#but it seems like she's been able to have a fairly normal life (aside from bullying about her mold). ESPECIALLY compared to Eveline

[goodpointsandbadpoints]

I am absolutely on board with the shadow of rose dlc having Rose be pissed at Chris and everyone.

she's sixteen and having a miserable time at school.

from her perspective, Chris is overbearing and unreasonable (without explaining anything to her, I ASSUME, in classic Chris fashion).

on top of just being a miserable teenager, she's confused/irritated about her powers and her father, with basically no way to remedy either.

It's so fascinating to think of her POV vs Chris' POV of the whole thing. Based on what I know of the timeline between re8 and the dlc, Chris and co. have been able to keep her from falling into the hands of anyone who would exploit or tamper with her as a bioweapon. But I imagine that she feels very alone/trapped/misunderstood.

[jahayla-parker]

Black & White : Peter Paker x Reader Series

Part 2

For full warnings, descriptions, and other parts, see series masterlist here.

While Peter had done a fairly decent job at keeping his distance, he knew he had to put that aside when he unexpectedly got a late night call from her. She was practically in tears when he’d picked up, and it crushed him. It had taken him time to get her to open up to him, both figuratively and literally in the sense of him standing outside her door. That night, Peter had come to the realization that despite what he’d done earlier that week, he had already earned a place in her life. He came to understand that suddenly abandoning that role, especially without explanation was hurtful. And Peter couldn’t get himself to hurt her. He had only ever wanted to keep her from harm. So, it seemed he now had to find another way to keep her safe without hurting her in the process.

“I don’t know if I ever said this out loud,” y/n mumbled, treading carefully. She and Peter been talking about their high school days when the topic of Peter’s aunt, Aunt May, had come up again. Y/n looked up with sympathy as his confused eyes met hers. “But, I’m sorry about your aunt, Peter,” she whispered. “I wish she was still alive, I can see how much she meant to you”.

Peter shifted anxiously in his seat, but his eyes never left y/n. “H-how…,” he mumbled. Peter cleared his throat before trying again. “How did you know th-that Aunt May.. died?” He inquired.

Y/n softly sighed. “I didn’t mean to be nosy,” she apologized lightly. “It’s just, that… well, when you talk about her,” she rambled cautiously, “it's always in the past tense”. She watched silently as Peter nodded in understanding. “Plus, I-… there's so much sorrow in your eyes Peter,” y/n added. Upon earning another inquisitive look from him, she gave him a half-smile. “I know that look of sorrow and grief all too well myself,” y/n informed him. She paused as Peter visibly debated over what to say. “You don’t need to talk about it,” she said, shaking her head slowly, “not if you don’t want to”.

Peter nodded lightly in appreciation. While he didn’t want to talk about Aunt May, he couldn’t get his focus off of the question that was now on his mind. He realized asking it would prolong this conversation and perhaps place him in a position where he’d have to try and vaguely explain what gained to May. But, Peter couldn’t not ask the all too pressing question that was now plaguing his mind with worry. “How..,” he swallowed thickly, afraid of her answer, “how do you know that look?”

Y/n faltered. She hadn’t expected Peter to open up and talk about his Aunt much more than he had over their past interactions. But, she truly hadn’t expected to be asked about her own past. A simple charge in topic, sure. But, was this truly the only topic he could think of? However, as her eyes once again met his, she could tell Peter was genuinely wondering, genuinely worried about her understanding something like that. So, while she didn’t want to trauma-dump, she knew she owed him a brief explanation. “I.. uh, I too, have lost those who were close to me,” y/n simplified.

Peter felt the tightness in his chest intensify. He knew it was an unrealistic desire, but he wished y/n hadn’t experienced whatever it was that caused her to understand his pain. But, he could tell from the glossy and distant look on her normally bright eyes that she did. As much as he hated the idea of her going through this kind of heartache, he couldn’t help but simultaneously be grateful that he had someone around who understood; as much as one could.

Peter wanted to know more. He wanted to know what y/n had been through. He wanted to know how he might be able to be of assistance. He wanted to know as much about her and her life as he could. But, Peter could tell she didn’t want to talk about it, so he didn’t press.

Y/n nervously clutched her phone in her left hand as she held it to her ear. She wasn’t actually calling anyone. It was late and she wasn’t sure who would even still be awake. Peter might be. But, she didn’t want to bother him. Especially if she was possibly overreacting to this. Yet, she couldn’t help the way her heart beat rapidly in her chest as she tried to keep her breathing steady as she focused on not tripping on the broken cobblestone sidewalk. She could still feel the man behind her, following her despite her already having told him she didn’t have any cash on her.

“Oh, yeah? Then what happened?” Y/n asked no one, her right hand squeezing her keys tightly as she mentally prepared for a fight. The sound of the man’s footsteps echoed loudly in her head as she tried to form a plan on how to get home without the stranger knowing where she lived. She still had several blocks to go, but then what? Maybe she would need Peter’s help after all.

“No it’s okay, I’m only a few minutes away, you can tell him I’ll meet him at the door,” y/n spoke into her phone. She hoped the comment would deter the man from continuing to follow her. Only, as she turned the corner, she looked over her shoulder and saw he was still trailing her. She took a deep breath as she tried to keep her fear from forming tears in her eyes. She needed to see clearly if she wanted to get out of this. And boy did she want to get out of this.

Y/n faced forward just in time for her foot to get caught in a buckled piece of concrete, sending her flailing face-first into the ground. She instinctively attempted to catch herself, only for her to injure her wrist in addition to her face. She heard movement behind her and closed her eyes, readying herself for what was coming next. She could hear the screams that had once haunted her nightmares playing back in her mind, all the sounds from that night on repeat.

A hand rested lightly on y/n’s right shoulder, causing her to rapidly push herself up on the ground. She had formed a defensive posture before her frantic eyes actually read the scene. There was someone in a red and blue spider suit standing before her, palms facing her as they held their hands up in surrender; Spider-Man, she realized. Behind Spider-Man was the stranger who’d been following her, only he was now webbed up against the nearby wall.

Y/n’s eyes flickered between the superhero and the stalker repeatedly as she tried to make sense of what she clearly missed while the flashback played in her mind. She noticed the way Spider-Man kept his distance out of respect, but was watching her closely. After she’d steadied her breathing, she took one last glance over at the stranger. Her eyes narrowed in anger but she simply huffed and looked away. She glanced up at the hero who stood a few inches taller than her. “Th-,” y/n cleared her throat, “thank you”.

Spider-Man quickly shook his head. “A-are you okay?” He asked, lowering his hands down to his side as his eyes scanned y/n.

Y/n bit her lip, her tongue gazing the inside prompting a metallic taste to form in her mouth. Her teeth let go of her bottom lip as her tongue danced around it in their place, searching for the cut. She quickly located the split in her lip and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She spared a frustrated glance at the streak of blood on her thumb after doing so.

Y/n remembered she wasn’t alone and looked back up at Spider-Man and quickly nodded. While he was wearing a mask that covered his face, she could tell from his mannerisms that he was in doubt of her answer. “I’m fine, th-thank you Spi-Spider-Man,” she replied. “Umm.. Can… Can I go now? Or do you need-?”

Spider-Man shook his head. “You can go home,” he nodded. “Do you want me to walk you-?” He offered.

“No thank you,” y/n answered, grabbing her phone from the ground. The screen was cracked, but it was still functional. “I.. I have someone waiting for me,” she lied. He might be a superhero and might’ve saved her tonight, but she wanted to just get home. She was only a few minutes away, and now that the stalker was kept in place, she could return home safely without worrying about giving away her address. “Goodnight,” she mumbled, forcing a small but polite smile in appreciation before turning and speed walking the rest of the way to her apartment.

Peter’s heart was beating out of his chest by the time he swung into his bedroom window. Given the fight was over, y/n was safe, and the man had been arrested, his adrenaline should be calming down by now. Only, Peter was still worried about her. Not only had she split her lip, suffered a small gash on her cheek and palms, her eyes were full of fear; even when she saw the man was apprehended. He needed to check on her.

Peter rapidly tore off his Spider-Man suit and haphazardly put on some comfortable clothes. As his quick feet slid to a stop behind his door, he forced himself to take a moment to calm down. As worried as he was, his supernatural senses having gone off adding to his worries, Peter needed to relax; or at least appear to be. Otherwise, he risked giving himself away.

Peter’s knees nearly buckled when y/n slowly creaked open her door upon him knocking. Her eyes were bloodshot, face puffy, hair a mess, and she was trembling. He sucked in a breath as he approached her. Remembering her fear from earlier, Peter froze a couple inches from her. “Can I… can I hold you?” He asked quietly.

When y/n shakily nodded and sniffled in response, Peter promptly closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her. “Shhh,” he whispered as he rubbed her back. He helped keep her upright as she melted into his embrace. “It’s okay, you’re going to be okay,” Peter promised.

It had been several minutes since Peter had arrived before y/n spoke up. In the meantime, he’d shut and locked her door, guided her to her futon, wrapped her in the nearby blanket, and whispered generic words of support to her as she cried into his chest. He wouldn’t have even noticed she was trying to say anything coherent had it not been for her leaning back to look at him.

“Peter?” Y/n repeated, knowing the first time she asked, it hadn’t come out clearly. When he nodded at her in response, she sniffled and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Ho-how did you know? That..” she mumbled.

“I hadn’t seen you arrive tonight, and..,” Peter shrugged, trying to not have to lie, “I sensed something might be wrong”. He squeezed y/n’s hand as her glassy eyes stared back at him silently. “So I wanted to check on you”.

Y/n sniffled loudly and nodded. “I’m glad you did,” she whispered. She watched as Peter gave her a warm smile despite his eyes showing his lingering worry. “Thank you,” she sighed.

“I’ll always be here for you,” Peter promised, stroking y/n’s hand. “Why don’t we get you cleaned up,” he suggested cautiously. “And while we’re doing that, you can tell me what’s going on,” Peter added, standing up.

Peter’s anger towards the man he’d webbed up earlier this evening only grew as y/n recalled her experience. He’d come across the scene just as y/n looked nervously over her shoulder. He hadn’t been quick enough to catch her, not expecting her to be so frightened she’d trip. But, he quickly put two and two together and trapped the man in his webbing. He only now knew that the man had been following her for awhile, and just how frightened she’d been.

Peter focused on pushing his anger aside in order to be gentle as he dabbed y/n’s scratched cheek with the damp washcloth. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, frowning. He should’ve been there earlier. He should’ve known she would be working late, and he would’ve had he checked his phone during patrol. If he had, he could’ve ensured she got home without all of this happening.

“It’s not your fault Peter,” y/n replied quietly as she tried to keep herself from breaking into tears again. It was all just too much. Her mind wouldn’t stop replaying the events of tonight and that of a few years ago.

“I know,” Peter commented as he watched y/n slowly try turning her wrist. “But still,” he argued. He shook his head in frustration. This shouldn’t have happened. “You didn’t deserve to-“ he began, stopping when tears started falling down her face seconds before a sob escaped her throat.

“Woah,” Peter gasped, dropping the washcloth and cautiously taking her injured arm in his hand. “Maybe I should go with you to the hospital,” he commented as his eyes analyzed the skin on her wrist in search of any visible evidence of how bad the injury was. Upon noticing y/n shaking her head no, he frowned and sighed softly. “Y/n/n,” Peter murmured, “if it hurts this badly, we-“.

“It’s not that,” y/n whimpered. When Peter’s troubled eyes flickered up to her face, she sniffled and her body shook as she tried to keep from falling apart completely. “I… It’s….” She mumbled, looking away. “It’s… That’s how I lost… My… My parents,” y/n explained, her voice splintering with nearly every word.

Peter swallowed thickly as his eyes squeezed shut in sympathy. His heart hurt and he felt his own eyes tearing up. But he pushed that down. He had to be here for y/n. She needed him. Peter let out a soft breath and neared her. He wrapped his arms around her again, closing his eyes as she buried her head into his neck. “I’m here,” he said, knowing there was nothing else he could say to help her through this.

Peter brushed some stray hairs away from y/n’s face as she rested against his chest. He wished so badly to be able to take her pain away. Obviously he knew all too well what it was like to lose someone so unexpectedly and so violently. But, he wished y/n hadn’t gone through that. But he knew that was outside of his control. What was in his control though was whether or not she had to face this alone, and he was not going to let that happen.

“The other night,” y/n murmured, “when I told you…”. She sighed, “I forgot part of the story”.

Peter looked over at y/n, turning his attention away from the news. “Oh?” He asked, voice dripping with concern.

Y/n heard his worry and smiled appreciatively. “I’m okay Petey,” she promised, snuggling into his side, earning a small laugh from a now-red faced Peter. “It wasn’t anything bad that I left out, I just realized that i didn’t tell you the whole thing, start to finish,” she explained. That night, she’d told Peter about having been followed, tripping and how the flashbacks of her parents’ deaths took over. But, she didn’t tell him about how she’d gotten away from the man. Come to think of it, why hadn’t Peter questioned about that? Maybe he didn’t care, so long as she was safe? But, most people would be curious, no?

“Oh?” Peter repeated, although this time his voice was much more relaxed. “And what’s that?” He asked, pulling the blanket that had fallen to y/n’s hip up to her shoulder.

“It was him,” y/n commented, pointing at the television. When Peter didn’t say anything, y/n interpreted that as him being confused as to what she meant. “Spider-Man was the one who made it so I could get away,” she explained. “He webbed to the creep,” y/n told Peter, “he saved me”.

“You still ended up hurt,” Peter said softly as he gazed down at y/n. His eyes trailed over her slightly healed cheek. “And scared,” he added, the arm that was around her instinctively pulling her closer to his side.

Y/n hummed. “That wasn’t his fault,” she argued. “I’d panicked, the memories became too much..” y/n frowned as she replayed the events of that night. “If Spider-Man hadn’t been there… I-,” she trailed off.

“Shhh,” Peter whispered, rubbing y/n’s shoulder. “You don’t need to think about that,” he reassured. “You’re safe, you’re safe”.

After a brief moment of silence to compose herself, y/n nodded. “I’m just saying, it was him,” she repeated, her chin pointing towards the TV as yet another segment about Spider-Man saving a bus that’s brakes had failed played on the screen.

“Yeah?” Peter asked, biting his lip.

Y/n nodded. “It was crazy, looking back you know?”

“How so?” Peter inquired, raising his brow.

With a shrug, y/n giggled lightly. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “It’s just, I’ve never seen him in person before, on TV of course, but not in person”.

“You’ve watched Spider-Man on TV?” Peter asked, trying not to smirk.

Y/n shrugged, “I mean, the Daily Bugle is kinda obsessed with him”. “It’s not like I go looking for Spider-Man content,” she laughed loudly, “sometimes I just turn on the TV and there he is”.

Peter chuckled and nodded. “What do you uhhh… what do you think about him?”

“I mean, I don’t really know him, ya know?” Y/n answered. “Not like the way I know you,” she added as she rested her head on Peter’s shoulder again. “But, from what I’ve seen, I’d say he’s pretty cool”.

Y/n wrapped her arm around Peter’s waist, in need of some light grounding. “Like, I admire what he does and stands for,” she explains, starting off into space. “I wish there were more people like him,” y/n said. “If more people were looking out for the little guy, maybe… well, that doesn’t matter, it’s too late now…” She took a deep breath as she felt Peter rub her arm supportively. “But, you know, he doesn’t have to do anything crazy like the Avengers,” y/n rambled. “Simply looking out for the little guy, being the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man like they call him, it’s plenty”.

“Woah,” y/n gasped as the blood that had rushed to her face slowly started to return to its original location as her body was lifted upwards. She heard Peter chuckle lightly, making her giggle. “Nice reflexes,” y/n complimented as her eyes turned to the side to see him as he stood beside her having caught her as she tripped over a broken curb.

Peter’s cheeks glowed red but he nodded. “You don’t uh…,” he mumbled nervously. He cleared his throat and tried again. “You don’t have to literally fall head over heels to get my attention, you know,” he flirted in a hushed voice.

Y/n giggled and nibbled on her bottom lip. She grinned at Peter and shook her head bashfully. “That was cute,” she complimented, pleased when she saw it eased his nerves over having lightly flirted with her. Yet, she could see the way Peter’s cheeks flushed brighter and his mouth parted slightly before closing again as he tried to search for a response. Y/n smiled and took his hand as she resumed their walk to the grocery store, “come on, Petey”.

“Peter, this is Eddie,” y/n introduced, smiling as the guys shook hands. “He goes to school with me,” she explained as she returned to Peter’s side. “Eddie, this is Peter,” y/n concluded, not certain how to label Peter in relation to herself.

“Nice to meet you Eddie,” Peter greeted politely. “What are you studying?” He asked.

Eddie Brock Jr. explicitly looked Peter up and down silently.

Y/n tsked loudly. “Eddie! Don’t act like that,” she scolded with a teasing laugh. “Peter, don’t worry about him, Eddie’s like practically my older brother, so he’s trying to act intimidating and protective,” y/n said as she interpreted the scene before her.

Peter nodded and while he had his suspicions about the guy before them, he remained friendly. If this Eddie guy was y/n’s friend, so be it. He’d of course make sure his sensation that something was off wasn’t something that could result in harm towards y/n. But, other than that, he’d put his personal feelings aside for her sake. “No problem,” Peter nodded. “I understand,” he replied. “After all, you do tend to manage to find trouble,” he joked, nudging y/n.

Y/n giggled and shook her head defensively. “Hey!” She whined. “That’s not fair! It’s not my fault that construction crew on third dropped the beam a few feet in front of us,” y/n argued, crossing her arms over her chest.

Peter laughed and pretended to contemplate y/n’s defense, earning him a playful slap to his bicep as she laughed. He could feel Eddie’s eyes on them, so he smiled over at the man. Only, he simply got a squint in response. Peter knew y/n hadn’t seen it as she’d buried her head in his shoulder during her laughing fit.

Peter mentally rolled his eyes as Eddie walked into the theater he and y/n were standing in line in. By this point, he’d figured out that Eddie had a crush on y/n. But, while Peter and y/n weren’t together yet, he’d also learned that she wasn’t interested in Eddie that way and that she figured he’d get over it sometime soon. Yet, once again Eddie managed to show up while Peter and y/n were hanging out together. Peter hadn’t figured out just how he managed to do that. Whenever he and y/n were out, there was at least a 40% chance that Eddie would show up uninvited.

“Is that..?” Y/n asked, her voice trailing off in confusion and surprise. “Is that Eddie?” She repeated, squinting her eyes as she looked across the theater’s concession room to where the latest person had entered from. “Did you invite him?” She wondered, hoping her voice didn’t portray her slight disappointment over Peter having invited someone else to their night out. While they weren’t dating, there’d been some more light flirting and she was hoping one day when Peter felt comfortable, he’d ask her out. Her disappointment resolved when Peter shook his head no in response.

“Hey y/n!” Eddie greeted as he joined y/n and Peter. He quickly pulled her in for a tight hug, a wide smile on his face as he pulled back. He didn’t bother looking at Peter until y/n stepped closer to him as she softly explained how they were seeing y/f/m in a few minutes. “Oh, cool, mind if I join you, y/n/n? I was going to sit alone, but it would be nice to be with you instead,” Eddie requested.

Y/n smiled politely and nodded. She looked over at Peter. “That’s fine,” she answered, feeling slightly obligated given Eddie’s verbiage. “Right Peter?” Y/n checked, squeezing his hand. When Peter glanced over at her and nodded with a smile, she relaxed and smiled back at Eddie again. “Okay, cool,” she said as she turned around to continue waiting in line for their chance to order snacks.

Y/n stared at Spider-Man’s masked profile as she walked alongside the vigilante. She pursed her lips as a thousand thoughts raced through her mind. She couldn’t possibly be correct in her theory. Could she?

A few nights ago, y/n had begun to suspect that Spider-Man might be someone she knew. More specifically, she began to suspect he might be Peter. She didn’t have enough evidence to support her suspicions yet, so she hadn’t brought it up to him. But, the suspicions remained.

Y/n had noticed the masked hero watching her from the rooftop a few nights ago when she was walking home from a late shift at the diner. She’d been exhausted and couldn’t care enough to wonder why he suddenly happened to be in her area despite not seeing him there prior to the incident a month or so ago. Besides, his presence and protective watch over the street was comforting.

However, y/n quickly noticed it wasn’t a one time thing. Whenever she had a late night shift at work, Spider-Man just so happened to be in the area. She initially tried to brush it off as a coincidence. But, when she picked up a last minute night shift, she found the vigilante was nowhere to be seen. Yet, immediately upon returning to her original schedule for the week, she found him there again.

Y/n didn’t have a set schedule. Rather, her shift schedule changed weekly. So, y/n knew that the only person who knew her schedule -other than her manager, who was a senior citizen and therefore certainly not Spider-Man- was Peter. In fact, after analyzing the situation further, she realized that the one night Spider-Man wasn’t there to ensure she got home safely, Peter hadn’t known about her picking up the last minute shift that night. And when she’d gotten home and texted him about it to complain, she received a reminder from him that she needed to be safe when working late.

As such, tonight, upon finishing up at the diner, y/n made her way over to the building where the vigilante was normally perched. “Are you going to come down and walk with me at some point?” She taunted, staring up at the masked man. Worst case scenario, she was wrong and this was some random person who was trying to keep her safe after seeing what nearly happened to her awhile back. But, she had this feeling it was more than that.

Therefore, y/n continued to stare wordlessly at the masked hero as he walked beside her. When he’d joined her, he offered a brief greeting -his voice a bit peculiar- before he began walking alongside her. “Is that you..?” She whispered.

“You should really look where you’re walking,” Spider-Man teased, using his gloved hand to turn y/n’s shoulder forward.

“You didn’t answer my question,” y/n commented despite complying with his suggestion.

“Which was?” The masked vigilante asked.

“What’s your name?” Y/n inquired.

“You expect me to tell you my name?” Spider-Man laughed. However, he noticed the way y/n faltered at the sound, causing him to promptly stop, afraid she might’ve recognized his laughter. “That would defeat the whole masked up thing,” he argued.

“Perhaps,” y/n nodded in agreement. “But, you can’t expect me to not ask when you’ve been stalking me for nearly a week now,” she pressed.

“Stalking?” Spider-Man all-but gasped.

“My best friend has warned me about walking home after my late shifts,” y/n commented, her eyes scanning the hero for signs of his reaction. “Perhaps you’re what he was referencing,” she replied.

“I assure you I’m not,” Spider-Man laughed, holding his hands up. “If it makes you more comfortable, I can leave though,” he offered.

Y/n shook her head, her eyes still trailing all over the man beside her. “Something tells me he’d be fine with you seeing me home,” she teased, hoping for a reaction she could use as evidence.

“Oh?” Spider-Man questioned as he guided y/n around a pile of garbage.

“Yeah, he’s kind of obsessed with you,” y/n lied. She smirked when Spider-Man choked and tried to play it off with a laugh. But she knew that laugh. She adored that laugh. “But I have a feeling you’re more similar than either of you will let on,” she stated, not wanting to push him further but still trying to clue him in that she knew.

Y/n yawned as she slid her textbook away from her and threw her head back against her pillows that were propped up by the wall. She let her eyes close for merely a second when she heard a knocking sound coming from her right. Her eyes flew open and she tore open her curtains, her pencil held up as a -albeit poor- makeshift weapon. As her eyes adjusted to the lights of the surrounding buildings, she saw Spider-Man leaning against her window as he stood on her fire escape.

Y/n gasped and tossed her pencil aside, carelessly discarding it as she tugged open the window. “Oh my God,” she gushed as she stared at the crimson colored patch on his side beneath his hand. She quickly helped him in through her window and into her apartment. “What happened?!” She panicked as she herded him to the edge of her bed.

“‘m sorry,” Spider-Man mumbled, his masked head hung lowly. “I had nowhere else to go,” he admitted.

Y/n shook her head. “It.. it’s fine,” she promised as she crawled off her bed and ran towards her kitchen. “But- God! What happened to you?” She asked again as she frantically dug through her medicine drawer.

“Turns out I’m not indestructible,” Spider-Man joked in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Y/n glared over at him as her head snapped up from where it had been buried in the medicine drawer. “Not funny,” she scolded before resuming her search. Once she had an armful of supplies, she rushed back to him. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” “Other than your side?” She asked.

Spider-Man nodded slowly. “Hit my head too,” he commented, frowning when y/n’s worry visibly increased. “No concussion, but I think maybe a slight cut,” he reassured.

Y/n stared at him in disbelief. She shook her head and passed him the gauze. “Hold this to your side. Let me see your head,” she directed as she reached for his mask.

