#hobbling around with his ruined back (from hero work) acting like nothing is wrong

[theloveinc]

LMFAOOOOO THE TAGS IN THE VIGILANTE DEKU POST IMCJSJFJSJJDJDJHF 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

LOOOL I WAS AT A RESTAURANT WHEN I WROTE THEM SO I COULDN'T GO TOO INTO DETAIL, BUT why does it fit him so well ASJKHFJAKD?????

Like i know his main goal is to be a hero and he's all jacked up with mooscles plus he'd never quit BUT I HIM BEiNG A COUCH POTATO FART IS SO GOOD TOO😩

can't wait for the day you get to it in your household :')))

(non-quirk AU he's your lazy ass engineering / football player bf working his booty off for a law degree but all he does at home is sleep and be a bum.... jk)

[jamespottersdaisy]

Dulcet

Peter Parker x fem!reader

in which peter parker messes with your head

part1| part2| part 3| part4| part5| 5.5k

a/n: added oscorp for the sake of the plot

You got a hundred from the calculus midterm, but Peter Parker was not present to brag. 

The nerve that boy has.

x

Spiderman is limping, and he’s injured, too. Again. And to think that you were a civilian with a sprained ankle. 

“You weren’t hobbling yesterday,” You open the window to him, stepping back to make room.

He gives you a much-forced thumbs-up before tossing himself to the carpet. His suit is ruined, fortunately for you with only one big gash on his bicep. You can be a tailor if he keeps this up. 

As he catches his breath, you– already knowing what you have to do– amble towards the suture kit. You hear him curse and groan by the corner of your room. You weren’t expecting him, but you are not surprised, either. “Don’t stain the carpet!” 

“Come on, trouble, you’re better than that,” he calls with a hoarse tone. 

No, you are not. 

Bringing the kit along, you pad back to your room.

“What happened?” you pout at him, at which he waves his uninjured hand off. His wound is similar to the one that you attended yesterday. “It’s just a gash, stop acting like you’re about to die.”

“Cut me some slack,” he says, this time less dramatically.

You sit beside him on the floor to work on his bicep. “It was the same thing as yesterday wasn’t it?”

You are not sure what to call it.  Monster sounds too childish, but the body of an animal doesn’t leave much for choosing.

After his silence, you avert your eyes up to him. “I thought you said it was handled?”

You hear a sigh from him under the spandex. His words echo around the room as your fingers work on the wound. 

“It’s complicated. I can’t just kill him.”

“Yeah, but…”

You notice that you have actually never thought about how Spiderman handles the bad guys. Surely he catches the criminals, but creatures like yesterday? You have absolutely no idea on that matter.

“How do you handle it then?”

He shrugs. “Try to find a cure? I don’t know, if there’s a problem there’s also a solution. Usually, I just need to look for it deep enough.”

“What if there is no cure?”

He doesn’t reply, and you feel cold shivers down your spine. Indeed, from afar, in the warm comfort of one’s bed, the thought of murder doesn’t cross the mind. Why would it? You are neither the murderer nor the dead. Just a regular person who wants the monsters gone, and Peter Parker to not get a hundred from a midterm.

You don’t like the chill silence. “Were you looking for a cure today?”

His dry chuckle surprises you when you complete the stitches. “Kind of. From the former experiences, I figured Oscorp would be a nice start.”

He’s not wrong. You applied for an internship at Oscorp merely because of the company’s reputation and got a positive reply. Thus, starting in two days, you will be getting acquainted with the building's interior.

“What did you find?”

“Nothing. I couldn’t even make it there.”

You’ve never thought that you can help him. Surely, if you manage to get lost and perchance find yourself in a room surrounded by confidential information and materials that can help to create a cure, it would be great help. You can’t do it yourself, but that doesn’t mean Spiderman can’t.

“I will be there the day after tomorrow, I’m sure I can–” You start only to get cut off by the guy before you.

“Absolutely not,” he shakes his head. “You are not getting involved in this.” 

You narrow your eyes at him, and he stares at you, which looks funnier than usual because of his big white eyes.

