lost at sea in an ocean of faux flower petals and cliche candlelit dinners.

He was caught between the two poles of his heart, one insisting that he needed to celebrate the day in order to show her he loved her, and to please her and not disappoint her on this day of days, and the other part of him insisting that if he succumbed to the trite traditions of Valentine’s Day, he’d be giving her a forced, inauthentic presentation of his love, one coerced by the expectations of the holiday and not one given through earnest admiration. And she’d dump him on the spot, he feared.

Miguel fretted that anything he did on the fourteenth would be colored through the lens of appraisal; his actions would be held and judged against every tired old trope of the day, against all the other men galavanting around town with their girlfriends, against his beloved’s own romantic expectations. He feared that whatever he did would seem cheap and practiced instead of candid and heartfelt, leaving Miguel caught in an endless riptide of his own thoughts, burning down the days until the fourteenth.

So he paced and grumbled to himself and scribbled notes (and wadded up said notes and threw them into a profusely overflowing wastebasket), frustrating himself to madness. Every new idea was a new dead-end; nothing, he felt, could accurately, honestly, or earnestly convey his love for his sweetheart, and would only feel like some callow, childish miming of affection.

As he sat at his desk, head in his hands, groaning into his palms in exhaustion, he looked through his fingers at the pile of discarded sticky notes and crumpled cards, each scrawled with some new, discarded concept, lowering one hand to flick a balled-up scrap of paper across his desk despondently. 

“You’d think I’d be able to come up with just one,” he groused to himself, using his long, tanned finger to continue flicking various wads of failed ideas over the breadth of his desk. “Just one way to say--”

Miguel caught himself mid-sentence, finger curled, unlaunched at the unsuspecting crumpled carcass of a note that once read “carriage ride?���. He paused and gazed out over the expanse of fallen ideas, trashed suggestions; the piles were myriad, proliferated across the room. 

And the idea struck him like a bolt of loving lightning, igniting every cell with purpose and drive and desire: he finally had something. Something worth making manifest.

He set to work immediately.

By the actual day of the fourteenth, Miguel was more confident in his choice, but no less nervous at the prospect of its execution; he still felt anxious, underprepared, like a child gathering themself together to give a scholastic speech on a subject they had not sufficiently studied. 

Standing in front of his mirror in the bedroom, Miguel fixed his tie for what felt like the hundredth time, trying to decide where the line between “cooly rumpled” and “slobbishly underdressed” lay. He kept tightening and loosening the knot, nearly strangling himself in the process as he twitched the red material side to side, buttoning and unbuttoning his collar to try and straddle the chasm in presentation. 

He passed a hand down over his vest, having foregone a suit coat in an attempt to appear more youthful and casual and less “forty-year-old man attending a business meeting that could have been done over email”, then raised his hands to roll his sleeves up his forearms, wondering if he should have shaved them in the shower or if that was weird. 

Did his girlfriend like body hair? Miguel couldn’t remember. He felt like his mind had gone entirely blank; at some point during his outfit-fussing, he briefly forgot his own full name. It started with an M, didn’t it? Michael? Mitchell? Morgan?

Just as he was beginning to contemplate checking his own license to remember his moniker, Miguel heard a delicate rap on his apartment door, knocking him out of his reverie. He blinked and, remembering himself, quickly ran out of his bedroom, careening through the living room, and stopped just short of the door, taking a deep, calming breath before turning the locks and opening the door wide, leaning on the frame to appear casual and collected.

But, of course, for all his appearances, all his practice, all his pretending, Miguel could barely hold it together the moment he saw her. 

His beloved stood before him in the hallway, a vision. Though she struck him with her beauty every time he laid eyes on her, Miguel felt especially winded by her tonight; she had clearly pulled out all the stops for him, from her hair being styled ever-so-elegantly to the dress she wore; a beautiful red number he’d never seen before. He wondered if it was new-- had she gone out and bought new clothes just to see him?-- and stared at her, unaware of the saccharine, shining smile currently spreading across his face.

Seeming to notice the aura of dreaminess taking over Miguel, she took the initiative and stepped forward, putting a hand on his jaw and pressing up to kiss his cheek politely.

“Hi,” she smiled.

Miguel swore her surroundings grew paler, dimmer, foggier in comparison to the bright, illuminating wonder of her smile.

“Hi, yourself,” he managed, forcing out the syllables in as cool, calm, and collected a voice as he could manage.

He wasn’t used to feeling dizzy, hazy with affection. It made him feel vulnerable, but in this strangely delightful way, like walking in the grass barefoot, or laying in the sun; exposed, seen, but at peace. Like second-nature.

As he was contemplating her smile and its foundation-shaking effect on himself, he felt her hand leave his jaw and travel up the fluffy jut of his sideburn, taking a loose lock of his hair and winding it around her finger, delicate and gentle. She gave it a very, very soft, experimental tug, unspooling its curl and extending the hair to its full length, and he followed her eyes as they scanned over the curl held between her fingers.

“You did something different,” she said, eyes warm. “Is this what it looks like naturally?”

Miguel felt his cheeks grow hot as he nodded; he’d decided to leave his hair unstraightened for her, today, in the spirit of candor and earnestness, hoping that the sight of his natural curls would show her that he’d lowered his defenses, thrown away pretenses, and wanted her to see the real Miguel. He hadn’t worn his hair curly in years, and felt an almighty self-consciousness rain down on him as she continued to furl and unfurl the lock around her finger.

She hummed pleasantly and passed her hand through the dense thicket of his dark hair, passing her nails and palm over the nape of his neck, making him shiver with glorious giddiness as she carded her fingers up towards the crown of his head, watching the movement of his hair with a divinely docile look in her eyes. 

“I love it,” she said, fluffing the sides of his hair tenderly. “I really do!”

Both of her hands, now, ascended to his head and ruffled his hair, and Miguel observed her incandescent, childlike grin with a soaring heart. She giggled at herself and squeezed her hands against his stubbly cheeks, shaking her head as she stopped petting him, much to his dismay.

“Sorry, I must be making you feel like some kind of puppy.” 

She gave him a sheepish smile and rubbed a thumb along the strong ridge of his cheekbone, apologetic. 

“I didn’t mean to get so carried away!”

“Oh, no,” he stammered, an overexcited smile overtaking his self-control. “I, uh, you know, I was just… it makes me feel a lot better to know you like it.”

He admitted it nervously, eyes following every microscopic movement of her face to assess her feelings, to watch for any telltales of disdain or shame. But all he saw was earnestness, a warmth in her that made him feel safer than he’d ever felt. 

She pressed up to plant a chaste kiss on the leftmost corner of Miguel’s mouth-- not quite on his lips, but close enough that it sent his brain haywire, sputtering and sparking with an unruly desire for more kisses, more attention, more warmth and softness-- and nodded her head, still smiling as she wound and sprung one last curl with a wayward finger.

“Love it,” she repeated.

Miguel, flustered, stammered some half-begotten words, then coughed into his fist, looking around himself for some way to smoothly segue into a cooler, more nonchalant mode of conversation. Remembering himself and where the two of them stood, Miguel slipped a hand around her waist, ushering her in.

“Can’t just be standing in the hall all night,” he mumbled, partially to her, but mostly to himself to try and jog him into actually bringing the romance to fruition.

As she entered, he closed the door behind them and let her take in the sight; he’d turned the lights in the apartment down to about a quarter of their usual brightness and brought in electric candles for ambiance, a garland of string lights encircling the large window at the furthest end of his apartment, the one that looked out over the surging skyline of Nueva York, in all its glittering, gritty glory. Near the window, he’d set up a small table, just the right size for two to sit at comfortably, and covered it with a tablecloth, a centerpiece of pale flowers sitting atop it.

He eyed the flat, rectangular package sitting on the windowsill, leaned against the glass, wrapped in a soft pink ribbon, his heart jumping into his throat, and swallowed thickly. When she turned back to him after admiring her surroundings, Miguel flashed a smile, caught somewhere between forced confidence and genuine pleasure at seeing her.

“Love what you’ve done with the place,” she teased. “You don’t even do this much for the holidays!”

“I’m allergic to Christmas trees,” he defended, laughing to himself a little as she rolled her eyes incredulously. “You know that.”

