#but i have a to-draw list a mile long. looking to get back to it soon

[fakakta-art]

SO excited for the tiny little remarque of Jason I got from Dan Mora at NYCC!

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 5- Miles Between Us

Summary: Frankie's decision to join the Army was the catalyst in the collapse of your friendship. When he's forced to reconcile with his past, packed away in boxes in his childhood basement, he finds pieces of you in everything he's left behind.

Word Count: 5.0K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname)

Warnings: Angst, lying, guilt, military deployment, FEELINGS, Frankie's mom not putting up with his shit

A/N: IT'S TIME TO PEEL BACK ANOTHER LAYER OF THE ONION, BABY!!! I hope you guys don't hate me that this is a slow burn- I know this is not how I normally write at all, but it's been really fun to build this story up bit by bit (if you hate it though, please tell me lmao 💀) I'm excited for this chapter and how it hints at next chapter (we're finally getting to some smut y'all, omg) Thank you as always for your kind words, it makes my day to hear what you have to say about these two 🥺💛

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

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You, Age 17, Spring of 2006

“You’re late, Morales.” 

“Can’t be late to something we don’t have a set time for, Anderson.” 

It’s true, you and Frankie have never set an official schedule for your afterschool ritual, but it never seems to fail that at 3:45, only 10 minutes after you’ve gotten home from soccer practice,  he’s at the foot of your bed with his forest green Jansport backpack, ready to complain about the homework he doesn’t want to finish and the tests he has no interest in studying for, just so he can keep you company while you stress yourself to death about the same assignments. 

And for as much as he hated school work, Frankie was never late. Never. So to watch him mope into your bedroom an hour later than his usual arrival time, it almost would have been safer to assume he was dead than anything else. 

“What took you so long? Get lost on the way here?” You joke, trying to keep it light while still prodding for an answer about his absence as you write down the answer to the math equation you’re trying to solve. 

“No. Don’t worry about it.” 

There’s been very few occasions you’ve seen Frankie so stoic. Even on his worst days, he’s at least still got a little tolerance left in him for your stupid banter. It’s enough to draw your attention completely away from your homework and onto him. 

“What’s wrong? Why are you being so weird?” 

You can tell then that something’s clearly not right, the way he’s angrily yanking loose papers and textbooks from his backpack and nearly slamming them onto the edge of your bed, making you gnaw anxiously at the end of your pencil you’d been using. 

You’re too nosy for your own good to let up until you find what you’re looking for. 

“Nothing’s wrong.” 

“Well obviously something’s wrong.” 

“What? I’m not allowed to be late, ever?” 

“No? Frankie, I just asked where you were and you’re acting like I’m asking you if you just shot the fucking president or something. What’s going on?” 

“It’s nothing, MacKenzie!”

“If it’s nothing, then why are you so upset about it?” 

“I’m not upset!” 

“You clearly are? Frankie, what the hell are you-” 

“I’m joining the Army, okay?!”

Out of all the things you could have expected to come out of Frankie’s mouth, that would have been at the bottom of your list. In fact, it’s so out of left field, you’re not even quite sure you believe him. 

Your forehead hurts from how tightly your brows are knitted together in confusion, scowling at Frankie with a dumbfounded intensity that probably had you looking like you had just gotten an unsuspecting whiff of the world’s most sour lemon. 

There’s no way he’s being serious. He can’t be. 

“Ha ha, very funny, Francisco.” You mock, frown still splayed across your face, “Now will you please tell me what’s actually going on?” 

His silence makes your heart drop into the pit of your stomach. You can feel the way your face falls, the muscles once tensed in adamant skepticism now sinking into a quiet panic. You can hear each breath as it flows in through your nose and out through your mouth, blood pounding louder and louder in your ears with each pulse of your veins. 

“Frankie, if this is one of your stupid jokes, it’s not funny.” 

“It’s not a joke.” 

His eyes are still peeled to the floor, too afraid to bring himself to look at you. All he can do is stare at his pinky toe, poking out of the hole in his socks that he refuses to replace. You wait for what feels like hours, days, for him to say something, but his silence is deafening. And the sound of Frankie’s silence is the scariest thing you’ve heard in a very long time. 

It’s so terrifying, the only thing you can do to cope is fill the quiet void with your rambling and pray that Frankie Morales is choosing to play the world’s worst joke on you. 

“What- what do you mean? Frankie, I thought- When you and Santi talked about doing the same thing as Will- I thought you were fucking kidding? What about college? We already both got accepted to Florida State, what are you gonna do-” 

“I didn’t get in.” 

Please let him be kidding. Please, please, let this be a sick joke. 

You can feel your confusion starting to bubble into anger, jaw clenching at the way Frankie’s too coward to even look in your general direction, gaze still glued to that stupid fucking hole in his worn down sock. 

“Frankie, what the fuck? We both got accepted back in January? You’ve been lying to me this whole fucking time?” 

“I didn’t wanna lie, okay?!” 

He’s riddled with enough guilt to speak up, trying to keep himself from the brink of tears as he works up enough courage to finally look you in the face. You can hear how hard he gulps, like his heart is bobbing in his throat, trying to buy all the time he can to come up with a reason for his deception that won’t hurt you any more than he already has. 

“I just- fuck,” he sighs, chewing at his bottom and bouncing his leg against the bed so intensely it’ll make him sore the next day, “I didn’t know what to do, Kenz. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.” 

It’s hard to stay mad at him when you know he means it. It’d be easier if it weren’t for the way his brown eyes flooded with disappointment in himself, spilling out in tears onto his cheeks. For as frustrated as you are, you have enough sympathy to ease up on him enough to at least try to understand. 

“Well, not lying to me about it for the last four months probably would have been a good start.” You huff, the air that puffs from your nostrils still tainted with the let down you’re trying so hard to not let override your conversation. 

You can’t help but let yourself find a spot next to him on the edge of your bed, a peace offering that you hope is enough to signal to him you’re willing to listen to what he has to say. 

“I- I didn’t think you were being serious when you and Santi were talking about it. I- I thought you- I thought the plan was to go to Florida State. Together. What happened, Frankie?” 

It’s quiet for a few more moments. Frankie takes a few, slow deep breaths as he runs his hands through the curls twisting at the nape of his neck. The silence isn’t as bitter as before, but it stings enough to gnaw at the edges of your nails, the anxious habit you can’t seem to break, and certainly have no intention of giving up right now.  

“Stop chewing at your nails, Kenz. You’re gonna be pissed at yourself later.” Frankie sighs, gently grabbing your wrist to pull your hand away from your mouth, trying to fulfill his duty of being the one to stop you from ripping your nail beds to shreds. 

“You’re kinda making it hard not to.” You try your best to attempt a laugh. It’s the only way to keep yourself from crying. “So are you gonna tell me what’s going on or what?” 

“Y-yeah.” Frankie re-adjusts himself on the edge of the bed, twisting the fabric of your comforter between his fingers, trying to ground himself in the reality of the truth he’s forced to tell you, “I- I didn’t get into Florida State. I told you I did because I didn’t know what I was gonna do. You were just so excited when you thought we both got in and I- I panicked and I lied. I didn’t even think I was gonna get in anyways. I didn’t think I was gonna get in anywhere. Even if I did, I don’t know if I even could have afforded it. It’s just me and my mom and neither of us-”

“It’s not too late. I can help you look for scholarships. To help you with tuition. I’m sure that there’s a bunch out there that you could apply for. I’ll even write your essays and stuff for you if you want me to-” 

“I’m pretty sure you can’t do that, Kenz. Plus, you hate cheaters.” 

Frankie tries to reciprocate the same half-assed laugh you gave him. He looks over at you, the small smile he’s forcing to keep between his lips quickly fading as he sees the way you’re pleading with him to realize that you would forge a thousand essays in his name if it meant he wasn’t going to leave you. He’d be a cheater you’d gladly forgive. 

“It’s not even just the money. I just- I- I don’t even like school, Kenzie. I suck at it. If school is already hard now, how much harder is it gonna be when I get to college? To study for a job that I’m probably not even gonna want when I graduate? At least with the Army I can have a job and benefits and hopefully make enough money to help my mom so she’s not working at the hospital 6 days a week. MacKenzie, the only reason I applied to Florida State was because of you. I thought that maybe there would be some miracle I got in and I could figure out how to pay for it and I could magically get smarter and better at school so we could spend the next four years together. I wanted it to happen. I wanted it to happen so bad. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied to you. I just- fuck- I just didn’t know how to tell you.” 

Neither of you are quite sure what to say next. That quiet comes back to fill the space between you, allowing enough room for the silent sobs you’re both trying your best to hold in, small sniffles still escaping from each of you. You’re not sure if your brain has fully processed what he’s had to say. The only thing you can understand is the swirling of sadness and confusion in your gut and the pounding ache in your chest. 

You take a scooch closer to him, the outsides of your thighs barely brushing together as you tilt your head to rest against his shoulder. It’s heavy, the weight you can’t help but lean against him, but the arm he wraps behind your back and around your waist tells you that he’ll gladly take it. He’ll take it all, if he has to. 

“Did you already sign a contract to go?” The whisper of your words is so soft, like you’re hoping he can’t hear you. If he can’t hear you, then he doesn’t have to tell you the answer you don’t want to hear. 

“Yeah. Me and Santi did a few weeks ago.” His voice is almost quieter than yours, convinced he has the same idea as you. 

His truth stings worse than the lie he’s been masquerading behind the past four months. You want to scream at him- To curse him with shouts and sobs, question how he could make this choice for himself and leave you in the dark until it’s too late for you to change his mind. You know it’s selfish, the way you want him to stay, the way you would have fought with every bone in your body to keep him from leaving. You know it’s the reason Frankie couldn’t tell you. 

It’s the same reason why Frankie couldn’t bring himself to tell you that if he had given you that chance, he probably would have stayed. 

“Do um- do you know when you have to leave?” 

It hurts to hear the words come out of your mouth. It’s an admittance of defeat. Because once you ask that question, there’s nothing you can do or say that will make him stay. No fighting, no begging, no pleading. You have to accept he’s leaving. 

“Not ‘til the end of the summer.” 

“Where?” 

The more you ask, the more it makes you want to keel over the edge of the bed and vomit, the reality of it all setting in at an alarming pace. 

“Missouri for basic training. I don’t know where after.” 

He doesn’t have to say where. You both know. Even if he doesn’t know the exact longitude and latitude of where the Army will deploy him, there’s nowhere else they’re sending him besides Iraq or Afghanistan or whatever godforsaken, war ridden country in the Middle East he’ll be forced to put his life on the line for. 

And for how much the reality of Frankie leaving scares you, when you’re hit with the reality that Frankie may leave and never come back, you’re absolutely terrified. 

“I don’t want you to go, Frankie.” 

You can’t beg him to stay. There’s no amount of bargaining you can do with him or the powers that be to change what’s been done. All you can do is tell him your truth as you sob into his chest while he holds you. Maybe if you’re not enough to make him stay, you’re at least enough to make him want to come home. 

You’re not sure how long he holds you while you cry. Maybe it’s minutes, maybe it’s hours. However long it is, all the moments you have left with Frankie feel that much more precious. You won’t let any of them slip through your fingers. 

“You promise you’ll come home, right?” 

“I promise, MacKenzie. I promise.” 

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Francisco Morales, it’s that he’ll never break a promise. You just hope the universe is kind enough to let him keep this one, too. 

“I promise that we’ll have a really fun summer together before I leave too, okay? Whatever you wanna do, Kenz, I’ll do it.” 

“Anything?” 

It’s enough to peek your head out from the crook of his neck, trying your best to wipe away your tears with your sleeve, like you hadn’t just stained the better part of Frankie’s sweatshirt with the same wetness. 

“Anything.” 

“Alright, well, I guess we’re gonna go to Dairy Queen and get an extra large blizzard every day until you’re too fat for the Army to want you anymore.” 

The two of you giggle, a quiet symphony of soft snorts and sobs at the idea of rolling an ice cream filled Frankie off to boot camp. It makes him laugh even harder that he wouldn’t put it past you if you really did try. Perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if you did. 

“Whatever you want, MacKenzie. I’m all yours.” 

Frankie, Present 

Frankie’s convinced he might as well start training for a marathon at this point. 

He’s not really sure how else to spend his time. It’s hard to keep himself occupied when all he can do at home is sit around and wait for your dad to die or stare out the window like a creep to watch your comings and goings. 

At least if he’s running, he can’t think about you. 

Well, he can’t think about you as much. 

It’s been a day and a half since he decided to follow you on your run. He’s already pushed his luck enough that you didn’t damn near kill him for it, let alone that you even gave him a chance to talk to him. 

He let you take the first  shift on the morning yesterday, despite the fact he’d been awake well before the sun rose. The irony wasn’t lost on him at the way he watched you through his bedroom window the same way he did most Saturday and Sunday mornings for the first few years of your friendship. You’d be up at the same ungodly hour as him, except you’d be pacing up and down your driveway, stretching and lunging across its length as you clicked around on the iPod wrapped around your forearm, searching for whatever song would pump you up for your run. 

It wasn’t until you had finally noticed Frankie peering out his bedroom window every weekend that you began to drag him along on your runs with you. 

“If you’re awake too, you might as well come running with me, Morales. It’ll be fun!” 

“Fine. I gotta warn you though, Kenz, I am actually pretty fast.” 

“You barely run the mile in gym class.” 

“Savin’ up all my energy for when I need it most, Anderson.” 

There was once a time where you would have to beg Frankie to come with you on a run. Now, he’d give anything for you to tolerate his existence ten feet behind you. 

But he’ll sacrifice another run alone through all too familiar roads of his childhood subdivision if it helps him kill time and keeps you from hating him anymore than you rightfully deserve to. 

Yesterday, he went on two runs to pass the time. Hell, today, he’d consider adding a third run to his underwhelming schedule just to keep himself busy. Fortunately, (or unfortunately, he can’t tell yet) for him, Maria Morales has other plans. 

And when Maria Morales has plans, it’s in Frankie’s best interest to drop anything else he had in mind for the day. 

Even when it means he’s got a hot date with his basement and a mountain full of boxes in his basement. 

“Okay, anything in this pile to the left is for you to go through.” His mom grunts, lifting up one last box to add to the heap labeled “Francisco’s things” in her perfectly curved cursive, “If you want to take it home, find an empty box to put it in, but not my new clear, plastic bins, entiendes (understand)? Those were expensive.” 

“No clear plastic bins, got it.” Frankie chuckles, following the exaggerated step his mother takes over his scattered belongings. 

“If you see something and you don’t want it now but you want me to keep it for later, you can put it over on the shelf by the stairs. If you think it’s basura (trash), leave it over here and let me look at it first before you throw it away.” 

“Comprendido (got it).” Frankie nods, sizing up the stack his mom has set out for him, “Jesus ma, this is gonna take me all morning to go through.” 

“If you were home more, there would be less things to go through now.” 

“Yeah, well, you got me there.” Frankie grumbles under his breath, grimacing at the harsh reality of his mom’s words. He knows isn’t meant completely out of malice, but he can’t deny it’s certainly got some truth to it as well.  

“Okay, well I need to go run some errands, and I want this pile sorted by the end of the day, so standing here and moping certainly isn’t going to help that. Get to work, mijo (son).” 

His mom will never be one to throw a pity party for anyone, and most definitely won’t be throwing one for her son, based on his own, self-inflicted problem. Frankie helps her step over another makeshift pile scattered for sorting across the basement floor, giving him a quick pat on the back before disappearing upstairs, leaving him to quite literally unpack his past. 

“Fuck. Okay.” He sighs to himself, gently kicking one of the edges of flimsy cardboard at the bottom of the tower, trying to formulate his best plan of attack to make his sorting as painless as possible. 

He’s thankful that his brain has always worked in a way that allows him to analyze things so quickly, doing some quiet calculations in his head as to the most effective and efficient way to sort through god knows what may be hidden in the pile his mom has created for him. 

He runs his hand through the still messy curls of his morning bed head before selecting what feels like the lightest boxes and moving them off to the side, opening up a cardboard container from the next layer. 

Besides the trophies still in his room, every prize he’d ever won for every sport he’d ever played sits in the box below him. Frankie chuckles to himself, picking up some from the top to examine them, thumb gliding over the fake gold plating to read plaques like “Florida Junior Divisional Freestyle Swimming Finalist- 2005” or “Regional Championship Winners- Florida Firebirds 2007” glued to poorly sculpted plastic statues of swimmers. A few more medals and certificates had sunk to the bottom of the box, Frankie quickly grazing through its contents before rehoming it to the “trash” pile, unsure of when he would ever need proof he won several swimming competitions in high school. 

The next few boxes were more of the same- His varsity jacket, old t-shirts he wouldn’t stand a chance fitting into, considering the gangly figure that stretched them more than a decade ago, some old books from high school he’d only kept because of how much you loved them and he promised you that one day, he’d read them, too. 

