#control while he himself is just letting peter do bad things to him in return and it just has the potential to turn into a very bad cycle

[yuripira4e]

Juno is fr going through an arc rn like say what you will about whether he’s in the right or not but this lady is being so so casual about everything like if he can just fix it then it’ll all be *fine* and eventually he’s going to realize he cannot and our lady is going to actually breakdown me thinks

[blughxreader]

Soft yandere Miguel O’Hara

cw: noncon, breeding, kidnapping, m masturbation, biting, SPOILERS. Headcanons and drabble. 1.4k words.

Mean dom Miguel is so hot, but I find that soft yan Miguel has so much overlap with canon.

This man still does all the sick and deplorable things a villain does, but in a way that's strangely tender.

I mean, you simultaneously have to be a sweet man and a stone-cold motherfucker to step in the shoes of your dead counterpart and con his family into thinking everything is fine. Like, he (eventually) fucked a dead man's wife, adopted his child, and seamlessly integrated into his shoes.

While certainly calloused, it also reveals a profound desperation for love and a willingness to do anything for it.

Enter you: a Spider from a random dimension that got caught up in an anomaly's destruction. Maybe your world was destroyed or it's emotionally difficult for you to return, so you end up spending a lot of time at HQ.

Miguel doesn't notice you for a while. There's hundreds of Spiders milling about the base, so it's only until you befriend Peter B and his baby that you get acquainted.

You draw him in without trying, no matter the walls that Miguel puts up. He needs to focus—everyone's very existence is at stake, dammit,—but by month five, you're the only thing he can think about.

His advances start off slow, bogged down by his own exasperation at himself. You're ordered to give in-person de-briefs in Miguel's office and get invited to lunch with him and Peter B, giving you the impression of an upcoming promotion. Miguel is as poised as ever, not letting a single stray emotion color his expression, and talks to you in an aloof, polite manner.

However uninterested he might seem, his insides tighten and flutter at your growing friendship. Every time you smile or secretly share a bemused look, he sinks deeper and deeper in his desire to have you.

Proximity-wise, Miguel vacillates between sitting next to you, close enough for your elbows to brush, and standing 30 feet away on his podium for the next week.

His involuntary, physical reactions startle him, and it becomes another contention he internally wars about. The second he thinks it's harmless to brush against you, it divulges into grabbing—cupping—pinning—fucking—ruining.

God, he fucking loathes the powerless feeling you inflict on him, but he doesn't have the strength to put an end to your friendship. He furiously jerks off after every meeting, biting into his hand to punish himself as he comes to the thought of you swollen with his child.

He thinks of all the deplorable ways to make you pay for causing these feelings, but he ultimately knows the blame lies within him. You see him as a boss and friend, nothing more. You would never intentionally drag him down to this state, so he bottles up all these feelings for your protection.

It takes a particularly bad mission for his control to break.

Whatever reservations he had about locking you in his bedroom evaporate when he sees you covered in blood and rubble. Protecting you from himself was one thing, but the thousands of universes?

You didn't realize what happened until you woke up in an unfamiliar bedroom, weary from pain medication.

He takes your fear, anger, and tears in stride.

While he can't shake his bitchy personality, his annoyance always fizzles out to mumbles and sighs. For months, he takes your verbal abuse and outbursts with resigned acceptance. Miguel didn't always like what he had to do, but he would commit any atrocity if it meant keeping you at his side.

He moves some of his work at home to spend more time with you, just content to occupy the same room while you adjusted to your new situation.

Your shared apartment is quiet most days, save for sporadic outbursts of rage from you, and Miguel daydreams about having a few little kids running around to fill the void.

He stares at you most evenings, watching you curled up on the couch pointedly ignoring him. Miguel thinks you wouldn't be so belligerent if you needed him for something, if you craved his presence and help in some way.

Miguel's mind always drifts back to his favorite fantasies on nights like these: you nine months pregnant and too big for anything other than his shirts. His eyes drift down to your stomach, to the place where you could make his dreams come true.

Patience is something Miguel prides himself on, which is why he puts up with the loneliness for nearly a year after bringing you home. You were given ample time to warm up to him and he's been nothing but kind. Every broken plate and spoiled food, every scratch across his face, every insult—he let you have your way in hopes that you'll eventually recognize him as your lover.

But no. You complained and struggled every step of the way.

Miguel could never hurt you, but he realized that more permanent and assertive measures had to be taken to make you see that you need and love him as much as he does you.

---

When he finally takes you, there's hardly any space between your bodies. There are months of touch starvation to make up for and Miguel is compensating all at once.

His entire 6'9" stature pins you to his bed, locking you between arms as large as your thighs. Miguel is the only thing you see or feel, as his hands caress every dip and curve of your body and his cock grinds against your slit.

With your legs helplessly hiked up around his waist and one of his hands pinning your wrists above your head, he makes love to you with a slow burning intensity.

Your fear and disgust are palpable, but between his sweet voice in your ear and his fingers somehow knowing the rhythm and speed to play with your clit, you're more wet than you've ever been.

"Shh, shh, mi cornazón. I have you." Miguel kisses your jaw, his cock rocking in and out of your aching heat with an agonizingly slow pace. "Just breathe steadily and let me take care of you."

He's too big inside of you, and your grunts of pain make him linger in place to help you adjust. When his stride picks up and the wet sounds of sex fill the bedroom, disgust roils in your stomach. Yet fuck, fuck, fuck, your body temperature rises with each stroke.

Miguel kisses you deeply, using his free hand to hold your head in place. He says, "It's time. I've been so patient. Be brave for me and take our baby."

He swallows your horrified pleading with another scorching kiss.

Your pussy clenches around his dick and your breath catches in your throat. Miguel hugs you tighter, his nose pressed into your hair as he angles himself just right. When the first waves of your orgasm make your head dip back, the sharp edge of fangs scratch your neck.

You barely register his mantra of, "Te amo," when his jaw clamps down on your shoulder. Blood spurts from between his teeth, and you cry out in confused pain as your orgasm shakes your body.

Miguel moans into your flesh seconds later, pumping his cum deep inside you. His thrusting is uncoordinated and rough, too blinded by pleasure to notice how powerful his pounding is. The mattress springs whine beneath you two, and you can only cry from the overwhelming treatment.

He milks every last drop of cum into your cunt before he begins to slow. Both of you gasp for breath, your chests heaving against one another's as sweat cools on your hot skin.

He keeps you plugged up for a while longer to give the conception time. His bloodied lips drag across the wound on your shoulder, peppering you with kisses as he trails red along your neck.

A sob shutters in your chest as Miguel runs a palm along your stomach.

"You'll understand soon. I promise. This will be the best thing that's ever happened to us."

[liliaeth]

I was just thinking about something that keeps returning in fandom...

People acting as if Scott somehow thinks in black and white, while Stiles to them thinks in shades of grey, which they translate to 'is willing to kill'. And it's just such absolute nonsense.

A big part of the issue here that I've noticed, is something fandom often loves to ignore. Namely that from s1 on, Scott was most often the one being attacked, the one forced to deal with life or death choices. While Stiles, still got to keep seeing death as something abstract, something that happened, but wasn't a decision that he personally had to make. Stiles wasn't forced to resist the urge to kill, he didn't have some force in his head try to make him kill people, and in the early seasons, he was a foil for Scott. Someone who didn't have to face the choice between life and death. For Stiles that responsibility did not come until s3b.

Scott didn't have that privilege. Even as early on as s1, when Peter tried to control him, he was forced to feel what it would be like to maul and possibly kill someone he cared about. It might have been just a dream, but all too soon he had to find out it was a dream based on reality. the reality where Peter tried to make him kill someone. And it took all of Scott's will power to resist doing so.

And then not long after, Peter forced Scott's darkest instincts to come up, making him actually want to kill his friends. A experience that clearly horrified Scott. Because he'd already had that feeling in the first two episodes of the show, where his instincts made him go after Stiles, his best friend.

So when Peter sent Derek after Jackson, for Scott, that wasn't some abstract notion, it was reality.

It wasn't just people trying to kill him, and the fear of that, but the fear that he himself might kill others. Which is why in s5 to him, the worst thing to happen to Liam would be for him to have to live with having killed Scott. Not for Scott's sake, but for Liam's...

For Scott, killing isn't some black and white bullshit, it's real, it's a way of ending any and all other possibilities for a person.

When Scott refuses to kill, it's not because he believes in black and white, or good and evil, it's because he doesn't.

Because he knows that just because someone is an asshole, or does bad things, that doesn't mean they're evil, that doesn't mean they deserve to die. Because he believes in shades of grey. because Killing and Death are not just funny abstract threats, or exaggerations, it's something real, and it's not a decision that should be taken lightly.

Stiles can argue for killing, since he's never expected to be the one to do the deed. He can ask Scott to "consider letting [Derek] die," or to "kill Jackson, problem solved," because he's not the one who has to bear the responsibility.

Now admittedly, it's not that Stiles had no idea of how dark things really were, not after the end of s1. he'd seen dead people, Lydia’s mauled body made it more than real. His willingness to consider killing was more from powerlessness…he didn’t see many options to stop the killers without killing them. After all, in S1 his first instinct was to have Derek arrested and it didn’t work, so he suggests murder and killing, but still never has to actually make the choice to commit the killing himself

Not until s3b, and even then Stiles choice was 'lock himself up' or let the Nogitsune kill. The same choice Scott already had to make in s1.

Fandom likes to pretend Stiles could easily kill the bad guys, when the reality of the show is that when Stiles did accidentally kill, in s5, it devastated him. Because just like Scott, he came to realize that killing is final, killing is destructive, and doing so should never be a first solution.

Both Scott and Stiles had to make these choices, both of them came to the same conclusion, and that's something fandom loves trying to ignore.

[ghostface-knight]

i'd like to present my concept of nightmare time episodes where every (or almost every) person is played by the same person, inspired by jaime lyn beatty in daddy. here are some ideas:

peter spankoffski is done being at the bottom of the hatchetfield high food chain, and so he seeks out help to become cooler. he comes across ethan green, who, having just been left by his girlfriend lex, decides, "what the hell, i'll mentor this kid on being cool". when ted spankoffski learns that his little brother is hanging out with "that no-good ethan green", he confronts pete about it, perhaps a little too harshly. his intentions are good, but when has anything ever gone the way he meant? ted, like everybody in town, knows about ethan's reputation, and he thinks he'll be a bad influence on pete. he knows that, if anyone can, pete can make it out of hatchetfield, and he doesn't want ethan screwing that up. so he confronts him, and one thing leads to another, and eventually pete storms out in anger. ted knows if he goes after pete immediately, he'll only make things worse, so he decides he'll let him have his moment of teenage rebellion and then reconcile with him after. a few hours later, ted spankoffski, now drinking his problems away, is approached by a mysterious man who has somehow gotten into ted's apartment. wilbur cross, as he introduces himself, half-convinces and half-mind controls ted into believing that ethan is responsible for this, and the only way to protect pete is to kill ethan. he storms into ethan's tiny basement apartment, wielding his now shattered bottle of booze, and prepared to rip him limb from limb with his new super-powered companion. ethan can hold his own, though, and the brawl is a tough match. eventually, though, ethan manages to get the remaining shard of the bottle and shove it straight through ted's chest. as this happens, pete comes out of ethan's bathroom, revealing that he'd gone to ethan for comfort after his fight with ted. ted bleeds out on ethan's floor as pete holds him.

ruth fleming has graduated high school, and she's lucky enough to find a super chill job as a farmhand on the farm of emma perkins. one day, as they do their usual work (which isn't much, to be honest), they are approached by linda monroe, who is all but seething. she's goes on about how drugs are evil and she will not raise her children in a town where such depravity is taking place. they threaten her off the property, and they think that'll be over and done with. it's not like they've never had to deal with moralistic creeps like her before, and they've always come out the other side. linda comes back the next day with a petition signed by just about every member of the hatchetfield boating society. yeah whatever, perky's buds is not going to be dismantled by some stupid rich people who think they have more power than they do. in the midst of this, they've recently recieved a new client: 17 year old hannah foster. a quiet kid from hatchetfield high, who seems to have joined the smoke club as a way to make some friends. emma and ruth don't think much of it -- neither of them have any qualms about selling to teenagers, and business is business. however, hannah keeps coming back for more and more, and ruth starts to wonder if there's something else going on. back in the linda plot, linda has taken to bringing people out to the farm to protest. each day she (or, more accurately, the people she's hired) come with more and more people holding cardboard signs and chanting. it's really starting to get on emma's nerves. one day, while hannah is picking up her purchase, linda, surrounded by a mob of angry parents and hatchetfield adults, returns. suddenly, linda no longer seems like a nuisance, but a legitimate threat. her followers carry weapons and the menacing smile on her face tells emma and ruth that she isn't messing around. as the mob breaks through the door of the farm house, emma and ruth urge hannah to look for shelter. hannah refuses though, and emma swears her eyes begin to gleam almost inhumanly. the mob makes it to them, and are suddenly thrown back by a wave of psychic energy so powerful it shatters the walls of the house. hannah's new powers (on account of the weed) leave emma, ruth, and herself standing unharmed in the middle of a surrounding pile of groaning, injured people.

i have a few other concepts, but this is getting super long so i better leave it here for now lmao

[anysin]

Fic: So One Of Us Lives

For anon who wanted Pmart and nobody believing they date, here is a take! S4 AU in which Peter chooses Martin over Elias. Warnings for angst.

So One Of Us Lives

They come out of the Lonely outside the Institute, away from Panopticon.

"You need to run," Peter says, even though Martin can barely stay up on his feet; their stay in the Lonely wasn't very long, but it was enough to steal all the strength from Martin's body. Martin looks down, patting himself to check that he's still tangible, while Peter speaks on: "Elias will sense our return soon, and I have no idea what he will do to you if he realizes you're here. Run."

Martin doesn't run. Instead, he catches his breath, tries to rid himself of the cold that has seeped into him.

"How about Jon?" he asks. "Will he be all right?"

He knows this question will wound Peter, so he keeps his eyes on the ground, not wanting to see it. He crouches down, rubbing his own arms to get warm, and jumps in surprise when Peter drops his coat on him.

"The Archivist will be fine," Peter says, his voice tight. "If he knew how to get in, he will know how to get out. He will probably be here soon too, so you should get going already."

Martin stands up, holding Peter's coat against himself. He turns around to face Peter, seeing that his face is blank.

But his eyes aren't. Peter's eyes are full of emotion, and the sight of that emotion warms Martin up more than anything else.

"How about you?" he asks. "Will he hurt you?"

"Most likely." Peter shrugs, blinking fast. Martin wonders if it's to stay in control, to keep the emotion brimming in his eyes from spilling. "This will be a nasty surprise to him. He really hates it when he can't see something coming."

Despite his distraught state, Peter gives Martin a little smile. "You seem to be pretty good at catching him off-guard."

Martin bites his lip, thinking of Jon who is in the Lonely now, who will soon realize that Peter and Martin aren't there anymore. He knows what he's supposed to do when Jon arrives; part of him even still yearns to be with him, despite everything that has passed. But things are different now, in ways neither Elias nor Jon could anticipate.

"I'm not leaving without you."

Peter blinks again, this time in obvious surprise. The corners of his mouth quirk upward, and he reaches out to stroke Martin's cheek with the back of his hand, his eyes filling with affection.

"You need to," Peter says. "I can handle Elias."

"I don't believe you." Martin reaches out for Peter's hand. "Come on, let's go."

But Peter just laughs, pulling his hand way just as he fades from Martin's sight.

"Peter, for fuck's sake!" Martin shouts, lunging forward. But the space Peter just stood in is empty, and he doesn't have the Eye's power to see. He tries to listen to the sounds around him, but he can't hear anything until Peter chooses to speak up, his voice coming from a distance:

"Live for me too, Martin. I will win you time."

"Peter!"

"They sure never saw us coming, did they?" Peter is still laughing; it's a real, genuine sound. "Take advantage of surprise, Martin. Goodbye."