“It would be easier for me not to get noticed–”

“As it would be more dangerous,” he gets up by holding onto the walls around him. “You just do you. Don’t try to play hero, trouble.” 

“I have you for that,” you mumble as he walks around your room. 

Little does he know you are utterly resolute to sneak around. Not a very vulnerable civilian of you.

“Exactly. Let me handle this,” he nods at you before limping towards your bed. “You should direct your exertions towards nagging that Peter guy.”

“I would very much like to, if only his ridiculous face showed up–hey, hey, don’t–” ‘Lay on the bed,’ you wanted to yell but it was too late. He was already spread on the clean sheets of your comfort space. “SPIDER!”

“Ridiculous?”

“I washed them this morning, jackass!”

“You didn’t tell me his face was ridiculous.”

Groaning loudly, you throw your head back.

“It’s not! Can you please get the fuck out of my bed–”

“Then what’s wrong with his face?”

“Nothing is wrong with his face, it’s disgustingly perfect!” You jump to your feet and dash towards the red-bodied male and drag him by his leg. “Get up!”

“You don’t like his face because it’s perfect?” he cackles, watching you struggle to toss him away. 

“Yes, exactly,” when you do haul him to the floor, he’s laughing more heartily than you’ve ever heard anyone laugh before.

“You should tell that to him. He’d be flattered.”

“The only thing I’m gonna tell him when I see him is my three-digit grade.”

You abandon him on the cold floor while making sure to occupy the whole space in bed so he won’t jump in again. His laugh slowly ebbs, albeit you can still hear the timbre of amusement.

“Three digits?”

“I got a hundred from the exam,” you nod proudly, eyes on the ceiling. “Parker wasn’t around, though.”

“I’m sure he’ll pop up,” he stands up and dusts himself off. You notice he is not limping anymore. At least not that badly. Superpowers.

“Wasn’t worried.”

Spiderman ambles towards your window, hands behind the garment making sure of the safety. You prop yourself up by the elbows.

“You’re leaving?”

“I am,” he nods, tilting his head to you. “Thanks for the help, trouble. Take care.”

x

You don’t notice that your eyes look for Parker when you’re on campus. You even mistake every tall brunette for Peter as well. It must be the excitement to gloat that’s hammering in your chest.

You flinch when the said boy pops out of thin air beside you. White shirt, blue jeans, so basic and yet still manages to look nice. God really does have favourites.

“Looking for someone?” When his velvety tone reaches your ears, you realize the few days without it was a bit…boring.

Ignoring the smug smirk on his face after pulling out a reaction from you, you wave off your hand. “Tell me the score. Come on.”

“Ninety-five.”

A deep smile graces your lips, immense pride festering under it. Your eyes gleam in smugness and Peter groans. “There we go–”

“I got a hundred.”

He nods as you laugh, lips forming a line. “Of course you did.”

“Meaning I am better than you.”

“I beg to differ–”

“And that should teach you not to mock me.”

“You’re making it really hard not to.”

You glare at him between your words, watching him shrug. He scrunches up his face, “Congratulations? I’d buy you a coffee after the lecture, but I’m a bit busy today.”

“Saving the city?”

You don’t see him stare at you for a moment. “Work at Oscorp.”

Of course, he got an internship too. What annoys you is not the fact that you will see him again after the lessons, it is the fact that whatever happens, it is always a tie with him. 

You are not aware that the former even excites you a bit.

“You weren’t around the other day.”

It’s his turn to smirk. You roll your eyes and get in the class with the door he held open. “You missed me, huh?”

“Yes, it was too peaceful.”

That’s not exactly a lie, but you are glad it sounds like one.

“I’ll make sure you don’t feel that peaceful ever again, don’t worry,” Peter shakes his head before strolling to his seat.

You know he will walk the talk.

x

“Does paranoia come with the job?”

“Trouble,” he warns, which doesn’t work because the nickname is entertaining to you.

“No, Spider, I haven’t been snooping around in the hopes of finding a cure for your monster.”