Spider-Man shook his head rapidly. He leaned back ever so slightly to keep the distance so y/n couldn’t touch his mask. “I can handle that part, just need help with my side,” he explained.

“Peter, knock it off and let me see the cut on your head,” y/n groaned, reaching back towards his head.

“Wh-what?” Spider-Man faltered. “I… Peter...?” He questioned futilely. He could see from the look in y/n’s eyes that she knew. “I don’t know what-“.

“The cut is going to be the least of your head pain if you don’t stop,” y/n grumbled. She sighed and sat down beside him as she began attending to the wound on his side. “I know it’s you, Peter,” she said, her voice soft and compassionate. “I need to see your head, please just take off the damn mask,” she pleaded, her worried eyes gazing up at him as she held the gauze to his side.

Spider-Man Peter slowly gripped the material of his mask and lifted it over his face and off his head. He gave y/n a silently apologetic expression as he finally revealed his identity to her.

“That’s not a small cut Peter!” Y/n scoffed as she grabbed his right hand. She pressed his hand back against his own side as she turned her attention to his forehead.

Peter shook his head in disbelief. She was offended he’d undersold the extent of his cut, but not that he’d kept this secret from her? “Y/n, I..,” he whispered.

Y/n shook her head. “We can talk about it later, really,” she reassured Peter with a small smile. “For now, we have to see how much I can remember from my first aid courses,” she hummed, standing up to grab more items from her first aid kit.

When y/n returned to Peter’s side, she noticed he’d stripped the suit down to his hips so she could have better access to his wound. She fought to keep her eyes away from his defined chest. Evidently she didn’t hide it well enough because she heard Peter chuckle shyly. She bit her lip bashfully and focused on the hole in his side.

“Can I please explain now?” Peter asked as y/n finished up the stitches on his side. When her eyes met his as she applied the bandages over the sutures, he gave her a timid smile. He watched her smile softly in response as she nodded before commenting that she was still going to patch up his head though as he spoke.

“I wanted to tell you,” he whispered. Peter’s bottom lip slid to the side as he sighed. “Well, no that’s a lie. I didn’t want to tell you,” he confessed.

Y/n’s hand froze for a moment as she looked up at Peter. Unable to read any clues in his eyes that would ease her confusion, she absentmindedly continued to attend to his wound. “Thank you?” She asked, uncertain what else to say.

Peter’s eyes widened as he realized how his words were interpreted. “No, no, no,” he rushed out frantically. “It’s not like that,” he pleaded as he grabbed y/n’s unoccupied hand.

“You…” Peter mumbled, carefully thinking through each word before he spoke them as to not mess up. “You recall when I said I lost those who were close to me?” He asked in a hushed voice.

Y/n nodded sympathetically, briefly meeting Peter’s eyes before looking back up at gash in his forehead. She waited patiently for him to elaborate as she silently resumed wiping the dried blood from his head.

“It was my fault,” Peter informed y/n. “They got close to me. To Spider-Man,” he corrected with a sigh. “It’s a long story,” Peter admitted. When he saw her lips curl downwards slightly, he squeezed her hand. “One I don’t mind telling you now,” he added.

Peter was thrown off by the sympathy and support from y/n. Despite having explained in detail how getting close to him could be dangerous to people, she only seemed to be worried about what he’d been through, not her own safety. Even when Peter had gone on and on about how Aunt May had died and about the memory spell that had caused his friends to forget him; y/n focused on him and not on what that could mean for herself.

“I can’t believe you’ve suffered through all of that, Peter,“ y/n said as she frowned deeply. “I’m really sorry, I know that doesn’t change anything or help, but-“ she rambled, wanting to find the right words to say.

“It does,” Peter spoke softly. “Your sympathy does help,” he promised squeezing y/n’s bicep as she once again resumed dabbing the skin around his facial wound. “I shouldn’t have let you get this close,” he scolded himself.

Y/n’s brows squinted momentarily before she switched tactics. “Peter, you’re not contagious,” she teased as she placed the now-bloody towel down.

Peter laughed lightly. “No, I know, but…,” he sighed. “You were right before, I tried to keep my distance.” He looked away from y/n’s focused eyes. “I was worried about what might happen to you because of me. But now,” he sighed as he shook his head in frustration with himself. “It’s too late,” Peter explained, “you already mean too much, and me distancing myself from you will only actually make things worse as I won’t know when to step in to protect you”.

Y/n gave Peter a sad smile. She let go of his hand and then moved both of hers to his jaw. “You don’t always have to be the hero, Peter”. The worry lingering in his eyes caused an aching in her chest. “Everything is going to be okay,” she promised, lowering her hands as she grabbed the butterfly suture supplies from beside her.

Peter smiled softly at y/n’s ever present optimistic outlook on life. “I… you mean far too much to me.” He took a nervous deep breath as he stared up at her eyes as she began to work on sealing the cut on his forehead. “I li… like you. Really like you,” he mumbled.

The breath seemed to leave y/n’s lungs instantaneously. She forced herself to take a choppy inhale. “Like…. More than a friend?” Y/n dared to ask despite her not being daring enough to meet Peter’s gaze.

Peter nodded, quickly earning a scolding glance from y/n as she continued to attend to his injury.

Y/n bit her lip bashfully over Peter’s confession. “Good,” she replied breathily. “Because I.. well... I like you too, Peter,” she confessed, finding the courage to turn her eyes from the new butterfly stitches on his head and instead down to meet his eyes.

Peter watched severely as y/n unnecessarily continued to attend to his wounds, bandaids being placed over each of the tiniest of scratches that scattered his body. Her confession had given him the confidence to finally ask y/n out on a date. Only, he wasn’t sure how to. Trying not to overthink it, Peter decided to just go for it.

“I.. I want to ask you something,“ Peter stated. He smiled when he got a slow nod from Y/n as she gently applied another bandaid to his lower arm. “But first, I want you know that I thought through this an infinite number of times before deciding to tell you any of this,” he promised, “I thought through how to best keep you safe”.

“Peter,” y/n sighed sympathetically, looking up from Peter’s scratched-up forearm. “You make it sound like you’re doomed for all eternity,” she frowned. “You’re not, you know?”

Peter smiled warmly. “See. That’s just it,” he hummed. “You taught me that I don’t have to shut myself off from others, from you… even after losing someone”.

Y/n smiled with a bashful but proud expression. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, removing y/n’s lingering hand from his arm so he could hold it in his. “So I’ve prepared for the possibility of something happening, but I also trust your optimism that it doesn’t have to happen like that,” he explained. When she smiled at him, he automatically grinned back. “So.. uhhmmm. What I have been needing to ask you, is… will umm …,” Peter cleared his throat, turning his head to the side in order to not do so in y/n’s face. He blushed madly as he turned back her. “May I take you on a date?” Peter asked breathily.

Y/n happily accepted, quickly nodding her head with a wide smile on her face. She nodded and unconsciously leaned closer to Peter as they smiled at each other. She couldn’t help but notice their lips were only millimeters apart when Peter suddenly jerked backwards. Y/n tried to hide her sense of rejection as she quickly looked away and went to clean up the mess of medical supplies.

Peter immediately noticed Y/n’s worried and self conscious reaction and pouted. He tenderly guided her attention back to him by placing his hand on her arm to stop her from collecting the bandaid wrappers. He used his other hand to tilt y/n’s chin up and offered her a childish smile. “It isn’t you,” he promised, his head still unconsciously tilted to the side faintly. “It’s hard to explain, but after I was bit, I get these sensations… almost like a sixth sense where when there is-“ he began to explain, but ironically was cut off by a loud siren.

Y/n’s eyes widened in understanding and realization as the sharp tone of the sirens rang in her apartment. “You have these senses of trouble,” she surmised. “It’s almost… it’s from a spider…,” y/n rambled to herself while Peter watched in silent amusement as she thought it through out loud. “It’s a spider sense, you have spider senses. No, spidey senses!” She exclaimed.

Peter chuckled and shrugged. “I guess I do,” he blushed as moved to stand up.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Y/n said as she squinted intensely at Peter.

Peter raised an eyebrow and pointed out the window in signal to the siren that was still there in the background.

Y/n shook her head, “not like that you’re not”.

Peter smiled warmly but opened his mouth to argue.

Y/n picked up on what Peter was about to do and quickly tried to shut him down. “I don’t know about you Parker,” she hummed, trying to suppress a smirk. “But, I’d personally actually like us to get to the date you mentioned, and for that, you need to be alive and alert,” she pointed out.

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[smilesobrien]

is kes from star trek an adult: the stupidest question that people are still asking for some reason!

aka: i should be asleep but im not so i might as well Post while i'm up!

So the idea that she's not hinges on two basic ideas: her age and elogium.

Age is an easy debunk; sure, she's two, but Ocampans live to eight! According to Memory Alpha, they hit young adulthood at one year old. Pretty straightforward. You occasionally see people argue that you can't possibly attain the amount of experiences necessary to be an adult in that timeframe, but I find that unconvincing; she escaped the gilded cage her entire species is in, for god's sake, she's hardly sheltered.

Elogium... I have a lot of beef with the episode it was introduced in, honestly (you're telling me Ocampans give birth to ONE child in their whole lives?!?!) BUT. for the sake of the argument, let's take it as presented.

In the episode of the same name, elogium is compared to puberty. While this is correct on some levels- in both cases, it's the body getting ready to reproduce- it's also fairly clearly not analogous to human puberty in some pretty important respects. For starters, it usually happens at 4-5yo; you'll recognize that as halfway through an Ocampan's lifespan! This alone makes it ridiculous to point to as the sole marker of adulthood in the species, especially when we've already been told that 1yo is an adult. Secondly, under normal circumstances it only happens once in an Ocampan's lifetime. I don't think I need to explain how that differs to the average ovulating human's life experience... haha!!

Thirdly, we can use our reading comprehension to understand the broader context of the episode itself- it doesn't follow the beats of a puberty narrative, it follows the beats of an unexpected pregnancy narrative. Sudden weird cravings as the first symptom? Check. Tensions between the couple over whether they're ready to have a baby? Check. Eventually deciding to not go ahead with it under the assumption that they can simply have another child later? Check check check. Star Trek loves its analogies, so it's not too surprising that they did a storyline like this.

Fourth- and this is the weakest and final point- Ocampans were originally conceptualized as insect-like. They didn't retain many insect-like traits aside from the lifespan so this is admittedly a reach, but a great deal of insects don't metamorphose into a mating-ready form for several years... and then when they do, they die weeks to days after. It seems to me that elogium's onset being in the latter half of an Ocampan's life is roughly analogous, but again, this is speculation as opposed to drawing from canon facts like my other points, so feel free to discard this one! Just thought it was worth mentioning.

BONUS: consider whether a child would be allowed to assist with medical procedures! consider if even the brightest sharpest teenager would be able to run a hydroponics bay almost completely solo! consider if viewing a capable, intelligent woman as a child despite her accomplishments is maybe kind of weird and misogynistic! thank you! goodnight!

[willowbrookmanor]

The Tailor

First story for these OCs I hope you enjoy

It was a cool Autumn evening and the town of Willowbrook was brimming with life. One of the wealthiest families in town was hosting an extravagant party and all were welcome to attend. There was just one rule: All in attendance must wear a mask.

The party has actually been the talk of the town since it was announced. The family that was hosting the party, the Dearden’s, are a notoriously reclusive family that aren’t known to leave their estate. Normally, any and all errands are run by their staff. Ever since the party was announced, rumours began circulating amongst the townsfolk about the reason for hosting a party, when no one aside from the staff has seen the family in over two decades.

Of all the rumours that were in circulation, two had taken a fairly big hold in the community. One was that the family was going to announce some kind of grand donation of their money, and the second was that it was going to be some kind of announcement regarding one of their three children. Either way, everyone was bustling about, getting ready for this masquerade event.

Elaine Dixon was one such person excitedly preparing for the party. As the daughter of the local tailor, she's been hard at work helping her mother and her father hem and alter the outfits the locals were bringing in so they'd look their best for the party. The uptick in business had been excellent for her family's finances. However the uptick in business also meant that Elaine had little time to work on her own outfit for the event.

While her family wasn’t hurting for money, they certainly didn’t have the money to purchase a brand new dress from one of the shops. Elaine’s father had given her permission to use fabric scraps that they would otherwise be throwing away for her dress. As unfortunate as it sounded, it worked out in her favor. A client that had ordered a custom outfit changed their mind on fabric at the last second, allowing Elaine to use the entire roll of discarded fabric to make her dress with. She decided to use the other fabric scraps to make accents.

It was the day before the party and Elaine had been in the back of the shop working on the finishing touches of her dress. She was keeping her ear open for the door as both her parents were currently out running other errands. She wasn't expecting any customers though because everyone that had asked for adjustments or custom made outfits had already picked up their things. Elaine was grateful for that because she didn't normally run the front of the shop. She normally stayed in the back to help sew the alterations.

“Um yes, I was hoping you could help me with something for the masquerade party?” The customer asked. Although the man standing just inside the door looked absolutely lost and unsure if he was in the correct place.

Elaine was busy sewing in some embroidery when she heard the bell that hung over the door ring. “I’ll be out in a moment.” She called as she carefully put her dress down in a way so it wouldn’t get wrinkled or anything. She then took the ribbon out of her hair, letting her dishwater blonde locks fall into her face. She preferred to have her hair up or better yet short, but her parents made her grow it out and they have a rule that she must have her hair down whenever dealing with customers so they wouldn’t be able to see the scar that runs from her right eye to her right ear.

“Goodmorning. Welcome to Dixon’s Tailoring, how can I help you today?” Elaine said as she entered the front of the shop.

“I’m sorry sir, but with the party being tomorrow, we are not taking any alteration requests because there won’t be enough time to get everything done.” Elaine was trying to figure out why someone would be looking to have their suit altered or even custom made the day before they needed it.

“Oh, um. It’s nothing like that. I’m in need of a tie, but the other shops don’t seem to have what I”m looking for. Would it be too much tro-trouble?” The man seemed to be absolutely timid. He was playing with his long black hair, as if not sure what he should be doing with his hands.

“How are the clothing shops not helpful? They should have a wide variety of ties.” Elaine found herself asking.

“It’s just th-that hehsieshhh, hihSTIeshh, HEHSTIESHHHH, sorry. It’s just that the clothing shops only seem to carry solid colored ties, and I’m looking for some kind of pattern. One of the owners recommended I come here.” The man sniffled before pulling a floral handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed at his nose.

“I suppose that could be doable. What kind of pattern are you looking for?” In all honesty they too primarily only had solid color fabrics in stock. They had maybe two or three rolls of patterned fabric in stock that seldomly got used. Otherwise it was a special order for a client that asked for it in advance. If they’re lucky, she might be able to use fabric scraps. Elaine wasn’t all that confident that she’d be able to help this timid man.

“I was hoping for something animalistic or aviary. Aviary would be better if I have to be honest.” The man sniffled again. “If you’re unable to help me, that’s fine. It’s a long shot anyway. Sorry for bothering you.” The man said a little too quickly as he began to turn around.

“Sir.” Elaine said, causing the man to freeze. “I actually have some options available that you can look at. Just give me a moment.” Elaine disappeared to the back room and quickly found the fabrics she was looking for. They were both around three feet of fabric that were left over from orders that were unrelated to the party. She brought them back to the front.

“Alright sir, I have these two bird themed fabrics.” She showed the fabrics to the man. The first one was cream colored with black and white birds perched on branches. The second was a very colorful peacock feather pattern.

“I know it’s not a whole lot of fabric, but since you’re just looking for a tie, I should have plenty regardless of which pattern you choose.” It’s the truth. Elaine didn’t have enough of either fabric to really make anything, but she could definitely make a tie.

“If it’s not too much trouble and it’s not too short of notice, could you make a tie with the black and white birds please?” Elaine nodded as she began to write down the order into the shop’s book.

“A-also if it’s not t-too much to ask, would you be wil-hehstieshhh, hehSTIeshhh, HEHSTIESHHH. Oh bother. Excuse me.” The man quickly stepped outside the shop, causing the bell to ring. Elaine watched as he pulled out his floral handkerchief and he blew his nose. The man re-entered and looked utterly embarrassed.

“Sorry about that. I was wondering if I could also have a few squares of the other pattern as well. I like how the color pops.”

“Certainly sir. For the silk underside of your tie, would you like a certain color?” The man nodded and selected baby blue. He also asked if there was any royal purple fabric that could be paired with the other fabric. The answer was yes.

“Um, my name, is um Emmett.” The man, Emmett said, still completely timid. On his way out, he sneezed again, and his long hair whipped to the front of his face causing him to have to fix it before he could attend to his nose. Elaine grabbed the fabrics and returned to the back to get started on her next order.

“Alright sir, I think I can have this order ready for you by this evening or tomorrow morning. Which would you prefer?”

“This evening would be preferable.” The man once again sniffled and he brought his floral kerchief out of his breast pocket again to dab at nose, which was slowly turning pinker and pinker.

“Excellent sir, Now I just need a name for your order.”

[legendsobsessions]

no preference there, your pick!

Alright. Well, let's start with who's getting taken off of my team in the interest of fairness... since you're a Fighting-type specialist, I don't want to take off anyone who is particularly weak to or strong against your pokemon, so Rascal (Lucario), Eros (Togekiss), Rosaceae (Roserade), and Banshee (Spiritomb) are all staying on.

...Also, I'm not removing my ace. So that leaves Coronet (Milotic) to stay on the bench for this one.

With you leading with your Falinks, I almost always lead with Banshee for good reason... there isn't a lot you can actually do against her, unfortunately, unless... no, Falinks can't learn Foresight. It would be a difficult matchup, but hopefully you don't have only normal and fighting moves to work with.

Playing defensively would be the move here, I think. No Retreat is a really fun move, and one unique to Falinks, and significant enough setup could definitely help even the playing field.

Even in a best case scenario, though, I'm not sure your Falinks would last long after taking Banshee down. Especially not if I threw out a pokemon that can be faster, which would be... hmm, to be safe let's go with Rosaceae. Even if she's not faster, which she likely will be, there's a chance your Falinks will get poisoned anyway.

Probably your smartest choice at that point would be the Lucario your Riolu will evolve into. Steel-types can't (normally) be poisoned, after all, and none of Rosaceae's moves there would be particularly effective. She'd put up a good fight, but it probably wouldn't be enough.

At that point... well, look. A lot of people seem to think I only ever throw out Aster (Garchomp) last. I prefer to send her out later rather than sooner, for quite a few reasons (gives my opponents a fighting chance, also tends to give whatever counters they have for her a chance to be taken out before she gets on the field, and also I like being dramatic) but if the right tactical choice is to throw her out sooner, then I'll throw her out sooner.

She's a ground-type, and the fastest of my pokemon. She's likely going to win the matchup against your Lucario.

From there... Pawmot would not be a good choice against her, I'm very sorry, there is no type Aster is better against than electric. Annihilape or Gallade... either could work, but Annihilape's got better physical defenses, so I'd tentatively go for that one myself. Hit hard, hit decently fast, and you might just be able to take her down.

(When I say might, though, I mean might. Aster doesn't have the reputation she has for nothing, and there's a nonzero chance she'd just sweep her way through the rest of your team. That wouldn't be any fun to write about, though, so let's go with the hypothetical that your Annihilape does manage to take her down.)

On my end, the obvious choice would be Eros. Your Annihilape wouldn't last very long against him, particularly not after already being weakened by Aster... and, for that matter, neither would your Gallade. At that point the best choice would be your Pawmot.

Pawmot's faster. Togekiss is tankier. If you took him out in one shot, you'd get it, but if it would take two—and I think it would—Eros is winning that matchup.

If Eros isn't able to take down your Gallade from there, then Rascal's more than capable of doing so, weakness to your entire team aside. He's fast. (And, in an actual Championship battle, I would be using my entire team and therefore would have my Milotic as well.)

All in all, fairly solid team! Battles in real life obviously depend on many, many more variables than this thought experiment, but it would be fun to battle you. :)

(Sorry for how long this took, too. The holidays have Been.)

[legaciestold]

@everythingheard (ash) continued from x

the pool is empty aside from the two teenagers who’ve entered the area for what agent was going to go for a recreational swim at one in the morning? but they’d just gotten through with a very basic debrief after a rather tense mission and she’d gotten permission to miss school the next day given how late the team of agents had finally been able to return. she’d also resigned herself to the fact she wasn’t going to bother traveling to the myers house in the middle of the night. she’d lived at the bprd for the better part of her life and her room there had never been reassigned so she had somewhere to sleep. she hadn’t really been sure when the notion of going for a swim to destress had gone from a casual joke as they’d headed back to the bprd had turned into a very real and present idea. and yet, it had materialized in the form of her changing into a swim suit expecting him to do the same only for her to pop out of the bathroom off the pool hall to find him still very much in his post-mission clothes. eyes had narrowed, frown creasing her features as he voices his protest to her questioning him. “if you weren’t planning to actually swim why in the hell did you drag me down here?” it’s an automatic retort of which she’s fairly certain she knows the answer to. swimming always relaxed her and he knew as much so he’d brought her down there so she could do just that. but what fun was swimming going to be if he was just going to stand there?

“because i really need a lifeguard, huh?” oh, so he was going to be a watchful eye so that she didn’t have a dramatic death or get swallowed up by the pool’s drain like some horror movie. how boring. how completely and positively broodingly boring. and her expression radiates as much so strongly that it’s a wonder her thoughts aren’t somehow magically transmitted into his head. however, then he speaks again and her eyes widen, lips that had been parted to speak suddenly closing and an immediate flush coloring her features. “— uh..” she doesn’t know what to do with the comment. it’s not helped by the fact that not that long before he’d kissed her and it had only been meant to be an experience to cross off a list and yet it had been something she’s found herself recalling rather often. they’d always been close, always in each other’s personal space but she’d found herself suddenly feeling.. well she’s not entirely sure what she’s been feeling but she seems to be a lot more aware of him and his proximity to her lately especially when that proximity and physical contact lingers, especially lately. but.. that was just something normal, she was sure. they were friends. friends kissed each other sometimes like the people in that photo album they’d found. and.. friends made comments about liking the view of their friend in a swim suit. they were friends, best friends.

“– that’s not fair. if i have to be in a swim suit and gawked at so do you. even if you’re not going in the water which is no fun at all.” she recovers and yet, perhaps she’s still flustered because she can’t believe what’s just come out of her mouth. did she honestly just suggest he took off his clothes at least in as much as to be in the equivalent of her swimsuit? so that she she could also.. as he said.. have a nice view? if she could turn anymore red she’d be a tomato and it’s so completely obvious how flustered she was by even her own comment so instead of waiting for him to make some sort of retort, she turns on her heal and goes to enter the pool. she could hide from her embarrassment in the water.  

[myafterlifeisbetterthenyours]

I'm reading too many fanfics and today I want something more cute than romantic, so I would like Stella with an S/o to be her personal butler who took care of her during her childhood and adolescence (bonus if S/o used to sing to Stella when she was a kid) . obviously the S / o must have a great preparation to be worthy of taking care of the daughter of the parents who were certainly one of the causes of Stella to be like this

Stella's personal Servant and S/O

You had spent years in preparation for when you would meet your mistress.

It was a common practice amongst the nobility.

You take a child from a lower house, train and raising them to become the personal servant to a child from a higher noble family.

You were of lower stock, your family heavily reliant on Stella's family, and being the youngest of your line, you found yourself chosen to be her servant.

Although the agreement basically surrendered one of there own to a life of servitude, it also brought prestige to there household, while also placing one of there own at the right hand of the next head of a powerful household.

Despite your years of training, you were still increadibly nervous upon meeting her, terrified you'd do something wrong and screw it up.

But much to your surprise, she wasn't some terrifying ice queen who could vapourise you with a glare.

She was just a girl. A young, normal looking noble girl. Seemingly not much older than you.

Your meeting was somewhat awkward, you being unsure how you should interact with her outside of the cold formalities you were taught.

Your relationship was an unusual one.

As while, yes you were her servant, you were also expected to be her closest allie and truest friend.

You were expected to take on every burden she had, to carry and guard them to the death.

A concept that hadn't fully registered in your young mind yet, but despite your age, you quickly acclimated to your new responsibilities.

You had, of course, been give training for your new duty, but much of it was learnt in the field.

You found yourself working into a schedule; wake up before her, get clean, have breakfast before waking her up at 7:30 sharp.

From there you would help her dress, something you were quite flustered about the first time around. Then you accompanied her to breakfast, then to her first lesson of the day.

You were often dismissed during her lessons, returning to her room to tidy up, or have her clothes cleaned.