It’s the shoe box that catches his eye next, sure that no matter how much his mom loved to hoard, whatever was in there most definitely was not a raggedy, holy pair of Converse from high school. 

It’s not until he picks up the box that he knows exactly what’s inside. It’s one of the lightest things he’s picked up in the last hour, but when he knows the weight of its contents, his arms want to tremble. 

It’s with a long deep breath that he brings the shoebox over to an open patch of floor, letting out a grunt and cursing his knees as he sits down cross legged with the box in front of him. He gently flips open the lid, hand running over his face and down the back of his neck when his suspicions are confirmed. 

Open envelopes spill out over the edges of the worn cardboard, the box stuffed to the brim with every letter you’d ever written to him while he was away.

Even if he wanted to, he’s not sure he could ever physically bring himself to throw them out. Those letters have more miles on them than most people’s cars will ever reach in a lifetime, flimsy, stamped pieces of paper following him to every corner of the globe he’s traveled to. 

Some letters he’s read so much, they’re worn on the edges where he’s held the paper, smudging the pen that’s reached the sides of the pages. Others, he’s only read once. He’s not sure he could ever bring himself to read them again. But regardless of their contents, he’d made a promise to you they’d stay with him. 

“Better not get rid of those letters, Morales. Do you know how many hand cramps I’ve given myself trying to find the words to send halfway across the world to you? You better promise me you’ll keep ‘em.”  

His commitment to the folded pieces of paper ring in his ears as his fingers drag across the tops of the open envelopes. He can’t help the way his index finger and thumb pinch the paper below his grasp, carefully tugging a random letter out of its shoebox storage. 

It’s a gut wrenching gamble, the game he’s about to play, a roulette of making his heart ache from joy or pain depending on the one he chooses to pull. He’s already placed his bet as he pulls the lined piece of paper out of the envelope- He’s not getting the money he’s already placed on the table back, so he might as well pray he makes a return on his investment. 

With one more deep breath, he unfolds the tri-fold creases, ready to watch his bet play out before him. 

August 18th, 2006

Frankie, 

I hope I sent this letter to the right place! I looked on the website and it said to send mail to new recruits (that’s you, Morales), to this address, so no one better be holding my letter to you hostage. 

Anyways, how’s training so far? Did they make you shave your head yet? I hope not. I’m not sure why the Army insists on making you all look like Dr. Evil from Austin Powers. I’m sure you’ll still look cute even with short hair! I don’t think I can say the same for Santi, but you didn’t hear that from me… hehehe 

I just moved into my dorm yesterday! My roommate seems pretty nice. Her name is Jessica and she’s from Georgia. She claims that she’s neat and she better be, or I may lose my mind. I’ll send you pictures of my dorm once it’s all set up! It’s kind of a mess right now, but I made sure to put the picture of us from prom up on my desk :)

I don’t start class until next Tuesday. Hopefully I’ll meet some new people in my dorm or on the soccer team so I’m not a total loser with no friends. LOL. 

Have you met anyone new yet? I can’t wait to hear all about your new Army friends! I already started a countdown calendar until we can see each other again. Only 70 days until basic training is done and I can hear about everything in person! 

I miss you a lot. I know that’s dumb to say because it’s only been a week, but still. I wish I would have kissed you again before you got on the plane to leave. I promise I will when I see you. Nothing says perfect place to kiss like South Missouri, romance capital of the USA (haha). 

I know you’re gonna be busy, but write me back when you have time. The return address on the envelope is my dorm address, so use that, or risk Doug and Michelle reading your mail if you send it to my house!!! I can’t wait to hear from you. Miss you, weirdo. 

From, 

Kenz :) <3

His luck of the draw sends a wave of relief through him, smiling down at the curvy loops of your perfectly neat printing signed at the bottom of the page. It makes his heart skip a beat, the same kind of butterflies coming to life in his stomach as they did the first time he read it. He’s earned his money back and then some. He gets how casinos never go broke, because the high of good fortune is enough to have him reaching back into the box to put another gamble on the line. 

October 13th, 2009

Frankie, 

I always feel dumb sending multiple letters before I hear back from you, but you know me, I love to worry. I know you can’t tell me where you are right now (stupid military and their secrets for the safety of society lol) but I’ve been seeing stuff on the news and it makes me scared for you. I just hope wherever you are, you’re safe. 

My dad’s cancer is back. He’s been in the hospital for almost two weeks now. They found a new mass on his liver, but they said hopefully they can target it with radiation before it starts to spread. Cassandra at the front desk asked how you were when I was at the hospital yesterday. I said that you were good. I think she’s only asking because if you’re not there, there’s no one to keep me from burning a hole in the waiting room carpet. 

I wish you were here. I feel really lost right now. I just know if you were here, you’d find a way to make everything better. You always do. 

Sorry this letter isn’t longer. I haven’t been sleeping that great and don’t have enough brainpower to write something decent. Just wanted to let you know what’s going on.  

Counting down the days until you make good on your promise. I hope you come home soon, Frankie. 

Kenzie 

He curses himself for an unlucky draw, heart sinking at the tear stains smearing the blue ink of your trembling letters. An overwhelming wave of guilt washes over him, vivid memories of reading your notes in his bunk alone, wishing there was a way he could fly halfway around the world for a night just to hold you and tell you that everything was going to be okay. 

It’s the addictive itch in the back of his brain that makes him decide to pull one more letter from the box, taking one last gamble to see if he can prove the nagging pit in his stomach to quit while he’s ahead, wrong. 

February 4th, 2011

Hey, 

If you don’t want to write anymore, that’s fine. I was trying to be friendly, but clearly you don’t really care. Just let me know and I’ll stop bombarding you with mail you obviously don’t want. Or I guess you not responding is letting me know. If you want to send anything back you can send it to my parents house. I’m moving into Liam’s house and it’s only 20 minutes away so I can just drive there and pick it up. No need to send you a new address you probably aren’t going to write to, anyways. 

I guess I’ll see you when I see you. 

MacKenzie 

And that’s how Vegas will always stay in business. 

Because now Frankie is forced to walk away, all his money stolen from him at the stupid risk he’s decided to take. The one letter he’d give anything not to read again is the one he had to pull. 

Heat seethes in his chest- he can’t quite explain why. Because he lost at a rigged game he’d set up for himself? That he still hasn’t quite come to terms with the ugly truth of what he put the both of you through? That he wishes with everything in him, he could go back and change what he’s done? 

Or maybe, it’s because now might be the last chance he has to fix what he’s broken, and he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to live with himself if he can’t.

He leaves the pile in the basement unfinished, shoes barely tied to his feet before he bursts out the door in a sprint.

He's not sure where he's going. He's not even sure how long he's run for. All he knows is the pounding of his feet against the pavement, trying to outrun the stupid decisions of his past.

He tells himself if he runs fast enough, he'll beat them.

If he goes far enough, they'll be forgotten.

If he outraces them, you'll be there waiting for him at the finish line.

@chaotic-iguana @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

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@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[pickingupmymercedes]

I need you to let me go - Lewis Hamilton

Sequence: Not just a pretty face / I need you to let me go / Fly on my own / Leap of faith (bonus)

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: angsty

wordcount: +2K

a/n: It's not even a slowburn atp, just pure longing and angst. Anyway, do we want a happy ending or just pure heartbreak and right person wrong time trope?

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

_______________________________________

The air thrummed with a deafening bass beat, the pulsating lights painting the faces in the opulent ballroom with a kaleidoscope of colors.

Y/n felt the familiar unease crawl up her arms. Parties like this were a necessary evil, a way to keep her father's business connections happy. But that night, the forced smiles and meaningless conversations felt unbearable. Her eyes flitting across the room, searching for the familiar dark hair she had seen before, a hint of that easy swagger that always seemed to draw her gaze.

Lewis stood laughing to a corner, his arm casually draped around the waist of a blonde model. Y/n recognized her from his Instagram baddies rounds; someone with a penchant for fame, fast cars and the medal that was having Lewis Hamilton for a weekend.

A sharp annoyance twisted in her stomach, but not jealousy, not exactly. It was more a bitter disappointment, a confirmation of something she'd always knew but had been trying to ignore. Lewis, the man who often made her world tilt on its axis, was just like the others and their list of conquests.

She straightened her back, forcing a smile onto her lips as a group of her father's associates approached. They were a predictable bunch – men with oil money dripping from their tailored suits, wives adorned with enough diamonds to blind those who didn’t know any better.

The conversation followed a familiar script – pleasantries about the weather, questions on her father, on who would take after his business, about her "jet-setting lifestyle." Y/n answered with practiced ease, her mind already a million miles away.

But then a voice cut through the monotonous drone. "Y/n! Looking as radiant as ever."

She turned to see Francis Chrysler, heir to a automobile empire and carrying his family name on that party, much like Y/n. They had known each other since they were kids, Y/n would travel up north to spend summer in the Hamptons with her grandmother and Francis would meet his parents in the US, back from his bordering school in the UK.

Y/n couldn’t deny he was something. Tall, impeccably dressed, and with a smile that could charm the birds from the trees, Francis was exactly the type of man everyone hoped she’d marry – stable, successful, from a “good family” and undeniably the type to merge her family’s fortune to even deeper riches.

But that night, he was also the perfect tool for the job at hand.

"Francis" she replied, a touch of coolness in her voice. "Lovely to see you."

The blonde took her hand, his fingers lingering a beat too long. "I must say, I didn’t expect to see you in the city so early in the year."

" You know me too well. I’d much rather stay in California until it’s warm enough up here" she said, her eyes scanning the room again. Lewis was gone, the blonde model nowhere to be seen.

“But duty called?” Francis focused his gaze on her, trying to get her to look at him before he touched her arm “Something like that” she finally conceded, looking up at him with a warm but emotionless smile.

The rest of the night was a blur of champagne flutes and hollow conversations. Francis, was attentive, even charming in his way. But his attentions only served to highlight the hollowness that echoed inside her.

Lewis's fleeting stares, the way his eyes seemed to see right through her meticulously facade - those were the things she craved, the things she couldn't have.

As the party started to wind down, Y/n found an excuse to slip away. She needed air, needed a moment of sanity away from the suffocating atmosphere and maybe some fresh air from her own mind.

Stepping outside onto the balcony, she took a deep breath of crisp night air. The city lights shimmered below, a glittering reminder of everything she was supposed to aspire. But all she could think about was how her mind and heart could never reach an agreement.

A sudden movement near the edge of the balcony caught her eye. Lewis stood there by himself, leaning against the railing, his face hidden in the shadows. A surge of conflicting emotions coursed her as she noticed he too studied her face – relief, anger, hope.

"Lewis," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

"Enjoying the company, Y/n?" His voice was a low murmur, his hands gripping a bit too tight against the metal bar.

The question was laced with a playful challenge, a reminder of her earlier display with Francis as they talked and his hand rested a bit too low on her waist. "I manage" she replied, forcing a lightness that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"So, I see," he said, his gaze dropping to where the blonde’s hand had been. A flicker of something dark crossed his face before it was quickly masked by a charming smile. "He seems...familiar with you."

"He's harmless" Y/n said dismissively, the lie bitter on her tongue.

"Didn’t look like that" Lewis countered, his voice taking on a serious edge.

They stood there, the unspoken tension hanging heavy in the air. Y/n, unable to bear the weight of his gaze any longer, broke eye contact.

"Jealousy doesn't suit you, Y/n" Lewis said, his voice laced with amusement.

She scoffed. "Jealousy? Don't flatter yourself, Lewis. You can have your little arm candy."

His amusement vanished, replaced by a coldness that made her shiver. "Is that what he was then? Your arm candy?"

Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Y/n knew she was playing a dangerous game, one that probably wouldn’t end well.

"Why the charade, Y/n?" He took a step closer, the air crackling with unspoken tension. "Why the forced smiles?"

"Maybe," she countered, her voice holding steadier than she felt "because I'm tired of the stolen glances and the late-night texts that lead to nothing."

Lewis stared at her; his expression unreadable. She could almost hear the cogs turning in his mind, processing her outburst.

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "Don't tell me you haven't felt it too, Lewis. The frustration, the longing. We dance around each other like moths to a flame, but neither one of us dares to get burned."

He remained silent; his jaw clenched tight. Finally, he spoke, his voice hoarse. "What do you want, Y/n? Because honestly, I have no idea anymore. It was never a secret how I feel about you."

Her heart hammered against her ribs. Here it was, the question she both dreaded and craved.

The answer, however, remained a tangled mess of emotions.

"I..." she started, then stopped.

There was the comfortable life she'd always known, the endless jet-setting, the security of her family's wealth. The power she carried with her from a very young age. A power her mother had taught her to never take for granted. To never trade for a man.

But then there was Lewis, her very own whirlwind of passion and ambition who challenged everything she thought she knew and wanted. He was exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure. And she couldn’t stand the possibility of changing a single inch of him, even if he offered.

"I don't know," she finally admitted, a tear rolling down her cheek. A truth so raw and honest it took her by surprise to being able to say out loud.

Lewis reached out, brushing the tear away with his thumb. His touch a reminder of their connection that transcended words. For a moment, they were lost in each other's eyes, a silent peace hanging in the air.

"But you want something" he pressed gently.

She nodded, unable to speak through the lump in her throat. Part of her yearned for a life intertwined with his, a life with the adrenaline he came intertwined with. The other though, craved stability, a future that she could plan about.

"Why are we doing this, Lewis?" she blurted out, finally turning to face him fully again. "This game of… of pretending we don't care."

His jaw clenched briefly, a flicker of frustration mirroring her own. "Because," he began, his voice low and controlled, "because it's easier than this. Easier than admitting what this is."

He gestured vaguely between them; the unspoken truth thick in the air.

"And what exactly is this, then, Lewis?" she challenged, a tremor in her voice finally showing the faltering of her walls.

He took a step closer, his eyes searching hers, and with each step, the temperature between them seemed to rise, Y/n not backing the slightest.

"It's frustrating, isn't it?" Y/n spoke the words hanging in the air, her voice barely a whisper.

"It's torture," he corrected her, his voice raw with emotion. "Seeing you with someone else..." He trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished. The implication hanging heavy. Y/n felt his pain echo within her, a bittersweet recognition.

His eyes searched hers, a silent plea hanging between them. He wanted her, she knew that much. But the fear of disrupting their fragile equilibrium, of sacrificing their comfortable charade, held them both captive.

A wave of despair washed over Y/n. They were caught in a never-ending loop, dancing around their desires, afraid to take the leap.

"Then why do we keep doing this?" she whispered, her voice cracking. "Why do we keep pretending?"

He reached out, his thumb tenderly brushing at her hand.

"Because," he said, his voice barely above a murmur, "because even this… even this agonizing dance is better than not having you at all."

"Is it?" she questioned, the tears she had tried so fiercely to keep in finally spilling over. "Because all this yearning is slowly breaking me."

He flinched at her words, the pain in her eyes mirroring his own. They stood there, bathed in the city’s lights, the weight of unspoken desires and the reality of their relationship created a suffocating silence between them.

Finally, Y/n took a step back, pulling away from his touch. The physical distance mirroring the emotional chasm that seemed to be growing between them.

“I can keep you in the dark, Lewis. You deserve love. And I can’t give you that. Not right now” The look of raw vulnerability on his face tore at her heart, but she knew she was right. They couldn't keep living in this state of perpetual longing.

"Y/n, I’m not a child, I know what I’m getting myself into" he began, his voice laced with annoyance. But she held up a hand, silencing him.

"I need to go" she choked out, turning away from him before she crumbled completely.

Without another word, she walked back inside, the party lights blurring with the tears that she fought so valiantly to hold in.

Weeks later y/n found herself sneaking into a european f1 paddock late at night on a Friday.

The roar of the engine had long been replaced by the sterile hiss of the garages closing around them. It was a sound she would normally hate, a constant reminder of the world that made Lewis impossible to her.

But that night, it was a chilling and fitting melody to accompany the hollowness in her chest that threaded to swallow her.

They hadn't spoken in almost a month. Not since the party and since their talk, the one that shattered the fragile peace they'd managed to balance.

His silence was a language she knew all too well, a tapestry woven with disappointment and unspoken blame, his and hers.

She watched him from across the dimly lit garage, the harsh overhead lights glinting off at his temple. He looked beautiful, untouchable, a goddamn champion shrouded in the shadows.

It was a sight that would've probably lighten something in her, a reminder of why she kept coming back.

But tonight, all she felt was a cold dread.

"I need your help Lewis.” she whispered, the words a plea and a surrender all at once. The air hanging heavy, thick with the unspoken truth that both refused to accept it.

His eyes flickered to hers, surprise quickly replaced by a steely glint. He opened his mouth to retort, but the words died on his lips as she continued. “I need you to let me go”

Maybe he saw it too, the raw vulnerability etched on her face, the fear that threatened to consume her.

"Because honestly," she murmured, her voice barely above a choked sob, "I haven’t been able to do it on my own”

The words hung in the air, a desperate confession that shattered the carefully constructed walls around her heart. Lewis took a hesitant step towards her, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Y/n?" His voice was rough, laced with something that sounded suspiciously like hope.