You definitely have. You almost got caught by Parker yesterday, but played it off as losing your way. 

Spiderman doesn't believe you, rightfully so. He's swung in to 'kill the time' for a while. Right now, he's leaning on a wall that has posters of your favourite artist on it, glaring at you through the white eyes. You sometimes wonder what colour of orbs are behind them.

“My spidey senses are tingling.”

Shutting the book before you, you slide on the chair so your body can face him. “I unplugged the iron, they shouldn’t.”

“They’re sensing a lie," he tilts his head.

“I’m sure that’s not how it works.”

“You wouldn’t know, you’re not the one possessing it.”

“You told me how they work."

"Which was a mistake on my part," he murmurs. "Listen, I don't need your help, alright? I already figured out what I need to do, I just need to find the right formula."

Nonsense, but you nod anyway. "Got it. Now get off my back, will ya?"

He shakes his head, seeing clearly that he won't get anywhere with this. Thus, he decides to change the subject.

"How's the internship going?"

"They made us go through the old files, categorize and digitalise, but it's the first few days and there are a lot of interns," you shrug. "So, good, I guess."

"Us?" he asks and you remember that you've failed to mention Peter's presence there.

"Me and Parker."

"You see him at Oscorp too?"

Unfortunately.

"I see him more than I see anyone else."

Spiderman nods and sits on the floor. You contemplate joining him.

"Shouldn't be that bad if he has a perfect face."

You know what to say to that. His perfect face is the annoying bit, you want to say but decide against it as it will sound…weird.

"Whose side are you on?"

"One hundred per cent yours, trouble," he raises both of his hands.

x

Spiderman said he just needed the formula. You know it shouldn't be hard to find it, you just need to search thoroughly. Somewhere in those fancy quarters, they must have something useful except old files for you to digitize.

"You're distracted," Peter says and you avert your gaze back to the screen before you. 

"Am not," you don't look at him. "Stop staring at me."

"You've been crying for a new task and now when they're about to give us one, you take your sweet time to finish the files.",

This time you glare at him. He's been asking too many questions for your taste today.

What are you doing?

Where are you going?

What are you thinking about?

The last time you've been put to this kind of interrogation was when Spiderman made sure you weren't putting yourself in any danger the other day.

"What's with you today, Parker?" you ask and he raises a brow. 

"What's with you?"

"Since when do you worry about me?"

"I'm a good person at heart," he smiles at you, and you grimace in disagreement. 

"Sure you are," you rise from your seat, Peter's eyes following you. "I'm going to the bathroom."

You are not. You just have one last room to check for. One that is filled with machines and screens that are hard for you to control. On one of those screens, you know you can find what Spiderman needs.

If only you can slip in and out without getting caught.

You have managed so far, albeit Peter has seen you close to those rooms multiple times. He hasn't ratted you out despite that, but you know it still is not a good image for you.

"Diarrhea, huh?"

You almost laugh, but turn away from him so he doesn't see. 

Walking towards the bathroom, you make a turn when you leave Peter's eyesight. Passing multiple similar white gates, you count in your head to find the right one.

After the seventh, you check around to make sure no one is there. Using the card given to you, you disappear behind the doors.

The light around the place is faint, but enough to see the blue ambience. Five giant screens sitting next to a wall-size machine whose usage is unknown to you.

You can see the camera in the upper corner of the room. Avoiding a glance at it, you attempt an image of unfazed, acting like you are sure of yourself and not after vital– probably secret, too– information.

Ambling towards the keyboard that is certainly connected to the screens, you start roaming through the programs. A bunch of old files that you and Peter digitized for a few weeks, crucial recordings of experiments that can easily seem immoral, data of used chemicals, organs, blood and the name of the donor, as well as the formulas for each process are displayed with each click.

Your fingers slightly tremble in excitement when your eyes pick the formulas. 

Remember to act natural.

You tug on the button once, twice, thrice, and beg for more time so you can pick the right one. You are too close, it would all go to waste if you get caught before finding what you're looking for.

Your heart drops to your feet when you hear footsteps behind the door. They are fast and hard and don't leave enough time for you to hide with the speed it's approaching.