It took time but eventually you were just as capable at cleaning and serving as any veteran servant of the household.

Now, initially Stella was quite... cold towards you. Treating you not much better than any other servant of the home.

But she did eventually warm to you, starting the night you heard her having a nightmare.

Much to her annoyance you had been moved into the room besides her, giving her 24 hour access to you, and you to her.

So you were easily capable of hearing her toss and turn in bed, her whimpers getting louder and louder. Until she awoke, with a scream.

You instantly shot into action, sliding into her room and pulled her into your embrace.

Holding her to your chest, you did your best to sooth her. Barely being a boy yourself you were quite inexperience with such things.

So you did the only thing you could, you sang to her.

You sung her the song your wet nurse used to sing you when you had a bad dream. Holding her for what felt like hours, gently singing to her until she fell back to sleep.

The next morning she insisted you call her Stella, unlike before when she demand the customary 'Lady' or 'Mistress'.

Not long after that she began addressing you by name. The two of you seeming to enter a level of mutual respect.

Similar events would happen several more times during your youth, each time you sang her the same song, holding her close and soothing her.

You brought up the nightmares to her parents, the two seemingly didn't care. Her parents just coldlt telling you 'They were something she needed to get over herself.'

And her parents weren't the warmest family, both her parents seemed obsessed with there appearances, placing politics over the well bing of there own daughter.

So you made her well-being your top priority, always asking if she was OK or if she wanted to talk.

In preparation for you new duties you had already received extensive training in everything from cleaning to first aid.

But as the the two of you grew, you began getting lessons in far more hands on fields.

As you were expected to be her faithful guardian. You were trained in various forms of combat, with everything from knives, to assault rifles.

Followed by several specialised first aid courses, each one dedicated to a different field of medicine.

You excelled through each course, taking the role as both servant and protector as your own.

Despite being younger then your charge, your mentality quickly matured beyond your years, willing and prepared to fight to the death for your charge.

You fully embraced you postion, putting aside everything you were and giving yourself to your new role, absolutely.

As the two of you grew older, you also grew closer and closer. And due to your special status as her personal servant, having less limitations put on you then a regular servant of the house, you could act as more of a friend to the girl. Acting as a trusted confidant for the girls troubles.

As you matured your skills, both physically and mentally, you learned to better dedicat your new skills to what would most efficiently aid your liege.

While you excelled in your training dedicating your self to the task before you, the main problem you faced was, Stella.

It may seem petty, but Stella being of a higher and more powerful cast meant she grew to tower over you by at least a foot.

Something she was sure to rub in your face.

And it may not seem like that big of a deal, but protecting someone much taller then you, was a constant struggle. As they were far more visible then yourself and could be targeted from angles you weren't able to see.

But you did your absolute best, going above and beyond as her steadfast companion, hapily waiting on her hand a foot.

It seemed like a blink if an eye and the beautiful young lady you once served had grown into a beautiful young woman.

And much to your shame, over the years spent together, you had developed a deep affection for her, an affection that went far beyond friendship.

Of course you would never publicly admit such a thing, your years of training alloweing you to keep such your feelings suppressed. Only allowing your affection to show through in what would be expected of a typical platonic relationship.

When Stella came to the age of 17, her parents decided to send her to an academy famous for its education of young noble women.

The problem was, it was an all girls academy. And you being her private servant, and right hand, the two of you could not be sepperated for such a long period of time.

It took a fair bit of political manoeuvring and more then a few favours to get you in, but by the end of it, you found yourself enrolled right besides her.

You were to attend every class as well as share quarters with Stella. You were not to leave her side unless absolutely necessary.

You were far from the only servant to accompany there mistress.

You found a variety of them, from Imps to hellhounds. You even saw a few succubus amongst them.

But the thing that really stood out, was that you were the only male, even amongst the staff.

Initially life at the academy went fantastic.

Stella, with her confident nature and families status thrived at the academy, easily rising the social ranks, making friends and allies.

The whole thing bringing a great sense of warmth to your black heart.

You stood back and proudly watched as she excelled amongst her peers, only having to step in to aid her in her day to day.

But unfortunately, problems did arise. And much to your shame, they were spawned from you.

Now, you had already received a fair amount of attention from the Student; Stares, love letters, lustful gazes. But you were there for Stella, the affects of there attention quickly dissipated as you focused on Stella.

Now you being a fairly attractive young man, in exceptional shape from years of work and being the only male in a school of a few hundred young hormonal women.

But initially, being Stella's servant stopped anyone from pursuing you, as relations with someone below them was punished severely by both the school and there families.

Unfortunately the question of who you were was quickly raised, Stella without much concern or thought, told them all about your special status as both a noble and a servant.

And that's were the problems really began.

You see, sleeping with another family's servant, was an excellent way to get yourself disowned by your family.

But a fling with a servant, whom was also a fellow noble... that could be tolerated.

You were greatly surprised to find just how tolerant the school was of such behaviour.

It would seem that despite there rather strict policy on student/Staff relations, that being pubished severely.

But the school was unwilling to take serious action against noble children for have relations amongst themselves.

It seemed they allowed the students to let out there rebellious phase in small ways, perhaps a method to help make them into proper nobles.

Needless to say, you had never been so happy you were Stella's servant.

You'd heard how some of them talked about you, and if Stella wasn't your mistress, your quite certain you'd be used as a tool for political gain, regardless how you felt about it.

Ironically, you found Stella becoming far more possessive of you, especially whenever someone began to show interest in you.

Now she had always been possessive of you to a degree, snapping at anyone who dared to treat you poorly or acted like you were supposed to serve them, something that happened quite often amongst nobility.

You liked to think it was her way of marking her territory, all the while showing you that she had your back. And with all the attention you were getting, it only made sense for her to be a bit more possessive.

Adding to your growing shame, seeing Stella becoming such a strong, confident woman had only strengthened your feelings for her.

In your mind, you had kept your feeling for Stella perfectly hidden. Only allowing your affection to show, through your friendly and platonic behaviour.

Apparently you were wrong.

Parties were surprisingly common on the school grounds, with a major party seemingly occurring at least once a month.

Stella being ever the socialite, was of course invited. The young lady flirtaciously telling you were invited as well. Following her to the party, you found a small herd of teens sipping wine from plastic cups, talking amongst themselves.

Playing nobility.

It was fun for the most part.

Everyone was dancing and drinking. And much to your surprise Stella was quite lax when it came to alcohol, drinking more than her fair share.

A little tipsy, she found you, demanding you dance with her.

Now you, on the other hand, did not party. You did not drink, you did not fraternise and you most certainly didn't dance.

You were her guardian, you were supposed to watch over her, not get drunk with her in some random dormroom.

But Stella ordered you, not having the will to refuse her, you complied.

You danced and drank and partied. And for the first time in your life, you let yourself he a teenager.

And you enjoyed it. You enjoyed being with Stella.

The mood quickly soured when, as Stella left to get a drink, some random girl grabbed you by the collar and rather aggressively tried to kiss you.

You were able to hold her back of course, even inebriated you were still strong enough to hold back a drunk teenage girl.

You were freaking out, unable to think of what to do, only for Stella to appear and violently rip her off you, beating the crap out of the her right there infront of all the other party goers.

She screamed at the girl, telling her to never touch what belonged to her again. Before without saying a word, grabbing your hand and dragging you out of the party.

She dragged you into a nearby allyway, ranting and raving about how dare someone touch you, you belonged to her and she was sick of having to remind people.

Her words becoming progressively more possessive, you just half drunkenly stumbling your much taller mistress.

Raising the question of her increasingly possessive language, you saw her entire body shift.

Walking up to you, she pressed her body up against yours, effortlessly pinning you to the wall.

It was pointless to struggle, as even with all your training she was still stronger.

With eyes you had never seen before, she stared into your own and asked if you liked her.

You were both shocked and terrified, you were so sure you had been careful.

You sputtered something out, trying to hide your feelings before she cut you off with a passionate kiss.

She held you close as she told you all about how she knew you liked her, about how she knew you always held yourself back.

But she understood why.

You were left stunned when she told you the reason she knew why, was because she'd been doing the same. She confessed she had fallen for you, but like you, she had kept her feeling secret because such a relationshi wouldn't be "proper"!

But she didn't care anymore.

She was sick of keeping her feelings for you a secret, sick of watching other women get to speak and act freely while she was forced to hold her tongue.

She wanted you and she was going to have you, no matter what anyone thought.

She dragged you back to your dormroom, although it was more like a small apartment before dragging you to her bed.

Sitting above you she asked if you wanted this, unable to think of the right words you just gave her another passionate kiss.

The two of you spent the night together.

Your relationship was kept a secret for the rest of her time in the academy. The two of you agreeing it would be best and with Your position already giving you the best possible excuse to be close together.

Once you both graduated, Stella's parents tried to have an arranged marriage set up for her, hoping to achieve greater prestige for the family.

But much to your surprise, she blatantly refused.

Instead she using her new-found political connections and usurped her parents, taking the family name and the role of head of household as her own.

Her first act, openly declaring your relationship.

You were deeply relieved the outcry was very minimal, contained to only a few already outspoke critics that apposing her anyways.

And so you stood by her ever since. As bother her loyal protector and faithful lover.

Hey hey, this one was a challenge, but I still enjoyed it. If any of you have a request or want to submit a prompt, go right ahead. Check out my master list for what I won't write and go for it. Thank you all for reading.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Bound Blood (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 2

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village

Rating: T+ for blood, language, nudity, and horny

Warnings: Implied pain/blood kink

Summary: Local vampire tries to give her human soulmate a bath, but the human is feral and loving it. Then it gets a lil horny, to both of their frustration.

Previous Chapters: 1: Sharing Is (Not) Caring

2: Bloodbath, Baby!

“I take it you changed your mind about the clothes? Or am I supposed to use these towels like a makeshift toga?” You asked, glancing around the bathroom, eying the ornate tub with mild interest. This certainly wasn’t where you had expected Cassandra to take you, especially not when she had somewhat promised you garments to wear. There were no pants or shirts (or even dresses) in sight, just a rack of the softest looking towels you had ever seen. It was admittedly difficult for you to resist the urge to use one to wipe the blood off of your shoulder. However, you figured that it would be best to save that for after you were given a good behavior prize. After all, it was much more fun to be a bastard if your “victim” (not that Cassandra really counted as that) knew how polite you were capable of being, and you were, under normal circumstances, very polite. Most of the time. Maybe.

“What did I say about talking?” Cassandra snapped at you, glaring at you from her perch on the counter. She was sitting on the edge, waiting for something, occasionally eying the room’s entrance.

“You told me to shut up for ‘five minutes’. It’s been eight, at the very least! I’ve been holding back, just for you, babe,” you replied, smirking as you did. For a moment your soulmate seems to consider chucking a bar of soap at your head. Eventually she thinks better of it, opting to roll her eyes at you instead. “For the record, I did count, just to be sure. Wouldn’t have wanted to make any assumptions about the passage of time, considering how fast time seems to fly when I’m with a loved one.” Unfortunately, this does not get a rise out of Cassandra, who has shifted to face away from you. Not yet willing to give up your buffoonery (and assuming that you would not, in fact, be getting a good behavior prize anytime soon), you released a loud, exaggerated sigh, before switching tactics.

Standing up with the blanket still curled around yourself, you maneuver over to the tub, eagerly climbing inside. With how large it was, laying down was fairly easy, though you weren’t entirely flat. Wanting to be as comfortable as possible, you adjust yourself and the blanket until it covers you, while letting one end go behind your head like a pillow. It’s nowhere near as nice as you had hoped. On the plus side, however, is the attention it gets from Cassandra. Before long she’s standing adjacent to the tub, staring down with an expression of exasperation.

“What the fuck are you doing?” She asked.

“Napping, obviously. Care to join me?” You answered, without hesitation. Then you gently pat the blanket, as if offering to let her sit on top of you. This only serves to make her angrier. Now she’s leaning over the basin, bracing one hand against it, her other hand reaching to grab your throat and pull you towards her. The two of you are so close that you can’t help but blush, and the feeling of her skin against yours is weirdly attractive. “I should have known you were the kinky type. Not that I mind,” you murmured, gaze wandering a little farther south than her lips. Before you know it she’s shoved you back down and let go of you. She shakes her hand a bit, like she’s just touched something gross, but you see the pink rising on her cheeks. As much as you want to tease her, the sound of approaching footsteps takes priority. Soon the door is opening, revealing a stressed servant, a pile of clothes in her arms. Suddenly you’re glad that Cassandra pushed you away, considering you don’t think she would have enjoyed having someone walk in on the two of you in that position.

“Lady Cassandra, I have what you requested. Would you like me to draw a bath for you? Or-” she pauses when she sees you, clearly unsure of what to make of your behavior. Hell, she almost drops what she’s carrying, and makes a soft ‘oh’ sound. Presumably dying inside, Cassandra quickly takes the bundle from her. Then she stands between the two of you, blocking line of sight, looking as tense as could be.

“Just get back to work, and don’t mention this to anyone,” she growled, gesturing towards the door. As soon as the maiden closes it behind her, Cassandra is turning back to you. “Get rid of that stupid fucking blanket or I’m forcing you to wear wet socks.” Understandably, you start giggling at her request, hardly able to believe that she had really just said those words out loud. “Would you prefer I cut up the soles of your feet? I’ll heal long before you do, asshole.” Now that makes you pause, trying to figure out whether or not her threat held up. Even though everyone had a basic understanding of how blood bonds worked (the less romantic, and more historic, way to refer to soulmates), the specifics were confusing for most people, including yourself. Would your aching wounds bother her? Or only the initial injury?... Somehow you had a feeling you’d figure out the answer within the next few days.

Until then, you decide to err on the side of caution, for once in your life. Still, you roll your eyes before you pull the blanket up and out of the tub. Again you spot a faint rosy tint on Cassandra’s face, and her gaze most definitely lingers on places other than your eyes. In the end you have to bite your lower lip to stop yourself from calling her out on it. Gotta get some clothes first, you think, then back to being a dick. Holding back only gets harder from there.

Wordlessly, Cassandra takes a seat by the front of the tub, where your feet are propped up on the edge. Giving you a judgemental look, she pushes them aside so she can reach the controls knobs easier. You give an exaggerated pout in response, only for her to ignore you completely, trying very hard to look anywhere but at you. It was in stark contrast to how she had looked at you a mere half an hour earlier. There were several interesting things to note about her behavior, and you found yourself almost excited to figure out the puzzle she presented. Did she care about you now? Simply because of your blood bond? Did she have a genuine soft spot for romance?... Those sorts of questions were all you could think about, even as Cassandra turned the handles, letting cold water splash into the tub.

“I’d say ‘fuck you’ but honestly, were I in your position I would likely do the same,” you said, shivering a little. Cassandra raises an eyebrow, staring at you like you were stupid, before turning the handle a bit more. Eventually you figure out what she meant by it. “What, you guys don’t have a quality water heater? This is Romania for fuck’s sake. I would have figured the water would be a hell of a lot hotter by now,” you added, only for her to splash some still very much cold water on your face. “Is this fun for you? Are you enjoying this? God, I hope you assholes have Legos somewhere in this maniac menagerie, so I can step on them while you sleep.”

“Do you always spit in the face of kindness?” Cassandra asked, moving towards the other end of the tub as she spoke. Once more you laugh, though this time it’s much more of a hollow sound, and your smile doesn’t reach your eyes. “My sister wanted to kill you, but I pulled your pathetic corpse out of the basement, now I’m letting you use my bath, and you’re mocking me. This is why I don’t bother with this shit,” she growled, even as she wets a washcloth and starts dabbing at your wounds. On one hand you understand her frustration… but on the other you couldn’t get the image of her past victims out of your head.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’d rather be clean than not,” you started to say, pausing to think for a moment. Then you reach out, putting your hand over Cassandra’s, making her freeze in place. It’s soft enough of a touch to surprise her. Which is why it’s so easy for you to snatch the towel from her hands. “You ‘don’t bother’ with this ‘shit’ because you’re a fucking sadist, who thinks all humans are beneath you, who acts like she has every right to bleed innocent people dry, who thinks she’s God’s gift to this goddamn hellhole we call Earth. Do you think this makes up for your sins? Do you-” her nails dig into your arm and she grits her teeth in pain- “think that I can forget listening to the screams of your victims? Whose graves is this castle built upon? Whose fucking bones am I standing on? Who died to keep you alive? How many other versions of me have you killed, in other timelines, in other lives, where the universe didn’t demand that we be together? I’ve seen your heart, girl, and it’s as raw as they come.”

There’s a brief second of intense, furious eye contact. Then a flash of movement, a rush of pain, tears filling the corner of your eyes. Blood pours from the new hole in your shoulder, but Cassandra is quick to lick it up. She’s groaning in between each run of her tongue across your skin, clearly feeling it every bit that you were, yet she shows no signs of stopping. If anything, her pain seems to spur her on harder. Even you can’t help but blush a little as you struggle beneath her grip. Why did vampires have to use their mouths? Why couldn’t they get blood transfusions, like the rest of society? This way, your pleasure mixes with your misery, leaving you confused, and the fact that you’re still naked is not at all helping.

“Oh fuck off, please,” you gasped, trying to push her off of you. To your surprise, she does as asked, pulling away after one last lick. When you turn to look at her, you see your blood covering her lips and dripping down her chin. “You’re a mess, Cassie. Hot water?” With that you return her favor from earlier, splashing some of the (finally above room temperature) water in her direction. Most of it misses her. A few drops, however, do manage to hit their mark. Then she’s wiping her face on her sleeve, scowling the whole time. There’s still plenty of blood on her face afterwards, but it’s nothing compared to what’s gathering on your shoulder. She eyes the wound, nostrils flaring briefly, a predator dying for one more bite. “If you bite me again, I swear to whoever that one lady y’all worship is, I will bite you. My teeth aren’t made for that shit, but I don’t care. We’ll both be miserable and that’s it, baby! That’s love! I’m threatening you with an unhealthy perception of affection, dipshit!”

This time you expect her to move away, or hit you, or do anything other than what she does. Calling your bluff, she moves around the ever-filling tub, pausing to turn the water off, before hiking the edges of her dress up and… oh. Oh. Somehow she’s in the tub with you now, legs on either side of your waist, presenting the side of her neck to you with a knowing smirk. But you are not known for your cleverness. Nor your ability to make good decisions, at that. Perhaps your blood loss was starting to affect your cognition. Whatever made you so feral, so beautifully unhinged, you embraced it with utter glee. Soon enough your teeth find themselves on Cassandra’s throat, digging in enough for you to feel your blood bond reacting. For a moment she stiffens in response. Then she relaxes, even takes in a rush of air that sounds oddly content, leaning into your touch. What the fuck? You think, almost shocked enough to let go. Almost.

“What’s the matter, pet? I thought you wanted me to know what it felt like on the other side of things?” Cassandra teased, voice quiet and low. Something about her tone sends a familiar, although unwanted, feeling to your core. Still, her words egg you on, and you find yourself biting harder, tugging at the skin a little. More tears gather in your eyes, but you fight through the pain as best as you can. You drag your teeth across her skin, wishing for sharper canines, before letting go to inspect your work. There’s a clear outline where your mouth had been, but not a single drop of blood. Frustrated, you go back in for seconds, choosing a different spot to target. Again you go through the motions, only for no crimson to stain your lips. This cycle repeats several more times, with you running your tongue along her neck in between bites, so focused that you don’t realize that she’s grinding against you until she stops.

“I need to file my teeth,” you mused, trying to forget about what you had just done. Now that it’s over, Cassandra seems to feel the same, and she quickly climbs back out of the tub. She’s refusing to meet your gaze, instead focusing on arranging the clothes the servant had brought earlier. By the time she’s facing you again her blush is almost entirely gone.

“Finish cleaning up, then bandage yourself and get dressed. I’ll have a maiden wait outside to bring you back to my room. Don’t even think about trying to run,” Cassandra said sternly. You’re too distracted by the thought of what happened to give her any snarky response. So she simply nods to herself, then leaves, slamming the door behind her. Though you had expected to be relieved by her absence, you find yourself groaning, holding your head in your hands. Why is she so attractive? This is probably illegal, you think, in at least several countries. Or it should be, at least. Now that she’s gone, there’s nothing to distract you from the price of her attention, with your shoulder and neck aching horribly. Cleaning up was going to hurt even worse. Still, you think, at least I’ll have some time to think of new insults. With that in mind, you begin to wash away the blood, thoughts entirely consumed by your newest ‘partner’.

[initiala]

Oh hai.

It's not dead or abandoned! Remember how I started this for @cssns​ 2018???? Just, y'know, life happening, and also several global catastrophes. But it turns out that writer's block is really cured by procrastination, which is why I was able to finally figure out some spots I was stuck on while not packing up my apartment to move.

Please enjoy this overly delayed post-wedding fluff and smut.

Also on AO3 and FF.Net

______________

The holidays weren’t really something she paid attention to, not after her parents died. Her mother had loved any excuse to have a party and Emma had grown up with the nondenominational trappings of Christmas in their house, but the tradition had died with Snow and David when she was sixteen. She normally spent the last week of December pulling extra shifts at work, covering for people who had families and wanted the extra time off, and never had a second thought about it. The Pack had their own holidays, particularly around the solstices, but nothing compared to the warm, colorful parties of her childhood -- and frankly, nothing ever would. 

So when their short honeymoon fell over Christmas Eve and Day, Emma didn’t think anything of it. Killian made no indication that he celebrated it, and when they returned home on Boxing Day it was to a chilly apartment without any of the decorations that dotted the windows up and down their street. She turned up the heat a little while Killian took their bags back to the bedroom to be sorted out, and she double-checked the windows were locked tight while turning on a few lights in the living room.

The colorful twinkle outside meshed with the light snowfall in a way that made her heart twist painfully in her chest, a flash of her mother’s laughter ringing in her ears and a brief memory of her father cornering her mother under the mistletoe. Her thumb went to the band on her finger, a lump forming in her throat, and she remembered why she normally worked herself to the bone this time of year.

Work was a distraction from missing them.

“Emma?”

She whipped the curtains shut to put an extra layer between the cold glass and the warming room, between herself and her memories, and turned to face her husband as he came into the room. “Love, what’s wrong?” She shook her head, but his large hand engulfed her own as it went to discreetly wipe at her eyes. “Darling, I don’t know if you’ve forgotten this but I can smell when you’re sad,” he said, his voice soft as he pulled her into his embrace. “We’ve been home five minutes, you can talk to me.”

Fuck, she hated talking about her feelings and her parents and particularly her feelings about her parents. But she’d promised -- she’d vowed -- that she’d be more open and honest with him, and she was fairly sure he wouldn’t be able to get lucky and guess what all of this was about. She hadn’t told him enough about her parents to let him put all of the pieces together. “I just… I miss my parents,” she said softly, and let him hold her as he made a sympathetic noise and murmured soothing things in her ear. “Mom really loved this time of year. She threw the best parties, one year she actually got fairies to make it snow inside and me and the other kids had a snowball fight. She loved the colors and the whole family thing and she really loved the smell of pine trees -- it kind of gave my dad a headache. But we made it work because Dad always said how it put an extra sparkle in Mom’s eye and he loved her enough to put up with it. I normally try to work a lot through this time of year, everyone wants extra time off, but I was kind of hoping this year we could have some new memories to make this time of year less sad. And it helped, it really did, but then I just saw the lights outside and the snow and it just… it hit me a little harder because I’ve been trying so hard not to think about them. So I miss my parents and I’m sorry this time of year is going to suck no matter what and--”

Killian shushed her softly and she realized she was crying as he thumbed the tears from her cheeks. “You don’t have to be sorry,” he said. “If I’d known… well, I don’t know what I would have done. I can’t blindfold you everywhere -- well, I could, but not in the fun way --” He grinned as she swatted him on the chest. “So testy, my love. You don’t have to be sorry about missing your parents. You just need to let me know, so I can comfort you or let you sit and mourn them in peace, or drive you to distraction. And if I need to do so more this time of year, well, let it be my burden to bear. You don’t have to bear this alone, Emma, you can always rely on me.”

And didn’t that just make her get teary all over again? “How the hell do you always know the right thing to say?” she asked, burying her face in his chest.

“Because I’m magic,” he rumbled under her and she pinched his side. “And we’re too alike, you know. Now, what do you need?”

She sniffled and took a breath, taking mental stock. They really needed to unpack and get everything sorted out for laundry, but while that would keep her hands busy her mind would wander and she really didn’t want to keep thinking about the past. But she knew that leaving everything until tomorrow or the next day would bother Killian; she didn’t want to be alone right now, either. “Can we bring the bags back out here and watch TV while we unpack? I know you just put them away but--”

He was already nodding, though, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Whatever you need, love.”