“I know you say that, but I don’t think it’s quite true.” 

She stepped closer to him and put one hand on his shoulder, the other coming to play with his tie as she leaned her weight against him, swaying a little as he put his hands on her hips to hold her closer. 

“I think you have a history of wet blanket-ing holidays for yourself.”

“Mm,” acquiesced Miguel with a hum. “Fair.”

“But,” she added, straightening his tie with a smile, “It’s really nice to see you coming out of your shell a little; I know this one’s a hard one for you.”

At that, Miguel softened, eyes meeting hers. He saw a tentativeness in her, a hesitance, and to quell it, he leaned down, kissing the soft hill of her cheek, hugging her to his chest. He sighed through his nose, comforted by the enveloping scent of her perfume, her shampoo, her warmth.

As he pulled away with some reluctance, he gestured to the table at the window.

“Let me get you a seat,” he said, patting her back in the manner of an overly-friendly waiter, putting on his most comic airs. “Your reservation awaits.”

“Oh, a reservation at such a haute eatery,” she replied, voice lilting in good humor. “Whatever must my man have done to secure such a thing?”

“He spared no expense, I assure you,” he laughed as they walked over and he pulled out the chair for her, ushering her in and then scooting the seat closer to the table. “There’s talk of a back-alley deal; money, guns, all manner of salacious things.”

She ooh-ed scandalously, pressing a hand to her chest, and Miguel grinned, his fangs flashing even in the dim light.

“Alright,” he said, checking his watch, “I think dinner’s ready. I’ll be back in a second, but before I go, is there anything you want to drink?”

“I can get my own drink,” she replied, swatting her hand in the air dismissively. “I’m a big girl, Miguel.”

As she tried to stand up to join him, Miguel put his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her back down into her seat, clucking his tongue and shaking his head, a playful smile resting on his lips.

“Ah-ah-ah, nope. I’m being gentlemanly, and I’ll not have you thwart me in that. So just sit back, relax, and lemme do something nice for you.”

She opened her mouth to protest and Miguel quickly ducked down, planting a kiss on her lips that served to both silence her and stir him into pure excitement, his heart racing as he felt her cup his cheek and lean into the kiss. He pulled back with a pleasant ‘pop’, beaming ear to ear, pulse thundering. 

“There,” he murmured as she looked back at him, a little hazy from the kiss. “Now, please. What would you like to drink?”

“W… water’s fine,” she managed.

“Good.”

He kissed her forehead, closing off the loop of conversation for the time being, and headed to the kitchen, feeling like someone had replaced his blood with helium and that he was liable to float away, up, up, into the stratosphere, at any given moment. 

As he walked into the kitchen and peeked in the oven-- everything seemed to be in order, which was a relief-- Miguel found himself humming. He wasn’t even sure of the tune; he just knew he felt such utter delight that it was bubbling out of him in happy little high notes. Opening the oven with his oven mitts and carefully extracting the simmering tray, he continued his song, the melody as light and pleasant as his mood.

He set the meal down on the countertop to cool, getting down plates and a pair of glasses, filling both with water before setting them on a nearby serving tray, and cast a look over his shoulder. From where he stood in the kitchen, he could only see part of his girlfriend; the left side of her body, to be precise. He laughed, quietly, to himself, and saw her tilt left, her head peeking around the corner to see him.

“Whatcha laughing at in there?”

“Nothing,” he called back, opening a drawer and getting out a handful of utensils. “You just look cute.”

He heard her distantly coo in meekness, batting a hand in the air as if to dismiss the compliment, and he chuckled as he cut slices of the lasagna, plating it as he continued to hum. 

Once everything was set and squared away, neat and tidy, Miguel lifted the tray holding the plates and glasses and sidled back into the living room, where his lady love was sitting at the table, running a finger over the lips of the petals of the flowers that made up the centerpiece. She looked up at him, eyes warm in the glow of the candles, and Miguel beamed broadly, sliding the plates down in front of her.

“Dinner is served,” he announced, waiterly in his presentation. “The chef sends his regards.”

“That sounds like a mobster chef,” his girlfriend tittered, graciously accepting the fork Miguel handed to her. “‘Sends his regards’. What, did he bake a gun into the lasagna?”

“No, laced it with cyanide.”

“How grim.” 

Miguel sat down in his seat and watched her cut off a corner of her slice, taking an enthusiastic bite. She waggled her eyebrows at him precociously as she chewed and swallowed.

“Not dead yet,” she acknowledged. “Must’ve chickened out at the last minute, hm?”

“I suppose he just couldn’t bring himself to poison such a pretty girl,” Miguel mused, cutting a bite for himself on his own plate. “I know I never could.”

“Flatterer.”

She leaned over the table to press a kiss to Miguel’s cheek, her lips delightfully soft against the prickly stubble. As she pulled back, her eyes caught on something to his side, and she turned her head, gaze fixed as her smile grew. Miguel turned to see what she was looking at and felt his pulse spike; she’d seen the gift.

“Aw, Miggy! Is that for me?”

“Uh, oh, um... yes,” he stumbled, suddenly nervous once more. “I was planning on giving it to you after dinner, but…”

She paused, waiting for his cue. Miguel appreciated that-- she wasn’t going to pull away or push forward without him. Such a considerate girl. He placed a quick peck on her cheek as she remained hovering over the table and leaned to his side, taking the package in hand and turning it over hesitantly.

“It’s, uh, the first gift I’ve ever given, you know, like this,” he offered, eyes cast downwards and transfixed on the way the light bounced off the pink ribbon, making it seem luminescent. “So, um… go easy on me?”

He looked up, anxious, and saw her softening eyes, her gentle smile. She touched his jaw affectionately, lingering a moment before nodding.

“I won’t have to go easy on you,” she replied. “I know that whatever this is, it’s from you, and that’s what matters to me.”

She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his lightly, and Miguel’s vision went momentarily hazy with a rush of boyish glee at the kiss.

“It’s a gift from my boyfriend, whom I love,” she said with finality, returning to her seat, sweeping her skirt under her thighs with one hand as she readjusted and set the package on the table, primly placed next to her plate. “So I’ll love it. Do you want me to open it after we eat?”

“I mean, no better time than the present.”

A small snort of laughter left her at the bad joke, and Miguel smiled, relaxing a little. There was nothing to be scared of… he hoped.

Casting him one last glance, his beloved picked up the package and unfurled the ribbon, tugging one loose end of it until it came away from the package in an elegant river of pink fabric. She wound it up and set it on one corner of the table, then turned over the package and peeled at the seams of the paper, almost surgically removing the tape. Her careful unwrapping seemed to stretch on for ages to Miguel, who felt himself digging his nails into his knees as he watched her.

“You did a good job wrapping it,” she remarked casually, the crinkle of paper rising between them.

Miguel just nodded, eyes fixed firmly on her, waiting for her reaction.

She slipped the paper away and found, in her hand, a small, sturdy laboratory notebook. Miguel kept dozens of these, strewn hither and yon about his home, office, and lab, and she was familiar with their appearance, having flicked through a few before. She cast an inquisitive gaze his way, quirking a brow, and Miguel merely nodded, jutting his chin at the book in her hand.

“Open it,” he managed to say without trembling.

Graciously, she cracked the cover and pored over the first page as Miguel pored over her face, studying every muscular contraction, every scan of her eyes, every twitch of her lips. He waited with bated breath, hands digging painfully into his thighs as he kept stock-still.

She kept silent as she turned the page, her eyes skimming down the words written therein, then turned another page. And another. After what seemed like a grueling eternity, she looked back up at Miguel, her expression shifting in such a nuanced, unseen way that Miguel couldn’t place it.

“Miggy,” she said softly, fingers still resting on one of the pages of the notebooks, “Is this… about me?”

He nodded, swallowing thickly.

“I, uh, well… lemme explain.”

Standing up from his seat, Miguel rounded the table to come to her side, hovering over her shoulder and taking the edge of the book in his hand so that they held it together.

“I really, really struggled to find something that would explain how I feel for you,” he said, voice barely more than a whisper. “It couldn’t be something dumb, like some silly necklace I could buy at a mall or a gift card or whatever. I wanted it to be something only I could do, and something only I could do for only you. Something that could never be replicated. And that got me thinking about my work.”