You flinch when the door is opened and gasp when it's closed at the same second.

Peter is frowning, dashing towards you

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" His tone is harsh, his face in a scowl.

Your eyes go between him and the door, heart taking a pace. You should be able to distract him enough to find the right formula.

"I'm working," you turn back to the screens, running your eyes in speed.

"Working, my ass," he comes forward, not exactly dragging you but firmly grabbing your bicep. "You're coming with me, let's go."

"Stop this, the camera is working, act natural."

Your name leaves his lips in a hiss, enough for you to know how irritated he is.

"They will barge in any minute, you have to get out of here," he tightens his grip.

Your hands are shaking at this point, mind too dishevelled that you are afraid of failure. 

Whatever happens please let it happen after I find the formula, you beg.

"Peter–"

"Look at me–"

"No, I don't have time–"

"Of course, you don't! Please, trou- try to be quick or I'm dragging you away."

"Just a minute."

Footsteps are echoing behind the door, and this time you are sure they won't help you like Peter was trying to do.

He calls your name and you make a sound from deep in your core in desperation but followed by a victorious one immediately.

A shout sinks into the air outside of the room, and you hold your breath in dreading anticipation. Reading the screen one more time you lock eyes with Peter as the hold of the door makes a screeching sound.

Next thing you know Peter is cursing under his nose before crashing his lips onto yours.

He has pulled your body close, and cupped your cheek, deeming it impossible for you to escape his touch. 

The five seconds that his soft lips caress yours, your mind goes blank, your heart stops beating and your body forgets how to react as his skin on yours sets your body aflame. 

While your soul welcomes the sweet shock deep in your core, the door to the room flings open, and three white-cloaked professors barge in. 

Peter lets you go instantly, and not even lending a glance at you, he awkwardly stares back at the uninvited hosts. 

"You two can't do that somewhere else?" the woman in between asks as you slowly gain your composure back.

"This is a workplace," the short, blonde man next to her chimes in. "You can get stripped of your internships for this."

The other man, tall and ginger, stays silent with an amused look on his face. "Bloom of youth."

"We are sorry, sir," Peter starts, not sure whom to address. "It won't happen again. Never again."

A few moments of silence drag into forever as Peter takes your hand into his. 

It seems as if the stern-faced individuals soften at the gesture, their stone heart deciding to take pity on you.

The woman steps away from the door. "Back to work."

Before Peter drags you away by the hand, you peek at the big screen and see that it's back to normal.

You did it.

The only thing left to do is to give the formula to Spiderman and let him do the rest, which you are sure he will. If only evening came by faster. You can't wait for his reaction when he sees–

"What," Peter spats out through his teeth, "Were you thinking?!"

You notice how he has led you to an uncrowded space, and how he is unusually close to you.

"Thanks for the save?" you ask sheepishly, the reality of the kiss slowly sinking in.

"No, I'm serious. What the hell is wrong with you?"

Peter's visage is…more irritated with you than it usually is. Still, you don't like how he looks attractive with furrowed brows and darkened eyes.

"Look," you chose your words carefully as there is no other escape from this situation without giving him some answers. "I just needed to check something, and that's all I can tell you, Parker."

So much for 'some answers'.

"I'm sorry that you had to get caught in my mess," you tilt your head, pushing your lips together. "And do something undesirable like that to get out of it."

Peter leans back, his eyes narrowing. He doesn't seem furious anymore, just a bit agitated. "You owe me one."

"How about a coffee?"

He shakes his head.

"Oh, come on, you love coffee!"

He does, and both of you are surprised that you remember it. 

"Brownie?"

"No."

"Donut?"

"No."

"Pizza?"

"No."

You groan and throw your head back. You don't see Peter's eyes lingering on your lips for a quick second.

"What do you want, Parker?"

His lips curl into a sly smile, one that he gives you when he's about to best you at something.

"Nothing. Yet," he smirks and brings his index finger under your chin, leaning in close enough that you can feel the hot breath on your lips. "You just owe me one."