Since he’d been the one to put them away and she was being the emotional asshole, she figured it was only fair that she bring the bags back out. She had no idea how he’d done it all in one trip, not with how narrow the hall was and how much she disliked scuffing her baseboards with the wheels, and surreptitiously eyed them as she made multiple trips back and forth.

No scuffs. “I’m magic,” she mumbled in a sarcastic imitation of her husband’s accent, shaking her head.

Killian had the TV on to the classic movie channel and the unmistakable scent of chocolate lingered in the air. “Dash of cream liqueur, whipped cream, and cinnamon,” he said, handing her a mug as she sat down.

Emma smiled into it, letting the warmth of the drink and the liqueur slide into her belly. “Did I ever tell you Mom’s the reason I like this?”

“Mm, no.”

She watched as he deftly unzipped the largest bag and started sorting through it; she’d done little more than toss everything in without caring about wrinkles, and the whole thing reeked of sex and wine -- they’d had not nearly enough of both over the last few days, but apparently enough to let the scent sink in to all the fabric. A different kind of warmth settled under her skin, but she wasn’t in the mood to act on it just yet. “According to my dad, Mom drank this all the time when she was pregnant with me. Her biggest craving; not that she didn’t like it before, but it was like another level. So then it became our thing, once I was old enough to have some, just sitting together on the couch or in the kitchen or wherever, with our matching cocoa with cinnamon.”

Killian glanced over at her, a glint of mischief in his eyes, and her heart swelled suddenly with reaffirmation of how much she loved him. His bangs fell over his forehead in a way some might call rakish, but when he looked at her like that -- lips quirked up in amusement at his own joke he was about to tell, unable to hide his glee at his own cleverness -- she could only call it boyish. “Sweet tooth before you were even born, eh Swan?”

Maybe not a joke then, but teasing, like they were twelve and he was pulling her tail. “I’m a wolf of taste,” she said loftily, setting her mug aside and pulling up another suitcase to go through. “Unlike some mangy curs around here.”

“Mangy cur?” Emma squeaked as she found herself pinned under him on the floor, his nose brushing against hers and heat flooding her body. His grin promised absolute filth, the hard length of his body pressed against hers deliciously, and the scent of his arousal was enough to make her dizzy. “Didn’t realize we were comparing pedigrees here, princess. Too bad you’re stuck with the mangy cur and not some stuffy purebred.”

“I happen to like the mangy cur,” she whispered, their lips close enough to tease.

“Good,” he growled. “Because he likes you too.”

She moaned into his kiss, which was far gentler than she was expecting, and he let up on her arms enough to allow her the space to embrace him. Her fingers threaded through his hair, then down his back, where she teased the patch of skin revealed by his sweater riding up. “Emma.”

He pulled back and she smiled at how he already looked wrecked. She glanced over his face, refamiliarizing herself with the little details she already had memorized but still loved looking at: the old scar on his cheek, the ginger hairs in his beard, the little freckles and the way his eyebrow seemed to jump up on its own when he got curious about something. He caught her eye with his again and one corner of his mouth ticked up, a sudden shyness in the way his eyes darted around, like he wasn’t sure she was staring at him . “What?”

She shook her head, reaching down and slipping her hands into the back pockets of his jeans, earning a surprised -- and pleased -- noise from him as she pulled him in for a quick kiss. “I just… really love you,” she said when they parted.

His cheeks reddened, but just around his cheekbones, and she loved that she knew that detail about him. If she was further back, she’d be able to see his ears turning the same color, and if she really got to him she’d be able to get his nose to match. She liked the way he could get around her, quiet and unabashedly himself, someone who couldn’t take a compliment seriously and waved off words of praise. It drove her a little crazy, but she’d made her vows to voice her feelings to him and she was going to make good on those vows.

“I love you too,” he said, his nose brushing against hers, and he leaned in to kiss her again.

The laundry could wait.

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

“ There she is!” Ruby hollered, ignoring the glares from the other bar patrons.

Emma also ignored the knowing looks on both Ruby and Dorothy’s faces as she shrugged out of her coat. She knew her hair was mussed and she had beard burn on the side of her neck -- Killian had a particular fondness for this dress and the lack of coverage it provided -- and she was definitely late for their night out, but she only felt the slightest hint of guilt over that. Besides, both Ruby and Dorothy knew what it was like to be newly mated, so they could cut her a break. “Hey, thanks for saving me a seat.”

She flagged down a waitress to take her drink order and then grabbed a handful of peanuts. “So… how’s it going?” Ruby asked in a sing-song.

“Babe.” Dorothy elbowed her.

“What? She’s got sex hair and she reeks of it. If that’s her excuse, she’d better dish.”

Emma rolled her eyes, cracking open a shell. “We didn’t have sex, thank you, he just… made it hard to leave.”

“Oh I’ll bet something was hard.”

“Ruby.”

The waitress arrived with Emma’s drink and they ordered one of those mixed appetizers platters to share, as well as another round of drinks. Emma gulped half of her drink after the waitress left again before saying, “I won’t kiss and tell.”

As Ruby made a face, Dorothy reached for her own peanuts. “Some of us appreciate that.”

Emma downed the rest of her gin and tonic; she hadn’t really taken the time to appreciate it, and seeing as how this was a wolf bar the drinks were made to match their metabolisms, but this was the first time she was getting to hang out with her friends since her wedding and she wanted to have fun. Tipsy, ridiculous fun, with no husbands and no responsibilities. Girl time. Catch-up time.

Only, she realized as the conversation started to actually move towards catching up on each other’s lives, she just had stories about Killian.

“Okay, I forbid you to talk about your husband for thirty seconds,” Ruby said, pointing a french fry at her for emphasis. The appetizers had been replaced by entrees, and Emma rolled her eyes as she took an enormous bite of her burger. Fine, she’d just chew instead. “You have to have been doing something other than banging each other silly or going to work.”

Emma took her time with her food, drawing out Ruby’s challenge and taking some small joy in the agitated tick in her friend’s eyebrow. “Well it’s not like you don’t know what I do for work,” she said finally, reaching for the ketchup. “And we’re in a post-holiday lull, so it’s gonna be a bit before things get interesting.”

“One of us has got to get a different job,” Ruby declared, while her mate rolled her eyes indulgently.

Emma didn’t bother to respond, instead flagging down the waitress for another G & T. There was definitely a happy buzz going on under her skin and she wanted it to continue; the burger would only dull the effects before too long.

“Bitch on the prowl, ten o’clock,” Dorothy said suddenly, looking towards the door.

Emma and Ruby turned to look, with what felt like most of the bar’s patrons and staff following their lead. A woman she didn’t recognize was taking off her coat, revealing a dress that would send normal humans rushing to her side in an instant; here, it only added to the allure of her scent. She was obviously in heat, unattached, and looking to rectify the situation.

Already two men were walking towards her, jostling one another to make her acquaintance first; Emma just looked back to her tablemates with a look of resignation. “They’re not wasting any time,” she said.

“Neither is she; she must be the first one of the season,” Dorothy said, watching the situation near the door with mild interest.

“Just glad it isn’t me this time.”

“If there wasn’t any concern about like, us not being turned into a science freak show, I would absolutely watch our version of a trash dating show.”

“Babe, we have too many seasons of Love Island on the to-watch list as it is,” Ruby said.

“Correction, we don’t have enough seasons of Love Island on the to-watch list.”

Emma glanced back at the display happening on the other side of the bar, letting the sound of her friends teasing each other blend into the rest of the noise. This woman was definitely taking no prisoners, making eye contact with one of the men while her hand rested almost possessively on the arm of the other, her lips spread into a wide smile. Hell, she was charmed by this kind of display, especially when the woman demurely glanced at the second man under her lashes for a moment. Maybe Dorothy was right about a dating show… She watched as the woman laughed at something one of the men said, throwing her head back to give everyone a good look -- and smell -- at her neck, and Emma found herself dazedly wondering when she might be able to slip away back home and ravish her husband.

“Oh no, we’ve lost her.”

“Pheromones side effect, tragic really.”

She blinked back to attention. “What?”

Ruby looked annoyed, but Dorothy at least seemed sympathetic. “She’s still in the honeymoon phase, babe, it’s gonna be a while before everything settles down. The coming season doesn’t help.”

“Okay, you can stop talking about me like I’m not here,” Emma snapped. Her drink had been refreshed without her notice and she downed it. “I get it, I’m sorry, I’ll shut up about Killian and whatever.”

Ruby started to respond, but Dorothy silenced her with a look. Whatever silent argument they had, Ruby lost and she huffed as she went back to her meal. The reaction stung -- it’s not like Emma hadn’t sat through hours of Ruby pining and then gushing over her own mate, she could stand being the recipient for a while -- but Emma felt it wasn’t worth it to argue and ruin the evening by just turning it into a fight.

Eventually, they started talking again, Ruby breaking first with some pack gossip. The night never got to the raucous levels any of them might have hoped it could get to, but was overall a nice time and Emma even forgot about getting her feelings hurt. It felt good to get out of the house for a while with friends -- but when someone wolf-whistled as the woman in heat from earlier waltzed out with an entirely different man clutched possessively at her side, Emma thought it might be even better to get back home to her mate.

Even short periods of absence seemed to make the heart grow fonder.

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

As the new year rolled through to its second month, Emma and Killian quietly celebrated the one-year anniversary of their meeting, marveling at how much had changed in just a year. Killian noticed that Emma seemed to greet each day with increasing wariness, and his own awareness of the mating season coming into bloom turned into some kind of insatiable itch under his skin.

He’d never participated in mating season before meeting Emma. He’d been soured from pursuing any sort of relationship after the disastrous affair with Milah, and even when he’d been half underwater with alcohol he’d decided he’d never again get snared by any she-wolf’s trap. And to his embittered mind, mating season was just another trap, luring men into siring pups or trying to turn a one-night tryst into a long-term commitment. Even after he’d sobered up and straightened himself out, he’d still felt the sting of rejection in his phantom limb and did his best to stay occupied and aloof in spring.

Until Emma.

He’d known from the start that she was different, that chance encounter with her packmates. She had fire, and the way she’d immediately come at him on the offense had piqued his interest immediately. Then the wind had shifted and he’d immediately known what the source of the problem with her packmates had been, the full-blown scent of a bitch in heat burrowing down to awaken his most basic instincts. He’d done his best to remain a gentleman and let her walk away, as she’d clearly had no interest in acting on her own hormones, and once her scent faded on the wind he’d walked away as fast as he could without rousing anyone’s suspicion. He’d thought that was the end of it, until a chance meeting at a bar led to a delightful night of conversation and drinks…

And the most wonderful, passionate woman he’d ever had the pleasure to offer himself up to the next day.

Poor love had been so miserable when he’d come to see if his magical hangover remedy worked for her that he’d hardly reacted to the overwhelming bouquet of Emma in heat. He’d acted immediately to try and rectify the errors in her spice cabinet, mixing his potion and letting her recover. And as he tidied up the mess he’d made, it became increasingly hard (in many senses of the phrase) to ignore the fact that he was absolutely surrounded by pheromones and the obvious lingering scent of everything she’d done to relieve herself of the ache over the last several days. And when she’d emerged from her blanket nest again and stood there with only a shirt and her knickers and legs that went on for miles and giving him every last chance to run before they’d do something they’d regret?

He’d never wanted someone more in his entire life, mating season or not.

It wasn’t long after he returned home, he realized that long weekend in her bed (and her shower and her kitchen… and one particularly enjoyable occasion with her back pressed to the window and the lights in the living room turned off to keep the outside world in the dark to their activities) would never be enough for him. Liam accused him of moping, his friends thought he needed to get out and meet someone new to get Emma out of his system.

Looking up now, watching her enter the room shyly and holding out a simple padded envelope, he knew just as well now as he’d known then: he could never get her out of his system, even if he tried.

“What’s this, love?” he asked, accepting the envelope from her as she settled in the crook of his arm.

“Early valentine’s present,” she said simply.

They had a reservation at a restaurant that day, so he was a little confused as to why she didn’t want to simply wait until then. “Any particular reason why this is an early gift?”

Her scent changed, a little surge of arousal, and amusement laced her voice, “I kind of figured it was safer to give these to you in private.”

Well now he was intrigued. “Very well then, thank you and I accept.”

Reaching into the envelope, he felt photos -- a stack of actual printed, glossy photographs. He glanced down at his wife -- fuck, he’d never be over that, his wife -- and watched her chew her bottom lip nervously as he pulled the photos out. 

Each photo featured Emma in some way, posed and primping and perfect in all her glory. These weren’t amateur photos by any means, and even her hair and make-up looked like someone else had done the job -- not that Emma did poorly at her own appearance, but she wasn’t one to add such accentuation to her eyes to give them that smoky effect. Killian swallowed hard as he went through each photo, his heart thumping especially loud in his ears: Emma looking directly at the camera in some sort of modernized glamour shot; Emma from behind, shot from the waist up, looking coyly over her shoulder as she slipped a shirt -- was that one of his? -- down her arms to expose her back beneath a wave of blond curls; Emma laid out on dark satin, her hair spilled around her like a halo, wearing what was definitely one of his button-downs and nothing else from the way she gripped it closed. “Emma, how did you--” his throat felt nearly as tight as his pants as he paused at the next photo, her eyes downcast as she lay on her stomach, the curve of her breast visible in the opening of his shirt.

“I am people who know people,” she said simply.

On and on it went, all of them sensual or titillating without pushing the envelope enough to qualify as lewd, until the last one: she reclined on her side, propped up on her elbow, on a pelt that matched her own. Completely bare, her back faced the camera, her hair spilling down her shoulders as she looked to the side, not quite looking over her shoulder but enough to give the viewer a look at her demure profile in an otherwise completely shameless photograph.

“Jesus Christ, Emma…”

She rested her head against his shoulder, by all appearances merely a content wife who was pleased her husband liked her gift, rather than the mischievous seductress she truly was. Minx. “You like them?” she asked.

“Very much. And may I add, excellent call on a private viewing,” he murmured, nosing her hair. “Had anyone else even glimpsed these, I would have had to rip their throats out with my teeth.”

She hummed and he grinned as her scent flared. “The whole murderous, possessive alpha male thing shouldn’t be such a turn on,” she commented, and squeaked as he hauled her up in his lap.

Placing the photos on her lap, he tapped the last one with one finger. “This one should be blown up and professionally framed, I might hang it up in my office. Your arse is a work of art, love.”

“It is,” Emma agreed, “but wouldn’t that go against the whole ‘if anyone else saw these I’d kill them in cold blood’ thing?”

He tweaked her nose; she really was a terrible mimic of his accent. She always made him sound like a Mancunian somehow. “I didn’t say it had to be the main office, and while I admit that intimidating any potential contractors to a better profit turnover would be better, I can’t say I’d be able to get much work done with such a distraction.”

“And it being in your home office would do any better?”

“Well,” Killian said, drawling on the l’s, “for one thing, I wouldn’t have to travel far to take care of any, ah, problems that might arise from a viewing.” Emma snorted, no doubt feeling exactly the sort of problem he spoke of pressed against her bottom. “Though why would I need to look at this if I have the real thing waiting for me?”

“Who says I’ll be laying in wait for you?” she asked, poking his chest. “If our history says anything, I’m the one who pounces on you the moment you walk through the door.”

“Or sooner.”

“Or sooner,” she said. Looping her arms around his neck, she tilted her head. “You really like them?”

He opened his mouth, prepared to remind her that he’d already answered that, but then he noticed the slight furrow of her brow, the nearly invisible downturn of her lips, her wide eyes flicking between his as she tried to read his expression. Killian softened, in several ways, remembering how difficult she found it to be vulnerable; he suspected the act of posing and taking the photographs had been easy -- Emma was a beautiful, confident woman and she knew it -- but now came the hard part: seeking approval. “I love them,” he told her seriously, tightening his hold around her. “A pale substitute for the real thing, but this on my desk,” he flitted through the photos to the glamor shot, “will remind me of the gorgeous woman I have waiting for me at home. And get me through the long , hard days when we don’t see one another.”

She gave him an overly patient look at where he’d emphasized his speech. He leaned down and kissed away the wrinkle between her brows, breathing her in. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve someone such as you, my darling, but I’m grateful every day to whatever thread of fate drew us together.”

Her breath hitched and her arms tightened around him. She shifted, tilting her head up to kiss him; the intensity of it nearly overwhelmed him, telling him without words how much she loved him and appreciated what he’d said. He felt her fingers in his hair, grazing the sides of his face and neck, her lips moving against his with a hunger he recognized well. “Let’s move these,” he rasped, doing his best not to just throw the pictures all over the floor, “before we make a mess of them.”

Killian gladly let Emma take control then, pushing him flat on his back on the couch and straddling him. “Show me what you really think,” she said, and whipped her sweater over her head, the offending garment falling almost protectively over the stack of photographs on the floor.

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

The dream started the way it always did: she was sixteen again and her body wasn’t cooperating as she tried to climb the height to the challenge grounds. Most of this was pulled from memory, the sounds of her mother and Regina fighting, the bitter cold, the tang of blood on the wind, but while the stones under her were covered in ice and snow, she’d been able to climb with only a little trouble. She’d been more worried about what she’d find than making sure her feet were going in the right place.

In the dream, though, it was like moving through molasses. Images came in flashes -- her mother lunging and scoring a blow on Regina’s side, Regina’s snarl and the moonlight glinting off the ceremonial silver knives, her father bleeding to death on the ground. Her voice stuck in her throat as she tried to scream for help, like her mouth was sewn shut.

She was helpless to stop what was happening; she always had been, and even in a dream she couldn’t change the reality that her parents had been murdered in front of her.

But for the first time she was able to get to the top, only to find Regina fighting Killian instead of Snow. He had no knife, no weapon at all, swinging wildly with his fist and kicking where he could, but Regina seemed to have the upper hand as she dodged his every move. It looked like she was completely fine with letting him tire himself out first before she had to do anything; Emma tried to scream, tried to get them to stop -- why would Killian be fighting Regina? -- but her mouth wouldn’t work.

Killian lunged and Regina dodged with ease, moving on the offense for the first time as she slammed her elbow into his back. He fell with a cry and suddenly a rifle was in her hands. A crack sounded in the frozen night and then Killian lay still on the ground.

Her body moved, freed from whatever had trapped her in place. Regina was gone, and Emma flung herself at her mate’s form. He lay sprawled on his stomach, a dark, wet patch spreading across his back in the same place where he’d been shot last fall. She packed snow against the wound, an animal cry ripping from her throat in a desperate plea for help. She turned him over, trying to see if he was conscious, but he was white as death and as cold as if he’d lain there for hours instead of moments --

Emma woke, a scream stuck in her mouth as she fought to get the blankets that were tangled around her and constricting her movements off. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she tumbled to the floor; the solid impact shook off the confusion between dreams and reality, but it couldn’t get the image of Killian bleeding out in the snow out of her mind. She curled in on herself as her mind blended it with the same sight of her parents that she’d relived over and over again for more than a decade, her chest aching as she tried to stifle her sobs.

It was late, but she hadn’t gone to bed as Killian had still been at work. She’d dozed off on the couch, something she hadn’t done in a long time—in the last few months, the combination of Alice’s crystal magic and the ever-present scent and feel of their mating bond in the bedroom had helped ease both of their night terrors. Their den represented safety and security, giving them peace of mind to rest easily.

She hadn’t meant to fall asleep.

Emma took deep breaths, trying to calm down. She reached for where she’d left her phone, using the hem of her shirt to scrub her face dry with her other hand, and checked to see if there were any messages. A few warm tears leaked out still, even as she checked the time and noted that Killian had texted not long ago to let her know he was on his way home.

As if on cue, the sound of keys in the hall reached her ears, and a moment later they scratched at the lock and then the door opened. “Sorry I’m so late, darling, I—what happened?”

He was at her side in an instant, gathering her into his arms. She lay her head against his shoulder gratefully. “Bad dreams, it’s nothing.”

“Sweetling, the fear-scent hit me full in the face when I came in, it’s not nothing.”

His heartbeat under her ear soothed her, some of the lingering tension in her shoulders easing with the steady thrumming. Her arms went around him and his hold tightened, just a little, as if he could protect her from her own demons just by holding on tight.

She wished he could.

“Bad dreams,” she said again, clearing her throat after her voice came out thick. “A lot of the same, mixed up together in a shitty new brain cocktail I didn’t order.”

He knew about the recurring dream with her parents, and the newer ones from the incident in the fall, so it wouldn’t be hard for him to put together what she meant. He kissed the side of her head. “I’m sorry, darling. Why didn’t you just go to bed?”

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep out here. I was waiting for you to get home and just nodded off.” Her book, forgotten until now, lay face-down on the floor, pages bunched up and wrinkled now from when it had fallen from her lap in sleep. “If I’d known you were staying that late I would have just gone to bed.”

Killian sighed. “I’m sorry. I was working on a contract and needed feedback from the overseas partner; it’s morning in Singapore so I knew I could get prompt replies. I should have said something earlier.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“No, but I still feel terrible.” He kissed her again and stood, bringing her up with him. “Come on, let’s have a nightcap and you can tell me how to make it better.”

She smiled wanly. “I just need you. That’s all I need to make it better.”

Emma allowed him to lead her to the kitchen. “You have me, Swan, you know that. You’ll always have me.”

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

She woke slowly to the gentle, teasing press of lips against her own. There was a murmur in the back of her mind that sounded like ‘ wake up, darling ’ and she had the bewildering sensation of being in two places at once before a finger brushed against her neck and arousal surged through her body. Instantly she felt more alert, kissing Killian back with newly awakened vigor, and he groaned as she pushed him back, reversing their positions so she lay atop him. “Cheater,” she accused, only allowing them a moment to breathe before coming together again. 

He stroked her mate-mark once more and the swell of arousal almost hurt; she clenched her thighs together, trying to ease the ache that lay between them, but Killian’s hand moved down, coaxing them apart to tease his fingers between her folds. “So wet for me,” he murmured.

“Yeah, I wonder why,” she said, biting her lip at the feel of his fingers on her flesh, the warmth pulsing through her body, the sparks of pleasure with every stroke. He ducked down, pressing his lips against her neck and she whimpered at the touch, feeling like she was melting into putty in his arms. “ Tease .”

“I’m a cheater, a tease,” he murmured against her skin, punctuating each word with another kiss. “What’s next? Scoundrel ?”

She cried out as his fingers thrust home, filling her with that delicious stretch she craved. She could feel him moving his fingers inside, teasing her further, and she didn’t know how she wasn’t just soaking his hand with how turned on she was right then. With each thrust of his fingers, he seemed to lift her up and it took her far too long to realize it was a combination of his own urging and her unconscious compliance as she rose up above him. She threw one leg over his waist and felt the head of his cock bump against her thigh; Killian withdrew his fingers and she looked down to watch him rub her juices off his fingers onto his cock as he took it in hand, quickly positioning himself in place for her to sink down on top of him. "Oh fuck me," he moaned as she began to move, her lips finding his mate-mark.

His fingers dug into her hip as she rode him, skin slapping as she chased her pleasure. The combination of their teasing each other’s mate-marks was driving her nearly insane with lust -- she barely noticed when she peaked, the need for more clawing its way through her veins. Killian protested when she lifted herself off him, but he seemed to pick up on the general plan when she turned and got on her hands and knees.

She gasped, sharp and shallow as he pushed in again, her hand grabbing a fistful of blanket for purchase. He felt so much bigger this way— always had since the way he’d taken her that first time. "If we're going to do this like animals, might as well look the part,” he’d said then, and she certainly felt like an animal now as she pushed back onto him in earnest, back arching and throat rough as she keened, pleading for more.

“Greedy girl,” Killian panted through grit teeth, his hips slamming against hers as she cried out. “Drenching my cock, begging for it.”

“ You woke me up,” she retorted, gasping again as he hit a good spot. “There--do that again, fuck .” His hand found her hip again, nails stinging into her skin just enough to pull a groan out of her. Again, he snapped his hips forward, but it’s less frenzied than before, sharper, calculated, and the breath that punched out of her lungs at the next thrust felt laced with fire. She turned to look at him over her shoulder, felt her heart stutter at the way his mark stood out dark against the morning light.

She slipped against the sheet, nearly buckling, but his hand was there before she could, sliding up the length of her torso to curl his fingers around her shoulder. Too-fast, she found herself surrounded by him, his weight half-draped on top of her as he pulled her flush against him and oh, oh . Fuck tumbled out of her again as she twisted to claim a rough kiss. Distracted, his hips slowed at the contact, but she pushed back again with a roll of her hips.