"Peter please!"

But wherever Peter is, he isn't answering anymore.

Martin has no idea what will happen now; if Elias will really kill Peter, or just hurt him as bad as he can, and what this means for them. But Peter has made his choice, and as much as Martin hates that choice, he needs to respect it. He looks at the Institute for one last time, swallowing before he finally runs.

He just has to hope that instead of Jon, it's Peter who will find him.

[rubykgrant]

Dodgeball (2004) is not what I'd call a "good movie", and is in fact full of unnecessarily unpleasant "jokes" (major issues with ableism and fatphobia), however... if you ever want to practice spotting subtext/themes/tropes/story structure/and all that other stuff in movies, this stupid thing is actually oddly interesting-

-The two main gyms are Globo-Gym and Average Joe's Gymnasium; Average Joe's is, obviously, a pun on the term "average Joe", meaning a common person, not identical to everybody else, but not perfect either, and the members are all various odd-balls. Globo-Gym is meant to be "globolization", everything is connected and interdependant, but to the point that if you do not conform to the same set standards, you will be excluded/punished

-The guys who run the gyms are White Goodman and Peter LaFleur. While Peter is a bit more nebulous with the meaning of his name (it could, potentially, be connected to "Peter and the Wolf", a story about taking chances, compared to Dodgeball's Peter's apathy. also, perhaps a bit of the idea for Peter Pan, in that he is an adult who has "grown up" and "given up", losing any youthful sense of hope/determination. LaFleur, meaning flower, could possible imply a need to bloom/grow), White Goodman is OBVIOUS; he's a villain. He is very much the bad guy. He is a white man, who does whatever he wants, justifying his selfish and harmful attitude with his own "morals", so he considers himself "good". It's also all kinds of blatant commentary on his racial status (this man is white, whatever he does is seen as good, so even though he is HORRIBLE, he's thinks he's the hero)

-Within the Globo-Gym, TVs constantly run recordings of White giving random "encouragement" for gym members to work out, sometimes using names, saying "Don't slack, Trevor". He is not aware of any Trevor in the gym, There might not be a Trevor there at all. It still gives the impression to gym members that he is all-knowing and all-seeing, and just by playing the odds, he will EVENTUALLY say the name of somebody who is actually working out

-When the dodgeball teams are formed, White has a group named- "Blade, Lazer, Blazer". Yet again, their individuality does not matter, they are part of a set, just there for him to use for his own purposes

-A young member of the Average Joe's team is still in high school, and assists in his school's cheer team competition; they are called the "Virgin Donkeys". A very weird "biblical reference"... and ironic, because in the epilogue, the young man is seen happy with one of cheerleaders, now his girlfriend, who is pregnant

-One of the Average Joe's members is a man named Steve the Pirate; he dresses and talks like a cartoonish pirate character, often by saying "Gar!". Most people simply accept this. Near the end, he is told by an upset Peter "You are NOT a pirate", leading Steve the Pirate to have identity crisis. When he returns at the climax, he is dressed in modern clothes, his hair cut and with a clean shave. He begins to explain that yes, he knows he's NOT a pirate... which is when Peter explains that he needs somebody to help him with "all this treasure", revealing that the prize money has been delivered in a decorative treasure chest. Steve emotionally lets out an over-joyed "Gar!" at the sight

-The prize money itself is a twist; White had Peter sell the shares of Average Joe's to him, seemingly bribing Peter to just give on the tournament and the gym. However, peter bet that money on HIMSELF, at odds 50 to 1, resulting in a huge pay-off. Peter can now just buy total control of Globo-Gym, making it a new location of Average Joe's. When the prize money is delivered, not only is it in a pirate themed treasure chest, the words "Deus Ex Machina" are printed on the side (a "Gift from God", literally solving all their problems)

There is other stuff too, this is just what I remember off the top of my head (it has been... maybe 17 years since I watched it?). Like, this movie SUCKS, and some of the especially offensive language used is an just plain awful, but if nothing else; this shows even a stupid story has some form of substance hidden in there (seriously though, major warning for use of the r-insult and other hurtful terms, with some really bad fat-shaming throughout). Y'know what, you don't have to watch the movie, you aren't missing anything. These are the most interesting things in there, so enjoy that

[catcake24]

The plot bunnies have returned - also sorry for DC or Marvel fans if this contradicts canon or if I have no idea what I’m talking about but I have to share.

I’ve learned of Batman and his lore from comic reviews and that one BatFam webtoon, so sorry again

awhile ago I read a fanfic called Dark Matter and a bunch in a similar ‘genre’ for lack of a better word. It’s basically ‘what if Spiderman was transported into Gotham after No Way Home, and became part of the Bat Family?’

Well, for whatever reason, I really liked one idea where Jason Todd/Red Hood becomes something of an older bro figure to Spidey and helps him out in training. Then my brain wandered into ‘what if someone used Peter’s DNA to make another spider?’…… I think you see where this is going.

So while they’re busting the place, Jason gets bit and doesn’t realize until a couple hours later when the mutations start. He’s in agony the whole time, the others confused and asking what’s wrong, when Peter’s spider sense starts going off and he realizes what is happening. Jason screams in agony, vomiting and accidentally crushing his own gun as his body changes. He eventually passes out.

When he wakes up, everything’s too loud, too bright, too much, and he doesn’t know why. Only after some adjustment does it go down, and he realizes Bruce took him to the Batcave for observation. He also realizes he feels weird, like everything is a new experience, and Peter explains why.

Jason was bit, Peter admits the mutations were just as bad for him when he was bit, and has gained many of Spiderman’s abilities - though they aren’t totally sure how many since he and Jason have very different genetics and the scientist could’ve somehow messed with the DNA.

Jason also realizes he’s wearing an inhibitor collar, one Spidey made since he wasn’t sure if the power dulling devices would work, which just piles on top of his very bad day and he removes it in anger….. only to be hit by his new enhanced senses and his new Spider sense screaming that Batman is nearby and just general disorientation. He lets Spiderman put the collar back on, but says he can’t stay here. (Fill in the blank, but Jason eventually gets out of the Batcave to Batman’s displeasure)

Extra Ideas:

- Jason isn’t doing well with accepting this stuff, wanting it gone as soon as possible and Peter working on a potential cure to help him.

- He isn’t taking this very well, Jason not sure who he is now if these abilities can’t be undone. He also has trouble handling things like Spider sense, which sets his already tense nerves on fire with every potential threat around him, and wall climbing which isn’t exactly natural for him. He is wearing the collar a lot, even only able to sleep when it’s on because it makes him feel normal again.

- He doesn’t like being kept in a box though, so he starts avoiding Spiderman until Nightwing comes along and basically says “dingus, he’s trying to help you and he doesn’t expect you to be like him. He isn’t Bruce, and even he has accepted you by now!”

-However, at some point Spiderman is mind controlled by some villains and Red Hood decides to take off the collar to pursue him, accepting these new abilities as just a new part of himself, and manages to just barely get Spiderman down for long enough to snap him out of it. After that, they decide to be kind of mutual teachers - Jason is using weapons and combat training while Peter is helping him learn how to better control these new abilities in his own way.

- Peter even makes a custom Web shooter for Jason which uses impact webbing (instantaneously webbing someone) and taser webbing (it conducts electricity and can stun someone), though admits he was working on it before Jason’s mutation. It ends up working into Red Hood’s fighting style, and things like Spider Sense make his injuries go wayyyy down once he starts getting the hang of it.

Idk, DC fans pls correct my story I kind of love this weird weird idea and need someone to vibrate with

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

I Prefer My Heart To Be Broken, Chapter Five: Taken

A powerful revelation. An important caveat. Regret.

AO3 | Playlist | Masterpost

-----

CHAPTER FIVE: TAKEN

The morning is hard.

There’s no further reason to stay. They both know it.

They check the goods Martin procured for the Village, but that’s just lingering. There is no crime in this world. They both understand why, now.

And it isn’t better. It’s not, Martin tells himself, repeats, holds on to.

Still, they delay leaving, and hand-in-hand, and take one last walk around a London they’ve never known.

No one gives them a second glance, or cares the tiniest bit about their open affection.

Martin has enjoyed not being judged for loving whom he loves. But the rest of it….

It just isn’t fair, really. None of it is fair at all.

#

Pepper is in a good mood as they board the cart for their last journey through. Jon keeps looking around as they slowly ride through the streets toward the exit, and it’s not an ordinary looking around.

Martin can’t feel stories like Jon can. Has never felt statements under other people’s skins.

He wishes he hadn’t told Basira about Jon’s… bad behavior, during the worst of things.

Wishes he’d handled it himself.

But he wasn’t grown then. (That’s what it feels like.) Didn’t know how to deal with it. Had no confidence in confronting Jon, in risking Jon’s dislike.

Now, of course, that’s not an issue, and he recognizes the intense, unpleasantly hungry look on his lover’s face. “Steady there,” he murmurs.

And Jon understands, and slides his hand onto Martin’s thigh. Breathes a little funny—too slowly, too deep.

“I thought you said there weren’t statements here. It’s all controlled,” says Martin.

“Not the way we had them back home. But there are stories. Your favorite group has one,” says Jon.

Martin blinks. “Julia, Peter, Mark?”

“And Eloise.”

Martin’s eyes go wide. It takes focus to keep his hands steady on Pepper’s reins, to stay centered and steady-handed. “What.”

“Eloise. She was the fourth. They loved her. She loved them. But she was smart. She asked questions. And the King took her.”

This hurts on a level Martin hadn’t known he could feel since his mother died and he was left at Peter Lukas’ mercy. “Did he.”

“He did. He… he pays attention. Thinks it’s better for everyone. When someone questions, he doesn’t hold back. He makes it very personal.”

Martin has Eloise’s ink.

He breathes carefully, trying not to weep. “That’s not good.”

“No.” Jon exhales, focuses on his feet. “He’s sought them out for so long that it doesn’t happen often, now.”

“What, he’s bred stupidity? People are just born that way?”

“I think we both know this has nothing to do with intelligence,” says Jon. “If I had any, it never would have even gotten that far with Jonah, and we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Of course Jon went there. Of course he did. Martin sighs.

Kayne’s comment about Jon stabbing himself returns. He’s beginning to wonder if he understands just how much Jon hates himself. “Hey. You’re talking about my favorite person. Watch it.”

Jon smiles weakly. “It’s almost funny to think about. Even if I didn’t have that damned tether, he’d still have come to kill me.”

Martin does not think it’s funny.

“It feels like a bullseye on my brain, who I am. What I am. I’m afraid.” Jon looks away.

That’s more than Jon usually verbalizes about feelings. “Well, I’ve got no regrets,” Martin says.

Jon stares at him.

“I got to spend several nights in a feather bed, and my back has never been so happy,” says Martin.

Jon laughs. “There is that.”

“Let’s go south,” says Martin. “Why not? Maybe there’ll be a boat. And it’ll be lovely, anyway.”

And that, Martin thinks, is precisely how fucked they are: just going to find a pretty view, because there was nothing else to do.

Jon sighs. “What about Pepper?”

“I’ll try to make sure she gets back home. I’ll leave a note.”

“I suppose that’s all we can do,” says Jon.

“Yeah.”

They ride in silence for a while, until they pass through the oddly scaly walls, back into the wild outdoors.

Leaving London with its weird tri-hook shape is mostly a relief.

Mostly.

Jon hopes there is nothing left in that library he needs. To believe anything else is unbearably damning.

#

Martin is more than a little freaked out to find Nyarlathotep’s black book in the cart.

There is zero chance they brought it with them.

Jon doesn’t seem to notice. He’s building a fire, focused, and has been in his head most of the afternoon.

Good, thinks Martin, trying to decide if he’s going to burn this thing, or hide it, or toss it into the woods.

“He’s waiting,” says Jon, softly, into the fire.

Martin goes very still. “What?”

“The King. He’s waiting. We’re heading right for him.”

“Well, we’re turning around!” says Martin.

“He’ll just float over there and wait for us in whatever direction we pick.”

“Stop accepting this!” snaps Martin, who isn’t actually sure what he’s protesting, isn’t actually certain which part is making him mad.

Jon looks at him. “I will do whatever I have to do to keep his attention off of you.”

“Oh, so this whole time you were quiet, you were going insane,” says Martin. “No.”

Jon sighs and (finally) looks away, but his eyes—that expression—that piercing, too-broad, unnervingly inhuman gaze….

It wasn’t like in the apocalypse, no. It wasn’t that bad. But it wasn’t like in the Archives, either, when Jon was truly human, before Jon literally came back from the dead.

This mess has somehow jump-started Jon into going more eldritch, and now Martin knows where to direct his anger—at the King.

There has to be a way to stop this. “We have to run,” says Martin.

Jon just looks at him. “To where?”

Martin grits his teeth.

He tucks the black book into his bag with his notebook, though he’s not sure why. Sits with Jon for a while, eats a little with him; Jon’s bread is really good.

He douses the fire.

When he sits in the cart, he takes Jon’s hand, and urges Pepper the way they were already going.

There was no way out of this moment. But maybe they could do something after the axe finally fell.

#

“We’re probably near Brighton,” says Jon after what feels like hours. “Funny, that. It’d have been more thematically appropriate to head toward Bournemouth. Beginnings and endings, and all.”

“That’s morbid, Jon. Also way west,” says Martin, trying to lighten the mood. “Think your Yellow King would’ve had that much patience?”

“Probably not.”

They’ve reached some sort of finality, emotionally. Martin’s not sure they went through all five stages of grief, whatever they were (he only vaguely recalled the counselor telling him about them when his mum died), but this has to be some final point.

Acceptance? Sort of?

It doesn't feel particularly good.

The air has been briny for the past twenty minutes. He can almost hear the ocean, sometimes, when the wind is right.

It’s probably amazing. No industrial revolution, everyone so neatly (terribly) controlled. Martin  wonders what color the water will be.

But the way Jon is looking ahead, they won’t be given the chance to enjoy that untarnished sea.

“We’re sticking with our decision,” says Jon, voice hoarse. “I’m not bringing the Fears here.”

“Of course not,” says Martin.

Jon’s eyes are wide, and he’s gone very stiff, and his teeth are bared. “No matter what, Martin? You won’t change your mind? Even if I can’t talk to you anymore. You’re certain. You’re certain.”

“I’m certain,” says Martin, but he isn’t, he is not, because he’s suddenly wondering at what point he would give in, at what point the price would be too high, and he hadn’t been thinking like that until this very moment, hadn’t been trying to count the cost the way Jon clearly had been for a while, but what else could he say? What else could he do?

Kayne was right. Jon will choose the way Martin wants, and that is not a power Martin wants to have.

“There,” whispers Jon.

Martin squints.

Ahead, the land drops off in a beautiful blue-gray line, and the thin, dark arches of birds hint at the expanse of the sea, the richness of whatever swims within it.

But there is a shape between them and the ocean.

It doesn’t resolve as a person, not right away. It’s off the ground, and it’s too wide, and it's yellow, and Martin can’t help pulling Pepper to a stop.

Jon looks at him. Into him. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” whispers Martin.

Jon slides off the cart.

Martin leaps off, jogs around, stops Jon with hands on his shoulders. “No! Jon!”

Jon looks ill. “I have to go. If he has to come to us, it… it’ll be worse.”

“Don’t you dare do this! Where you go, I go. That is the deal, Jonathan Sims!”

“He could hurt you,” Jon whispers.

“And maybe he can, or maybe Kayne’s going to do it instead, but no matter what, I’d rather be at your side than trying to hide somewhere else!”

Jon leans into him. “All right. All right. It’s your choice. I’m never taking away your choice again.”

Martin exhales. That was an improvement, at least.

It still echoed past events too much.

I won’t have to stab him again, Martin tells himself, swears to himself, tries not to hear Kayne’s dreadful ways out of this—breaking Jon’s mind, or killing him. Why can’t we have… he starts, then stops himself. “Come on. You’re going in style.” He lifts Jon back into the cart like Jon weighs nothing.