With a short brush of his thumb on your lower lip, he turns around and walks away.

At least you got the formula.

x

19:58

20:34

21:27

Where is he?!

21:43

Your blood boils in annoyance that on a day like this, he decides to stay absent. 

22:10

A tap on your window makes you jump in your place, a whisper of 'finally' leaving your lips. Letting him in, your eyes look to find any injury and fail. "Where were you?!"

"At home?" 

It’s hard to envision him in such an environment.

"I got the formula," you drop the bomb.

Midway to your room, he stops in his tracks, raising his masked head to you. You can feel the confusion but also simmering anger under the white eyes.

"You did what?"

You sprint to your desk, grab the piece of paper and dash back to Spiderman.

He's silent for a minute, reading the ink. "I thought I told you not to snoop around."

"I didn't listen. Will it help?"

"It will but you had no business–"

"You can cure the creature now, right?."

Spiderman sighs. "You could've gotten caught, trouble,” he shakes his head. “If you keep this up, I'll–"

You don't listen to his words, instead cringe at the flashing memory. "I almost did."

You expected a highly ominous reaction, yet got greeted with a calm one. "What do you mean almost?"

You groan and return to your bed. The vigilante sits on the carpet, watching you toss yourself on the mattress. "Parker saved my ass."

You don't like how Spiderman is meek today. You are sure he would've asked you hundreds of questions already.

"How?"

You change your mind; maybe it's more convenient when he doesn't ask questions.

"Trouble?"

Your cheeks heat, embarrassment flooding hot deep in your core. "hekissedme."

"Come again?" he tilts his head.

"He kissed me so they'd think we were sneaking around to find a place to make out."

There you said it. 

"Oh," Spiderman nods, scratching his chin with the clothed fingers. "That must've helped."

A small chuckle echoes in your room when you whine and slap your hands to your face.

"Don't laugh. It's your fault."

"No, it's not."

You know it is not. It's just that…when he kissed you, you felt weird.

"Was he that bad of a kisser that you hated it so much?"

"I didn't hate it, Spider, that's the problem!" you admit with a loud tone, slamming your hands beside your body.

He stood there, silent as a rock for a minute. "Explain."

You are not sure how to say it, you're not sure you can voice it. It's too discordant, too far from the reality you built. You long to hear the words, to try the way they roll off your tongue, echo in your ears, to know if it feels innate.

"For a moment, I wanted to kiss him back."

Spiderman doesn't move an inch, neither do you. A prickling chill embraces your heart, shivers messing with your nerves. You don't want the words that left your lips to be true, but you are not regretful that they are.

"I thought you disliked the boy."

You straightened yourself. "I do! He's aggravating and witty and annoying–"

Your shoulders sulkled and Spiderman hummed, letting you continue. "But he is also funny and kind and sometimes attractive."

"Sometimes?"

"I try not to notice his attractiveness all the time," you shrug.

"So, was he a good kisser?"

You glare at him, but when he shifts forward, you have to reply. “How am I supposed to know?”

“His lips were on yours, weren’t they?”

They were. And they were soft, warm, silky, inviting and welcoming.

“For a few seconds.”

Spiderman scoffs. “Enough to mess with your head.”

You don’t like where this conversation is headed. “You should thank me for the formula instead of dismantling my life.”

He glances at the paper again. “Yeah, thanks, trouble, sorry that you had to get kissed by a handsome guy for me.”

x

He is sitting a few steps away from you, brown locks tousled from the times he has run his hand through them. You dislike the way your eyes steal too many glances at him, but what can you do? He hasn't acknowledged you once yet, let alone brought up what had happened.

"Is there something on my face?"

You don't know how he can sense your gaze every time.

"Pimple. A big and ugly one."

"Wanna pop it?" he raises his eyebrows, locking eyes with you at last.

There's no pimple to pop. In fact, the only blemish on his face is the lack of a smile.

"Do you always go around and ask the girls to pop your pimple?"

"Just the ones I kiss."

Your stomach drops now that he mentioned it, albeit you manage to play it off with an eye roll. “You flatter yourself, that wasn’t a kiss.”