She shook her head, tears blurring her vision. "Nobody gets me like you" she choked out, the words echoing the hurt in the duty she felt to follow her better judgment instead of her heart.

It was a messy confession, a tangle of contradictions and unspoken desires. But in the quiet of the garage, under the harsh glare of the lights, it felt like the only truth that mattered.

Lewis closed the distance left between them, his arms enveloping her in a warmth that chased away the chill that had settled in her bones since that NYC night.

There were no answers, just the echo of a question hanging in the air, a question that they both knew neither had the answer to. But for those moments, in the fragile space between letting go and holding on, they hung to a sliver of solace, a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, they could find a way out.

______________________________________________________________

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[just-another-blog-of-fluff]

Hangry

Word count: ~2,000

Pairing: Steve x reader and Bucky (platonic), no pronouns used

Warnings: Just a lot of fluff. Mild cursing.

It's been a year and a half since my last posted works! I'm VERY out of practice 😅 I'm trying to work on some smaller prompts on my list while I get myself back into writing and continue working on the Loki blip in the universe prompt. It's not my best, but I hope you enjoy in any case!

This was based on a Prompt for Steve x reader as well as a prompt where reader and Bucky bug Steve while he's making a public appearance.

“Tell us, Captain, sir - how did the Avengers manage to track down the villain’s hideout this time?”

“Well, good sir - we have state-of-the-art technology that allows us to track electronic signals from thousands of miles away…”

“Ugh, he is such a ham!” you muttered to Bucky under your breath as you observed Steve from a distance. “We’re never going to make it to the store if he keeps stopping every time a reporter tries to chat him up!”

“Steve can’t resist bragging about us,” Bucky chided, nudging you with his elbow.

“Yeah, well… some of us are hungry!”

You huffed and folded your arms across your chest in annoyance, trying to catch the reporter’s eye with your scowling face, but she was far too enamored by the star-spangled captain to pay you any mind. How had a simple grocery run for ice cream turned into a twenty-minute interview with the press??

“I swear, I’m gonna go drag him away from that reporter by the ear if he doesn’t stop talking in the next 60 seconds,” you grumbled.

“Why do that when we can mess with him instead?”

You turned to look at Bucky, who had a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“Go on…”

He smirked, shooting you a wink. “Watch and learn.”

You watched silently as Bucky meandered casually toward where Steve stood speaking with the reporter and her photographer. Steve was none the wiser to his friend approaching from behind.

“… but the serum isn’t the only thing that makes us heroes. It takes a whole load of grit and determina-HAY-tion-!”

Steve flinched as his best friend subtly reached up and pinched his side mid-sentence, effectively silencing him. The captain recovered quickly, though, chuckling nonchalantly as he flashed Bucky a look. He continued on with his sentence after that, refusing to acknowledge what just happened.

“Wait - Steve is ticklish??” you whispered incredulously as Bucky returned to your side.

“Very. Why does that surprise you?”

“I don’t know, I guess I just assumed the serum eliminated weaknesses like that.”

Bucky chuckled. “Nah - if anything it made it worse.”

“Oh-ho, I’ve got to try this for myself!”

You quietly paced up behind the blabbing soldier, pretending you were casually walking past to avoid drawing attention from passerby. As you stepped by him, you reached out and swiftly dug your fingertips into his ribs for less than a second. Steve choked on his words and whipped his head around instinctively. You ducked out of his field of vision and prodded his other side.

“Excuse me,” Steve requested politely, turning around as nonchalantly as possible to find you standing behind him with a guilty grin on your face. “Can I help you?”

“I just came to remind you that we have somewhere we have to be,” you stated sweetly.

“Yes, but it isn’t urgent,” he muttered.

“Oh, I think you’ll find it to be very urgent, actually,” you whispered, shooting him a cheeky wink. With a long, drawn-out sigh, Steve turned to the reporter.

“My apologies, ma’am. Duty calls.”

You saw Bucky clap a hand over his mouth and nose to cover the snort that burst from his nares. Trying hard not to openly roll your eyes in front of the reporter, you nodded in the direction of the grocery store and began marching purposefully toward your destination, with Steve following in your wake.

“You two are infuriating,” Steve grumbled once you were out of earshot from the reporter.

“Excuse me - I just want to go get my ice cream and head back home to eat it,” you countered. “You’re the one who decided to schmooze with the first person who asked you about your superpowers.”

“I’m just trying to maintain good public relations. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

“Ugh, no. I hate talking about myself.”

The three of you bickered amicably the entire way to the store. It hadn’t ended by the time you’d made it back to the tower kitchen and dropped your grocery bags on the counter.

“I’m just saying - it wouldn’t kill you to wear a hat or something to hide your face from reporters when we’re just trying to go to the store,” you griped, shrugging your sweatshirt off your shoulders and hanging it on the back of one of the kitchen stools.

“It wouldn’t kill you to try to be friendly to strangers every once in a while,” Steve retorted.

“Excuse me - I am a very friendly person! I’m just selective about it.”

“Friendly as an angry porcupine, sure.”

You gasped indignantly. “Are you saying I’m sharp with people??”

“You’re just a little… prickly.”

“Ooh, now that’s an insult,” Bucky hummed sarcastically.

“You’re just as bad, you know. Forget porcupines - you’re like a venomous sea urchin or something,” Steve shot back at his friend. You snorted.

“Steve… you’ve really got to work on your teasing skills,” you chuckled. “A ‘sea urchin?’ Really?”

“I could just take your ice cream”

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t you dare.”

Steve held your gaze for a moment, eyes darting briefly to the bag on the counter between you with the ice cream inside. You lunged for the bag handle, but Steve predicted your move, snatching it out of your reach before you could get a hand on it.

“Damnit, Steve!! Give it back!” you whined, rounding the counter to swipe for the grocery bag. He turned his back to you, maintaining a barrier between you and the prize. “Bucky! Help me out here!”

“Nah, this is pretty funny to watch,” Bucky chuckled, snickering as you swatted at Steve’s arm.

“Yeah but your ice cream is in there too!”

Bucky sighed. “You make a fair point. Steve, buddy, give it back.”

Steve snorted. “You’ve been just as much a pain in my rear today! Why would I give it back to you either?”

You gasped dramatically, catching Bucky’s eye. “Are you gonna let him talk to you like that?”

“‘Course not!”

Without warning, Bucky lunged at his super soldier friend, tackling him to the floor. The bag of ice cream slipped from Steve’s grasp in his surprise, which you quickly snatched up before he could regain the wherewithal to take it back. With a triumphant shout, you tore the cover off your pint of ice cream and dug a spoon out of the drawer, swiping a scoop off the top layer and shoving it in your mouth with a contented sigh.

“Mm… finawwy,” you mumbled with your mouth full. Swallowing, you pointed your spoon accusatorially at Steve where he was currently trying to shove Bucky off himself. “You know, you’ve been a pain in my rear all day. You deserved this - it’s nice to see someone teaching you a lesson.”

“You two are pains in my rear every day!” Steve huffed as he grasped at Bucky’s shoulders and pushed.

“You did not just say that!” you gasped dramatically.

“Yeah, how dare you!” Bucky added, pinching at Steve’s side for emphasis.

“Bahah- Bucky, don’t start this,” Steve warned as he grasped his friend’s wrists to still his hands.

“Ooh! Wait!” You set your ice cream and spoon down on the counter beside you. “I want a go! Bucky, hold him there for a minute.”

“Whahat??” Steve laughed in surprise, a nervous edge to his voice.

“Sure!” Bucky offered, ignoring his friend’s protests as he maneuvered his wrists from Steve’s grasp and swiftly pinned his arms to the floor a few inches from his sides. “Quick, before he gets free!”

"On it!" You crouched down beside the super soldiers as Steve tugged against Bucky's grip. Without waiting to listen to Steve's protests any further, you began to scribble your fingertips into his exposed sides and ribs rapidly. You heard a thump behind you as Steve kicked his heel against the floor in protest, now pulling more frantically to escape his best friend's hold.

"HA-HEHEY! Cut it ohout!!"

"Nah. I deserve a little reward for tolerating you all day," you snickered, prodding at his belly. "Hey, Buck - where should I get him next?"

"Ohh, definitely under his arms," he suggested with a smirk. You pinched your way up his ribcage before slotting your hands into the narrow space between his biceps and his upper ribs. Bucky adjusted his grip to pry his friend's arms away from his sides as he attempted to clamp them down to limit the space under his arms.

"BUCKY!! Let me go-HO-HO this I-HI-INSTANT!" Steve demanded.

"No can do, buddy. I'm enjoying watching you get taken down a peg."

"DAHAMNIT BAHARNES!!"

"Oof, language Steve!" you teased, digging your fingers into the soft spot under his arms. "Where else is he ticklish?"

"The spot on his stomach right under his ribs - that'll really get him good." Steve nearly managed to slip his wrist from Bucky's grasp, but he quickly shifted his grip once again. "Better do it quick - I can't hold him much longer."

"Say no more." You pulled your hands free from under Steve's arms and danced your fingertips across the muscle-clad skin of his abdomen just under his ribcage as Bucky suggested. He threw his head back with a heavy stream of laughter at your touch, arching his back against the floor in desperation. It was only another moment before he finally succeeded in escaping Bucky's grasp.

Steve sat up swiftly, a playful but menacing gleam in his eye as his gaze immediately landed on you.

"Oh-ho, shit!" You scrambled to get to your feet to make your escape, groaning defeatedly when you felt a strong set of arms wrap around your waist and yank you backward.

“You really think I’d let you get away with that?” Steve asked rhetorically as he tightened his arms around your midsection to hold you in place.

“W-wait, Steve, we can- ahaha nohoho!” Your protests were cut short as Steve’s fingers kneaded into your sides. “Bucky! Hehehelp!!”

“Nuh-uh. You’re on your own, my friend.” The infuriatingly unhelpful super soldier waltzed over to the counter to retrieve his ice cream, planting himself atop the countertop and digging in while observing the two of you wrestling on the floor below.

“USELEHESS!!” you cried, attempting futilely to pry Steve’s hands off your sides.

“Nice try. You should know better than to mess with me by now,” Steve teased. He loosened his grip slightly to scratch at your belly. A rumbling laugh erupted in his chest when you screeched in protest and doubled over, suddenly much more frantic. “Oh, what’s this?”

“DAHAMNIT STE-HEE-HEVE!” Your grip on his hands was far too weak to even budge them now - not that you’d had any hope of succeeding before your muscles had weakened from his tickling. You leaned more heavily into him as you succumbed to laughter. He responded by lowering you down to lay on the floor beside him, freeing both hands to dart randomly around your sides and stomach. Weakly, you tapped your palm on the floor beside you in surrender. Steve threw in a few more exceedingly ticklish light scratches along your belly before relenting in his revenge.

“That’ll teach you,” he teased with a grin, offering you a hand to help you off the ground. You grasped your abdominal muscles that were now aching from laughter.

“I-hi… I’ll probably still mess with you,” you admitted breathlessly. Steve made a noise of protest in his throat and reached over to pinch your side, but you swatted his hand away. “Noho more! You’ll kill me!”

“So dramatic.” He rolled his eyes. “Here - here’s your ice cream. Hope it melted while you were tormenting me.”

“Harsh!” You snatched it from his hand and stuck out your tongue, then turned to look at Bucky. "And you - you were zero help, thank you."

"Hey! I held him down for you! I was very helpful, in my personal opinion."

The three of you went right back to your friendly bickering session, as though nothing had happened. Any outside might wonder how you could all be friends, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

[naffeclipse]

I absolutely adore every AU you come up with, but I was actually curious if you had already or were considering writing a traditional DCAxReader? Hopefully I can kick this art block soon because there is so much fanart I want to draw of your stories :) Hope your week is going well! (besides the roof disaster ^^;;;)

On another note... AUs are my brainrot and I keep thinking about that post about the large bed... and spoopy ghosts. Clipgeist? No running away from something that can follow you to the ends of the Earth. Poor Y/Ns just can't catch a break lol

I have a few canon stories with the DCA x Reader on my Ao3 but nothing as grand or long as my AUs! I do have a 'canon' story plotted but I don't know when I'll write it. Hopefully one day!

Ah, that's so exciting! I hope you can chisel that art block down hehe 

It's going good (aside from the roof ;-;) I have this week of school before we go on break for Thanksgiving and it can't come soon enough!

Shaking your hand so hard rn!! I love AUs! And a spooky ghost one? Oh ho, I've always wanted to write a domestic monster scenario!

Perhaps Y/N moves into an old, old house with steep roofs, pointed arches above the windows and doors, and a lovely porch. It's two and a half stories tall (the half story is attic space under the roof rafters) with a four-story central spired tower! All dark wood and even darker interiors. You can't desire if it's Dracula's castle or a fairytale home for the happily ever-after-ed prince and princess. It's even got a secret underground tunnel! What more do you need when flipping a home? You love restoration and you intend to keep all its gothic charm while updating it to be, well, livable.

It's also incredibly cheap! Like, stupid cheap, for something that should be incredibly pricey for its prestige style and historical value. Not that you've ever looked a gift horse in the mouth, but even you have second thoughts before ultimately snatching up the house key.

The first night is always unsettling—maybe you hear a voice whisper in your ear despite it being dead silent and there's not a soul for miles, but you'll brush that off as getting spooked by old ghost stories your brain conjures up within the ornate decorated rooms.

From there, things get stranger and stranger still. Your paintbrush is moved and you know you didn't set it there because of the wet paint dripping onto the floor. The electricity is ever fickle, turning off at the most opportune moments during the night, like when you swear you saw a figure standing at the end of the hallway, all thin and scraggly with a ghostly smile and an inhuman head framed with wavering energy that almost seems to glow like embers in the dark!

Still, you continue your repairs and restorations, sometimes softly talking to yourself out loud and talking to the house like it's a wounded animal you intend to restore back to its fittest with all the love you can pour out of your heart. Places need love, too.

The most obnoxious thing is that you can't access the tower—the door is always locked, and no matter what key you try, it refuses to budge. You don't dare risk causing damage by prying it open, but you swear you'll get into that tower one day. There's got to be treasure inside with how mysteriously it stands, just out of your reach. Though, you've mostly put it aside for now. Whenever you jingle keys in the lock, you swear you hear a voice grow angry with you, and the hallway becomes so cold you can see your breath.

So, yeah, you're saving that for later.

The pivotal moment of you even considering a haunting is one night when you find yourself overwhelmed and stressed from the ever-growing list of chores and how everything is falling apart faster than you can fix it. You dissolve on the living room floor into thick tears. You're usually so put together, even when alone. You hate crying. There's no one to hold you together except yourself, so why fall apart in the first place?

Your little moment of getting it out is interrupted when a quilt falls over your shoulders. A soft, heavy quilt of midnight skies and dotted pale blue stars that was never in this room.

You leap to your feet, quilt falling away, and call out in classic horror victim fashion, "Who's there?" but no one answers. In frozen terror, you stare at the room, expecting something, anything to jump out or scream at you, but it's so, so quiet. All is still, like apologetic comfort.

That couldn't have happened. No draft, no forgetfulness could explain how a quilt was draped over you as if by a concerned friend.

You stare at the quilt and decide that you've had a long day. You go to your room, unable to relax even once you're under the covers, feeling something cold and misty above your bed.

When you wake in the morning, that starry quilt is draped over your lying form. You did not put it there.

Something or someone else tucked it around you.

[yelspyder]

hi can you are gwen and miles (separate) x fem reader headcanons with a short s/o?

˚‧⁺.-“I’m just compact and ridiculously adorable”

↳ summary: them w/ a short S/O

↳ characters: (separately) Miles Morales, Gwen Stacy

↳ Fem! Reader

↳ notes: ugh, i will never be able to put into words how much i love gwen and miles. they two are just so asjfjddkdkddkd anyway, thanks for asking and hope you like it!

Miles Morales

Miles would find your height difference cute, after all, it was all the more reason he could praise you. This boy would be wanting to hug you all the time, but it's not his fault you're so cute, your size just makes it easier for him to hug you.

He would give you a ride on his back whenever you wanted, after all, he is your hero. No arguments, he would just agree and carry you like a princess, not to mention that he wouldn't do it out of obligation or anything like that, but because he loves seeing your stupid smile and gremlin laughs on your face whenever he carries you on his back.

Miles might not always be there due to his duties as spider-man, but whenever he is, he makes sure he treats you like a princess and always compliments your height, listing all the perks and assuring you that he loves that about you. He would 100% compare the size of your hands, and he would definitely die from cuteness inside.

He always emphasizes your height in the drawings and sketches he makes of you in a good way. He doesn't accept that your drawings are less than perfect, and that includes being true to your height, after all you are perfect in his eyes.

If you were sad or unsure about your height, Miles will wrap you in a blanket burrito and have a conversation about how awesome you are and should see it like him, followed by a movie session with snacks and sweets. In the end, your self-esteem would be high (at least for a while) because, come on, this is Miles we're talking about and we know he's the best "psychologist" out there.