The hand on her shoulder urged her down, his weight shifting off her back as he reared back and her head pressed against the mattress. The angle was just right, a keen tearing from her throat as he resumed speed, driving into her hard and fast and -- “ Fuck, Killian! ”

His hand slipped under her, between her legs, found their way to her overstimulated clit and teased, drawing circles around it and pressing--

Killian’s phone started to vibrate on the nightstand. Emma felt her orgasm slip beyond reach for the moment, her concentration broken, and she groaned in frustration. She didn’t even know what time it was, but it had to be too early for anything but an emergency. “Killian, you should see who that was,” she mumbled, her head shifting against the mattress as he pounded into her.

Her husband snarled and that sent a little thrill down her spine, reigniting what had been lost. “Whoever it is should fucking know better than to call when I’m balls deep in my wife.”

She had no idea how to articulate how absurd that was, but he moved his hand again and squeezed her breast, leaving wet streaks of her own arousal along her skin and her core clenched around him in anticipation. He exhaled sharply, another little growl escaping him, and she pushed back against him, meeting him thrust for thrust. She felt his fingers move along her skin, dancing up her back and nails scratching just enough to leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake, until they found her mate-mark once more and started tracing around it, lightly circling, pressing just enough--

She saw stars. Burst of color behind squeezed eyelids and an impossible wave of pleasure crashing through her, her legs feeling numb and buckling under her as he rode her through her orgasm until she heard a grunt signaling his own. She slid weakly down onto her stomach, her skin still tingling and her core still shuddering, dragging air into her lungs as fast as she could to try and calm her racing heart. She felt the bed shift behind her, heard Killian’s heavy breathing, then felt him settle between her legs. Before she could fully understand what was happening, she felt his nose brush the sensitive seam of her ass, and then dip lower as his tongue found her dripping, abused, and still fucking aroused cunt. “ Jesus --”

Emma tried to push herself up on her elbows, tried to army-crawl up the bed and away from her insatiable husband’s questing tongue, but he satisfied himself with only a few laps before pulling away. She twisted, flushed and glaring at the smug grin on his face. “Who’s greedy now?” she asked.

“I do love the taste of us together,” he admitted, righting himself and settling back on the pillows.

She fought the urge to roll her eyes and summoned all of her strength to get up and go clean herself. Wobbly as it was, she managed the trip to the bathroom and even brought him a washcloth to clean himself up before giving her weary legs a rest and laying next to him. The heady feeling of arousal still burned inside, though more like a smoldering ember pile than the full-on inferno he’d worked her into before, but she pushed it away; she wasn’t in heat yet and her body had limits.

For now.

“So what was that for?” Emma asked.

“Do I need a reason to wake my wife and lavish her with my attentions?” She poked him in the ribs, a particularly ticklish spot, and he squirmed. “Cut it out,” Killian said, giggling. “Your smell woke me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “My smell?” she asked, her voice flat. “You know, from anyone else those might be fighting words.”

He took her hand in his, bringing it to his lips. “And far be it from me to challenge you, darling. No, I believe it may be close to time, your scent has… shifted somewhat.”

Emma let her head fall back with a groan. Motherfucker. Well, it was to be expected; it’s the normal time for her to go into heat, it was just… the worst. Though, having a mate would make it exponentially easier than previous years; she had that to look forward to, at least. She just hated being completely ruled by her hormones, hated having so little control over her own body. And of course Killian would be the first to pick up on it, of course he’d know her so well that he’d pick up on even the slightest change in her scent. Idly, she wondered if he could tell because he’d smelled her in full-blown heat before, but in truth she believed he’d know any changes in her body and her scent almost before she did.

Puts the kibosh on any cutesy surprise things whenever we get around to having pups , she thought wryly.

“Judging by your enthusiastic response, you’re still unhappy about the prospect,” Killian remarked.

She sighed. “It’s not that. I love nothing more than using you as my personal sex toy, I just… hate everything else about it.”

“We could try a last-minute honeymoon,” he suggested. “We did talk about going somewhere this spring.”

“It’ll be wicked expensive, not to mention both of our bosses would kill us for leaving so last minute. And don’t even try to tell me Liam would be understanding, he’d find something to harp at you about.”

“Technically I’m my own boss.”

“Yes, but what captain leaves the helm to go fuck his wife silly for a week?”

His teeth flash in a grin that sends a shiver down her spine. “I’m sure plenty do, particularly when the captain’s wife is as beautiful and alluring as you. And I do have minions to keep things running, you know I don’t do everything right?”

“You have to stop calling your officers ‘minions’.”

“I pay their salaries, I can call them what I like. Besides, which is less of a mouthful, Chief Operating Officer or minion?”

“Coming from the man who takes an hour to tell a five minute story.”

His grin widened. “One of the many charms you love about me.” She rolled her eyes and the bed shifted as Killian reached for his phone, which pinged a reminder that he had a missed call and a voicemail. “Though I could have reason for it, seeing as how one of them called at a most inopportune time.”

Emma worried her lip between her teeth as he listened to the message, the tinny voice reaching her ears perfectly as questions even she knew could have waited a few hours were relayed. If he was right, and it was reasonable to assume he was, then it would be easier to just combine the honeymoon and her week in heat. It was extremely annoying that there wasn’t any way to really tell when her body would go into heat, outside of paying attention to signs like any subtle changes in scent, and they couldn’t have planned this ages in advance. The thought of paying all the last minute booking fees made her skin crawl, but she also knew he wouldn’t suggest such a thing if it wasn’t feasible.

Marrying up a couple of tax brackets was going to take a lot of getting used to.

Killian tossed his phone back on the bedside table, muttering darkly to himself, and she settled against him again. “How about this,” she started, “we take today to make sure a quick getaway isn’t going to be a problem, and then go in a couple of weeks? I don’t think it’s going to happen in the next few days and we need some time to get our shit together.”

“Eloquent as always, Swan,” he said. “And the full moon is next week, so we should schedule around that as well.”

Remembering that gave her another sense of relief: for some reason, it wasn’t common for their kind to go into heat the week of the full moon. Some did, but it was extremely rare, and always led to complications with the litter. She thought it might have something to do with how her monthly shifting stopped when she’d been pregnant before, nature realizing that changing forms while pregnant wasn’t good for the mother or the fetus, but it wasn’t like there was anyone she could ask about that. Again, something else that the more scientific-minded of their community were studying, but it was difficult.

And it wasn’t like there was The Scientific Werewolf Monthly to publish any of that research.

Maybe there should be.

“Well, that settles that,” she said, her mood buoyed by the lunar calendar. “We’ll go in a couple of weeks. Plunk me on a beach somewhere that’s not Boston in winter and I’ll be set.”

Killian’s expression was a thrilling mix of joy and sin. “Then I’d better make sure it’s a private beach, because I have no plans of letting you wear anything more than a bikini the whole time we’re gone,” he said, shifting to loom over her as he spoke, the last words breathed against her lips before he caught hers up in another kiss.

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

The wave of pleasure that had been building inside finally crashed over her, sending ripples up to the top of her head and down to the tips of her toes. She sighed, sated for the time being and pushed away the latest of her spent toys, reclining back on the silk maroon sheets to watch as he took his leave from her bed. They all knew the drill, the men lurking in wait for her summons; she hated for them to linger, but she did indulge in the view as they stumbled away from her room.

For now, though, Regina was tired. That was the third one today, and it was barely noon on the first morning of her heat. She rolled her head on her neck, as much as she was able, joints cracking and muscles stretching. She wasn’t a young pup anymore, as difficult as it was to admit some days, so while being ravished three times by three different, handsome young things in one morning certainly sounded like an ideal way to spend one’s time, it was proving to take a toll on her.

She didn’t like to think too much about what that would mean.

She didn’t care for the reminders, the lines at the corners of her eyes getting a little deeper if she looked too long, the silver strands she kept carefully colored, and now her body tiring a little sooner than it had the year before.

Any slip might give rise to rumors, and rumors often lead to those same men lurking downstairs foolish ideas about power.

No, for now she would rest a bit, take lunch, and assess what else she could do to keep her hand on their leashes until just the right moment.

Her phone rang midway through lunch. Annoyed, Regina answered in her usual, clipped way. “This had better be important.”

- She’s leaving town for a week, her and that British wolf of hers. My sources say it’s probably their honeymoon, but we have to remember the season. If she comes back pupped-- -

“I can make my own conclusions, thank you Sidney,” she snapped, her mood darkening. “Keep tabs on them if you can, and the Nolans. We may have to move faster than anticipated.”

She hung up before he could agree to anything -- it didn’t matter, he didn’t have to agree. He just had to follow orders.

She sat still for a moment, staring at her plate, then moved suddenly, throwing her tablet against the wall. The news that Emma Swan, previous heir apparent to the pack she now ruled, had taken another mate after all the work she’d done to destroy that last relationship had sent her into a rage that kept her people on their toes for weeks. She didn’t need any reason to allow support of any kind for that little bitch to rise, and a newly mated pair with a fresh litter on the way would definitely give reason for people to remember and feel sympathy for the girl. To start rumors or petitions to restore her place.

To revolt.

She’d put in too much work expanding, improving, and keeping her pack in line to let the memory of the old alphas resurface.

Snarling, Regina got to her feet. Rage mixed with arousal, the need to take control of something overpowering anything else, and she pressed the intercom that would summon another one of her playthings to the bedroom.

She hoped he had stamina, though she didn’t quite care if she ended up breaking him in the end. He was easily replaced, just as all the others were.

She was in control here. Not them. Not any of the hotheads she dealt with on a regular basis.

And never, never Emma Swan.

[hannibalismos-jaaneman]

reasons why i think eternals was the worst marvel movie yet (y'all have been waiting for this ik) + my opinion on the rotten tomatoes rating

disclaimer: if you wanna throw hate then do not read this any further because this is just a long rant about how eternals is just plain fucking BAD. i do not intend to cause any drama but i just wanna give us true believers the multidimensional perspective back which we seem to have completely lost after endgame, very contrary to what should have really happened. i am not here to demotivate anyone, i am just really mad so bear with me, or else you are free to leave. thank you and if you have read this far then i am guessing you wanna read further so please, be my guest.

intro: so, firstly, ik eternals are pretty important in the comics and they have some real interesting roles to play in the infinity saga and shit but... BUT, they are basically gods. and all we really got to see was that they are a bunch of 7k year-olds going around and saving humanity, swearing to not interfere but they did. frankly, i think introducing all-powerful beings in something like the mcu seems like a cheap dc move. it's too comical and kinda plays with the fairly humane characters we already have in the movies, don't get me wrong, they are amazing in the movies but they are just- a tad too spandex for me iykwim. like even moon knight is a regular person. if i were to talk about the rotten tomatoes rating, i'm- not as shocked. ik it was gonna get a bad critics' rating but the audience would love it. idk, i think as compared to iron man, the movie was- atrocious- to say the least. chloe zhao, whose major genre of directing was supposed to be indie kinda ended up directing and writing a superhero movie. listen, i am not saying that i don't like indie movies, fo god's sake i was crying at the endings of god's own country and cmbyn! it's just that- you know- like- dune and the king would mix well, but if you mix dune and ladybird- like- ykwim?? it's just that. i didn't watch nomadland but ik it won an oscar so it must be something i might like but eternals was- how should i put this in a way that people don't @ me?-like, marvel is KNOWN for its graphics. damn, my cousin (he's been into marvel since iron man) said that he watched shang-chi, didn't understand what the fuck was going on but liked it because the water dragon was pretty. like- you understand what i'm saying right? like, even my father had the same reaction, so did my mom (although she understood what was going on but the graphics were fucking mindblowing). i think throughout the movie, i was searching for those two marvel signatures- the graphics and the dialogues. i guess the whole thing lacked that, adding fuel to the already burning pyre that was my anger at the plot holes. we'll get to that.

plot- the most basic and ill-written plot marvel has ever given? eternals. a celestial is about to emerge from within the core of the earth and it happens after the blip? like uh- excuse me? humanity is currently low and it's okay to kick it out of existence at that time? and no one decided to mention that arishem was the bad guy? so were the celestials? they didn't promote any life or shit, they were power-hungry assholes who destroyed life to have the universe o themselves. also the eternals are useless robots? like ikaris step aside we had vision before these mfs decided it was okay to kill him and torture wanda. and thena was having visions, okay but why didn't she react like a normal mc? why was she ready to kill everyone? ik she's the war goddess but we all know thena isn't dumb or erratic in any form or way. killing gilgamesh was fricking unnecessary, like why? also, where were these guys when thanos was around? like he finished off half of all living creatures and sersi was crying because ikaris left her three millennia ago?? like ma'am?? is he all that you have?? you just let gilgamesh and thena go because you weren't able to get over a rando laser eye? they weren't supposed to be a thing in the first place, but a female character just cannot live without a male supporting her. wait- let's shift this to the next topic.

relationships- so, like they made peggy male dependant, they did the same with sersi. like she kept hopping from dane to ikaris and then ikaris to dane like ma'am?? if you're going to make this gritty and realistic like dc rather than wholesome and fantastical like marvel, at least make the leader a little reliable because that's what a leader is supposed to be. also, why the FUCK was everyone looking for ikaris' approval when ajak had left sersi in charge like- huh? listen. like, ik y'all are new to the platonic besties routine marvel but gilgamesh and thena was pretty dumb, also, sprite, who looks like a literal frigging kid, is in love with ikaris? excuse mE, let a kid breathe? i DO NOT appreciate adult-minor relationships, no matter how leftist i am (ik sprite is a full-grown adult mentally and as old as everyone else but then why is she a kid??? like in atla, aang was a kid but he was 100+ years old, but he was still in love with katara, who was his age- ykw? ik i'm not making any sense- this is just too weird). even leftists who are super open-minded peopl don't appreciate that (i'm a leftist fyi), and it wasn't even like a little girl fangirling at her crush it was like full-on in love, that wasn't okay. sersi and ikaris was just plain bland. don't be blinded by that love for marvel, this was bad. they totally screwed up their chance on making druig and makkari the ultimate ship in the movie.

music score- oh boy don't even get my classical music ass started on this- the absence of the triangles, weak as fuck woodwinds, couldn't even hear those drums, like don't rumble, roar, like the string section just didn't sit right with me, it was basically just brass and effects like i could see the his dark materials meets game of thrones but THAT ISN'T MARVEL THAT'S THE POINT ISN'T IT. the percussion was okay, not as strong as this movie should have had, depending on the fact that it's practically based on 7k year-olds and THEY'RE FROM OLYMPIA GIMME THE GODDAMN ORCHESTRA!!! it wasn't eve as catchy as shang-chi, like, not even fucking CLOSE. like what would have actually worked was something like assassin's creed, damn that's the perfect mix of culture and majesty that the eternals (not the movie eternals but like eternals in general) truly deserved. idk, i see marvel heading towards a more innovative side of music and i appreciate that, like shang-chi and black panther, endgame and ragnarok are perfect examples and eternals should have matched the epicness of these movies if not even more. like the og theme's gonna remain OG okay? it's not antediluvian like everyone thinks it to be. like with tws everyone started throwing shade at it but LISTEN. these are SUPERHEROES, they deserve MAJESTY not TECHNICALITY and PERPLEXITY and MYSTERY. and eternals are GODS, so they deserve EVEN MORE. like i get effects are taking over music but the real epicness comes from the perfect mixture of brass and strings and that just did NOT happen in the score, like, at ALL, for me.

i don't like the rotten tomatoes rating MAJORLY because the audience liked it. like, i was expecting a similar reaction as my mom gave (which just deemed the movie a fucking abomination so yeah) but i did not get that rage from people, in fact, people are liking this movie or i guess i have just seen only people who are liking it, actively talk on social media due to the fear of sparking a discourse. i can understand because our fandom is big on collectivization and stuff but kudos to the critics for rating this one as the worst one yet, because, critically and from the view of a comics fan speaking, it did NOT live up to the expectations in any way and i have listed the main reasons above. it's just not the perfect marvel movie package and comparing it to shang-chi and black panther, even just with music scores, just feels like insulting the masterpieces these movies are. my overall opinion on this movie gets even worse but i love the way chloe went all out with the direction and the way they got us the representation in the movie. it was a brilliant effort but just not on the right path, for me, personally.

[heliads]

Daughter of the Storm (Part One)

Based on this request: “The reader is Wanda daughter but separated from Wanda because of hydra. reader gets called by sword to rescue Monica because she has similar power to Wanda. in the hex she is Agnes daughter and Wanda realizes that is her daughter and tries to get her back but Agatha does want to leave reader because the reader reminds Agatha of her dead daughter who her mother killed.”

masterlist / part two

It is quiet before they break down the door. In fact, were it not for the slight clamor of footsteps against the rickety wooden stairs, you would have no idea anyone was there at all. You are too young to recognize the sudden look of fear crossing your mother’s face, too small to know to run and hide. It is not your fault when they come, yet they come anyway for you. Such is the will of the world- if there is a weapon, it is best to remove all possible failsafes so she will self destruct when you wish her to.

The weapon, in this case, is your mother. Wanda Maximoff. Technically, she had been the one to sign up for HYDRA’s testing, but it wasn’t her choice to have you ripped from her like a limb, heart still smarting from the wound. HYDRA knew that if they wanted to have any sway over Wanda, any reason for her to commit herself utterly to the cause, they would have to take you away. They already had her brother, her only remaining blood, but if they had you they would have everything. There would be no other reason for her to go on, no reason except HYDRA’s whims. It was perfect for them, yet so utterly wrong for you.

The door caves in with a shower of splinters. Wanda stands up, voice beginning to raise in a shout. You are small, barely up to her knee. There is no place for you to go, no place to run and hide. It is too late for that, and Wanda knows it. She raises her hands, about to use her powers, but then a certain Baron von Strucker steps through the shell of the door. He speaks casually, as if sharing a chat with a friend. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. The second you hurt us, we hurt her. An eye for an eye, if you will.”

Wanda backs down, but her eyes still smolder with a scarlet rage she’s unable to control. She moves instead to you, holding you close in her arms even as the soldiers press forward. You’re too young to know exactly what is going on, but you can sense the terror emanating from your mother in waves. You tug at her sleeve, squirming at her tight hold on you. She just shakes her head as the captain of the soldiers extends his arms to take you. “You can’t have her.” Strucker makes a clicking sound with his tongue, and Wanda’s eyes dart to him. Her threats are as empty as eggshells, she knows that, but to give you up without a word would be a betrayal of the highest degree.

Strucker taps his watch. “Any day now. You don’t want to keep us waiting.” When Wanda still hesitates, the baron nods to his guards. “Take her.” The soldiers lunge forward, snatching you from Wanda’s arms. You cry out at the sudden violence, reaching out your arms to Wanda once more. Time seems to hang silent in this moment, as if everybody is fixed on strings. There you are, being dragged away by the silent soldiers. Your hands are still outstretched, inches away from Wanda’s. 

In the later years, this one image will be burned into your head, reminiscent of that one painting of Michelangelo’s that everyone seems to adore. The Creation of Adam, maybe. Yet the wistful calm of that painting is nothing like the wild chaos of this moment. And then the instant fractures, and you are dragged away from Wanda and pulled through the door. This is the last memory you have of her, with her eyes wild with fear and your own terror beating through you like a second heart.

Your view of her is broken by the twists of the hall, and you realize that you are being taken outside to a truck. You’re shoved in the backseat, the soldiers taking their places in the driver’s side and passenger seats. The vehicle begins to move, tires spinning for a second in the mud before they gain traction once more and lurch forward. The night is old, darkness inked over the landscape. You can’t tell where you’re going, only that it is away from anything and everything that you have ever known.

You sit in the back in a state of shock. You can count your age on one hand, you have no idea what is going on. After a while, you begin to catch snippets of the driver’s conversation with the other soldiers. “We’ll take her back to the base...yes, they’ll be separate….No, she’ll never see Wanda again. What’s the point? At this point, she’s just a bargaining chip.” Your fear returns in full force, but now it is joined by a foreign anger. Who are they to take you away from your mother?

Your fury reaches a boiling point, and suddenly, a wave of crimson energy bounds away from you. It rushes towards the driver, who is smashed against the windshield from the impact. The truck is forced off of the road, and you slam against the walls of the truck for a few seconds before the vehicle finally comes to a shuddering stop. Dizzy and utterly confused, you manage to pull yourself together long enough to unlatch the truck door and step out. No one ever tied you down, assuming that no kid would be able to stop the vehicle, so you’re able to run out into the surrounding countryside. 

You end up getting lost deep within the trees, and spend hours alone in the dark until another organization comes for you. This time, it is not HYDRA, but their rival, S.H.I.E.L.D. Apparently they’d been keeping tabs on HYDRA activity for a while and jumped at the chance to rescue whatever prisoner had managed to escape from their armored truck. They weren’t anticipating a terrified child, but they still welcomed you into their jet. You fell asleep almost immediately, leaving the agents with the pressing task of how to deal with a child who had enough power to level a building.

It’s too dangerous for you to return to Wanda, and HYDRA would hunt you down if you stayed in Sokovia, so you end up being brought to the United States. The loss of your mother and uncle presses in on you like a blade, but there’s nothing you can do. S.H.I.E.L.D. provides you with a home and an education, and there’s a gun in your hands as soon as you’re old enough to learn. This isn’t entirely S.H.I.E.L.D. 's fault- you’re tired of being parceled about and intend to feel useful for at least once in your life.

Now, you are a decorated S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. There’s almost nobody with as much experience as you, except for maybe Romanoff, Barton, Hill, and Fury, although to be fair nobody else was able to join as a teenager. Your skills as an agent aren’t the only things that set you aside from the others- you’ve been able to develop your own abilities, abilities that make you just as dangerous as your mother. You’re made from the same stormcloud, cut from the same cloth that lets you manipulate a scarlet magic whenever you desire. Some days, you resent this reminder that she will always be away from you, but on others, you’re grateful for it- your powers are the last thing tying you to her.

You know that Wanda Maximoff is now with the Avengers, that she is in the U.S. just like you. However, whenever she’s in town you’re always coincidentally off on some mission across the seas, or just out of reach. Wanda doesn’t even know you’re with S.H.I.E.L.D. at all, something you’ve decided is for the best. It wasn’t just your decision, you’re fairly sure Fury had a hand in it as well. It seems that no matter which side you’re fighting on, agencies always want their magical weapons to have as few weaknesses as possible. Besides, you’ve spent so long without her that you’re not sure she’d want to have you back at all. It’s best for everyone if you just keep your distance, and so you continue booking your flights whenever you receive word that she’ll be around.

Your heels click on the tiled floor as you pass through the halls of the New York headquarters. You don’t know why you’ve been called to Director Fury’s office, but you have a feeling that it’ll end up being dangerous, deadly, and utterly out of anyone else’s pay range. Good- things are getting a little slow around here. You could use some near-death experiences to get your blood pumping again. 

When you knock on the director’s door, he calls for you to enter almost immediately. So he’s been waiting for you- yet another twist in the mystery. Surely this is going to be another assignment- your books have been clear for the last week, which is a new record. If it’s important enough for the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. to make room in his busy schedule for you, you can tell this is going to be good. You can feel a satisfied smirk making its way onto your face, one you try to discourage. You can feel your fingers already itching to call up your power and burn your way through another rank of enemy agents.

Fury, however, isn’t asking you here to call up the cavalry once more. You won’t be taking down scores of HYDRA thugs, or dismantling enemy spy technology. Instead, you’ll be going to Westview, New Jersey, a nowhere in the middle of nowhere. Normally, you’d be bristling at the low intensity of this mission, but the reason you’ll be sent there is so shocking that you can hardly control yourself.

Your mother, Wanda Maximoff, has taken the entire town hostage. She’s flung up an energy barrier around the streets, trapping the residents inside and forcing them to play along to her sitcom dreams. It’s like she’s playing with suburban paper dolls, except each one of her toys is a living, breathing person who is terrified and desperate to go back to their old lives. The phrase bubbles up on your tongue, but you keep it to yourself. She’s mad, it seems. And if she’s mad, what does that say about you?

The most pressing issue is that one of S.W.O.R.D.’s finest, Monica Rambeau, has been pulled into Wanda’s false reality. There’s no way to get her back, and, according to intel gathered by agents already on the scene, Wanda’s brainwashing her into thinking she’s a typical Westview resident. There’s no way Monica could make it back alive, and so they have asked S.H.I.E.L.D. for help. S.H.I.E.L.D. is now turning to the one person who has experience in this field, who knows everything there is about Wanda’s powers because she has them herself. This is why you’ll be sent to Westview, to rescue Monica and be forced to confront your mother after all of these years of separation.