“What was it, then?” Peter gets up from his place and walks up to yours. You look up at him from your seat as he crosses his arms.

“Not a kiss,” you say and he smiles. “You just put your lips onto mine.”

“That wasn’t up to your standards?”

“No wonder you don’t have a girlfriend.”

This time he actually laughs, even though it sounds like a scoff. “Right.”

When he turns away to return to his initial assigned place, a woman– no, the woman that you almost caught you– strides towards you with stern steps, her heels echoing around the place. Your heart drops and your mouth runs dry, contrasting with the sweat under your armpits.

“You two,” she points between you and Peter. “Follow me.”

You look at Peter with slightly widened eyes and see him frowning. Shame fills you, as well as with sheer panic glistening above it. You put both of you in big trouble.  

The woman strides back, and Peter dashes after her, but not before holding and dragging you by the wrist. “Don’t panic.”

Funny, Parker. 

Suddenly the distance of five minutes feels like forty minutes, and you are sure Peter can feel the dampness in your palm. The woman’s hair whooshes with her each wide step that you struggle to keep up. 

At last, she halts in front of an ivy door and reads her card. 

Peter squeezes your hand before you both enter the room. Inside, there are the same two men as yesterday, this time even the ginger professor appearing stern. 

“What were you doing in the room yesterday?” the blonde man asks, and you wonder his name.

“Attempting to make out,” Peter talks, his tone calm and determined. 

“We have seen the surveillance footage, boy,” this time the ginger guy says angrily. Apparently, he is furious that he let you go so easily. 

Your heart is in your mouth, your stomach in your feet. You don’t know what to say to get yourself and Peter out of this mess. There’s an ominous silence, one that stretches your nerves and makes you sick to your stomach. 

Even if you confess about Spiderman– which you would never– they wouldn’t believe that story. 

“Well?” says the woman behind you, her hands in the pockets of white overcoat.

You take a deep breath. “I–”

“I asked her to look for a formula.”

You push your lips together, staring at Peter, who is glaring at the colleges before you. 

“What formula?”

“I didn’t have a specific type, I just wanted a formula that would help me work on the animal DNA, changing and evolving it into something more.”

“Why would you want that?”

They are getting suspicious, not because they don’t believe him, but because they do.

Peter shrugs, and you frown slightly. 

“Curiosity.”

They seem to be convinced. For now. 

“Listen, kid,” Ginger one sighs. “It’s not a good idea to mess with DNA. It has deadly consequences.”

“If this happens again, we’ll make sure you can never set foot in this building.”

“It won’t happen again,” he assures. They look at you expectantly. You nod quickly. 

“Get out of here.”

You happily let Peter lead you out of that environment. After making sure you are out of earshot, he lets your hand go and you notice how your muscles are weak from all the panic. 

“Do you always sweat that much?” He wipes his hand on his shirt. 

“Thank you.”

Peter’s eyebrows raise at your reverent tone. “You good?”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I’m sorry that I put you in such a situation.”

“Woah, hey,” he frowns, waving his hands around. “Stop acting so…sorry. It’s weird. Seeing you like this.”

When you don’t say anything, he gets a slight idea of how much you are ashamed and regretful of the events of the last two days. 

“You can buy me coffee as compensation tomorrow.”

You smile, and Peter’s shoulders drop in relief. “Deal.”

x

“See, I told you to stop trying to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

You toss him your pillow, and Spiderman catches it before it becomes one with his masked face. “See the bigger picture, Spider.”

“Which is?”

“Parker stuck out for me. Again!”

“He has the heart of gold,” he sniffs and puts his hand on his chest. “Bless that boy.”

“Are you capable of being serious for a minute?”

“Not a preference,” he tosses the pillow back to you, but you can’t stop it from hitting you right in the nose. “Work on your reflexes.”

“But why would he do that? Why would he accept trouble for me?” You straighten your hair and put the pillow on your lap. Your eyes ask for ideas from the guy sitting on the carpet.

“You are trouble.”