Gwen Stacy

Gwen would tease you a bit about your height, but nothing to offend you of course. If she saw that you were uncomfortable with her teasing, she would immediately go over and give you a few hugs as an apology.

She thinks it's super cute how you depend on her to get something from the top shelf, so she always leaves a few jars on the top shelves so you have to ask her for help. Whenever you asked for help, she would arrive with a teasing smile on her face as she helped you, but the tables turned as soon as you dropped a quick peck on her lips and called her 'my hero' dramatically, she would turn into a puddle of shyness.

If you found this whole teasing funny and even joined in on the joke, Gwen would definitely joke about how you look like Lord Farquaad from Shrek. The next day, you showed up on her doorstep in a badly done cosplay of him and it became a meme between the two of you.

She always finds all the teasing amusing, but if anyone else does it, especially in a mean way, she quickly becomes aggressive. It wouldn't escalate into a physical fight, but she would have a private "friendly" conversation with them and, if they continued, the ghost-spider who would deal with them.

Even though Gwen says you're small (she's not wrong here), all she wants to do after a long day is hug you. Due to your size, she would be the big spoon most of the time, holding you does decompress her tense muscles, but she doesn't mind, and even prefers, to be held when she needs comfort. Hearing you talk about your day as she hugs you does wonders for Gwen.

[beholdthebangs]

🍒 Cherry Chapstick 🍒

Alex x F!Reader

~ 18+ ~

Synopsis: Smut - Alex corners you and talks you into lending him a hand when he can’t get his fix from Haley. Part 1!

Warnings: dirty talk, minor degradation, grey-area cheating, dubcon, unprotected sex

A/n: I’ve thrown myself into Stardew Valley for the 50th time and consumed so much fanfiction that I figured I might as well write some.

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The list of tasks on your plate on any given day never seems to be short of a mile long. It’d be hard for anyone to keep track of, but with a few months of it under your belt, you’ve grown more accustomed to the processes you need to go through to ensure nothing is missed. Early mornings turn into late nights, and any free time is spent planning your next moves. This brings you to the outskirts of Pelican Town past sunset, heading back from the forest where you’d had a fairly successful haul of foragables. From there, you’d need to decide what to sell and what you might need later on.

You’re so lost in this thought that when you collide with a sturdy figure, you do so with such force that your body bounces back, nearly hitting the cobblestone beneath your feet. Before you do, your arm is abruptly pulled and you regain your balance with the help of the person you just ran into.

Letting out a heavy breath, your eyes follow the strained hand on your wrist to the veiny forearm, bulging biceps, all the way to the green eyes of Alex. “Sorry,” you finally say. He lets his grip go, your skin showing a brief remnant of his touch before the blood flows back below the surface, now red from the hastiness of his attempt to save you from a bruised ass.

“Pay more attention next time. Not everyone has the reflexes to keep you from injuring yourself like that,” he snaps, crossing his arms as he looks at you.

As you gather yourself, you glance at your watch: 10 pm. “Hanging out at Haley’s so late?” you wonder aloud, quirking an eyebrow as you look between Alex and the blonde girl’s front door behind him, having only closed moments before you’d run into him.

“And what’s it to you?”

You shrug. “Makes sense, Emily works nights so you’ve got the house to yourself.”

Alex rolls his eyes, gazing off toward the river. “Yeah, you’d think it’d be of use.”

You can’t help your wandering eyes. Scanning down his body, you take in his arms exposed with his white tank top, but your eyes linger lower. He’s wearing his usual sweatpants, the athletic ones that hug him a bit closer than normal ones, and the bulge below his stomach is far more prominent than you’d ever noticed.

Alex registers your silence, finally looking back at you. Even though your eyes snap back to his almost instantly, he catches on. Either he had noticed your gaze or your look of guilt is clear, or both. He chuckles lowly, locking his fingers behind his head and stretching his arms out. “Farmer,” he tsks, enjoying the power you’ve given him by so outwardly examining his body. Even now, it’s difficult not to focus on his arms flexing, chest peeking out from the fabric of his shirt. Even his armpits, sporting dark brown hair in the divots, are drawing you in. He finally relaxes his body, arms dropping to his sides as he looks back at the front door of his girlfriend’s house. “I hear you’re good to talk to. How about you invite me over.”

This is clearly not a question, but even if it was, you’d likely do so. You take off up the stone street toward the dirt path leading to your farm, Alex easily matching stride next to you. No words are exchanged until you open the door to your house, lingering, giving Alex just enough space to enter and closing it behind him.

He examines the inside, the quaint kitchen and dining room, leaning back slightly to peek into your bedroom. “Decent place. It’s come a long way since you moved in.”

“Thanks…”

He rounds the corner of the couch, plopping down on it with his back resting against the armrest as he waits for you to join him. When you hesitate, he pats the other cushion on the couch expectantly. You cautiously join him, turning your head to look at him as you sit.

“I’m so tired of dating Haley,” he finally says. “I mean, I’m not, it’s fun, but she has these crazy mood swings and phases and I just can’t be bothered to keep up anymore. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve fucked her, but now she says she doesn’t want to do that anymore and she wants to be single.”

“So you’re not dating,” you say, as if asking for clarification.

“We’re not, but we are. She stills wants to hang out alone and go to dinner together and do the same shit we did when we were dating, except I don’t get a blowjob at the end of the night. She wants to do whatever she wants to do, and the only thing that changes is the benefit that I get out of it.” Alex groans, using his hand to adjust himself as he shifts in his seat. “She can make out with me for half an hour after I buy her dinner and dessert, but I’m the bad guy for unhooking her bra or touching my dick.”

You clear your throat. “That sucks,” you finally settle on responding, blindsided from the way this conversation has gone and still unsettled at the fact that Alex is sitting in your living room at almost 11 at night.

He flashes a grin at you. “It does suck, thank you. How does she expect me to be the perfect boyfriend if my balls are blue every day?”

“You could jerk off, I guess.”

Alex squints, gesturing broadly to himself. “Me? Jerk off? I’m not a fifteen year old boy, and I’m hot. Why would I do that?”

You lean back, starting to mirror him more as you pivot to face him. “To avoid this. Have you always had Haley at your beck and call?”

He shrugs. “Pretty much, yeah. The real issue though is that there’s such a clear solution, but I haven’t tried it out yet.”

“I feel like I just offered you a pretty clear solution,” you retort.

“Clearer,” he insists. “When this stuff with Haley happened before, she was the only hot girl in the valley. It was easier to just bite the bullet and nut in a sock or whatever. Now there are two hot girls here.” You eye him as he stares at you. “So why not just fuck the other hot girl when Haley stops giving it up?”

“That would require you to be appealing to both of them.”

“I think I have that covered,” he replies, stretching his arms over his head and using the armrest to lean back, tank top lifting past his belly button and giving you a brief glimpse at shape of his abs pressing tightly on his tanned skin.

Alex then reaches over, his hand on your knee as he lowers his head, looking into your eyes intently. “What do you think, Farmer?”

You lean forward, matching his intensity. “What’s my name, Alex?”

He smirks. “It doesn’t matter what your name is, baby. You want to fuck me whether I know who you are or not.” His hand moves to the side of your face, stroking your cheek with his thumb, brushing a piece of hair back at the same time and giving it the gentlest of tugs as he does so. “You’ve been eye-fucking me this whole time and you know it. I know it. Stop trying to hide it.”

“I’m not going to help you cheat on Haley.”

“‘T’s not cheating,” he practically slurs. “We’re not exclusive anymore.” You feel yourself breaking down, leaning against his large palm as he strokes your cheek. “Come here, Y/n.”

Your name slipping from between his lips is your final straw as you close the decreasing gap between the two of you, pressing your lips to his lightly. He allows you only a moment to take in the feeling of his plush, warm mouth against yours before pulling himself to his knees and wrapping his fingers in your hair, keeping you tight to him. His teeth gnaw at your bottom lip, sucking harshly for a moment before his tongue seeks entrance. You allow it, tasting the remnants of his spearmint gum and cherry chapstick, your mind wandering to the fact that he had been in this position with Haley only an hour ago.

Alex groans against your mouth, pushing you to lay on the couch as he props himself above you, bodies flush. The bulge in his sweatpants feels bigger against your stomach than it had looked before, and your insides twist in excitement as you allow his tongue to explore your mouth. His lips wander to your jaw and down your neck, nipping but never lingering long enough to leave physical evidence of the event.

Slipping down to the neckline of your shirt, he tugs at the hem and sneaks his fingers past it, snaking up your back to undo your bra. You’re impressed by his quickness helping you tug the straps through your sleeves before ridding of it altogether as he pulls it down your stomach and throws it over the back of the couch. He replaces the fabric with his hands, kneading your skin and pinching at your nipples as you watch his motions from over your thin t-shirt.

“Your lips look so cute when they’re swollen,” Alex groans, leaning down to nip at your bottom lip once more. “Need to see ‘em around my cock, babe.”

He pulls you by your hands, tugging your shirt over your head as you sit up. He grabs at your right hand once more, turning it over to examine your wrist which now sports a light purple bruise from the force with which he’d tugged you to keep you from falling earlier. His eyes grow the slightest bit darker as he smirks. “Sensitive? I guess you bruise easy.”

Alex stands before you as you sit on the couch with your legs folded below you, heels touching the skin of your ass peeking from your jean shorts. Your top is bare now, tits exposed to him as he looks down at you admiringly. His fingers prop your chin to look up at him and he smiles a sickeningly sweet smile as he uses his other hand to pull down his sweatpants, kicking them to the side.

He remains in his tight boxers before you, bulge only a few inches from your face as your eyes flicker down to view it as best you can. “You want it, hm?” he asks.

When you don’t respond, he squeezes your chin tighter. “Yeah,” you breathe out. He gives you one last rough grab before pulling his hand away completely, pushing your face down as he does so. Alex rubs his length through the thin stretchy fabric, letting out a soft groan as he watches you bite your lip, eyes trained ahead of you.

He slowly pulls down the front of his boxers, revealing his length one bit at a time until the tip is freed, allowing it to spring out and nearly hit you in the face. He runs his hand over it a couple times, getting the blood to pump through it as he positions the tip near your lips. “Open,” he demands, and you do as instructed. He slides the head in slowly, rubbing it up and down your tongue and watching intently. Once he’s satisfied, he releases himself. “Go ahead, baby.”

You grip his base in your right hand, taking his head in your mouth and closing your lips tightly around the ridge, sucking and swirling your tongue around the sensitive pink skin. Alex lets out a moan, hands running through your hair, but he lets you take it at your pace for now. Finally, you relax your jaw and begin to pump your head up and down on his cock, lips brushing against the trimmed stubble at his base. He can’t help but meet your tempo with his thrusting hips, pushing his head down your throat just enough to need to fight the urge to gag each time. Once you grow comfortable with taking his full length in your mouth, he grips your hair close to the scalp and begins to pull you into him faster, his hips speeding up to keep pace. You let out quiet gags at the force of his tip bullying its way to the back of your throat, allowing him to have his way as drool leaks past your lips with each thrust and coats his cock, dripping with the mix of spit and precum.

Holding your head to his base for a few seconds, he finally releases you and pushes you back against the couch. Alex is breathing heavy, but so are you as you catch your breath from his final thrust. “Yoba,” he moans, “You’re going to make me cum before I get to feel that tight pussy.”

Alex kneels down, gripping your thighs and pulling them so your ass is on the edge of the cushion, slouched against the couch to give you a good view. He tugs off your shorts, leaving you in plain, grey cotton panties. “So practical, babe. Next time, I want some lace and frills, mmkay?” he requests. His index finger traces from your pussy to your clit. “I like seeing this wet spot though. How long has this been here?”

You moan, squirming to communicate that you need more friction between your legs. Alex slaps your inner thigh. “How long, babe?”

“I don’t know,” you cry. “Since we kissed?”

“That’s it?” he hums, hooking the fabric with his finger and pulling it to the side. “You didn’t get wet when you were checking me out in town, staring at my hard cock through my pants? Right outside my ex-girlfriend’s house?” Alex firmly presses his finger against your hole, dragging wetness up to your clit. “You didn’t get wet when I told you to invite me over when I caught you looking?” His thumb begins to rub circles over your clit, harsh but exactly what you need with how horny you are now. “Not when I said that I should just fuck the hot new farmer instead of wasting my time jerking my cock by myself?” Alex dips his fingers into your pussy, curling upward and making you moan loudly, bucking your hips as he plays with the textured skin of your g-spot. He pulls out and holds his finger to your mouth, glistening with your wetness. “Taste this and tell me if it’s worth trying for myself.”

You open your mouth and he wastes no time shoving his fingers in, pressing them to your tongue as you suck. Pulling out, he resumes his work on your clit and stares up at you. “Y-yeah, I think so,” you breathe.

He nods, lowering his mouth to latch onto your clit, replacing his thumb. You grind your hips against Alex’s face while he grips your thighs tightly. “Good call, baby. Your cunt tastes so sweet.” He hums against your clit and prods at your pussy with his fingers, entering two once again and pumping in rhythm with his swirling tongue.

You begin to near orgasm, Alex providing relief you’d been dying for and allowing you to hump his face and fingers as he works. “Alex,” you whimper.

“Mmm, babe?” he responds, not taking his lips away from your core.

“Gonna cum,” you squeak out. His licks turn to harsh sucks, his fingers no longer pumping as he presses on your g-spot, rubbing it expertly. His other hand goes to your lower stomach, just above his head, pressing down as he coaxes your orgasm out. You cry out his name strung together with curses, gripping his hair and the couch cushions for dear life as you sink into him, coating his chin in wetness.

Alex helps you ride it out, pulling away as you quiet down. He pulls off his tank top, wiping his face before tossing it away. He rids himself of his boxers completely, bearing himself to you as he stands. “Can you stand?”

You nod, slowly climbing to your feet. You’re shaky and nearly stumble, Alex having to catch you once again, earning a low laugh from him. “So clumsy, it’s a wonder you’re not covered in bruises.”

He guides you to the side of the couch, your back to his chest, before pushing you down over the armrest. Your face is pressed only inches from the wet spot your orgasm left on your couch, eyeing it as Alex’s cock runs along your cunt, collecting the wet it has to offer. With only a moment to prepare as his head lands at your entrance, he pushes inside and gives you no opportunity to adjust to the size of his cock.

He thrusts harshly, the sound of his hips hitting your ass echoing around your farmhouse, accompanied with moans from the both of you. Alex grips your hips tightly, but quickly moves on to squeeze your ass and give it light slaps as he fucks you. “This is exactly what I’ve been missing, babe. Yoba, it’s even better than I imagined. Cunt so fuckin’ tight.”

You moan out Alex’s name, reaching back to run your hand along his tight six pack as he fucks you. He gives you a quick feel before pinning your wrist behind your back, your face pressed tightly against the cushion as he pushes you into it with each thrust.

“Greedy,” he mumbles. “I know you like these muscles, but how am I supposed to make sure you keep letting me use you if I let you touch them right away?”

“Fucking me so good,” you cry into the couch.

“Yeah babe? Gonna let me in every time I get blue balled by Haley? Gonna be a good girl from now on?” Alex asks. His pace slows but he takes the time to push into you deeper, rolling his hips on your ass.

“Yes!”

“Give me your other arm,” he says. You remove it from the couch, reaching back. He presses your wrists together, keeping them pinned behind you with one hand as the other snakes around to rub harsh circles at your throbbing clit.

The transfer of full control to Alex and his calculated movements with your body have you nearing your second orgasm. Before you can say anything, he tells you, “Cum on my cock, babe. I want to know what you feel like when I’m making you cum.”

You let yourself unravel, cunt squeezing around his thick length as he shortens his thrusts, keeping most of his cock inside you but moving just enough to hit that perfect spot while he attacks your clit. “Fuck, Y/n, cunt feels s’fucking good right now.”

Alex fucks you through your orgasm before pulling out. “Lettin’ you choose tonight, where d’you want me to cum?”

You push yourself up as he releases you, turning to face him and kneeling down in front of him as you point to your chest. He hums, stroking himself fast as he aims his tip to your breasts. You place your hands on Alex’s thighs, gripping them for added balance as you look into his eyes. As he makes contact, his cock immediately begins to spurt out thick white ropes of cum, the warm liquid landing on your chest. As some of it hits your hardened nipples, you squirm at the feel of the hot cum in contrast to the cool air in the farmhouse.

Squeezing out the last drops, he lets go of his cock and places a lazy hand on your head, rubbing your scalp as he comes down from his high. You take his moment of weakness as opportunity to lick the last bit of cum from his tip, and his fingers pull at your hair. “Yoba, babe, can’t do that to me,” he breathes, trying to hide a smirk.

“Sorry,” you reply, not bothering to hide a grin as you rise to your feet. He puts a hand on your waist to steady you as you rise.