That earns a weak smile. “Show-off,” Jon whispers.

Martin smiles. To his surprise, it’s real.

#

The King lowers slowly, timing his descent with the mule’s approach, and it’s so absurdly dramatic that Martin would laugh if he saw it in some show.

He has to admit it’s effective in real life.

The psychological power of it, the weight of heading willingly toward descending doom—

Yeah. It works. Martin’s a little irritated that it does.

Pepper is the only one who seems normal about all of this. The mule stops when bid, calm, and munches a little bit of grass that still grows before the sand takes over.

No one moves.

Is it a test?

Jon touches Martin’s leg. “I’m ready,” he says softly, and again, gets down from the cart.

So does Martin.

A million missed opportunities flash through Martin’s mind, little moments when they could have touched and didn’t, or when he thought something nice and didn’t say it, or when one of them or both were grouchy and let the silence go too long, or when they should have dug into a topic that needed digging and they did not, or—

Jon takes his hand. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” whispers Martin.

They hold hands and walk toward the end together.

The King doesn’t look toward Martin at all. “I see you’re better prepared this time.”

“Am I?” says Jon, and it’s not a tone Martin likes at all.

It’s too calm, too… too….

Submissive? No. But that’s almost the word.

“Yes. As I’m sure you’ve realized, there’s no point in denying what you are.”

It’s such a big voice.

Martin hates it, feels it. Suspects he’d hear it even if he were buried in the ground.

Wonders if he could somehow grab the Lonely, grab Jon, and vanish.

But no. It’s not near enough, not close enough. And Martin has not fed it at all since he came to this place.

Jon’s grip is almost painfully tight. “Please leave Martin out of this,” he says. “Please.”

“Oh, Jon,” says the King with warmth and fondness (and if Martin had an axe right now he might try chopping). “That’s going to depend on you.” The King in Yellow reveals a humanoid hand—huge, ebony black—and holds it out, beckoning.

It is so condescending, and so superior, a crumb thrown to a starving dog, a penny dropped on a poor man’s head, and Martin feels something rising in him he has rarely felt: rage.

This god is so certain it has Jon that it doesn’t even care how much this is hurting him.

Martin opens his mouth to say something.

“Now, is that really the way to start all this?” says Kayne, appearing as if walking out of a fog (and that was on purpose, and that was pointed at Martin, and he knows it was). “No, no, no—we will only have maximum fun with honesty all around.”

Jon makes a tiny, terrified sound.

Kayne beams at everyone. He just looks like a guy. Attractive in a symmetrical sense, brown hair, tan skin, nothing to write home about.

There’s nothing here that should be terrifying, especially next to the enormity of the King, but… there is.

It’s like he casts a shadow Martin can feel but not see, hungry and grasping.

Jon’s breathing has gone shaky and shallow. He stares.

Martin knows Jon is seeing something that isn’t just a guy.

“Leave!” growls the King, a low and terrible sound.

Kayne winks. “He can’t touch you, muffin-cakes.”

“What?” says Jon.

And Kayne’s fingers suddenly shoot toward them.

Long, thin, like some kind of horrible black spears tipped with flickering purple, they stop an inch from Jon’s face, too fast for anyone to deflect.

Jon cries out and stumbles back. Martin catches him.

“Hey!” Martin cries.

“Any more than I can touch that,” says Kayne. “Ew, by the way.”

“Wh-what?” says Jon, and looks at the King. “You really can’t touch him?”

There is a moment of thick and awkward silence that reminds Martin of nothing so much as the tension between Peter and Elias after he’d refused to stab Jonah’s corpse.

“No,” says the King at last. “I cannot. We have an arrangement.”

“What?” says Martin.

Jon looks at Martin with joy, as though they’ve received a stay of execution.

And Martin is furious.

It’s not enough to do this, to ruin the life they’ve built, to force these things on Jon, but it has to be done in such a humiliating way, making Jon grateful? “Jon, don’t—”

“Jon,” says the King, sounding warm and congenial and utterly demonic. “Come. Let us talk.”

Jon brings Martin’s hand to his mouth and kisses it, then looks at Kayne. “If you leave him unharmed, I… I swear, I’ll….”

“Not to be heartless—oh, who am I kidding, I am heartless—but you have nothing I want. If he’s going to be ‘safe’ (a relative term, don’t you think, if we’re being honest) it’s all on him.”

“Jon,” says the King.

Jon ignores him. He’s breathing too fast. Whatever he sees when he looks at Kayne is almost panicking him, and that—more than anything else—signals warning in Martin’s gut. “There has to be something!” Jon says.

Kayne just laughs at him.

“Jon,” snaps the King.

Is he jealous? Martin thinks, which can’t be, because this thing is old as the universe, not actually a baby, and so it cannot be jealousy he hears in that tone. “Jon, I don’t need—”

“We are done here,” the King suddenly says, and his freakish yellow cloak swarms, grows, swallows Jon and eclipses Martin’s sight, and there is the smell of stone and a weird, not-right heat.

Something trips Martin up. Just catches him like a foot to his ankle, and Martin goes down hard.

Jon’s hand is torn away, and he’s gone.

Martin screams.

“There, there, puddin’ pop,” says Kayne, almost sounding compassionate, close enough to kind that it’s clearly mockery, a joke at the expense of horrible pain.

Martin breathes like a broken locomotive, looks around, but there is no sign of them at all, no distant yellow shape, nothing.

They’re gone.

“No!” Martin cries, and turns to the only option he has. “What do you want? What? I’ll do it! Help him!”

“Mmmm, oh, lemme see, lemme think real hard, no,” says Kayne, and smiles.

Martin wants to hit him.

It’s stupid. It wouldn’t do any good to anyone, and probably wouldn’t even land.

It’s also wildly outside his normal reactions, this violence, and that realization lurches Martin’s heart in a weird, painful way. He curls down over himself, breathing hard.

“Oh, the desire to kill things, the need to hit? It’s not puberty!”  says Kayne. “Exposure to something like Hastur makes all kinds of things go haywire. You’re lucky, really. You’ve been sucking down divinity, my boy. Archivist saliva, or whatever you’ve put in your mouth lately (ew, by the way) has given you loads of immunity. DNA, magic, all of that. Most humans just go completely bug-fuck crazy when they meet the Yellow King.”

Martin feels the truth of it. It’s sobering, humiliating, amazing. “That’s why everyone’s minds are blanked when he shows up,” he guesses. “So they don’t go crazy.”

“Very good! So smart. I could just eat you up.”

“And what are you doing to me, then, if that’s what his presence does?”

Kayne just smiles, and it is a wicked thing.

Martin decides he doesn’t give a flip about Kayne right now. “Jon,” he whispers, curling down further, and cries so his tears drip into the grass.

For a long moment, there’s no sound at all beyond his hitching breaths and Pepper’s munching, off to the side.

He’s never hurt this much.

His mother’s death didn’t hurt this much.

His banishment into the Lonely didn’t hurt this much (those first few minutes before numbness took hold were horrible, but this was still worse).

Stabbing Jon….

Okay, yeah, that hurt this much, but there was somehow more hope in that, because wherever they were going, they were going together.

This is not together. This is apart. And nobody even broke any promises this time.

He makes a sound, long and hoarse. He doesn’t know what it is. A wail? A cry? A bellow?

Kayne waits. Humming. Filing his fingernails.

It is ominous. Martin knows without knowing how that Kayne doesn’t do idle, doesn’t do bored.

“Just tell me what you want,” Martin says, his voice so quiet.

“You don’t even know what you want, little biscuit, so no, I don’t think I will.” Kayne sticks his finger in his mouth, then wipes it—wet—on Martin’s cheek.

“Oh, gross!” Martin startles, wrenching away from him.

“Mmm, it’s really not my style to help out,” says Kayne, “and don’t get me wrong, you’re adorable, but not, like, that adorable.”

And Martin says what he’s actually thinking. “If I really didn’t have anything you wanted, you wouldn’t be here.”

Kayne smiles, and it is dark, and final, as if Martin passed some kind of test. “Fair enough, my little dove bar, fair enough. You just keep making me so happy, so tell you what: you go take your cart home, and I’ll check in with you there.”

Martin feels like his heart is burning. “But that’s more than a week’s ride!”

“Sure is, mon petite profiterole.”

“You—look, why are you doing that? Never mind, why do you even know French?”

“Outside, remember?” Kayne says. “And a week is good! Should give you time to think, figure out what’s going on in that wholesome little head of yours.”

“But Jon—”

“Will be having an amazing time. Just imagine the war stories he’ll have!”

Martin knows pleading won’t help. He can’t threaten. He has nothing—except the bare, vague, unfounded hope Kayne will show up after he gets home. “Where did they go?”

“Nowhere you can follow on your own, my love.”

Mart hangs his head. Why does it have to be this way?

“Iunno,” Kayne shrugs. “Ta!”

Gone.

Just gone.

Martin rises and walks forward.

He stands in the surf for a while, boots in hand, letting the absolute aching cold of the ocean eat at his feet and ground him.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do if…

If Jon…

If Jon what?

If Jon summons the Fears, Martin will be with him. There’s no doubt of that. Once Jon has the power to keep them together, he will.

But that would cost the world.

If he doesn’t—and Martin is sure he will not—there’s a good chance he’ll never see him again.

And it’s stupid, and selfish, and unwise, but he wishes he hadn’t been quite so firm when Jon asked that last, crucial question.

Not that he wants the Fears here. He does not. But there has to be a third way.

There has to be.

Pepper is waiting when Martin returns, and is more than happy to trot for hours while Martin goes numb.

(part six)

NOTES

Martin's right. It's absolutely not fair.

It's about to get worse.

[hpimaginesandblurbs]

Can you do a maurder smut please 🥺? I absolutely love them! Thank you love 😘😘!!

pairing: young!remus lupin x reader

warning(s): 18+ only, smut, unprotected sex (please wrap it before you tap it), praise kink, slight degradation (if you squint) 

word count: 1.6k 

a/n: i also love the marauders. my little broken babies. if you like fanfic, please go read ‘debt of time’ by ShayaLonnie and/or ‘all the young dudes’ by MsKingBean89 (both on AO3). both of them are super long and super good. i cried reading both

The full moon was fast approaching and you could tell Remus was on edge this month. You could see it in the way he held himself during dinner, stiff as a board and positively tense. The way he forced himself to chuckle at James and Siruis’ dumb jokes, when usually he would be joining right in with them. The way he forced himself into polite conversation with Peter, Lily, Mary or whoever else felt like chatting with him.

But you could especially tell because of the way he had a possessive death grip on your thigh all throughout dinner. It was like he couldn’t seem to get himself to loosen up or remove his grip. It seemed like it was the only thing keeping him stable in the moment.

It didn’t happen often, but some months in the lead up to the full moon, Remus would be on edge. When it did happen, it could always go one of two ways. He’d either be irritable and anxious or he’d be absolutely possessive and, well, there was no other word for it besides feral. This month seemed like it was turning into the latter.

That was only confirmed to you when, after dinner, he wasted no time in dragging you up to his dormitory and pinning you against the door. He locked you in a ferocious kiss, mostly tongue and teeth, while his pelvis ground against yours.

When he pulled away, you could see nothing but lust, possession, and danger in his eyes. With his forehead resting against yours he whispered, “Y/N, I don’t want to hurt you.”

You knew it was his way of asking, no, begging, for permission to let lose tonight. To get all of this pent up energy and emotion out of his system before the full moon came.

“You know I like it when you get rough,” you replied, a small smirk on your face to let him know he had full permission to do as he pleased.

“Y/N,” he whined out, his hips stuttering for a moment before making eye contact again. “You’re gonna be the death of me.” 

Next thing you knew, you were being hoisted in the air with his hands firmly placed on the backs of your thighs and being carried over to his four poster bed. He used all of the control he had left to place you onto the bed before he climbed in over you. 

You found yourself in another heated kiss while clothes rapidly came off. There was nothing slow or graceful about the way either of you were moving, it was simply just raw need consuming the both of you. 

When you were finally naked underneath him, he pulled himself away to look down at you. His eyes raked over you hungrily and he ran his tongue along his bottom lip as he took you in. 

“Can you stay quiet for me?” He asked, a hand coming up to trail along your thighs as it slowly made it’s way to your core. “Or do I need to cast a silencing charm? I’d rather hate it if anyone heard what’s mine.” 

You opened your mouth to reply, but all the air drained from your lungs in a breathy moan when his finger trailed up your slit and moved directly to your clit. “Fuck,” you whimpered, unable to control the noises that were already leaving you. 

“I’ve barely even touched you and you’re already this wet? And already this loud?” He asked almost mockingly, but he diligently picked up his wand and cast a silent charm around the room to ensure no one would hear you but him. “All this for me?” He continued, an eyebrow raised as he hovered above you, his fingers never once straying from your drenched core. 

“All for you, Remus. I’m all yours,” you replied softly. And in a bold move that you knew would only spur him on, you continued. “Use me, take me, please.” 

It was him then that couldn’t stop the groan that spilled from his lips or the way his hard cock twitched against your thigh, wetting the flesh with precum. 

Without even a warning, he ripped his hand away from your center and moved to align his cock with your entrance. He took a moment to steady himself as he rubbed the tip of himself along your clit, sending spark after spark of pleasure through your body. 

“Are you gonna be good for me tonight, love? Gonna take me like the good girl I know you are and scream my name?” He asked, just the tip of him inside you now gently thrusting in and out - taunting you. 

You could only nod your head in return, too distracted by the anticipation of his thick cock finally being pushed inside of you, too frustrated by what he was currently doing to properly form words. 

“Use your words,” he said gently, a complete juxtaposition from his body language that oozed raw dominance. 

It was moments like these that left you in awe of your boyfriend. He was usually so quiet, so controlled, so reserved. Especially compared to his more unruly friends. But he when he had you alone like this, hovering over you in bed, in complete control of your mind and your body, he was a force to be reckoned with. And then only left you even more wet for him. 

“Please, Re. I think I need it as bad as you do right now,” you finally managed to pull yourself just enough to form once sentence. 

And that one sentence was all it took for Remus to fully sheath himself inside of you, his thick cock stretching you out and forcing you to let out a high moan.

“Oh, darling, you definitely don’t need it as bad as I do right now,” he half argued with a smirk on his face as he watched the way your own contorted in pleasure. And with that last sentiment, he kicked off. 

He was thrusting in and out of you so harshly that the bed was slamming up against the wall repeatedly and both of your bodies were moving inch by inch up the bed until he used one arm to brace himself against the headboard. 

Neither of you could contain the animalistic noises falling from your lips, the both of you too lost in pleasure to try to stop it. You hands slowly found their way to grip his back, your nails harshly digging into his flesh enough to make him grunt into your neck. But he never let up, so neither did you. 

“You’re so fucking tight. Like a fucking vice around me. Nothing could ever feel as good as you darling,” he blurted out in between thrusts, just wanting to let you know exactly how good you were being for him. “Turn over,” he added suddenly, his cock leaving your body as he waited for you to follow his command. 

You did so with ease and positioned yourself exactly how he liked, almost like you were offering your body up to him. Your ass was up in front of him, exposing everything to him, back completely arched, so far down your breasts were rubbing up against his sheets, and you placed yourself face down into the mattress. This position gave him full access to you and gave you zero control. But that was exactly how it needed to be right now. 

“Look at my pretty little whore,” he mused to himself as he ran the tip of his cock along your slit again. You couldn’t really see him from your angle, but you could see the shit eating grin he had on his face. 

And just like that he was back inside of you, his thick cock forcing your back to arch further as you fought to relax to take it in. From this angle you could feel everything - every vein, every ridge, every glorious inch. It was like magic. 

Remus leaned over you, his chest connected to your back, caging you in with his body and arms. He held you in place while he absolutely wrecked you, the moans from both of you only growing louder and louder by the thrust. 

You could feel yourself getting closer and closer, your body shaking and your mouth spilling a steady string of expletives. Remus, ever observant, noticed it right away. He trailed a finger down your body and to your clit, a guttural moan forcing its way from your throat at the action. 