“Spider!”

“What? Do you need me to ask the guy?”

“I just don’t understand. And he hasn’t even asked one single question about what I was doing there.”

You get up and walk around your room.

“Because you told him to?” he says with nonchalance, and you squint your eyes.

“How do you know that?”

“Sounds like something you would do,” he shrugs after ten seconds of silence.

“I don’t know. He’s acting weird.”

“By weird you mean–”

“Kind.”

“Maybe he was kind all this time, you’re just noticing it now.”

You don’t reply for a while, sitting next to the hero. “Don’t–”

“Stain the carpet,” he nods and puts his clothed hand on yours. “Or I’m paying for the cleaning.”

His hand on yours feels weird and funny, but comforting all the same. “How are the wounds?”

“Better. Thanks to you.”

You nod in pride. “I’ll make a fine doctor.”

“That’s a bit far-fetched, trouble.”

“He asked for coffee for compensation,” your eyes rest on your hands.

“Hah, a cheap apology. Lucky.”

“That’s why your romantic life is nonexistent,” you repeat the words he said to you once and realise you said the same thing to Peter as well today. 

“Because I’m on a budget?”

“Why is your romantic life nonexistent, Spider?” you ask, meaning the question with your heart.

He shrugs. You avert your gaze to his frame. You wonder what he looks like under the red and blue. Is he bald, or blonde, or brunette? Does he have freckles? Or a mole? Or a nice smile and brown eyes? Or dimples and blue eyes? Maybe he has dark skin or green eyes.

“It becomes dangerous with me at one point, trouble,” he slowly rises to his feet. “It’s either the people or the girl.”

“And you choose the people?”

“Someone has to,” he approaches the window and slowly opens it. “Don’t get in trouble.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Can’t sit on my ass all day and gossip, can I?”

x

“I don’t like latte.”

“You literally drink nothing but latte.”

“Buy something more expensive.”

You roll your eyes and explore the desserts displayed on the showcase. “How about something sweet with a latte?”

“Brownie. The big one.”

You raise your brows at the barista. “You heard him.”

He nods, readying the orders after you pay. Putting your card back, you hear Peter saying, “Apology accepted.”

“Now,” after the barista hands you the orders, and you find a nice place to sit, you say, “Why did you help me?”

“So you can buy me a latte.”

You glare and he smirks in turn.

“Felt like it at the moment,” he sipped from his drink. “Don’t look that deep, you just stumbled upon my charitable side.”

You don't question him on this matter anymore. 

He drinks his coffee as you tease him, and mocks you back when you pronounce a word wrong. 

He laughs when you burn your tongue because your drink was too hot, and tells you to put a sugar cube on it. It helps.

He listens to you blabber about the posters on your wall and asks questions about them to understand your fixations deeper. 

He talks about Aunt May and how she is the best cook in the whole world with a wide smile on his lips. You notice your glance too many times at his lips. When you say maybe you'll have the chance to taste her cooking, he nods and says you won't ever wish for another meal.

After finishing his brownie, he walks you home, claiming that he is a gentleman. And you may believe him from the way he opens the door for you and sneaks into the road-facing part of the sidewalk.

On the way home he jokes and chuckles, his smile lines never leaving his cheeks. When you arrive he steps back and says "Take care," before saluting you.

You watch him walk away, his hands in his pockets, his curls dancing with the wind and melting into light brown under the dusk sun.

And then it hits you hard and deep in your core. 

You’re falling for Peter Parker.

x

thank you for reading and let me know if you like it <33

tags♡ @taylorann2013 @gorillaglue23 @inkthgoat @pepsicolacoochie @delwrites @dinovickydzillarex

if you like dulcet series, buy me a coffee <3 i'd appreciate it so much

[vegetalass]

Veneno

its almost 5 am and i’ve been working on this for WEEKS and im sick of it!!!!! i think its the longest fic ive written in my life tbh...

