#and kids having stronger gag reflexes

[itwillbelonelywontit]

*coming to terms with the potential of something I never thought I'd even consider* shota light au emeto. am I cooking

[mrsshabana]

I NEED to give Dilftaro the sloppiest head in the backseat of the family van in front of our family house 😭

𝐆𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐆𝐲𝐮𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐨 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝

ꔫ‧₊ Content Gyutaro x female!reader, 18+ MDNI, oral sex, blowjob ꔫ‧₊ Note Ask and you shall receive (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵) What a good way to celebrate my return from vacation ♡

After a romantic date with your husband, you pull up into the driveway of your home. Gyutaro puts the van into park and sighs.

"I wish we could do this more often."

"I know, me too," you lean forward and kiss his cheek.

It's not often that the two of you get to have dates like this. Ume came over to babysit the kids so you and your husband could have a much needed date night together.

"I mean, we don't have to end the date just yet," you say as you put your hand on his thigh.

His cheeks immediately turn pink, "Wh-what do you mean?"

"I mean...," you trail off and begin unbuttoning his pants, "we should take advantage of this opportunity."

"B-babe!" he gasps as you pull his semi-hard cock out of his pants, "But we-we're in front of the house!"

"It's fine, it's dark out anyways. No one will see," you smile and begin stroking his length, "Besides it's been so long since I've been able to do this for you."

Leaning over, you tilt his seat back so he can be in a more comfortable position, and then you prepare to pleasure your husband.

He moans softly and all of his worries begin to melt away as you wrap your lips around him. Slightly bucking his hips, involuntarily following the warmth of your mouth.

"Ahh fuck..." he groans and tilts his head back.

Gyutaro works really hard to support you and take care of his family, so you love when you get moments like this to worship his body and make him feel good. He's the perfect husband and father, so he deserves it.

"Feel good, Gyu?" you coo as you stop for a moment to take a breath. But before he can respond you're lowering your lips onto him again.

"Y-yeah," he pants, bringing his hand up to gently hold your hair.

He could roughly grab your hair and pull you up and down his cock, but no he's much more gentle than that. Carefully caressing your hair and softly bucking his hips. Being so gentle and caring, just as he always has been throughout your relationship.

Giving him a sloppy blowjob in the family van seems like a fitting reward. So that's exactly what you do.

His toes curl in ecstasy when you manage to fit all of him down your throat. Over the years you've somehow managed to fit all of him without triggering your gag reflex.

Bobbing your head up and down, going faster and faster as his moans increase in volume.

You know he's getting close when his thighs begin to tremble and his member twitches.

"Y-Y/N ah I-I... Ngh!" he moans incoherently as you milk him with your pillowy soft lips.

He's so fucking close, and you know just what to do to bring him over the edge. You flick your tongue over his frenulum, that soft spot right below his cock head. It's very sensitive, and it's your secret weapon to giving your husband the most amazing orgasms.

The muscles in his shaft contract, twitching violently as he spews hot sticky semen into your mouth - splattering across your tongue and throat.

A loud groan of satisfaction leaves his lips, like all of his stress and worries have been released and he feels nothing but pure bliss.

He looks down at you with nothing but love and admiration in his eyes. Usually, men his age who are married with two small children don't get to have moments like this. All they get is missionary sex once or twice a month.

But no, not Gyutaro. His wife loves him to the moon and back and isn't afraid to show him just how much she loves him. Not to mention that after all these years the passion you feel for each other is only getting stronger each day.

"Y/N..." he mutters between content sighs, "I love you..."

"I love you too Gyu," you say after you swallow his load. "Maybe from now on we can make this a tradition after every date~"

[ssaeri]

we fall to ashes

☆ tags: alex x gn!reader, he finds something that he never expected to see on your farm, this was going to be angst with an angst ending, but then my sister begged me to not write a sad ending, so have this relieving happy ending instead, LOTS of alex spoilers! ☆

Alex stretches his arms over his head and breathes in deep. In the distance, he hears chickens screaming—a sure sign that he's getting closer to your farm. The walk from his house isn't short, but while his grandparents would complain about the distance, he finds it ideal for cooling down after his harder work-outs. And he gets to see you at the end? He'd say that's a winner winner chicken dinner situation...out of earshot from your coop, at least.

"Hey there! Evelyn's boy!" Pam calls from his right.

He slows to a stop and waves. She sits in the driver seat of her newly repaired bus, window fully open, and takes another swig from her Joja Cola. Immediately, her face scrunches.

"Mornin', Pam!" he yells back. "How's that alcohol detox going for you?"

"Awful." She smacks her lips and holds the can up to her eyes, searching the ingredients for what makes it so fucking nasty. You often joke that it's the bitter taste of capitalism. "I could go for something stronger in this heat. You think the farmer has an extra glass of pale ale?"

Alex's smile tightens. Ever since Pam and Penny's trailer turned into an actual house, Pam's been doing her best to break old habits and he's glad for it—he can finally walk by her without the reflexive gag and hurried steps. You telling me I stink? she used to ask, angry in her drunken stupor, until she remembered why he showed up on his grandparents' steps nearly two decades ago.

She must read it in his expression now because she waves him off with a roll of her eyes. "I'm kidding, kid. Tell 'em I said hi. They're the only one who takes this damn bus anyway. I might as well take a nap." She slides sunglasses onto her face and reclines her chair until he can't see her anymore. "If I'm still here by the time you go home, wake me up."

Classic Pam, he thinks as he continues to your farm. Your dog is already running from the front door to greet him, panting and barking and disturbing your horse's peace.

"Come on, buddy," he laughs, shooing your dog until he can push open the gate. "I was supposed to surprise them."

Alex scratches your horse's ear as he passes its stable. Grape vines twist and sag on the trellises you've set up for the season, the structures nearly bursting with fruit, and he makes a mental note to stop by tomorrow to help with the harvesting. Maybe it could substitute for a work-out. He's helped you ship boxes of produce before and wondered how ripped he'd be after a month of your lifestyle. Between the trellises, the melons are just starting to come in. He doesn't know how long it takes for them to ripen, only that they taste really good when you drop off a basket for his grandma.

He calls out your name. Not in the fields, not in the pasture. Your new greenhouse, maybe? You were muttering something about ancient fruit last night. Or the mushroom cave, something he still can't believe is a feature on your farm. If Demetrius could add that, maybe Alex could talk you into installing an outdoor lifting station.

He walks past your workbench and active machines...

...and walks backwards again, hoping that his eyes are deceiving him. Crystalariums reproducing diamonds to sell, charcoal kilns working double time for enough coal, bone mills churning out fertilizer, geode crushers crunching rocks into pebbles, furnaces roaring as they smelt ores into bars—and right on top of the furthest furnace sits a wrapped bundle he's only seen in his (second to) worst nightmares.

He hears your content humming now, somewhere in the main farmhouse. Under normal circumstances, he would've called it cute, but the sound rings mockingly in his ears as he approaches the darkened flowers. A wilted bouquet. Fuck.

.

.

"Oh, hey there!" Alex called out as you got closer. He tossed his ever-present gridball into the air. "You here to catch fish again? I think you can find salmon in the river this time of year. At least that's what I heard."

Once you came to a stop in front of him, you shook your head, hands still behind your back. "I'm not fishing today," you said. "I actually wanted to give you something."

"Yeah?" His lips quirked into a grin. Another toss into the air. "Wouldn't happen to be a Salmon Dinner with extra lemon, would it? Those are one of my favorites, but I can never catch any salmon myself. Another egg would be cool, too. I've been adding your weekly deliveries to my workout meals."

You only shifted from one foot to the other, unable to take your eyes off his shoes, and a part of him faltered. You weren't intimidated by him, were you? Ever since you found him crying on the beach, he had been a little more flirtatious than usual, layering on the teasing and showing off. Maybe he came on too strong. Haley always told him that subtlety wasn't his strong suit. The grip on his gridball changed as he tossed it higher.

"You okay there? Did I do something...wait, this is—ow!"

The ball bounced off his head and landed in the grass, but he couldn't care less. He pointed to the bouquet in your hands. Not a regular bouquet, but the Bouquet made to order by Pierre. In a place as small as Pelican Town, there was no need for Pierre to have it in constant stock, so when the signature blooms made the rare appearance, they attracted everyone's eyes.

"...you want to get more serious?" he asked, incredulous.

Something in your expression changed, and you drew the flowers back to your chest. "Oh, sorry, did you not?" You gave him a wide smile, already stepping away. "I must've read the signs wrong. My mistake."

"No! That's not—I mean, you read the signs correctly. I, uh, I feel the same way." He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling his face flush. "So I guess we're together now? Should I be asking you out on a date or something? Or wait, are you asking me out on a date? How does this work?"

You laughed, a genuine sound this time. "We can continue the way we were before."

And so you did, but some things changed for sure. He could hold your hand now as you ran errands around the town, carrying half of the gifts you handed out to the townspeople. He could kiss you goodbye at his door in the evenings, though George cleared his throat loudly every time. Alex remembered making some snide comment about his grandpa, who yelled out a gruff I heard that! before being shushed by Evelyn. When It Howls in the Rain was being shown at the town theater, you bribed him to a screening with the promise of Stardrop Sorbet, but as much as he loved the treat, he would've gone anyway—it was one of his favorite movies with one of his favorite people. Good thing he'd seen it before because he spent most of the time staring at your side profile, wondering when he could finally go pro and have you stare at him on a screen.

.

.

Your dog nips at his fingers. He pets it absently. He thought everything was going fine between the two of you. Just yesterday, you came over and had dinner with him and his grandparents. You told them about your mining adventures in the Skull Caverns and, to his horror, showed off your old stitches from Harvey. (George chided your reckless behavior and gave old-timey advice that you nodded along to.) You talked about the new farm you're setting up at Ginger Island—Ancient Fruit wine all year! you told them excitedly. It's a farmer's heaven!—and the Beach Resort you're trying to restore. (Evelyn hummed at your energy, asking rapid-fire questions about the flora there.) You even promised to bring over a season's worth of eggs and leeks as soon as you got your hands on them. (Alex's mind flashed to the old mariner and the mermaid's pendant he could see hanging around your neck in the future.)

So why is a wilted bouquet sitting here, right on top of your furnaces?

No point in guessing when he can just find out the answer right from the source. He takes the flowers and goes to your door, knocking twice. It opens before he has time to second guess his choice.

"Alex! I didn't know you were coming over," you say, beaming at him. He wants to immortalize this version of you: face full of dirt smudges and t-shirt collar soaked through with sweat, yet glowing in your element. Until your eyes drop to his hands. "Oh, that's..."

He sets his jaw. "Can I come in and talk?"

Your expression falters further at his cold tone, but you step back and lead him to the living room. Your dog trots in and settles by the TV, head on its paws, watching with blank eyes. Alex sits in his usual spot and you yours, and suddenly he hates how familiar he is with your space.

It's still silent.

You clear your throat. "So," you start, wiping your palms on your jeans. A nervous tick he knows well. "What did you want to talk about?"

He puts the bouquet on the coffee table between you.

"Right." You pause, likely waiting for him to continue, but he doesn't say anything. "Alex, can you at least be less mean about this? I feel like you owe me that much after all this time together." He says nothing. "Like, tell me what's wrong instead of sitting here stone-faced. Things were okay. Why are you breaking up with me—"

"Why am I breaking up with you?" He barks a laugh. "Baby, I found this outside on your furnace! I'm not going to beg for you to stay, but what the hell is this?"

Your forehead furrows. "What? I wouldn't."

"If it's not yours and it's not mine, then whose is it?"

"I don't know! Alex, I wouldn't—I never even thought about breaking up," you insist. "Why would I lie about that?"

After scrutinizing your stricken expression, his relief comes in waves. He sinks into your couch, hands rubbing at his face.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, just—" He laughs again, the sound mostly air. "Yoba, that scared me. If someone left this here as a prank, I'm hunting them down tonight." He lifts his head to look at you and opens his arms. "Can you come over here?"

You wrinkle your nose. "I'm gross."

"You could be playing in mud with your pigs, and I'd still jump in."

With a roll of your eyes, you hop over to curl into his side and he buries his face in the crook of your neck. You stink, but so does he after a good workout. Now that he thinks about it, he's still in his gym clothes.

"You scared me, too," you tell him, gaze trained on the table. "Not the best thing to see on a Friday afternoon. But now I want to know whose this is. Did you check it for clues?"

"Didn't bother. Thought it was yours." His arm around your waist tightens as you lean forward. "Does it matter?"

But that doesn't stop you. You have the bouquet in your lap now, prying at the blackened ribbon and wrapping. "Look at this," you say, holding it between two fingers. "The ribbon isn't blue, and Pierre always uses blue. The wrap is pretty much disintegrated, but this corner—he always puts his store brand." You suck in a breath. "Oh, duh! Where did you say you found this?"

"The furnaces right outside by the workbench."

"Okay, so mystery solved. This is mine, but not in the way you think."

He raises an eyebrow. "Explain. Don't say you're breaking up with a secret partner because I don't think I can handle a second shock right now."

"I made a wildflower bouquet to put on Grandpa's grave a few days ago, but I totally forgot where I put it, so I made a second one. This one must've been the one I misplaced."

He blinks. "How the hell did you not notice it since?"

"I came back from Ginger Island yesterday and went to sleep right after dinner! The flowers must've wilted from the furnace heat."

"You," he says slowly, pinching your cheek and ignoring your squeak, "are the absolute worst. I can't believe you nearly broke my heart and it turned out to be a whoopsie."

[lostinlewis]

bestie I think that 104th deserves something to celebrate

I agree, it's time to celebrate.

Words: 1325

Mature.

It had been so long since the team had celebrated a Lewis victory, and whilst it was not quite a win, to every single person in that garage it felt like one. Taking off his helmet, running his fingers through his braids, you watched as the man you had the most complicated of relationships with, sat down to watch his favourite grid kid be interviewed as he waited his turn. 

Your eyes were fixated on him as if it was impossible for you to look away, even as your colleagues told you they were going down to the garage with the team, you stayed fixed in the position that allowed you such a perfect view of him. 

There were many emotions running through you in that very moment but the strongest was pride, that and the overwhelming want to help him celebrate. 

As if Lewis could read your mind, his head turned before he tilted it up to meet you on the balcony above. If anyone had spotted the both of you in that moment it would have been obvious that you were a little more than colleagues, yet neither one of you looked away. Slowly his face broke into a smile wider than it was before, a smile he had created just for you, a smile that told you that even in his high he thought of you.

-

‘[Lewis]: My room in 5, please.’

You knew he was still in the press pen as he sent the message, the thought of you occupying so much of his mind in a moment so important to him, filled you with joy. Neither one of you had put a label on what you were, yet it was moments such as this that told you how much he thought of you. 

-

You had barely knocked once when the door opened, his arm reaching out to pull you inside of the room before you were caught by anyone else. He was still dressed in his race suit, although it hung at his hips now, his fireproofs were discarded on the couch, granting you the perfect view of his impeccably tattooed torso.

“I am so proud of you-” 

Your gushing words of praise were interrupted by his lips on yours. There was a ferocity about the way in which he kissed you, his hands impatient too, as they fought to find every inch of skin your clothing would allow for. 

His fingers were working the button of your pants open the second a knock on the door interrupted you both.

“Lewis, champagne and pictures outside of the garage in five minutes.” 

The male voice on the other side boomed unaware of the intensely inappropriate moment he had interrupted on the other side of the door.

“Thanks bro, I’m just-” 

A need to show him how proud of him you really were took over you all of a sudden, and as he began to respond your hands pulled at his fireproofs just enough to let every thick inch of his goodness spring out at you. 

“-actually make it ten, there’s something I have to do.” 

It amazed you how easily Lewis let you take control in that moment, for someone who was so dominant naturally, he let you turn him so he was against the door, his dick throbbing in your hand, he could only watch with widened eyes as you dropped to your knees. 

“I won’t need ten.” 

The smirk on your face as you whispered the words up to him told of him of all of the devilish thoughts that ran through your mind, but most of all it told him you knew how good you were, you knew that you could have him right where you wanted him in a matter of a few minutes; he knew it too. 

The deep sigh of satisfaction Lewis let out as his head fell back against the door told you a little of how good your mouth felt wrapped around his dick. Not letting your palm get an inch of him just yet, you rolled your lips down the length of his shaft like it was easy, the want to please him, to celebrate him, was far stronger than any gag reflex ever could be. 

As the tip of your nose met with the trimmed curly hairs at his base you let your throat contract around him once and then twice when you heard the whimper escape his lips, his hand falling to the back of your head, he was too gentlemanly to force you to keep your head there but knowing he wanted to made you fight past any urge you had to breathe. 

Nothing was more important in that moment, nothing was ever as important as pleasing Lewis was to you. 

You finally came up for air, not caring an inch that your mouth was now as sloppy as his dick was, you gasped for breath whilst locking eyes with him. Lewis’ thumb brushed across the saliva that had gathered on your chin before he brought it up to his lips; he never could resist a taste of you. 

“The team are probably waiting for me-” 

His words were a challenge, you knew it. Without letting him finish his sentence, you rendered his sentence silent as you wrapped one hand and then the other around his base, before your lips kissed the tip. 

“Shit…”

It took a mere few seconds to have Lewis whimpering as you worked him. So many inches to play with, your hands rotated perfectly in sync with your lips. He was loud, he couldn’t help it, but you knew by how reckless he was being that you drove him to places no one else was quite able to. 

You always knew when Lewis was seconds away, he would try and tell you with words but it would always fail, his breath stolen from him by your mouth around his dick, you could only tell by how tense his body was. 

His whimpers were a beg now, one hand planted firmly on the back of your head, the other held his own stomach as he thrust against your rhythm, never quite giving up full control. One little whimper told you it was time and you worked him faster than you had been, never losing pace, never stopping, until you felt the explosion of warm cum shoot down your throat, the load so full that it was impossible not to have it cover your chin in seconds as you sucked him through his high. 

-

Both of you acted like shy teenagers in the aftermath, not quite able to converse. You settled for mutual giggles as you fixed yourselves up as best you could, before you faced every single one of your colleagues. 

“You go first, they will expect me to be a little later.” 

Lewis gave you a kiss on the cheek as he said goodbye to you. It was only as you reached the door of his room that he called out to you. 

“When are you flying back?” 

“Monday morning, why?”

Never before had Lewis been concerned with your travel schedule. 

“Good. If I finish on the podium tomorrow, will you spend the night with me?” 

His question shocked you, both of you were content with the non committal relationship you had, never spending the night together as that felt way too relationship like, yet here was Lewis initiating more. 

You thought for a moment, you knew how dangerous this game you were playing was, you also knew that it risked so much for the both of you should anyone find out. Casual was safe, anything more than that was trouble.

“How about this? If you win tomorrow I will spend the night with you.”

“Babe, you know how slow the car is, that’s not fair…” 

“If you want me in your bed for the whole night, you know exactly what to do tomorrow, Lewis.” 

[seriouslysnape]

Hii would you maybe write remus x reader where its the night before the full moon and remus is really horny like A LOT and so reader takes care of him and makes him cum multiple times ? (Nothing to kinky , just needy loving fucking?)

WOWOWOWOWOWOWOW. I’M BLUSHING SO HARD AT THIS I AM GOING TO EXPLODE. 

I, uh....NEED YALL TO LEMME KNOW IF I DID OKAY ON THIS BECAUSE I WAS BLUSHING SO HARD THE WHOLE TIME I WASNT EVEN SURE WHAT I WAS SAYING. 

__

With a Vengeance 

Remus Lupin x Fem. Reader

Warnings: Smut.

Word Count: 2,818

“You deserve to feel good too, darling.”

__

You could always tell when the full moon was soon to be. Not because of the way the lake’s reflection was a little glassier or how the stars seemed to twinkle a tad brighter. No, the dead giveaway was Remus’ behavior around you. He was a werewolf after all, and his instincts always grew stronger the closer the moon came to hitting its fullest phase. More specifically, Remus’ sex drive was always through the roof in the days before the full moon.

He would start with being very lingering around you, not daring to stray too far or let you out of his sights. He’d get touchy next, his hands constantly on you in some manner. He’d leave kisses on your skin and eventually start whispering dirty things in your ear that would make you rub your thighs together in anticipation. 

You usually kept track of the full moon, so you’d know when to expect him to be absent for a few days or when to be prepared to shower him with love and care. However, this time it had gotten away from you. You had been slammed this week, busy with work, and trying to get your ducks in a row so you’d feel more organized. 

Remus had been all over you today, kissing at your neck and slipping his hand into your pants as often as he could. His affection had carried into the end of the day when the two of you retreated to your Hogwarts quarters. He knew you had work to do, but that didn’t stop him from stroking your skin and kissing you wherever he saw fit. 

You had snapped at him once, telling him that he needed to keep his hands to himself until you were finished.

Remus realized you had forgotten, and he was trying his hardest to be patient and allow you to do what you needed to...but you just looked so beautiful with your focus drawn in on whatever you were doing. He looked over you and how you sat wearing nothing but your bra and a pair of shorts. Remus uncomfortably palmed at his crotch that was well on its way to becoming a full erection as he began pacing around your shared bedroom. While he hated to interrupt you, his situation grew dire and his head was clouded with temptation.

“Hey, love?” He called, stopping his cycled steps.

You didn’t look up from the desk that was stationed on the other side. You only let out a hum to acknowledge that you had indeed heard him. He groaned out a sigh, rubbing at his groin once more.

“Do you think that could wait until tomorrow?” He queried, feeling his arousal heightening with each passing moment.

“I’m afraid not. I need to give these to Albus as soon as possible.” You replied, thinking that Remus was just ready to go to bed. 

A pit of despair and dejection filled his gut. Remus threw his head back in defeat and he let out a harsh, guttural sound. Surprised at such a reaction, you turned in your chair to look at him.

“Remus, what-” You were cut off when you saw the hitch in his boxers. 

You caught a glimpse of the almost full moon outside the window. Your confused look melted into a look of knowingness. You suddenly remembered that the full moon was only a day out, which explained why Remus had been acting the way he had. 

“Oh, that’s right. The full moon is tomorrow,” You announced, grazing over the bulge in his underwear. You threw down your quill onto the desk; “Forget this then.”

Remus brought his head back looking at you with desperation. He did a silent victory cheer that you had given up your work for him.

“Darling, I really...really need to touch you.” He said, his voice at a deep whisper and full of pleading.

You stood slowly from your chair, walking over to your husband who was jittery with eagerness. You pressed your body against his, your fingertips toying with his waistband. 

“Is Moony back with a vengeance?” You asked jokingly, knowing that his increased drive was just a side effect of his upcoming transformation.

“You have no idea.” Remus muttered, never looking away from you.

You giggled, reaching a hand into his boxers and stroking his hard length. He let out a whimper that was enough to almost make you feel sympathetic. He kissed you deeply, moaning into your mouth as you continued to pleasure him with your hand. You knew that wasn’t all he needed. You sank to your knees after a moment or so, Remus’ heart dropping a little.