He turned the page to the very first page, resting a finger on a line with the words “OBSERVATION LOG” written in his scratchy style.

“My job, as a geneticist, is to study some of the most absolutely unique stuff on Earth and try to figure out what makes it tick. What the patterns are. And when I look at you, my brain does the same things; it keeps track of every little detail about you, trying to figure out what makes you so… special, in every conceivable way, to me.”

Miguel brushed a thumb along the curve of her hand as it held the book, tracing the warmth of her skin. He took a steadying breath, then pressed on.

“So I thought I would write it all down and show you how every single thing in here is part of what makes you the most utterly unique creature in all the world,” he murmured. “And part of what makes me love you. Unchangeably.”

He turned the page, showing her scattered lists and notes and observations, quick jots of details, scraps of information, shorthanded recollections of memories. He pointed with a finger to highlight one such entry.

“This is about how you’re so fussy about what goes on your sandwiches,” he smiled. “Finicky about the crusts. It’s the recipe for the perfect sandwich for you.”

He pointed elsewhere.

“And this is an entry about how you looked when we were at the botanical gardens; I couldn’t stop thinking about how the flowers were only pretty to me when you were near them. I got bored with them if they weren’t the objects of your attention.”

She giggled, rather wetly, and Miguel looked away from the book in concern, taking her face in his hands.

She was crying, tears streaking down her cheeks even as she smiled up at him.

“Oh, princess, no,” he crooned, kneeling down to wipe at her face with the napkin meant for their dinner. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean--”

“I love it, Miggy,” she choked, grabbing his wrists and squeezing them lovingly. “Oh my God, honey, it’s so sweet! That you even remembered this stuff… that you wrote it down-- I-- I’m just so--!”

Without another word, she tossed her arms around Miguel’s neck and planted a deep, trembling kiss against his lips, pressing her weight against him as he first tensed, surprised, then relaxed, sighing into the kiss and allowing his hand to slip up the back of her neck, cradling the base of her head and tugging her even closer to him. 

He felt his heart thrum in his chest, too fast in its palpitations to even be marked as beating; it seemed to vibrate him down to the very last atom, the electron, the quark. He shivered with pure, unadulterated love for her, feeling her hot breath against him as she pulled away to re-angle herself for another kiss, the hiccupy giggles of her tearful laughter flooding over him.

“I can’t believe all I got you was a watch,” she sniffled, kissing all over his face and jaw, tears brushing onto his stubble from her chin. “A dumb, little watch.”

“Hey, c’mon,” he mumbled, smiling. “Spoilers.”

As he knelt at her side and felt her bury her face in his neck, shaking with a combination of uncontrollable giggles and waves of tears, Miguel ran a hand up and down her back, feeling an air of complete comfort wash over him. He’d done well. 

He kissed her shoulder, hugging her tight.

“I love you,” he spoke, voice clear and earnest.

He felt her nod into his neck.

“I love you, too, baby,” came her muffled reply.

Miguel could not hope to restrain the joy that burst through his heart and out into his smile; he was loved. 

And that was all that mattered.

[levi-ish]

Not Possible [P.P]

Summary: Peter was the one that wouldn’t let it be possible, but faith had other plans for you.

Pairing: Peter Parker X Soulmate!Reader

Genre: Total angst (yeah, I missed that)

Words: 2.1k

A/N: SPOILERS FROM INFINITY WAR AHEAD. Also, I was in a mood to write some angst .

Masterlist

Peter always wanted to hold your hand without making it an awkward moment. Whenever he would be sitting next to you, he made billions of scenarios in his head of what could possibly go wrong if he grew a pair and actually do it, but then again, you were friends, and that was off limits. 

He knew that holding hands would able him to see if you two were soulmates; the stories he heard from his childhood, about how holding hands would make a magic matching heart show somewhere under the knuckles — but believe or not, he never thought too deeply about that when he was around you.

But how could he avoid the temptation while long movies marathons, when you would sit there, giggling at the silliest romantic comedy only you could ever choose and a hand just resting on the cushion right next to his; your pinkies almost brushing as he tried not to seem too weird.

Then, when he was almost giving up on the thought, you reached for the popcorn bowl at the same time and your fingers actually brushed together, making little shivers run the boy’s body and he tried to shift from his earlier position in an attempt of looking totally normal.

However, you guys have been friends for the longest time — since kindergarten when you two debated about hypos being better than lions — and you always knew when he was hiding something; Peter always twitched the corner of his mouth and seemed to change his position, as if he was uncomfortable, and that was one of those moments.

“Spill it” you said, grabbing the remote to pause the movie and turned a bit just to face him properly.

The boy furrowed his brows and let out a breathy but uneasy laugh as his fingers fiddled with the hem of his stained mathlete’s sweater. You run your hand up and down your jeans covered legs while trying to seem confident — even though you were suffering from anxiety of what would be his response.

“W-What?” The boy asked, a silly smile forming on his lips and he licked them right after. 

“No” you shook your hand and lifted your hand, signaling for him to stop. “Don’t even try to make the ‘confusion’ face. You know what I meant.”

Peter lowered his head and pulled his legs to cross them right under him, sighing slightly as you kept watching the way his eyes seemed to glow in front of the TV’s lights. He ran a hand through his cocoa locks and unmade his perfect gelled hairstyle that he took a full three minutes time to make every morning — something that you always teased him about.

“I... It’s silly, (Y/N). Really, you don’t wanna know.” The boy decided that if he even tried to lie, you would notice, so there was no use doing anything else.

“Cut the bullshit, Peter” you rolled your eyes and slid your body a bit closer to him, hearing the clear sigh that left his mouth and laughing internally. “You tell me stuff that I don’t even need to know, like that one time about the burnt burritos—”

“Will you ever forget about that story?” He laughed and bit his lower lip, noticing that your gaze persisted on his face, waiting for another question to be answered. “Okay, Iwantedtoholdyourhand.”

“What?!” You furrowed your brows. “Oh god, Peter, just say it!”

“I wanted to hold your hand” he said, almost regretting immediately.

You were took by surprise, but since you knew that actions always spoke louder than words, you slid your hand closer to his, now officially brushing your fingers together and interlacing them, making the boy jump a bit and all the hairs in both bodies stand up the same moment. But after the new waves of the unknown sensation of holding each others hands, you two smiled to each other, now noticing that it hasn’t turned out in the worst case scenario.

“Why didn’t you say it sooner?” You squeezed his fingers slightly, rubbing your thumb on his knuckles and resting your head on the palm of your other hand.

Peter didn’t dare to look too much at you, he couldn’t handle the pressure, and he let another breathy laugh as he fiddled with his belt. “I thought you wouldn’t like it.”

A small black heart started to show slowly between your thumbs and pointers as you two still held each others hands, making everything seem finally fit into place as the memory kept fresh on your memories.

You bit your lower lip, feeling the same comfortable sensation now irradiating through your whole body.

“Not possible.”

Even though you two shared from the good sensation that holding hands brought, you never dared to say it louder, afraid of how that would sound.

Sure, you two would be holding hands whenever you got the chance to. Always hidden, trying not to get suspicions from the others, but it was thrilling to interlace your fingers under the dinner table while May and Ned ate their pasta quietly — as if they wouldn’t notice the shit-eating-grin that you two had plastered on both mouths.

You held his hand when you two walked down the street, reaching for the train; during train rides; under the covers while watching movies; while studying or doing homework; mostly, when you got the chance to, just to stare at the small heart shaped mark sitting there.

It was a nice feeling, to feel safe just by a touch of two warm palms. You loved when Peter would bring your hands to his mouth, placing little kisses on your knuckles, one by one without missing a single spot, and he loved how you would dance while walking down the train stations, turning around and finding his embrace right after a swing of your whole body, laughing your lungs off and making sweet memories from a life you two built together — even though you had no clue about that.

But it pained you both that it was an unspoken thing. You never asked to hold his hand and he never did either, not after the first time, and it made you feel anxious to know what you two were doing, now not feeling too afraid of saying it louder, knowing that it was a bit more real than nothing at all. 