“Thanks for your help tonight.” He scans your body. “You look even better with my cum on you, so you might want to keep doing that.”

You roll your eyes. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Sure,” he winks. As he pulls on his clothes, he says, “I’ll let you get cleaned up. Don’t mention this to Haley or anyone, obviously. Just a little secret for us.” You nod as he pulls on his tank top. “I’ll see you soon, babe.” He gives you a quick kiss and heads toward the front door.

“Alex,” you call out suddenly. He stops, looking over his shoulder. “Do you use cherry chapstick?”

“No, but Haley does.” Alex grins. “Goodnight, Farmer.”

[auxcordlawd]

Part Three: Wandering Thoughts of a Ravenclaw

Words: 1024

Summary: You continue your detention with Professor Snape, finding yourself thinking of him a bit too much.

Warnings: PG-13, talk of heavy petting, sexual fantasizing, drinking, 18+ student and professor

18+

Part 3

Tuesday morning instead of going to the Great Hall for breakfast, you went to the library. Your head was buzzing with your dreams from last night. Images of your professor looking down at you with his onyx eyes, with hunger. Straddling over you, kissing your neck with a light bite at the end. Feeling his large hands grab your waist tightly. You felt heat between your legs.

“Uh hello?”

You were startled out of your thoughts when Miles suddenly sat down next to you, tapping your shoulder. “How long were you sitting there?” You asked feeling embarrassed for your concealed thoughts.

“Not long, enough to say hello a few times, you seem kind of out of it. I felt like I haven’t seen you in days between Quidditch practices and detentions with Professor Sprout, thanks to that asshole Snape.” Miles stated with clear anger towards the end of his statement.

“I know, I’ve been suffering too,” you stated meaning it in a slightly different manner, “after Easter break I will no longer be in detention.”

“Yeah but I still have another week after we are back. At least I’m visiting my family over the break. Are you going home for break?”

“No, I would but my parents are on a cruise, so I didn’t see the point. I have studying I want to catch up on though, especially if I want that Potions position.”

“I can’t see how anyone in their right mind would stay here after we graduate.” He said, seeming to regret the way he said it.

“I have to get to class.” You stated before quickly leaving him in the library.

Classes dragged on, you wished you had a DADA (Defense Against the Dark Arts) today. After what felt like forever it was time for dinner. You thought about sitting down and enjoying yourself, but decided to grab a ham and cheese sandwich and a butterbeer and head to your dorm to primp yourself before detention. You decided to change out of your uniform top and put on a deep v-neck cable knit sweater, and decided on not wearing a bra, wearing a necklace to draw more attention to your breasts. You left your skirt as is, but put your hair up.

Professor Snape was waiting for you at his office door, with a hand full of empty bottles. “We’re going to the Potions classroom, grab the remaining bottles on my desk and meet me there” He stated before turning on his heel leaving you standing near his doorway. You walked into his office, and took a deep breath in. You saw his pensive sitting there on top of the potions cabinet, desperately wondering what a peak in his mind would be like. You found a cloak of his hanging on the back of his chair, and smelled in his stimulating scent. His smell led your dream to creep back in your mind, his lips on your neck, hands gripping your waist trailing down to your skirt, slowly pushing it up to reveal your panties soaked- “Miss (y/l/n).”

You quickly stood up straight to see Professor Snape looking at you impatiently yet with some question in his eyes. “Quickly now, grab those potions, we have much to do.” He stated grabbing a few of the potions leaving me with only a couple to carry. You followed him beet red in the face, grateful he did not question you, only hoping he did not use Legilimency on you.

He had two teas sitting on the teachers desk, one near him, the other in front of the desk. You sat down at the chair in front of the desk, and he pushed the other tea towards you without at word. He was writing down notes, ingredients for his potions you assumed. You sipped you tea in silence as he continued scribbling. After several minutes passed he handed you the list and instructed you to get the ingredients needed while he readied the cauldrons.

“Good,” he stated as you returned with the needed ingredients, “I want to see you create each of the potions. I will watch over you, of course, but I want to ensure you can successfully recreate even some of my most complex potions.” He stood back and allowed you to get started. He leaned on the desk behind you sipping his tea while you worked. You made several potions to his liking over the next hour. You came across one you had never seen. “Professor?”

He was standing next to you before you finished asking for him. “Mm yes, I tweaked that one myself.” He said with a proud smirk. “Care to guess what it does?” After a minute of you attempting to figure it out he announced it was a modified version of The Elixir to Induce Euphoria. He began walking you through it. You’d never seen him so relaxed and in his element. Your arms touched from time to time, as you were standing so close together, you could feel his heat. “I didn’t know how you take your tea.” Snape said in a surprisingly warm tone.

“It was very good professor, thank you.” You stated smiling up at him. He looked down at you, his eyes trailing down to your lips, and then your chest. You followed his eyes down. You felt his large hand on your chin, pulling your eyes back up to his. Your breath hitched in your chest. You thought you were back in your dream. His thumb traced your lip with your chin still in his hands. He leaned down until you felt his breath, close enough to kiss you. “Very good.” He said in a dominating tone yet being a whisper. Heat spread throughout your body focusing between your legs as you looked up at him doe eyed. After a few seconds he released his grasp, shifting his focus back on the potion. You attempted to gather yourself. As he began to bottle the potions you started to clean up. “Alright Miss (y/l/n), lets bring these back to my office, then you are free to go.”As you followed him to his office your thoughts were all over the place, all you wanted was to be locked in his office, on top of him. You didn’t want to be free.

Inside his office you took the liberty of putting the newly filled potions in their appointed places. He seemed pleased by this, but also noticed that you were in no rush to leave. “I have a bottle of red elf-made wine I am going to open,” Snape hesitated unsure of how to continue “if you'd like a glass..” he trailed off. “I’d love that.” You said a bit too quickly. He conjured up two long stemmed wine glasses that looked ancient as well as the bottle uncorked. He poured two healthy glasses, handed you yours, and swirled his around in his glass before taking a large sip. You followed in his lead.

You both sat in content silence sipping wine until he put on some quiet classical music. “Most applicants for the Potions position are atrocious. If I must train someone who has promise, I will do so.” He said staring at you, waiting for a response. You had none so instead you took another drink. “You show promise Miss (y/l/n).”

“Thank you, sir. It truly means the most coming from you. You’re truly the master, I’m lucky to be under you.” You spoke without thinking, realizing you finished your glass. You blushed deep red. He refilled his glass and walked around to the front of his desk and refilled yours. Snape sat on the front of his desk, looking directly down at you. His leg just brushing yours.

“However,” he said in a more commanding tone “I notice you are still distracted.”

“Sir, I have only briefly talked to Miles, he is not on my mind anymore, I pro-“

“I am aware.” Snape said looking down at you. He took drink of his wine as did you. “After your detention is complete I’d like to start tutoring you. But I feel certain things are getting in our way.” His gaze once again drifting to your lips, then chest, then thighs which were now exposed more than planned. You shifted in your seat. “Do I make you nervous?”

The alcohol seemed to fuel your words at this point. “Yes, but not in the way you make most students nervous.” He tilted his head as to let you continue. “I think about you in ways a student shouldn’t.” You look down, silently cursing yourself. Snape grabs your chin like before to look up at him. “I am well aware of how I make you feel Miss (y/l/n), I’d like to say I have no intentions of giving in to your desires.” Snape states slowly while his hand traces down your neck to your shoulder, pushing the sweater to the side revealing your bare shoulder. You get goosebumps.

“Alright Miss (y/l/n)” Professor Snape said in his normal tone standing up, turning to walk behind his desk, “tomorrow, as you know is your final for this term of Defense Against the Dark Arts. I will need time after to grade, so you will be reporting back to be the following day to resume detention.”

“Yes, Sir.” You said breathlessly.

“Take the rest of the evening to rest, as I have kept you here late. I will send food to your common room. Goodnight Miss (y/l/n).”

“Thank you, goodnight professor Snape.”

You quickly made your way to the common room. Still unsure what happened, goosebumps still present, and a needy aching below your stomach. As you walked in you saw a delicious looking charcuterie plate, along with a folder. As you opened it you found something truly surprising.

Miss (y/l/n), I have taken study time you surely needed, although you found yourself in this predicament, I feel you shall find this useful. Tell no one - S.S

A study guide. After a few hours of studying the personalized guide and your wandering mind you found yourself quite sleepy. You dozed off thinking of the day, no need to fantasize.

[thelordofgifs]

Congrats on the milestone! How about Maglor or Maedhros and jewellery, from the worldbuilding prompt list?

Digging up this old prompt for @maedhrosmaglorweek day 3! Have both of them.

"You will jingle as you walk," says Maedhros, "they will hear you coming for miles."

Maglor laughs, and tosses his head so that the dangling silver earrings chime. "A poor minstrel I will make, if my jewellery plays more music than I! No, Nelyo, these will not do." He removes them carefully, and lays them aside in the growing pile of precious metal heaped upon the side-table.

Maedhros, sitting cross-legged on the stone floor of his chambers in Himring, watches him with a faint little frown. "You must choose something," he says; "you cannot go to the feast dressed as plainly as a Vanya monk."

"My songbird's voice is adornment enough," Maglor says blithely, "and anyhow I did not come here to pick out my own gems. We must make some progress on deciding what to bring as gifts."

From the chest Maedhros draws out a long string of pearls, meant to be draped three times around the neck for the full effect. A souvenir from a summer Maglor spent in Alqualondë, long before the light of the Trees went out, or indeed before their father took it into his mind to preserve it. Maglor chose the pearls himself, going up and down a hundred beachside stalls to pick out those most perfectly round and white, and had Finrod his cousin teach him how to string them on a thread of silk before presenting them to Maedhros. How lovely they had looked set against his brother's fair skin; they had seemed almost to glow.

"These – these stones," Maedhros says, hesitant, "we could gift them to the envoys of the Sindar, perhaps."

Maglor swallows. "They are pearls, Nelyo," he says, keeping his voice light. Maedhros blinks at him, and he explains, "They come from the sea, from oysters. We used to get them from the Teleri." He pauses, and then, when Maedhros still looks bewildered, adds, "I do not think it good politics to gift them to the kin of those we slaughtered, whether or not they know of it."

Maedhros' face darkens. "You are right – Nolofinwë's host will murmur to see them, besides." He gives the pearls another troubled look and then sets them aside.

No use, Maglor has learned, in dwelling on these missing spaces in his brother's memory. They frustrate Maedhros enough as it is: and it is nothing personal, Maglor knows, that he has forgotten the pearls were a gift from Maglor. Their Enemy has taken from Maedhros things far more precious than the recollection of a trinket. It does not sting, that Maedhros does not remember.

Maedhros has turned his attention back to the chest before him. These are all his personal jewels, salvaged from their father's house in Tirion in the brief hours they had to pack before setting out on their ill-fated march. In the years of his captivity Maglor would indulge himself, sometimes, and open the chest, and admire the treasure within as though he were yet a fanciful child trying on his brother's baubles; and he would tell himself that he would hear Maedhros' laughing voice at the door any moment now, saying, Are you going through my things again, little magpie?

Maedhros does not much like to wear jewellery, these days. He says that it chafes against his skin, and on darker days that it puts him in mind of chains; occasionally he will consent to Maglor pinning back his hair with a bejewelled clip, or to an unobtrusive pair of earrings, but all his fine gold necklaces and ornate jewel-encrusted bracelets are useless now.

"Too few gemstones," he says now with a frown; "they were more marvellous than the metalwork, and would be better received."

Maglor thinks with some regret of a fine set of rubies his father had made him for his two hundredth begetting-day. Like all the house of Fëanor's best jewels, they were locked in the vault at Formenos, and stolen by Morgoth when he ransacked it.

"I know not how things are done in Doriath," he says, "but in any case the Mithrim Sindar are not over-fond of jewels, much like their Falmari kin. I do not think we need worry that our gifts will seem poor to them; in truth they will know not what to do with them. They wear flowers in their hair oftener than gems."

"It may be different in Doriath," Maedhros argues. "Findaráto says of Menegroth that the very walls are studded with jewels. Perhaps a gift of our own best would go some way towards earning Elwë's favour."

Maglor frowns. "Think you he will come himself, then?"

"Perhaps," says Maedhros, "but even if he does not we must not seem to be ungenerous. Many of those in Nolofinwë's host will be searching for any excuse to name us so." He passes his hand over his eyes, looking tired. Maglor only arrived yesterday, but he has his suspicions about how long his brother had gone without sleep before that. "We must choose presents for them too—"

"You gave Nolofinwë a crown," says Maglor; "surely he will be sated with that!"

The jest makes Maedhros laugh, as it would not coming from any of their other brothers, edged as it would be with resentment or mockery. Maglor is awfully, selfishly glad of that.

"Come here," says Maedhros, "you are distracting me. Help me choose what to give our own kin, at least."

Maglor settles on the floor beside him. "This for Findaráto," he says, picking out a necklace of sapphires that Maedhros never much liked in the first place, "it will go well with his eyes."

Maedhros favours him with a smile. "Well chosen," he says. Then he finds a very fine emerald, set into the front of a copper circlet but easily prised free, and examines it thoughtfully. This, Maglor remembers, is a relic of their father's first experiments with the art of capturing light; it does not shine with a light of its own as do the Silmarils, but catches and magnifies all the daylight coming through the window in a most pleasing manner, reflecting them back in every shade of green imaginable. Maedhros sets it aside, and when Maglor casts him a questioning look blushes and says only, "For Finno."

The next piece Maedhros draws out of the chest is a golden bangle, from Fëanor's filigree phase: the metal worked into the shapes of trees and flowers and leaping horses, studded all over with tiny gems in a multitude of colours. Their father was in a good mood, when he made this, Maglor recalls. The precision of the work appealed to him. Perhaps it was that more than the loveliness of the finished product that made Maedhros fond of it.

"You always liked this one," says Maedhros, his eyes warm now with recollection. "The number of times it turned up on your dressing-table, after I had spent hours searching for it! Here." And he slips the bangle onto Maglor's wrist.

Maglor tenses, forces himself to relax, and takes it off again. "I do not want it," he says, "thank you, Nelyo."

Maedhros blinks at him. "I cannot wear it," he says, "not a bangle, it will be – too tight." He shudders briefly and then masters himself. "You might as well take it, and then someone can have use of it."

You do not want him back, Celegorm spat once; all your mourning is performance only. You are quite content to sit here wearing his crown and playing dress-up with his jewels, in truth.

"I do not want it," Maglor says again.

"Káno," Maedhros says, very gently. He tilts Maglor's chin up to examine his face. "What troubles you?"

But how can Maglor tell him, I am not now the child you knew in Valinor, the little magpie who so loved to be adorned? How can he say, I too was sated with a crown? He cannot unburden himself to Maedhros, who so depends on him to be merry and bright and unruffled. He has lost the right to do so.

"It will get in the way," he says, "when I play my harp." Then he summons up a smile and says, cheerfully, "Five cousins yet to choose gifts for, and then you promised you would let me practice my new Sindarin songs after we dine! We had better hurry." And he turns back to the chest before Maedhros can object.

[clownmoontoon]

HEYO LOVELIES!! \OUO/ <3<3<3!!! ive been itching to try a new art schedule i came up with so i dont end up drawing one character for two years straight again LMAO not that theres anything wrong w that ofc! its been fun! ;u; theres just SO MUCH on my "to draw" list im excited for and wanna get to work on and i think thisll not only make it easier for me, itll make it more fun for YOU! :D and to add a bit more consistency to my posting so its not 10 posts in a week and then months of nothing LMAO HELP from now on ill be posting on...

i may be working on a long form comic or animatic etc stuff that probably cant be finished to my liking in a week's time so the wednesday posts may be new photosets/edits etc of past art! either way ill be posting on wednesdays and following this schedule for my art from now on til i focus in on one of my specific stories! ((this doesnt impact how i reblog here or post to my patreon btw this is just for my art posting here specifically! ^^))

AND THE SCHEDULE WILL LOOK LIKE THIS! \OUO/

🤡MOON!! - anything off my draw list that stars my mascot, sona and fave oc MOON !! you've prob seen this rainbow, twintailed, fangy nonbinary clown monster around my blog at some point GET READY FOR MORE!! COMICS AND LORE AND ILLUSTRATIONS!! ITS CLOWN TIME BBY!! >:oD

🌈FANART - my fanart list is a MILE LONG LMAO and im so excited to dig into it!! lots of mini comics, long form comics, animatics and one off pieces scripted and planned!!! also if u followed me for a specific fandom chances are theres LOTS more of that coming!! theres so much on my list that, even after the hyperfixation passed, im like YEAH I STILL WANNA DRAW THAT

😈OC (not moon lol) - its about time i show off my other ocs who have been a bit neglected by me artwise ^^; I THINK ABOUT THEM ALL THE TIME THO!! HONEST!! AND IM SO EXCITED TO FINALLY SHARE THEM AND THEIR STORIES W ALL OF YOU!! \QVQ/

🌈FANART (diff from prev!) - to keep myself from drawing for the same piece of media over n over in a row THIS fanart will be from a different piece of media than the last one i drew!! if i have multiple small ideas i wanna get out fast i may throw them all into one ⭐️Super Post⭐️ with illustrations and comics all contained! this isnt to say i will never do same media fanart again ofc, just not back to back!