He was never one to turn down a blowjob from you, but he always felt a little bad. Not that he didn’t ever return the favor, though. You yanked his boxers down with your other hand, hungrily looking over him. He brought his hands to your head, holding it steady. You left a tantalizing kiss, just barely licking his tip. He spoke, more like begged, to you.

“Baby, please don’t tease me. I can’t handle it tonight.” He breathed, his voice in almost a quiver. 

Remus wasn’t kidding. This full moon was extra strong to have him falling apart like this. 

“I won’t tease you. I’ll take care of you, honey.” You promised, finally taking him into your mouth. 

His grip tightened in your hair, a sigh escaping his chest. Your head bobbed as you sucked him off the way you knew he liked: taking him all the way. You swallowed around him, keeping your gag reflex from triggering. He watched as you pulled your head back and pushed himself back into your face.

“You’re so pretty on your knees...always so good for me.” He breathed out. 

You let out a happy noise, moving your head faster to get him to his finish. He loved the way you paid special attention to his tip, sometimes leaving kisses on his thighs and hips. He was always so appreciative during these times that you were always there to satisfy him and did it with joy. He was so lucky to have you, and he never let you forget how thankful he was for you.

He felt his dick twitch in your throat, his hot release spilling into you with his relieved moan, which caused a startled squeal to come from you. You took your mouth off of him, but swallowed dutifully. His skin was flushed and his breathing was heavy, but this was only a warm up. He needed more. 

You got up from your knees, and he kissed you so fast that it was dizzying. He was being rougher now, which only made you want him more. He removed what was left of your clothes, throwing off his own shirt. His hands were glued to you. His lips were hot on your neck as he left kisses and whispered his praises in your ear. You were moaning with every spot he sucked on, your voice coming out as a rasp.

“Remus...get on the bed.” You said, feeling the ache of desire between your legs.

He stopped his kisses, guiding you to your bed that he hadn’t even bothered to make when he left after you that morning. He laid on the mattress, watching as you wasted no time straddling him and leaning down to kiss him. He could feel how slick you were already, he smirked under the kiss.

“You’re already so wet.” He said, reaching and rubbing slow circles onto your clit.

You whimpered out, his fingers working magic on your sensitive sex. He slipped two of his fingers inside of you, his fingers curled and massaged your inner walls, feeling how you were coated with slickness. You had almost forgotten that this was supposed to be about him, but that didn’t stop you from rolling your hips as you began to ride his fingers.

“Remus, I’m supposed to be making you feel good. Oh...” You moaned.

He smiled up at you, even when he was the one desperately wanting you, you still couldn’t resist him. He chuckled.

“You deserve to feel good too, darling.” He said, watching you grow closer to your own release.

But you didn’t want to finish just yet. You stilled his hand, making him withdraw his fingers. He looked you dead in the eyes as he brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean. You always felt so prideful when he did that. Before he could ask why you stopped him, you raised yourself up and sank completely down onto his length. 

You both let out a noise that time, feeling a rush at the new sensation. Your movements were slow at first, making Remus whine. You smiled breathlessly down at him.

“What is it, baby? How bad do you need me?” You said in a teasing way.

He growled, knowing you were messing with him.

“You said you wouldn’t tease me...fuck, don’t be mean.” He said, rotating his hips into you.

You let out a sultry laugh. You didn’t want him to suffer more, so you gave in.

“Okay, Remus. I hear you.” You replied, dropping your act and starting to actually ride him.

You rocked and fucked him harder than you normally would, his groans and erratic noises as a testament to it.

“Oh, yes...” He huffed out, his hands kneading at your breasts and gripping at your waist.

You arch your back and release a high pitched moan, a blend of ecstasy and relief coursing through you. He thrusted his hips upward to go as deep as he possibly could, filling and stretching you as perfectly as he always did. You bounced on his lap and felt the delicious feeling of his dick deep inside of you and hitting your most sensitive spot. 

You were making noises every time you slammed back down onto him. Your lower stomach began to tighten and get hot, throwing your head back and crying out his name. He bucked his hips up into you, pushing your higher and higher into your climax as well as hitting his own. 

“Don’t stop, [Y/N].” He said as more of a warning than a request.

He was praying that you weren’t going to fuck with him further and suddenly stop and put off his release. An amused smirk appeared on your face, opening your eyes and looking down at him.

“Don’t worry. I’m gonna let you cum, baby.” You granted, continuing the rocking of your hips.

With a few final pushes, he came inside of you and you came around him. Every neuron in your body was fired up as a satisfied squeak signaled your end. You both stopped moving, the only sounds now being your hard breathings. He leaned up from the pillows on the bed, leaving lazy, breathless kisses on your skin. You had never rocked his world quite like that, his vision being dotted with little black spots. 

He mumbled into your neck as he lifted your limp body off of him, letting you fall on the mattress next to him so you could rest for a minute.

“Come here, my darling.” He cooed, kissing your swollen lips and dancing his fingertips over your slightly sticky skin.

Your arms fell above your head as your body returned to normal, your head in a delightful fog. You looked into his eyes, but didn’t see that usual look of after-sex bliss that he always had. They were still fiery with lust. 

“Fuck me again, Remus.” You purred out abruptly, once you were recovered and sucking a hickey on his neck.

Every fiber in his being was screaming yes, but he lightly protested.

“You’ve done more than enough, sweetheart. I’ll be fine. It’s just a hard full moon this time, I suppose.” He said with a smile, but not even denying that he wanted one more round. 

You looked at him sensually. His eyes told another story. You ran your thumb over the scar across his cheek.

“You sure about that?” You prompted.

Remus’ pupils dilated in thought, running his tongue along the inside of his lower lip as you moved to nibble on his earlobe. You purposefully moaned in his ear, sending him over the edge. He was between your knees, having your legs around his waist in seconds. His hands gripped your thighs, keeping you firmly around him. He scanned over your naked body that was sprawled out on the bed.

This was one of his favorite parts. Seeing you laid out underneath him, squirming with expectation. There were so many things that you did (some intentional and some not) that drove him absolutely wild. You way you bit your lower lip whenever you caught him staring at you, only using your imagination to wonder what he was thinking when he looked at you. 

He loved the way you cared for him in all aspects: physically, emotionally, mentally. There wasn’t a square inch of you that he didn’t prize and treasure over. You were his entire world. His reason for breathing. 

He pushed his shaft through your folds, relishing and groaning at the feel of you once more. Your alluring sigh signaled him to start moving, pulling out and back in at a rapid pace. Your inviting sounds were music to his ears.

You pushed your body down to meet each of his thrusts, allowing him to hit just the right spot. You could feel the pent up tension that he had built up with each rough entrance back into you. He held your hands above your head, his other hand pinning your hips to the mattress. 

He pulled out again and one particular slam back into you caused you to moan louder than normal, causing Remus to speed up even more. Your chest bouncing with his every thrust. You were completely focused on the feeling of him dragging in and out of you. He let out a noise that resembled a growl that sent vibrations all through your body. Every cell in your body felt like it might combust with pleasure. 

“You’re such a good girl. Every time you’re so good for me,” He glorified; “Oh, darling, how I adore you...” 

Your legs tightened around him, letting him know you were close.

“I love you.” You breathed out, 

He grinned, an even deeper blush appearing on his face.

“I love you, angel.” 

You involuntarily clenched around him with a pitchy cry, releasing once again and hitting your high. He felt his own spiral, thrusting a time or two more and spilled his release into you again. He groaned in solace, pulling out of you. Your hearts were pounding and your minds were racing. You looked up at him and smiled with joy as the look of euphoria in his eyes. You persuaded him to fall next to you so he didn’t totally collapse.

He pulled you to him, showering you with soft kisses and snuggles. He entwined your legs with his, his hand resting on the outside of your thigh and feeling your muscles contracting violently. He looked at you with hilarity, but also concern at the feel of your trembling legs.

“You’re shaking.” He noted aloud.

There wasn’t a stitch of discomfort or unpleasantness on your face. You beamed up at him, fiddling with one of his hands. 

“I’m perfect. I may not be able to feel my legs tomorrow, but I’m okay.” You said, kissing his jaw.

He laid with you in silence, feeling the air cool your heated skin and allow your heart rates to return to normal. 

“I can’t wait to see you after the full moon passes. I hate being away from you.” He admitted, pushing a strand of hair from your face.

You nodded. Remus always liked to stay away during the full moon. Even if he took Wolfsbane Potion, he was still weary of how dangerous it could be. If Moony ever hurt you...or worse, he couldn’t live with himself.

“I know. But it won’t be long. You’ll be back soon,” You comforted him; “Tell Moony I said hello.” You joked.

He snickered at that.

“Of course, love.” 

A silence fell over the both of you, just enjoying each other’s presence. He massaged you gently, knowing that he had totally overstimulated you enough for one evening. Although, he still playfully teased you when you went to get up.

“I need to go shower.” You announced, making your way to the bathroom on shaky legs.

“Is there room for one more?” He winked at you.

You both knew there was no way either of you’d make another round. You weren’t exactly young and spry teenagers anymore. You scoffed.

“Only if you keep your hands to yourself.” You giggled.

Remus shot up from the bed, following you into the shower.

“No promises.”

[maybemanyskeletonhats]

The elves dealing with nausea/Stomach aches.

(TW: Vomiting. If the mention of it bothers you. This is supposed to also be humourous too.)

Ondolemar feels immediately guilty even if it's not his fault. His lover is sick, and that thought only pulls his heartstrings because they're just about the only person he cares about.

Will want them /The Dragonborn\ to eat still, but only if it's light. He knows from experience that an empty stomach doesn't help matters. Will likely get them fruit or some crackers to ease their nausea.

Mannimarco grumbles but hides the concern he feels. Does love them, obviously. Perhaps more than he should. Mannimarco isn't the best at verbally consoling the wretching vestige, but he'll leave healing potions around for them to drink. Doesn't even let them think about chugging it else he'll take it from them.

A time when there is a sick vestige is the only time the necromancer can be seen laying with them. No, what do you mean he lets them lay against him? Who told you that?

Teldryn Sero will shake his head with something akin to dull amusement on his face. He would think the dragonborn would have a stronger stomach...but clearly....

Will try to curb their stomach pain with some healing spells, but if they really need to throw up to feel better. The best this spellsword can do for them is hold their hair back.

Neloth makes a mildly disgusted face when he hears the Nerevarine (Pre-Corprus.) throw up into a spare bucket. "By Malacath, what did you decide to eat to cause this now?"

Isn't good at verbal or physical comfort, but will lean against the door frame keeping an eye on them. He knows he isn't exactly the sweetest mer on Nirn but he tries, really, he does.

Divayth Fyr takes it like a champion. All of his daughters have thrown up on him at least once when they were babies. His lover throwing up isn't anything new to him, even if they happen to...throw up on him. Will actually actively do something because he does feel bad.

Makes them lay down, will casually ask force One of his kids to make them soup or something light to eat.

Vivec masks the disgusted face he wants to make. The sight, smell, and clear anguish the Nerevarine exudes as they throw up does make him feel guilty. Don't get it twisted. But please for the love of the Gods, don't make him clean it up.

Will still hold them though, wants them laying on his lap though. Not at all because he's afraid that staying upright will cause them to upchuck on him, no not at all.

Sotha Sil keeps the neutral face he always keeps, innerly his mind is racing of course. Knows what to give them to help them, but is hesitant to touch them while they're sick.

Not because he's afraid of them or getting sick. Rather that he's emotionally constipated, so he can't quite pinpoint the right words to use.

If he can't figure out what to say, he comfortingly rubs their shoulder blades as they decide to empty their stomach of what they may have eaten that day.

Almalexia took care of Neht when he got sick, it may have been awhile since she personally dealt with any sickness herself. But the sight ot them...not to mention the sounds makes her unhappy.

Will make them tea, peppermint oil, she knows her way around stomach pain.

Voryn Dagoth is unhappy with them when they're sick. Why? Because he has a weak stomach. The sight, and smell alone triggers his gag reflex. Tries very hard to comfort them, but barely manages to rub their back before he recoils to vomit himself.

It's hopeless if they both are sick. It takes Sil, Vehk, and Ayem to nurse them.

[rex101111]

For a glass of Cactus Wine

Summary: Migelo does both his duties at the fete, one to the Empire, and the other to his kids. 

Rating: T

Fandom: Final Fantasy XII

Well! Been a while since I wrote something substantial, but @sevi007 has been doing a live blog of this game, thus reminding me how much I love it, and so here’s a fic depicting the one missing scene in this game I really wanted to see, also to give Lizard dad the content he deserves. Enjoy!

Seeing Arcadian troops stomp in the halls of the Royal Palace made Migelo want to crawl right out of his hide. It’s been two years since those bastards in their tin plates stomped into his home and his city and still he could only barely keep his anger in check at how disrespectful the whole lot of them were.

Leaning on pillars built centuries past, wiping their feet on rugs that took months to weave, pointing and laughing like children at art that they would never understand the importance of. If he heard another one of these piss-drunk bureaucrats call one more thing in this palace “quaint” he’s going to use that same thing to break it over their heads.

Still, years of experience in burying his feelings and opinions about his costumers helped him plaster a smile on his snout. This was simply business, he was providing sundries and food for an event, like he’s done dozens and dozens of times over his long career.

“Watch that crate!” He yelled out to one of the servants, “it’s got wine in it, worth more than ten of your lifetimes! Handle it with a bit of care why don’t you?” The servant sheepishly apologized and asked for help from another servant as Migelo turned his gaze elsewhere, “dear girl, you’ll break your back like that!” He went to a maid and corrected her posture and how she held her tray of food, “there we go now, better?”

“Thanks Migelo.” The maid smiled gratefully, before her face turned sour, “these imperials get nasty when they’re drunk, they keep asking me to run back and forth for all sorts of nonsense.” She sighed harshly, “probably just want a peek up my skirt.”

“You let ol’ Migelo handle them, Meina.” He soothes, turning her to a different direction, “empty that tray and take a break for ten minutes, I’ll have someone else make sure they don’t notice you gone, yes?”

She went off with a smile and Migelo continued like that, his time cleaved cleanly between ordering servants this way and that soothing fraying nerves. This fete needed to go flawlessly, with the consul himself attending every hand on deck needed to give it their all and then some. If the pompous royal left this evening with a good opinion of his food, he might transfer said opinion to the rest of the city. If he did that, maybe his boys and girls could have more room to breathe.

He looked ruefully over the staff, some of the younger ones he’s known since they were children, helped them train for applying for work in the palace. Rabanastre was a small city, everyone knew everyone, and that only became stronger as the plague and the war ravaged the place. Seeing these kids, his kids, running around like cockatrices with their heads cut off for the sake of their invaders made a lick of fire burn in his gut, no matter how hard he tried to douse it.

Worse of all was that he knew he was delaying the inevitable, he had an invitation to answer soon, and the longer he ignored the worse things would get not only for himself, but everyone else living in Rabanastre.

He took a few long breathes, practiced his best servile smile in a nearby plate, pictured the smiling face of every single child under his care in his mind, and went off to sit at the right of the eldest living son of Emperor Gramis, Vayne Carudas Solidor.      

The consul was deep in debate with the others sitting at his table, something about tax rates and territory dispute that went right over Migelo’s head, but as soon as the old bangaa drew close enough, as if he could hear his footsteps over the rancor of the room, Vayne stopped talking and turned his head to meet his gaze.

“Ah, Sir Migelo, so nice of you to finally join me.” He motioned for one of the nearby soldiers to pull back the chair at his right side, “please, sit.”

With practice ease, and complaining stomach, Migelo bowed in apology, “I hope you would forgive me, Lord Consul, I had so many things to fix and move, my responsibilities nearly made me forget your most gracious offer.”

“Think nothing of it good Sir,” Vayne waved off easily, “We should all wish to have your work ethic Migelo, so we could accomplish our own work half as well.” Vayne complimented him smoothly as Migelo finally sat, the others at the table nodding sycophantically, before beginning to pour the store owner a glass of red wine. “But, let me remind you that I asked of you to refer to me by my first name.”

Taking the glass with all the grace he could manage, Migelo bowed his head again with an outwardly warm smile, “ah, forgive this old lizard sir consul, I still feel ill at ease referring to one of your station so informally.” The other reason was the only people he called by name were his friends and his kids, and Vayne is not, would never be, either. “Perhaps I’ll manage that better,” he made a show of laughing from his belly, “with a bit of fine Arcadian wine in my system, eh?”

“Of course.” Vayne’s sharp eyes and sharper smile made Migelo feel as if he were strapped to a table, “please, indulge as you please, we have all night after all.”

Nodding, Migelo started to drain his glass, and had to fight his gag reflex with every gulp. Arcadian wine made you feel like someone was trying to prove something to you, too rich, too fruity, too damn much. Seeing the people around him gulp this stuff down was aggravating as it was confusing, you could stuff as many flowers into a bottle of Slaven piss as you wanted, it was still a drink of cold piss.

Decades of honing his poker face in the interest of more returning costumers made sure none of that disgust was visible on his face of course, to any casual observer Migelo savored every drop of the expensive Slaven piss, finishing his glass with a pleasured sigh. “Ahh, what an excellent, uh, flavor profile! So full of life and character!” He turned to the consul with a toothy grin, “How’s about you give me another to loosen my tongue?”

“You are a man of great taste, Sir Migelo.” Vayne complimented, smiling thinly as he filled the offered cup before filling his own. “I’ve heard Dalmascans do not have a high opinion of my home’s signature brew.”

“Bah.” Migelo scoffed easily, “children with no experience on their tongues Lord Consul, nothing to be offended by.” He internally grits his teeth, he heard some of the younger men voice some of their very loud opinions about Arcadian wine in a place where a couple of soldiers could hear them. It ended well for absolutely no one, and he was only glad to make sure his kids didn’t see or hear it. “We Dalmascans are very proud of our own drinks, I think you would see it would make sense to be a bit defensive.” He took another gulp, “pardon m’candor, of course.”

“Indeed.” Vayne nodded, finishing his own glass, “and you have a great many things to be proud of, I’ve heard a fair share of good things about Dalmascan cactus wine.” He looked at Migelo with a gaze that made his scales itch, “have you tried it before?”

He was almost insulted the man had to ask, “o’course I did lord consul!” He tried to be casual about it, but a bit of hometown pride seemed to seep in every other word, “Cactus Wine is easy to brew in large amounts, made from Cactoid fruit and the sands are absolutely littered with the little buggers, it’s what you order when you have something to celebrate or as a victory drink.” Migelo could go for an entire barrel of it right now. “It’s a…simple drink. Simple but hearty.”

Vayne nodded politely as the bangaa went on, before he took the bottle of his expensive wine and looked at it quietly, “…I suppose there hasn’t been much call for it, lately.”

Migelo nearly swallowed his tongue, for all his talk of taking in all of Dalmasca’s hatred onto himself, the consul seemed adept at choosing words to inspire said hatred. “Y-No, Lord Consul, not a lot to celebrate.” He quickly recovered, smiling again as he waved his glass about, “b-but fret not! Us Dalmascans find reason to celebrate no matter the weather! You’ll have your taste of cactus wine before long don’t you worry!”

“Why wait my friend?” Vayne said smoothly, Migelo barely exerting the restraint he needed to stop himself from cursing the consul out on considering himself something he is not, “I have found myself a few bottles for this grand occasion.”

Migelo was stopped short, he had double checked every scrap of food and drink meant for this fete, triple checking the alcohol in particular, and he was sure there wasn’t a drop of cactus wine in the whole palace, he figured the imperials wouldn’t want to touch the stuff. “Y-you did? F-from where lord consul?”

“From the palace cellars of course.” He replied, motioning with his hand to another maid, Kayta if Migelo remembers right, who held a very familiar clay jug in her hands. “If one kind of wine isn’t enough to call me friend, perhaps two would suffice.”

Migelo held Kayta’s conflicted gaze for a moment, before he turned to Vayne with a doubtful expression, “the cellars my lord? Those haven’t been disturbed since the war ended! Who knows what kind of vermin have found their way to the stores?”

“I had my men carefully inspect each bottle.” Vayne assured, which only made Migelo more ill thinking about what Imperial soldiers considered inspecting. “Please, do not be reticent, I find myself curious what a man of your expertise has to say about the difference between one wine and the other.”

Kayta poured Migelo a glass with a sorrowful expression, Migelo soothing the girl as best he could with a smile only she could see, and the bangaa took a long whiff of the drink, before slowly draining his glass.

Cactus wine was sweet, almost sweet enough you could give it to a child without them puffing their little face. Its taste was subtle, airy, doing nothing more than what a wine ought to do and made your face and belly warm. It was cheap drink, cheap enough that working folk could indulge in it without endangering their pay over-much.

It was Dalmasca to the last drop, warm and honest.

“So, sir Migelo?” Vayne inquired when the bangaa finished and had not said a word, “how is your home’s brew compared to mine?”

He was quiet for a few more moments before he turned to the consul, “I must admit to having a bias sir.” He put the glass back down on the table gently, reaching over to grab a grape nearby to soak some of the alcohol in his system, “I’ve been drinking cactus wine since I was a whelp, y’see, it’s a drink for the heart as much for the stomach nowadays.”

Vayne chuckled good naturedly, “well, now you have me curious.” He picked up his own glass and motioned for Kayta to fill it, the girl nearly tripping over herself to bow as she poured without spilling it on him. He took a careful sip…and stopped, an emotion Migelo could not name fliting across his face. “…it tastes…” The consul was quiet for a moment, the rest of the table perfectly silent to await his judgment, “…honest.”

Migelo released a breath he didn’t know he was holding, allowing himself the tiniest amount of pride as he looked at Vayne, “Dalmasca knows no other way, Lord Consul.”

“Pritas.” Vayne looked at one of the people sitting at the table, some peacock in a stuffy red shirt with a pencil moustache, “you should try it, I am certain people in Archades would flock to try this, exotic yet gentle on the tongue.”

Pritas hurriedly motioned for Kayta to pour him a glass, and no sooner than he had a drop of it he was nodding enthusiastically, “y-yes Lord Vayne! You are absolutely correct; everyone will want a bottle of this for any price!”

Migelo, despite his mood and the alcohol in his system, found himself smiling at the sound of it, feeling someone patting his shoulder. “Migelo, after the fete be sure to grant Pritas here the information for whoever you get your cactus wine from, they’ll find more business than ever.”

Migelo could picture the family of brewers in his head, nearly jumping for joy at the chance that fell into their laps, a contract to sell cactus wine halfway across Ivalice. He then imagined their faces when he told them to which half of Ivalice the wine would go. He imagines the shock, the outrage, the sorrow.

He imagines the table with one more chair then they needed, the extra gathering dust for two years now.