Still, you watched Peter leaning back on the column inside the subway station, his beige jacket hanging around his body and covering the faded blue sweater that you loved on him. His hair a bit messy from the subways that rushed by and created a strong breeze that always moved your clothes and hair from their places. You stood in front of him, arms crossed and playing with the boots covered toes on the concrete floor, trying to warm yourself up. 

Peter, being the gentlemen he was raised to be, took of his jacket and put it around your shoulders, earning the most beautiful smile he could ever see on your lips — it would be worth it to feel a bit colder, since your smile warmed him up instantly. 

“So... What’s on your mind?” He asked, a bit too scared of ruining the things between you two. If it could be called a ‘thing’. Even if you two knew that you were soulmates, the uneasy feeling of not going anywhere made you both feel anxiety hurting your chest.

“I don’t know” you said, looking over your shoulder to see if the subway was already coming. “What are we doing?”

“Waiting for the—”

“Don’t even try to finish the phrase, Parker” you teased and rolled your eyes, fitting your hands inside of his jacket and trying to look at him. “I’m talking about the ‘holding hands’ thing. What’s next? We’ll just stop doing it someday and part ways?”

Peter got a scared look on his face, a bit too surprised with the suddenness of your words. He took a moment to analyze your expression, noticing that your brows were furrowed and your eyes hid under the rebel locks that flew around your face and he smiled to himself, gaining courage to raise his hand and brush his fingertips on top of your soft cheeks, feeling the silky sensation and smelling the scent of your shampoo while getting closer.

“I hope not” he said, getting closer at each second that passed while you two seemed to be frozen in time. 

“Then what should we do?” You bit your lower lip, now finding his brown orbs as you looked up, too nervous to even swallow the lump that formed in your throat. “Pretend that nothing is going on?”

The boy got too close now, his lips ghosting over yours as he hesitantly opened them to say: “not possible”.

You took a moment to take deep breaths and try to steady your whole body as you sat on the couch, watching the TV with eyes wide open while the images of your boyfriend made an appearance. Spider-Man and Tony Stark went missing. 

You grabbed the cushion next to you and held it close to your chest, trying to suppress all the feelings that were mixing inside your mind, making you feel more panicked than ever as you watched the tapes of Peter in his hero form holding tight to a spaceship, going up to God-knows-where and your frame went numb, too painful to move.

A vibration caught you off guard and you saw that it was coming from your phone. You took it quickly and saw a notification that came from him, opening it as fast as you could, your shaky fingers touching everywhere but the message itself. 

It was a voicemail and you put the phone next to your ear, trying to hear whatever it has to say while your chest tightened at the uneasy feeling that flooded inside your veins, mixing with your blood but making it feel colder. You held tight to the sweater that you stole from him and wore almost all the time, sniffing on the scent of lavender, probably from his softener. 

“(Y/N)? H-Hi, I know you are going to kill me and in my defense I—oh shit—I had to go because it’s my job, ya’know? Those aliens are trying to destroy the planet and I can’t be the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man if there isn’t a neighborhood. Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m almost falling! Oh, forget it, I’m fine. Well, if the aliens plant eggs on my chest and kill me later, I’ll let them know that you want to be the first one to kill me, so, not possible. Gotta go—I’m almost with no air here—love ya, bye!”

You took a deep breath and a few tears started to form on the corner of your eyes as you tried to control the trembling, touching the play button again, listening to the message a few more times as you cried in silence.

A burning pain was spotted on your hand, making you twist your face while drying the tears that escaped your eyes and made their way to the cushion you still held tight. The message kept repeating as you looked at your hand, watching the heart-shaped mark starting to disappear, turning into a white one that seemed like a scar.

No, no, no, no. Please, no.

“Gotta go—I’m almost with no air here—love ya, bye!” you listened to his recorded voice until your soulmate mark faded completely, making a pain irradiate inside your whole chest, as if you were being stabbed in the heart. A breath was caught on your throat and you were having trouble to breath normally while the pain cries left your mouth and you gripped the cushion with more force than ever, your fingernails breaking through the fabric.

It’s not possible. It’s not possible.

You stared at the TV once more, watching the clips of your boyfriend swinging in the air and holding onto the spaceship as he left the atmosphere and was nowhere to be seen. Your legs felt like jelly and your hands trembled more than ever, the phone falling to the carpeted floor while you let out a painful sob that was being held inside your mouth for a bit.

With a last stare at your hand, you saw the mark completely white and you were scared to even think about it. You couldn’t even think about the words properly, knowing that if you even said that inside your mind, it would make it real, and you didn’t want it to be.

No.

Not possible. 

PERMANENT TAGLIST: @hey-i-really-miss-you @starlightfound@lionsfandomsandbearsohmy @isabellamozzarellla @tshollandlove@peterparkerdeservesbetter @marveldes

[felixthekoala]

Thrills

Group: Stray Kids

Pairing: Felix x Reader

Type: Fluff

Description: A theme park date seems like a perfect idea, except when it’s with Felix…

a/n: I just had to after that episode of the 9th and with my love for theme parks and thrill rides, just imagining dragging Felix to a theme park made me laugh manically  (jk, but it would be amusing XD)

“Come onnnnnnn,” your boyfriend whined, tugging at your arm. “We already rode too many horrible roller coasters, do we have to go on this one too?”

“Oh, c'mon, Felix, this one is the best one!” you protested, dragging him towards the biggest coaster in the park.

“(y/n), you know I can’t handle rides, why are you torturing me?”

“Awe, but is it really torture when I’m here?” you teased, flashing him a smirk.

“Well it’s a hell of a lot better than if I were with Changbin or the others, but I still would much rather just cuddle up with a good movie and some popcorn.”

“Trust me, it won’t be so bad,” you promised, tugging his arm towards the ride. He sighed as he let you lead him to the queue.

After waiting in line for fifteen minutes, you were almost to the loading station. You had entertained Felix the entire time by attempting to distract him. He wrapped his arms around your waist as you leaned back into his torso.

“You’re gonna owe me big time,” he murmured. You giggled as his breath tickled your ear.

“Oh yeah? I’m sure you’re sooo going to make me regret this…” You smirked. “How much do you wanna bet you’re gonna scream like a little girl?”

“I’ll have you know, I’ve become much better on roller coasters since Lotte World with the boys.”

You snickered. “Mmhmm, I’m suure of that. Didn’t you cry and scream like a girl on that pirate ship ride?”

“Okay that ride goes very high up and it feels like you’re going to smash into the ground, you hear me?”

You couldn’t conceal the laughter bubbling inside, and pretty soon you were wheezing. His arms grew tighter around you as you laughed.

“Yes, I know, it was a hoot and a half. If you don’t stop laughing, you’re gonna get it.”

His hands came dangerously close to your side.

“Okay okay! I’m sorry! Please don’t taser me!”

He smiled.

“That’s better. Now come here, you owe me a real apology.”

You turned around, now facing him, a bright smile on your face.

“I’m sorry, Felix. There, we good?”

“Hmmm, not quite the apology I was thinking of…” He tapped his cheek. You rolled your eyes, but leaned forward to kiss his cheek. At the last second, his face rotated, and your lips landed on his. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close. When you finally broke free, you were both laughing.

“Felix!” you scolded, your face betraying you with a smile.

“Don’t even pretend you’re upset about that.”

Before you could respond, the line started moving again.

You thought the height of his panic would be the initial climb straight up over a hundred yards. Boy, were you wrong. Whatever confidence and suaveness he had in the line disappeared the second you started the ascent, and got worse every second. The car pulled you up the first climb, and Felix grabbed your hand instantly, a look of pure terror on his face.

“I don’t like this,” he whined, beginning to hyperventilate.

You stifled a giggle at his adorable state of panic. “Don’t worry, just focus on me. Don’t look down.” You pulled his face towards you, looking into his eyes. “It’ll be okay, Felix, the worst part is the climb.”

“You sure?”

You nodded.

“I’m sure.”

He sighed in relief. “Good, because I ca- woooaahhhhh!” The shriek was ripped from his lungs as the car dipped down, dropping you almost as far as you had climbed, pulling you into a loop the loop. At the first inversion, the shriek turned into a full-blown scream and his hand squeezed yours so tight it started to turn purple. You, of course, were laughing so hard you could barely breathe.