“Cum for me. Cum for me and scream,” he spoke lowly into your ear, the breath hot against the side of your face. It was quite possibly one of the most erotic things you’ve ever heard come out of him just by the way he said it. 

And you did just what he wanted, your body fully under his command. Your core clenched around him tightly as you came and a scream of his name fell from your lips just in time for his own release. You could feel his cum fill you up, only prolonging your bliss as he worked you both through the end. 

You both stayed like that for a moment, silent but for your panting breaths and completely still in his arms that had never left you. Finally he pulled out, an unexpected whimper coming from you at the sudden emptiness, but he just chuckled as he sat down at the end of the bed. 

“Don’t move yet,” he said softly and you did. You could feel his cum dripping out of you and down your legs, knowing that was exactly what he wanted to see. “You look so good filled with me,” he admitted, his hands running up and down the backs of your thighs as he simply watched, in awe of you. 

You could practically feel it in the air that he was satiated and much calmer now. At least for tonight. 

[nobody7102]

The Spider-Man and Spinneret: Chapter 3

WARNINGS: None

Pairings: Tobey!Peter Parker x Reader

Chapter 2 Chapter 4

Master-List

A/N: Just a little info on the beginning

Peter = Normal Text

Y/N = Bold Text

It returns to normal text under the cut

“The past few years have been hectic to say the least. I got bit by a genetically modified spider and I-”

“Excuse me Peter, aren’t you forgetting someone?”

“Myself and my partner Y/N got bit by genetically modified spiders, causing us to be able to do some crazy stuff”

“We fight crime all over New York, protecting those in need, and keeping everyone safe”

“Along the way, Y/N and I have encountered some pretty crazy people”

“It started with our best friend Harry’s father; Norman Osborn, he was working on a serum to enhance a soldier’s capability and he took it himself, but it had some side effects”

“The serum caused Norman to go crazy and terrorize New York…and in the end we lost him to the madness”

“Directly after that our friend Harry offered us jobs at his family company Oscorp… I accepted that offer, while Peter took on the college life and began to work at the Daily Bugle taking pictures of the cities heroes Spider-Man and Spinneret. Everything was great, we fell in love, got our own apartment together, fight crime”

“Until we met Doctor Otto Octavius, a genius scientist who was studying and experimenting with alternate forms of power, I got to know him because I was writing a paper on his work, and Y/N because she was keeping an eye on him for Oscorp. With his work he build a great machine”

“But on the day he was supposed to showcase it the machine lost control”

“Causing him to permanently have robotic arms fused to his spine, he kidnapped Y/N in an attempted to get what he wanted for his machine to work but even he realized that he couldn’t contain the power he tried to wield”

“Eventually we got a bit of a break from the super crazy people, and it was just a few bank robberies here and there, maybe a carjacking. Nice simple stuff”

“Until this Thing and Flint Marco came into the picture. You see one night Y/N and I were having a nice picnic in the park when this black goo attaches itself to me but that's a story for later on, but when my Uncle Ben had died I thought I had killed the man responsible for his death, then I learned about Flint Marco”

“When Peter learned about Flint he wasn’t only fueled by rage, but by the hatred of this black goo that had attached itself to him. He became mean and cruel… and that's the one and only time we broke up. But eventually we got back together after I had learned that Peter had gotten rid of his gooey little friend, but his focus was still on Flint Marco”

“In his own words, Flint had bad luck. His daughter had gotten sick, and he made some choices he wasn’t proud of. The night Ben died was an accident, it was never meant to happen, so while running from the cops he fell into an experimental reactor causing him to become The SandMan”

“Eventually I was kidnapped… again by Flint and Eddie Brock who is another long story in itself, it took Peter and our friend Harry who not long before had tried to kill Peter but that again is another long stor-”

“Nonetheless Harry and I saved Y/N and I finally realised that Flint had never meant to hurt anyone the night Ben died, so I let him go. And I hope that he’s living a good life where ever he is right now, Harry and I also managed to take care of Eddie and the Goo”

“So here we are today”

“Swinging thought New York, day and night to protect our city and our people”

“We’re just like everyone else ya know."

“We’re just Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man and Spinneret”

__________________________________________

Cheering could be heard through the streets as citizens watched the infamous Spider-Man and Spinneret fly though the streets.

“You had to have the police scanner on, didn't you Parker?” Y/N huffed landing on an empty rooftop. Letting the bag she had been carrying fall to the ground. “You know Harry and MJ are gonna hate us for missing the party.” she placed her hands on her hips watching Peter land next to her.

“What did you want me to do, tell robbers not to hit up a jewelry store tonight?!” he raised his arms with his response. “We’re in the city that never sleeps Y/N, this isn’t our first rodeo, Besides Harry and MJ shouldn’t have planned they’re engagement party as a hybrid New Years Eve party”

Y/N shook her head, shooting a web at the ledge of the building before anchoring herself over the edge.

“What are you doing Y/N?” Peter walked over to her.

“I’m gonna see what time it is, if we’re lucky we can still swing over to the party. Now anchor my web” Peter did as he was told, watching Y/N lower herself to a window of the building they were on, after a few moments she pulled herself back up. “Its 11:10, if we huff it we can make it” Y/N started for the ledge of the building before she was pulled by her wrist into Peter, his arms going around her waist when she was close enough.

“Hey, I wanted to say I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fling that cash register at you, and I wasn’t trying to make us miss the party” His voice was soft, his hands rose from her waist and started to lift up his own mask but before he could Y/N stopped him.

“I know what you’re doing Peter” she smiled “Save it for Midnight” she gave him a kiss on the cheek before picking up the bag and running from the building ledge, letting her webs pull her through the streets.

All Peter could do was smile before following in pursuit.

By the time the duo reached the rooftop of MJ and Harry’s building they had 20 minutes left to kill before midnight, the two changed back into the clothes they had dawned before needed to stop a robbery and made their way down to the party.

Knocking on the door, the two waited hand in hand. Y/N glanced at their surrounding environment before noticing that the back part of the shirt Peter wore had a stain on in towards the hemline. Unlacing her fingers from Peters she reached to tuck his shirt into the waist of his pants, causing Peter to jump.

“What are you doing?!” he turned to look as Y/N just continued to reach to tuck in the shirt.

“Pete, you gotta stop moving you have-”

“WHOA! Is that why you two are late? Got busy playing hanky-panky?” As luck would have it when they were in the worst position the door was opened to reveal none other than Harry, “I know Peter’s a stud Y/N but save for your apartment” he joked.

Y/N chuckled, giving Harry a light smack on the arm before pulling him into a hug. “Sorry we’re late Harry we ran into a pro-”

“Oh I know, there was a breaking news update saying that Spider-Man and Spinneret stopped a big robbery, now come inside Mary Jane’s been waiting for you two to get here” Harry ushered them in, after closing the door he announced loudly. “Alight Parker and Stellan have arrived! We can really start the party”

“Really man?” Peter signed looking to Harry

“You two showed up late, I'm just making it fair” he smiled, placing his arm around Peter's shoulder “So are you excited to finally be working with your best friend?”

“I still can’t believe you and Y/N talked me into working at Oscorp” Peter’s eyes went to Y/N who stood only a few feet away hugging and congratulating Mary Jane. “But you’re right, I get to work with my best friend and my girlfriend, what's not to love?”

Harry patted Peter’s shoulder, his eye also going over to Mary Jane and Y/N. “Look at us man, we’ve got our highschool sweethearts, great jobs. If I would have told you when we were sophomores that this is where we would be, what would you have said?”

Peter just laughed “I would have told you that Y/N doesn't go for guys like me and that MJ doesn’t like guys who show off” he joked causing Harry to give him a light shove. “No, really…..for you, without a doubt I could see it, but me being with Y/N…I would have said no chance in hell she settles for me” Peter shook his head.

“Yeah, you're probably right.” Harry agreed but with what he didn't say. They two stood in silence for a few moments just watching their partners before Harry pulled them out of their trance. “You two, need to play catch up!” he exclaimed looking for a few shot glasses.

—----------------------------------------

Not that far away, on the other side of the party sat Y/N and Mary Jane taking in their surroundings.

“I’m not kidding MJ this is all amazing, how did you even talk Harry into letting you do all of this?” Y/N motioned to the mass of decorations everywhere

“I have my pulls Y/N I have my pulls” she laughed “So, have you given any thought to what I asked you about last time.” MJ’s demeanor completely shifted “You and Peter have been together for how long now? Its about time you guys move up the ladder” she nudged Y/N's shoulder.

“MJ, you’re crazy” Y/N shook her head laughing “We are taking it slow”

“That is the same answer you gave me last time” MJ lightly shoved Y/N laughing.

“And that is the answer you’re gonna get every time you ask” Y/N laughed back “Peter and I don’t need to move at a rapid pace. I’m glad that you and Harry are together and are tying the knot but Peter and I are fine right where we are”

MJ huffed “I see the way he looks at you Y/N h-”

“All of New York sees the way he looks at me MJ, I’m not blind either. I love him and I know he loves me” she hummed looking over to Peter and Harry futz around the kitchen. “If he want to propose to me he can” she looked back to MJ “I’m ready to take on anything with him”

MJ opened her mouth to speak but before she could Harry came barreling over placing a plethora of shot glasses on the coffee table in front of them.

“Hope I wasn’t interrupting anything” he wiggled his way between MJ and Y/N, Peter followed behind him taking a spot next to Y/N, kissing her cheek as he sat. “You and Peter are so far behind on shots, I took the liberty of bringing all of them over and you guys are taking them now” Harry pointed between Y/N and Peter.

“I tried to talk him out of it.” Peter put his hands up in defense.

Y/N just shook her head taking a shot glass, and pointing to Harry “You are horrible” throwing back the shot she waited a moment then pointing to the glass “and that was disgusting”

Everyone laughed as Peter shrugged taking a shot as well, it took him a few moments regaining his composure from the disgusting liquid “We are not taking all of these ourselves.” he hummed. And started handing out shots to MJ, Harry, and anyone who would take them. Until there were only two shots left, one for him and one for Y/N.

“To, the High School Sweethearts” Peter raised the shot glass in toast. The other three followed suit. “To Harry and MJ, may they find happiness in their engagement..” he then motioned next to him before he could start MJ took over to toast.

“To Peter and Y/N, still going 5 years later. May they find love, and safety especially with their side hobby”

“And with Peter’s new job with Y/N and me at Oscorp” Harry added in.

The group laughed and nodded, taking the toast, all throwing back their shots.

The group all took a few moments after their shots, faces grimacing just as Peter’s did. For a few moments everyone just sat, looking at each other, realizing that they all were where they wanted to be so many years later. MJ was starring in her second Broadway hit, Harry had taken over Oscorp just as he wanted to (Sure he had his dark moment when he tried to kill Peter and Y/N, and they caused him to experience being physically scarred for life so really it was a fair trade). Y/N and Peter had the city crime rate at an all time low for 2 years, not to mention Y/N was head of research at Oscorp and Peter would be joining her as her assistant in the next few weeks.

Standing from his spot Harry walked over to the radio, turning up the slow song that was playing before offering his hand to Mary Jane. “Well we got a few minutes to kill and I don’t know about the rest of you, but I would love to dance into the new year with my lady” he smirked as MJ took his hand to join him in a dance.

Y/N looked to Peter with a smile, a knowing smile, a smile that says ‘you can’t get out of this’. He immediately shook his head no, even as Y/N pulled him to stand and make their way over to the other couples at the party who had started dancing.

“Why do you do this to me?” He questioned as he placed a hand on her waist. “You know I can’t dance” with his other hand he took hers.

All she could do was smile, but this was different, it was soft. “And yet here you are” her head went to rest in the crook of his neck. “Placing your hands where they’re supposed to go, swaying in beat with me” she hummed, taking a few seconds to inhale his scent.

Even after taking down robbers his cologne didn’t fade. The bergamot and woody scent flooded her nostrils as she mouthed the words to the song, closing her eyes letting everything from the adrenaline, the shots, and Peter’s scent muddle together.

Peter didn’t say it out loud but if he could freeze a single place in time, this is where he wanted to stay, in this exact moment. He wasn’t sure if it was the shots kicking in, or the rush of adrenaline from the night but something was just perfect about this moment and he didn’t know why. Was it the pomelo citrus scent of Y/N's perfume, the way the light was illuminating her features, or was it the fact that he’d been thinking about their future together ever since the toast? He couldn’t pinpoint it and quite frankly he didn’t want to.

They were so taken in by each other's presence that neither one of them noticed when everyone around them started the countdown. So when everyone around them started to kiss it was Peter that gently took Y/N's jaw in his hands and brought her face close to his.

Just as their lips were millimetres apart he softly whispered “Happy New Years” before closing the space between the two.

The rest of the night was a blur as everyone celebrated not only the New Years but also Harry and MJ, drinks were continuously had, dances continued, and many plethora of kisses between Peter and Y/N were had. At some point they drunkenly made their way home, taking the car escort Harry had so graciously offered. Laughter and singing filled the air of the car, Peter and Y/N not caring about a thing in the world other than each other. So when the pair awoke the next morning on the couch of their apartment more laughter ensued.

—---------------------------------------------------

In the weeks that followed, nerves filled the air, not because of a crime increase or anything like that, but from Peter’s anxiety over starting at Oscorp. The fact that he would be the new guy, not to mention he didn’t wanna make Y/N and Harry look bad.

So here Peter stood, outside of a conference room, staring in on Harry and a few other people, jumping when Y/N placed a hand on the small of his back.

“Hey Pete, are you okay?” she hummed watching Peter nod in response. “Then what are you waiting for?” she moved to hold open the door for Peter motioning him inside the conference room.

“There they are!” Harry called out as Peter and Y/N took their seats. “Now we can get this meeting started.” he clapped his hands together. “First off I would like to say welcome to our two new hires to the research department, Peter Parker” Harry motioned “and Sergei Kravinoff” he moved to motion to a man who sat across the table. The man gave a little wave to everyone else in the room. “Now that we have the formalities out of the way, Y/N would you take it away?”

Harry sat down as Y/N scooted closer to the table. “Yes, welcome to Mr. Parker and Mr. Kravinoff” she smiled, “We’ve started the genetic testing of the gene sequence by running it through the AI systems, so far we’ve had two successful tests and the rest of the sequences need to be tweaked before we can run them through the systems.” she folded her hands in front of her “I’m hoping that with the addition of Mr. Parker and Mr. Kravinoff everything will hopely run a bit smoother and faster considering both of them have a background of some sort in gene research.” her foot bounced lightly under the table and it took everything in Peter’s power not to place his hand on her leg.

“Great, well then that wraps up the morning announcements” Harry smiled standing from his spot “Sergei, Peter if you guys wouldn’t mind waiting outside of the conference room, I just need to have a word with Ms. Stellan then she is all yours gents”

The two just nodded making their way out of the room, Peter supposed he was lucky considering he could still hear the conversation that was happening inside.

“Okay, what’d you find, you said you found something” Harry’s voice sounded anxious way more than it had a few moments as, shuffling was here before Y/N spoke.

“Yeah, I had the lab run that serum you found…Harry…. The sequences match up, so do the chemical markers…. We need to put this in secure storage, and I don’t mean in that value you have behind the portrait of your father. I mean real chemical vault monitored storage.” Y/N's voice strained.

“It doesn’t need to go into chem-”

“Yes it does Harry” Peter could hear Y/N slam her hand on the table “Harry do you understand how severe this serum is?! This is what killed your father, this is what almost killed you! Can you imagine what would happen if an employee was exposed to it? Or god forbid if you were exposed to it again?! It would kill you”

It was at this point that Peter decided that now was probably the best time to butt-out of the conversation. Rocking back and forth on his heels he looked at Sergei before extending his hand out to him “Peter Parker” he smiled.

Sergei just smiled back shaking it “Sergei, so Ms. Stellan said you had a background in genetics as well?”