Somehow, this mission doesn’t come as a surprise. From the second you heard of Wanda’s appointment to the Avengers, you knew your paths would cross at some point. You cannot keep two like objects from themselves forever, just like you can’t hold back the tide or keep the clouds at bay. She is your blood, your magic, your mother. You were bound to meet her at some point, you just find yourself wishing it would have happened under better circumstances. A walk through the park, maybe. A brunch at a restaurant. Something other than your delivery into her mind control mayhem, where you know you’ll set something off to take the whole thing down. 

Director Fury’s eyes are still fixed on you. Maybe you’re supposed to be the mind reader, but in this moment you can tell he’s gleaning every possible fact from you, delving into every crease in your brow and tense of your knuckles. You force your face to smooth over, letting your expression shift back to the impassive. “I understand the assignment. Am I only there to rescue Monica, or is this more than a retrieval mission?” Fury folds his hands together. 

“I want you to evaluate Maximoff, both for her powers and her stability. Will this be an issue?” You shake your head. “I’ll remain unbiased.” Fury’s glower becomes less severe, the closest you’ll get to a smile. “I know you will.” He stands up and shakes your hand, escorting you to the door. You maintain your unemotional agent facade, but your legs feel leaden as you walk back through the halls. Even if you find the strength to face your mother, even if she doesn’t recognize you at all, will you be able to do this? 

Like most missions at S.H.I.E.L.D., you know you don’t have a choice. It’s like running with a pack of wolves- any sign of weakness, no matter how brief, will be extinguished. So, you pack your bags and move out like it’s just another assignment, instead of a possible reunion with the mother you haven’t seen in years. The truck comes, you step in. The truck arrives at Westview, you step out. Even though the trip itself takes hours, it seems to pass before you in a blur of seconds. Your head is a churning mess, repeating the same phrases over and over again. You’re going to see her. Will she know you? You’re going to see her. Will she hate you?

You march briskly to the head of operations in the Westview encampment, where you’re greeted by S.W.O.R.D. Director Hayward along with agent Jimmy Woo and doctor Darcy Lewis. They’re both friends of Monica, or at least admirers of her work, and urge you to find her as quickly as possible. Monica is a key part of the Westview proceedings, it seems, and you would do well to save her from your mother’s grasp without too much difficulty.

Hayward runs you through a list of protocols and warnings, most of which blur together. Before long, you’re standing outside the barrier to Westview, taking in the marbled scarlet sparks of Wanda’s magic. It feels familiar, like an embrace you’ve cherished before. It seems so similar to your own magic that you half expect to be able to pull it down without a second thought, yet it still stands there, resolutely not your own. You take a deep breath and step forward.

Hayward calls out one last thing to you. “Agent L/N? Be careful.” You smile faintly at his words of caution, trying to hide your wince at the name he used. You started going by a false last name when you first joined S.H.I.E.L.D., as there were few Maximoffs in the system and you didn’t want to be recognized. How fitting that at the moment you’re about to see your mother, Hayward yanks you back in place, reminding you of who you’re supposed to be. Not a Maximoff, not the daughter of Wanda, but an agent. That’s it.

You take a deep breath and reach out a hand, feeling the threads of Wanda’s magic leap out to you like a magnet. There’s a prickling sensation as the energy calls to you, and then you walk forward through the barrier. A rushing sound echoes around your ears, but you feel strangely at peace. So this is where it all begins, you think. You have finally entered your mother’s domain.

wanda maximoff tag list: @mycosmicparadise​, @mionemymind​, @xxxtwilightaxelxxx​

[jaskierrrrrr]

Have I not written anything in basically a year because of my crippling fear of failure? Yes.

Did I also write this the night before my final exam and upload it at 11.30pm? Also yes!

Bad decisions aside, I really hope you enjoy this!

***

(2.5k, canon typical violence, bodyswapping and SFW shenanigans)

***

The mid morning sunlight finally roused Geralt from his sleep, which was the first sign that something was very, very wrong. Normally he started awake, just before dawn and had plenty of time to pack up the camp before Jaskier even considered opening his eyes.

The second sign was his own body lying motionless next to him.

It took Geralt several seconds longer than he’d ever admit to to accept that he wasn’t some spirit looking down at himself from beyond the grave. For starters, he could see his chest rising and falling. He also felt starving, which didn’t seem like something you’d have to deal with after dying.

Still processing his initial shock, he was just debating whether to wake himself up or not when his hair fell into his eyes. He brushed it away impatiently and then started, looking down at his hands. Where had expected to see grimy, scarred fingers, he instead saw soft skin, calloused fingernails and ostentatious rings, which could only mean-

He fell backwards, reaching behind him to grab his sword, before realising it was on the other side of his motionless body. Still in denial, he stumbled towards himself and picked up his sword. It felt unnaturally heavy, and looking at the reflection in the blade confirmed his worst fears.

He was Jaskier. Or rather, in Jaskier’s body. Which suggested that Jaskier was in his.

Turning round just in time to see his own body- Jaskier- finally stirring, he braced himself for what would most likely be an incredibly dramatic reaction. For once, he would class it as appropriate- Melitele knows he’s screaming internally. It’s bad enough not being in your own body without also having swapped with the person you care about the most, who has no idea. There’s a great sense of vulnerability and a deep-set fear that somehow this will lead to Jaskier realising how he feels, but he tries to push it away and focus on the problem at hand.

His own eyes blinked sleepily up at him, before widening in surprise.

Oh what the fuck,’ Jaskier exclaimed, hauling himself off his bedroll and circling Geralt, tripping over his feet in the process. ‘Why didn’t you tell me my doublet didn’t match my shirt?’

‘You- what? That’s the first thing you say?’ Geralt asked, Jaskier’s nonplussed attitude momentarily distracting him from the current clusterfuck of a situation.

‘Well yeah,’ Jaskier huffed, placing his hands on his hips in a manner that looked so bizarre under his armour that Geralt felt the uncontrollable urge to laugh. ‘I have a reputation to uphold.’

‘It doesn’t matter anyway,’ Geralt muttered, turning away from Jaskier. His brain was starting to hurt. ‘You look fine.’

Jaskier cleared his throat. When Geralt turned back, his face was stretched into a grin.

‘Don’t you mean- you look fine? After all, you’re wearing it.’

Jaskier had a point. Not that Geralt would ever admit it.

‘Whatever, Jaskier. Let’s just find someone who can fix this.’ He reached for his sword, before remembering he no longer had it, and wouldn’t be able to carry it if he did.

Jaskier clapped his hands together. ‘Gods, this is going to be fun.’

***

“Okay, I’ll be the first to admit that this is decidedly not fun,” Jaskier muttered, the medallion around his neck bouncing as they made their way up a steep hill. The sun was now low in the sky and once again Geralt found himself irritated at the amount of fabric he was currently baking under. Why did all of Jaskier’s clothes have to have so many frills?

“The novelty’s worn off then?” Geralt added dryly. They’d been walking for about two hours before they’d come across the first town- there was no mage, but fortunately they found a place for Roach at a local stables. She’d found the entire body swapping incident incredibly disconcerting (she wasn’t the only one), and had refused to let either of them ride her, even when enticed with apples.

At first, Jaskier had kept up a steady stream of his usual chatter, albeit in a much gruffer tone than usual, but he had fallen silent as it got later in the day.

‘I just don’t understand why it’s so loud? I feel like I’m back at Oxenfurt, there’s just so much noise.”

“It’s from the Trials, remember? Enhanced hearing has saved my life- and yours- countless times,” Geralt replies, not without a twinge of sympathy. He remembers how chaotic and confusing it had first felt as a child.

Jaskier grimaced. ‘Right, right,’ he mumbled, before jerking his head back towards Geralt with a look of horror on his face. ‘Is this what I sound like to you? Gods, I had no idea- my prattling is bad enough without advanced hearing-”

“Jaskier,” Geralt interrupted, “your voice doesn’t grate- it’s fine.”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe it did at first, but I’ve gotten used to it.”

“So what I’m hearing…” Jaskier said slowly, “is that you like my voice?”

Geralt scoffed. “Don’t push your luck,” he muttered, although he couldn’t quite hide his smile.

“I knew it!” Jaskier crowed triumphantly. “So much for fillingless pie.”

“I said talking was fine- I didn’t say anything about your singing.”

Jaskier’s mouth fell open in outrage. “You- you absolute brute, Geralt of Rivia! Mark my words, one of these days I’ll, I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Geralt asked teasingly, looking away to hide his laugh. “Splutter at me?”

Jaskier didn’t reply. He’d come to a complete halt and was staring at the trees, a frown on his face. Without warning, he drew his sword. Geralt had just enough time to wonder if joking about Jaskier’s singing was going to be the thing that killed him, when something huge burst out of the foliage. He whipped his head, following the flash of silver as his sword flew elegantly and almost lazily in an arc from Jaskier’s hand and buried itself in the side of the creature, which collapsed in the dust.

Geralt turned to stare at Jaskier in amazement. “How the hell did you do that?”

“I don't know,” Jaskier muttered, eyes still fixed on the creature. “I guess I’ve got your fighting skills too.”

As he bent to withdraw the sword from the creature’s side, Geralt noticed Jaskier’s hands were shaking.

Geralt knew how he was feeling. He’d felt sick to his stomach the first time he’d killed something. He hesitantly reached out a hand and placed it on Jaskier’s armour. He could feel him trembling.

“You did the right thing,” Geralt said gently. “It’s not easy, but you did it.”

Jaskier’s eyes finally moved from the corpse, and he gave Geralt a brief smile.

“You think so?”

“I do.”

***

They walked in companionable silence after that, occasionally bashing into each other when Jaskier forgot how wide his shoulders were. They reached the next town at dusk. After a few brief enquiries, it was apparent that there was no mage.

“I guess we’ll have to accept defeat for the night,” Jaskier sighed. “Even I’m feeling tired, so you must feel exhausted. You’re just too stubborn to admit it.”

He was right on both counts. Geralt’s feet have ached since midday, and he’d even tripped a couple of times. Maybe Jaskier constantly falling over was more due to tiredness rather than not paying attention.

“We can find a place to camp for the night in those woods over there,” he suggests. “Figure out where we’ll head next in the morning.”

“Why don’t we just ask for a room at that tavern over there? I could do with a hot meal.”

Geralt hesitated. After the day they’d had, he could definitely use a drink, but they’d been lucky to travel so far without drawing too much attention to themselves.

Jaskier must have noticed his reluctance.

“It’ll be fine,” he said as he rolled his eyes. “Besides,” he added, swinging open the door, “we’re in the middle of nowhere, there’s no way anyone will recognise us.”

As he opened the door with a flourish, the entire tavern fell silent, their eyes fixed on the two newcomers standing frozen in the doorway.

“What were you saying?” Geralt hissed out of the corner of his mouth.

Jaskier was saved from answering by the innkeeper bustling over to them with a wide smile on his face.

“Geralt of Rivia and the bard Jaskier! It is an honour to welcome you here. Will you be in need of a place to stay tonight?"

They both nodded.

The innkeeper clapped his hands. “Excellent! We’ll have a room ready momentarily. Sir Witcher, we have a table free over there- and will you be performing tonight, noble bard?”

“Well, I-” Jaskier began, before noticing the confused look on the innkeeper’s face. “Oh, well… I’m sure my companion would be delighted!”

Geralt barely managed to restrain the torrent of curses on his lips before nodding tightly. He was going to kill Jaskier.

“Wonderful,” beamed the innkeeper. “The stage is over there whenever you’re ready,” he added, before returning to the counter. Geralt slowly turned to look at Jaskier.

“What? Oh, don’t look at me like that, what was I meant to say?”

“You were meant,” Geralt growled lowly, “to say no. I thought that was fairly obvious.”

“Look, it’s too late to back out now. You’ll be fine! If I got witchery skills, you must have bardic skills, it’s only fair.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt groaned in despair, “how many curses have you known to be fair?”

Jaskier started to laugh. Geralt turned away.

“Oh yes, laugh all you want. It’s my reputation at stake.” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier looked at him with an odd expression on his face. “Geralt, it’s my reputation, remember?” He takes Geralt’s hand and squeezes. “I promise it’ll be okay,” he said softly. “And if it isn’t, I’ll start a distraction. I’m great at that.”

Geralt snorted in acknowledgement. He pulled the lute off his back, and let adrenalin carry him over to the stage. As he settled in the chair, the patrons fell quiet once again. He catches sight of Jaskier, who’s drinking a tankard of what looks like Cintran ale. Lucky bastard. He caught Geralt’s eye and raised his tankard in a silent salute. Geralt inhaled deeply, praying to Melitele not to fuck up. Closing his eyes, he began to play.

Somehow, thank the Gods, Jaskier was right. His fingers are flew over the fretboard to the familiar tune of Toss a Coin. He doesn’t understand, but he isn’t going to question it. He’ll play a few songs to keep the audience happy, and then make his excuses.

He’s about four songs in when he finally gets the courage to open his eyes. Everyone seems to be enjoying the performance, but there’s only one opinion he really wants. Jaskier is leaning forward in his chair, his ale forgotten as he listens to the music, swaying gently in time. He has a soft smile on his face, but there’s something odd about his features. Geralt’s seen his own reflection far less than he’s seen Jaskier’s face, but he knows something’s different.

He’s lamenting his poor eyesight and squinting from the stage to try and see more clearly when the truth hits him.

It’s his eyes. Even in the well-lit tavern, his pupils are blown wide so his irises are barely visible. Which normally only happens in the dark, or-

His fingers briefly slipped on the strings. He blinks to recover, his mind reeling. The only other time his eyes are that wide are when he’s looking at Jaskier. But, if Jaskier’s looking at him, then that means-

There’s a sudden, unpleasant tug in his navel. His stomach flips, but before he has time to cry out, the sensation has gone. Realising his arms are empty, he opens his eyes.

He’s across the room, looking at Jaskier on stage. Relief floods through him. He’s back in his own body, and more importantly, he never has to sing again.

Jaskier catches his eye and waggles his eyebrows. “Told you it would be fine,” he mouths over his strumming.

Jaskier finishes with a flourish after another two songs. To Geralt’s annoyance, he gives in to demands for an encore. Geralt taps his foot impatiently. He’s desperate to be alone, to get the chance to talk to Jaskier. Finally, finally, Jaskier strums his final note and bows deeply, before jumping off the stage and sauntering towards Geralt, who meets him halfway.

Jaskier grins at him, face flushed. “Guess we don’t need a mage! Strange, I wonder what made us switch back.”

“Hmm,” Geralt replies, as they make their way up the stairs.

“Oh, well someone’s definitely back to normal!” Jaskier laughs. “Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy yourself up there by the way, I could tell.”

They find their room at the end of the corridor. It’s a simple room, but there’s a fire in the grate that gives it a homely feel. Geralt finally finds the courage to talk when he’s interrupted again.

“You gave a fine performance, you know,” Jaskier said brightly as he set his lute on the table by the door. “I mean, starting with my best song was an interesting choice- I usually save it for the end, but you pulled it off. Could work on your stage presence a bit too, but I suppose that was to be expected, given the circumstances.”

He paused for breath, grinning at Geralt. Realizing this was his only chance, Geralt didn't pause to think, just crossed the room in two strides before pushing Jaskier up against the door and kissing him.

Jaskier let out a startled breath before responding in kind, gripping Geralt’s waist and pulling him in close.

When they broke apart, Jaskier smiled widely. “What brought this on?” he asks, before frowning suddenly. “Wait, if I had ale in your body, does that mean you’re drunk? Is that why-”

“I’m not drunk,” Geralt reassured him. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time, I just… didn’t know if you felt the same until I saw how wide your- my- pupils were during the performance.

Jaskier scowled. “That’s not fair,” he mumbled into Geralt’s shirt. “I had all your witchery senses and I still couldn’t tell how you felt.”

“I just hide it better than you.”

“Now that I won’t argue with. Your face is like a block of granite, it’s impossible to tell what you’re thinking.”

“Know what I’m thinking now?” Geralt said in a low voice, leaning towards Jaskier, who blushed a deep shade of red.

“I have an idea,” he mumbled.

“I’m thinking,” Geralt continued, leaning in even closer before grabbing a pillow and thwacking Jaskier over the head with it.

“I’m thinking,” he laughed over Jaskier’s splutters, “that you can sleep on the floor tonight for that!”

Ignoring Jaskier’s halfhearted protests, he pulled him towards the bed, where they collapsed in a heap.

“I’ll get you back for that,” Jaskier muttered from where he was sprawled against Geralt’s chest.

“Oh?” Geralt laughed. “And when should I expect my comeuppance?”

“Not now,” Jaskier replied. “After all, we have all the time in the world.”

Geralt grinned, before pulling him into a soft kiss. “That we do,” he replies. “That we do.”

[goodlucksnez]

Eraser//mic

1200+ words of allergy Sh//outa Ai/zawa

idk where I got this idea to write this but i wrote it

As Shouta stumbled into the dimly lit laundromat, he thought about how he got into this situation.

On his way back from one of the local cat shelters, he heard the local siren indicating a villain attack. As he vaulted onto the nearest rooftop to get a scoop of the land, his eyes quickly spotted the villain. It was obvious he was drunk or under the influence of some kind of drug and was yelling at the local bystanders trying to escape a steaming liquid he seemed to be oozing from his body. He spotted a young girl no older than 6 hanging off of a tree, a valet attempt to escape the burning liquid but it was clear she wasn’t able to hold on much longer. As Shouta wrapped his capture scarf around a close telephone pole and swung to catch the young girl the moment her gripped failed. He had little intention of getting a direct hit from the man’s quirk that started to eat away at his black shirt, exposing the skin underneath. As the young girl hung onto him and he landed on the slick pavement his worry wasn’t on the exposed skin but the threat of the enemy. As other Pro’s quickly handled the situation and Shouta returned the girl to her very thankful parents, he saw the ooze had eaten away at most of his shirt only leaving his capture scarf shielding his boy. Luckily for him being a UA teacher had it perks with local businesses. He quickly pulled out his cellphone and scrolled until he found the name and pressed down, and as the phone rang, he stated walking to the underground laundromat.

He was pulled back from the memory as a cheery voice called out. “G’day mate, how can I help ye?” As Shouta neared the counter he saw the semi-familiar blue and gold eyes of a fairly young female. As Shouta handed over the badly dissolved shirt he replied with a voice tired and rough.

“Hello Thimble, business I assume has been alright…. you know what I like.” She quickly took the torn fabric and replied “Well if you keep bein’ a bogan I sure as hell be a’ight.” Shouta simply nodded and went to sit down as he knew it would not take long to repair the fabric. He met Thimble as a local business deal a few years back, her quick, Edgestitch, as long as there was a piece of the original fabric could replace and repair the item to its original shape and size. Many heroes whose outfits were destroyed employed her and soon she made a small shop for underground heroes. As Shouta rested his eyes and pulled out a jelly packet he could hear the nimble fingers and the sound of machine sewing at a rapid pace, and within a short while, Thimble emerged from the back with his regular black shirt neatly folded with a decorative bow on the top. He quickly thanked her, and put on the shirt, the warm fabric encased his body and he quickly smiled before turning and leaving the small shop.

As he walked back to UA, thinking about what tests he had to grade later and how late he would stay up reviewing video tapes and evidence about the attack last week in Kotsu, his eyes began to sting. He brushed this aside as dry eyes were a common side effect of his quick and as he wiped his eyes on the freshly laundered shirt, he found himself pinching forward.

“Aht’NDJSHuh!”

As he recovered from the sneeze that bended his body, he found himself oddly sniffly and wiping his nose on his sleeve, the tickle which didn’t seem to be going away sprung to life again he found himself pinching forward three more times.

 “HUH- HP’TSCHHH! Hih’tschxx- tsch, tsCHHhh”

Eyes watering and nose running he decided maybe the spring air was causing his allergies to act up and he quickly headed inside to the teachers’ lounge in search of some antihistamines as well as tissues. As he pushes the door open to the teachers’ lounge, he saw Vlad as well as All Might and Hizashi lounging on the sofa and as he entered all three heads turned to him. Hizashi was the first one to speak.

 “Yo Eraser we expected you here 30 minutes ago what took you so long?”

Eraser simply shook his head and attempted to not sound congested as he replied, “Small run in with a villain, sniff had to make a few alterations on my course here.”

His voice was gravelly and though he tried to hide his congestion Hizashi who had known him for the better part of 15 years quickly picked up on it and stood up and went to his desk side cabinet and pulled out a packet of allergy meds. As Eraser wiped his nose on his sleeve again All Might couldn’t help but comment on the act.

“As a person with health issues I understand truly I do, but please try to be more sanitary we are—"

This sentence was caught off by Eraser quickly doubling over in a fit of sneezes which rendered his body useless.

“I can’t- I—I neehhhhd t—to—HhIH’TSCHhhuu! Hah’tSCHhhu! Hih.. Hih…! G’TSCHXX”

Mic quickly ran to his side helping the hunched over Pro and lead him to the sofa. As he sat down the sneezing started to slow Hizashi quickly grabbed tissues and handed it to the sniffling man.

“Yo eraser are you okay? I’ve known you long enough to know that isn’t normal, you would never show this weakness!”

Shouta eyes were burning and his nose was still flaring an indication that the persistent tickle in the back of his nose wasn’t done. He replied with a voice rough “I bon’t know I was fided all day it’s just--dammit heh-heh ugh G’TSSCHhhhh! Hah’tTSCHHhh! I-I can’t-dTSCchh! Can’t stohihHTSCHHHhh!

Mic rubbed his back and then slowly leaned forward as if he was inspecting something. Mic then quickly turned 180° away from Shouta and sneezed very harshly into his elbow and before he could turn back sneezed three more times in rapid secession.

As he turned back to Shouta one hand pinching his nose he asked, “Are you wearing perfume it’s so strong--Huh’tschhuuh!”

Shouta hadn’t noticed but there was a faint smell of a lavender like scent that reached his nose and as he inhale deeply the tickle flare to life. Mic simply started counted.

Huh’tschhuuh!”

“Five.”

“H-Heh-! Tschhoo!”

“Six”

“—Ptschh, tschhh!”

“Eig…. Fuck is that eight or nine, I lost count, wow Eraser new record!!”

Hizashi while blessing him began to grab the bottom of Shouta shirt and while Shouta was sniffling and panting he quickly took off the article of clothing off and tossed it away.

With the shirt gone Shouta affliction seem to slowly stop and after another 10 minutes the tickle was gone and it was just his eyes that were itching and tears began to stream down his face to stop the burning sensation.

Mic asked again “are you all right now?”

“Yes” he replied voice weak “I got my shirt repaired at the Underground laundromat they must have a new detergent sniff I don’t think I’m very fond of.”

Mic pinched forward and quietly stifled as quietly as Mic could before Shouta continued “-and I don’t think you like it either sniff I’ll have to talk to Thimble about changing back, but for now sniff  I’m going sleep.”

[cringelordlikesplaz]

Strange to be an Eel

Turning into silly putty wasn't the strangest thing that had happened to him, honestly. It’s everything that happened after that which was weird.

"Please! I'm begging you, Jake bailed last minute and we don't have any replacements! This musical is our last chance. If this flops, we'll never be able to keep this place open!" She cried. 'She' being a short woman with desperate tears in her eyes and too many freckles. 

Eel pulled his wrist out of her surprisingly strong grip. He shook his hand off and observed the woman in front of him. She looked stressed, tired, and a general mess. Her name tag read ‘Penny’.

"Well, Penny." He said curtly, "I got things to do. Better things to do than-"

"But you're the perfect fit! You're the right size, you already know all the lines-"

"Seeing a musical five times doesn't mean I've memorized-"

Penny snapped to attention and pointed her finger into the air dramatically. The imaginary audience located in the storeroom fell silent. 

"And if I'm not here to save the day- Then as God as my witness, I'll be here to save the night!"

"-It's 'then as the gods as my witnesses'." Eel pointed out. Penny smiled smugly and Eel shook himself off.

"That doesn't prove anything. And it doesn't change the fact I can't go onstage!" Eel said.

"You'll be wearing makeup and goggles! A hat too! No one will be able to recognize you in costume!" Penny said, suddenly desperate again.

"No! I won't do it!" Eel said in response to her puppy eyes.

"Please! Please, Bruce Wayne's out there and if this goes well the PR will be fantastic!" She said, tears beginning to fall.

Eel looked up at the cracked ceiling and let out a long, long groan.

"I want 100 bucks." Eel said.

"Deal!" Penny said, the tears instantly evaporating. 