“(y/n)! I! Don’t! Like! This!” he exclaimed through the cobra roll. “(y/n)! You! Are! The! Spawn! Of! Satan!” He shrieked through the corkscrew, tears streaming down his face. You were crying too, but for a much different reason.

“Love you too Felix!” You yelled back through fits of laughter.

“I WANNA GO HOOOOME!” He screamed as you rose and fell at a rapid rate. Finally, the brakes came on, and you slowed to a stop.

“Well that was fun,” you said, beaming.

He shot you the dirtiest look you had ever seen.

“You. Owe. Me… Big time.”

“Okay, I’ll admit, that might not have been the best ride to take you on, we’ll do what you want next, how about that?”

He smirked, the confidence quickly reappearing. “Sounds like a plan.”

“The Haunted House?!?” you exclaimed, eyes widening in fear. “No way, Felix, you know I can’t handle scary things, or jump scares, or spiders, or ghosts, or zombies, or-”

You were silenced with a soft hand over your mouth.

“Ah ah ah,” he singsonged. “You promised we’d do what I want next, this is what I want.”

“Felix, I’m sorry I took you on that ride, but getting revenge like this isn’t the way. Please, Felix, I’m begging you,” you pleaded, but to no avail.

Felix simply smiled, and dragged you into the queue. Attempting a new tactic, you let go of his hand, keeping an arm’s distance away from him.

“Whatever. If you think I’m going to get scared in here, you’ve got another thing coming. I won’t even hide behind you.”

“Whatever you say, Sweetie.”

You furrowed your brows, glaring at his back.

As you stepped into the graveyard room, all your fake confidence dissolved. You tried to hide your fear from Felix, but you couldn’t help but flinch at every sound and every hint of movement. It took only one thing to jump out at you before you abandoned your attempt to remain composed and flew into Felix’s arms with a shriek.

“Nonono Felix save me I don’t want to die!” You cried, finding yourself void of contact with the ground, your arms and legs being held in the air by Felix’s strong arms. He chuckled, a smirk prominent on his face.

“I thought you weren’t going to get scared.”

“Shut up and hold my hand,” you grumbled, jumping down and lacing your fingers through his. Each zombie jumping out in front of you received a shriek and you inched closer to Felix, until you were cowering at his side, his arm wrapped protectively around you.

You finally made it out of the graveyard and found yourselves in an abandoned hospital. Oh, that’s suuch an improvement.

“Felix?” You wrapped both arms around his torso, practically glued to his side. “Felix, I don’t like this,” you whined, eyeing the flickering lights and abandoned gurney.

“Don’t worry, they can’t-” he was interrupted by a bloodcurdling scream from behind you. You shrieked, whipping around to find yourself face-to-face with a bloodied corpse brandishing a dripping knife. Screaming ten decibels higher than the corpse, you sprinted away as fast as you could.

“NONONO FELIX NO THIS IS NOT OKAY PLEASE GET ME OUT OF HERE I’LL DO ANYTHING JUST GET ME OUT!” you squealed, tears threatening to spill out. He finally caught up to you, chuckling.

“Anything?” he asked.

“Yes! Anything! Just save me!”

“Will you stay for a movie night tonight instead of forcing me on more coasters?”

“Yes! Fine! Please!”

That was good enough for him.

“Okay, good. Now close your eyes and cover your ears, I’m getting you out of here in one piece.”

You did as he asked, yelping in surprise as he scooped you up, bridal-style.

“Felix?”

“Shh, just keep your eyes and ears closed and I’ll handle everything.” He brushed a strand of hair from your face, smiling warmly at you. You nodded, closing your eyes again and you covered your ears. You could feel the hum of his laughter against your side as you began to hum to drown out the spine-chilling sounds.

He advanced through the rooms, your shaking body in his arms, not pausing for a second until you finally made it back into the light and safety. You abruptly removed your hands from your ears and stopped humming when he tapped your shoulder, carefully setting you down on your feet.

“Are we safe? Can I open my eyes now?”

His warm chuckle calmed you. “Yes, you can open your eyes. Now, we made a deal, shall we go through with it now?”

“Well, it’s certainly better than going through that awful haunted house. But were you really that evil that you only dragged me in there for revenge?” You folded your arms across your chest, narrowing your eyes.

“Of course not, I had to regain all that dignity lost on those coasters. Plus I wanted to protect my girl.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close.

“I swear, if you use that excuse to force me to watch a scary movie tonight, consider yourself single, Lee Felix.”

He smirked.

“Spiderman Homecoming it is.”

“There’s my good boyfriend.”

“Oh come here, you.”

You turned to face him, smiling as he placed his lips on yours. You melted into him, wrapping your arms around his neck. As you finally pulled away, you grabbed his hand and lead him towards the exit.

“Let’s go get our movie on.”

[beautality]

Fears & Ferris Wheels

Series: Hunter x Hunter with original character(s) Ships: Implied Chrollo x Malachi (OC) Warnings: Internal minor anxiety Extra Notes: Much love and credit to @terminallydepraved for helping me! Thank you! ♥ This is my first piece of writing so it’s fairly short. Malachi’s art is also by me. Please ask permission before you start to critique!

Summary: The summer fair has arrived in town and being the charmer he is, Malachi convinces the troupe that they need to go. The bad news is that a certain magician is also inviting himself, determined to cause a little trouble as he always does. Fortunately, Chrollo knows how to get under Hisoka's skin just right so that he can steal Malachi away for a special ferris wheel ride.

He didn’t think it could ever be this way. It never played out in his mind that he could be here, at a dusty county fair with its trademark flashy amusement rides and sinfully greasy eats, feeling like he had his place in the world figured out among people who never failed to win his heart over again and again. The colorful lights of the fairgrounds strobed to a song Malachi knew all too well, but his thoughts were too preoccupied to focus on the lyrics.

These are the people who love me. Accept me. They might not always understand, but they try.

He gazed around at each and every person, his left hand propping up his chin and a bite of scone drenched with honey butter in his right. Most of them were laughing and talking with each other, boasting little to no cares about the world tonight other than keeping their hands from getting sticky with the syrup and grease on their deep fried treats, but two certain people were watching him. Hisoka scooted closer on Malachi’s left, a faint but musical hum coming from his throat.

“Are you going to eat that?”

Hisoka teased with his usual saccharine tone, pointing a sharp, neon purple nail at the sticky sweet snack between Malachi’s fingers. It took Mal a moment to snap back to reality before he looked Hisoka straight in the face and stuck the scone in his mouth. The silly reaction made Hisoka laugh as he crossed his arms on the table and leaned on them.

“Hm, I suppose that’s your answer. You seem distracted... Is there something wrong?”

Sharp golden eyes were fixated on Malachi as Hisoka awaited an answer. It wasn’t easy to give him one; Malachi had always struggled to convey his feelings in the form of spoken words.

Hisoka, why do you always put me on the spot? I almost think you want to see me flustered. No, I know you do. You’ve always been like that.

“I just... Was thinking about stuff? I mean like... Uh...”

He didn’t have to flounder for long before a warm, lilted voice interrupted and saved him from needing to reply.

“Malachi, what’s your favorite part of the fair?”

Chrollo was watching Malachi with a curious smile from his seat across the table, seeming to completely ignore Hisoka. From the look on the magician’s face, it was obvious that he was displeased, but he kept his lips pursed tight. It appeared that even he didn’t want to cause too much tension when everyone was having fun.

Malachi pretended to think about it momentarily, tapping a finger to his lips before grinning over at Chrollo. His heart felt like it was going to burst, but after all this time around the beloved head of the troupe, he’d started to expect it whenever they talked. Hell, it happened just when Chrollo looked at him, but he wasn’t complaining.

It’s usually the rides I look forward to every year. Right now though, it’s him. I want to see him have fun and experience the things he never got to as a kid. I want to see him smile. Not the one he does to fool people or the one he does when he’s curious, but the one he does when he’s enjoying himself.

“I love the rides ‘cause of the thrill. Maybe it’s different for you guys but I always enjoy the rush of excitement I get from them.”

He paused with a soft squeak, glancing away as his face reddened.

“My favorite is the ferris wheel though.”