“Yes, Lord Consul.” He said as calmly as he could manage, looking into the face of a man whose night has gone exactly as he had planned, down to the last detail, painting a smiling on his snout. “Thank you for this opportunity, I’m sure they’ll see this as a chance to build their life back up to how it was…” He could feel his lips curling over his teeth. “…before the war, that is.”

Vayne’s face drew downwards slightly, an almost robotic motion, “yes, the war has devastated both sides long enough,” He squeezed the shoulder he was holding, in a move meant to be reassuring, “it is past time we helped each other back onto our feet.”

Vaan crying into his shoulder, cursing and yelling and screaming every curse he knew. Penelo holding him tightly as she sobbed. Fire in the sky, visible from his window.

His home, under siege and under iron boots.

Migelo bit his tongue, brought to mind every orphan he and Old Dalan have struggled to keep fed and working and warm, and managed an impossible smile, “yes…way past time…Lord Consul.”

Vayne shook his head with a fond smile, and poured Migelo another cup of Arcadian wine. Migelo drained it without tasting a drop.

(Not long after, barely an hour after, he sees his boy in chains and his girl crying for his freedom, and all the wine in his veins is cold and freezing.  

As they dragged his boy away, as his girl fell into the arms of Kayta as she sobbed, Vayne Carudas Solidor came to him, smiled, and clapped his shoulder.)  

[utterlyinevitable]

Fast Fic #3

Day of Disasters 

Word Count: 1.3k Warning: cursing, adult themes, blood  Summary: This takes place sometime during OH2. 

A/N: Thank you @ultimate-milkboy​ for requesting this!

________________________________________

You know how people say they ‘woke up on the wrong side of the bed’ to describe their less than pleasant mood? Well let me tell you how the universe punished me for waking up alone in someone else’s bed.  

It was 8:20 in the morning and I had to be at Edenbrook by 9AM. I rolled my sluggish half nude body out of the cozy Egyptian cotton sheets of the king-sized bed and made my way to the en-suite for a much-needed shower. As I waited for the water to heat up I reveled in the sweet smell of our mixed scents still lingering on my skin, nothing could ever compare to that musky tang - but the moment I parted my legs to pee I gagged at the festering stench mixed with sweat. My senses clouded by the smell, I hopped as quickly as I could into the walk in shower. Briefly forgetting there’s a slight step, two of my longer toes collided with the cement base and I yipped out in pain. Fuck that’s gonna leave a mark. 

At 8:40 I opened the large glass door exiting the apartment complex. I kid you not, I took approximately 2 steps through the door when a large voice called,  

“Dr. Lao, Hi!” 

Fuck. 

Plastering a pleasant smile to my lips I spun on my heels to see Gary Garrison. The aloof intern asked me a bunch of unimportant questions about work and my evening as we unintentionally walked to work together. 

“What are you doing on this side of town, Doctor?” 

Fuck. One of my friends, most likely Elijah, probably told him we live in a flatshare in the opposite direction. I hoped to all the Gods that he didn’t know He lived here - that building or this side of town. The only way he would know is if he quizzed senior attendings, and even then He rarely gives out his address. 

The thought eased my mind a bit. 

“I had to run an errand for a friend,” I told him. It was none of his business anyway.  

Once I was free of Garrison, I turned a corner to hit up Derry Roasters for some much needed pick me up. Lackadaisically, I kept on walking. My mind didn’t even process the yellow tape, the wooden board on the window or that the cafe was closed due to a break in. 

No coffee for me today, cool. I guess I’m stuck with the dishwater - maybe Ethan will let me use his holy grail? 

Walking from this part of town meant I would be entering the hospital through the back entrance which I usually avoid because all the surgeons were always working out or being rowdy. I rounded into view and wouldn’t you know it, the surgical residents were playing a game of basketball. Shirts vs Skins. From a distance I could tell Bryce was Captain Skins - the beads of sweat glistening in the morning sun off of his flawless abs. I, Becca Lao, am only human after all - so on that basis I let myself ogle the surgeons for a moment too long on the makeshift sideline. Like some sort of sick joke something fast and hard collided directly with my cheek. I was on the pavement clutching my bloody nose and running my tongue over my throbbing gums within seconds. 

That’s gonna bruise.  

Suddenly it wasn’t morning anymore - all I could see was shades of black, I tried to blink my other eye to focus but it was no use. 

“Fuck, Becks!” I heard Bryce call as heavy footsteps raced over to me. His strong and clammy arms pulled me to my feet. “You ok?” 

“No?” I snorted trying to make light of the situation. Without a doubt everyone’s attention was on me and I did not need another embarrassing moment circulating the gossip mill. “Is it bad?” I turned away from Bryce’s semi-lit up form so he could assess the damage. 

“I’d still do you,” he joked and I could only imagine the megawatt smile emanating.  

Bryce linked his arm with mine and rushed me inside. Once in the less invasive fluorescent lighting my eyesight started to come back just as Ines and Ethan were coming down the hall. 

“Ohmygod Becca what happened!” Ines screeched in a motherly tone. 

Bryce was quick to respond, “Collateral damage.” Ethan raised a brow at the words and Bryce continued to explain, “Wrong place, wrong time. We really need to work on your reflexes, Becks.” 

If I didn’t have blood gushing over my hand and scrubs I would have snorted. Bryce really did know how to make the worst of situations better. 

“Come on, Rookie,” Ethan grabbed my things from Bryce and wrapped his arm protectively around my waist. “Dr. Delarosa go ahead without me, I trust your judgment.”  

Slowly he led me to the nearest empty exam room. He chucked my things onto the extra chair and guided me to sit on the table. Ethan removed my bloodied hands from my face, shoving cotton balls up my nostrils to stop the bleeding. The world around me was still hazy but I could see the unamused expression on his face as he wiped my hands down. 

“I leave you alone for three hours…” he mumbled to himself. 

My first instinct was to retort how he chose to head to work early and alone to keep suspicion off of us. And how I walked to work like any other day, but for some reason the universe was punishing me for sleeping over on a workday. 

But all of a sudden I felt lightheaded. 

“Rookie. Rebecca, stay with me,” he called in his authoritative doctor voice, his aged and calloused hand on my unaffected cheek.  

I locked my eyes on his effervescent oceans. My God how is he real? A sleepy smile arose as I took in his gorgeous features - worried and determined cracks of age, naturally manicured eyebrows, stubble that accented his model-like jawline, lips with the most perfect and kissable cupid's bow... I felt high from all the blood rushing through my nostrils and from the rattling in my ear. 

Ethan did a full check to make sure nothing was damaged. He sprayed saline to stop the bleeding when it wasn’t halting on it’s own. He moved around me in comfortable silence, completely in his element. If I wasn’t completely enamored with him before, I sure as hell was now. He is the calming certainly anyone would need during a disaster. 

How did I get so lucky? 

I chuckled at the thought. 

Ethan looked over to me and incredulously asked, “What’s so funny?” 

What’s funny is I wore you down until you couldn’t effectively push me away any longer. And that means I have a stronger willpower than you. 

I sobered up, “Nothing.”  

He shook his head and checked his watch. 

My tall doctor closed the distance between us, cupping my cheek. My breath hitched as he leaned in. When he knew I couldn’t take the anticipation any more he pulled one of the cotton buds out of my nostril! I gasped at the clearing sensation. 

Ethan tilted my head back to make sure there weren’t any clots and moved my head to the side to make sure there wasn’t a ton of swelling. 

“If you wanted a bruise so badly you could have just asked,” he said with a mischievous glimmer. 

I pouted and the bastard pulled the other cotton out. 

“Ethan!” I screamed. “Warn me next time; that fucking hurts.” 

“Sorry,” he mumbled against my forehead where he had just placed a kiss. “I think you’ll survive.” 

“Gee, thanks.” 

“Ready for rounds?” 

“No,” I responded, causing Ethan to let out a little scoff. Today has been fucking awful. “This city is feeling kinda evil and I need to find caffeine.” 

He disposed of his rubber gloves and turned to look at me with arms folded, “Do I want to know what else happened in my absence?” 

I gave him the biggest puppy dog pout I could. 

He made a show of rolling his eyes but we both know he can’t resist me. “Come on, I’ll make you a cup in the office.” 

I hopped off the exam bed and beamed, “Two. I need two cups.” 

________________________________________

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[asterekmess]

S3A - E5

AAaannddd, we’re back, with another episode! Wow, this rewatch is gonna take for-fucking-ever isn’t it? Yeah, I thought so. Anywho, on with the show.

Read More’s Are Polite

Thoughts:

Boyd and Isaac sharing a bus seat, even though there’s clearly empty seats available. I love it. I love the packness (I will cling to the barest hints at pack until the day I die)

I think this is the most I’ve ever heard Boyd talk. I want MORE BOYD.

Also, all these fucking twenty-somethings riding the bus, tryin’ to pretend they’re just wee little 16/17 year olds. HA. They look so uncomfortable.

This is also the most I think I’ve heard Danny speak. I want MORE DANNY.

Oh god, this episode is gonna give me a headache. I don’t even know how to start going about writing this. Do I follow the show, with the flashbacks every ten seconds? Or do I actually follow the timeline and try to piece together all these lil bits? Oof.

Why why won’t Scott talk to Stiles about the Darach thing? This is literally the exact thing that Stiles said was happening, and now Scott’s beloved Deaton has confirmed it and Scott just...refuses to talk to him about it?

As usual, I’m on Stiles’ side. Why the fuck are they going to this cross-country meet after what happened?? “safety in numbers” what does that mean? NONE of you should be going???

Also, injuries from an alpha take longer to heal yeah, but like, not days? There’s no reason that Scott should think that’s normal. Surely he went to Deaton with his injury, right? Did Deaton tell him it was normal?? ALSO, just to get that whole anti-scott thing out of the way. If Scott’s becoming a real Alpha, then there’s no reason the injury shouldn’t have healed way before this. It’s almost like he only has a few cosmetic traits of Alphas, but none of the biological ones. Hmmmmmmmm.

*slides in from the left* also, side note, it’s canon that wolves in a pack are stronger and faster “better in every way” which includes healing faster. So It makes total sense for Boyd and Isaac to have healed way faster than Scott. Scott’s an omega, while Boyd and Isaac have a pack. They’re literally automatically more powerful than him.

That was such a random way to introduce the premise of the episode. “I can’t believe he’s dead” where is that line coming from? We were talking about the slash in your side and werewolf healing abilities.

wow. that’s literally the first time I’ve heard Scott say ‘i looked it up.’ I’m actually....impressed? He actually did research...of his own volition? I’m fucking flabbergasted.

where the hell did he hear about that agreement between Allison and her dad? Did Chris tell him? Did he say it in the last episode and I can’t remember?

I...okay hear me out. I see the tension/teasing they were going for between Allison and Scott, but like...I still don’t vibe with it? Like, the point of the conversation is “Is Allison capable of fending off a werewolf” and it’s like....yes? Obviously? When she says “I have skills and training” she doens’t just mean with the bow, dude. She was specifically taught how to fight someone who is far faster and stronger than her. Her training included how to deal with claws. Your argument is just ‘I have all the same traits as what you were taught to defend yourself against’ and it doesn’t actually lend itself at all to him being too capable an opponent?

WHERE? Where does Scott get these moves from? I’m not sorry, but hand to hand abilities are not innate. Scott doesn’t get to just be a fighting genius because he’s a werewolf. Derek was trained. Isaac and Boyd were trained. Allison was trained. So what the fuck is up with Scott suddenly being able to do all these things? Reflexes don’t cover that. It’s the fucking lacrosse thing all over again. Being a werewolf isn’t a replacement for actual skill. And why are they so desperate to show that she’s not capable of fighting him? What is romantic about her spending months training to fight a werewolf, only to be immoblized by a fucking omega? That’s terrifiying?(not to mention it makes no sense for her training to have sucked that bad when her family is one of the most deadly hunter clans in the world?)

for that matter...how does he know where she lives now?

....did he have do the creepy “looking up through eyelashes” thing with the ‘and they should scare you too.” he just looks fuckin demonic with the grr face. It’s almost as bad as that nasty grin they gave Derek at the end of S1.

also, WHY are all the camera angles tilted diagonally? That’s how I take instagram pictures, not how to shoot a fucking tv show. everybody looks like they’re in a fun house??

Do the argents know that there is an entire pack of alpha werewolves living above them? Did anyone think to tell them?

Derek. STOP just telling people that they’re going to help you. You’re supposed to ask. Peter’s a horrible influence on you. I also kind of hate the implications of this fight Derek is planning. I hate that it’s more than just them killing Erica. It’s Derek trying to do what his sister wants him to do. She was pissed at him for not attacking them, and he tried to explain they weren’t ready yet, but she was so fucking angry at him. So now he’s doing this, to prove to her that she shouldn’t be disappointed in him. Can you imagine the pain of finding your long lost sister alive again, and the first thing she does is tell you that you’re a complete disappointment and you’re weak and she regrets coming to find you?

*snort* in these random slow-mo flashes to the mall fight, it’s so easy to see how fake the fighting is. Like, obviously I don’t blame them, cus’ it’s not like they could actually beat each other up, but watching Derek’s fist completely miss is hilarious.

Dude, obviously he’s listening. You’re two seats away from him. JARED is listening. The both of you, get some fucking volume control.

How’re you plannin on stopping them, Scott? Hm? Boyd’s been able to take you down since day one, and Isaac is a beautiful lil vicious boy.

Why is the default plan always murder? Um, because these are literally serial killers and there is no form of human law enforcement that could ever take them down? God, the idea of ‘reasoning’ with them is literally like reasoning with Hitler. Every one of them personally murdered their entire pack to be a part of Duke’s group. They killed Erica. There is No Reasoning with them.

Oh how I love Cora. Yes. Good girl. And No, Derek...he didn’t? He followed you into the vault begrudgingly and then enlisted the help of a fucking hunter who helped more than he did. Like...? I don’t get it? PLUS. What do you mean save her life? You already know that the Alphas intended for them to get out and they weren’t planning on killing Cora. They wanted her to kill other people so you would have to kill her. Which you were never gonna actually do, so how did anybody have to save her life? Derek? Wtf?

They already made the first move by kidnapping your sister and your betas, then killing one of them, and then injuring another. Honestly, they’ve made like five moves and ya’ll are super behind.

.....dude what is with this whole ‘Scott suddenly gets all the literary references” thing? I mean, i get that he’s supposed to have gotten all enlightened over summer break, but why tf was he reading the myth of Herakles? Also, spoiler, the Lernean Hydra was defeated by Herakles working with Iolaus to cut off its heads and cauterize the wound before more could grow back. So cutting its heads off still fucking worked. (Fun side-fact: Only two of the Hydra’s heads did the double growback thing. The middle head was completely impervious to Herakles’ weapons and was immortal, so he chopped it off as close to the body as he could and just buried it. Worked pretty well.)

God, I’m still just so disgusted with this whole Lydia/Aiden Danny/Ethan thing. Like, I saw someone somewhere say that Aiden and Ethan were well over eighteen...but then...how did they get enrolled at the school? Whatever, even if they were seventeen/eighteen, or hell, even nineteen, My issue is with the MURDER part. THEY ARE MURDERERS. WHY has no one explained this to Danny or Lydia?? WTF?

Ew. Why would Lydia ever wanna bang in a school office? She has standards, people.

Scott, this is the one time when you could actually say ‘i can smell it.” or ‘i just know” Because that’s LITERALLY how chemosignals work. and instead you just point out his claws?

why is this elevator so fucking big???

...i do not know what to think about the whole Deucalion is blind, but only when he wants to be, thing. Like...why’d they give him a disability and then just make it so he could turn it off anytime he wanted? It would’ve been so much more badass if he was always blind and had just learned to use his actually hyped up senses to navigate the world instead? It would’ve been even more badass if the only physically disabled person they have on the show weren’t a goddamn villain.

Okay, but like, Peter and Cora. His greeting to her, such a quiet, unassuming introduction to her? Clattering something to announce his presence. Keeping his distance. “it’s just me, your uncle.” But then, it intrigues me that he specifies. “Your uncle Peter.” DID THEY HAVE MORE THAN ONE UNCLE???? And Cora’s instant tension, but keeping a sass that sounds so much like something she would’ve learned as a kid, mimicking that terminology. “Uncle Peter who killed Sister Laura.”

I WANT THEM TO HUG SO BAD.

Okay, but timeline-wise. why didn’t anybody go to the bodies right after the fight? They all watched Derek and Ennis fall, but no one went to check on them? Huh?

what is with this voiceover??? You have no idea if Derek’s going to get them all killed! Them not doing anything is definitely going to get them all killed! “Don’t stop them, lead them.” GAG. Fuck you Deaton.

????I DO NOT UNDERSTAND. Why does Boyd just randomly back down?? Is it supposed to be seeing that Scott’s hurt? Why would that matter? Is it supposed to be hearing that Scott cares? Cus’ that’s bullshit. Even if Scott does care, it’s not like he’s the only one? It’s not like Boyd’s all alone? Isaac’s RIGHT NEXT TO HIM and Cora and Stiles have all made clear they care about him. Even PETER is around.

Yes, Stiles, you do have a very perceptive eye for evil. It’s fucking wonderful.

.....when did Stiles get danny’s number? ARE THEY BROS? I see a previous text bubble from Danny above Stiles’ first message which means THEY”VE TEXTED BEFORE THIS. I”M CLAIMING IT.

Is anyone else like..super depressed that Ethan is showing more of a pack bond with Ennis than like...anybody else has with Derek besides his actual family? Like, yeah, Stiles has worried about him plenty and Boyd’s clearly fucking pissed off, but the actual fear in his eyes, that quiet worry, that’s so much more pack-like than anything else we’ve seen?

I am SO confused about why they can’t fucking hear this shit. Why can’t ethan hear them talking about it? Why didn’t Scott hear Ethan telling Danny? Just PRETEND for a MINUTE that these are fucking werewolves.

THey’re going after the others ANYWAY Morrell! Helping save Ennis isn’t going to change that. They’re gonna kill Scott ANYWAY.

Also, why can’t Morrell just open the gate herself?

why is Jared so nauseous? They’re at a standstill? I thought the point of car-sickness was the movement??

God, that moment with Lydia on the phone? I love it. I love it so much. Just the chill “Heyyy Stiles.” “...okay.” So good.

“Do I have a PhD in Lycanthropy?” I’m CACKLING. Fucking snorting like a pig, why is this so funny to me? God, Dylan your delivery is so perfect.

I can feel Stiles having a fucking aneurysm while Coach whistles at him. I can feeeeeell it.

“hey Jared. How ya doin?”

Dude..that is not...that’s not what happens when you don’t heal out of guilt. That’s just not. We see IN THE NEXT EPISODE that that’s not what happens. Their blood doesn’t turn BLACK. That’s a POISON thing. GUYS COME ON.

....i’m not sure if I’m supposed to feel bad for ennis but I like REALLY don’t feel bad for him.

Allison honey, this’d be easier if you laid him down on the floor.

JEsus CHRIst. HOw fucking toxic was her relationship with her mother than Allison hallucinates getting SCREamed at? Also, Allison seriously needs a doctor bc these hallucinations started way before the nemeton. This is so unhealthy.

Putting aside my fury at Isaac going to Scott after what happened with Derek, I hate this whole “you’re not going alone” thing. Like...what the fuck is this supposed to be? If Isaac knows what happened, then he wouldn’t insist on going for Scott’s sake. he’d be doing it for BOYD. HiS PACK. He’d be doing it for ERICA.

I love how chill they let Lydia be. “Ah, screw it.” God, it’s so nice for her not to have to be the hyper-feminine “better than all of you” character anymore. She’s allowed to have some depth.

duke you’re not...you’re not fucking blind. Also, how exactly did Kali GET up there?? and WHY DIDN”T ANYONE NOTICE? Scott’s just fucking useless at this point, but ISAAC? PETER? DEREK? BOYD? CORA? COME ON.

WHY ARE THEY SHIRTLESS? WHY NO SHIRTS?

God, what the fuck is wrong with these people? WHy do they insist on making ethan and aiden masochists? It’s literally disgusting, having them fucking laugh every time they get the shit beat out of them.

NOpe. NOPE. NO. Scott does not get to do the Alpha thing. NO. I SAID NO.

I love Cora’s normalcy like yeah, she’s all wolfy, but she’s also so well-adjusted? KNocking on the door. It’s so fucking nice.

“Out cold,” Deaton says, and then Ennis immediately opens his eyes. Love it. Some vet you are. Deaton, what the fuck happened to “difficult for someone like Scott to cause me any trouble” “Not in here you won’t”?? Why is Duke suddenly able to kill his own packmate in your fucking office? And why can Duke leave with blood on his hands and no one realizes he’s the one who killed Ennis? Why didn’t Kali HEAR that??? Why Didn’t Aiden and Kali notice Peter and Cora hiding behind a CAR?

ALSO peter’s holding cora’s HAND. I LOVE FAMILY. (i’m complicated, okay?)

Yes, Allison THANK YOU. That’s the kind of shit I LIke “Sounds like saving your own ass” YES.

BUT. HOw the fuck does ALlison know where to go????

....Allison, the first three flashbombs helped. After that it’s just a light show. YOu could literally have killed the ALphas RIGHT THERE with an Arrow EACh to the heart. WHy were you aiming at the floor??

nobody questioned ALlison and lydia getting on the bus? Finstock? No? OKay, sure, fine.

I like Stiles getting to actually talk to someone about the Darach, since scott refuses. Lydia’s got his back.

for once, it’s true. That wouldn’t have been Scott’s fault. Slicing up the back of Ennis’ leg doesn’t make it his fault that Derek fell.

Shaky cameras are so gross.

NO. NO NO NO. NO. Fuck you.

Last Thoughts: This episode was just...bad. Like, it was just this constant contradiction of (Still flimsy) baseline abilities and behaviors set up for the characters. It’s even more Scott centric than all the other episodes and it’s SUPPOSED to be about DEREK DYING. How do you have an entire episode about Derek’s death without actually giving him any real scenes?? God, it’s so frustrating to get more satisfaction out of a three second scene with Peter and Cora than it is with any scenes with Scott in them.

Also, sorry I took so long to put this one out. This is slow going my dudes, it’s hard to get up the mental fortitude to watch these, make notes, and also make real notes about what I’m changing/adjusting in my rewrite. Oofta.

[zuffer-weird-girl]

Man! You guys are creative. Can you -the plot is totally up to you- write an angry and heartless teen Kaito ? I don't like the idea of the death of kai. -please my soul is too weak for this I can't even imagine it- but he can be angry for anything else. Just really angry. Maybe he was with his mom in a mall and random villains attack her and a hero -endeavor bastard- ignored the safety of citizens in order to capture them. Anything would work but not kai's death. 😭😭😭

Aaaa no my baby :( still no image for baby Kaito so boom!

===============================

"Look mom, I guess Kim would like that." The teenager pointed at a little stuffed bear placed on the shell.