AND THEN I !!!

I START BACK AT MOON! :o) im sO SUPER EXCITED TO GET INTO THIS LIST AND IM ALREADY TWO POSTS IN!! WOO!! LETS GOOO!!! RAAAHHH!!!! 🔥🔥🔥🔥

LOVE U GUYS!!! \QUQ/ THANK U ALL SO MUCH FOR THE SUPPORT THUS FAR!! I HOPE U LOOK FORWARD TO ALL THE NEW STUFFS!! <3<3<3!!!

[dancingtotuyo]

“come here often?”

Javier Peña x female reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Summary: fucking men in bathrooms of dirty bars isn’t your usual cup of tea, but sometimes you make exceptions.

Warnings/Tags: strangers, alcohol consumption, sex (p in v), unprotected sex (wrap it up), mirror sex, dirty bathroom, rough sex, mentions of bruising, hair pulling (reader has hair long enough to pull), degradation, 1 slap on the ass, Javi is a menace, Javi touches reader in flirtatious ways without consent, hints of exhibitionism, use of “good girl”, dirty talk, aftercare, soft! Javi at the end. Let me know if I missed anything.

Notes: I’m hardly the first to write Javier fucking you over the bathroom sink of a bar, and I hope I am not the last. If I had a list of all the wonderful fics I’ve read with this scenario, I would supply one, but alas, my capacity to keep track of fics does not exist (believe me, I’ve tried).

This little fic came from a silly little writing game I’ve been playing with some friends. Thanks @wannab-urs for giving me the spark of inspo that started this. I also took inspiration from @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin and her fic, hand in unlovable hand, on this one! Shoutout @fhatbhabie for giving this baby a once over! @janaispunk for helping me sort out tags. @saradika for the dividers. And all my other amazing encouragers! You know who you are 🫶 ILYSM.

Words: 1171

You sit at the bar, swirling the whisky in front of you. You’re bored and in need of something to do on the hot summer night. Sweat collects in little beads across your skin, and you finish off the glass.

In the heat of the night, you don’t think you’d notice the presence of another behind you, but you do. It’s heavy and brooding. You feel it across your entire back as the person leans in beside you. His broad shoulders cover your frame.

“Ever heard of personal space?” You cock an eyebrow

He chuckles at you. A dark, thick mustache sits above his upper lip, highlighting his perfect teeth.

“A whiskey for me, and another for the lady,” he says to the bartender.

It is the least he could do.

He doesn’t move, keeping his eyes on you, letting his eyes roam across your body. He’s less than subtle about it. He catches a bead of sweat as it falls from your neck, tracking it down between your breasts, exposed in the sundress you wear. Finally, it slips out of his sight

He licks his lips, letting his forearm rest against the bar. “Come here often?”

You want to roll your eyes at the cliche words, but his lips are right at your ear, breath fanning over your bare skin. It sends a jolt straight to your core

You meet his gaze with stubbornness shining in your eyes. “No, I don’t tend to enjoy being eyed up by sleaze balls”

He chuckles deeply again, fingertips tracing your shoulder gently. “Good thing I’m here to keep them away.”

The bartender sets the drinks in front of you, giving you a look that asks if you want him to chase the man off. You shake your head. You can take care of him

“What are you? God’s gift to humanity?”

He smirks. “Some say that, yeah.”

You roll your eyes.

“C'mon, Hermosa. I think you’ll like it.” You brush him off, yet, he draws closer “I think you like sleaze balls like me making you feel good in seedy bars.”

“What makes you think you can make me feel good?”

“I like a good challenge” he winks

And god, if that doesn’t work. Your core clenches. Your stomach drops. You want to melt. Throwing down the whiskey, your eyes dart around until you find the sign for the bathroom. You don’t say a word. Adding a sway to your hips, you saunter off, heart pounding a million miles a minute.

You enter the bathroom. The door doesn’t even have a chance to close before his hands are on your hips. He kicks the door closed, making sure it’s locked. He pushes you forward, and your hands find purchase on the basin sink

The bathroom is small. It’s dingy and disgusting, but you don’t care.

“You are a filthy little thing, aren’t you?” he whispers in your ear, biting down on your earlobe

You let out a soft moan, tossing your head back. He cups your breast through the thin material of your sundress, and your nipples harden.

“Please” you stutter

“Please what, Darlin?”

“Fuck me” you moan.

He downright growls, shoving your hips into the sink. It hurts, but you can’t help but love it.

He flips your dress up to find your aching cunt dripping for him. “Just what I thought.” He clicks his tongue. “Such a good little slut. All this for me.” He runs his fingers through your dripping folds and then brings his finger to his nose smelling your juices before sucking his fingers clean. “Taste and smell so good for me, Hermosa.”

You whine.

“Just for me, right?” He says, running a hand over your ass, giving it a nice squeeze. You whine, core clenching around air.

You’re a pathetic, dripping mess

And you love it

His hand tangles in your hair, tugging you up roughly. “I said, just for me- right?” He smacks your ass and you moan.

“Yes, yes, just for you.”

“Good girl.” He lets go of your hair. You drop over the sink, panting heavily. You hear the buckle of his jeans.

Looking up just enough to see your reflection in the mirror, your hair is a mess. Mascara smudges under your eyes. Then, your eyes drift to him. His thick cock springs out of his jeans. The fucker isn’t wearing underwear, but you’re not complaining. It’s one less obstacle, and the sooner he’s in you, the better

He catches you eying him and smirks. “You like what you see, Hermosa?”

You nod, letting out a soft whimper

He smirks, hands moving back to your ass, squeezing and massaging it “You’re gonna take it so good for me.”

He lines himself up at your entrance. You only get a half second until he’s splitting you in two, forcing himself into you fully and completely. Your hips run into the sink again, the porcelain cool against your raging flesh. Your legs spread further of their own accord. You cry out, not caring if the whole goddamn bar hears you.

He withdraws and you feel empty until he’s ramming back into you. It goes on like that over and over and over. Tears drip down your face. Your moans of pleasure echo off the walls until you’re sure you’ve drawn spectators outside the door. With each thrust, your hips run into the sink. The balance between pain and pleasure quickly sends you to the edge, tension curling in your stomach.

Your legs shake. “Please, I’m so close.”

“You’re such a good girl, and a tight fucking cunt too.” He grits out, skin slapping against yours. “You gonna cum for me?”

“Yes, please.” His cock hits deep within you. Your breath catches. “Javier! I wanna cum for you.”

His fingers find your clit, his pace keeping steady and you’re coming in seconds, drenching his cock. He’s not far behind you, emptying himself inside you with a loud moan.

He pulls out of you, taking a second to collect himself. You’re draped over the sink, unable to move.

He pulls his pants up, tucking himself into his pants like it’s just another Tuesday.

He comes over to you, pulling you up gently, letting your skirt fall back into place. You struggle still to catch your breath. He cups your cheeks, wiping away the tears and smudged mascara, smoothing out your hair. You feel him leaking out of you.

“Too much?” He asks

You smile breathlessly “Just right”

He chuckles, kissing you softly, hands finding your waist. “Good girl.”

Once you’re home, he cleans you up, kissing your hips where bruises have already started to form.

He snuggles in close to you, both naked and without the comforter due to the heat, pressing soft kisses to your head.

His fingertips trail across your body aimlessly.

You let your eyes fall shut to his beating heart. “Wouldn’t mind doing that again sometime.”

He laughs, brushing your hair back as your breathing evens out. “I’ll keep that in mind, Darlin.”

[l0ve-bug-m1les]

Spider-Band With a S/o Who Hyperfixates on Things Hard

Miles Morales, Hobie Brown, Gwen Stacy, and Pavitr Prabhakar (separate) x Gn!Reader

Warnings: None! (Except my attempt at British talking—)

Summary: Really what the title says—

A/n: This is actually an idea i had when i first fell into the spider verse fandom but didn’t have anyone to talk to about it. Glad ya’ll picked this one! Enjoy!! Also lmk if any of ya’ll wanna be on a tag list!! I know i don’t write all that much but still—

Miles Morales 🌻🎧🌻

Bby is here for it

Always listening to what you have to say and never complaining

I have a feeling he’d be just as excited as you even if he’s got no clue what you’re talking about

He’d try to get into your interests with you no matter how outlandish they may seem

(I mean he’s basically a spider what’s so weird about fnaf lore—)

Definitely draws you things based off of the subject

“You said they were your favorite, right?”

Is always sending you memes and funny videos about your interest

Asks you for updates on your interest if it’s a series

Holds you when something bad happens and you’re sad

“Shh, shh…Hey, at least they existed, right?—Oh, no that made it worse—“

Going back to rambles, he’s always listening but maybe not always looking at you

But trust me

That boy could recite what you say perfectly

He just likes to listen while he works or draws

Has definitely made a mural of you and him in the world together (used it as a date spot. It’s true, he told me)

Overall

20/10 boyfriend

(I mean they all are but like—)

Hobie Brown 🎸⚡️🎸

Will spend hours learning songs related to your interest

But then he’s like

“What? Oh, i been knowin’ this song, luv. What’re ya on about?”

Say for instance, you dive deep into an artist or band

Obviously, Hobie’s gonna ask you about them

But would never ask you for your favorite songs because he’s “Too busy writing his own”

So he just pays really close attention to the songs you talk the most about

(As i previously stated, he learns them all and plays it off)

When you figure it out he’s just like:

“Took ya long enough, luv”

He also listens to your rants about whatever it is (much like Miles and everyone else here but shhh)

But here’s why he stands out

This man can keep up

He can and will remember all about it, and basically know about much as you do

Steals things from stores that are from the series or whatever it is

“Hobie, how’d you get this?” “It was on display and i knew you’d love it.” “Wow! I thought you didn’t buy things from brands..” “…” “You stole it…”

You’re too busy loving whatever it is to stay mad

(But we all knew you weren’t mad)

If you think your interest is cringey then you’re WRONG

“But it’s for kids—“ “And? So what?” “Well…uhm….hm.” “Yeah. Thought so. Now keep goin’, I’m invested.”

(But also in general, bby. Love what you love and come to me if anyone says it “weird” or “cringey”. I’ll beat them up bestie<33)

All in all, a king<33

Gwen Stacy 🩰🥁🩰

I’m gonna be honest

She is lost

Even if you go over things twenty times she still won’t get it

And that’s okay!

She takes notes and tries to keep up

Definitely proud of herself when she gets a detail right

“And then—“ “Wait, wait. Let me guess…He…he burned the pizzeria down, right” “Uhm—yeah, actually!” “*insert proud face*”

(Woah look at the trans flag colors^^^)

Definitely binge watches or reads your interest and learns as much as she can

She keeps a notebook full of her notes that she refers back to whenever you two are on call

She played it off as writing down some notes for school

But one day, she asked you to grab her suit from inside her drum set, and you found the notebook

It caught your eye because it had the name of your interest on it and you were like:

“Hey, Gwen? What’s this?” You showed her the notebook

I wish you could see my vision

When i tell you Gwen stood there for a good minute

I mean she stood there for several

Anywho

She just admitted to it and was all red and fidgety

Since this is her world, she was cast in mostly pink and red hues and the space around her fluttered yellow

You end up going through it with her, and talk about your favorite bits

Overall? She deserves several gold stars and cookies

Pavitr Prabhakar 🍵☀️🍵

Bby is here for it

Whenever you get excited he’s excited

When you’re on the verge of tears he’s already crying

He is your favorite character’s number one supporter

He’s always going on and on with you about your interests

Because unlike the others, he manages to actually get into whatever it is you’re talking about and not just keep up

It’s honestly a skill of his

I feel like Pav also has special interests that he dives deep into

Like

Deep deep

Same as you so you two get along well :D

He’s always looking for the newest content and sending it to you always

“Hey! They said the next episode would be released next Tuesday!! :DDD” “There’s a new theory for the last volume!”

It’d be cute if that’s how you met and became friends

You spend sleepovers diving into your shared and separate interests with eachother

You know what’d be funny?

If he also info dumps onto the villains he fights

Like

Hear me out

Pav tying up a villain who tried to rob a place and just going

“Yeah, so me and my partner have a theory for why—“

And the villain is just like

Stfu??????

But they’d never say that because it’s Spider-Man

All in all, your number one hype man and best friend :]

———————————-

YA’LL I DID IT :DD

[ahedderick]

End of the Week

I spent a good part of the morning trying to frame art, attach wire or hangers to the back of various pieces, and making a list of what I want to take to the Studio Tour next weekend. Doesn't seem like too bad a list, but - it was an anything-that-can-go-wrong kinda day. A drawing that was already framed - I noticed that the frame is chipped in two places. Try to get the round painting to hang at a certain angle . . but attach the wire in the back just a l-i-t-t-l-e off kilter. That sort of thing. I'll have to go back and look at my list tomorrow to double check it. I do not trust my work.

In the afternoon I met my daughter at a state park. She has been interested in a dog, Rose, that was in her school's kennel for quite a while. Two weeks ago I told her to bring Rose home for a weekend visit to see how our dogs would accept her. She, instead, filled out adoption paperwork, and called me to let me know that Rose Was Ours!!!

"W-aht?"

Hmm. We met at the park to try introducing the dogs on neutral territory. Chance loves everybody, no trouble there, but Lady is dog-aggressive and needs to be introduced carefully. We walked for about a mile, then headed home. This is going to be a Project.

Headline: Ball of dusty lint lands a cushy new home

Ball of dusty lint sees outdoors water for, possibly, the first time. She is terribly unsure of everything. Hello, Rose.

If we truly can't make it work, there is no fee or penalty for returning her. I'm hoping that, while K is home for a long weekend, we can make substantial progress on getting Lady acclimated and Rose 'farm trained.' She is small and timid. Hopefully Nutmeg won't bully her.

[nariaein]

Some of My Scrapped Punkflower Fics

Exactly what the title says, but I don't want to let these go to waste

Over Christmas break, Miles’ mom learns how to knit.

It stems from the fact that she doesn’t like having a lot of free time on her hands. But since school is out and his dad won’t let her spend more than forty-eight hours — or what she considers a break — at the hospital a week, there’s an abundance of it for all of them. Snow falls endlessly beyond the walls of their apartment, making for more than a couple long, lazy days spent inside, hands and weighted blankets curled around mugs and their shoulders. Old Christmas movies are the only thing on TV.

So. She digs around in their spare closet and emerges with two knitting needles. They’re from her grandma, she says, and Miles secretly reveres them — the blunt tips, the lengthy shafts, and the tapers with chips in the wood from before both of their times.

She lets him choose from the bundles of yarn three colors: orchid, yellow, and white.

The next morning, he wakes to a pair of finger-less gloves on his bedside table. The stitches are not entirely consistent, yet they’re warm and colorful.

He loves them, almost as much as he loves winter, and nowhere close to as much as he loves her.

“Any idea what this is about?”

Miles shrugs and shifts to make room for Gwen to sit on the carpet beside him. “No. Miguel didn’t tell you?”

“Nope.”

The topic settled for now, his eyes drift and land on two figures across the announcement hall, steadily coming forward. They’re somehow easy to pick out in the crowd.

Hobie shakes Pavitr by the shoulders, giggling, and something in Miles aches, just below the space between his ribs.

There’s a tapping, feedback, then a throat clearing. He turns back to look at the stage.

“Hello, everybody, and thank you for coming on such short notice. Rest assured, nothing is wrong,” Miguel starts. The room lets out a collective sigh of relief. “But the holiday season is coming up. Lyla and I — mostly her — thought it would be nice to do something special. All of the Society is welcome to participate, but it’s not mandatory.”

“He is a surprisingly level man when he’s not trying to body slam me into the nearest train,” Miles mutters. Someone huffs hotly in his ear.

“Good one,” Hobie says, dropping down on Miles’ other side.

Miguel continues. “For the first time ever, we will be doing Secret Santa. Shortly, you will fill out a wish list of gift ideas. Then, you will draw a random name from a box — their dimension and wish list will also be included. Presents will be delivered by me or Lyla. Afterwards, you can guess who your Secret Santa was. The ultimate deadline is Christmas day.”

A week away.