“That’s not very thrilling, Malachi!”

Shalnark laughed off to the side with a lighthearted tease, earning a nervous glance from Malachi. Even though he wanted to explain himself, Mal just couldn’t do it when words continuously failed him. The feeling of anxiety started to get the better of him and he looked down at his hands to stay calm as his chest tightened.

No no no, don’t do this to yourself. Shal isn’t actually judging you, you need to stop. Please. This is a night for relaxing. There’s nothing to be upset about. Please, stop freaking out, you’re okay. You’re going to be fine.

Seeing Malachi start to panic, Chrollo spoke up again. This time he had that light in his eyes like he did when there was something new and interesting right in front of him.

“Let’s go ride then! I want to see what makes it your favorite. It‘ll be just you and me.”

For a brief moment, Chrollo glared at Hisoka, who had opened his mouth with the intent to invite himself. The other’s eyes narrowed in disdain and he dug his nails into his arms.

“I suppose I’ll have to steal Malachi later then. Enjoy yourselves.”

“I appreciate it, Hisoka! You’re so nice, sharing your friend with me.”

Chrollo clapped his hands together gleefully, a triumphant smile crossing his face as he stood to leave. Malachi’s eyes darted between the two as he slowly rose to follow.

I wonder if they’ll always be this way? It’s... It’s almost as if they might literally kill each other at any moment, but they manage to still get along fine at the same time somehow. I’m so glad that’s not the case between us.

Malachi joined Chrollo in a casual stride towards the ferris wheel, taking deep breaths and looking straight ahead as he matched steps with the man beside him. Chrollo noticed how stiff Mal looked and gently grabbed his hand, interlocking their fingers together as they entered the waiting line.

“You’re important to all of us, you know.”

Chrollo... Is holding my hand?

“You bring a lot of happiness to my spiders.”

He is. He’s trying to comfort me again. But it feels... Genuine. It’s not like when people tell me I’ll be fine, that things will get better.

“You struggle a lot but you still put your heart into all that you do. Thank you for being you.”

This is too much, this is...

Malachi stared at Chrollo for a couple moments, a strange feeling overcoming him, and he realized what it was when tears threatened to pour over his cheeks. Chrollo’s smile was soft, warm, and completely real, one Malachi didn’t consider as a possibility before. If he had to pick a word to describe the emotion behind that look, it would probably be adoration.

This is love. I can’t help it, I truly love him.

After taking one more deep breath to compose himself, Malachi grinned back at Chrollo sheepishly. His cheeks were on fire but he paid no mind, instead squeezing the other’s hand. The touch was electrifying and he craved it.

“I’m so grateful to have all of you... Even Hisoka, I guess.”

He laughed softly, his ears perking up to show his mood lifting.

“But I should be thanking you too, Chrollo. You mean a lot to me and I--”

Before Malachi could confess his newly recognized feelings, the girl taking tickets cleared her throat and reached out for theirs. He hadn’t even noticed the line moving but Chrollo had it covered, lifting their entwined hands to show their bracelets for unlimited rides.

Wow, he’s on top of things and smooth as always. But... I should rethink telling him how I feel. That was close... And I don’t want to ruin things right now.

As Chrollo pulled him towards the open car excitedly, Mal bit his lip but managed to keep his anxiety at bay for the moment. Even though the car was big enough for six people or so, he took a spot nearest the door so he could look out over the fair. Chrollo claimed the seat next to him and inspected the inside with wide eyes.

“It’s a wonder that these old machines don’t just fall apart.”

He murmured as he stared up at the ceiling, although he didn’t seem at all nervous. Then again, Chrollo didn’t seem to worry too much about anything. That was something Malachi found amazing about him.

“They have inspections and procedures, but I think it adds to the thrill in a way!”

Malachi’s tail curled up high and wagged furiously as the cars started to move. Chrollo jolted just a bit at the sudden jerk and Mal couldn’t help but giggle.

“Well, since you mentioned thrills...”

Chrollo looked over with an unamused pout, crossing his arms as if he were about to chastise Malachi. A mischievous grin crossed the younger’s face as he tried to quiet his giggling.

“What makes the ferris wheel your favorite? It’s not fast and it doesn’t flip you upside-down like many of the other rides.”

The pout eased back into Chrollo’s intrigued smile as he moved his hands to settle in his lap. Looking out over the wall of the car, Mal waited to answer until they were near the top, the ride stopping for more people to get on.

“It’s not the same rush of adrenaline I get from the other rides. I’m so scared of heights, scared of feeling like I’m going to fall. But what makes it worth the fear is seeing down below.”

As Malachi spoke, Chrollo peered over the wall behind him. He saw the darkness of the parking field, barely lit by the carnival next to it. For a moment he was a little lost, but Mal gently pulled him over to look at the fairgrounds below.

“You can see Fei shoving a pie in Phinks’s face at the table. Bonolenov and Franklin are over at the game booths, watching Shizuku win countless prizes. Uvo, Paku, Machi, and Shal are doubled over laughing at Nobu, who just ran straight into a front window of the fun house.”

Mal’s eyes were lit up with joy as he pointed out the other troupe members from above. Chrollo watched him with fascination but still wasn’t quite sure what he was getting at.

“Even though I’m scared to be here, I can see how happy everyone is so clearly. Not just the troupe but other families, groups of friends, and... You know, couples.”

He laughed slightly in embarrassment but kept his eyes looking down below. The two sat in silence for a brief moment before Chrollo broke it.

“You don’t just mean the ferris wheel anymore, do you?”

He leaned over and rested his shoulder against Malachi’s. The motion startled Mal for a split second but he reciprocated it, happy to be this close to Chrollo. They both knew the answer and the silence returned again, this time warm and comforting.

He’s right, I don’t mean the ferris wheel anymore. I’m scared to be here, to be alive, but seeing people smile makes it worth facing those fears. Chrollo’s here with me though. He’s the one who keeps me from falling. I think I’ll be fine.

The two of them stayed quiet and soaked in the blissful moment before it was their turn to get off. Neither of them had to say anything as they clasped hands again either. They just walked back towards the rest of the troupe with knowing smiles on their faces.

No, I know I’ll be fine. That’s because I’m loved.

[khaleesi-in-the-north]

In the Crosshairs (28/?)

@theluthor

When she wakes the next morning, their hands were still laced together. Margaery flexes her hand and watches Alayne’s twitch beneath it. She sits up slowly to not wake the woman beside her. She grabs her phone off the nightstand and quietly leaves, closing the door behind her.

                    She’s only going to check the news, but a text message caught her eye. Other than her grandmother, she hadn’t used the phone to contact anyone. It was supposed to be untraceable.

                    She opens the text downstairs. “Little Rose, I was overjoyed to hear you had found safety amongst the sands of Dorne and have now returned to the flower bed. As promised, I have kept my nose to the ground on learning what I can of our Queen Bee. My little birds have told me that she shall be making a surprise visit to High Garden by the end of the week on her return from Sunspear. Your Grandmother has this message awaiting her as well. – The Spider.”

                    She shakes her head as she opens the backdoor and stepped outside. The man was a wonder. All of Westeros probably thought she was dead by now, and he’s figured out her phone number.

                    Before she can dwell on the thought too long, Lady jumps on her. Margaery manages to hold on to her phone, but barely.

                    “Down girl,” she commands.

                    Lady sits, panting and wagging her tail. Her back has dried flower pedals all over it. Margaery turns to her grandmother’s flower bed. The flowers are flat and crushed. “You have a death wish.”

                    Margaery gets down to the ground. Lady takes it as permission to lick her face all over. In a way it was. She pushed the dog down, but scratched behind her ears. Lady’s tail wagged faster. Margaery scratched down to her back and Lady laid down at her side, thrilled to have her attention once more.

                    “That’s a good girl,” Margaery murmurs. Lady settles down. She rolls on to her back, massive hindlegs dangling in the air. Again, Margaery pets her. “I’ve missed you too.”

                    The morning is bright and the birds tweet high form their perches. It’s the right place to think.