"Hum, Kim or Haru my little soldier?" You teased as the boy only scoffed.

Spitting image of his father...

"But I wouldn't be opposed to the idea... but I literally have no idea what to give her, I'm stuck." Complained in complete seriousness the boy as he glared down at ground while you two carried the bags.

Mostly Kaito because the boy just wouldn't accept you lifting too much weight.

"Mind if I give you an idea then?" The dark brow haired teenager looked at you and nodded.

"Sing her a song. Kaito you have a beautiful voice, you and your father. I bet she would love that." You smiled sweetly at your blushing teenager, yet he still caried the same stoic face as he muttered "I see. I will think about it."

Again. The spitting image.

"Well, let's get back home before we get buried by snow on our way." Kaito nodded as he offered to pick another bag from your hands which you swatted away quickly making the boy chuckle.

"Mom, what do you think is better? Cocoa or-?" You couldn't catch what your son asked when you heard the sudden screams and a huge jet of fire coming straight at your son side.

"KAITO GET OUT!" you shouted while grabbing your son forearm and throwing him away from the sudden exchanges of fire and waves of electricity.

Kaito almost fell into his back; holy shit his mother was strong; if he wasn't for his reflexes, he looked up at the scene in horror as he quickly picked his phone texting his dad about the situation.

Kai was with Kim, so he wouldn't risk putting his younger daughter in danger. You definitely wouldn't appreciate that...

Chisaki immediately answered his son and told that Chrono and Mimic were on the way as Kaito tried to pass through the crowd.

"GET THE HELL OUT OF WAY!" He shouted impatiently as he pushed the people aggressively to make a path for him.

"Woah kid!" An officer blocked him "Sorry, but this is for the heroes not from teenagers, if you want an autograph need to wait until the fight is done."

"Why the fuck would I want a autograph? MY MOTHER IS IN THERE!" He shouted angrily at the officer who widened his eyes before picking some device to talk.

"Lieutenant. There's civilians in there correct? There's one of the child of them in here. Tell Endeavour." He looked at Kaito and placed a hand on his shoulder "Don't worry. Endeavour will take her out of there safely. Just be pacient."

Kaito stared at the officer before slowly swatting his hand away from his shoulder in disbelief.

"Didn't you saw that I almost DIED from Endeavour's flames if it wasn't for my mom?! OUT OF WAY!" Kaito kneeled down and placed his bare hand beneath the snow, making the ground tremble a bit before forming plataforms, which lift it him up to jump over the guards heads.

They shouted at him to stop as he runned, but even before he could reach it, the joilts of electricity were simply gone as the number one hero left the alley with the villain being dragged by the collar of the his shirt.

Many clapped their hands and threw thanks and compliments at the hero... While Kaito angrily made his way to the much older man and stared up at him.

"There were civilians on the middle of your childishly fight. One of them is my mother. Where is her?" He demanded as the hero closed his face, seeming like a black cloud had consumed the place.

It started to snow out of no where before the number one hero bowed his head at Kaito and closed his eyes in sorrow.

"I'm sorry....there were no survivors boy ... your mother won't be coming back..."

Kaito widened his eyes as he felt the cold intensity; even with the proximity of the flamed hero. Endeavour patted his shoulder and went to talk with the cops.

Won't be coming back... won't be coming back because of who exactly?

The teenager felt the tears fall without even controlling them ... but another feeling grew stronger than any other in the boy.

Hatred. Pure hatred.

He clenched his jaw as his hands turned into fists while he trembled... his breath quickened as he shot a one side glare at the amount of people boasting the hero... not even caring about the victims of the attack.

Kaito turned sharply and started running towards the hero number one, only letting out a scream of utter anger as he punched him right in the mouth of the hero's stomach. Endeavor was startled by the jora but managed to block almost every attack from the enraged teenager as the boy screamed that possibly the entire city of Tokyo could hear at this point.

One hour the hero got tired and threw Kaito back to the ground, causing the boy to fall but then get up just to his knees.

He could hear the crowd whispers as the officers didn't even bother that they listened to them.

"He is that Chisaki kid."

"The one from the yakusa? Shie Hassaikai right?"

"No wonder he is like this."

His wrath only increased, his family didn't have nothing to do with this, or better yet, it has! His lost mother that died not long ago from this hero...

"Listen, calm down." Endeavour commented as Kaito finally looked up at him with widen (E/C) eyes filled with nothing but disgust and rage.

He putted both lf his hands at the ground making huge plataforms grow to try to smash Endeavour.

"Calm down? CALM DOWN?!" He shouted, not caring about the look of horror of people at front of them as he made another wall to block them as he intensified the force of the concrete against Endeavour's body.

"YOU KILLED MY MOTHER HERO! AND YOU DEMAND TO ME THAT I CALM THE FUCK DOWN?!" he cried tears of hatred as he intensified even more, feeling his younger body sore from the way he was using his quirk.

"YOU'RE SICK YOU HEARD ME?! WEREN'T YOU SUPPOSED TO SAVE PEOPLE WITH THOSE FLAMES?! THEN WHY DID YOU KILL MY MOTHER?! HUH?! ANSWER ME YOU VERM!"

Two different hands on both of his shoulders made him jerk away and threaten to overhaul them as well. But when he saw Mimic and Chrono he immediately stopped.

"Come on kid. You caused too much trouble for us now." Said Mimic as he helped Kaito to his feet.

"My..."

"We know Kaito... I'm sorry. We couldn't find her body..."Chrono placed his hand on his shoulder as the boy just looked at the ground and let his tears fall.

He entered his home with Mimic and Chrono following right after. Not even bothering to take his soaked boots of as he saw his father presence.

Mimic shooked his head while Chrono bowed his head at his friend... Not much longer Kaito heard the faint 'dismissed' of his father...

Only he and Kai were at the room.

"Where's Kim?"

"In bed."

Kaito mumbled something as he fell to his knees.

"What was that?" Chisaki asked trying to contain his tears.

"She's gONE BECAUSE OF THEM!" Kaito punched the floor of his home making the whole place cracked, the lunches only grew heavier and stronger.

"THOSE DAMN HEROES! THEY WERE THE RESPONSIBLES FOR THAT! MOM IS-!" he gagged as he aproached now his bloody hand at his face "Mom is... mom is gone..."

Chisaki let his own tears fall as he used his own quirk to reconstruct the place. He scrunched up on the floor as he waited for Kaito eyes to find his.

It hurted even more because they were your eyes.

He didn't want it to lie to his son, telling that everthing is going to be okay or all that bullcrap so he simply kneeled on the ground and bringed his son close surprising the boy at the sudden display of touch.

"I know..." he mumbled feeling his shoulder getting wet as he hearded the choked up promises that he would erase every hero on the surface...

"Daddy?" A tiny voice manifested and the two mens looked at the golden eyed girl looking at them with wide eyes.

Both didn't vare anymore on hiding their tears and their sorrow.

"Daddy? Brother? What's going on? Where's mommy?" The girl approached the both of them and grew more nervous at seing her dad starting to tear up as her brother bringed her to a last hug.

"Im sorry Kim... I couldn't protect her from the heroes..." coldly stated Kaito not even caring about comforting his little sister when she started to break down in tears as well.

Now he understands the rage that his father carry toward the heroes. And they better lray for their souls now... Because they woken up one sleeping devil and a tremendous and powerful beast...

[welllpthisishappening]

First-Line Center, Part One

She hadn’t read the invitation. 

It hadn’t changed in years, after all - a set of rules and expectations for a New Year’s party that they were all going to break anyway because the most traditional thing about this team was flouting tradition. So, Emma had mostly ignored it. Until. A shout and Killian refusing to wear a tie and something crashing in her kitchen, one kid worried about another and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was missing something. 

There was a joke about fresh ice to be made, she was sure. 

—–

Word Count: 5.3 K Rating: F for festive family feelz AN: Happy New Year, internet! I wrote this last year, never posted it, remembered it existed today and was, like…let’s throw some words out there centered around the now-annual Mills-Locksley Fancy Dress Competition originally mentioned in We’ll Take a Cup (defense) of Kindness. Timeline wise, this is 2049, which makes everyone in the next-gen adults. Matt: 31, Peggy: 28, Chris: 21, Roland, 39, Henry 45, Lizzie 32, Leo 28. Plus mention of next-gen kids having….their own next-gen kids. This is the AU that will not end. Or I won’t let it end. Semantics. 

Anyway, thanks for another year of letting me throw all those aforementioned words at you. It’s real nice. 

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll, with part two coming tomorrow || 

—–

“Mom! Mom! Mom!” Emma’s eyes darted towards the mirror in front of her, only to be met with a grin that was already drifting far too close to a smirk to be entirely fair. “You need to finish getting ready,” she mumbled, but that earned her a chuckle and twist of eyebrows and Killian didn’t get off the bed. 

“What if we didn’t go?” he asked. 

“You say that every year.” “I mean it this year. Honestly, what if we didn’t go? Who’s going to say anything?” “You want me to list it in alphabetical order or just by people I think would actually show up in person and threaten bodily harm with a stick?” Killian groaned, head dropping slightly and there was still a voice calling for her downstairs. “Mom,” Chris yelled again, and the voice was very clearly moving to a different room. “I’m taking food! Just so you know.” Emma’s eyes were going to get stuck mid-roll. She twisted her arm, trying to pull up a zipper that seemed intent on dislocating her shoulder and, all things considered, it shouldn’t have made her stomach swoop when that got Killian to move, but it did and his fingers were warm when they tugged hers away. 

“The lungs on that kid, huh?” he laughed, smile still obvious when he brushed his lips behind her ear. Emma grinned, letting herself lean against his chest and something crashed downstairs. Killian groaned. “If you break anything down there, I’m going to pull whatever you’re eating out of your hands!”

“God bless us, everyone,” Emma muttered at the same time Chris shouted “nothing is broken!” 

Killian’s hand moved, wrapping around the curve of Emma’s hip, but he didn’t actually try and shift her away from him. Also nice. Still. Perpetually. Indefinitely. 

They were going to be late. Maybe that was the real tradition. 

“Also,” Chris added, the seventh step on the staircase creaking traitorously when he, presumably, bounded up it. “It’s pretty lame that you guys were, one, not responding to my very real greeting and, two—” He stopped abruptly, crossing his arms over his dress shirt as soon as he froze in the middle of the open doorway and the curls on his forehead were far too close to his eyebrows to be entirely professional. 

“Aw, c’mon,” Chris groaned, a scrunch of his nose that was oddly familiar. 

Killian chuckled, resting his cheek against the side of Emma’s hair. He still hadn’t moved his hand. Or put his tie on. And neither had their kid. “Where’s your tie?” Killian asked. “Were you guys flirting and ignoring me?” “What’d you break in the kitchen?” “Nothing!” “What’d you eat in the kitchen?” Emma amended, mumbling a not quite quiet if you mess up my hair I’ll kill you under her breath. They were never going to get out of the brownstone. 

Chris shrugged. “Not much. We want to circle back around on the ignoring, or…” “Do you not have food at home?” “Eh. I have—bread? Maybe some bread.” 

The nose scrunch thing had to stop. It was unnerving. 

Emma reached out her hand, brushing away curls and ignoring Chris’ grumbling. “You’ll cope. Do you and your brother do this on purpose?” “Matt has food,” Chris said. “The hair thing.”

She moved her fingers again, trying without much success to get Chris’ hair to lay flat and the kid in front of her wasn’t much of a kid anymore. He was an almost-finished-with-college adult, who absolutely should have cut his hair and found food long before going several blocks further downtown for a New Year’s Eve extravaganza that, somehow, got more extravagant every year. 

There were too many people on this team. 

“Nothing, huh?” Emma pressed, and Chris scowled when he caught her around the wrist. She found it wholly unfair that she had the worst reflexes of anyone. 

“Mom, Mom, stop, listen—” Chris stammered, trying to pull away without losing his balance and must have taken his jacket off when he came in. She hoped he’d taken his jacket off. Regina wouldn’t let him in without a jacket. “Mom,” he repeated, dragging out the letters until he sounded nearly a decade younger and Killian was going to do damage to his throat if he kept laughing like that. 

“You’re no help at all,” Emma sighed. She could feel Killian’s answering shrug. 

“I’m not trying to help,” he said. “I’m trying to make sure a kid who doesn’t live here anymore isn’t going to continue to eat us out of house and home. Because he doesn’t live here. In this house. He lives in his own apartment. With his own groceries.” Chris made a face. Maybe they were time traveling. “Yeah, you’ve made your point, Dad. Badly and kind of…clunkily, but it’s there.” “Is clunkily a word?” “I really don’t think so.” “The education is just absolutely thriving then, isn’t it?” “I took one freshman English class,” Chris said. “I cannot possibly be expected to remember every aspect of a language that doesn’t ever make sense. Maybe we just invented a word. All about context, right?” “Something like that.” “Where’s your tie, Dad?” “I haven’t worn a tie to this ridiculous thing since it started,” Killian answered. “And I’m certainly not going to start now.” “It’s because it makes Gina mad,” Emma muttered conspiratorially. Her arm was starting to ache, still held up awkwardly in the air as Chris rocked back on his heels again. “Why are you here, kid? Honestly.” Chris made a dismissive noise – and eventually, Emma was sure, it wouldn’t be totally alarming to see both her and Killian’s mannerisms reflected back so well by all three of their kids, but one of their kids also scored a goal that was eerily similar to one she remembered seeing several decades before on Garden ice, so, that was probably just the way of the world now. 

“Not an answer,” Killian said, the words taking that very specific tone. Chris stuck his tongue out when he gagged, twisting around Emma and collapsing dramatically onto the bed. 

He knocked, at least, six pillows on the floor. 

“You going to pick those up or you just leaving a trail of complete and utter destruction across the whole house?”

“Oh my God,” Chris grumbled. His head was hanging off the far side of the bed. There were probably curls in his eyes. “You are the single most dramatic parental figure in the history of the world, you know that?”

“I’m aware,” Killian promised, knocking his knees against Chris’ outstretched legs. “So, let’s have it, Christopher. The whole truth now, if you please.”

“Captain voice.” “You know this thing is catered.” Chris sighed, propping himself up on his elbows and something in the back of Emma’s mind startled at that — like it was years ago and they were taking turns interrogating kids about the questionable amount of mischief they were prone to getting into. 

It ran the gamut. 

For years. 

Running through Riverside Park and skating at the Piers, even after Chris decided he didn’t want to play anymore, signs and cheers and track and field events. And Matt cursed under his breath about Serendipity III every year, but Emma knew he took both Peggy and Chris there on his off day a few days before Christmas. 

They were never quite horsemen, but their own brand of something entirely original because the Jones Line knew just about everything about each other, a mess of familial emotions and a bond that got stronger the older they got and—

Killian clicked his tongue. 

“It should not be that easy for you to do that,” Chris grumbled, Killian nodding in agreement. 

“I’ve had some time to practice, you see.” “Something to be said for multiple reps.” “That was funny.” “Yuh huh.”

“If you think this is going to make me forget about getting an answer out of you, you’ve got another thing coming,” Killian warned, and Chris was going to wrinkle his shirt. That was another reason he needed a jacket. 

“I never once thought you were going to forget,” Chris promised. “Did you read this year’s rules? Because they’re—it’s insane. The invitation is insane.”

“It’s a creative outlet for Gina. And that’s still not going to work, Christopher.” “Doubling down on the full name, huh?” “We thought you were going downtown with your sister.”

“The invitation is kind of my segue into this. And it’s not like P doesn’t know how to get downtown. She was going to hang out with Lizzie anyway and—” “—Did we not look at the invitations, ever?” Emma asked. Killian shrugged again, the movement barely registering before he turned towards the closet on the other side of the room, rifling through shirts and jackets and team-appropriate clothes and—

Chris’ left elbow gave out. 

“Aw, c’mon,” he grumbled, gritting his teeth at the tie in Killian’s hand. “You’re not going to wear one! That’s not fair.” Emma shook her head. “You brought a jacket too, right?” “I know the rules.” “And are willing to follow some of them, I see.” “Well, I mean I did grow up with Dad, so…” He yelped when a pillow collided with his side, eyes barely more than slits, particularly with the strands of hair drifting dangerously close. “That is cheating,” Chris announced. “You are retired. You should not have that kind of arm strength. You taking lessons from Nolan?” Killian shot him an even look – far more dad than hockey player – and Chris bit his lip. “You are digging yourself in a very deep hole here, kid. Put the tie on.”

“Aye, aye, Cap.” 

“You missed a very obvious thin ice joke,” Emma added, trying to remember where, exactly, they’d put that year’s invitation. She hoped it wasn’t in the kitchen. 

She hoped the kitchen wasn’t a disaster area. 

Killian sighed, but it wasn’t the put-upon sound it probably should have been. It was almost endeared and slightly charmed because their kid didn’t live in that brownstone anymore, but he was still theirs in a way that was far less possessive than it sounded and—

Chris couldn’t tie his tie. 

“Move your hands,” Killian muttered, swatting at fingers and tugging on fabric and Emma was only slightly surprised and absolutely endeared and it only took a few seconds for the stupid thing to be perfectly knotted. 

“Thanks,” Chris mumbled, a quiet hum from Killian. 

“We’ll work on sentence structure and tie-tying techniques before you graduate, huh?” “Aim high.” “Only if you tell me and Mom why you tried to break the kitchen apart.” “There was no breaking,” Chris groaned. He fell forward – more repeats and something about title defenses probably that might not have made sense, but Emma never really knew what to do with her brain and her entire soul when she watched Killian go full-on dad, so…she figured it was probably some kind of English language wash.

“Then there was…” “I was not kidding about only having bread. Or a tie. Do you want this back?” Killian’s eyebrows moved. Emma assumed. She was still trying to figure out where the invitation was. “Fine, fine, fine,” Chris continued, “we’ve got to talk about the rules for this year’s thing because I think Rol got ahold of them and — ” “—Wait, what?” “I’m going to tell Aunt Gina you didn’t look at the invitation.” Killian clicked his teeth, glancing over his shoulder at Emma. She lifted both her hands, shaking her head and there was no way her hair was going to be able to hold up to an entire night of fancy dress competition. 

“I didn’t read it,” Emma admitted. “It’s been the same since the dawn of time, hasn’t it?” “You’ll make us sound old, love.” “We get the invitation, we acknowledge how much Gina probably spent on the invitation and the overall thickness of the paper, you tell me you don’t want to go and then we show up late.” “We’re going to be so late,” Chris added. “It’s like…almost seven thirty. Leo kept texting me on my way over here.” “Are you ignoring Leo?” Chris waved a dismissive hand, but that only served to affect his slightly precarious balance. More pillows fell on the floor. “It’s not like I’m not going to see him. Also because he’s worried about bringing that girl with him.” “Leo is bringing a girl?” Emma asked sharply, Chris grinning like several metaphorical and literary cats. Killian didn’t move. “Did you know that? “Eh.” “What does eh mean? Exactly?” “Eh means he totally knew,” Chris muttered, and that time he blocked the pillow. His ha sounded far too much like Emma’s. “Who’d you hear it from? And why didn’t you say anything? Oh, oh, do you know the girl’s name? Leo won’t tell me because he thinks I’m going to tell P and P can’t keep a secret to save her life and—” “You’ve got to breathe, kid,” Killian laughed. “And I found out from your sister, so…” Chris’ laugh sounded impossibly loud. “Oh shit, Leo is going to be so mad. How did P know?” “I have no idea, but I think it had something to do with Ruby and—” “—Ru knew?” “Was that rhyme intentional?” “And how does this direct us back to the rules change?” Emma asked, only slightly determined to get the conversation back on track. She really didn’t want to be too late. There was a science to all of this. 

Chris squeezed on eye shut, pressing the tip of his tongue to the corner of his mouth. “You really didn’t look? Seriously it had to be Rol. I don’t think it was Henry.” It took her another moment to find the invitation - stuffed in between files and folders and Toys for Tots campaign pages because Garden of Dreams existed on a completely different level during the entire month of December and— “Oh shit,” Emma breathed, ignoring her kid’s reprimand at her decidedly emotional response. She felt Killian behind her before she turned around, chin hooked over her shoulder and arm around her middle and the scoff in her ear nearly made Emma shiver. 

“That may be the best response, honestly.” The Thirty-Second Annual Mills-Locksley Fancy Dress Competition and New Year’s Eve Party. Or the other way around depending on who you ask. The Rules. And we’re going to follow them this year. Honestly. 

You must arrive downtown no later than 7:30. This rule is for you Cap, don’t be late.

You must be wearing an outfit that would be acceptable at the NHL Awards or Casino Night. No t-shirts. No team-branded.

There will be awards for things, but don’t make this weird Scarlet.

If Scarlet doesn’t make it weird, he will get an award. For not being weird. 

You are encouraged to bring your own alcohol.

You are required to bring your own alcohol.

You are not allowed to talk point totals, standings, Cup defense, or, at any point during the night, start teaching Henry and Rol Lucy, McKenzie or Noah how to check. Seriously, Scarlet, no.

And honestly you too, Cap. It’s not cute anymore. 

We will all pretend like any of us have interests outside the aforementioned non-discussable points.

You will leave by one in the morning because you have to be on the ice in Central Park on New Year’s Day are old. Not us, but the rest of you. You’re old. 

Matt will stop being so weird and will stop suggesting that his obvious frustration it’s just a regular-stretch of thing. You’re a lock for the Rocket. Stop it.  

Emma read the last point. And read it again. And chewed on the side of her lip. 

“Huh,” Killian said. “It’s not very subtle, is it?” Chris made a noise in the affirmative. “That’s what I’m saying! It’s definitely Rol. Or Lizzie, but I don’t think she’d desecrate the invitations.” “She’d just tell Matt that.” “I will bet you five-thousand dollars she’s done that already,” Emma said, head falling against Killian’s collarbone and there were dress buttons digging into her back. 

“I brought it up, Swan. That doesn’t even make any sense.” “Can we focus, please?” Chris snapped, feet slamming back onto the floor when he stood up and Emma hadn’t been entirely prepared for the serious portion of the conversation. 

“Should we be?” she asked. 

Chris grimaced, half a shrug and half a groan and Emma’s eyes flitted towards Killian’s again on several decades worth of parental experience. “Is that what you were actually worried about?” he asked. “You think Matt’s being weird about scoring goals?” “I don’t know.” “Nope, try again.” “Dad!” “We’re already going to get yelled at by Gina for being late and I’ve only got marginal interest in watching David meet Leo’s girlfriend—” “—I don’t know if they’re using official labels yet, that’s kind of why he was freaking out and—” “—Not part of the equation, kid,” Killian finished. He kicked out slightly, a more impressive display of balance than whatever Chris had tried to accomplish and it only ended with more sighing and another ridiculous twist of eyebrows. “C’mon. You think he’s nervous about what? Awards? That’s not Matt’s game.” “I know, that’s the weird part. I called after the game yesterday to tell him to stop stealing all your moves and he barely said two words to me. He didn’t even take the bait.” “You were baiting him?” Emma asked. “To do what?”