He chuckled “Well I don’t really have a background in it, but I’ve got some experience” shrugging his shoulders as he responded. “What about you?”

Sergei nodded “Back home, it's what I went to college for.” he hummed.

It only took a minute before Y/N emerged from the conference room, with a blank look on her face. She took a moment to adjust her lab coat, then turned to Peter and Sergei.

“Alrightly, let's get down to the offices and the lab where I will give you two a run down” she started walking to the elevators leaving them to follow.

As soon as they were in the elevator she clicked the tenth floor button “With the elevators, the offices are on floor 10 and the Labs are just above on floor 11. I’ll take you two to the office first so you can get settled.” The three of them stood in silence waiting for the elevator to go down to the proper floor, since all of the conference rooms were on the 17th floor.

As the doors opened to the offices, small spaces were revealed to the three. They could even be called cubicles, they were bigger than that but still cubicles. Y/N lead them down a few rows before stopping at two empty desks next to each other.

“These will be your desks, We don’t really use the office space very much outside of parties and storing your coats and lunch if you have it.” she motioned to a room at the end of the row “That is my office, if you need anything, if the light is on i'm normally in there.” she was about to continue but was cut off by a ring coming from her pocket.

Pulling out a pager, Y/N looked at it for a moments then turned to Peter and Sergei “I need to go up to the lab right now, but take a few minutes to get settled here and go up to the lab, if I don’t meet up with you two within ten minutes of you getting up there I’ll have someone show you guys around, okay?” she hummed her eyes widened waiting for their responses. To which she was met with words of agreement before she made her way over to the elevators.

Her back was turned to Peter but he could tell she was stressed from the way she kept her hands in her lab coat pockets to the slight indent she had in her cheek from biting the inside of it.

As soon as she entered the elevator, the face she made when she turned around was enough to let Peter know something was happening.

[princeescaluswords]

Unsolicited Tips for Fanfiction Writers #1: The Lecture

I want to preface this with the idea that I'm not writing this from some position of authorial scold. This is a problem with my own writing about which I have had to be very careful.

Every author experiences moments when they need to deliver exposition, elucidate a theme, or provide context for an action for their story. This is especially true in fanfiction, when a writer feels enormous pressure to relate the work before them with the original source material. Having one character explain it to another is not only an effective solution but in certain genres expected. Characters who don't know certain things often have to learn about them.

But it can get tricky, especially when it comes to fanfiction. Sometimes the reader can suddenly become aware that they're being addressed by the author telling them what to think, and that's usually not the reason why someone reads a story. While some readers are in tune with the author so much that it doesn't bother them, a lot of readers will feel that they're the ones being lectured.

In my opinion, the key to delivering a useful and non-intrusive lecture in your story is the relationships between the speaker and their audience. Is there a reason for the speaker to be delivering the information? Are they an authority on the topic? Is there a reason for the audience to listen to the speaker? Do they respect the speaker or need the information being delivered? If these things don't exist, the curtain parts and the reader experiences the author talking directly to them.

I'll give you an example. In a recent Teen Wolf fanfiction I came across, a crossover with Hawaii 5-0, Stiles went to the islands and became involved with the team, and Steve Garrett returned with him to Beacon Hills for other reasons, but Stiles wants to "give Scott a chance" to make things up to Stiles. It really should have been labeled "Bad Friend Scott McCall" but no one really labels things correctly.

Plot events occur, but the latest chapter has a scene where Steve Garret lectures Scott on how badly he's been treating Stiles, calls him a spineless coward, and threatens him with violence if Scott hurts Stiles emotionally. It's a lecture all right. But here's the problem (as I put into the constructive criticism comment I left for the author).

Why the hell would Scott not just turn around and walk out of the hospital room after his first sentence? Who the hell is Steve Garrett to Scott? We, the readers, know who that is, but Scott doesn't know this person from Adam. Scott, of course, doesn't defend himself, because in these types of "The Author Hates Canon and Will Make It Your Problem" stories, the characters they dislike never get a chance to defend themselves. But the real important point I feel is -- what in Scott's characterization implies that he would listen to a white male stranger, however dangerous and threatening, scold him on how he has to treat Stiles? It's not like that exact thing hasn't happened before.

I should have realized that this story would be full of the "Author Telling Me Why I Shouldn't Like Scott." In an earlier chapter, Peter says this gem to Stiles:

“Isn’t he? How much easier would your life have been, your father’s life had been, if Scott had accepted what he became sooner? How better would your lives be if he hadn’t tried to ignore the insane, serious change he went through and put all of your lives at stake just to pretend he was a normal boy to be able to get the girl he confused lust for love for? And that’s not even touching on who said girl and her family even were!” 

I let that go, because this is not out of character for Peter to be a manipulative douchebag. And since Stiles had come to Peter, it wasn't completely out of line for him to listen. I was surprised that Stiles didn't respond. "I did wonder how much easier my life would have been if you hadn't tried to mind-control Scott into killing me, so there's that." But this is an older Stiles, so maybe he's not as sarcastic.

But the lecture from Steve Garrett was the breaking point. I was out of the story permanently. Even if you think Scott is the stupidest werewolf that ever lived, it's still part of his characterization -- which the author never bothered to change because the purpose of this story was to express their hatred of Scott McCall -- that he doesn't let weird strange white men tell him what to do.

I mean, what's left at this point? If Scott's this bad -- a spineless coward who is completely in the wrong but wont' recognize it -- why does Stiles even care? He lives thousands of miles away in Hawaii! If Scott's this bad -- someone so selfish and oblivious that Peter Hale is a better person and a overly-tanned white cop from another state has to threaten him -- why does Scott even care? What is this story but a 30k (so far) lecture on why the author didn't like the show? I'm pretty sure I know the answer already -- either Scott will be killed/maimed/humiliated or he will throw himself at Stiles feet and apologize for not centering his life around Stiles's needs. Either way, Stiles will go back to the big island, having defeated his nemesis (Scott, in case the audience wasn't paying attention) and live happily ever after.

You can write stories like this, but if you want to reach an audience larger than the people who already agree with you, it might do well to make sure that the characters are characters, and not mouthpieces.

[ptergwen]

play the game

w/c: 2.2k

summary: an interview question catches you off guard

a/n: this is kinda random but i wanted to write something just fun n cute with actress!reader so this is what we got enjoy everyoneee

-

“ooh, these are always fun,” tom murmurs to you. he pushes a bucket of questions to the middle of the table. you turn it towards yourself with a furrowed eyebrow.

you’re at buzzfeed promoting the next spider-man. it’s just you and tom for this one. zendaya and jacob are doing their own interview in the room next to yours. you’re usually paired with the two of them, but tom joins your group sometimes. you find yourself much more intimidated by him than the camera whenever he does. not because he scares you. you’ve actually become close friends over filming.

it’s because you never know what he’s going to say. tom is a flirty guy by nature, and he’ll play it up even more if he has an audience. he loves to give them a good laugh. spark a few rumors maybe, only to get people talking about the movie. the idea itself isn’t half bad. the effect it has on you is what you worry about.

you’ve had a pretty big crush on him that started the same time your friendship did. in your defense, how could you get to know him and not fall? he’s one of the most genuine people on earth, he calls you cute british pet names, he makes you laugh on set during a stressful take. he’s just so charming. he charmed you, after all.

so much as a wink at you and your cheeks would be burning. the last thing you need is for the whole world to see that. it’s bad enough he would, too. you’re hoping he keeps the playfulness at minimum for your interview. with you being the only person he has to bounce off of this time, you’re not sure he will.

“i feel like the fans always ask better questions than interviewers,” tom jokes and takes a slip of paper out of the bucket. he reads it to himself with a snort. “what does it say?” you peek over his shoulder. he folds it again before you can see. a smirk pulls at his lips. “you’ll find out.” “you’re not even supposed to look at them yet,” you huff, reaching to grab the paper. tom drops it back into the bucket.

looking off to the side, he breathes a laugh out of his nose. he’s so annoying about keeping secrets. you push at his shoulder with a smug smile. “can you ever just, like, behave?” “around you? no, i can’t,” tom teases, the hint of a smirk still on his face. this is exactly what you were dreading. what’s worse is you haven’t even started the interview. thank god the cameraman gets your attention.

“all ready. you two start whenever you want.” he gives you a thumbs up from behind the camera. tom scoots closer to you in his chair. his knee is touching yours. it’s such a childish thing to care about, but your heart speeds up. “thanks, man. i think we’re good.” he glances at you to make sure. “yeah?” “yeah, we can start.” your voice is higher than usual, which only happens when you’re nervous. you clear your throat.

the little light on the camera turns red. that means you’re recording. tom beams into it, sounding cheery as ever when he introduces himself. “hey everyone, i’m tom holland.” he holds out a hand to present you. you can’t help but smile at his antics. “i’m y/n y/l/n. we’re gonna be answering some questions you guys sent in.”

“there are a few prompts in here, too,” tom adds, eyes meeting yours for a second. “we have to act them out. let’s get into it.” you raise your eyebrows at the camera. spinning the bucket in his hands, he holds it out to you. “ladies first.” “when he has manners,” you deadpan, getting a giggle out of tom. his stupid adorable laugh that gives you butterflies. holding back a smile, you pull out a paper slip.

“tell us about gwen stacy and peter’s relationship in the movie,” you read off and push the paper to the other end of the table. “i mean, it’s not a relationship. it’s a new friendship,” you explain. tom nods in agreement. “yeah. peter is still after mj in this film.” squinting into the camera, you try to think of a description that won’t spoil you being spider-gwen.

tom digs into the bucket for the next question, but keeps his eyes on you. you hold up a finger when you get it. “my gwen is with spider-man more than peter. that’s all i’m gonna say.” “nice. very smooth,” he teases and unfolds the paper. “how hard was it to do all your stunts?” you shoot him a knowing look. there were a few the two of you had to do together.

they weren’t anything major because you’re not trained like tom is. a lot of the time, you only watched him do insane flips and leaps before simply entering the scene. he’d come back to your trailer after and complain about how sore he was while laying his head on your shoulder or some other part of your body. stunt days were exhausting.

“you know, i’ll be honest. they were awful.” tom shakes his head with wide eyes. you let out a quiet laugh. “not because they were bad or anything. the stunts look amazing. but, they really hurt.” he tosses the piece of paper at the one you just answered to create a pile. “the amount of ice you had to put on your body,” you giggle to him, tom joining in your laughter. he sighs. “i raided the freezer in your trailer every day.”

grinning at the memories, you reach into the bucket for your next question. you’re still smiling when you read it. “this one’s a prompt. it says to do an impression of each other.” tom eagerly sits up in his chair. his leg brushes yours again in the process. you catch your lip between your teeth. “easy. i’ll go first.” he hasn’t started, but you roll your eyes.

“we’ll all be watching a movie and she’s like,” he switches to his american girl accent before continuing. “isn’t that guy so hot? he’s literally so hot, guys. how do you not see it?” your mouth dropped open, you bump his knee under the table. “oh my god, what?” “and it’s always the most basic looking person, too,” he goes on, pressing his lips together in shame for you. you make the same face.

“someone sounds a little jealous.” “it’s not me,” tom scoffs, still playfully making fun of you. you narrow your eyes at him. “ok, my turn.” he’s biting back a smile while you get yourself ready. “ello, love,” you start in an exaggerated british accent. he closes his eyes in defeat. “i love golf. i’m like an old man, innit? i fu-“ you put a hand over your mouth in the same way he does. “i forgot i can’t swear.” tom claps slowly for you.

“bravo, y/n. you didn’t miss a thing, love.” he emphasizes the last word. there goes one of his infamous pet names. he’s just repeating what you said, but it still makes your heart clench. your favorite is when he calls you darling. it sounds so perfect falling from his lips. that being said, you wouldn’t have been able to control your reaction if he called you it right now.

you shrug your shoulder and give him a cheesy grin. “i know i didn’t.” “right, next question.” tom grabs the bucket back from you with a pretend glare. he gasps before reading it out loud. “who’s your favorite cast mate? that’s wicked!” you move your head forward dramatically. “that’s not fair!”

tom drums his fingers on the table. “jeez, you guys are ruthless. i’ll say y/n because she’s right next to me.” you don’t miss a beat. “um, i’m saying zendaya.” you nod at the camera, tom pouting. “love you, z.” “i should change my answer to jacob, then,” he mutters childishly. exhaling, you pull out the next question. there are only two left after this.

“or maybe marisa,” tom keeps throwing names out. “are you done yet?” you ask like you’re his mom. he is acting like a kid, to be fair. “no.” “will you be done if i say you’re my favorite?” he perks up. “yes.” looking him in the eyes, you put your free hand on his arm. “tom, you’re my favorite cast mate.” “thank you.” his sarcastic tone matches yours. he tilts your chin up with the tips of his fingers. “my love.”

you’re quick to turn your head before you let yourself lean into his touch. you’d never recover. for one thing, you’ll think about it too much. another, it would give tom something to tease you about.

pretending to be disgusted, you unfold the paper. your expression relaxes when you look over the question. it’s kind of sweet. “what was your favorite scene to film together?” “all of them,” tom answers right away. “that’s a cheat answer,” you laugh out. he shrugs and looks down at the question. “i’m being serious. i really loved working with you.” his eyes meet yours. “every second of it.”

he’s being genuine. it’s probably to make up for tormenting you this entire interview. all you know is, the fans will definitely start talking. you find it nice either way. “aw, tom,” you coo, him nodding his head. “what was yours?” you’ve never thought about it. you shared so many special memories while making the movie. but, there is one that sticks out to you.

“our last scene. it was a really, like, emotional day because we were wrapping.” tom already knows what you’re going to say next. his lips curl into a smile. “i cried before we started shooting it, so he kept hugging me and said i’d ruin my makeup.” you rest your head on his shoulder for a few seconds, returning the smile. his arm slings around your waist.

“yeah, i felt so bad. your crying face just breaks my heart,” tom tells you with a head shake. you lift yourself off of him and wiggle your eyebrows. “that’s what every actor wants to hear.” “you’re ridiculous. do the last question.” he taps the bucket twice. he’s still holding your waist. “isn’t it your turn?” “it’s the one i read earlier. you read it now.” eyebrows knitted together, you pick out the slip. it’s a prompt.

this has to be a joke. no one in their right mind would have you do this on camera. what kind of interview would this be? blinking a few times, you hold it closer to your face. “it... it says to kiss each other.” you crumple the piece of paper up, face still scrunched in confusion. buzzfeed probably decided to mess with you two. “are we actually supposed to?”

“yep. a fan sent it in,” the cameraman interjects. you look at tom in a panic. he was all smiley about this earlier. now, he’s taking it seriously. “why would we...” you’re too flustered to finish your sentence. tom squeezes your waist. “it’s what the people want. i want it, too.” you can feel your stomach drop. “would’ve said something if i didn’t. do you?”

of course you do. for the past year or so, you’ve been craving to taste that mint chapstick he’s constantly applying. you can’t believe it’s finally going to happen in front of millions of people. technically eight people right now, but the whole world eventually. you’re afraid he’s only going through with it for the movie promotion. for a good thumbnail.

“are you only doing this for promo?” you whisper so the camera doesn’t pick it up. you need his real answer. “never. the promo just gives me an excuse.” his eyes dart from yours to your lips. he inches his face closer. you gulp. “can i kiss you?” he asks lowly. “mhm,” you hum, eyes fluttering shut.

his lips brush yours before he closes his eyes. he kisses you softly, his other arm wrapping around you. your hands go to his shoulders when you kiss back. it’s everything you’ve been needing, been dreaming of for so long now. he tastes even better than you expected. tom breaks the kiss first. a grin instantly spreads across his face. “we’ll continue this later,” he says only to you.

your lips and whole body feel tingly. you give him a goofy smile in return, looking at the camera over your shoulder. “thanks to whoever sent that one in. thank you so much.” you laugh in disbelief. tom turns and faces forward. “i think this is a good place to wrap things up,” he chuckles. “thanks for watching! we hope you enjoyed!” you wave. tom points at the camera. “see us again in theaters next week, if you did.”

the camera clicks off, and everyone else in the room starts chatting. you can’t imagine the headlines that are going to come out about you two. at the same time, you don’t care. you’re too happy. you move your arms up to wind around his neck. tom sighs in content. “i like you, too. in case you couldn’t tell.” he never stops finding ways to shock you. “how did you know i like you?” you groan.