                    Obara’s words replay in her mind. “Don’t fall for her lies again.” What were the lies? After last night she could no longer tell herself Sansa didn’t care. Her confession felt like a load off her chest. She didn’t have to keep it to herself anymore. Still, after all the bullshit she put Margaery through for her job and keeping secrets, only to be keeping the world’s biggest secret for a year was something she couldn’t bring herself to forgive. She didn’t want to forgive. The wall was crumbling though. She could feel it.

                    There was no rectifying it, but perhaps she could make herself a bunker. Let Sansa in without letting her have the capacity to hurt her again. She would never let herself love anyone the way she loved Alayne. That only led heartbreak. She couldn’t put herself through that again.

                    “Beauty tamed the beast,” Obara smirks and sits down beside her.

                    Margaery moves her hand over so Obara can pet Lady as well. “She’s not so bad when she’s in a good mood.”

                    “Are you talking about Stark or her bitch?” Obara asks.

                    “Both,” Margaery pats Lady’s stomach. She looks at Obara. She’s wearing a sports bra and shorts, with a water bottle in hand and a mat by her side. “Early morning workout?”

                    “Yes. If you still wanted to go on a run we could. I just wanted to do some core training this morning. Rid myself of some frustration.” Obara gulps down some water.

                    “No thanks. Today is my off day,” Margaery says.

                    “How did things go with Stark last night?”

                    Margaery shrugs. “We talked.”

                    “About?”

                    “The mafia. Renly.”

                    “You didn’t trust her did you?” Obara brushes a strand of blonde hair from Margaery’s eyes, though Margaery looks at the ground.  

                    Margaery doesn’t answer. She doesn’t know what she trusts.

                    “Oh, Margaery,” Obara sighs. “The Starks are cold and rigid. No passion. For all their talk of honor, would an honorable woman lie to you about who she was and what she wanted for so long? Look into those lifeless eyes and you can’t tell the lie because she’s so used to lying.”

                    Margaery cocks her head. “And you are passionate and honest and forward?”

                    Obara laughs. “You said it. I assume you know the rescue mission will be going soon? I have some packing to do then.” She kisses Margaery’s cheek and draws a little spear on the side of her neck with her finger nail. “Whenever you’re ready, Tyrell, just say the word.”

                    She pushes herself up and flashes Margaery a smile. Margaery looks back to see her go and Ygritte come out. Ygritte looks at Obara as she walks past. She makes her way to Margaery and sits. Lady licks her hand before nuzzling her head into Margaery’s lap.

                    “You think those are real abs? Is it possible to get an ab implant?” Ygritte asks.

                    “Have you seen her running with us the last week. Those are real.”

                    “They’re better than Jon’s. Do you know how defined that boy’s abs are?”

                    “Yes. I’ve seen them on multiple occasions because you don’t take “get a room” literally.”

                    “Gosh, Marge, that’s only happened like five times,” Ygritte exaggerates her voice to sound like a preppy teen. They giggle at the ridiculousness of it.

                    They get up and go back to the house. “Jon said he and Obara are leaving today,” Ygritte mentions.

                    “Obara just told me. Loras is coming home.”

                    Ygritte opens the back door. Margaery shuts it behind her. She feels bad for leaving Lady, but the dog is muddy and bringing her inside will mean not only the dog’s death, but quite possibly hers as well. Lady puts up a good fight, deflating her ears and whimpering in an attempt to guilt Margaery into letting her in. Not this time.

                    “Jon knows nothing. I’m glad he’s going with someone who at least has a brain,” Ygritte mutters.

                    “He figured out your disguise,” They go to the kitchen and start a pot of coffee.

                    “Took him an hour of staring at me to figure it out. I’m glad Quentyn’s not going though. That could have been awkward,” Ygritte leans against the counter. Her shoulders are tense and not relaxed like they used to be. She’s worried.

                    “He’ll be safe. According to him, he’s done a lot more dangerous things than this,” Margaery offers her comfort.

                    Ygritte half-heartedly shrugs. “Yeah. We just figured things out and he’s running off again. I should be with him, not stuck here.”

                    Margaery rests her palms against the edge and decides to divert the conversation. “How are you guys getting along?”

                    “Better. Old gods help me, but I love the bastard. We’ve been talking.”

                    “You’ve been talking? That must be a first,” Margaery huffs a laugh. “Before or after he ate you out.”

                    “After. It was glorious. Still bristles me that he had to fucking lie about it all. Even more so that he cut his damn hair. But I forgive him. I can’t hate him for circumstances beyond his control.” Ygritte pours her coffee and adds a shot of espresso. “Bastard lies to me again though, I’m wearing his cock as a necklace.”

��                   “I’ll be there to hold him down for you,” Margaery poured her own cup. They toast and drink.

                    “So you and Alayne…”

                    The coffee mug covers Ygritte’s face as she gulps it down, hiding her from Margaery’s glare.

                    “It’s complicated,” Margaery says.

                    As if she was a genie summoned by her mistress, Alayne enters the kitchen. In one hand she carries a fabric of some sort with pins and needles sticking out of it. Margaery can hardly remember the last time she saw Alayne sew. A warm smile crosses Alayne’s face. “There you are.” She sits down beside Margaery. She sets aside her sewing materials and covers Margaery’s hands with her own. “I was hoping we could talk a bit more. There are some things I want to tell you. Maybe go on a walk through the gardens or take a ride to some overlook. I bet it the view would be gorgeous.”

                    Ygritte quietly excuses herself, giving Margaery as much privacy as she’s likely to get in this house.

                    “Yeah we should,” Margaery says brightly, but curtly.

                    Sansa sits down across the table from Margaery, directly in her line of sight. She smiles softly.

                    Margaery looks at her coffee mug, then back to Sansa. All the hope in her eyes almost breaks her heart, but she won’t let this woman break her heart again. It’s not fair for either of them. “We promised each other honesty right? So here’s me being honest. Sansa, last night was… it doesn’t change things between us.”

                    Sansa refuses to break her smile. “It did. You opened to me. I’m not going to pretend things are the way they are before, but things are changing, progressing. I still love you. That won’t change. I’m going to earn your love back.”

                    “What if you can’t?” Margaery finishes her coffee and gets up.

                    Sansa goes around the table to Margaery. She’s intrusively close. “You loved me. You still do, even if you’re too angry to realize it right now. Which you have every right to be angry, but…Margaery. I don’t know what else I can do. I have nothing left to apologize for.”

                    “I loved Alayne. Sansa Stark…” terrifies me, she’s about to say, but doesn’t. Even honesty has its limits, so she thinks of an alternative truth. Her feelings and what others know of them are some of the few things she still has control over in her life. “Sansa Stark isn’t Alayne.”

                    Not wanting to acknowledge the desperation on Sansa’s face, Margaery drops off her mug in the sink and mutters and apology to Oberyn when he says good morning as she brushes past him.

                    In the shower, her thoughts flow. Renly, Cersei, Alayne, Obara, Sansa, the article, Loras, her grandmother, Garlan. They all run together. It’s on her to keep it in order and sort it out. It’s her mess and she has to fix it.

                    She’s always been a creature of order. So she puts them in order. What can be solved now, what can wait. By the time she gets out of the shower, she has a plan. It begins with finishing her article. It’s nearly done as is, but it’s missing that spark that will turn it from an intrigue piece to breaking news that will find its way to every major news outlet from the bloody Red Watch to Westeros Daily to the Westerosi News Newtwork. Hours spent going over her notes and interviews turn up nothing of value.

                    As she works on her article, the others came in and out. Ygritte mentions that Jon and Obara have been locked in meetings with Sansa, Oberyn and Olenna all day, likely finalizing plans for saving rescuing Loras. Let out of the primary scheme, the rest of the Viper’s clan, Karstark, and Ygritte are left with little to do other than find ways to entertain themselves. Karstark, for his part, retells valiant tales of working in the Stark Mafia. His near death experiences and glories of climbing through the mafia ranks impress no one. Eventually, they all scatter, letting Margaery finish her work in peace.

                    As Margaery packs away her things, Quentyn comes in. “We are saying our goodbyes now, if you would like to join us.”

                    “I’ll be there momentarily.” She follows after him.

                    They’re all gathered around the front door as if wishing farewell to beloved cousings rather than strangers forced together in a bizarre scheme of events. Sansa hugs Jon as Ygritte bickers by his side. Obara is talking with her sisters. She’s not much of a hugger. The most affection Margaery observes is a pat on the shoulder. Olenna interrupts them and whispers something to Obara, who nods in acknowledgement.