Damn actors.

~~~

So, the musical rendition of the hit show 'The Grey Ghost' went pretty damn well, in Eel's opinion. He was skeptical at first, as anyone should be, but he had to admit it, Penny was right. He was an amazing Grey Ghost. 

It helped that Eel had been a fan of the Grey Ghost since he was a boy, and it also maybe helped that he had snuck into the theater to see the practice runs of the play five times. He had thought he was being sneaky, but apparently theater kids could like, smell intruders. Fresh blood, if you would.

He hadn't known what would happen when he was cornered by a very manic little blond lady, but it ended up surprisingly well. He even got paid. 

After he and the other actors had taken their bows or whatever, Eel snuck back to the storeroom. He pried off the grey suit- it was kinda itchy honestly- and began to dig around for his usual clothes. 

He put his suit on. The nice one, that didn't pinch his shoulders and had all his crap in the pockets. He buttoned up the coat and pulled out his glasses. They were black and pretty slick, if he was honest with himself. Which he was. Occasionally.

The temples were wide and helped hide his eyes from the side. They hid his scar even better. They were sunglasses, unfortunately, not the best eyewear to have in Gotham, but he liked them. And that was enough for now. 

They were also expensive as all hell. Some sort of designer brand. He would wear them till they broke for how much they cost him. 

There was a knock on the door.

"I'm decent," Eel said. 

Penny opened the door and held her clipboard to her chest excitedly. Her eyes sparkled. 

"So." She said.

"So?" He asked.

"So! Y'know how Bruce Wayne was in the crowd tonight?" She asked.

"Yup," He said. 

"He liked it! He liked it so much he wants to fund us!" She said, "And he wants to meet you."

Eel blinked. "He what?" 

"He said your performance was incredible! He wants to meet you!"

"No." 

"No?" She asked, her head cocked, "But you've got so much talent! He could get you a job, y'know." 

"No. Just- no." Eel shook his head. He could just hear the sirens now. "I can't, Penny."

She seemed like she wanted to press him- like she did with getting him into the costume. But something on his face made her reconsider, apparently.

"Alright." She said, sighing, "I'll tell him you're not available."

"Thanks, pal." Eel said.

They stood awkwardly.

"I need to go." He said, pointing behind her to the door.

"I- okay." She said. Penny stepped aside and Eel left the storage room, Penny following behind. She led him to the backdoor.

"Um, thank you...?" She said as he stepped out into the alley.

"It's best if you don't know my name." Eel said.

"Will you be back?" 

"Probably not." Eel said, "What with your success here tonight- I think there's going to be too much foot traffic around for a crook like me to be hidden."

She smiled softly, "You weren't very hidden in the first place."

"I'll have you know I've hidden from cops in more obvious spots."

"I think that says more about the GCPD than it does your skill," Penny said.

Eel huffed, mockingly offended.

"Later, miss." He said, turning to leave.

"Goodbye." She said.

Penny waved to his back and waited for him to slink into the shadows before she shut the door.

~~~

"Eel O'brian." A gruff voice called.

Eel grinned and craned his head around to look at a familiar face.

"Matches! Ol' pal, where've you been? It's been ages." Eel said.

Matches Malone slid into the seat next to him at the bar. The bartender wordlessly handed Matches a drink and Matches wordlessly slid a few bills over the counter.

Eel took a sip of his own drink- a cocktail.

"I've heard there's work around." Matches said, taking his match out of his mouth to take a sip of his drink. Whiskey probably.

"I mean, yeah-" Eel said, rolling the cherry around his glass for the hell of it, "But there's always work around."

"Hmm." 

"Yeah yeah, I know what ya mean." Eel said, nodding. "You want the work that won't have you dressed up as a daisy and punched by a furry. I gotcha."

"Hmm."

"I miss the good 'ol days, Matches. Before all these folks in spandex came along and started going nuts all over town-" Eel paused, taking a sip of his cocktail, "-But I do got to admit it; the spandex is pretty hot."

"I need cash." Matches said, ever eloquent. 

"Cheers to that!" Eel laughed. He downed the rest of his drink, swallowing the cherry. 

"Where's the work?" Matches finally asked, and Eel's grin faltered. Always work and no play with this guy.

But Matches seemed to like him well enough, so Eel wouldn't hold it against him.

"So, new boss in the West part of town looking to hire some folks. I think they're hiding something pretty big, but we won't know that 'till we get there, won't we, Matches?" Eel said.

"Hmm."

"Yeah, me too buddy."

~~~

Things at the new job were getting crazy. Like, really really crazy. Like the type of crazy he spent a great amount of his time trying in vain to avoid. Super crazy.

Pun intended.

It started off fairly normal. By Gotham standards anyway. Looting places. Stealing. Scarin' the living daylights out of folks. Keeping out of the limelight. 

But the boss turned out to be working for an even bigger boss- who had a penchant for monologuing- and Eel couldn't help the sinking feeling he had in his gut.

And then the boss- the small boss and not the bigger, monologuing boss- somehow kidnapped Batgirl of all people and decided to drown her. And he did it in this big glass chamber with a valve on the side. 

He stood in front of it, glaring at each of his men accusingly.

He had each of them turn the valve, adding a few inches of water to the chamber, and taking few inches of air away from Batgirl. He was trying to root out a snitch. Or, as he put it, a bat.

Matches didn't even hesitate. Eel wished he had that guy's confidence.

But Eel? He wasn't a big fan of murder. It made him feel icky. It kept him awake at night. He already had enough insomnia, thank you very much.

And Batgirl- She was just a kid. A baby-faced teenager. Up close, she was no longer a force of nature fighting alongside a cryptid. She was a teenager up to her nose in water, her clothes torn and bloody.

Eel went last.

He put his hands on the valve and-

He couldn't do it.

He wouldn't.

A lot of things happened after that.

The boss (the small one) told the rest to shoot him down, and Eel had a half a second to view his terrible life before Matches tackled him to the floor.

The glass of the chamber broke and the room was suddenly flooded with a lot of water and one very mad vigilante. Then a window got busted in, even more glass flying, and then two Robins showed up- There was the young Robin who was grumpy and the other older Robin that wasn't Robin anymore but Eel couldn't really be bothered to remember his name at the moment.

There was fighting, gunfire, blood, and then there was glass in his hands-

And then Matches had somehow manifested them both outside and set Eel on his feet.

"You-" Eel spluttered, "You saved me!" 

Matches looked at Eel. Eel looked at Matches. The street was quiet. Inside the building, it was not.

"Thank you." Eel said softly.

"...You cost me my payment." Matches said at last.

Eel's face fell.

"I just- She's just a kid, Matches. I ain't a monster." Eel said.

Matches shook his head and walked away, leaving Eel on the sidewalk with glass in his hands.

Guess he was wrong about Matches.

~~~

That day wasn't too bad, though. In the middle of the night he was woken up to a knock at his window. His fourth story window in his crappy apartment.

He opened his window and suddenly a basket was shoved into his arms. He fumbled with it for a second, his hands still raw. There was a blur of movement and Eel was left standing half-naked holding a- a gift basket?

He sorted through it- it had cash and cookies and bandages. It also had a plain white card. He opened it and raised a brow in surprise.

"Thanks for not drowning me!" 

It was signed with a little bat drawn in the corner. 

The cookies were delicious.

~~~

The safe was built into the wall. The safe itself wasn't too big, and the wall was only made of plaster. It would be a pain to lug the safe back to base though. And it would cost precious seconds to hack away at the wall to get the safe out-

There was really only one option. The bomb he had was small and wouldn't do much in terms of excavation- but it would absolutely open up that pesky Wayne-Tech lock.

"Alright guys, we need to get back-" Eel didn't hear anyone. He turned- "Guys?"

"It's been a while, O'brian." Batman said, surrounded by the unconscious bodies of his crime buddies. Well, not really buddies- you get the point.

"Batman! Hello! I don't think we've met," Eel said, swinging on his heel and turning to face his doom.

"No, we haven't. But when I didn't hear word from the police of any of your activity for a few months- well." Batman took a silent step closer. "One tends to worry."

"Oh? Me? Lil 'ol me? You shouldn't have." Eel batted his eyelashes, though the effect was diminished as he was wearing his shades.

"You plan these heists well." Batman said slowly, "You waited until the Riddler attacked to go for this safe. You got past the cameras without setting off the alarm. You tipped off the police of where you'd be- on the other side of town."

Eel tried to reach for the detonator on the bomb. If he could just- "You flatter me, Batman really, but I-"

"We could use a man like that on our side, O'brian." Batman said. "A smart man like you could do some real good in the world."

Eel laughed. That was the most wrong thing he'd ever heard. He laughed but it wasn't funny.

He pressed the button and the bomb started counting down from 10.

"I don't think so, Bats. I'm not the hero type." Eel said, and then tried to make a run for it. Batman caught him by the collar.

"It's not about types. There's good in you."

"I really wish I could stay and chat, but I gotta split." Eel said, slipping his arms out of his coat and breaking into a mad sprint.

The bomb let out a single shrieking beep before it detonated. 

Eel didn't turn back to see what happened to Batman.

~~~

A deal went wrong. Unsurprising. They broke his leg. Unsurprising. He was alive. Surprising! Unfortunately, he was still very much crippled and bleeding out from somewhere. 

He limped along the sidewalk at night, always a dumb thing to do. His vision was either going or the lighting in this city was getting worse by the moment. Given that he lived in Gotham, it was likely both.

He limped into a grassy part of the city- a park of some sort. He'd get caught soon. Or maybe he'd bleed out and die. He couldn't manifest the energy to care either way.

He flopped down onto the grass, for lack of any other bright ideas. He couldn't see the stars through the cloud cover. Tragic. 

"Hey." A commanding voice called. He looked around until he spotted a scantily-clad woman. She was green and wearing leaves and had bright red hair and was looking at him like he was a pile of dead slugs.

Oh. Oh crap. Oh crap that's Poison Ivy.

Eel tried to shrink into the ground.

"Hiiiii Poison Ivy, how's the weather?" He asked. He tried to smile charmingly but it was most likely very strained and bloody.

"Why are you bleeding on my flowers?" She asked, a single brow raised.

"Haa, would you believe that blood makes a great fertilizer?" Eel said.

"It does." She said.

"Uh," Eel had lost too much blood for him to come up with a witty remark.

"Please don't kill me." He said.

"Greater men than you have begged for mercy. What makes you better?" She asked, head cocked.

"I can, uh," Eel panicked, "I can give you my grandma's recipe for caramel coffee." 

Poison Ivy's other eyebrow raised. 

They looked at each other for a moment.

Then, a shrill voice called from across the park.

"Ivy! Come on!! What are you even doing?!" 

Eel was fairly certain he was hallucinating now. Blood loss and all that. Because Harley Quinn, wearing a football jersey and sweatpants, came running up to stand besides Poison Ivy.

"We're going to miss the game," Harley pouted, then took notice of Eel, "Who's that mess?"

"Someone who can make caramel coffee, apparently." Poison Ivy said, bemused.

"I like caramel." Harley said.

Poison Ivy shrugged, "We can keep him if you want."

"I also like coffee..." Harley tapped her chin in consideration, "Yeah we'll take him. Come on, Ivy!"

~~~

That was how he ended up getting high with Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy. His leg was propped up on a table, a bong was being passed around, the apparent football game played on the TV in front of them. They were in a greenhouse and the city’s lights shone through the glass almost magically. This was probably not what someone suffering from blood loss should be doing. Eel almost considered making a break for it. 

But Poison Ivy was the Weed Queen of Gotham, and getting this stuff free? Too good to pass up.

Harely had seemingly forgotten about the promised coffee, but since they hadn’t killed him yet and gave him weed, Eel decided he'd write the recipe down for them before he left.

"I don't get why capes dress the way they do," Harely said, "I mean, rogues have the same problem but like, it's more noticeable with the heroes, y'know?"

"Like, the boob windows?" Ivy asked. Harley nodded enthusiastically. 

"Yeah, yeah! The boob windows." Harely said, "Why do all the guys wear kevlar and body armor and the girls got to show off their tits?"

"Maybe the dudes should show off their tits too." Eel said. 

Poison Ivy laughed and Harely nodded even more enthusiastically.

"Yeah! This guy gets it!" 

"See, if I were to go running around in spandex-" Eel gestured to his very much not spandex coated body, "I'd show off my cleavage all the time." 

"Men don't have cleavage," Ivy pointed out.

"Not with that attitude they don't." Harley said, "Say, Eel, if you ever get tits, come over so we can prove Ivy wrong."

Eel cackled, "Sure thing! And if I ever start wearing spandex as a hobby I'll make sure the V-neck plunges all the way down."

"You'd better!" 

Ivy laughed and Eel was handed the bong again.

~~~

Eel wasn't even doing anything. He was in his apartment, minding his own business. Well actually he was trying to sleep but that wasn't going so well.

Then there was a tapping on his window. Feeling a sudden wash of deja-vu, Eel turned around. There was an otherworldly, haunting green glow coming from his window. 

Pausing, and exercising a healthy amount of caution, walked over to the window.

A UFO hovered outside his window. A tiny one.

Eel rubbed his eyes.

The UFO bonked against the glass, seemingly wanting inside.

"uh," Eel said. Against every ounce of common sense, he opened the window. 

The UFO flew inside his room, casting its light oddly through his home. There was a mechanical whir, and suddenly a robotic arm sprung out from the bottom of the ship.

"Uh," Eel said, regretting everything immediately.

The UFO then grabbed Eel by his good ankle, his other leg still in a cast for a few more weeks. He lost balance and hit his head on the floor. The small ship lifted him off the floor by his ankle, and then dragged him out the window. He tried to claw at the windowsill but the ship was too fast.

"UH,"

He dangled dangerously over what was at least a thirty foot drop. The UFO paid no mind to his panicked flailing, and instead began to go higher.

"OH GOD."

~~~

The small UFO took him to a bigger UFO, of course.

A small hole opened in the underside of the ship, and Eel was brought inside. The inside of an alien spaceship looked nearly identical to its outside, apparently. Weird and green.

The smaller ship finally dropped him off in a large circular room. He was set down gently on his back, but he still hissed in surprise. The metal floor was freezing and he was only in his shorts.

"Uh oh uh oh uh oh..." He muttered.

"Hello, human!" A cheery, buzzing voice greeted. 

Eel looked around frantically and finally spotted a small, glowing blue light.

"Uh, hi?" He said to the light. The blue light bobbed up and down- excitedly?

"Human!" It said, "We are the-"

It said something that sounded eldritch to his human ears.

"-and we saw your performance!"

He blinked.

"...my what."

"On February 7th, approximately 11 months ago, you performed in the musical "The Grey Ghost Strikes Back!"." The light said. Several other colorful lights manifested around him.

"...uh huh."

"If you are wondering why you did not see us, the-" [REDACTED] "-in the crowd on the date of your performance, it is because we were not there."

"Ooohh kayyyy...."

"Batman recorded it and sent us a copy!"

Eel blinked. They were speaking alienese, he was certain of it.

"He also sent along with it 307 other forms of human entertainment as a welcome package to Earth!" It said, "And we must say, we really enjoyed your performance."

A red light, hovering just a little lower than the blue one, perked up.

"We especially enjoyed your performance in the third act, and would like to compliment your singing skills." The red light said.

"Thank you?" Eel said.

"If it is not too much trouble, human, we would like what is most commonly known to you as an 'autograph'." The blue light said.

"...alright." 

~~~

The night started off odd, he'd admit it. But it wasn't bad. He signed some stuff. He didn't know what the things he signed were or what exactly he wrote with, but it hardly mattered. They asked him to sing a song from the musical- he did- and they somehow applauded him.

They gave him alien food, and he'd be damned if he didn't accept free food. Even if it was probably radioactive. It tasted like cotton candy. Again, not bad.

They told him a bit about their situation. Their home- somewhere on a different plane of existence- exploded. They were the last of their kind. Batman approached them, because he could do that apparently, and offered them a place on Earth.

"Our culture is based on entertainment. Each piece of what you call 'media' is like a fine work of art to us." They said. 

"Oh, cool. So do you kidnap actors you like in other stuff?" Eel asked, trying to figure out the best way to consume the slime on a stick he'd been given. He decided there was no proper way to do that so he just decided to slurp it off.

"We would like to meet the actors and actresses in other media, but they usually just scream the whole time they are here. We gain the impression that they do not appreciate our hospitality." They said.

Eel shrugged, "I can't imagine why. You guys are great."

"You have taken this whole experience very well, comparatively."

"I mean- I'm a bit desensitized to weirdness." Eel said.

"Is this experience considered 'weird' to other humans?" They asked.

"Nah." Eel said, waving off their concern, and set his slime stick down, "Hey, I'd like to get home now. This has been fun and all, but it's kinda cold in here."

"Of course, human. We wish you fame and fortune for your future."

"Uh, you too?"

They dropped him off on the roof of his apartment building. The sun was beginning to rise. He made his way down the stairs, nearly naked and his leg still in a cast. He slept okay.

~~~

Eel was known for many things. He knew most, if not all, of those things were bad. Hell, all of the things he was known for would be bad to the common man. But to the common crook? Only most of those things would be considered bad.

Some of the things he was known for made him desirable. 

He was a safecracker, he never got caught, he could make a good plan and stick to it. He was good at his job.

But Eel was not... valuable, per-say. He was a tool in most people's eyes. Something to be discarded when the job was done.

Eel knew this. Made his peace with it. He knew when he took this job that the guys he was working with didn't give two shits about him. But he needed their muscle for the security guards, and they needed his skill to crack the safe. They all needed the cash.

They walked into this big facility during a storm. Mr. Freeze was causing havoc in city hall again. The outer parts of the city didn't get the blizzard- they got the freezing rain.

The security guard appeared- he had a gun and he was willing to use it. If the folks he was working with were smart, which they weren't, they would have ran. Don't shoot back, don't have murder put onto your sentence along with theft and arson and everything else. 

But they were stupid, and they shot blindly, and the guard shot Eel in the shoulder. And the bullet tore through his shoulder and into a container of something-

Another shot rang out, the guard fell.

There was a crack and suddenly Eel was soaked in something- it was bright and hot and it burned like the embers of Hell. He screamed, of course.

The people he was working with, his 'pals', stared at him for just a second.

"Eel-!"

"Eel doesn't have the cash, now run!"

Eel got up, and gave chase. His steps faltered and his vision swam.

He made it outside just in time to see them get into the car and book it.

"Adios, Eel!" 

"You putrid punks!" He yelled, his hand clutching his shoulder. Everything burned. Everything throbbed. His pulse beat in his ears, the rain came down like knives, and the bullet hole poured blood like a faucet. But it was oddly thick- was it? The world kept wanting to wobble and spin.

The- the police. They'd be here soon. Maybe. Eventually. He needed to go.

He walked. 

Down the street, down an alley, then another, then another, until the buildings began to spread out and trees and grass began to coat the land.

The rain was softer here. Warmer too. He climbed a shallow hill. Like climbing a mountain. His heart slammed the inside of his skull like a drum. There was a tree on the hill, its branches bare.

He collapsed beneath it.

He didn't have time to see if he could spot any stars before it all went black.

~~~

Eel's life had always, always been strange.

But it apparently that was just the beginning.

[chubbyreaderchan]

Escape | Yautja x chubby!Reader | Zombie Apocalypse AU | 1

Warnings: violence, blood, gore, death, female pronoun reader

How the hell did this happen?

(Y/n) sat crouched holding the small knife her lover had given her tightly. Her body hurt, her legs where like jelly and she was covered in blood. It had been a year and it had only gotten worse.

He said he would be back in a year for her but what would he be back to? Her dead body? That would be disappointing to her warrior mate. She had to fight. She had to just stay alive until he came back for her.

Will he come back for her?

God, she hoped so.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a groaning zombie behind her, in which she was able to cut off his head in the nick of time.

The government lied to its people. This... Whatever this was that was keeping human bodies animated after death was kept secret.

They said it was so it wouldn't cause a panic.

She missed the previous year. A simpler time. Last year she met G'ki'ka, a seven foot tall alien who she fell head over heels for.

It started when she found him in the living room of her apartment. He was sat against the wall, watching out the window and bleeding green on her carpet from a very clear bullet wound in his right shoulder. Part of her wanted to scream but something in her made her feel worried for the creature.

Then his large head, which seemed to be made of metal, turned to her and a growl came from him. The sound was so inhuman and terrifying but he didn't seem to move from his place.

Was he that injured?

No.

It seemed they were staring into each other's souls. Like time itself had stopped for them both.

Then a loud knocking at her door jolted her from her thoughts. He stood up quickly, pointing his wrist weapon towards the door. The banging came again, this time with yelling about opening the door for her safety. Her body began to work on autopilot, opening the door part of the way. In the hall stood a large man holding a very large gun. "Ma'am I need in your apartment. There's reason to believe something dangerous is hiding inside."

Perhaps a normal person would have stepped aside. 

But something was telling her to protect the alien creature that had found his way into her apartment.  Her thick form was the perfect size to keep him from view, as long as he didn’t move. “There is nothing in my apartment. I don’t see a warrant and I wont let you in without one.” her voice quivered slightly, eyeing the large gun in the man’s hand. 

He looked her over, as if he was trying to make a decision. If the monster was in there she would surely be dead. “Fine.” He grunted before stomping off to the next apartment.

(Y/n) closed and locked the door before turning to the large beast like man. 

“Here,” she stepped forward, he pointed the weapon at her for a moment but put it down, feeling a bit less tense. G’ki’ka watched her as she walked off into a different room, coming back with a small white box. She was so weak. So vulnerable yet she was willing to risk her life for him.

That was something that interested him. (Y/n) moved to sit on her knees next to him, gently dabbing a clear liquid on a cotton ball before dabbing it on his wound. It burned like fire and a deep growl of discomfort escaped the Yautja but he didn’t move away. 

That first night she had no idea how much she was going to care for her Yautja.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a large zombie rushing towards her a lot faster than she had expected. She thanked whatever god that was out there that G’ki’ka had taught her a little bit of fighting on those many nights they shared together. Her wrist met fatty flesh stabbing into the beast causing it to groan in pain. It hand still moved and slashed grabbing at her. 

Her heart hammed against her ribs like a trapped bird. 

This was it. 

She didn’t even get to see G’ki’ka again before she died. 

Everything stopped. Moving slowly, or so it felt. 

The large zombie was lifted with ease, his head and spine were quickly separated from the soft tissue. (Y/n) stared unmoving at the sight, before she realized what happened. “G’ki’ka!” She half shouted. His face was covered with his a helmet, but she knew it was him. 

This was the chaos he came back to? 

He roared in pride of his kill, both in a sense of as a hunter and a adept male who can keep his mate safe. This wasn’t the plan when he had left. How could this be planned? He was coming back to bring her home. There was a tinge of need. A need for the hunt. 

G’ki’ka’s dark scaled clawed hands move to pull off his helmet, looking her over. The other need of course was to have his rough hands on her plush body. 

Her arms wrapped around him as best as she could. With him, she was sure to survive. With him, she could just leave. However, unbenounced to her he wanted to hunt with her and then claim her body. 

Her legs were jelly, her body was aching and her Yautja could smell the exhaustion. He replaced his helm, moving to lift her up to take her back to his ship for rest before he told her his plan. 

--

He sat her down on his bed in the fairly large ship. There were a few other yautja standing around. Wanting to see his precious human. One seemed to look her over before reaching out to touch her. In the Yautja language G'ki'ka roared and pushed him away saying something in their tongue. (Y/n) simply watched as he moved to check on his ooman.

Then another stepped up and began fiddling with the translator on his wrist. "I am a healer" he spoke in a strange human like voice. He yautja used a different voice it seemed.

"I don't know how much you know about human bodies... But okay," (Y/n)'s tone was deeply sarcastic which seemed to amuse her mate who clicked in a laugh.

"Trust," he grumbled. "You'll be safe." He assured her.

They treated her injuries, cleaning the painful wounds and caring for whatever they could before leaving them alone.

"Thank you, my love" she whispered.

"We will leave in three days, my blade," he spoke through the translator gently.

[kikis-writing-world]

Whiskey Straight - The Dance (5)

Jack Daniels x F!Reader

You’re back home, safe in the arms of your husband, but you know it isn’t over. When the mysterious men call and give you your mission - hopefully the last you will ever have to perform - it’s not exactly within your comfort zone. You have to push through, get it done, and then life can go back to normal... right?

Word Count: 5.6k

Warnings: Sexual content (stripping, dancing,) dubious consent of unwanted advances and kissing, light violence. It’s a pretty tame one compared to last time. If I missed anything, let me know. It’s been a while.