“from one actor to another, you’re not good at hiding it.”

[free-pool-trash]

everything - peter maximoff

PART 2 TO DISAPPOINTMENT (you can read it on its own but it might be a tiny bit confusing)

hey guys, i missed peter and i hope this makes you guys feel better abt the first part of this fic <33

comments/reblogs/asks always appreciated <3

word count: 4k

warnings: angst, panic attack, fluff, probably some mistakes its 3:33am 😩✋🏻

summary: peter comes to your new reality <3

masterlist

His fingers drummed rapidly against the metal table located in the jet hanger, beneath the basketball court. Hank waited too, although, the beast was considerably calmer than Peter was at the moment.

“The radio has been quiet for like twenty minutes… do you think something went wrong?” Peter forced the words out in quick succession as he gnawed on his lips.

Hank sighed as that was the fourth time Peter had asked that question, every five minutes for the past twenty minutes- like clockwork, he’d asked Hank the same thing. The only varient was that the question started with, “It’s been five minutes...,” then, “It’s been ten minutes…,” to, “it’s been fifteen minutes…”

Hank understood that the boy was nervous, he was too, afterall Peter wasn’t the only one with a girlfriend on the uncharacteristically sketchy mission. However, if Peter asked him the same question one more time, he’d turn blue out of annoyance.

“Peter, I’m begging you to stop asking. They’re probably fine, the mutant’s energy surges probably just fried the radio,” Hank explained, trying to sound convincing for his and Peter’s peace of mind.

Peter gaped in response, “And that doesn’t worry you?”

Hank threw his head back with exhaustion and groaned, “Of course it does,” he started, running his hands down his face before continuing, “But stressing out about it isn’t going to do anyone any good. All we can do is wait for them to get back,” he finished, fixing Peter with a stern look as he’d began to bounce his knee relentlessly- annoyingly.

His fingers drumming faster than the human eye could see, his knee jolting at a similar speed, a feeling of unmistakable dread had started forming in the boy’s stomach, and no amount of finger tapping or knee bouncing could make it go away.

He had a feeling in his gut, one that he wouldn’t be able to back up with any type of logic or reason, but regardless, he had a feeling seated deep in the pit of his stomach that told him, extremely definitely, that something wasn’t right.

As best he could for the next hour and a half, Peter tried to stay quiet. Leaving the hanger to run laps around the basketball court; his attempt at exerting some nervous energy, his attempts were fruitless though as all he could focus on was that feeling in his bones that told him that you, his longtime girlfriend, were in danger. What only served to amplify his anxiety was the fact that if something terrible had indeed happened to you at the hands of the reality jumping mutant; there probably wasn’t much he could do to reverse it.

The conversation he’d shared with you last night rang through his head while he weighed up every possible outcome of your situation, and in conjunction; the situation he could possibly find himself in.

“So say your lovely girlfriend does get sent to an alternate reality… would you follow?” Within a second of your question, Peter had flipped your positions so that your back was against the mattress and the man in question was hovering on top of you with a cheeky grin.

“Sweet cheeks, I’d follow you anywhere.” He told you and you giggled at the stupid pet name before pulling him down to kiss you.

He meant it, he knew he meant it. Peter Maximoff had never been so sure of a fact in his entire existence; he’d follow you anywhere. His issue was that anywhere usually didn’t extend to alternate realities, but to him, if it meant rescuing you, he’d figure out a way to work out the kinks. Peter shook the thoughts from his head, he needed to be rational. You were probably fine, but yet again, he found last night's words echoing in his brain, the promise you’d made rattling around the confines of his head as violently as a screen door during a hurricane.

“Pete…” You whispered, moving your arms to wrap around his neck. “I’m gonna be okay. Raven and Charles will be with me the whole time, we’ll be in and out. I promise.”

When his heart began to beat out of control, he stopped running at lightning speed in favour of leaning against a thick tree adjacent to the basketball court. Aiming to steady his pulse he briefly closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. He thought about you; about how you’d play with his fingers to stop him from drumming them, how you’d cause any and all of his intrusive thoughts to be ejected from his mind when your lips would meet his in surprise kisses, or how you’d drape your arms around his shoulders and rest your cheek against his chest at random times. Those were the small interactions that brought him the greatest amount of serenity. Just as his heartbeat returned to its usual overactive pace, the jet you’d left on earlier was flying overhead.

Peter rushed back to the hanger, nervous energy at an all time high when the jet landed before him and Hank. Peter bounced on the heels of his feet as he waited for you to bound into his arms and pepper kisses all over his face. But that didn’t happen.

Peter’s heart dropped into that familiar pit in his stomach when Raven and Charles stepped out of the plane, looking crestfallen and solemn when their eyes met Peter’s wide, fear filled, brown eyes.

Before anyone could say a word, Peter sped into the plane, unfortunately confirming his suspicions; you weren’t there. Only a second later, the boy was back in his original spot in front of Charles and Raven.

“She better not be where I think she is right now or I swear to God, man-“ Peter began to threaten as Hank let out a shaky breath of disbelief.

“Peter,” Raven placed her hand on his shoulder when he looked like he was about to hyperventilate, Charles had yet to speak, no doubt trying to find an appropriate way to tell a young mutant that the only constant in his life, his only pacer, had been lost on a mission due to his negligence.

“Where is she? Tell me where she is, I’ll go get her I can be there in back in like five minutes just-“ Peter immediately rushed to speak, ignoring Hank’s confused gaze and Charles’ pained grimace.

“Slow down, bud,” Hank voiced when Peter neared the point of vibrating where he stood.

“The mutant, Galan, he said he’d bring her back, if, and only if, we complied with his demands,” Charles started to explain, grimacing again when Raven cut him off rather bluntly.

“But we can’t. His demands are insane.” She glared at Charles as she spoke, she believed that he shouldn’t have even brought up the option in front of Peter, there was absolutely no way they could accept the deranged mutant’s demands, Charles knew that, and Raven hadn’t wanted to give Peter false hope.

“So what?” Peter yelled, anger replacing nervousness. He’d warned them it was a bad idea. You’d warned them it was a bad idea. It could’ve been avoided. Had he been there, he could’ve saved you. “So what, she's just gone? My girl is just gone and what? I’m supposed to just be okay with it?” He seethed, his breath heavy while his chest heaved with rage.

When, after a moment, nobody spoke, Peter shook his head, “Come on you guys… you’re not seriously considering leaving her in some wacked out world all by herself, are you?” His voice sounded pleading, like a child, stripped raw and entirely vulnerable in a way that made them all wish they’d been more careful, hell, even Hank felt guilty and he hadn’t even been there. He, too, had been against the whole mission in the first place, actually.

“We’re really sorry, Peter,” was all Charles said before he exited the room, Raven stayed rooted in place though, at a loss for what to say or do next.

Peter swallowed thickly, his throat closing and his heart pumping at a rapid rate as tears welled in his eyes and oxygen seemed to disappear from his general area when the reality of the situation set in. You were gone, he’d get you back; even if it took him the rest of his life he’d get you back, but right in that moment, you were just gone. He hadn’t heard Hank’s and Raven’s “Woah!”s as the silver haired boy stumbled on his feet, his knees buckling before he had a chance to steady himself. Nor could he hear the gut wrenching rasps that left his mouth as he slipped into a panic attack that would surely result in him passing out.

“Peter,” Raven was in front of his face, but it wasn’t right- no, you were the one who talked him down, not Raven, it wasn’t right. “—you need to calm down, breath—“ her voice was distorted, as if he was hearing her from beneath a surface of water.

The older woman looked to Hank in desperation, he only furrowed his brow and gradually lowered Peter to the ground. He watched as the speedster rasped and muttered, he only managed to pick up a few words, his heart pulling with each one.

Hank rubbed a soothing hand up and down Peter’s back, while Raven prompted him to breath, eventually they managed to get through to the boy, though, Hank could tell it was more a matter of him having worn himself out.

“You’re alright,” Hank tried to soothe but Peter only whimpered.

He sniffled and met Hank’s gaze, hollowly and miserably, his lips quivering as her spoke in a desperate whisper, “I have to get her back, man. I just have to.”

*

The kettle screeched out a whistle from the kitchen, letting yourself and Wanda know the water was boiled, “I’ll get it,” you told her, you stood from the porch steps, squeezing Wanda’s shoulder on your way in as she gave you a grateful smile.

It’d been a few months since Wanda had sought you out after WestView broke down, you recalled the words she spoke fondly; “You don’t have to be alone. Remember what I said when we first met? We could help each other.”

Of course, you’d agreed to go on the run with her. And true enough, you’d both been extremely helpful to each other. She was a true friend and if nothing else, she was a bright light in the confused foreign world. As much as you adored Wanda, and as much as she adored you, neither of you were so naive as to think you weren’t still swamped in a pool of loneliness, craving for what you’d both respectively lost.

“Wands, was it peppermint you wanted?” You called from the kitchen, grinning slightly when she responded.

“Ya! With honey!” She yelled softly, “Please!”

Dutifully, you made the two cups of tea before returning to your spot next to Wanda on the steps, holding the hot cup between your hands and breathing in the minty steam. The scenery that surrounded you was gorgeous, nothing short of breathtaking. Rolling hills, huge lakes and flower fields that surrounded the cabin gave it the vibe of something plucked right from a storybook. If it was taking yours and Wanda’s story into consideration, you thought, it’d be one tragically dark storybook, but all the good classics were like that, you supposed.

Despite the eye catching backdrop, your mind was elsewhere today, more so than usual.

Wanda’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, “May I ask you something?”

Taking a sip from your tea you gave her an amused smile from over the rim of your ceramic cup, “Always.”

With that, Wanda turned her body to face you and you mirrored her action, then, she tilted her head curiously, “I’ve been wanting to ask you this for a while, but I didn’t want to pry,” she began causing you to snort out a laugh.

“Never stopped you before,” Wanda rolled her eyes, but smiled, continuing to her actual inquiries.

“When we were in WestView, you woke up a few times, but only when the imposter acting as my brother was near you,” you let out a heavy sigh, which stopped her in her tracks. This conversation had been brewing for a while, you could see it in the way Wanda sometimes hesitated before bringing up certain topics.

“In my reality, I have a boyfriend. He’s my everything, really,” you told her, staring blankly out into the fields as you spoke, “We’ve been together since we broke his father out of a high security prison together in ‘73– did I ever tell you that our timelines are different?” You wondered, losing the thread of your thoughts as you recalled the most significant few days of your life that had transpired in 1973, when you and Peter were just eighteen. It was only five years ago for you, but in this reality, the 70s were more than forty years ago.

“You’ve mentioned it,” she reminded you and you nodded, clearing your throat and getting back to the explanation that Wanda was expecting.

“Well, he’s a mutant like me. He’s got super speed, like your Pietro. His birth name is actually Pietro but he hates it, had it changed to Peter when he moved to the states— kids used to pick on him for it,” you explained, laughing lightly, thinking about the way his nose would scrunch up cutely when you’d call him Pietro.

“That man in WestView… he was identical to my Peter and he had the mutation and… his last name is Maximoff so, I don’t know, I guess it made sense that he’d be playing your brother. When we met I thought nobody was ever going to come for me, then I saw him and I was so happy…” Wanda rested a gentle hand on your knee when your face grew mournful.

“I thought he’d come to save me, bring me home, you know? But it wasn’t him at all, just some guy called Ralph Bohner,” you shrugged with a small pout, attempting to diffuse the weight of the confession with a light, humourless chuckle, “Stupid name.”

Wanda fixed you with a genuine smile, “Tell me about him,” she promoted and you sighed, dreamily this time.

“He’s kind, and funny, he makes me laugh more than anyone I’ve ever known— seriously, I could be having the worst day of my life and all he’d have to do is look at me and everything would feel better,” Wanda’s smile widened, she understood, her Pietro had that effect on her too.

“He’s honest, he’s so good hearted but he can be so full of mischief sometimes, he’s a huge prankster back home,” you paused, biting back a smile for a second, then carried on, “He’s got killer taste in music, before we actually started dating he used to lend me his favourite vinyls and make me mixtapes… he used to write crap on the top of the cassettes with black sharpie, like, “kinda cool songs for a sorta cool girl” or, and this is my personal favourite, “songs that make me think of you”, he drew a little winky face so, naturally, I thought it was going to be super cute,” your own laughter cut you off, Wanda’s mingled with yours and she raised her eyebrows.

“And was it?” She asked, chuckling when you shook your head, your smile the widest she’d ever seen it. She couldn’t help but smile too, the more you told her about him, the more she realised he really was just the alternate version of her brother.

“The only song on the whole thing was ‘Let’s Get It On’ by Marvin Gaye!” Wanda threw her head back in laughter, your cheeks hurt from smiling but your heart felt lighter having spoken about the boy you love.

Once she’d stopped laughing, Wanda took you in before speaking the thing she’d been thinking about since you became friends, “You know, I think Pietro would’ve liked you very much,” she joined you in staring off into the fields, “Peter sounds a lot like him.”

“You’d like him, I think,” Wanda nudged her knee against hers and sipped her tea.

“I hope I get to meet him someday,” she stated, causing your tone to dampen ever so slightly as you agreed.

“I hope so too.”

*

Peter hadn’t slept in weeks, by now, the speedster was running on nothing but twinkies and redbull. He hadn’t gotten a chance to sleep really, he’d left the mansion almost two weeks ago on what he was calling a solo mission. By solo mission he meant; finding the mutant that sent you to another reality and asking him, politely, to just plop him wherever he sent you. He had no return plan, but he knew what the X-Men had planned, well, more specifically Erik. He was going to kill Galan, and if that happened that eliminated every chance Peter had of getting his soulmate back.

Peter made a choice the second he left the mansion, he’d rather be in an alternate reality with you than in this reality without you.

Besides, he was sick of his friends telling him he should “move on”, you’d only been gone six months and everyone was acting like waiting for you was a hopeless waste of time, it was driving him insane.

You were it for him, he wouldn’t move on for as long as he lived and he knew you felt the same, but, regardless of that, he wanted to find you sooner rather than later.

Your side of the bed didn’t smell like you anymore, your favourite blanket (which Peter had shoved in his rucksack that he brought with him) didn’t hold the same warmth as it did when you’d wrap it around his shoulders. To put things simply, missing you was eating him alive.

He was following leads to get to Galan and finally, in a dingy motel in some lesser known area of the south, Peter found him.

“You’re one of the X-Men aren't you? Here to agree to my terms? Took you long enough,” the mutant spoke lowly, his grumbling voice all the more intimidating in the dimly lit room.

Peter stood awkwardly, out of place, while the mutant stared at him expectantly, “Uh, no, actually,” Peter finally managed to choke out after a moment of silence.

Galan scoffed, “Look, like I told your buddies; I’m not bringing the girl back-“

Peter shook his head, cutting Galan off frantically, “I don’t need you to bring her back. I want you to send me to her,” Galan raised a scarred eyebrow at the young man in front of him, he looked like all hell, bags under his eyes so prominent they almost didn’t look real. He had something of a nervous quality about him, Galan thought.

“You’re Quicksilver, am I correct?” Peter simply nodded his head in confirmation and Galan rolled his shoulders, “I gotta admit, it’d be nice to get you out of my way.”

Peter looked at him pleadingly, “So? Will you send me to her?”

Galan nodded his head, there was no downside for him, really. “Don’t see why not. But humour me for a second, kid. What’s so special about this girl?” Galan asked, a smirk on his face that unnerved Peter.