                    Margaery isn’t sure whom to go to first, so she stands back in between the two. She nearly jumps when she feels a furry head nuzzle against her hand. She hadn’t expected her grandmother to ever let Lady back in the house after this morning. Apparently she was more forgiving than usual. Or she didn’t know about her crushed daffodils.

                    Jon approaches to scratch Lady’s head. “You be a good girl and watch over Sansa.” He smiles at Margaery. “Both of you.”

                    “She’s a big girl. She can take care of herself,” Margaery mutters.

                    Jon awkwardly pulls her into a hug and grumbles, “Doesn’t mean an extra pair of eyes will hurt. She’s got a lot stressing her out with the mafia right now and could use a shoulder to lean on.”

                    Ice melts under heat and pressure. Perhaps someone forgot to mention that to “Ms. Stone-Cold.”

                    “Get my brother back. Be safe,” is all she says.

                    Ygritte grabs his arm and wraps her arms around his neck. “Don’t do anything stupid, Snow. I don’t want to have to hunt down some prick cause you can’t take care of yourself.”

                    “I’ll let Obara do the thinking for both of us, okay?” he grins.

                    Ygritte pulls his head down and presses her forehead against his. “Being with you has made me soft.”

                    “That’s just what love does, I suppose,” Jon kisses her. Ygritte holds him tight. Her emotions are raw and vulnerable, on display for everyone to scrutinize rather than hidden under a mask of sarcasm and defiance.

                    Margaery is so caught up in the spectacle of her friend that she doesn’t notice Obara at her side. “Any words of advice?”

                    In her brown jacket, low boots and pulled up hair, Obara looks less like she’s going on a mission to break a man out of jail and more like she’s on a night out with friends.

                    “Invest in a winter jacket. Dorne makes King’s Landing look like Winterfell.”

                    “And what does it make Winterfell look like?”

                    “A glacier of eternal snow,” Margaery quips.

                    Obara laughs and steps closer. “Good to know. Don’t worry about Loras. He’ll be back without a hair harmed. I can’t say that’ll be true for anyone who gets in our way.”

                    “Thank you,” Margaery says. “Truly, thank you. I don’t know if I can ever repay you.”

                    “I don’t require repayment,” Obara murmurs.

                    Suddenly she’s closer than Margaery realized. She cradles Margaery’s cheeks and pulls her forward for a kiss. It’s short and rough, but leaves Margaery’s head spinning from the shock. The salty sweetness of her lips lingers on Margaery’s mouth as she tries to map out what had just happened.

                    “One for the road,” Obara winks. She gives Margaery one last hug, mutters a half-hearted good bye to Alayne, who looks as though she’s using all of her self-control to not punch a hole into Obara’s chest, and she follows Jon out the door.

                    As everyone is about to depart in their own directions, Olenna snaps her fingers. “While I’ve got you all here, I have some news. My Spider appears to have caught a few flies in your water gardens Oberyn. Cersei Lannister is on her way here.”

                    “Is that not important information for them to hear? I’m pretty sure both Jon and Obara would be pretty interested to know that the whole reason for this crap will be sitting in you living room in two days,” Ygritte gestures toward the door.

                    “And have them distracted? This far south, the bitch is clawless. Their concern is Loras.” Olenna iterates.

                    “Spider? As in the Spider? Varys?” Sansa tilts her head.

                    “No, dear girl, I meant my pet spider Octavius who lives in Dorne. For such an intelligent girl, you can be quite stupid.” Olenna rolls her eyes.

                    “Ain’t that the guy Baelish loathes?” Karstark asks.

                    “He can’t be trusted,” Sansa hardens her glare. “He’s a liar.”

                    “Excuse me, girl. I don’t care for the man much myself. He has his secrets as we all have ours. But he has never lied to me in decades of work together. Nor has he lied to Margaery in the course of her work, as far as I’ve been told. Tell me, what did he lie to you about?”

                    It was true. Of all her sources, even documents, there was nothing she trusted more than the words of Varys. He had a heart for fairness and justice. He was almost completely objective in his pursuits to help the country.

                    Sansa shuffles. “Well, I’ve never spoken with him, but-”

                    “A mafia leader whom has never spoken with Varys. Poor girl, you don’t know the fun you’ve missed. When you learn the things he’s learned…” Oberyn sighs. “Why do you not trust a man you’ve never met? It’s almost as dangerous as trusting a man you have met.”

                    “Petyr has delt with him before,” Sansa held, chin high.

                    Olenna laughs. “Should Petyr be here then, making decisions for you? Regardless we are not in a state to reject notice that the woman we are trying to take down will soon presume herself a guest in my home.”

                    “Grandmother, let her be. She’s wise to listen to council of others where she has no experience herself. A mark of leadership,” Margaery finds herself defending Sansa.

                    Sansa’s eyes snap to her, confused yet pleased to have Margaery’s support. Tyene and Oberyn nod in agreement.

                    “Wise words of your own, Ms. Tyrell. Please make yourself available next time our little parties have a meeting. Nevertheless, Varys is a man worthy of trust. So we must prepare for Cersei.”

                    “In the morning. It will be at least two days. That was all. You may all get back to your drinking games or whatever it is the youth does these days. And if anyone touches my last bottle of Arbor Gold, there will be hell to pay.” Olenna excuses herself as briskly as she can nowadays.

                    “That old woman is my hero,” Ygritte whispers.

                    “Mine as well,” Tyene agrees.

                    She’d always been Margaery’s. Mothers tended to be young girls’s heroines, but Margaery had always been drawn to her grandmother. The preference never seemed to both her mother.

                    Rather than focus on her grandmother, Margaery goes after Alayne, who had scattered as soon as Olenna had excused them.

                    She’d expected Obara make her move. But not in front of Alayne.

                    The kiss itself had been what Margaery expected from the woman. Passionate, confident, rough on the edges, but leaving her wanting more.

                    The message behind it was clear. The kiss was less for her and more for Sansa, to show that Obara was staking her claim before leaving. She had no right to any claims. Because the first thought through Margaery’s head wasn’t “that was a great kiss” but “where is Alayne?”.    

                    She checks room after room before coming across her in Jon’s room with a needle and thread and some sort of cloth in hand. Lady lays by her side and perks up when Margaery enters the room. Sansa doesn’t look up as Margaery slides down to the floor next to her.

                    “How is your sister?”

                     “Fine,” Sansa says without looking up.

                    “And your adviser? Did Petyr say how they are doing?”

                    “Brienne is doing better,” she says curtly.

                    They sit together in silence. She’s not sure what how to seg into it. Eventually Margaery utters, “I didn’t kiss her back.”

                    She continues sewing. “I know.”

                    “She was trying to provoke you.”

                    “I know.” She stops sewing. There’s an edge of frustration in her voice. “Is it because of her? Is she why you won’t give me a chance?”

                    Margaery drops her head down. “No. “

                    “Then why? Why can’t you let me in?”

                    This close, Margaery can see the spots of red bleeding through the black dye in her, despite the braid. The tattoo under her shirt peaks out from the collar. Sansa scoots closer, invading Margaery’s space.

                    She could run, but she doesn’t. She told her she’d have honesty.

                    “You terrify me,” she whispers.

                    “There’s nothing to be afraid of. I’m the same woman you’ve always known,” Sansa assures her, exasperated. She takes her hands and rub circles over her knuckles.

                    “I knew Alayne Stone. Sansa Stark took her from me. She was everything to me. Do you realize how cruel that is?” Margaery asks, close to tears. “You’re asking me to set that all aside and pretend that this was what I wanted all along. I’m not made of rubber. I can’t bend and twist to all your revelations.”

                    “Let me explain, Margaery. I know it hurts. I never wanted to hurt you. We’re the same though. I am still Alayne.” She pleads. “Every day I wanted to tell you. Watching you dance around Cersei’s grasp nearly killed me. After everything she did to me, I couldn’t let her-”

Margaery stops her. “Not now. We’ll talk under my terms when I’m ready,” she swears. She pulls her hand away from Sansa’s grasp.