I bet you can guess who Miles got :] I also remember writing a section that I really loved where he asked his mom what his dad got her for Christmas when they were dating, and later, Gwen came over. She was having trouble getting Pavitr a gift. Miles suggested a plant to take care of, meanwhile, he was making a custom bright red leather jacket for Hobie

I cannot for the life of me find these sections

[meetmyothersouls]

It's Not You, It's Me

Part 12

Warnings: recovering from an accident, bruising, wedding, braxton hicks/contractions, violence/violent situations, a single gun (not used), feelings of dread and sadness, this is quite long so, please bare with me. Not proof read

What should have been a weeklong hospital stay, turned into two, then three, then before you knew it, Timothee had been in the hospital for a month. During yours and Timothee's stay, there was an interesting new development in your pregnancy: Braxon Hicks contractions. The first time you had one you thought for sure you were going into labor, luckily the hospital Timothee was staying at was the same hospital your OBGYN was at and the same hospital you were delivering in. So, your doctor saw you every time you had one, "just to make sure," you told them. By the time, Timothee was released, and a quick wedding ceremony was in order, you were eight months and a week pregnant, feeling like you were about to burst at the seams.

The week that Timothee was released from the hospital was exponentially busy, filled with dress fittings (your least favorite part considering), physical therapy for Timothee, somehow getting a church on board for a last-minute wedding, finding an ordained minister (which ultimately did not work out. Luckily, Timothee's best friend Stephane went the extra mile and spent the week getting ordained) and finally (and almost forgotten) obtaining a marriage license. Nicole took the matter of guest list, invitations, decorations and food into her own hands.

The night before the wedding, Timothee seemed distracted. He paced the floor of your shared apartment, biting his fingernails. He hissed in pain as he bit one down too far, drawing blood. The sight brought on one of the fake contractions. You winced a little as you got up, walking them off seemed to help.

"What's goin' on, Tim?" You asked, walking over to him. "Not getting cold feet, are you?" You asked, mostly joking.

Timothee quickly turned his neck to look at you, wincing in pain from the movement. A lot was still difficult for him, and it worried you to no end. "Of course not!" Timothee smiled, the bruising around his eyes and faded into a nasty yellow color, but somehow, he still managed to look insanely attractive. "I should be asking you that, you know? The one who always runs off." Immediately your faced dropped and Timothee quickly added, "I'm kidding. I'm kidding! No, really, everything's great, y/n. We're getting married tomorrow, our daughter's gonna be here any day now. What more could I want?"

You winced again at a second false alarm contraction and Timothee put a hand on your belly and ran the other through his hair. It was something he did when he was nervous. Then, his index finger went back into his mouth as he chomped on the already torn fingernail. You chalked it up to last minute jitters as you closed your eyes.

"We don't have to do this, you know?" He said quietly.

Your eyes popped open and you pulled his other hand into yours, hoping to minimize the torture he was putting his fingers through.

"I know, but a ceremony is important and I think your mom would flip if we didn't have one."

"I know, but-" Timothee slid his hands out of yours and went back to pacing the floor. He'd mellowed out a lot since the beginning of all this. And the accident left him a little fragile. Secretly, you hoped he'd get back to his normal devious self. Maybe after the wedding and after the baby was born, he'd settle back down.

"But....?"

"But," Timothee sighed, launching back into a pace. "I'm just freaking out. And probably over nothing. It's stupid. Forget it."

You rolled your eyes. "No. Fuck that. You can't just say that and then tell me to forget about it. What's going on, Timmy? Tell me."

You waddled over to him, hoping it looked like anything other than a waddle. You stopped him mid pace, pulling his hand from his mouth and took it in yours. His other hand went to your cheek as he brushed strand of hair behind your ear. He sighed again.

"Just tell me, baby," you urged him gently.

"I'm just waiting for something to happen. Something to go wrong."

His anxiety was talking again, and you were getting better and better and calming his rising panic. You'd been talking him off the ledge a lot lately. Sometimes were easier than others. You weren't sure how this one was going to go.

"Nothing's going to happen, Timothee. We're going to get married and then hopefully have this baby, like, two seconds after," you laughed. It was getting hard to breathe with how the baby was positioned.

He nodded, smiling as he took your face in his hands and kissed your lips tenderly before building up to a deeper, more passionate kiss.

"Let's go to bed," he said against your mouth. "Tonight's the last night I get to have sex with you as y/f/n y/l/n."

The next morning came early. Timothee had physical therapy that morning, so Nicole picked you up to begin getting you ready for your wedding. You couldn't believe it was happening. Your wedding. You were marrying Timothee Chalamet.

Nicole stood behind you as she zipped your dress up. Your hair was done, your make up was perfect and the dress, though heavily modified due to your pregnant belly, fit you like a glove and was somehow not the least bit uncomfortable. You looked beautiful and that was something you never considered yourself. Your eyes glistened a little as tears built up.

"Oh, honey," Nicole said, leading over to grab a few tissues. She handed them to you over your shoulder and you patted your eyes, careful to not smudge your perfect eyeliner.

"I'm sorry your parents couldn't make it here, sweety, but I just want you to know that long before today, I already considered you a daughter."

"Make that both of us" Timothee's dad, Marc, said from behind you. He must've snuck in without you noticing, which wouldn't be hard to do considering how much was on your mind. He looked quite handsome in his tuxedo with light blue accents. "Y/n, I'm not sure if you've given it any thought...and there's no pressure at all of course, but...if you want, I'd love to be the one to walk you down the aisle today."

Tears immediately welled up in your eyes, which prompted Nicole to grab more tissues. This time, she dabbed your eyes for you.

"I'd love that thank you, Mr. Chalamet. Or...should I call you Dad now?" You chuckled but cringed at your awakardness.

But marc offered you a genuine smile and his arm and said, "I'd be disappointed if you didn't."

Timothee's POV

I stood at the altar, my hands a sweaty mess. Normally, Y/n wouldn't want a big ceremony, and I knew she was doing it for everyone but her. That's one of the reasons I fell in love her. Her selflessness.

I'm lost in thought as the music begins playing and the groomsmen with the bridesmaids began to walk down the aisle and joined me on stage. Part of me, unfortunately, worried about her not showing, but these thoughts are instantly put at ease when the music changed and my dad brought Y/n out, his arm interlocked with hers.

Everything stopped and there was only her. She looked...beautiful. Pregnancy certainly made her glow like an angle sent straight from heaven, just for me. My eyes began to fill with tears and I didn't even try to keep them from falling. I wiped my eyes with one hand, keeping the other one behind my back, shaking like a leaf. Her dress, which she was so worried about made her look even more angelic. The fabric fell off of her shoulders, exposing my favorite spots to kiss, and draped down her arms. Lace covered the plunging neck line, a modification Y/n added to not show so much skin. A satin tie gathered perfectly around her waist, showing off a perfectly round baby bump. Then it hit me. Both of my girls were here on my wedding day.

And then, we locked eyes and she waved at me. Wiggling her delicate little fingers, in my direction. I couldn't help but chuckle. My dad helped her up the three steps. Words were spoken, but I didn't hear a damn on of them. Y/n hugged my dad before he joined my mother in the front row.

Stephane greeted the guests, speaking eloquently I'm sure, but all I could see, all I could hear, all I could think of was her. The day I'd waited for, since I saw her in that coffee shop so long ago, was here.

It must've been time for vows, because Y/n cleared her throat and said my name. Her eyes were glossy as she spoke.

"Timothee, my love, my world, my everything. We've been through a hell of a lot together, haven't we?" She chuckled and sniffled a little, and I reached out to grab one of her hands, rubbing an encouraging thumb over her fingers. "There have been moments in my life, where I didn't think I had a purpose, a reason. But then you came along, and you gave me two." She placed a hand on her belly, and she gripped mine tighter. "I never thought I'd get married, and I definitely never thought I'd have one these." The guests laughed and so did I. "But I'm so happy, Timothee. I'm so happy that I get to spend forever with the two of you. I love you," she said to me, her voice going a bit higher in pitch as it did when she was about to cry. "And I will never run from that. I promise.

Reader's POV

You breathed a deep sigh of relief as you finished your vows. You decided that you weren't going to write anything down. You were going to speak directly from your heart. You laid it all out for him in a way you hadn't ever before. And Timothee looked at you, happy tears welling up in his still bruised eyes.

Timothee opened his mouth to speak, but smiled instead, as if gathering words to say.

"I'm not as poetic as my beautiful bride here," he started, and you rolled your eyes knowing very well how eloquent he was when he spoke. Still, the small crowd of maybe 100 guests laughed. "So, I had to write mine down." Timothee reached a hand into his pocked, fishing for his vows. He finally pulled out a folded white sheet of paper. It appeared wrinkled and worn, like it was folded and unfolded countless times over numerous days as he worked out his feelings onto paper.

"Y/n," Timothee said, "I-" he cut himself off with a short, shaky breath and a light emotional sob. It was your turn to comfort him, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles. He looked up at you and pulled his lips in to form a smile one does to push back a lump forming in their throat. He was trying so hard not to cry.

I love you. You mouthed.

"I love you too," he whispered back. He huffed out a breath and refocused. "I wrote this a week after I met you and-"

Timothee stopped again, cut off by something different this time. He turned his head to someone in the audience, someone that caught his attention. Instantly his face changed. Your smile dropped from your face and your snapped your neck in the direction he was looking in. Your stomach tightened, contracting again at the sight of the man standing in the back of the crowd. He entered quietly, Timothee must have seen him out of his peripheral vision, there was no sound upon his entrance; even the large church doors didn't make a sound. But a man that you knew from long ago stood in the threshold and his presence was just as menacing as you remembered.

"No," you whispered. "No. No. No."

The two of you, seconds ago standing in front of each other, holding hands, exchanging vows, shifted to face the man at the door. His face was twisted in an ominous smirk, making his dark eyes appear evil. His hair, as black as night, was styled as perfectly as it was the day you left him and decided to erase him from your life. But now, here he was and by his looks, he was here to ruin it.

"Y/n," Timothee said, not taking his eyes off of the wedding crasher. "Who is that."

You wish he hadn't have asked that. Because saying his name out loud would acknowledge that fact that somehow, he reentered your life. You spent so long trying to forget him, to repress him from your memory. But of course Timothee would ask. Why wouldn't he? You never spoke about Jacob. Not after what he did.

"His name is Jacob, you said. "And he's my ex-fiancé."

Timothee's grip on your hand tightened to the point of pain and the muscle in his jaw strained as he worked it. "For now," he sighed, as if he knew this would happen. You thought of what he said the night before. I'm just waiting for something to happen. Something to go wrong. And here it was. "We're going to skip over the fact that you've never mentioned this to me and figure out what the fuck is going on."

Jacob looked around the church, an obnoxious fake look of awe plastered to his face. He clapped his hands in mocked amusement and then held them out to both of you as he took slow, but deliberate steps towards the front of the church. "Oh, I hope I'm not too late. Y/n, I missed your invite, but you know I'd find you eventually." Jacob grabbed a wine glass from a woman's hand and downed the entire thing in a single gulp. He looked at Stephane. "Is it too late to object this shit show?"

Stephane stepped forward, an elegant swagger to him even in the most awkward situations. "With all due respect, uhm, sir," he added in disgust, "objections are reserved for legal matters only, emotional reasonings are not valid for objections. So, unless your objection is of legal stature, we won't be stopping the wedding."

Timothee pulled you closer to his body as Jacob pursed his lips in thought. Another fake contraction tightened around your belly, this time building in intensity. This time, a wince was hard to hide. Your hand went to your belly and your breathed out a big puff of air.

"Are you okay," Timothee whispered over his shoulder.

"Yeah. Yeah. Braxton Hicks," you reminded him.

"Oh for the love of God, Y/n. Really? Pregnant at your own wedding? I know you're trash but this," he held out his hands as if showing you to a crowd gathered to see a freakshow at a circus. "This is next level!" Jacob laughed in disbelief.

"Hey, man. Get the fuck out. You weren't invited and this is a private event. You've said what you needed to say. And whatever the hell went on between you two is clearly over. She doesn't want you. And no one wants you here right n ow. Leave. That's the last time I'll ask.

Jacob's lips pulled into a sadistic smirk again, and a sinister laugh vibrated in his throat. The guests looked horrified and a few of them already picked up their bags and walked out.

"Jacob, please. You're ruining my wedding day." Just like he ruined your life.

"Your wedding day?" He laughed out loud. "This was supposed to be OUR wedding day, y/n. Remember all the plans we made? All the things we did together, all the memories we made together? ALL THE LOVE WE MADE?!"

"Stop."

"You can't just throw that away."

"Stop it, Jacob."

"But you did. Didn't you? You threw it all away. You threw us away, y/n. Just like you threw me in prison!"

"BECAUSE YOU KILLED MY FAMILY!" You screamed. The remaining guests gasped, and Timothee's head snapped to you. You didn't tell him this. You didn't tell anyone anything. You couldn't. As soon as Jacob went to prison, you entered the witness protection program. You started over. You weren't sure how Jacob found you. How he was out of prison.

The rest of the guests were leaving the church in hoards at your outburst. Stephane still stood behind Timothee. You saw Larry hiding out in the corner. He'd have you if you needed and if god forbid anything happned to-

Jacob pulled his hand he'd been keeping in his pocket, revealing a heavy black handgun. Anyone left in the church aside from Stephane and Larry had fled. And Jacob began walking causally around the pews, waving the gun around as he talked.

"You know, I've had years to think about how this would all go down. Because I knew you'd change your name. I knew you'd move and hide. And lemme tell ya, you were a tricky one to find," he shook the gun at you as talked, "They did good with you."

Jacob pointed the gun in your direction, and instantly Timothee opened his mouth to speak.

"Ah, Ah," Jacob said, moving his aim to Timothee. Timothee made sure you were behind him, assuring that if Jacob pulled the trigger, it'd be him that he shot. Another shooting pain rippled through your abdomen, this time your knees buckled a little and it took everything in you not to fall to them. You gripped the back of Timothee's tux, but he didn't seem to notice. Stephane placed one hand on your back, rubbing soothing circles and the other hand on Timothee's shoulder.

"If you can't tell," Jacob started back up when he was sure Timothee was done interrupting. "I'm calling this wedding off. She's not marrying you." He emphasized the word 'you' with evident disgust.

"We're already married," Timothee blurted out. If there were still guests in the room, you were sure his declaration would have resulted in more gasps. Jacob stopped walking and lowered his gun. Taking his chance, Timothee started up again. "About a month ago, I was in a pretty bad accident. We decided that as soon as I was out we'd get married. But we couldn't wait. We got married in my hospital room and didn't tell anyone. This ceremony was all for show and formalities. Y/n is already my wife."

Jacob took in what Timothee had to say and for a second you were hopeful. Your stomach tightened again, and you couldn't suppress the groan of pain you let out.

"Y/n," Timothee said.

"I'm fine," you assured him, even though you felt like vomitting. You started to wonder if these were real contractions. "I'm fine," you said again, unaware of who you were trying to convince.

You gathered yourself enough to stand up straight, thought the pressure building between your legs was starting to increase and became more obvious than it had in the last few weeks. Your eyes found Jacob again, standing right in front of the stairs leading up to the stage.

"No matter," he shrugged and pointed the gun. That's when you felt it, like a water balloon from inside of you bursting. Fluid rain down your legs and onto the stage. If Timothee saw it, he didn't make it known.

"Tim," you whispered. "Tim my water broke." It came out like a sob.

Timothee gripped your wrist tight, you already felt bruises forming. He didn't say anything, he only stood his ground in front of you, his body as still as any statue. Stephane took his place at his side, increasing your shield from Jacob.

Jacob let out a laugh that echoed and bounced off of the walls of the empty church. "Oh no, you don't understand, you stupid fucks! I don't want her. Why would I kill the one I want? No. I'm coming after you."

"Ahh, fuck!" You screamed as another contraction rippled through your stomach. It was unlike any pain you'd ever felt, like your insides being twisted and ripped out. Your stomach tightened so intensely you couldn't move. The only relief was that it wasn't constant. You prayed they were far apart enough to finish whatever this was.

"If she won't come with me...I'll make her a widow. She's so pathetic, she'll come crawling right back to me. Now, come on," Jacob said, waving the gun towards himself, motioning Timothee to follow, but Timothee stood still, completely unmoving. It wasn't until Jacob was halfway to the door, that he realized Timothee wasn't following. Jacob stompped back over, clearly annoyed, not stopping until he was directly in front of Timothee, his nose practically touching Tim's.

"You better learn how to follow directions, pretty boy."

"Fuck you," Timothee spat.

"You want me to kill you in front of your widow?"

Timothee didn't answer.

Behind him, you screamed as another contraction reared its ugly head.

"Y/n," Timothee said, slowing turning around with up turned palms, assuring Jacob he wasn't going to run off or do anything slick. "Y/n, listen to me."

"No. No. Nononono. No I can't do this. I can't. Do go. Don't go with him. Please. I need you, Timothee."

"I know. I know my love. Listen. Listen to me."

You made yourself look at him, and regretted it instantly. You'd seen Timothee in a thousand different ways, but you'd never seen him as broken as this.

"You get to the hospital. Okay? You have our baby and when she's here, you tell her how much I love her and you make sure you tell her that for me every day until you grow old and gray. Until you don't have the strength to say it anymore. But please. Please know that for every ounce of love I have for her-" his hand went to your belly, and you sobbed loudly. "Is nothing compared to how fiercely I loved you."