The flush that appeared on Chris’ cheeks was almost immediate and only slightly jarring — far too red to be entirely healthy when his teeth dug back into his lower lip. “It’s just..it’s not a big deal. He’s, well…P and I, you know, sometimes make jokes. About him stealing Dad’s moves and similarities and it’s—it’s not important. It’s fine.” “Sure it is.” “The major part is that he didn’t say anything! He barely acknowledged the joke or the win and he always fires back. It’s messing with my head.” “It’s messing with your head that your brother didn’t want to…what?” Emma shrugged. “Trade barbs with you over the phone?” “That’s the oldest sounding sentence I’ve heard heard, love,” Killian chuckled, a kiss to her temple and Regina was going to murder them. “I think the right phrase is trash talk.” “Yeah, well you don’t have a college degree.” “I have yet to see proof it’s served any of the other individuals in this room any good.” “Wow, that is scathing, Dad,” Chris grinned. He was picking up pillows. “All I’m saying is, something is going on with Matt and I’m not the only one who’s noticed. So, I guess I was double checking.” Killian tilted his head. “With us?” “You guys read minds. It’s not that unreasonable a thought process.” “Was that a compliment or…” “Jeez,” Chris groaned, standing up and pushing his fingers into his hair and Emma wasn’t sure who made what noise louder – her laugh or Killian’s gasp. “Whatever. Wait until we get downtown. I bet Matt wants to be there even less than you guys do.” “I’ll take that bet.” “What are you going to get me when I win?” “Bold of you to assume you’re going to win,” Killian muttered, straightening Chris’ tie while trying to direct him back towards the door. 

The seventh step creaked on the way down too. 

“Please, I’m telling you. Something is up with him and he’s doing a God awful job of keeping it a secret. I know, P knows, Rol obviously knows. I bet Henry’s already interrogating him.” “You’ve given this quite a lot of thought, haven’t you?” Emma asked, handing off several coats before shrugging into her own. She was already regretting her heels. 

“Did you see that goal?” Emma nodded. 

“Did you have thoughts about that goal?” Another nod.

“So did every other person in this family and none of them are going to think twice about telling Matt every single one of them. And then, I promise you, he’s going to do that stupid face thing he does—” “—Stupid face thing,” Killian echoed, closing the front door behind them and there was already a car waiting at the edge of the curb. They’d pointedly ignored the kitchen. 

“Yes. Matt does that face thing all the time in post. Someone asks him a stupid question or points out that it’s been awhile since the Rangers have won a Cup and he goes all stoic, super serious and kind of hunches his shoulders and his lips get real thin. It’s ridiculous. It happens every single time.” “Are you keeping track of that?” Emma asked. There was not enough room in the backseat for all three of them. 

They hadn’t been planning on having three of them in the backseat. 

“See, it sounds weird when you say it like that, but it’s a things,” Chris said. “Go watch some of Matt’s post, especially in the last, like, two and a half weeks, or, you know what, ask Uncle Robin about it. I bet he’ll back me up.” Killian was doing a horrible job of not laughing. “Did he do the face thing while you were trying to trash talk him last night? There’s that phrase you were looking for again, Swan.” “Oh, shut up,” Emma mumbled. 

“See, you think you’re being funny, but they’ve got this newfangled technology with video and I could actually see Matt make the face last night,” Chris muttered. “So, yeah, I did see him do the face thing and—in case you were wondering—” “—I promise I was not because I am not in the habit of gossiping about your brother.” “Just Leo Nolan with Peggy.” “That is not even remotely the same thing.” “Eh,” Chris and Emma said at the same time, a scandalized look on Killian’s face. 

He mumbled a few choice curses under his breath, not all of them in English, but his fingers laced through Emma’s easily and she felt him exhale as soon as his lips ghosted over her temple. “That’s neither here nor there,” he said. “Finish the story, we’re almost here and all hell is going to break loose once Gina finds us.” “If there isn’t someone waiting for us as soon as we get outside,” Emma corrected. “Nah, that hasn’t happened in years.” “We haven’t been this late in years.” “And,” Chris interrupted, loud enough that the driver startled slightly in the front seat. “What I was getting to was that Claire wasn’t around at all when I called last night.” Emma tensed. Killian froze. The driver might have blinked. 

“What?” Emma asked, slightly annoyed at the way her voice seemed to wobble over the word. 

There was not enough room for Chris to shrug. He tried anyway. “I don’t know. P thinks it’s fine and I’m being stupid because, like, let’s all be honest with ourselves Matt is pretty obsessed with Claire and she’s way too good for him and—” “—You are horrible at getting to the point, Christopher,” Killian said. 

“I really don’t think anything is actually wrong. I guess—well, he’s scoring all the time so I don’t think he’s hurt, but Matt’s being stupid about something and keeping secrets and I wanted a second opinion. Or forty-second opinion as the case may be.” “You asked forty people about this before you got to us? The people who actually raised you.” “It’s a rough estimate.” “An offensive estimate. Seriously, stop coming home to just eat our food.” “Don’t forget steal your ties too.” “I expect that back by midnight.” Chris chuckled lightly, swinging open the door when the driver announced they were here and there was definitely some type of body-type shadow lingering in the foyer. Killian cursed again. 

“You’re not ever getting that tie back,” Emma said, taking Killian’s outstretched hand and she didn’t really need help out of a goddamn town car, but he also looked pretty goddamn good and it was very easy to be charmed. 

Even in the thirty-second incarnation of a party most of them only ever begrudgingly agreed to. 

It was because Scarlet made the contest weird. 

Every year. 

“Did I tell you how good you look yet?” Emma shook her head – a mix of emotions that felt slightly strange together because she hadn’t really noticed that anything was wrong with Matt, but maybe something was wrong with Matt and she could never really think straight when she noticed the grey at Killian’s temples. She rested her palms against the front of his jacket, shivering against the ever-present wind on Manhattan cross streets. 

And it didn’t really take long, a duck of his head and a tilt of hers, several different voices barely audible when Emma’s lips caught Killian’s and maybe they should have stayed home. 

Maybe they should ask their kid what was wrong. 

Probably after the kissing. 

Emma didn’t quite sigh – a fact she was immensely proud of – but it was dangerously close, a quiet exhale against Killian’s mouth as soon as his arm tightened around her waist. Her fingers found his hair with practiced ease, shifting to fit against his chest better or closer and the adverbs didn’t matter. 

She’d graduated from college. She understood proper sentence structure. 

Or at least she thought she did until Killian practically growled, hips flush against hers, and then any rational thought seemed to fly out of Emma’s brain entirely. 

“God, that’s not even remotely fair,” Emma mumbled, not the complaint it sounded like. 

Killian chuckled, another quick kiss and a hint of teeth as she tried to get enough oxygen back to her lungs to remain upright. “You look incredible, Swan. And nothing is wrong.” “Felt obligated to add that last one, huh?” “I’ve got a hunch.” “About?” “Stealing my moves.” Emma was half a second from asking what the hell that meant, but the voice was getting louder and more impatient and— “You know, I haven’t had to chase after you in awhile, little brother, I feel like it’s kind of out of our age range at this point.” Killian groaned, head falling onto the curve of Emma’s shoulder. “Go back upstairs.” “Nuh uh,” Liam said, clapping Killian on the back. “Hey, Em. Who tied your kid’s tie?” “Killian.” “Ah, no wonder. We’re going to have to fix that. Totally lopsided, vaguely horrible Windsor knot.” “Why do you know the name of tie knots off the top of your head?” Killian asked, not lifting his head away from Emma. She kissed his hair. “And did Chris go upstairs already?” Liam hummed. “Oh yeah, very determined and incredibly lopsided. Were you guys trying to set a record for lateness?”

“Is that a word?” Emma asked. “He also graduated college,” Killian said, shifting to sling an arm over Emma’s shoulders. Liam flipped him off. “I’d just like the record to show.” “Yeah, yeah, you’re hysterical,” Liam hissed. “Honestly, though, you lucked out because Gina is going full-on grandmother and I don’t think she even noticed you weren’t here yet?” “How did you end up down here then? Shouldn’t you also be fawning?” “No one is fawning over anything,” Liam argued, but that was probably the worst lie anyone had told all night. 

“Try that again.” Liam deflated, swatting at Killian’s arm when he was met with rather uproarious laughter. “Oh shut up. Seriously. You do not get an opinion on this. You do not get to say a word about this because it’s only going to end with pointing out how old Locksley and I are and—” “—Did I say that? Swan, did I say that?” Emma shook her head. “I didn’t hear that at all. You know what it did sound like? It kind of sounded like Liam was a little worried about getting old. Did it sound like that to you?” “Sounded just like that to me. Weird.” “The weirdest.” “I’m going to lock both of you outside,” Liam sneered, but that only led to more laughter and another kiss to the top of Emma’s hair. 

“This is not a threat I’m all that upset about,” Killian admitted. “The kid do anything particularly cute yet?”

Liam rolled his eyes, but the pride was practically palpable at that point and Noah Miller Locksley really was undeniably cute. It was the curls. Genetics or whatever. And regularly-scheduled haircuts. “Started practicing a pretty ridiculous looking wrister.” “Was that not breaking the rules? Who gave him the stick?” “One guess,” Emma mumbled.

“Scarlet?” Liam nodded. “And this didn’t send Gina into some kind of tailspin of—whatever?” “That’s eloquent,” Liam said. “Although I was kind of worried about that at first.”

“And then?” Liam raised his hands – not an obvious sign of defeat, but certainly getting there and it was definitely starting to get colder on that corner. Emma was, at least, four-hundred percent positive she was missing something. “Brace yourselves because it’s going to make you really upset that you weren’t here and were doing whatever it was you were doing instead.” “Kissing my wife?” “I’m not sure I appreciate you suggesting that should be something he regrets, Liam,” Emma smiled, more than ready for the grimace anyone with a Jones last name should have already patented. “Alright, we’ll bite. What happened?” “Matt helped.” Emma blinked. “What? “Matt helped. With the wrister. There was a whole thing. I bet Lizzie’ll show you the pictures and Mary Margaret might have taken video. She was talking to that girl Leo brought, but—” “She have a name?” Killian interrupted, hissing when Liam kicked at his ankles. “God, c’mon, that’s a reasonable question.” “Your kid was doing something painfully adorable with my grandkid and you want to talk about whatsherface?” “I mean…maybe not if her name is actually whatsherface?” “Her name’s Harper,” Emma said. She jerked back when she was met with another round of identical expressions and they really needed to go inside. Her dress, while good at prompting makeouts and compliments from her husband, was not conducive to spending more than a few minutes on Fifth Avenue. “I was curious,” she added, holding her phone in her hand. “And good at texting Reese’s while it was still in my coat.” “That is genuinely impressive, Swan.” “Flattery will get you everywhere, Cap.” “Are you surprised that Chris literally ran away from you guys?” Liam asked. “And you’re really missing the point here.” Killian nodded seriously – moving around Liam and bringing Emma with him and that feeling was back in the pit of her stomach and the corners of her brain, missing something or waiting for something else and she absolutely sighed when the heat from the building seemed to wrap itself around her. “Are we missing the point, you think?” she asked, glancing back up at another smirk and a certainty that was years in the making. 

“Nah.” “Try that again.” “Are you disappointed we missed the cute?” “Reese’s promised she took video. So, I mean—well, kind of.” “I knew it.” “Yeah, yeah,” Emma grumbled. “You’re a great mind reader. I’m just—” “I really don’t think anything is wrong with Matt, love,” Killian said, another answer to a question she hadn’t asked and the mind reader thing was only supposed to be slightly accurate. “He’s breaking rules. That’s got to be a sign of something good.” “That’s the least parental thing you’ve ever said.” “Ah, well…” She didn’t let him finish, ignoring the flush of pain in both her calves and, somehow, only one of her heels when she pushed up, appreciating his soft sound of surprise when she kissed him. 

“You look really good too, Cap,” Emma mumbled, tugging lightly on the edge of his zipper. He never actually put a tie on. 

“Gross,” Liam shouted as he brushed by them, slamming a finger into the elevator button and grumbling about he better not have missed anything else. 

“Obsessed with his grandkid,” Killian said. “C’mon, love, let’s go make fun of El too. I bet she cried or something ridiculous.”

[drakewalkerfantasy]

Consequences: Chapter 10

Synopsis: Two people from two different worlds, two complete strangers come together for a night of solace from their moment of anger and hurt. By consequence, they were brought together and their fates intertwined. What will happen when the reality of the one night’s actions filled with lust and anger will hit them both? What will happen with two complete strangers who seem to have nothing in common? Or do they have more in common than they thought?

Words: 3310

Authors notes: Some chapters maybe NSFW or have a mature content. Also English isn'’ my native language so sorry for any mistakes I make.

This chapter went in a little bit different direction that originally intended. I hope you will enjoy reading it.

Beckett x TE MC (Maeve)

**Warnings: mentioning of blood, human cadaver dissection, morgue, arguing, could of F---- words**

As soon as Beckett left Maeve's room, he rushed into his, shutting the door behind. His heart thundering, and his pulse racing. Anxiously he started to pace the room before finally stopping in front of the window, his eyes focusing into the distance. The sense of shame washing over him, and he felt the anger at own weakness started to grow inside him. With the low groan, he punched the table in front of him, feeling how the pain shot through his hands before leaning on them. He breathed heavily, catching his reflection out of the corner of his eye in the human-sized mirror on the wall. He slowly turned to the mirror, taking a hesitant step toward it as if hoping that reflection will go away, the closer he would get to it, but this never happened. His eyes widened in shock when he saw what was in front of him, taking in how he looked. His hair was disheveled and his face flushed, his eyes were black as night and were holding the mixture of lust and desire. His lips were swollen from the force of their kisses, and his clothes looked wrinkled as if he would sleep in them. The thoughts flew in his brain at the speed of lightning, replacing one another with the speed of light.

How could I even allow for that to happen? Do I really have so little control over my own body? This NEEDS to stop... I can do this... I can make it stop. Thought Beckett, his face hardening with resolve, and he straightened his clothes, meeting his own eyes in reflection before his door flew thrashed open and Maeve burst into the room huffing angrily.

“What the hell Harrington?” she hissed through clenched teeth. “After you cum all over my bedsheets and me, after making me orgasm and kissing as you did... what? You will just walk away like that? Are you kidding me?” she huffed, her eyes were burning with fury. “Don’t you want even to talk about what happened?” she screamed when Beckett didn’t reply to her, not even acknowledging her presence in his room.

“First of all, please knock next time before entering my room. And second, there is nothing to talk about,” he said in a calm cold voice, his back still turned to Maeve.

“Are you kidding me? Now what? Will we pretend that nothing happened between us?”

“Yes, this is exactly what we are going to do from now on. We will forget everything that happened between us or what we have seen. We will be just two roommates who barely know each other. And nothing EVER will happen between us again. We had some fun, released the tension now we will be acting as nothing happened. So please, next time dress appropriately and don’t forget to close the door to your room. Whatever you do in your room is your private business, and I don’t want to see or know about it. Now, please leave my room, I have to study,” he finished speaking, turning to her with an unreadable expression on his face, putting a mask he mastered over all those years.

Maeve’s eyes burned with the fire fuelled by anger that was rising inside her chest. The burning tears gathered in her eyes, the feeling of being used settled deep inside her. She huffed angrily before abruptly turning around and left the room without a single word. The door slammed loudly behind her, leaving the room in dead silence.

Left alone Beckett sank into the armchair, dropping his head in his arms with a low growl. The mask of indifference he put on a moment ago crumbled like a sandy castle showing the true emotions on his face. He knew that it was the right decision, but something inside him felt broken like he missed something... like he didn’t make the right decision after all... the sinking feeling that he may have ruined the only chance of something good in his life left a bitter taste in his mouth. And his own harsh words were still ringing in his ears, silencing everything else around him. He didn’t know why he felt that way, or why he seemed to lose control over himself or ability to think every time he was near her... he could blame it on his hormones or a feeling of lust that boiled his blood every time she was near him, but he knew better. Deep down he knew, that no woman before Maeve stirred such feelings inside him, before her it always was just sex... insensible automatic act he performed with some girls he barely knew, however with Maeve it was different... It felt different... With her, every touch, every kiss, every stroke were filled with desperation and longing, with fire that was burning him to his bones, leaving him bare in front of her, leaving him wanting more. And it seemed that every single moment he spent near her left him to crave for something he couldn’t name yet, for something he wanted to have but couldn’t.

———————————

The next day Maeve left earlier than usually not wanting to run accidentally into Beckett avoiding him since the moment she stormed out of his room. Her blood was still boiling with anger, and his harsh words were still ringing in her ears, making the strains of tears run down her face every time she thought about that. She was glad that today wasn’t an Anothomy lecture, and she wouldn’t be forced to share a seat with him. Instead, they were heading into a nearby hospital for their first human cadaver dissection. Stopping her car in a busy car park, she took a deep breath looking into a mirror to fix her mascara before leaving the car and heading towards the morgue.

The morgue wasn’t anything new to her or at least it ceased to be so this summer before classes at a medical school began. Living in a small town, she knew everyone, so when the admission letter arrived she went to the local hospital's pathologist and asked for his help. After some persuasion, he finally agreed to help her, and so she spent the whole summer working at the morgue, helping with some basic stuff before moving to assist in human cadaver dissection and studying anatomy.

At first, the place scared her and every time she went there she felt the sickening feeling rising from her stomach when her nose was hit by a mix of vaguely chemical smell and a sickening sweetness of something. But as time went the feeling passed, and she was more than sure that she will not get embarrassed as she was when she first time entered the morgue or first time when she assisted with human cadaver dissection.

When she confidently entered the room, the familiar coldness of morgue enveloped her, and the sweet odor of bodies hit her nostrils while she tried to suppress the feeling of nausea that started to rise in her. She took a deep breath trying to calm herself, her breath still elevated, and she could feel how the shiver ran through her when a toxic sickening smell of the bodies hit her stronger. The nauseous feeling becoming even stronger with every passing moment, and she gagged reflexively, covering her mouth with a hand. She looked up, observing the several pale faces already taken their places in front of the separate tables, each with a body on it.

Come on, you can do that. You DID that... just remember to breathe. Deep, calming breathes. Just like that, mumbled Maeve, taking a deep breath, feeling how her breath hitched slightly. Here will be nothing new for you, you have done that already... you are used to that smell, you are used to that, she mumbled quietly before taking a step forward, toward the free space in front of one of the tables, trying to even her ragged breathing and focusing on a body in front of her. After a moment when a lesson started, she felt someone’s eyes focused on her, uncomfortably shifting her weight she raised her eyes, meeting those cool silvery eyes, the one that looked at her with concern she never has seen before. As if he could feel that something was wrong as if he could see the panic rising in her chest the closer they approached the task, the one she could perform with her eyes closed.

When the command to proceed was given, with explanations of what was expected from them during their first time, Maeve took a scalpel, moving closer to the body. She could feel how her throat clenched from the sickeningly sweet smell, and she gagged loudly when it hit her nose. Her hand covered her mouth as if in hope that this would stop nausea from rising higher. And she rushed as quickly as she could toward the bin at the end of the room, bending over it until she felt better.

Slowly she raised her head, meeting students' eyes that were looking at her in disgust, feeling how the tears started to prick in the corners of her eyes, mumbling apology and running out of class as quickly as she could. Until she found herself standing in some dark abandoned corridor without any single soul near there.

She felt embarrassed and angry with herself for what just happened. She leaned on the wall closing her eyes and slid to the floor. Her hands covered her face, trying to suppress soft sobs that were escaping her throat, feeling how all build-up emotions flooded back to her. She felt powerless and tired from everything that went wrong since the beginning of school year, starting from the reckless night of passion she had with Beckett, the man she never saw before, and ending with her vomiting in the bin, not able to handle the smell of the human’s cadaver. To the smell that she thought she was used to during this summer before a study has begun.

She sniffled loudly, sitting in the dark corridor, feeling how the hot tears flowed down her face, feeling how exhaustion crushed over her, failing to notice how someone approached her, sliding to the floor in front of her.

When Beckett ran out of the class after Maeve under the disguise that he wanted to check if she is feeling okay, ignoring everyone around him, he wasn't sure what he will do or tell, when he will catch up with her. But now, everything that he wanted to do is to cradle her into his arms and make sure she is okay. He even wasn't sure why he felt this way, but when he saw her sitting on the floor looking so small and broken, he felt how his heart ached. Slowly he moved toward her, sliding to the floor in front of her, gently taking her hands with his and moving them away from her face. He could feel how she tensed slightly under his touch before her watery eyes met his, looking at her with nothing but concern.

“Are you okay,” he asked quietly, holding her hands with his. His thumbs drawing small soothing circles on the back of her hands, not letting go of her gaze, watching how the hot tears ran down her face, leaving black marks on her cheeks.

She shook her head, sobbing loudly before she started to speak.

“I... I let everyone down... N-- now, I will fail this course and no matter how much extra credits I would gain I--it never will make up for the job in the morgue. Th--that is a necessary part of that course,” she sobbed, not able to stop herself, her hands squeezing Beckett's, looking for support in his eyes. “W--what I will do?”

“Hey...,” he spoke, moving closer to her, letting go off her hands just to cup her face between his palms. “You didn't fail it yet.” he noted, “And I'm sure you will not fail it. I have seen how much you put in to study. I'm sure you will never allow for something like that to stop you from succeeding and to proving to everyone that you are better than these bunch of idiots,” he added, brushing off the drops of tears from her eyes.

“I just now vomited in the basket. I'm not sure I will be able to go back in there and see the disgust on everyone's faces again. I just...,” she trailed off. “What if I get sick again,” she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You will not, but if you will... I will make sure that no one will look at you haughtily or make a snarky comment... second after all is my prerogative," Beckett smirked, watching how her eyes slightly widened with shock, before her lips spread in a sincere smile for the first time that day.

"Jerk," she laughed quietly, slapping him in the chest, feeling how his hand caught her lightning-fast, pulling her toward him. His other hand still cupping her cheek while his thumb absentmindedly caressed her soft silky skin not able to tear his gaze away from her. His expression became tense and his lips almost touching hers, both feeling this unexplainable pull toward each other, that seemed happened every time they were close. Beckett felt how he started to drown in her honey eyes once again when a small smile appeared on her lips like a ray of sun breaking through the heavy clouds, pulling him out from the daze.

“Are you ready?” he asked huskily before standing up and holding out his hand to her. After a moment of hesitation, Maeve's fingers touched his, sending sparkles through both of them when their eyes met. His strong hand taking her small one, his fingers wrapping around hers, pulling her up to her feet.