A/N: I am so, so sorry for how long this took, but I’m pretty happy with how it came out. Next chapter will be Jack’s POV, so I’m sure that will answer questions you’ve been having (and any that this chapter leaves you with lol.) And I hope to have it up in about 1-1.5 weeks. Definitely don’t want to make you guys wait as long this time. Enjoy!!

Series Masterlist  -  Prologue  -  One  -   Two  -  Three  -  Four  -  Five  -  Six  -   Seven

You woke the next morning sore, stiff and - most importantly - snuggled tightly into Jack. Your face was tucked into the hollow of his shoulder, your arm draped across his chest. His arms were wrapped tightly around you in return. Birds were chirping and you could hear a lawnmower running in the distance. You opened your swollen eyes, the bright sun diffused by the curtains but still lighting the room.

“There she is.” Jack’s smooth, quiet voice startled you. You hadn’t realized he was already awake. You lifted your head to look at him, seeing him smiling lazily down at you. His hand caressed your back, trailing up and down the line of your spine as the other gripped your hip.

“Time’s’it?” You mumbled, starting to turn to look at the clock but Jack’s arms closed around you, stopping you from leaving him.

He kissed your lips, gently and chastely. “I called in for both of us.” He explained, loosening his hold as he felt you relax.

“Why’d you do that?” You questioned, confused. Jack never took a day off work without weeks of notice and planning for his absence.

Jack chuckled. “Well, first you didn’t wake up with the alarm. Then you didn’t wake up when I called your name or shook ya. I figured after yesterday you needed some sleep.”

Your stomach dropped out at the reminder of yesterday. Being knocked out. The hood over your head. The interrogation in that big, empty room.

You shuddered, pressing your face back into Jack’s shoulder as you nodded. Jack rubbed your back soothingly as he hummed a quiet “thought so.”

You nodded, trying to keep yourself from crying at the mess you’d found yourself in. You desperately wanted to tell Jack what you’d done, beg his forgiveness and ask for his help, but you knew you couldn’t. All of the threats weighed heavy on your mind, keeping your lips sealed.

“You ready to talk about what’s got ya so shook up?” Jack asked gently, his large hand never stopping it’s slow, steady circuit up and down your back.

You kept your face pressed into Jack, keeping him from seeing your reaction as you tried to think up an excuse.

“I blew a tire on the way home from work.” You settled on, staying hidden as you spoke. “Bad part of town. Took the tow a while to show up.”

“Why didn’t you get a hold of me? I would have come to get you?”

“Too shook up, I guess? Wasn’t thinking straight.” You sighed. “Stayed with the car, kept the doors locked.”

You felt Jack nod his understanding. “Well, next time call me, okay?”

“I will.” You promised.

It was a quiet day. Jack had suggested the two of you stay in lounge clothes and snuggle up on the couch to watch movies together. Even as the sun started to dip lower in the sky, he suggested take-out for dinner. It reminded you of the early days of dating him, having movie nights in on days you didn’t feel like going out together. The slow, lazy day calmed your nerves, even if you couldn’t fully push the day before out of your mind.

You were clearing your plates and putting away the leftovers from dinner when the phone rang. It was the first time it had rung all day, which was strange especially considering Jack took the day off work. The fact that no one had called him to check in on something or ask a question was rare. While you didn’t know for sure it was for you, your stomach dropped.

“I’ve got it!” You yelled, stopping Jack in his tracks. He stood next to the table, watching as you frantically dried your hands on your pants as you ran into the other room to answer the phone.

“Hello?” You answered, anxious but trying to keep your voice even.

“Bourbon.” The voice was deep and robotic, the same type of voice that had badgered you with questions the night before.

“Y-yes.” You acknowledged, taking a few steps farther away from the kitchen where Jack waited.

“Listen carefully, these instructions will not be repeated.” The voice started, and you nodded, gripping the phone so tightly you could hear the plastic groan. “In exactly one and a half hours, at 9:00, you will go downtown to The Marriot Marquis. The front desk will have an envelope waiting for Bourbon. It will have further instructions. Understand?”

You bit your lip, rubbing your forehead with your hand. You just wanted this to be over with. Hopefully this one last thing would be it, then you could go back to your life. You never would have guessed months ago you’d be yearning for the old monotony. 

“Yes.” You confirmined.

“One more thing: Dress sexy.”

You nearly choked on air as your breath hitched in your throat. “What?” You barely resisted the urge to shout. You heard a click on the other end of the line, but you asked again “What do you mean?”

It took a moment for the tone to indicate there was no one on the other line anymore. You cursed under your breath as you hung up the phone.

“Who was it?” Jack asked.

“W-work.” You told him, cursing the stutter in your voice. “They need me to run in for an hour or two.”

“Really?” Jack frowned at you as you came back to the dining room. “It couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

“No.” You shook your head, avoiding making eye contact with him. “Sandy made a mistake on something and I owe her. Many hands make light work.” You lied.

“Alright.” Jack sighed. “Let me finish up the dishes then. Least I can do.”

“Leave them ‘til tomorrow. It’s fine.” You waved off his offer.

“If you say so.” He grinned, giving in easily. You knew how much Jack hated the dishes. He pressed a kiss to your forehead as he passed you, making his way into the den and flicking on the TV. You heard him switch over to a football game and knew he’d be occupied while you got ready.

You opened your closet, pushing all your everyday clothes aside to look for something “sexy.” You couldn’t remember the last time you were trying to dress sexy. You used to pay attention to  fashion, treating yourself now and then to something new. It made you feel good, and it certainly reaped it’s benefits from Jack as well, but it had been a long time. Now when you bought clothes it was usually for work, to replace a blouse that had worn out. You had a few dresses in the back of your closet that you hadn’t worn in… you couldn’t even remember how long. That’s when you spotted the black, lightly shimmering fabric towards the back.

You pulled the garment out, staring at it. It had been one of your go-to “little black dresses” when you had been younger and still in need of such things. It seemed to be the only one that had survived the various clothing purges over the years. The neckline was a low V - not scandalously low, but certainly lower than your usual clothes. The sleeves went about halfway down your biceps, ending in a soft ruffled fabric that you knew wasn’t really in style anymore but not quite garish. The dress hit your knees, showing off a modest amount of leg. It wasn’t perfect, but short of going shopping for something completely new, it seemed like your best option. You hoped it still fit, grabbing one of your large purses and shoving the dress inside along with a pair of black heels. You grabbed a small make-up bag, throwing in the necessities - eyeliner, maskara, lipstick - and tossed that in the bag too.

You got dressed, picking underwear that would work with the dress, a simple black set that wouldn’t show underneath the dress. The panties were a thong that you couldn’t remember wearing in a while, but knew it would avoid any lines in your silhouette. It also would hopefully help you get into the mentality of being sexy, even if the dress wasn’t the hottest new style. You otherwise dressed as you normally would for work. 

You kissed Jack goodbye on your way through, although with his eyes on the game he barely even noticed. You made it out of the house and into the car with no fuss, now you just had to drive to somewhere you’d be able to change and get downtown in time. You still had an hour, so as long as you stopped along the way and traffic wasn’t bad - it should be fairly calm at this time of night - you’d be able to make it.

Your heels clicked against the floor of the hotel lobby as you approached the desk. You glanced around between the other people coming and going, wondering if any of them were involved with the mission you were on tonight. No one gave you a second glance, too invested in their own lives, their own business. You looked the part of belonging in the upscale hotel, having changed from the casual workwear into the dress in a fast food bathroom and doing your make-up in the car. With an hour and a half notice, not only was it the best it was going to get, but it was pretty damn acceptable if you said so yourself.

“Welcome to The Marriot Marquis,” the girl behind the desk greeted pleasantly. It didn’t do much to calm your nerves, not knowing what the next step would be. “How can I help you tonight?”

“I’m picking up an envelope. For Bourbon.” You barely kept your voice even, but you managed.

“One second, let me check.” She opened a drawer in the desk and flipped through for a moment before lifting a small manilla envelope with a sound of triumph. “Here you are, ma’am.”

“Thank you.” You took the envelope, forcing a polite smile at the girl before taking your leave.

You looked around the lobby for somewhere inconspicuous to open the envelope. There seemed to be people in all of the areas, but the decorative pillars along the wall of the lobby would provide some privacy. Glancing around cautiously, you opened the envelope.

You leafed through the items: a piece of paper with a handwritten telephone number and instructions, a plastic baggy with some kind of tiny computer chip inside of it, and a little envelope from the hotel with a room key and a room number written on it.

The instructions told you to wait until the concierge took his break at 9:05 and use his phone to call the number for further instruction. You glanced at the clock on the wall, seeing it was 9:03 - you’d thankfully gotten to the hotel on time, otherwise you might have missed his break.

You stayed by the pillar, trying to keep your breathing even as you waited for the man to leave his desk. The waiting was almost worse than the drive over. You tried not to let your mind race too much about the next steps, but it was practically impossible not to.

Thankfully you saw the concierge stand and leave his desk after only about a minute. A glance at the clock told you that he was leaving his station a little early. You waited a moment to make sure he wasn’t coming back before approaching the desk as casually as you could manage. The phone was sitting within reach, making it easy to call the number.

The line was answered, but no one spoke. The end of the ringing and the click of the connection was the only sign that it had been answered.

“This is Bourbon.” You whispered, holding your hand over the mouthpiece of the phone to avoid any eavesdropping.

“Listen closely.” The usual voice warned before continuing on. “The man inside the room is a suspected arms dealer. You will go inside the room and place the bug near the telephone.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat as you listened. The little computer chip must be the bug. You were about to ask how you’d manage to do that without getting caught, but he continued.

“You will be posing as a prostitute named Michelle. Tell him that his usual girl, Carla, is sick. If he likes you, he will tell you what to do.”

“Hold on, I can’t…” You interrupted. “I don’t have to… I can’t sleep with him. Do I have-”

“No.” You breathed a huge sigh of relief, but it was short lived. “He likes to watch. If you do not put the bug by the phone, your mission is incomplete and the deal is off.”

Before you could ask anymore questions, the line went dead.

Your hand shook as you hung up the phone, taking steadying breaths as you thought over the instructions you’d just been given.

He likes to watch.

What were you going to have to do, that he’d watch? It was one thing to have to sleep with him, but to perform for him was…

You felt like you were going to be sick, and luckily there was a sign pointing towards the washrooms in the lobby. You made your way towards them, as quickly as you could in the shoes you’d picked for the evening.

You closed yourself in a stall, leaning against the door. The bathroom was empty aside from you, and you could hear your gasping breaths echoing off the tiled walls as you tried to calm yourself.

You repeated the instructions in your head over and over. Place the bug by the phone. Prostitute named Michelle. Carla is sick. You soon found yourself outside of the stall, pacing in front of the sinks, running it all through your head. You wondered how long you’d been in there, but knew you had to stop stalling eventually. This man was expecting Carla… “Michelle” was probably already late.

You caught sight of yourself in the long mirror sitting on the wall. You stared at yourself hard. You didn’t look like a prostitute. At least, not what you assumed a prostitute would look like. You’d seen them on TV, never in real life- to your knowledge, anyway.

The ruffles along the sleeves of your dress had to go. You pulled at them experimentally, hearing a few stitches pop as you did. You took a deep breath and braced yourself as you pulled as hard as you can, the ruffled fabric ripping away from the body of the dress along with part of the sleeve. You tore the rest of the sleeve off and quickly repeated the action on the other arm. It was a good start.

The dress was too long, that was for damn sure. You gripped the skirt of the dress on either side of the hem running up your leg, pulling hard. It held together a bit stronger than the sleeves, but it still split as you tugged at it. You pulled it once more, trying to grow the slit you’d just created. You squeaked as it went further up your thigh than you meant it to, but you supposed it worked for the role you were playing. It wasn’t indecent enough that you would feel completely exposed as you walked through the halls to the room.

You adjusted your breasts, pulling them as high as they would sit inside your bra. Luckily the neckline of the dress was already low - you remembered the day you’d bought it, reasoning with yourself that the plunging neckline was socially acceptable on account of the rest of the dress being fairly modest.

You dug your lipstick out of your purse, applying it more heavily. The red made your lips pop much more than your usual style. Your eyes were already lined with the black eyeliner you had applied and you used some tissue to smudge the line out, making it seem smokier.

Finally, you took some water in your hands and used it to restyle your hair, pushing it back, away from your face and slicking it just slightly. You took a step back to look yourself over.

You looked nothing like the woman who had walked into the hotel, although that was probably a good thing. You looked cheap, especially with the slightly ragged alterations you’d made, which was also a good thing. You struck a pose, biting your bottom lip as you tried to make a sexy face. Honestly, it looked better than you expected, and it gave you a tiny boost of confidence.

You thanked whatever power was listening that you’d worn heels and decent underwear - although the thought made your stomach turn once more, wondering just how much more clothing you’d be shedding tonight. You didn’t think you could handle being naked in front of a man who wasn’t Jack. You prayed to that same power that it wouldn’t come to that.

Shaking the thought from your head, you took the bug from the plastic bag and snuck it into your bra, making sure it was safe and secure in place. With your hands at your chest, you saw your wedding ring glint in the light. You took a moment to stare at it, realizing the weight of what you were doing as you moved to slide it off your finger. It didn’t come off easily, having been on your finger for years without coming off. You had to wiggle it a little, but it came off into your hand. You slipped it onto your right hand, turning the diamond inside your palm. Now, it just looked like a plain band. It would do. With one last deep breath, you picked up your purse and left the bathroom.

It was easy to find the room, following the numbers until they led you to a set of double doors at the end of a hallway. It had to be a suite. You used the key to unlock the door and pushed it open.

It was dim inside the room, barely any light coming in through the windows on account of the rain outside and the only interior light coming from the fireplace. You could see the seating area, but there didn’t seem to be anyone there. You walked inside, taking cautious steps as you looked for the man you would be… well, looking for the man.

There was a large, open archway into another darkened room. You could make out the posts of a huge four-post bed, a few candles sitting on a ledge beside it, as well as the outline of a loveseat on the wall nearest to you. The table in front of it held an ice bucket with a bottle inside, a single glass next to it.

“Hello?” You called. You worried you had taken too long in the bathroom, and that the man had left.

“Hello.” A voice came out of nowhere, making you jump. You turned in the direction you’d heard it from and saw the silhouette of the man sitting near the far window. The candlelight didn’t make it far enough to light him, making it impossible to identify any of his features in the dark.

You composed yourself as you realized he was watching you. You tried to portray confidence as you set your purse down on the loveseat.

“Help yourself to some Champagne.” He instructed, his accent thick. It sounded European, but he hadn’t spoken enough for you to pinpoint where he could be from.

You kept your eyes on him as much as you could as you poured yourself some of the champagne. You could hardly stop yourself from drinking back the whole glass, needing some liquid courage to keep you going. It was already gone when you realized that it might not have been the smartest thing to do. You had no idea who this man was and he could have slipped anything into the bottle. You had drank too fast to even notice if it tasted strange.

You set the glass back on the table, walking further into the room. You stopped beside the bed, hoping your stance portrayed confidence and sexiness as you relayed what you’d practiced over and over in your head.

“My name is Michelle. Carla is sick, but she thought you would like me.” You were proud of how even it came out. The rehearsing had worked.

He was silent for a moment, and you could feel his eyes boring into you even if you couldn’t see his face.

“Let me do the talking.” He ordered, voice smooth. You bit your lip, hoping you hadn’t messed this up already. “Start by unzipping your dress.”

Your mouth went dry as you closed your eyes, wishing you weren’t too scared to have more champagne. You reached behind you, fumbling a little for the tiny zipper hidden in the fabric.

“No.” He stopped you, your eyes popping open. “Turn around. Do it doucement. Slowly.”

You turned around, glad that you wouldn’t have to keep your face straight as you pulled the zipper down your back.

“Good,” he praised as you moved. Goosebumps popped up on your flesh as you exposed more and more of your back to his gaze and the cool air of the room. The zipper was almost all the way down when he told you to slip it off.

You dragged it down your arms, turning to face him once more as it bunched around your chest. You pinned him with a stare that you hoped was more sexy than it was frightened as you let the fabric gather around your waist. You hooked your thumbs into the dress, pushing it slowly over the swell of your hips before it fell to the ground. The goosebumps were all over your body now and you fought not to visibly shiver. He praised you once more as you stepped out of the fabric bunched around your feet.

You clasped your hands in front of you as you waited for his next instructions, hands wringing together.

“Now slide off your nylons.” He told you.

You frowned, looking down at yourself. “I-I’m not wearing any.” You explained.

The man faltered in his seat, his shadow moving. It took him a second to speak again. “Now dance for me.”

You swallowed around the lump in your throat, looking up at the ceiling as you began moving your arms and shoulders, snapping along to an imaginary beat 

“No, no, no.” He stopped you quickly. “Dance sexy. Imagine your hands are the hands of your lover, let them touch you the way your lover would.” His accent, which you now suspected to be French, grew stronger as he instructed you. Your eyes had adjusted to the dark enough now that you could see his legs crossed and the way his chin sat on his hand, but still no defining features.

You nodded, closing your eyes as you started to move your hips. It was stiff at first, but as you rested your hands on your hips, you rolled them more fluently. You imagined your hands were Jack’s, sliding them up your waist as you rolled your body. You grazed over the swell of your chest teasingly, moving further up to rest on either side of your neck. As long as you kept your eyes closed, you could think of Jack. Think of the night before when he had made love to you.

You stepped outwards, widening your stance as you began to get into it, bending your knees as you swayed to an imaginary beat in your head. You placed Jack in the chair the man was in, trying to think back to the start of your marriage - the excitement, the want to please each other, the openness to trying new things. You imagined the look on his face as you mentally danced for him.

You ran your hands through your hair, rolling your neck before running your hands back down your body again. You teased the waistband of your panties, imagining the way Jack would have licked his lips at the prospect of you taking them off so soon, but you continued down your legs. You groped your inner things, squeezing the soft warm flesh.

As you rolled your hips, you turned your body so your back was to the man once more. Your hands trailed up over your hips, bracketing your ass as you swayed it back and forth in what you hoped was a tantalizing manner. You moved your hands lower down your legs, bending at the waist and truly putting your ass on display for the man. You felt the chip shift inside your bra, making you snap back upwards to stop it from falling out.

You looked over your shoulder at the man, seeing he was leaning forward slightly. It was working. Feeling emboldened by his interest, you took the post of the bed in your hand. You gripped it, rolling your hips forward as you leaned backwards, arching your back. You lowered yourself back to the ground, bending your knees as you climbed down the frame with both hands.

Once you were nearly on the ground, you bounced up and down slowly as if you were riding Jack. You let go of the post to cup your breasts, subtly checking that the bug was still securely in place. You could feel the tiny chip against your skin. It was a tiny relief.

Turning your attention back to the man, you dropped all the way to your knees, turning and crawling a few feet towards him. You didn’t dare get too close, but you hoped he was enjoying the show, the view of your cleavage.

You bit your lip as you sat back on your haunches once more. Starting at your neck, you slid your hands slowly down your body once more, highlighting all your curves. You closed your eyes, trying once more to imagine your husband in front of you.

You sat back before rolling over, landing a little clumsily on your knees again but facing away from the man. You crawled back towards the bed, making sure to sway your hips. You heard something clatter behind you, but when you stopped to look at the man nothing had changed except his posture. He was leaning in even further, seemingly enthralled in your performance.

You used the frame to pull yourself up to standing once more as you kept gyrating.

With your back to him, you used the post of the bed once more, almost imagining it to be a stripper pole. With one hand on it, you bucked forward and back. You ran your hands in your hair and looked over your shoulder at him.

“Now lie on the bed and close your eyes.”

The request had you stopping dead in your tracks, leaning up against the post. You took a shaky breath, remembering where you were and why you were here. You were here with a mystery man, a potential arms dealer, not your husband.

You sat on the far edge of the bed from him, back to the man as you tried to collect yourself. Your legs felt like jelly, and it wasn’t from the dancing.

“I… I thought you liked to watch.” You stuttered, staring at the phone on the nightstand. You briefly wondered if you could drop the bug next to it and bolt without him realizing what you’d done.

“Now lie on the bed and close your eyes.” He repeated.

You barely bit back a whimper, your eyes closing tightly. You took a deep breath before doing as instructed, scooting to the middle of the bed and closing your eyes as you laid down. The hotel bedding was scratchy against your skin, the sensation amplified with your sight gone. You listened hard for any noise, any clue as to what the man was doing next as you trembled.

You heard him moving, his clothes brushing against the chair as he stood. You tried to calm your breathing, trying to pinpoint his movements around the room. You heard him get closer to you, approaching the bed. He didn’t get on the bed on the side nearest him, instead you heard his footsteps, softened by the plush carpet of the room, round the opposite side of the bed. Your fingers twitched nervously as the bed dipped to your left.

He was silent, not speaking the whole time he moved. Your breath was coming in shallow pants, your nerves absolutely shot as you worried what he would do next. You were so incredibly vulnerable, laying on the bed in nothing but your underwear and heels.

You flinched as something brushed against your forehead. Soft, it trailed down the bridge of your nose. Despite your eyes being closed, you couldn’t stop the want to blink at the sensation. Your eyelashes fluttered against your cheeks as you forced your eyelids to stay closed.

The item trailed farther down your face, over your cupid’s bow and your lips. Breathing in, you could smell something floral, which helped you place the feel of the item. It was a flower of some kind trailing over your skin.

It lifted from your chin before reappearing on your cheek, smoothing over the globe and down your jaw and neck. Your lips parted as you sucked in a deep breath, both from the lack of deep breathing you’d been doing and from the sensation of the delicate petals hitting the sensitive pulse point under your jaw.

The petals’ touch grew feather light as he trailed the flower down over your breast, dragging it down the valley of your cleavage. It disappeared from your skin before it reached your stomach, which was already tense in anticipation of the tickle of the silky petals.

With the light brush of the flower gone, your nerves jumped once more. The flower on your skin had at least been context as to where the man was and what he was doing. You waited for his next move, worrying what he would do to you. You felt the bed shifting beside you as he leaned closer, causing you to hold your breath. You felt his breath flutter across your face a second before his lips pressed to yours. You barely held back your squeak of surprise, freezing as he kissed you. His moustache tickled your nose as his lips, softer than you had imagined, caressed your own, unmoving lips.

You unfroze after a moment, opening your eyes and looking back and forth for something, anything that would help you escape this situation before it escalated any further. The only thing you could see past the shadow of the man’s face was the bedside table next to you, the phone and a lamp sitting on it. The lamp looked heavier, but it was farther. You’d have to reach and see which you could actually get to.

You started moving your lips against his, bringing one hand up to his shoulder as you tried to distract him by participating in the kiss as you reached over with your other hand. You moved slowly, not wanting to alert him of your ulterior motives. You wanted to move faster, wanted to get this man’s lips off of yours. You were thankful he seemed happy taking his time kissing you, his hands and lips not wandering, not trying to explore your body any further.

You felt your fingertips touch the plastic of the phone, your arm almost fully extended. There was no way you’d reach the lamp without moving anymore than you already had. You closed your eyes tightly as you tightened your grip on the phone, preparing to attack. You would have taken a deep breath had you had the space, but you weren’t that lucky. Instead, you counted to three in your head.

One. Two. Three.

Your eyes shot open as you pushed the man back by his shoulder, swinging the phone towards him and hitting him in the face. He leaned over, clutching at his face with a loud groan. You didn’t hesitate, sitting up and hitting him over the back of the head once more.

He fell off the bed and you sprung up. As soon as your feet were under you, you delivered a swift kick to his ribs, an easy target as he was on his hands and knees.

“Bastard!” You screeched at him. He groaned again, cursing as he gripping his ribs.

You didn’t wait to see how incapacitated he was, rushing to where your dress sat on the floor. You picked it up, siling it back on as quickly as you could. You held it up, not bothering to fuss with the zipper as you ran towards your purse.

You started to run towards the door when you remembered why you were even here. You cursed under your breath, digging the chip out of your bra. You had to do this, it was the only way to be done with all this bullshit.

You ran back into the bedroom, avoiding the man as he crawled on the floor in pain. You gave him a wide berth as you passed, sticking the bug behind the lamp. Without even sparing the man another glance, you ran past him once more.

“Shit, darlin’. Wait!” The man drawled, having caught his breath. “Who taugh’ya to kick like that?”

The voice made you freeze, nearly tripping over your own feet in your haste to stop running. The voice was nothing like the smooth European voice that had been directing you minutes ago. You knew that Southern drawl.

You turned, staring down at the man as he leaned back on his haunches, the candles catching his side and finally showing you his face.

“Jack?!”

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