Loved.

"No! No I'm not going. I'm not leaving you, you can't make me Timothee, please."

"LET'S GO!" Jacob screamed.

"Just give me a fuckin minute!" Timothee yelled, tears rolling down his face.

"I love you, y/n. Don't you ever fucking forget that."

Timothee grabbed your face tightly in his hands and kissed you. Normally, you'd love a kiss that deep and passionate. It was one of those kisses that Timothee put his entire heart into. His tongue wrapped around yours. His taste in your mouth. His lips skating gracefully around yours, even with how rushed it was. The soft noise he made while he kissed you that he didn't even realize he was doing but he did because his entire soul was in the kiss. But right now, you hated it. You hated it because he was kissing you like it was his last. And for all you knew, it was. 

Tags: @dayafied @soulofendlessbook @fashphotolife @scentedkittenperfection @weasleytwinscumslut @timotheel0ver @mxciscastleintheair @marvelmaniac2000 @lovelyrocker @divine-1 @love-poems-only @starberry-cake @inlovewithphantasy @alexagirlie @misswestfall @softhecreator @livresjaunes @timmymyluv @inannamoon @harrys-thick-thighs @s-we-e-t-t-ea @timolaurence @its-schmackin-dude @justagirlwhoneedshelp @kteezy997 @sufferingstarlight @xoxoloverb @tropicalrozmajzl @iloveneilperry @syirnge @patronsaintofthetwinks @rosewatergroupie @onlyenoughiamweird

[youlikefanficdontyousquidward]

Why so blue?

Prologue, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven

tag list: @luciddasher @seashelldom @goblinerrant @belos-simp69 @d4rno

Chapter Eight

Beep boop action scenes are hard. Trying to maintain a gender neutral reader, please let me know if there's anything I can do to help with that. I think other than the earlier mention of the Na'vi word for mother I've done well.

Quaritch didn't know the last time he'd felt so content. You sat relaxed by his side, Spider to his left chatting away and his squad under his control. His only want was for Jake Sully's head, then everything would be perfect.

The fires heat had made you remove your shawl, Quaritch admired the sparkling dots that littered your shoulders. Lyle kept his eyes to Mansk and Zdog, obeying Quaritch's order and then some.

Spider began humming a tune, tapping his feet to an upbeat melody. Your voice joined in, adding lyrics to this song. Miles didn't know it, must have been in Na'vi though he couldn't pick out many lyrics. To his surprise however Zdog began drumming along, using the butt of her knife against an empty tin. You sang beautifully, Quaritch was enchanted, unable to tear his gaze away from your moving lips.

You stood passing him to stand in front of Spider, who feigned some resistance but allowed himself to be pulled up, grinning the whole time. You lead him forward, placing a raised fore arm to his, you began stepping in circles. The dance wasn't too hard to follow, and by the end of the song Miles felt he knew the steps. Zdog stood, passing off her 'drum' to Lyle to keep going.

You stood together, her teaching you a snaking hip movement. You followed easily, Zdog leaving to call Mansk to join her and hauling him off the ground when he didn't. You laughed lightly, singing another tune as you swayed and twisted silhouetted in the fire light.

Spider flopped down next to him again, Slightly out of breath. "You should get up there." He smiled, raising his eyebrows. Quaritch looked stunned but Spider just laughed at him. "I'll push!"

Miles stood and walked to you. He felt like a teenager, about to ask his crush out. Palms sweating and throat tightening. He thought with years worth of experience in memory he wouldn't feel so nervous. You continued swaying, turning to him, smiling lightly. At least you seemed to be equally blushing, your ears and tail twitching as your voice wavered slightly. He followed his memorized steps, dancing with you the way you'd done with Spider. You relaxed into it, changing the moves slightly to be closer to him. Shifting round to dance with your back pressed to his chest. He felt too hot but he couldn't leave your side, he didn't want this moment to end but it did.

Mansk began yelling, swinging his gun up to point out at the water. Miles pulled you behind him, drawing his own weapon and staring out into the inky water for the threat. The river flowing gently, he saw nothing churn the water, save the few larger rocks that broke the surface.

You gripped his bicep before pointing out. "There!" You whispered to him. He saw it now, the size of a bus, scaled and swimming fast towards them, spines cutting a smooth path. Spider was near, a few meters to his side, close to Lyle and the banshees. Zdog and Mansk where on his other side, guns readied.

The creature broke the surface, its momentum allowing it to leap into the air before crashing down in the middle of your semi circle. It was massive. Huge body dousing the flames, throwing the surroundings into their glowing state. Miles would have called it a crocodile. It was several times the size but with a very similar jaw and teeth. again just several times bigger. It's six legs where short and muscular and its tail was long, thin and ended in a spiked ball, like a medieval mace. It's body was an inky black, making it hard to see unless in front of the glowing shrubbery. Only its spines held a deep blood red colour.

He opened fire, aiming around its nose and eyes, hoping these parts wouldn't be as strongly protected. The other recoms followed suit, muzzles flashing light up the creature as it roared and reared back. It lunged suddenly towards Zdog and Mansk, who rolled under its bite. The sound its jaw made when it's teeth clashed together rivaled the gunshots.

Its long tail whipped towards him. He gripped the back of your neck, bringing you down to the ground with him. The banshees screeched, taking flight to avoid the beast, roaring up at them. It stood on it's hind legs to try reaching for them, snapping at the lowest flying ones. Lyle shot at it's exposed underbelly, finally seeming to draw blood. The creature screeched, flailing back, its tail thrashing around wildly. It struck Spider and sent him hurling back into the mud, before it slipped back into the water.

You scrambled up, running towards Spider's prone form. Quaritch kept his gun trained on the water a few more moments. The creature seemed to have fled, and the banshees had settled landing back down again. He followed over to Spider.

You had him cradled on your lap, wiping muck away from his torso. Quaritch's breath caught in his throat. Two large gashes ran across his chest, they were shallow, hardly bleeding but Spider wasn't conscious. You'd began raking through you're bag desperately, mumbling quickly to yourself.

"What is it? What's wrong with him." Miles felt his concern growing more every moment Spider's eyes remained closed. The hit was hard sure but not enough to leave him like this, not without hitting his head?

"Poison, it's barbs are poisonous!" You were frantic, openly crying as you kept searching. "I don't have it, I don't have anything to help." Miles felt cold, Zdog leaned forward.

"We gotta get him back to base, they've got everything, they fix him." Zdog was right, they kept anti-venoms for every creature on this planet. Accept even flying they were a day's ride from any base.

"How long does he have? Y'N! how long?" He had to kneel down to you, gripping your shoulder to get you to pay him attention.

"Hours, maybe less, I've never seen a human affected by this before." You were just holding him now, bag abandoned. His breath was quickening and a thin layer of sweat coated him.

"The tree..." You stopped, turning to grip Mile's arms. "We have to get him to the tree. Please." You looked pleadingly, lip quivering. Miles paused a moment, you meant the spirit tree, a sacred place, you wouldn't allow the others to come, hell he wasn't sure how close he'd be permitted. It could be a trick, to get him alone and attempt an escape but Miles didn't care. You wouldn't risk Spider's life, he could trust that.

"Come on." He took Spider from you, carrying him in his arms towards Cupcake. He felt so small in his arms, like he'd felt when he was still just a baby. He was so limp though, cold and pale. Nothing like his memory of his pink new born body. You followed along with him, mounting behind him. Wrapping arms around his waist.

"Follow that stream, the red ferns..." You were still panicking, your mind racing and making it hard to keep from speaking your mother tongue.

"I'll radio in, follow if I've not radioed by 0900." Miles ordered Zdog, she'd followed after you, taking her hand left from your shoulder to salute and Miles thought his commands to Cupcake.

He felt Cupcake's concern as well as his own as he flew. His own unsteady breathes echoing through his ikrans chest. The route he followed brought you both closer to the chemical spills, the plants loosing colour and density as you went. From up high it was easiest seen in the lack of light given off, as the living mosses that lit up the forest floors died in the sour waters.

He felt your body rack with sobs against his back. He couldn't think, he had to focus on getting you there, something there must be able to save him. He couldn't loose him now, he'd only just won him back

He could have missed the dead tree. No light shone from its almost empty branches. He remembered photos of the place from his human life. It'd once been very similar to the tree of souls the forest clans had. Shorter but wider, like a willow, it had glowed the same purplish pink. Though that colour had faded and gotten more reddish as the water poisoned, before going dark. He'd never thought of it again until now, it was some savages stupid tree several clicks from any concern of his. Now here he was hoping against all odds that it would help.

You dismounted before Cupcake had even touched down. Reaching up to take Spider from him. He moved him gently into your arms, following after as you walked quickly to under the tree. You laid him gently at the root, before burying your hand in the deep roots. Miles hovered back, he wanted to come closer to hold Spider but it felt wrong to him. To even be this close, he felt at any moment you'd hiss him away, even dead this was an intensely important place to you.

You pulled out a carved wooden box, humming as you searched its contents.

"Miles please..." You held your hand out to him. eyes still down and searching with your other hand. He was over in a few strides, kneeling by Spider's side and putting his hand in yours. Your head flicked up and to your joined hands. You moved his hand to Spider's chest.

"How is he?" You opened a jar sniffing it before beginning whatever preparations you needed. Miles felt his neck for his pulse.

"His hearts hammerin', he's so cold, shakin'." He heard his voice quivering. He was trying so hard to keep it together, he didn't want you to see him weak. You moved to your human boy now, spreading something bitter smelling across his chest. You brought a strange spouted bowl to his mouth, pouring its contents in, then tipping Spider's head back to swallow it. You felt his forehead with your own now, hands still shaking against his cheeks.

You began whispering prayers, voice shaking. Tears still fell gently, dropping down into the mud beneath you. Miles waited by Spider's side, his breath still rapid. He felt anger rising in him, was this it? Was this all that could be done? Some back water witch doctoring!? He was going to start yelling when a flash caught his eye.

The roots around Spider strobed, light pulsing towards his form. He groaned, you grabbed his hand.

"Ma Spider?" You called to him. Miles watched as the roots close to his neck moved, tiny white tendrils shifted out binding around one another into a tight rope. It snaked to connect to where Spider's skull would meet his spine. Miles reached out.

"The hell are these things" He wanted to brush them off. This strange plant intended to grow into his son.

"No no!" You held his hand, stopping it. "she's helping, let her help." You looked him in the eye, you seemed so sure that he relented, pulling his hand back. You moved your braid in front of you, following down it's length to reveal the swirling tendrils of your queue. You placed it down on the root connected to Spider.

Miles watched your pupils dilate before your eyes fluttered shut. You smiled, tears still falling and reached out to touch Spider's face. He groaned again though he sounded less pained this time. You opened your eyes and looked over to him. Miles felt confused, this whole situation was beyond him but whatever was happening was helping Spider so he could live with it. You reached up to cup his cheek, your thumb moving across under his eye. He hadn't noticed when he'd started to cry, he just scoffed turning his head away from you. Your hand remained however, gentle stroking before moving behind to hold the base of his queue.

Miles breath hitched, the strange alien feeling of your hand running down the length of it as you brought it forward. It was so sensitive even through the braid. Your thumb pushed lightly at the base to expose his own tendrils before you moved it towards the root.

Quaritch snapped out of the moment. Pulling his queue from you, throwing it behind his back again.

"Don't you. ." You began.

"No." He interrupted. He did not want to do whatever this was. He'd let his thing save his son if he had too but he was not going to connect his brain to this half dead zombie tree god.

Your shoulders slumped slightly, you took your own queue from the root before gently stroking hair from Spider's face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You weren't sure you would ever stop crying at this rate. Between fear and worry for Spider then elation at the anti-venom still being there you'd been exhausted from the emotional highs and lows. To top it all off the spirits of your people had awaken to assist you, accepting Spider as their own and connecting him to Eywa. You connected yourself, feeling her, feeling the echos of the past then Spider himself. It was fuzzy clearlystill affected by the poisoned waters. He was there though, with your parents, with your teacher, with all life that ever there was. Your son, finally connected the way he'd dreamed he could.

You wanted to share this with Miles. It felt right to have him here, he had every claim to Spider as you did. He was different now too, you could feel it. He sat here with you under in the heart of your home, in the most sacred place. He'd been hesitate to join you, treading respectively over the roots, but he'd pulled away. Rejecting communion with Eywa. You supposed it was likely just too far a step, too soon in his journey for that moment. Still he stayed by Spider's side as his breathing slowed to a restful pace. You poured water from his canteen into a bowl and began to wipe the sweat from Spider. His stripes were all but gone now and you made note to reapply them when he woke. From what you'd felt when connected it wouldn't be too long, by morning most likely and you'd said so to Miles.

He stood outside the boundaries of the tree now, where he'd gone to 'radio in'. He'd touched the thing around his neck and spoke to Mansk. Jake had one, so had Norm, they'd used them to speak from great distances. You'd liked the idea of having one for Spider and yourself but never asked. He stayed there now, looking around with his hand on the top of his gun, keeping a watch. Spider was clean and just resting now, so you shifted to kneel by the roots. There had been many treasures kept here, important medicines, personal artifacts of your teacher and your fingers grazed what you'd searched for.

You stepped out to join Miles, he didn't turn to you.

"He rests now, we're safe here. No thing can harm another here." Miles sighed looking back to say something. It didn't make it out however as he just stared at you. Suddenly bashful, you rocked on your heals making the skirt sway. You'd found your ceremonial garb, the one made for when you'd grown up. You'd never had the opportunity to wear it before now, though you remembered feeling the fabric in your tiny hands. The top was ridged lacing gold, it swirled patterns across your chest like creeper plants. Small jewel beads where woven into the ends of each stem, more concentraited at the high choker like neck. The skirts were long, to the ankle and white, with high slits right up to the top of your thigh. The belt was patterned with shining turquoise stones. You'd even found the earrings, beaded headdress and nose ring to match. It felt too much now, you tugged at the skirt and fiddled with the earrings. This was for ceremony, yours or any you would be called upon to perform.

"I was to wear this when I became Tsahìk..." You felt silly now, maybe you should just take it off. Miles reached out to you though, fingers meeting your arm, before traveling up. By your shoulder he'd placed his whole hand on you and the other had joined it on your other side. You looked into his eyes, they were half lidded, his face relaxed.

"You look..." He trailed off, hand coming up to cup your cheek. His eyes fell to your lips and he stopped, waiting. With a sudden rush of courage you closed the gap. letting your lips meet.

It'd been a long time since you'd kissed another and it'd been barely more than a peck. This was different, though you'd began slowly Miles had quickly deepened this kiss. His fingers tangled into your hair, tilting your head up and tugging you closer. You trailed your hands up his sides, letting them rest on his shoulders. He stopped suddenly, your mouth chasing after his slightly but he wasn't gone long. He lifted you up, hands behind your knees. You squealed. wrapping your legs around his waist for balance. He laughed at your response before diving back to you. His tongue grazed your lip, you parted them letting him in. It was intoxicating the way he kissed, like nothing you'd ever experienced before. You let your hands roam, across his broad chest, up his neck, into his hair. It felt nicer than you'd imagines, the close cropped hair like velvet. You felt Miles groan into your mouth, you gave it an experimental tug. His head rolled back as he groaned, smirking he looked back to you.

"You don't know what your doing to me sweetheart." You smiled leaning in to kiss him again. He moved to sit, keeping you straddled across his lap. His hands were free to move now and he wasted no time, exploring your body. Griping and pinching as he went, eliciting moans from you when he touched someplace sensitive.

The movement was quick, he tugged your kuru round in front of you and made to connect it with his own. You jumped up suddenly, taking quick paces back to create space.

"No! no, you can't do that!" Your voice between a whisper and a shout. You didn't want to disturb Spider but you needed him to understand the importance of what he almost did.

"I just thought..." He trailed off, still sat there with his own kuru in his hands. You held yours to your chest.

"You don't, You didn't think! This is sacred, sacred! Do you understand, you can't just! It's so important and you only do it once and..." You struggled to convey yourself properly in English, stumbling over your words unable to find just the right ones to explain it.

"Right. Don't touch." Miles dropped his kuru now crossing his arms. You didn't think he understood you, not properly. You stepped back over to him.

"Can touch here..." You took his hand again in your own, guiding it to your face, "Here..." You brought his palm down your neck to your chest again. His breath quickened again, eyes growing dark with something you couldn't place . "here" You moved his hand back to your hip again. He ran his fingers against the base of your tail making you shudder.

"Here?" He questioned back, running his fingers down to its base again. You just nodded swiftly, feeling like your voice would betray you somehow. He pulled you in closer again, resting his head against your stomach, breathing in your scent.

"Well alright then." He smiled against you. You dropped your hand to his scalp again, massaging it.

You spent most the night like this, gently caressing one another, staying close. Miles seemed to be trying to take it slower with you now. Laying down under the tree again and holding you tucked in beside him. You relaxed into him, feeling safer here than you had in weeks. You closed your eyes and slept.