When they were close to the morgue Maeve stopped, feeling how her heart skyrocketed, and uncertainty raised once again. She could feel Beckett's hand still holding hers carefully, stopping beside her, his eyes meeting hers.

“I'll be there,” he reminded her. “And after, I will give you a lift home. I don't think that you are in the right emotional state to be driving,” Beckett said, catching her small nodб before leading her inside the class fully aware that everyone's eyes were on them the moment they entered the door. The girls looked at Maeve with a mix of disgust and jealousy. The boys' meantimeб smirked at them both, watching how Beckett's hand was holding hers, and the other was placed on her lower back possessively without a second thought. He led them back to their table, feeling how Maeve tensed the closer she got to the body.

“Don't be scared,” Beckett murmured, lowering his lips to her earlobe, his hot breath tickling the sensitive spot behind her ear, making her inhale sharply. Her nose, catching the swift of the subtle fragrance of woody-musky old books mixed with the smell of the sea, making any other smells disappear around her.

“I'm not scared,” she huffed, feeling how the feeling of safety washed over her, her head spinning a little when his hand touched hers, returning her to reality.

“Now get these gloves on and take a scalpel,” he instructed, not paying attention to everyone else around them, focused only on the girl in front of him. His body pressed into her, his fingers tracing hers before taking her wrist with his hand helping her to position the scalpel making a perfect incision. She breathed with relief meeting Beckett's eyes, hardly paying attention to the professor who continued his speech explaining what they are expected to do that year during practice sessions.

When practice was finished and they presented their project ideas to the professor, they finally headed home. The drive home was silent, letting them both think about what happened that day and why no matter how hard they tried to keep their distance from each other, it seemed that they got pulled back together every time. Maeve still felt hurt from the way Beckett acted yesterday, sending her mixed signals every day, unsure of why he told her all those things to her yesterday and today he was first to rush after her, talking her into coming back to class. She threw a subtle glance toward him, biting her lower lip. The memory of his gentle touch and the way he looked at her flashed in front of her eyes, making her wonder whether yesterday's act was simply an act, a well-worn mask to disguise the true emotions he felt after leaving her alone in her room. Her thoughts suddenly went astray with a feeling of renewed nausea, her face getting paler and paler the closer they got to their house. And as soon as they got here, she rushed toward the bathroom bending over the toilet and emptying her stomach once again. Exhausted, she kneeled on the cold floor for some time, which felt like hours before she went back to her room and lay down on the bed without saying even a single word to Beckett. Not noticing how he still watched her with concern in his eyes.

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

Maeve laid quietly in her bed, the feeling of nausea coming and going. She slowly closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, hoping that the sleep will take over, taking away that terrible feeling that she is missing something. Suddenly she sat on the bed cursing under her breath when a sudden but clear thought surfaced in her mind. Grabbing her phone she scrolled through her applications, finding the one she was looking for, her eyes widened, and her heart started to pound loudly, while her breathing got elevated.

“NO... NO...NO...,” she muttered in panic, clutching her hands over her heart, trying to stop it from beating so loudly. “I cannot be so late... 9 days... no fucking way... I... I cannot be. This is a mistake. How I didn't fucking noticed that?” Maeve breathed heavily, before rushing out of bed, grabbing a bag on the go, and running out of the house, closing the door behind. The memories of her night with Beckett flashed in front of her eyes much clearer than ever before and the panic settled in the pit of her stomach, growing stronger the closer she got to the store.

The closest store was just a couple of blocks away, so it took her no more than 10 minutes to get there. She quickly grabbed a first response test from the shelf, paying for it with the cash that she thankfully had in her purse before quickly returning to their house. Hoping that Beckett was still in his room, she got in the bathroom, taking out the test with trembling hands and reading instruction.

After she was done with the test, she laid it flat on the counter, setting a timer on her phone. She closed her eyes, trying to even her breathing by counting minutes till the result will be there but instead felt how her throat closed up and it became even more difficult for her to breathe. When her phone finally beeped, she opened her eyes, taking a test with her trembling hand, feeling how her heart skipped a beat when her eyes landed on the result in front of her. She felt how her stomach clenched, and she muffled the loud sob that escaped her throat with the back of her free hand. The tears of helplessness gathered in her eyes, falling on the cold tiles of the bathroom's floor, the fear getting to her, and she slid to the floor shaking with sobs, praying for that not to be real... hoping that that isn't real...

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[indiaalphawhiskey]

SD Drabble #1

Note: Another prompt I thought of long ago, that I’m still so in love with. I don’t know if I’ll ever get the time to write it, but here it is anyway. Posting under the tag “Sugar Daddy AU”. Please excuse my self-indulgence. xx ---

“Have you got that?” the woman asked. The tone of her voice, coupled with the patronizing pinch of her newly ‘refreshed’ lips, screamed condescension.

Harry offered her a soft, subdued smile. “I have, ma’am,” he said, calmly.

She sniffed and her nose, already two and a half inches in the air to begin with, titled higher in doubt. “Repeat it, then.”

Harry let out a slow exhale through his teeth.

“Of course.” His smile never left his face as he ran through the list in his head. “For the table’s appetizers, the Rockefeller oyster platter, baked garlic lemon butter scallops, lemon butter sauce separated into individual sauce dishes, garlic to the side, and a Caesar salad, with no dressing, no bacon, no chicken, and no croutons, to be served twenty minutes before the main dishes. For his entree,” Harry said, turning to offer the gentleman – who had been scanning him from head-to-toe with a rather lascivious smirk – a quick nod. “Sir will have the cherry-glazed rack of lamb, with marble potatoes instead of garlic rice pilaf, potatoes pre-cut into quarters, and a whiskey double.” He turned back to the woman, a challenge in his tone. “Madam will have the Chilean sea bass and braised asparagus, asparagus to the side and blanched instead of braised, with the pesto and lemon sauce on a separate dish, and a glass of Semillon. Dessert will be two pieces of the dairy and gluten-free chocolate truffle cake, and two glasses of our best sherry.”

The woman’s gaze remained unimpressed.

“Fine,” she breathed. She flicked her fingers away once, the sheen of her opulent diamond ring reflected on the white tablecloth – a dismissal.

Harry bowed politely, face impeccably calm as he gathered the menus from the table and began to walk away.

Oyster platter and scallops baked in nothing, he recited in his head as he weaved his way around the tables. Plain lettuce masquerading as Caesar salad. Lamb with an entirely different side dish than the one on the menu – Chef will be pleased as fuck, by the way––

Snap! Harry startled at the sound. What the f–– Snap! Snap! Snap!

He leaned back reflexively to avoid the hand aggressively snapping right in front of his nose, before turning to find it was attached to a portly man in his mid-fifties. His face was tinged red with impatience, his breath laboured as he heaved himself back onto his chair now that he had Harry’s attention.

Harry took a deep breath before facing the table.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Sir,” he began politely. “But my colleague will be with you in just a mo –”

“Oh, you’ll do, sweetheart,” the man crooned, licking his lips as he surveyed Harry. “You’ll do just fine.”

His impatience had faded completely, Harry noticed, though Harry much preferred irritation to… whatever this new expression was. Having only had this job for three days, it took all of Harry’s willpower to swallow the cutting remark that was already resting on his tongue. He managed, but unfortunately, the way his skin was crawling with discomfort was not as easily dealt with.

He exhaled slowly, reminding himself why he needed this job. Unbidden, the events of the last week flashed before his eyes.

Finding unrecognizable lingerie under his pillow. Being told by his fiance that he was being left for a nineteen-year-old pilates instructor slash aspiring male model. Discovering three months’ worth of unpaid rent bills hidden in their (now his, he supposed) bread box, and a discarded bill for a ‘12-carat gold-plated necklace with ‘MY BABY’ engraving, cursive’ (Gross.) in his trash (already paid, thank God for small favours). Combing coffee shop bulletin boards for part-time jobs that fit his tedious grad school schedule. Chicken-flavored ramen for the three straight dinners.

He tried not to sigh.

Relax, he told himself. Be professional, get your check, and get out of here.

“How may I help you, Sir?” Harry said, miraculously polite.

“Well, handsome,” Lecherous Restaurant Patron purred, drawing out the pregnant pause as Harry quelled a rising gag.

“Come off it, George,” his companion cut in. He tacked on a chuckle at the end like an afterthought, though it couldn’t mask the slight edge embedded in the words. It made Harry think of the way a cheeky thief smiles as he runs his finger back and forth against a switchblade – just a hint of a threat. “Just order, mate. The kid’s busy.”

It was hardly a white knight stepping in to defend his honour, but after the week Harry had, it was close. He had barely glanced in his saviour’s direcion before George spoke again.

“I own the place, Tomlinson. He can spare a couple more minutes, can’t you, darling?” He punctuated the question with two hefty slaps to Harry’s arse cheek. The first made Harry freeze in shock. The second made his vision go red.

Lingerie.

‘He’s… amazing, Harry. I love him.’

Rent.

‘MY BABY’ engraving, cursive.

Wanted: Part-time Wait Staff.

‘Repeat it, then.’

Slap! Slap!

The punch flew out of Harry, the crisp sound of knuckles against cheekbone ringing satisfyingly in his ears, loud and clear over the scuffle, over the yelling, over the firing. It was all Harry could hear until the harsh slam of the restaurant’s back door, and the biting whip of the winter wind.

Cheated on, left, in debt, harassed, fired, tossed out on my arse, Harry thought to himself, raising his fist in a sarcastic cheer. B-I-N-G-fucking-O. What he wouldn’t do for a joint right now.

He let out a deep, bone-tired sigh, winter’s icy fingers creeping around his open coat and up his too-thin undershirt (they had taken his uniform straight off his back, the bastards), before making his way out of the tiny back alley. He hunched his shoulders automatically, the wind somehow stronger out on the dimly lit main street, and began his long trudge to the tube stop, large hands stuffed awkwardly into his coat’s faux pockets because he had also lost his favorite gloves to bloody Neverwhere this morning.

“Mind the gap, indeed,” he mumbled to himself sadly, taking a little solace in the fact that he had remembered to bring his earphones with him today. He was convinced the morose opening chords of Landslide would manage soothe his broken heart, if he played it enough times. (Hey, if Stevie made it through, so could Harry.)

Lost in thought (and in the gargantuan task of untangling the aforementioned earphones), the barely audible crunch of gravel next to him didn’t register at all.

“ – genuinely feel like you’re ignoring me on purpose now but, once more, with feeling – Do. You. Need. A. Ride?”

Harry jumped, clutching at his heart and dropping his earphones in surprise. “What the bloody –”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” the man said. He offered Harry a sheepish smile, his elbow resting on the window of his cheesily predictable top down. “But I’d been here for like seven minutes –”

“You’ve been stalking me for seven minutes,” Harry deadpanned, so done with these absolute shits. “Yeah, not a great line to lead with.”

“Not stalking,” he tried to chuckle confidently, but the tone came out slightly uncertain. “But like, offering you a ride. You know, to make up for…” He tipped his head backward, motioning to the restaurant. “My partner. Business partner,” he clarified seriously, and ––

Oh, Harry thought. The other guy. Tomlinson, he remembered. No wonder his voice was familiar.

“No, thank you,” Harry said curtly as he began to walk again, his face resolutely blank, eyes trained stubbornly on his destination.

A huff of disbelief weaved itself between the sound of slow-rolling wheels.

“C’mon, kid,” Tomlinson tried. “It’s cold as shit.”

“Then maybe get a car with a roof,” Harry said, quietly.

Tomlinson chuckled in answer, wheels still painfully in time with Harry’s steps.

“Fair point. C’mon,” he repeated. “You’ve had a shit night. You’re cold and tired. Let me give you a ride.” When Harry stayed silent, he continued. “You’ll be home quicker. Home, and clean,” he needled. “And warm.”

At that, Harry let himself steal a glance, and was greeted with Tomlinson’s smirking profile, his eyes on the road. High cheekbones, a sharp jaw, the lovely peak of a small nose – everything was slim and pointed. Pixie-like, Harry caught himself thinking, though the delicate quality of his face was offset by just a hint of handsome stubble. A healthy amount of silver decorated his temples, but the hair on his head was still a touch more pepper than salt. Not quite a silver fox just yet.

Fifty, Harry guessed. Fifty-five at most.

“Is this your M.O., or something?” Harry asked, trying to keep the raking irritation from bleeding into his voice. The calmer he was, the less Tomlinson would think he was getting somewhere. “Is that how this works? You go to a restaurant, find a target, get your wingman to act like an arsehole, and then swoop in for the kill?”

A startled laugh broke through the hush of the street.

“Just a wee bit paranoid, aren’t you?” Tomlinson teased.

“Evasive, aren’t you?” Harry shot back.

“Okay, calm down, Sherlock.” Harry could still hear the amusement in his voice. “I do have killer flirting skills, but not serial killer flirting skills.”

Harry sighed then, so, so exhausted. “Right. Well again, no thank you on the ride. In case my little demonstration at the restaurant was somehow unclear, I don’t date men who are old enough to be my father.”

He tipped his chin up higher, because while Harry may not have any money (or a job, or a fiance), he still had his dignity.

Or at least part of it, he corrected, pushing away the curdle of humiliation as he remembered finding those awful panties.

“So you only date cheap men,” Tomlinson said, decisively.

“God,” Harry whispered under his breath, his annoyance now too hard to ignore. Louder he said, “Fuck off.”

“Cheap,” he continued confidently over Harry’s insult. “Young, handsome bastards who get one big paycheck and think that makes them Drake or whoever the fuck –” The cool-dad rap reference, plus the well-timed dig at his stupid, necklace-engraving ex, made Harry’s lip twitch upward against his will. “ – and then fuck off with some barely-legal twit who sucks dick like a champ but can’t name a single city outside of London.”

Harry snorted.

“Know him, or something?” he asked sarcastically, eyes trained on the tiny Underground sign that was still about three blocks away.

“Know him? Oh love,” The way he said it – ‘Luhv’ – made Harry finally turn to him. It was a mistake. His eyes were sharp – a searing blue even in the orange cast of the street lamps – and his smile devastating. “I am him,” he admitted freely, the skin around his eyes crinkling as his smirk widened. “Only, you know,” he shrugged. “With a few more checks, and slightly higher standards. I mean,” he blinked, almost sweetly. “You can name at least three cities outside London... can’t you?”

Harry could feel a gentle heat settle at the tops of his cheeks, the insinuation about his blowjob skills decidedly not lost on him. He felt his stomach do a sudden somersault. He pushed it away, convincing himself it was just the rush of attention, the electricity of an unexpected ego boost and that quick, first moment of feeling pretty again after getting horribly, horribly dumped.

His brief silence must’ve signaled a chink in his armour, because Tomlinson then took it as an opportunity to say, “I’m Louis.”

“I didn’t ask,” Harry said, tongue fast, though the fact that he hadn’t yet ducked into a not-suitable-for-sports-cars-sized alleyway probably softened the blow.

Louis only nodded, still smiling. “Right, okay. As much fun as this has been, I really doubt the lovely heated seating of my car will dull our banter. Or...” he dragged out the ‘r’, eyes mischievous.  “Are you really going to let a…” he assessed Harry. “Twenty? Twenty year gap be the reason you get hypothermia? Is that really the hill you want to freeze on, Mr. Principled?”

“Closer to twenty-six,” Harry corrected stubbornly. “Which is an entire fully grown adult between us. You could have kids as old – nay, older – than our age gap.” Did he just say ‘nay?’

“Did you just say ‘nay’, Shakespeare?” Louis teased. “So definitely at least three cities outside London, then.” Harry didn’t smile but it was a close thing. “And I promise you,” Louis continued. “I haven’t put myself in the position to bear children since you were – nay, before you were born. Been in a lot of other positions since then, though.”

He had the audacity to punctuate it with a wink. It was annoyingly charming, and Harry had never been angrier at himself.

“Besides,” Louis said, with the kind of smile that knew victory was close. “It’s just a ride, love, no strings attached. Unless of course, getting tied up is what you’re into,” he added, so incredibly pleased with himself. Harry wanted to smack him. But he could also feel the blessedly comfortable heat radiating from the car’s vents.

“Fine.”

[91whiskeygirl]

Whiskey Hangover

*Inspired by Season 14, reader insert. Slight foul language, some angst and maybe fluff? Changed things up so reader can be inserted, DUH🤷🏻‍♀️**

Everything is blurry. Every muscle you have is too relaxed to react to the strong arms trying to guide you to the bathroom. It’s been weeks since Dean had invited Micheal into him. There was no time to argue with him about it, he didn’t even get to say goodbye to you. He didn’t even look at you when Michael took control and vanished. The emptiness hurt you enough to drink yourself to passing out . Puking your guts out in a toilet was pretty much your daily routine, no matter what time of day it was.

“Y/n, breathe, it’s gonna be ok, just take it easy” Sam said to you softly as he held your hair back. You hummed in agreement while your gag reflex finally settled, and sat back against the cold tile wall, your eyes closed. Your head started to pound something wicked into your brain and you tried to focus on the giant in front of you cleaning you up. Pushing his hands away you get up with what physical will you had left in you and staggered your way into Dean’s bedroom. You only hear Sam’s voice as a muffle behind you, asking if you were ok, and to lay on your side before passing out. “Sammy, baby I don’t need you to take care of me, alright? I’m fine! I’m just peachy.”,huffing and collapsing onto the bed. Burying your face into Dean’s pillow the tears started to fall, you clutched to it tighter. You were angry, sad, numb all at once. Sam turns you to the side and places the wastebasket on your side of the bed. He gives you a small smile and gently pushes your hair away from your face.

“When you get up, I’ve got a couple of Tylenol and glass of water for you.” You blink your eyelids heavily and give him a small smile back, reaching for his chin. His beard tickling your palm. “Still the sweet Yeti as ever. I knew I picked the wrong Winchester.” He exhales harshly at that and his smile fades, but you don’t notice it since you fell asleep. He didn’t know if you were just teasing him or you actually meant it. You always had a loose tongue on your feelings when you were drunk. he admitted to himself that he had feelings for you, not as a friend or as a sister; but Dean was always the rambunctious one and took the first step to ask you out years ago after that one werewolf hunt. He stayed on the sidelines hoping those emotions whenever you gave him bear tackling hugs or pranked him while he was researching to fade, but it never did. He tucks you in and slowly makes his way to close the door, taking one last look at you.

Two weeks ago

“We had a deal!” You hear Dean groaning, straining to keep himself in his own body. The veins in his body start to pulse out and you watch him turn into Michael’s vessel before your eyes. You supported Jack with what strength you had while watching the man you love turn into an archangel. Too shocked to say a word you end up on your knees as he looks to you, Sam and Jack, “Thanks for the suit.”disappearing to god knows where.

Your blood shot eyes open and you feel yourself sitting up quicker than you wanted to, blood rushing into your head, the hammering pulse of a hangover presenting itself.

“Fuck. Never should’ve taken up whiskey.” You rubbed your temples and sit on the edge of the bed. Noticing your mouth feels very dry you look over to Sam’s little gift, a tall glass of water and a couple of Tylenol on the nightstand. “Thank goodness for you Yeti.” You say gruffly as you down the hopefully pills that might get you through today. You’d hoped to stay in bed but the only cure for a hangover would be food, you change into one of Dean’s shirts and put on some jeans, not bothering to brush your hair you place it in a bun and brush your teeth. It had always bothered you that there was a sink in the bedroom, but now it was a normal appliance since you barely left the room unless you needed a refill of whiskey for your glass. You head to the kitchen and see everyone scurrying around like working ants in their colony. Ever since they were saved and went through the rift most decided to stay and fight for the cause. You didn’t mind having company since it deflected what you were doing to yourself. Everyone was too busy to bat an eye at you unless it was asking where Sam was.

“Good afternoon, y/n,” a deep voice called out to you from behind. Cas was still an Angel, handsome as ever, but you could see the toll it took on him to keep everything in order while trying to track where Dean, Michael was. You shot him a wink while frying up eggs and bacon in a pan. “Hey Cas, it’s too bad you can’t taste food like before, I make a mean hangover breakfast.”

“Are you up for joining me trying to find...Michael?” He saw how your body stiffened as he asked reluctantly.

“It’s still Dean,Cas. But no, I’m thinking of hanging with Mary and showing what I made for the armory. I’m physically not able to be of help to you.Wheres Jack?” You replied.

“With Bobby, he insisted on getting some physical combat training since his powers....” Cas trailed off. It was hard for everyone, especially Jack. You knew how it felt to have your father tell you lies while you selflessly believed them, because you just wanted to be accepted and loved by him. But Lucifer only used him, the result, Jack basically being human, not that you minded, it was nice not having to tip toe around the kid, afraid he might blow up a town for just sneezing.You inhaled the coffee you made and engulfed your breakfast.

“It’s 2pm y/n, I see you slept in.” Mary pats your back gently as you send her a smile. “Just a bit, but you need to see what I did in the armory. I might be drunk 20 hours out of 24 but I still can finish a project if I want to . “

You both head into the gun range and open a small trunk full of bullets, neatly organized. Shooting yourself an approval lifting your eyebrows and biting your bottom lip, you showcase the display to her. “So, Angel, witch, werewolf, and vampire killing bullets. I’m even working on a leviathan version but they’ve been pretty distant since Dick exploded. But, you always need a plan in case. I’m supposed to be good about that, I WAS good about that.” You tell her, shoulders starting to slump. No matter what version of what you thought could’ve happened if you’d planned it more carefully, it always shows the same outcome. Dean inviting Michael to be his vessel without hesitation, and him flying out to wherever the hell he is now. It pained you too much to think about it, you always end up thirsty for something stronger than your usual girly drinks to diffuse the pain in your chest.

“ This- this is amazing y/n! You did good.” Mary praises you, holding a vampire bullet into the light, squinting to examine all the details. Placing the bulletin back into it’s socket, she sighs softly and looks to you. “Y/n, I might not have been there enough for my boys, but I know that they care for you deeply, especially Dean. Please, don’t hurt yourself more than you already have. This isn’t your fault. He was desperate, we all were, to save Sam and Jack. This is all Lucifer’s doing. We’ll get him back, I promise.”

The tears start to well up in your eyes but you don’t blink them away, letting them fall freely down your cheeks. You close the trunk and place it on the shelf. Mary pulls you in for a hug but you don’t hug her back. Your too exhausted from last night’s alcoholic binge to care the empathy coming from your mother in law.

She understands enough to leave you to your own personal space. You walk on to the range with a target sheet, longer than you, having to jump to reach to clip it up. Putting on safety glasses you load regular bullets into your pistol and aim at the target, cocking it. Exhaling slowly and rounding your shoulders, you aim and fire. The bullet goes through first into the target’s chest, a second shot to the shoulder, another to the throat, then two to the head. You shrug not impressed. Though hungover you still had very good aim thanks to Dean teaching you. It became second nature to you.

Couple Years Ago

“You need to relax your shoulders! You’re like a little gremlin, you won’t aim where you want to y/n!” Dean voices raises at you, ear mufflers on you glanced his way disapprovingly.