Peter took in a deep breath and looked Galan straight in the eyes, “I love her, she’s sorta my other half. I’m a total loser without her,” Peter tried to sound aloof but his body language and pleading gaze weren’t fooling anyone.

Galan snorted out a laugh, muttering something along the lines of “Ah, young love” but that was the last thing Peter heard before the world around him faded away.

When he came to, all he knew was that he was freezing, which was saying something considering he was nearly always too warm. He jolted into a sitting position, darkness surrounded him and all he could smell was grass and a very faint smell of smoke coming from somewhere in the distance. After a few seconds, Peter’s eyes adjusted to the darkness and all he could gather was that he was somewhere very, very hilly. The noises of wild animals in the distance spurred Peter to get onto his feet and start running.

He ran for maybe one minute until he reached a cozy looking wood cabin. The lights were off but smoke still poured from the chimney.

Too cold and too exhausted to think too much, Peter walked up the porch steps and knocked three times on the door.

“Hey, uh, anyone home?” He called when nobody came to the door after a few minutes. Just as he was contemplating running away a girl he didn’t recognise opened the door. Her eyes were wide and her mouth hung open in shock, Peter wasn’t sure why.

“Come in,” she told him immediately, and again, Peter didn’t question it, the strawberry blonde led him to a sofa and motioned for him to sit down, with a flick of her hand the fire sparked to life and Peter let out a silent breath of relief. Whoever this girl was, she was a mutant like him. “I’ll be- I’ll be right back.”

Wanda practically ran into your room, shaking you awake roughly, a crazed smile on her face like a child on Christmas, “Y/n, wake up!”

You cracked your eyes open with a groan and hid your face against your pillow, “What?” You asked in a whine and Wanda would’ve been endeared by how much of a child you were when you were sleepy, had it not been for the love of your life sitting on your living room sofa.

“Just come on, will you? You’ll sleep better once you see this,” she prompted, you let out a weak groan but threw your duvet off your legs anyway, sluggishly following Wanda into the living room, your fuzzy socks helping you shuffle over the hardwood floors without needing to lift your feet off the ground too much.

“It’s like 3am, Wands, this better be—“ you cut yourself off with a sharp gasp immediately upon seeing him, “Peter?” You asked, this time you had to be sure.

His own eyes widened and before he could even consider giving you a verbal answer, you were completely encompassed by his arms, but that was all the answer you needed.

A choked sob left your lips as you wrapped your arms around him, his back shook and his tears were already soaking through your tee shirt, letting you know he was crying too.

“Y/n,” he muttered against you, pressing feverish kisses all over your face while he took in your appearance, “You’re okay?”

You nodded your head, eyes watery and smile shaky. Yours hands cupped his cheek, your thumbs brushing the tears away from under his tired eyes, “I’m okay.”

Peter’s eyes continued to rack over you, his fatigue catching up to him as your soft thumbs stroked his cheekbones, “When was the last time you slept, Pete?” A sleepy smile formed on his lips at the sound of your voice, he would never be able to articulate how deeply he’d missed you.

“S’been a few weeks,” he answered and your eyes widened.

With a sad smile, you placed a kiss on his cheek before taking both of his hands in your own, “C’mon, you need rest so you can answer all the questions I plan on asking you in the morning.”

Wanda, it seemed, had already slinked back to her own room.

Once you arrived in your bedroom, Peter shimmied out of his jeans before crawling into your warm bed and opening his arms, beckoning you in. You didn’t need any convincing, you happily crawled into bed and let Peter wrap his arms around you as you laid your cheek against his chest.

“I have so many things to say but I’m pretty sure I’m about to pass out,” Peter said softly, squeezing you against him as closely as possible, burying his nose in your hair and sighing gently.

As gently as you could, you leaned up and placed a tender kiss against his lips, “You can say everything you need to say when you wake up.”

“I love you,” Peter whispered, chasing your lips with his languidly, “You’re my everything, you know that?” Of course, you wouldn’t know how much weight the statement held just yet, that didn’t matter to Peter, though. He had you back, the other details didn’t seem so important anymore.

[shyficwriter]

Who's Tougher Part 3

Guardians of the Galaxy fanfic | Reader x Guardians (With Yondu and Kraglin!) Guest starring Thor & Loki

Summary: If you were expecting anything the day after the Guardians find out you're a Nephilim, it wasn't for Thor and Loki to decide to "pop-in" for a visit. Too bad Yondu won't let you hide.

Author’s Note: Part 1 here. Part 2 here.

Word Count: 1,873

You were on the lower deck helping Yondu and Kraglin sort out the best course for an upcoming job. They hadn't brought up anything from the night before and you were grateful for that. You could feel the others staring at you all morning, and so you jumped at the chance to join the two men below deck to work.

Like, you got it. You really did. It would be odd to find out one of your friends had been hiding that they had certain powers or extra abilities, but it was nice to be with a couple of people who at least pretended they didn't give a crap about finding out you weren't actually Terran.

And for the most part, it was true. Yondu and Kraglin didn't care if you weren't Terran. They had raised Peter knowing he was half-celestial for 24 years. You being a Nephilim probably wasn't much different, and the fact that you admitted you didn't use your powers because you couldn't control them pretty much put you in the same boat as Peter, far as they were concerned. It also didn't look like you were gonna start wanting special treatment, if anything it was obvious you would abhor anything like that happening, so yeah, they didn't really care as long as you continued pulling your weight. Far as they were concerned, nothing had changed.

You had opened your mouth to ask Yondu a question when you heard an all-too-familiar voice booming out a happy greeting from the floor above you, followed by Mantis's bubbly excited cry of "Peter! Thor came to visit! And he brought a friend!"

You eyes went wide and you paled, dropping your pen and whatever else you were doing in an instant. "Oh no- Oh fuck-"

"What?" Yondu asked, looking at you strangely. He of course had heard it too, but he wasn't really expecting the look of fear that was in your eyes. Yeah, you had looked awful nervous when Rocket had called the "Thunder Man," but now that almost looked like genuine horror in your eyes. He wondered if he should be worried or amused, and from the look on Kraglin's face, he did too.

"I've got to get out of here." you say, starting to back away while still looking at the ceiling.

"No ya don't," said Kraglin, grabbing your arm and pulling you back. He realized this was likely the perfect time to find out why you were so nervous when Rocket called Thor last night. "Not until you at least tell us what's got ya so scared of Thor and his brother."

You looked at Yondu pleadingly, but he only nodded in agreement with Kraglin.

"Can we maybe do this later?" you plead, your urgency to hide becoming ever more apparent when a voice, softer than Thor's, could be heard asking one of the others upstairs if you were around.

Yondu almost laughed. He hadn't seen you like this before, but whatever had gotten your pants in a twist was clearly the fault of whoever was upstairs. "Nah, I wanna hear what's got you all riled up. This fella an ex-boyfriend of yers or somethin'?"

You make a face at him. "No!"

"Then what? Spill it, otherwise I might just be tempted to call them down here myself." Yondu chuckled.

You glare back at him. "You wouldn't dare."

"He really would, trust me." Kraglin warned, grinning.

"Ugh, fine!" you relented. "When we were younger, there was this prank that sorta went wrong..."

"Go on," Yondu prodded, intrigued.

"And well, you see, I didn't mean for it to happen, but I might have sorta accidentally made Loki lose his hair. Like all of it. Not just on his his head, everywhere. Eyebrows, everything. I heard it took months to start growing back in fully..." you nervously fidgeted, "and I imagine he's probably still real sore about that."

Yondu laughed. "That's all? If that happened when ya'll were kids I doubt he even remembers. I don't see what yer worried about." Sure, maybe it was because Yondu never had much hair himself save for his beard, but he didn't really see what the big deal was.

"You clearly don't know him then," you say, "so if you'll excuse me I'm going to go hide."

Yondu scoffed. "Last I checked we don't hide from our problems like scared babies. How can ya expect to call yerself a guardian of the galaxy if you're gonna run and hide like a scared little orloni? Ya gotta face up to yer fears, not run from them."

You tried to reason with him. "No- you don't understand-"

"I understand plenty enough. Yer gonna march up there and face yer fears like an adult."

"You really don't understand," you pleaded, "I'd have a better chance with the airlock. I can't!"

Yondu rolled his eyes, "Yes ya can. Come on." he then collared you and began to march you towards the stairs. Kraglin followed, fighting not to giggle at the sight.

"No- wait- Yondu- please! Come on!" Your pleas fell on deaf ears the entire way up the stairs until you reached the landing and Yondu turned you to face him.

"Look here. Either ya can straighten up and face this fella, or you can embarrass yourself by continuing to act like a scared little kid, what's it gonna be?"

You look at him pitifully and say, "I really hate you right now."

He only grinned and said, "I know it," before ushering you forward towards the sounds of the voices, keeping his hand on your shoulder.

When you neared the doorway of the room the others were in Yondu felt you start to resist again, but he just pushed you on without a word, chuckling to himself and throwing an amused look at Kraglin, who was grinning wide. All too soon the three of you were standing in the doorway, staring at the rest of the team as they caught up with Thor.

You forced a small smile when Mantis looked over and happily announced your arrival, prompting Thor to turn towards you with a big smile and begin to approach you, calling your name and opening his arms for a hug.

Yondu gave you a not-completely-gentle push when Thor got close enough and you collided the the tall man as he embraced you. You returned the hug, tentatively at first, but then fully. If you were honest with yourself, you had missed him too, and it was nice to be hugged by your old friend.

After a moment or two he pulled away so he could look at you. "It's been so long! No wonder I didn't recognize you!" He chuckled, adding, "I guess 800 years will do that though, I'm sure I also look very different, so it's no wonder you didn't recognize me as well."

Well, that saved your ass in one regard, at least he wouldn't be hurt by (rightfully) thinking you'd been avoiding him and Loki.

"I'm sorry, did you just say 800 years?" Peter interjected.

You gave a sheepish look to your team, who all had wide, surprised eyes. There were several open mouths about the bunch. You were sure if you turned around to look Yondu and Kraglin might have matched their expressions.

Thor looked between you and the rest of the gang before looking back at you with a chuckle, "Didn't tell them?"

You shrugged, still looking sheepish. "Do you think they'd have believed me?" you say with a slight chuckle, throwing a nervous look at Peter and Gamora who still looked like they were processing this new information.

Thor grinned. "I guess not." He then stepped aside, beckoning Loki to say hi to his old friend, cooing about how much you had changed since they'd seen you last.

It wasn't until then that you had gotten a good look at Loki, as Thor's larger frame had obscured him before. He didn't approach to crush you in a hug like Thor, instead staying where he was and offering a little wave as he grinned. You grin nervously and offer a wave in return. You could feel a heat rising in your cheeks.

Dammit.

Of course he would have grown up pretty. His hair certainly came back nicely.

You try to shake the thought from your mind as you turn to Thor and ask, "So, um, what brings you guys here?"

To your surprise, Thor put his arm around your shoulder and walked you closer to where everyone else was at. "Well, Rabbit's call lost signal before I could find Loki," He released you and you turned back to the doorway to see that while Yondu and Kraglin had also stepped further into the room, they remained close to the door, grinning. They were blocking the door so you couldn't run away, the bastards. Thor continued, "so Loki suggested we just pop-by for a visit instead." Thor answered with a grin.

Your head snapped back toward the group. So it was Loki's idea? Oh no.

Loki's grin seemed to get wider. "Yes, I thought it'd be fun to catch up with an old friend. I can't for the life of me remember why we lost touch. Do you?" His eyes seemed to sparkle with glee, and you were certain you weren't imagining it.

You swallowed, forcing a smile. He absolutely remembered. Crap. "Um, no. I have no idea either..." you lied, praying that no one else noticed the blush in your cheeks. "I guess things just... happen."

"Would you guys like to stay for supper?" Gamora offered, and Peter gave her a look. Peter and Thor had only just barely gotten past their dick-measuring contest the last time he was here, and his ego was still a little bruised. Gamora caught his look and clarified, "That way everyone can catch up more? Drax will be making stew."

Stay for supper? Oh no. It was only just after lunch, they'd be here for hours if they stayed for supper. Gamora, why?? Well, it was just an offer, they may decline...

Thor and Loki exchanged looks each meant to ask if the other cared before shrugging and Thor answering that they'd love to stay for supper.

Damn.

Yondu spoke up. "Hell, why not stay a couple days!" Peter shot him a look as well before he caught Yondu's wink. "After all, you three must have a lot of catchin' up to do if it's been 800 years since ya'll seen each other last."

You throw a pleading glare at the Centaurian and Thor speaks up, "Oh, we could never impose like that-"

You quietly sighed. Thank goodness.

"Nonsense, boy!" Yondu says, approaching to put his arms around you and Thor's shoulders. "We're happy to have the company. Right, Quill?"

Aw, hell, Yondu! Seriously!? You wanted to kill him.

To your dismay Peter had read the room and now sported a smile. "Yeah. Stay a couple days, I insist."

Your nostrils flared. These fuckers were working against you. However, your blood ran cold when you heard Loki's smooth voice say, "Well, brother, they did insist," and then heard Thor finally agree to staying.

Loki met your eyes, grinning wide.

You were so dead.

[guqin-and-flute]

[I am once again giving you an unrelated fanfic. Have some Modern married Xiyao.

Potential CW: poor anger coping skills?, very brief mention of suicidal ideation in internal dialogue. It's an errant thought and he doesn't actually mean it]

Jin Guangyao is upset. What's more upsetting is that he doesn't know why he's upset--this lack of information rankles him more than the feeling. He's used to feeling badly. That's how life is. But without a name, there is nowhere to file it away neatly. It is easier to ignore the sharp sting of a newly noticed cut than this fucking awful malaise that has apparently decided to settle over him with no rhyme or reason like he's some stupid idiot in an artsy French film, slowly choking down filtered cigarettes on some rusty balcony against a sunset or something.

That's not what he does. He is efficient. He is useful. And when he is like this, he is not.

And he still doesn't know why. And the fact that he cannot categorize and escape this has the ennui sliding slowly into a slow boil of tooth grinding fury.

Had it been the morning traffic? The fact that the library had emailed to inform him of a delay on his inter-library loan? The fact that his overpriced coffee was just a tiny bit burnt? The fact that Zixuan had taken a sick day today and so had not brought the soup his wife had promised Jin Guangyao for lunch? It shouldn't be, because these are all so horrifyingly trivial.

He has a tension headache beginning to string itself along his temples. He hates that the receptionist has a perky goodbye ready. He hates that the sun is shining so brightly. Then, he hates that the shadows of the clouds when they pass make things look grungy and dull. He hates that there is a flap of leather from his steering wheel that has peeled up in the back from his picking and he can feel it rubbing against his index finger as he stares, white knuckled and unblinking into the brake lights ahead of him as this bubbling pique crescendos as slowly as one of Xichen's beloved classical music pieces.

In fact, one is playing on the radio, softly, just within hearing range. The quiet, shrill edge of violins makes him want to kill something. Maybe himself. There's a bridge coming up in half a mile. He, very sanely, presses the button on the dash that turns it off instead of doing any of those things. The thought of Xichen has a voice of reason suggesting that he might meditate, while trapped here, 10 minutes from home.

Instead, he jabs a button on his fancy, stupid steering wheel with this thumb. An attentive computer noise beeps. The sudden noise in the relative silence of the car makes him dig his nails into the leather. "Text A-Huan," he snaps.

"Okay! What would you like the message to be?"

Jin Guangyao is going to find whoever programmed this faux-friendly robot voice and make them watch him drown their entire family in a toilet. "I. Hate. Everything."

Beep. "Okay! Your message reads; 'I hate everything'. Send?"

"Yes, send," he seethes before it can fully finish.

There is no plan to this. None at all. He just needs something real to sink his metaphorical teeth into. A reasonable anchor to reality to tell him whether or not he's being stupid and terrible for no reason at all.

Even though he already knows that he is.

The response returns in 43 seconds. Jin Guangyao had been counting. The cheery beep sounds just as the very stale green light turns yellow ahead. He presses the gas. "One message from A-Huan."