“Well, maybe I need a bit more help than just telling me what to do! I may be hands on but I’ve never actually shot a gun before if you hadn’t noticed.” You gritted your teeth as you fired another shot, missing the target and having the bullet ricochet. “This is bullshit!” As you were about to place the gun down you feel Dean behind you too close for comfort, your breath stuck in your throat. You can feel the rush of heat starting to emerge from your neck to your ears then your cheeks as you turn pink from the unexpected contact. He takes your hand holding the gun as if he’s your shadow and guides your arm up level with your shoulder. His other arm around your waist, starting to tighten his grip you straighten up your back, involuntarily rubbing your ass against him. A tiny groan leaves him and you try to ignore it.

“Relax, you got this, aim and shoot, just like I showed you baby.” Whispering to you, feeling his breath on your neck.

Exhaling slowly you look to the paper target and three shots ring out, three holes in its face. “Holy crap, holy crap! I frikking did it! Haha!” You jump for joy, turning around to hug him tightly. His one arm still on your waist the other grabs your gun and uncocks it then puts it on the table. “You did great sweetheart, you’ll be able to shoot with a rifle in no time.” A big smile on his face as he leans down to kiss your lips. Your hands travel up to the back of his neck receiving a pleasant reaction from Dean as you reciprocate his kiss. “Well, luckily you’re my teacher. I might need some extra credit Mr. Winchester.” A glint in his green apple eyes and he carries you in his arms as you try to wriggle out of his grasp. “Dean! I’m too heavy!” “Sweetheart, I’ve carried you out of hunts many times. Believe me when I say you’re not the heaviest thing I’ve had to throw around.” Your arch a brow at him “throw around huh?” A smirk on your face as he carries you back to the bedroom.

“Y/n? Are you ready? Y/n!” Cas is waving his hands at you, making you snap back to reality. Blinking a few times you see Cas is ready with his gear. “Oh, uh, I’m sorry, I haven’t even packed, I don’t want to waste your time, just go ahead without me Cas, I’ll be fine.” He gives you a disconcerting look. You stare back at him hard. No matter how long you’ve known the angel , the stare you give, he knows when to back off.

“I’ll, be, fine, wings. I’ll handle the bunker til you get back. Plus Mary and Bobby are here.”

With that he nods and heads out. You sigh heavily and rub your face down, deciding to look for Sam. The group that stayed back in the bunker are too busy to answer you, then you here someone call out.

“Hey Chief! We got a tip from a hunter of yours, says she might’ve sighted Dean.” Sam’s tall frame appears a few yards from you. His beard is scruffier and thicker than ever, the bags under his eyes show he hasn’t properly rested since Michael jumped his brother’s bones. You make your way to him as he sits in front of his laptop. Sensing your presence he looks up and gives you a grin.

“Hey, look who’s awake, sleeping beauty.”

You slap his shoulder gently and then lean over to see what he’s doing, you can smell his conditioner that he uses to keep his hair oh so soft and shiny.

“What we got Sherlock?” You tease.

He laughs sharply and tries to concentrate on the screen in front of him.

“ Get this, we got a tip where Dean could be, but he’s jumping everywhere. He’s frying up bodies left and right, the police are all over it. Eyes melted out of their skull.” Your neck tightens but you keep your composure. “Hm, classic angel-type of kill. So no location where he was last?” You ask, Sam shaking his head.

You straighten up and head to the mini bar. “Ok, so we know Dea-Michael, is grilling random people in random places. Great. He’s planning something but what the fuck is it?” You pop the glass bottle of whiskey and start to pour until a huge hand covers it and places it to the side. You look up to Sam and show you’re not accepting the rejection of your tonic, trying to grab it from him, only to raise it higher than you can reach. “Nuh uh. Didn’t you learn last night? You were keeled over the toilet for a good half hour before I got you to bed, hoping you weren’t going to drown in your own vomit, y/n.”

You sneered at him and tried to jump up to get the glass back.

“Yeti, it’s my own problem, if it helps me with what we’re dealing with so be it. “ he places the glass on the top shelf of the bar and you scowl. You reluctantly relax as he pulls you in to hug you. “It’s not going to help numb the pain you’re feeling y/n. It might feel like it helps but you’ll always end up feeling like shit at the end of the day. I need you to be strong. I need you.” With those last three words you look up at him as he looks down at you with his hazel eyes. You’ve never recalled being this physically close to the youngest Winchester, and you realize this is too close to be considered platonic. You don’t know if it’s because you’re lonely or you’re still drunk from last night’s binge, but you don’t feel anything wrong as you hold his waist a bit tighter than you should, clutching for dear life. You feel the heat of his back radiating on to your hands and your fingers spread to travel upward to the middle of his back, wanting to feel more of him.

“Ahem.” You both look to Bobby clearing his throat. Realizing you’re in the middle of the bustle of everyone, but no one can tell you’re holding his waist under his jacket, Sam let’s go of you and you cross your arms to face Bobby.

“We’ve got a problem.” Holding the phone out to Sam.

**Do I need to continue this as a series or what? So much slow burning of angst and almost smut I’m not sure how I feel about it yet.**🤷🏻‍♀️

[putthebreadinthebreadbasket]

Collab with @the-elusive-libbin! She did the drawing (Obviously bc I’m not THIS talented) And I wrote a story to go along with it. With how much we’ve been talking about Borderlands, and specifically Mordecai, this was bound to happen. Thank you for being an amazing collab partner! :*

Without further ado, here’s the story, featuring none other than Mordecai and Elusive’s OC Lilly:

“Open up, Mordecai!” Lilly demanded.

“ ¡No, de ninguna manera.”

“...Mordy.”

“Nuh-uh,” He scoffed, crossing his arms and turning his head away from the homemade sandwich Lilly held in her hands. “I just ate and I don’t want any more.”

“Mordecai, consuming two dried-up raisins and half-a-blood-orange isn’t eating,” Lilly exclaimed, pushing the sandwich closer to Mordecai. “Especially after being so famished from those bandits.” It was true that Mordecai’s body has been hardly getting any nutrients lately; a few days back he’d been kidnapped by an assemblage of bandits while he was on a solo mission, most probably because he was trying to selfishly hog-up all the prizes for himself.

“That’s not true! They let me sip water and have a bite of somethin’ every now and again. I was a valuable hostage to them, y’know?”

“That explains why you were unconscious due to starvation when I arrived,” Lilly sarcastically said, “You’re lucky I was quick enough to pinpoint your location in a few days. You would’ve died if I hadn’t.”

“You only were able to do that because bloodwing flew and told ya!” His feathery companion squawked in approval. “Anyways... Whatever happened to them?”

“I killed them. Now...” Lilly shoved the sandwich up against Mordecai’s lips. “Eat. It.”

Mordecai sighed and regretfully took a bite from the sandwich; He chewed on it very slowly. Each time his teeth sank into the contents of the sandwich the urge to spit it out grew stronger, but with Lilly here, she’d probably stuff the half-melted sandwich right back in his mouth. It took his all to finish the sandwich and swallow the last bit down to send it to his relatively empty-stomach.

“Now that you’re done with that,” She pulled the large bag of food she’d brought with her closer, unwrapping the veil to reveal a wide variety of supplies: Meat, crumpets, pretzels, and even more sandwiches were crowding the bag, which was made even more cramped with the bottles of water there. No sight was more horrifying to Mordecai than this one.

“C-Con Permiso Lilly, but I’m pretty full.”

“--Of shit.” Grabbing a bottle of water and a few protein-based products, she inched herself closer to him. She knew he’d need some help finishing all of that. “I want this bag empty by the end of this evening.”

“Lilly, no, come on... Ya know I don’t like eating...” Though he knew her actions were coming from a good place, this seemed a bit too much for Mordecai. In fact, It seemed a bit too much for anyone.

“Trust me, baby boy. You need this, so... just do it? For me?” Lilly said, her stern behavior subsiding. She really wanted him to eat well after seeing him nearly starved to death, and she knew she had to interfere if she wanted that to happen.

Mordecai huffed and started to open his mouth slightly. Within seconds, his mouth was stuffed with unsweetened griddlecake, Lilly’s finger pushing it in mercilessly. The crumpet’s soft texture allowed the cake to accommodate to Mordecai’s mouth shape, but it was impossible for him to focus on the taste with Lilly’s finger poking around the inside of his mouth as he chewed softly on whatever his mouth was filled with, making sure to try and not hurt Lilly. She pushed her finger out, wrapped another crumpet around it, and pushed it back in Mordecai’s already-stuffed mouth. His head was thrust back gently, eyes wide, he wasn’t really expecting this, but he continued to chew the batter-y mess that was beginning to fill his mouth up.

He took the opportunity to chew frivolously when Lilly began readying up the next meal, even swallowing down the food prematurely to empty his mouth for the upcoming food, taking quick sips of the water he’d been given.

And just as his echoing gulps came to an end, Lilly’s pretzels-holding hands found their way back to his mouth. He felt out of breath, but he allowed Lilly to continue stuffing him up, mouth filled with dry pretzels. The hefty amount of salt was drying up his mouth, and he found himself unable to swallow. He gulped again, but instead of sending the food down, the contents of his stomach were being pushed up; He was gagging.

“You can do it.” He heard Lilly say just as he felt another bottle of water being pressed up against his hand. He opened it and took sips of water that mixed in with the softened pretzels, aiding in swallowing them.

“L-Lilly... por favor I- urp... feel sick.” He lightly put a hand to his stomach, which was starting to bulge out very slightly. He’d never reached this state just by eating normally like he always would.

“Ssh, sshh... It’s okay, Mordy.” She put her hand up to Mordecai’s jaw gently, but he was surprised to see her force it open, pushing the meat inside. “Just a few more and we’ll be done, alright?” Her voice was soothing, a stark contrast to her crude behavior.

Mordecai swallowed another mouthful, struggling to get it down after so long. It felt like a never-ending cycle; Swallow a bite, only to have to swallow another. His stomach was starting to let out growls of being overfilled, a rather rare noise to come from Mordecai’s belly. Lilly breathed shakily, bringing herself closer to the now-bloated stomach and hearing the gurgles at a much more intimate level. Mordecai may have hated every second of this, but the sheer fact that he was being stuffed beyond belief, as well as how close Lilly was to his own fabric-coated bloated stomach, made him blush as red as that headpiece of his.

A few minutes later, the bag was starting to look empty. All of the food that was once tucked there was now tucked in a different kind of bag; Mordecai’s stomach.

“See? Your stomach sounds happy.” Lilly rubbed her cheek alongside Mordecai’s swollen belly, listening to the thunderous noises.

“S-Stop doing that, Amigo, I’m gonna-” Mordecai reflexively brought his balled-up fist against his mouth, trying to stifle a burp but unsuccessfully doing so. “--UUUUUUURRRRPPPPPPPP!” A rattling belch echoed through the wastelands, and immediately he felt a tremendous amount of relief from the pressure his stomach was previously under. It was a completely new feeling for the 40-year-old man.

“Now that you freed up some room, maybe we should...” Lily’s hand trailed to the side, grabbing another full-bag.

Mordecai’s jaw dropped, and this time It wasn’t Lilly forcibly pulling it down, but rather the sheer shock and horror of going through that nightmare again. His eyes signified that, at that moment, he wished he would’ve died by the bandits’ hands rather than go through that again.

Lilly burst out laughing, opening the bag and revealing to Mordecai that it was just an items-filled bag. “I’m just kidding,” She exclaimed through her laughter, “...But maybe we could do this again the next time you get kidnapped by bandits.”

[lyssismagical]

what is stronger than the human heart which shatters over and over and still lives

Whumptober Day Sixteen - Pinned Down

Read on AO3

TW: Rape/Non-con, violence, dissociation, panic attacks, suicidal ideation

*

“I won’t tell him!” Peter gasps, squirming underneath the hand on his throat, pinning him to the cold bathroom floor. “I won’t! I swear!”

Thomas grins, eyes crinkling. “Knew you wouldn’t, Petey. You’re such a good boy, you know that?”

The younger boy pushes weakly against Thomas’s arm, too panicked to think about using his spider strength. He should’ve been able to push him off a long time ago, but all he can think about is Skip and being pinned down to his bed, cries muffled by the man’s scratchy palm.

“Please-” Peter begs, voice cracking as tears spill down his cheeks and into his hair. “Please, Thomas, please, I can’t-”

“You can and you will, Pete. I’m only doing what’s best for you, you hear me?” he says, voice lilting gently. “You always act like a little prude, I’m just helping to broaden your horizons a bit. Tony would love you more if you were more relaxed.”

Peter opens his mouth to continue pointlessly begging for freedom, but this gives Thomas the perfect chance to push his t-shirt, removed from his body, into Peter’s mouth, effectively gagging him from making any more noise.

“I know you think you’ll hate this, Pete.” Thomas’s eyes glint dangerously as his hands roam around Peter’s body. “But I’ll show you a good time.”

*

Peter limps into the lab, plastering a smile onto his face. He went straight to his room after Thomas left and he cleaned himself up this morning before deciding to face them. He tried to remember how to walk normally, like how he taught himself to do after Skip, but he couldn’t get it down right.

“Hey, Pete!” Tony exclaims, grinning brightly. He looks happy and well-rested, a perfect image of someone who has no idea what’s going on behind closed doors. “You went to bed pretty quickly last night, you feeling alright?”

Thomas isn’t around. Peter could spill everything to Tony. He could admit to what happened last night in the bathroom. He could make this all end. Right here, right now.

But then he remembers what Thomas said.

If you don’t do as I say, I’ll do the same to your dear little sister. So I’d be a little more careful if I were you.

So, he pushes everything down. He ignores the desperation that claws at his chest and the tears that threaten to break his dam. He pushes it all away. He can’t do that to Morgan. Better him than her.

“Yeah, had a headache last night,” Peter says, voice strained. “Feelin’ better now, though.”

If Tony noticed anything out of the ordinary, he doesn’t mention it.

“C’mon, Thomas is making pancakes upstairs.”

*

After The Final Battle, they moved back to the tower so Tony could be closer to Peter, and Morgan could go to school in the city.

Tony had decided a week or two ago (Peter knows it’s nine days, six hours, and thirty-seven minutes… Not that he’s counting) that he wanted a second assistant. To help him out in the lab now that he’s a little bit weaker, take care of Morgan if everyone was busy, that sort of thing.

And he had found Thomas, a twenty-two-year-old who’d been snapped and was looking for a job now that his college had been destroyed.

And sure, Thomas was nice enough. He played with Morgan, he was pretty smart in engineering and physics, he could cook, he was on his college football team, he had a little sister of his own. He was a good fit for the Stark Family.

Until, of course, everything flipped.

*

Thomas, blond hair, blue eyes, strong arms, bright smile, intelligent mind, stands in the kitchen. Morgan’s on his hip, a spatula in his other hand.

He looks perfect, objectively.

Nothing like the man who pinned Peter to the bathroom tiles the night before, gagged him with his t-shirt, and spilled the teenager’s blood over the light blue floor.

They could’ve been two entirely different people.

And Peter’s starting to believe that maybe they are. Different people. Maybe he imagined it. Maybe it was a dream.

But when he takes a step forward, a spike of pain pierces through his spine, and Thomas turns, sending him an obnoxious wink.

“You feeling alright there, Pete?” he says, voice rough and eyes darkening. “Lookin’ a little pale.”

He flexes his strong arms around his hold on the six-year-old and smiles.

“Yeah, I- I, um, I’m fine,” he chokes out, trying to keep a hold on his sanity. He can’t crumble now. Not when He’s holding Morgan, and Tony went to the bathroom, and Peter needs to keep the people around him safe.

“That’s good. You wanna help me set the table, Morgs?”

Morgan nods excitedly, kicking her feet until Thomas sets her down on the floor.

Peter remembers being young. Being her age and untainted, unmarked. He remembers having that kind of enthusiasm and innocence. He remembers that and it got ripped away from him when he was only nine.

He can’t do that to Morgan. He can’t.

He’ll keep his mouth shut if it’s the last thing he does.

*

It’s a routine. He spends Friday night through Monday morning with the Starks. Sunday nights are when Thomas strikes like a snake awaiting his prey.

Bathrooms are the only place without FRIDAY’s supervision, and bedrooms are only audio recordings, visual only if strictly necessary. Thomas knows this, so he gets Peter alone in the nearest bathroom he can get Peter locked in, as long as it’s far enough way so nobody would hear them.

Every Sunday night, Thomas destroys a fraction of Peter’s broken soul.

Twenty-three days, sixteen hours.

Three Sundays.

*

He has to find a turtleneck to wear Monday morning, hands shaking and knees weak. He heads to the kitchen, wishing he didn’t know what was under his shirt. Wishing he could stop seeing Thomas’s smiling face and promises of it getting better once Peter gets used to it. Wishing he could rid himself of the image of him in the mirror, stained in watercolor bruises. Wishing he hadn’t woken up that morning at all. Wishing he was never brought back from the snap.

“Thomas went home early this morning, said something about an appointment, so I can’t make any of his fancy breakfasts. All I’ve got for you is cereal, kid, hope that’s good enough,” Tony’s saying.

He’s sitting at the head of the table, coffee in one hand, tablet in the other. Morgan must still be asleep, having been up late last night because of Thomas’s ‘long bathroom trip’ in the middle of their movie.

“Okay,” Peter murmurs. He worries if he lifts his voice, he’ll break. The lump in his throat is already threatening enough, he can’t overdo it.

But he’s limping and wearing a turtleneck and he wouldn’t be surprised if there were leftover tearstains down his cheeks from nightmares and nightmares brought to life.

He has no idea how Tony hasn’t put two and two together yet.

It’s a little bit too obvious.

“You okay, Pete?” Tony asks.

It takes all of his strength not to flinch at the nickname, but he finds himself nodding before he even has to think about lying.

He skips breakfast, skips saying goodbye to Tony, skips getting a ride from Happy, and walks to school.

When he gets there, everyone’s milling about, and people are smiling and laughing and having conversations and Peter barely even feels like he’s alive.

How are all these people just okay? He doesn’t understand. He can’t understand.

He reaches the bleachers in the back of the school and sits down in the grass beneath them. It’s damp from the cold night and he pulls at it with his trembling fingers.

Choking on a sob, he hadn’t even realized he’d started crying.

There’s a hand on his shoulder, but it doesn’t scare him. It’s gentle and feminine, careful. Cautious.

“Peter?” MJ calls out quietly. Her face is drawn in cartoon lines like someone tried to sketch it out based on a bad description. She doesn’t look real. Like the world has become 2-D.

His hands are shaking and he can’t feel his feet and his spine aches in a way it shouldn’t ever ache and the world is crumbling around him-

MJ holds him, solid and warm and strong, as he falls apart, crying into the soft fabric of her sweater as he watches the world melt into a paused scene of an old black and white movie.

But MJ’s there and she’s real and that’s the only thing keeping him from losing himself for good.

*

Three Sundays and a Saturday, just because Thomas wanted to change things up or something, Peter feels like he may as well be dead with how empty he feels.

Nothing matters. He can’t breathe, can’t sleep, can’t eat. He’s an empty shell of broken fragments, whatever’s left of himself.

He’s nothing.

Vacant eyes and a blank expression, pliant limbs and empty words.

He’s gone.

All because of Thomas.

*

He dreams about Skip.

Skip fill his sleeping moments and Thomas fills his waking ones, giving him no rest from this nightmare.

He tries, he tries so fucking hard to keep people’s worry off of him, but it’s impossible to when he can barely remember who he is these days. The world passes in a blur around him.

May’s always worried about him, always doting on his every need. Tony’s better at hiding his worry, but it’s still painfully obvious. Even Morgan’s been walking on eggshells around him.

“Peter?” Tony murmurs. His hands hover between them, unsure. Peter doesn’t want to be touched, all he can think about is Thomas’s hands on his body and it makes his stomach flip. “Hey, buddy, you’ve been staring at the wall for a long time. You doing okay?”

Peter nods, a reflex reaction to that question.

Tony sits down across from Peter, leaving a good few feet of space between them. Peter couldn’t be more grateful for the little things.

“You sure, bud? You haven’t been looking too good for the past few weeks…”

Six weeks, peter wants to say. It’s been six weeks, seven times, and nobody knows, and he’s so fucking tired.

He doesn’t though, he can’t.

“Where’s Morgan?” Peter asks. He could’ve sworn he saw her around not that long ago.

“She left a few hours ago to go to school. Thomas offered to drop her off.”

Peter swallows down the panic. He’s been doing exactly what Thomas asked. Morgan isn’t in danger. Thomas swore not to hurt her as long as Peter complied.

A violent flinch is ripped from his body when Tony’s hand gets too close to his arm. The mechanic pulls his hand away like he’s been burned, eyes wide.

“Pete-”

“Please, I-” Peter tries to say, but the words get caught in his throat. He can’t do it. He can’t tell Tony that he’s a failure. That he couldn’t keep Morgan or himself safe. That he was so weak to let Thomas do these things to him. That he can’t stop thinking about being nine and having Skip’s hands on his body and his words like bullets to his brain.

His hands shake violently as he grabs onto the fabric of his pants, bunching them into his fists to try to convince himself to pull it together. He needs to calm down. He needs to focus. Tony can’t know. If Tony knows, Morgan will get hurt.

“Peter,” Tony starts, face filled with too much love and concern, it makes Peter want to vomit his truths onto the carpet. “Peter, I- I need you to trust me, okay? Is someone hurting you? I can’t help you if you don’t let me.”

“I can’t.” He’s crying, he can taste the tears in his words, but he can’t, he can’t say those words again. He can’t do any of it again. “I can’t, please, Tony. I- I can’t tell you. I can’t. Please, Tony. I-”

Peter hides his face in his hands, hating how pained and awful he sounds, hates how desperate the noises he’s making are.

But then, to make everything a million times worse-

“Oh my- Is that a hickey?” Tony gasps, suddenly pulling at the hem of Peter’s turtleneck. “Oh my god. Shit. What the fuck?”

In response, Peter just cries harder. Tony must know now. And Morgan’s going to be crushed, she’s going to be subjected to the same hell Peter’s been through and she’ll hate Peter for the rest of her life. She would’ve been fine if Peter was just a little bit stronger.

“Shit- No. Is this- Is this what I think it is?” Tony says. He sounds heartbroken. He sounds like he’s drowning. “Were you- Did someone hurt you?”

He doesn’t answer. He can’t answer. He can’t own up to that. He doesn’t know how.

He just cries.

*

The only thing worse than knowing that Tony knows is when Thomas walks into the penthouse and it’s evident that he sees everything that’s happened.

His smile falls off his face and his hands tuck into his pockets to hide his anger.

“Everything okay?” he says, words carefully calculated.

Peter can’t blame Tony for being so fucking oblivious to everything happening in his house, he really can’t.

“Yeah, everything’s fine, Thomas. I actually just realized, I forgot it’s Morgan’s show and tell day and she didn’t bring in her toy. Could you go drop it off for me?”

Peter flinches. Thomas thinks that Tony knows, and he’s being given permission to go see Morgan? Not on Peter’s watch.

“I- I- Thomas, please,” Peter tries. There’s no way he can get his point across without Tony seeing right through it. “Please. I, um, I-”

“Peter,” Thomas says, voice low and warning. “You up for a drive? Maybe some fresh air will do you some good.”

He can’t stop shaking, hands and knees and head, and the tears are still curling down his face, staining his cheeks and hooking onto his jaw. He can’t breathe and Thomas is watching him, face morphing into Skip’s and back again, and he can feel Tony’s eyes on them.

“Please, I-” Peter tries to say through the tears that choke him and threaten to drag him under the water. “I-”

“Peter,” Thomas says, just the slightest bit more demanding. Only Peter would’ve been able to hear the difference. “Morgan will want to see you. You don’t want to leave her alone, do you?”

He can’t think, he can’t breathe, he can’t see-

“Yeah, of course,” he says. If anything, Morgan comes first. She always does.

“Are you sure-”

He wants to scream, he wants to beg, he wants everything to stop.

But he pushes everything down. Locks it up.

Wiping away his tears, he offers Tony a smile. “Everything’s fine… I promise. I just need to get some fresh air. When I get back, we’ll talk, okay?”

In Tony’s mind, Thomas is safe. Trusted. The one who brought Peter down this must could never be Thomas. It’s not Tony’s fault that he doesn’t stop Peter from leaving with Thomas.

*

Thomas’s hands are clenched around the wheel, car flying down the roads, not the right direction to get to Morgan’s school. At least she’ll be safe. The scenery blurs out the window, but Peter doesn’t care.

He doesn’t care that Thomas is going to kill him inside and out. He doesn’t care that he may never see Tony or Morgan or May ever again. He doesn’t care about anything. His mind is blank and his chest is empty. A void.

He doesn’t care when he’s pulled into a ratty motel on the outskirts of the city. He doesn’t care when he hears the door lock with an echoing click, sealing his fate. He doesn’t care.

Morgan’s safe. That’s all that matters.

*

Thomas is gone when he wakes up.

The motel room is small and empty, the sky dark outside the dingy window. His clothes are missing, and he can feel blood on his stomach and staining his face. Thomas was angrier than Peter’s ever seen him.

But the room is quiet and empty.

He fumbles for the phone sitting on the nightstand beside the twin-sized bed and nearly forgets the phone number.

She starts rambling almost as soon as the phone is picked up, “Jesus- Oh my god. You left and nobody’s heard from you for almost twelve hours, Parker. What the fuck is going on? I covered for you with Tony because I didn’t want to throw you under the bus, but it’s been twelve fucking hours and there’s search parties, actual fucking search parties out for you because nobody knows where the fuck you went!”

“MJ?” Peter says, blank and empty as always. He can barely breathe and he’s too tired to cry anymore. He just wants to go home. He wants this to be over. He can’t breathe, he can’t think.

“I’m here, Peter,” MJ says, quiet this time. He’s never heard her so frazzled before.

“I- MJ?”

She takes a deep breath. She sounds like she’s been crying. “Peter?”

“I need help,” he says. “Please.”

“Where are you?” she asks. “I don’t have the skills to track your phone like Ned or Tony would.”

There’s a tattered poster on the wall, one that shows the map for a fire escape plan. On the bottom, the motel’s name is written, faded and nearly too stained to read, but he can read it. It might be the only thing that saves his life at this point. If Thomas comes back, he’s done for.

“Okay, Peter, okay,” she says. “I’m coming, okay? I’m coming for you. Just stay where you are. I’ll be there as soon as I can, you hear me?”

He tries to answer, but he can’t find the energy. Relief is flooding over him and he’s just tired and empty.

*

He dozes.

He’s less panicked than he thought he would be.

There’s no fear, no panic, like he thought there would be. There’s no tears, no panic attacks, no nightmares.

He dozes and he watches the time pass and he waits. His soul was destroyed, his mind broken, his body too used to the pain. There’s nothing left of him other than a corpse. He may as well be dead. He wishes he never came back from the snap.

He’s an empty cavern. He’s nothing. He’s gone.

There’s a knock on the door and he wishes he were dead. It’s MJ. Thomas wouldn’t have knocked, he has the key. But he can’t move. He can’t breathe.

“Peter?” MJ calls out quietly, knocking a second time. “Please- The door’s locked. I can’t help you if you don’t open up.”

Eventually, he convinces himself up from the bed, wrapping the stained sheet around his thin body, shaking and barely able to hold himself up.

As soon as the door unlocks, it’s flung open and MJ’s standing there, bloodshot eyes and jaw dropped. Expression more open than Peter’s ever seen it. He hates this is how he gets her to open up.

“Peter-” her voice cuts off abruptly when she sees the state he’s in. “Oh, Peter.”

Her face falls and she’s crying as she leads him back to the bed, sitting him down and pulling off her sweater to wrap around his chest. His limbs are pliant and he watches her impassively as her hands hover over his bruised and bleeding chest.

“Oh god,” she says like he doesn’t know. “We have to call Tony-”

“No,” he says. It’s the only thought he can hang onto. “Said he’d hurt Morgan if I told.”

His voice is slurring badly and he’s shaking and he can’t breathe and he feels like he’s drowning. MJ needs understand.

“Peter-”

“Please?”

She runs a hand through her hair, eyes closing as she tries to think.

If the situation were flipped, he knows what he would do, so he’s not surprised when she picks up the phone.

“I’m sorry,” she says as she dials. “He’ll keep Morgan safe, but he needs to keep you safe too.”

Too late, he thinks. He doesn’t say it.

He doesn’t hear the conversation, world blurring and head floating. He failed to keep Morgan safe. He wouldn’t wish this pain on anyone.

“Tony’s on his way,” MJ says. She’s watching him carefully like he’s a hurt animal. “Morgan’s staying with Pepper and May. She’s okay, I promise. Tony’s coming.”

He doesn’t care. He wants to cry. He wishes he weren’t alive.

MJ holds his hand.

*

Tony arrives in a flurry of panic and worry.

He falls to his knees in front of Peter, eyes too sad and he gently, so gently, cups Peter’s cheek in his calloused hands.

And Peter falls apart.

He collapses into Tony’s chest, sobs wracking his body because Tony knows and Peter feels weak and useless and everything hurts-

Cries and cries and cries.

And Tony holds him close, telling him that everything’s going to be okay.

MJ gets back with a plastic bag. Peter hadn’t even realized she left, but she drove to the nearest store and bought him a pair of sweatpants from a local giftshop.

They both turn around as he pulls them on, hating how badly his hands shake and how loose they are around his bruised hips. Hates that he can’t even tie them by himself, MJ does it for him when he cries pathetically.

“Peter?” Tony’s voice is too soft, too gentle. It makes Peter want to crumble. “Can you tell me what happened? Who did this to you?”

The teenager shakes his head, a sob bubbling up in his throat. He can’t tell them. He can’t go through this again. He remembers how hurt and guilty and pained May was when he told her when he was little. How she felt like it was her fault for letting Skip into her home and hurt her nephew.

“Peter,” Tony repeats, even quieter. He already looks so sad, all because of Peter. “Please? I can’t help if you don’t meet me halfway. I need you to be safe, buddy. I just need to know who.”

He can’t say his name, he feels like he’ll throw up. He can’t say it out loud, that would make everything real.

“Remember last year?” MJ says suddenly. “When Ned broke his jaw in that accident? And we all learned sign language so we could communicate better? You remember that? And you were really good at it and we kept using it to talk about Flash and about our stupid teachers, yeah?”

Peter’s hands are shaking as he lifts one of them into the air, stomach knotting. He fumbles over the letter H, but he pushes himself through the simple six letters. It’s weird to simplify everything he’s been through into six letters.

“Thomas,” MJ whispers. She has no idea who that is, but Tony’s face falls like someone’s shot him in the stomach.

“Oh god,” he says, crushed and heartbroken and drowning. “Oh god.”

Peter nods, unsure of how to react. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t care.

He’s led out to MJ’s car. She’s driving and Tony’s in the back with him. He can’t remember the drive back, he blinks and he’s back at the tower.

Tony tells him to stay put. MJ’s watching him through the mirror.

It could’ve been anywhere between a few minutes and few hours, Peter has no idea. All he knows is that soon enough, there’s cop cars with loud sirens and bright lights.

Briefly he sees Thomas’s face, drawn up in anger and shouting at the cops who’re holding him between them. Thomas doesn’t see Peter.

When it’s quiet, MJ brings him up to the penthouse, one hand on his elbow as though worried he may just disappear.

As soon as Tony sees him, he’s at his side.

“Can I- buddy, can I hug you?” he says, voice so quiet and delicate like Peter’s made of glass. Peter knows if he were glass, he would’ve been smashed to bits by now, Tony’s words wouldn’t be the thing to break him.

Peter nods slowly. He knows Tony’s not Skip or Thomas, but he doesn’t really know how he’ll react to being hugged. He figures it’s safe because of how far away he is.

Tony wraps around him like a blanket, curling over him protectively. Peter falls into the embrace, barely present and trying to hang onto the little bit of sanity it gives him.

*

He doesn’t sleep that night. He sits in the corner of his bedroom, furthest away from the attached bathroom. His bladder is full, but he’s too scared Thomas will be waiting for him.

What comes next?

He remembers this from the last time. (He hates that there was a last time. He hates that now that this has happened, Skip carries less important even though it shouldn’t. It was a life-changing experience for the worse and now that Thomas has come and go, he doesn’t know how to feel about anything.)

He knows what comes next. Statements and explaining the same thing over and over and over to everyone who asks. Detectives, friends, family, officers, lawyers, attorneys, press. He hasn’t thought about it in years. Skip had been there at the hearing. He’d been sitting just a few rows over from Peter and had been glaring at him the whole time, telling lies up on the stand.

He remembers it blurrily. He doesn’t remember feeling this shit last time though.

When morning comes, he’s awaiting the questions.

He sits on the edge of the couch, knees tucked up to his chest, MJ’s sweater wrapped tight around his shoulders. Morgan’s staying with May and Happy in the city, they decided it would be better. MJ went home last night. So Peter only has to deal with Pepper and Tony this morning.

Waits and tries to remember his own name. He knows how this goes.

Tony shows up, eyes sad. Old tear tracks down his face. He sits across from Peter, leaving plenty of space between them. Peter almost wishes he didn’t, but he knows he would crumble.

“Peter-”

“It’s okay,” Peter says. It isn’t but he’s detached and empty and he can’t remember a time when he wasn’t shaking. “I know I have to tell you. I know how this goes.”

He forgot Tony didn’t know about the first time. Doesn’t know about Skip.

“You don’t-”

“I’ve done this before, Mister Stark,” Peter says quietly. He refuses to meet Tony’s eyes, refuses to acknowledge that he stopped calling Tony Mister Stark since the snap was reversed. “I know I have to tell you and then tell the story again and again and again. I know this.”

Tony sucks in a breath. “You can take your time, Peter. You don’t need to tell me anything if you don’t want to-”

Peter frowns. “Yes I do. The longer I wait, the less true my story becomes.”

A police officer told him that last time. Skip had just been taken and she had been trying to get the story out of Peter. She’d coerced him into talking by telling him the sooner he told the story, the less likely it was for him to lie.

“That’s not true, Peter,” Tony says. He sounds wrecked like he’s been dragged through hell and back. “You’re allowed to take all the time you need.”

Peter shakes his head. He remembers last time. He remembers Skip. He remembers how cruel the lawyers were, how degrading the judge became, how dehumanizing the press were.

“He raped me,” Peter says, resting his chin on his knees. He swallows thickly, refusing to look up. Tony makes a noise of pain, somewhere caught between a stifled sob and a sigh. “Eleven times.”

“God, Peter, buddy, you don’t have to-”

“Peter.” Pepper’s standing in the doorway. She’s got the same telltale bloodshot eyes and tearstained face. “Tony’s right. You don’t have to put yourself through this yet unless you want to. You’re allowed to take all the time you need to process or work on recovering before you say anything. He’s going to be locked up for a long while whether or not you say anything. I promise.”

“He said he’d hurt Morgan if I told anyone,” Peter says. He can’t look at either of them. He watches his hands trembling badly and the blanket draped over his legs. “He- He said- He said he’d do what he was doing to me, to her, and I- I was nine when it happened and I- I couldn’t put her through that and I-”

He knows he’s not making sense, but his thoughts are jumbled between Skip and Thomas, and he can’t really tell the difference. He feels young and small and helpless like he did when he was nine, he doesn’t feel like the seventeen-year-old who’s saved the world more than once.

“Peter,” Tony says and he sounds so hurt and broken, and Peter hates it. He hates that all he does is bring people down around him. “I’m so sorry, bambi. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have brought him into our home. I just- I’m sorry.”

Peter shrugs, tucking a little closer to himself on the couch. “I’m sorry too.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Pepper kneels in front of Peter, putting herself in his line of vision. “None of this is on you, honey.”

“I wish I never came back,” he says. It sounds weird to his own ears, especially as emotionless as it is. “From the snap, I mean. I wish- I wish I stayed gone, sometimes.”

Tony’s there, at Pepper’s side on the floor. They’re both there and real even if they still look 2-D and like they’ll melt away if Peter blinks, but they’re there.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Tony says. He doesn’t sound like he believes that. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

It’s not much, but he has to start somewhere.

*

When May comes home and hears from Tony what happened, she cries.

She bundles Peter up in his old blankets and one of Ben’s hoodies, the same ones he used when it happened the first time. She holds him close and cries into his hair.

“My baby,” she said, over and over and over again against his head. “My baby.”

He just sat and accepted her love and warmth without complaint. He didn’t feel real, so it was nice for someone to hold him together.

*

MJ texts him a few times, but he doesn’t look at them. He leaves his phone facedown on the coffee table (face down in the stained mattress, face down on the light blue tiles-) and doesn’t bother picking it up.

He doesn’t cry, he doesn’t sleep, he doesn’t talk. He just sits and tries to remember what existence feels like.

*

“I was nine,” Peter says out of the blue.

Tony’s there and that’s it. He sets down his coffee and tablet, and focuses his attention on Peter’s glazed expression.

“What was that, bud?”

“I was nine,” Peter repeats. “The first time, I mean. His name was Skip. He was my babysitter. I think he was sixteen or maybe eighteen. I don’t know, can’t remember much. I was nine and he- It only happened twice or three times. I don’t know… I just- I thought that was the worst thing I can go through. It’s all uphill from here. I guess not, you know.”

He sounds angry and he wishes he was, but it’s all empty and dark inside him.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Tony murmurs.

Peter doesn’t think Tony’s ever called him that before, but he likes it. Pete and Petey were ruined by Thomas, Einstein by Skip. Baby is nice though.

Shoulders slumping, Peter sighs. “He was so- He was so good at pretending. Thomas was. I thought I was losing my mind. It was like he was two different people. I just- I thought Skip was it. I thought Skip was the worst thing I’d have to experience, but then Thomas and he- he just-”

Tony doesn’t say anything. He’s quiet. Maybe he’s scared he’ll cry if he speaks, Peter would understand that.

“Will I have to see him at the trial?”

“There won’t be a trial. All they need is a statement and it’ll all be done with,” Tony says. He sounds angry too. Peter wonders if he can feel anything. “You’ve got the best lawyers in the world on your side. You won’t have to see him ever again.”

Peter nods. He supposes he should be relived, but the comforting words don’t really do anything.

“It’s going to be okay, kid. I promise.”

He wishes they were more than empty words.

*

May and Pepper speak in hushed words in the kitchen while Tony babysits him.

“He was so young when Skip hurt him,” May’s saying. She’s crying. “He was just my little baby and he was so hurt, and I promised I’d keep him safe. I promised him and now…”

“That was on us, May. We should’ve known… We should’ve-” Pepper’s crying too.

He can imagine May shaking her head, taking some of the guilt. He can see them hugging in the kitchen, trying to find some sort of comfort from the amount of guilt they’re under.

“I just- He’s just a kid,” May’s saying, voice quieter and muffled. “He’s our kid and he’s been through so much and I just- He’s just a kid, a baby.”

“I know,” Pepper replies. She sounds more torn down, stripped of everything, than she’s ever sounded to Peter. “I know.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter blurts. He doesn’t mean to, but he needs to say it. “I’m sorry.”

Tony looks up startled. “Buddy-”

“You’re all so sad and I- I should’ve been stronger. I should’ve-”

A sigh and then Tony’s sitting next to him on the couch, still carefully maintaining distance. “I’ll say this as many times as you need to hear it. One, none of this was your fault. Thomas was… He was awful. Everything that happened was his fault. And two, we’re sad because we love you and we hate seeing you hurt. You know that. But bottom line, we love you, kiddie. We do. And we’ll be here through the thick and thin.”

He doesn’t know why it took him this long or why this is what sets him off, but the tears are back, strong as ever, cutting down his cheeks and pulling the air from his lungs.

Without bothering to wait for Tony to ask if he can hug him, he tucks himself against his father-figure’s chest, hiding his face in the soft fabric of Tony’s sweater. And he cries for what feels like the thousandth time, allowing himself to sob shamelessly into Tony’s chest.

With surprising clarity, Peter understands. He remembers being nine and scared and alone, but then he had May and Ben, and slowly but surely, he put his life back together. He got up again and again and again every time the world dragged him down.

And now, he’s seventeen and he has Tony and Pepper, Morgan and May, MJ and Ned. He has a family who will be at his side and help him remember who he is, help him through this.

He cries, knowing one day, this will be behind him.

*

He makes his statement the next day after another restless night.

Tony goes with him. May offered, but he declined. She had to sit with him last time and she cried and he can’t do that to her again.

Hand in hand, they sit in the familiar room and Peter tells the story.

“Eleven times,” he says. “Six weeks, eleven times.”

The bruises are gone. His black eye has faded, the bruises and hickeys littering his neck down to his thighs have healed. There’s no real proof. Except, he hadn’t showered so he has to go through the shit doctor’s experience, but he detaches and doesn’t feel any of it.

“He said he’d hurt my little sister,” he says, “So I didn’t tell anyone.”

He’s too skinny and there are nasty bags under his bloodshot, glazed eyes when he sees his reflection in the two-way glass. His collarbones stick out and there’s a faded hickey in the center of his right side where his neck meets his shoulder. It’s barely a yellow-ish color now that it’s been two or three days since he got it.

“I didn’t want it,” he repeats. He’s said it too many times since he got here, but he doesn’t complain. “I didn’t want it. I was scared of what he’d do to my sister if I didn’t comply.”

Tony gets angry at his side, trying to convince them that Peter’s telling the truth and to let them go home. They drone on about procedure.

“I didn’t want it,” he echoes when asked again. “I was scared.”

He doesn’t complain. At least this time he has Tony and nice lawyers who won’t make him go to trial. At least this time, he doesn’t feel anything.

“I didn’t want it.”

It’s routine.

*

He can’t sleep for the third night in a row.

He barely has the courage to go to the bathroom and shower let alone close his eyes. It seems impossible.

But when midnight comes and goes, and it has to be somewhere near three in the morning, sitting on the stupid couch, a pair of socked feet shuffle into his vision.

He looks up to see Morgan, a teddy bear tucked into her grip and a blanket around her shoulders like a cape.

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice scratchy and hoarse. He doesn’t remember crying but then again, he doesn’t really focus on much.

“Hi,” she whispers. She doesn’t say anything more, doesn’t give an explanation, as she crawls up into his lap, tucking herself under his blanket.

He tightens his grip, making sure not to hold her too tight. “You okay?”

She nods. “You?”

“Not really,” he admits.

She nods again like she expected it. “I brought Mister Hugglesworth the Third to keep you safe.”

The tattered bunny is pushed into his arms. It’s got a little monocle and a top hat.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

Smiling, she tucks herself closer to his chest. “Daddy says you’re not feeling well. Says Thomas was a bad man… Momma and Auntie May say I have to be extra careful around you so I don’t hurt you on accident.”

He feels more grounded than he has in a long time. “Yeah, baby. I’m a little messed up, but I’m going to be okay. Sometimes, bad things happen to good people.”

“Like when you were Gone?”

“Yeah, just like that. I’m kinda Gone now too, but only on the inside.”

She touches the space over his heart. “Gone on the inside?”

“A little bit.” He swallows thickly. “But Daddy and Momma and Auntie May are trying to get it all back for me.”

She nods, biting her bottom lip. “I can hear your insides… Ba-bum-ba-bum-ba-bum. Did I get it back for you?”

He wipes away the tear that slips out. “Yeah, Morgan, you did it.”

“But your still sad?”

“Yeah… It’s going to take a little while for me to be back to normal… Are you okay to wait a little while before I can be normal again?”

She contemplates this for a moment, chewing on the bunny’s ear. “Yeah, that’s okay. Sometimes Daddy gets sad because he forgets you’re not Gone. I get sad sometimes, too, when I think my toys are gone… Like how your insides are Gone. That’s okay.”

He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get any of it back. He still can’t breathe or exist or remember who he is without feeling like he’s been shattered by Skip and Thomas, but Morgan’s right. It’s okay to not be okay for as long as it takes him.

“I love you, bug,” he whispers.

“Love you too!” she says, smiling. She holds up her bunny. “Mister Hugglesworth the Third loves you too.”

He tries not to cry at Morgan’s pure innocence, he’s never been more glad that it wasn’t broken by Thomas. It makes him miss when he used to have that kind of purity.

*

The first time he goes to therapy, he cries and cries and cries and then he bails, calls Tony, and leaves early.

The next time, he stays but can’t find the strength to talk about anything.

The third session, he finally opens up and his therapist says he’s on the road to recovery.

Morgan and Pepper make him a cake to celebrate. Tony and May sit on either side of him and takes way too many pictures, smiling too bright for such a small accomplishment.

May says she’ll be proud of every accomplishment, no matter the size.

Tony presses a kiss to Peter’s temple and pulls him in for a selfie. It’s printed, framed, and hung in the lab within an hour.

They’re both smiling and for the first time in a two months, Peter’s smile reaches his eyes.

*

He gets back to a healthy weight, starts sleeping in his redecorated, repainted bedroom. They redo the bathrooms on the floor as well and he finally stops seeing those nights in the tiles.

He starts going back to school and MJ’s at his side, strong and real as ever.

And then they get the call. Thomas is in prison for life, no ifs ands or buts.

That’s it.

The nightmare is over.

*

It’s a slow road to recovery, but he’s got his family at his side.

He couldn’t ask for anyone better.

Slowly but surely, he remembers how to feel whole again. Remembers how existence feels. Remembers how it feels to breathe.

Slowly but surely, he recovers.