The light blinks red while he is only 1/4th of the way through the intersection. The lead car of the adjacent left turners beeps and he bares his teeth at her because he isn't fucking invisible, he's in a high profile gold Lexus and she had definitely seen him fucking coming. He stabs the button that makes the car read him the message.

"'Oh no. Bad day? Want to call? Blue heart emoji'," the female robot voice chirps in a butchery of his husbands words and no, no, he does not, because, at this point, it would simply be a minute long sustained scream of rage over literally nothing at all. He should have kept it to himself and found a quiet place to throw rocks at a wall or something until he wasn't such a repellant time bomb.

He does not reply because if he hears that robot voice again, he's going to commit vehicular homicide. And being arrested would not calm him down.

Finally, traffic parts and he pulls into his driveway--he notices how the bush on the side of the house's branches are creeping up to scrape the window of the kitchen and makes a mental note to send a curt text to the landscaper about his pruning habits. Why are they paying him several hundred dollars a month to let a stupid bush get unruly enough to damage the paint on his window trim?

When he slams his door shut, he hears a loud CLACK that announces that he has just closed his seatbelt in the door and lost the last tenuous thread of his temper. Heaving the door back, he plants his other hand up on the black plastic next to the window and smashes it shut again with all of his strength. Repeatedly. CLACK CLACK CLACK CLACK--Chunk.

Breath hissing between his teeth, he jerks his suit jacket straight, loosens his tie and stalks to the house. The garage door groans to life behind him. Xichen had been watching.

Perfect.

He's nowhere to be seen when Jin Guangyao slams through the backdoor like a vicious thundercloud, which is good and probably intentional, because it allows him to wrestle off his shoes, jacket, and tie in privacy. This does nothing to release any pressure, because it must be intentional wrestling--controlled and confined so he doesn't pop off a button or rip a seam or scuff the shining black leather. Now he's seething in their immaculate, state of the art kitchen, hating how the cold tile feels against his black dress socks and the fact that it smells like tea. Which is stupid. Because he likes tea. But not right now.

Stop being a piece of shit, he snarls at himself. You've already probably fucked up the car and Xichen doesn't deserve this. He balls up his fists so tightly that the bright pain from his nails sinking into his palms leaks up his arms. Be better.

He has no idea how to do that because he has no idea what is wrong.

Reason says to steer clear of Xichen until he can get a hold of himself and behave like a fucking adult. And in the early days of their relationship, he would have. He had. Whenever he got like this, he would shut down or not have inflicted himself on Xichen at all with a smooth lie, and no amount of prying would get anything useful out of him because he would not be a bother. There had been Talks. Long, extensive Talks about trust and love and wanting to take care of him. He had even believed some of them. That's how they can be married, now, years later--Xichen knowing just how close he is to this at all times. How thin his veneer of manners and pleasantries actually is. (He can't truly know, though, can he. If he knew how much none of it makes sense, there is no possible way someone as kind and intelligent as him would choose to stay.)

Xichen would purse his lips if he said this out loud; somewhere between exasperation and sad fondness. Jin Guangyao doesn't tell him, anymore. Most of the time because he doesn't actually think this.

This is not most of the time.

Yes, reason says that he should suck it up and become a human being before burdening Xichen.

But his husband has long, cool hands and soft eyes and a brilliant mind that can solve any problem just by holding it and maybe he just wants to be small and angry and ugly and pathetic and selfish in the comfort of his own home while someone reminds him that there have been, in fact, good things that have happened in his life and he had been, at one time, happy--believe it or not.

And if nothing else, it compounds his streak of bad decisions.

The smell of tea intensifies when he reaches their room. The curtains are drawn. It renders the deep, dusty blues of the bed spread and the armchair black and the aged gold accent pieces muted, except for where the warm light pouring from their open bathroom door paints them bright again. Xichen sits on the edge of their bed in the soft, expensive loungewear Jin Guangyao got him for his birthday last year, one ankle on his knee, watching him with eyes just as soft as he had been expecting. A mug of tea is tucked into his hand and a plate with round, lumpy shapes sits by his hip. Beside that lays spread out the absurdly oversized and absurdly soft heather gray shirt that Nie Huaisang had gifted to him as a joke but was, in fact, one of Jin Guangyao's guilty pleasure sleep shirts.

With his perfect voice and his perfect logic and his perfect way of being the only good thing on this entire, worthless planet, his husband says, "I think you need to scream into this pillow."

'This pillow' is, in fact, one of theirs, dark blue with a thread count that was higher than any savings he ever had in college, perched on a bundle of blankets that is the perfect size to throw himself upon like a sulking romance heroine. He hates it. Hates that this is known, that this might help.

So he fucking does it. He deliberately stalks around the bed, climbs up, smashes his face into the pillow and screams as loudly as he can. With every single ounce of rage in his body, curling him up like the shriveling of a raisin in fast forward, like the curling of a scorpion tail, like throwing up, wringing every last scant molecule of oxygen out of his lungs.

When the sound peters out and he has to drag in another breath, he curls tighter, the claws of his hands reaching over the top of the pillow to fist in his hair. It presses the plush of it firmer over his face and bites it until his teeth ring with dull pain, and his jaw aches and his head throbs and his eyes sting. His scalp burns from the pull on his hair and his throat is raw and tight.

Tearing himself away, finally, he gasps in a gulp of cooler air. Xichen has turned so he is now cross-legged at the foot of the bed, watching him with a mix of calm and understanding sympathy. "Lay down?"

There is a ragged, hollow hole in him that still has scraps of rage clinging to it like disgusting lichen--but the visceral, all consuming hate seems to have been absorbed by his pillow. So he lets himself roll sideways, eyes closing. Xichen gets off the bed--Jin Guangyao assumes, wearily, that he's putting down the tea mug and hopes that he uses a coaster--and then returns by knee walking up the bed to his side. Then, those cool hands he had been hoping for pick open the tiny hard buttons of his shirt. Each pop releases a a tension across his skin and he feels that he can breathe easier with every one.

Jin Guangyao can hear him breathing, slow and measured, through his nose and thinks that it's probably the most comforting sound that he's ever heard in his entire life--now that he's willing to be comforted. Able to be. The reminder of Xichen's continued existence is the only sound he will ever need to be calm again.

The button up is abandoned in favor of undoing his belt--breath, more of it, infiltrating him deeper and deeper--popping the button on his slacks, tugging them down his legs in a warm slide. The quiet clink of it being tossed somewhere. A closing quiet as Xichen leans in and presses his smooth lips to his forehead. Then the corner of his eyebrow. Then the bridge of his nose. Different points and planes of his face like he is unlocking a combination that will open him up and allow him to purge the rest of the awfulness that lingers.

What it mostly is is exhaustion, now. "A-Huan," he groans--whines. Ugh.

Before disgust at himself can settle in, his husband takes this as the invitation for what it is and kisses his mouth, gentle and slow. Jin Guangyao moves his mouth back, halfheartedly, mostly parting his lips to allow him access to do whatever. But all he does is kiss him chastely. Lovingly. He tastes like green tea. Then, Xichen murmurs against his lips, "Would you like a bath?"

He vents a negating grunt, lolling his head back and forth. Baths are so much work. Even when Xichen offered to wash his hair or read to him or even join him, you still had to keep it hot, you had to endure cold when you left, get yourself dry. Too much change, too much sensation and movement.

He should be shaking himself awake. He should be apologizing for his terrible, pointless mood. He should be trying to kiss him back, love him back, pay him back. Thank him.

Xichen merely lifts his hands and presses the heels of his palms into the hinges at Jin Guangyao's jaw, inexorably grinding the tension out of them. Jin Guangyao allows himself to melt. When those cool fingertips slide into his hair, he lets them tug him upright, so Xichen can slide off his button up and slip him out of his undershirt. He shivers against the chill of the bedroom air, but he doesn't feel a surge of utter hatred for the sensations so, well, that's something. In no time, Xichen has coaxed him into the oversized shirt, removed his socks and bundled him up against the padded headboard, tucked into Xichen's side.

Jin Guangyao allows this. He allows himself to allow the blanket to be tugged up over his bare legs, Xichen to tuck the warm mug of steaming mint tea into his hands, and wind his fingers through his hair. He closes his eyes and takes in a deep, shuddering breath before sighing it all out. Xichen's fingers rub soothing circles across his sore scalp.

"Open?"

He cracks one eye to see a cookie hovering at mouth level. It's too dim in the room to properly tell what kind it is, but because Xichen has been perfect in literally every other way, he simply obeys and bites down. Browned butter and sea salt and semi-sweet chocolate ooze across his tongue and the instant spike of sugar satisfaction warms his chest. Jin Guangyao chews with utter contentment, swallows, and opens his mouth again.

"Good?" Xichen's amused voice vibrates warmly through his chest as he indulgently feeds him another bite.

"Mm. Very. Did you make them?"

"I did, earlier today. I just got lucky with the timing." His nails scrape oh so gently across his scalp. "How are you doing?"

Instead of answering, Jin Guangyao blinks up at him and his sweet, kind, ridiculously gorgeous face that is graced by a light smile and a gold edge light from the bathroom.

"I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"Being terrible."

"You're never terrible."

"I was today. I think I fucked up the car."

Xichen chuckles, smile crimping to a knowing press. "I saw. It won't be a big deal. We'll deal with it later."

"...Thank you."

"Of course, A-Yao. Do you still hate everything?"

"Mm-nn." He snuggles down deeper against his ribs, looping an arm around Xichen's warm waist. He has the best husband in his arms, his dark-sweet scent is in his nose, chocolate on his tongue, and 1000 count sheets against his skin.

What is there to hate?

[theartofdyingx]

Boogeyman

Part VII - MOON AND ICE

1976. Hawkins Laboratory

Nadya tried her best not to do anything reckless, or something that’s deemed bad by the eyes of the doctor’s. She didn’t want to end up with a Soteria in her neck, like One did.

After that Papa decided that he was to become on Orderly, helping out the kids here, being allowed to be near them while they trained or played in the Rainbow Room. He went under the false alias of Peter Ballard now. Two was slowly let out to interact with the other’s too, after Henry convinced Papa, that she was fully in control of her powers now. She was grateful for everything the boy did for her. He now had more access to roam the halls, so sometimes he sneaked in at nights, into Nadya’s bedroom and they talked for hours long, of the most impossible things ever. They made each other laugh with such honesty, they’ve never experienced before.

Nadya also grew fond of some of the little kids here, like Eleven and Eight. They were both special in her eyes. Her powers were still hidden from the other’s, none of them knew what she was truly capable of, expect for the fact, that she was the last imprint to survive. They all thought One was dead, Papa told them, he died because he descended into madness due to his powers and he was too dangerous to be left alive. So One became the unknown God for the kids, along with her.

It was the time of playing now, so she could be in the Rainbow Room with the others.

She sat next to Eleven and Eight. Eleven couldn’t talk much, but Nadya reported to Papa that she could feel that she’ll be able to do incredible things, because she had a massive power inside of her. Eight was also slightly different when it came to her abilities.She could make up illusions, duplicate herself and others and that seemed to amaze Nadya.

-Is it okay like this?- Nadya asked them as she placed a card on their Tower.

-Perfect- Eight nodded enthusiastically, while El could only just give her soft smile.

-What are the three of you doing? - here comes Henry, or Peter, in all white and he also sat down beside them. Nadya smiled up at him warmly, which he returned immediately with a knowing look on his face. Eight and El were still shy around him, they weren’t used to his presence yet.

-Just playing - Eight answered with a bold look on her face, hiding away her fear from the man.

-Sounds epic - Henry answered.- May I join in? I want to get to know you all better.

Nadya looked at them, and gave a reassuring smile, to which they both nodded.

-Great, thank you.

They played now, Two remembering the times when she and Henry were the only ones in this room, having time and being allowed to be close with each other, after Papa decided to give up on making them enemies.

-Eight I was wondering if you could help us - he nodded at Nadya and himself.

-With what?- Eight looked at him with suspicion in her eyes.

-Two’s birthday is coming up soon- he said eyeing Nadya, sending her a message to not interrupt.- I was wondering if you could make up some illusions of us, so we were able to breath a little fresh air.

-What… is a birthday?- El asked with her curious eyes looking up at them.

Nadya placed her hand on hers.

-It’s the day you were born, sweetheart- she replied gently, to which she slowly nodded.

-So Eight what do you say? I’ll swear I’ll repay you with sweets and stuff- Henry looked at her.She sighed.

-Okay but I only do this to make Two happy - she answered.

-Thank you- Henry replied with a warm smile. Nadya knew all of the smiles he gave to others were a facade. But she didn’t bother to mention it, not even once.

The halls of the Laboratory

-Henry, are you sure this is a good idea?- Nadya asked, she charmed every guard they moved by, hide themselves from every camera they passed by.

-I’m positive, my Nada- she turned towards her and stuck a single piece of hair behind her ears. After their hug in the infirmary he grew quiet fond of touching, but only with her.

-Okay, I guess I just have to trust you then.

They went through unknown corridors, till they reached an escape rout in case of fire. He quickly made sure it wouldn’t alarm anyone, and pulled her outside. She didn’t even have the time to look around, because he quickly made them run towards the woods. They would be freezing if it weren’t for Nadya’s powers. It was the middle of a winter night.

-Come, I wanna show you something- Henry urged her as he was still running.

They only stopped when they reached a frozen lake.Nadya now looked around. The moon and the stars were shining brightly down at them, trees and snow surrendered them. It was unbelievable. She reached forward as if to touch the air around her. She was outside. She hasn’t been outside since she came to the lab. She lightly spun around and then bent down to touch the cold snow. Henry was looking at her, with true wonder in his eyes. This image was far better to him than any part of the outside world. Nadya then remembered something. When she was little, she and her brother used to roam on the frozen rivers back at home. They skated like that.

She quickly turned to Peter, and started to go towards the ice. She slowly stepped on it, to test if it’s enough to handle their weight. But just in case she made sure of this with magic too. She went forward. Henry looked at him curiously.

-What are you doing?- he asked.

-Come on, come here to me- she answered.

-I think, I might fall if I do that.

-I’ll catch you than- she winked at him. With a soft sigh he followed her, he was a bit clumsy, but she finally reached her. Nadya held his hands.

-I’ll help you.

They were just roaming the ice while holding each others hands. Henry didn’t wanna mention it, when he finally knew how to do this, because she didn’t want the girl, to let go of him.

-Dance with me- Nadya asked.

-On the ice?

-Yes.

-I can’t even dance.

-I’ll lead you, don’t worry- with that she put his arms around her waist and she put hers on his shoulder.

-I don’t think this is the appropriate proximity when it comes to dancing- Henry joked, to which Nadya chuckled a bit.

-It’s definitely not, but you want this too, so who cares.

-I always want this- he looked to her with so much warmth in his eyes, Nadya could feel how much he loved her. Not just loved, this man was head over heels for her, and she knew it.While concentrating on his feelings, she accidentally slipped, but Henry caught her in his arms, before she could hit the ice.

She started laughing.

-You idiot- Henry mumbled softly.

-I’m your idiot- she burst it out between laughs.

-Oh I know that.

Nadya looked up at him, and decided to make the first move, so she made their lips intervene. Slowly at first, till Henry started clumsily returning it. It was both of their first kiss, but seducing came naturally to the girl, so she was like she was already experienced in this field. It was the perfect moment, him holding her in his arms, she wished they ‘d became statues in this moment, along with the whole world. It was like even the moon made sure she saw the young lovers, on the ice.

Hawkins Laboratory

Nadya was still laughing as she laid beside Henry in her bed.

-It was perfect, Henry- she said quietly, reassuring the boy, that both the night and his kissing technic was alright. On the latest they’ll definitely work on.

-Yes it was- he said finally.- You are perfect - he then kissed her again, and again. They finally found what was missing of them. Or at least Nadya thought so. She didn’t notice the fuming rage to boy had against the laboratory. Didn’t notice his plans for the future, of what he’ll do when they finally leave.