I really wanted to play with the idea of a Sidestep who was manipulating herald, as I remember Malin mentioning multiple routes exploring a few different possibilities of treatments to the ROs. so this is my take on the manipulation theme!

partially inspired by my ex, who has a dumb nickname I never called him, and who once said to me “even if you can’t say it back, i’ll wait.” 

sorry for giving herald a cat. i was actually just describing mine lol. 

warning: contains Fallen Hero: Retribution spoilers, with sweets and drinking vice mentioned. 

HUGE thank you to @abyssopelagick and my friend GRUM!!!!!!! who i can honestly say i wouldn’t have been able to post without. ily both! 

FH:R belongs to @fallenhero-rebirth

Herald/gn!Reader - 2753 words

You knew it. You knew Herald used to be rich.

Maybe it was his perfect hair and blue eyes that gave it away, or the fact that he mentioned having a television as a kid. Maybe it was because he was so sweet and shy when you first met, that when you found the collection of pills beneath his bathroom counter when you went snooping through his stuff, that you realized you’d never even considered the fact that he’s probably never had to starve.

In retrospect, maybe it should’ve been a little more obvious after the first night you spent with him, and you should’ve taken better precautions to handle his delicate, loving nature, but so far you haven’t complained and you’re not about to start. Not only has everything worked out, but currently, you’re laying in the soft, old sheets of Herald’s bed, in his nice and clean apartment you can only describe as luxury.

Better than what you have. Better than what you had.

It makes you feel like a kid, the type with no concept for anything except longing. The kind of kid that reads books about bakers who sneak bread to dying girls, and blond princes who insist on liking someone their father hates.

And boy, does Herald like you.

He’s such a prim boy, if not just a sweet one. Kind, generous, loving, you name it. Anybody would be lucky to have him, and for now, that means you. The money is just a bonus, one that you could easily get used to.

Whether this has always the case, though, is another question. One that doesn’t matter much, because you find it’s just been nice to have been surprised as a telepath. Not to mention, you could always use the resources.

In some ways, it makes you want to laugh; to think that Herald knows nothing of your endeavors to kill him, and that all his good fortune can’t do a thing to stop you.

But in others, you feel like crying because he’s a boy who loves you and you have nothing left to offer in return.

You’ve decided not to mull on it. Because when he invites you to spend the night, and kisses you endlessly in that red-hot way, staying in his bed after is so comfortable and warm that it almost feels like the reason you don’t intend to get caught as a villain for a while.

So, you’ve been starting to come over to his place a lot recently.

It wasn’t intentional, your relationship with him. You always tried to tell him that it was Sidestep he was dreaming of, not this new you. But from the moment you let him kiss you on that day in HQ, and then later on that other night after your first date... it became harder and harder to stop yourself from growing quite… fond of him.

Even if it wasn’t planned.

Despite the mess that you’ve gotten tangled up in, in every possible way, it has been a really fun way to pass the time. Watching the way Herald dances around you as if you’re a breakable doll who’s done no wrong, even if he loves and trusts and admires you.

And the fact that you sometimes have emotional outbursts where you cry about disappointing him only adds to the effect of it all. It’s a risky but satisfying game, and even if part of it is genuine, you’re still a villain and have to remember the limits, though you don’t want to be evil all of the time. You might run out of luck.

Herald doesn’t know that, though. There’s actually a lot that he doesn’t.

Part of the fun is trying to guess how long you think all of this good might last. Because good things never last, do they?

But that’s no matter right now, and you shake your head from the thought, because the only person who has even dared to figure out your true nature is Herald’s cat, who hasn’t taken kindly to your presence since the start.

What a smart animal.

She’s a fat, old thing. A tabby, with piercing, green eyes. She was hiding on the first night you came over, probably busy licking herself and thinking that you were another romantic partner here to screw her Daniel over. She was right, but you just kept coming back.

Currently, she’s washing herself from her place on Herald’s dirty hoodie on the dresser across from you, looking up occasionally to hiss in what feels like a mocking, angry tone.

Re-Gene! Villain! I know what you’ve done, and you leave my Daniel out of it!

Tough shit, cat, though it’s still a shame she won’t let you pet her.

Not like you’re planning on moving out of bed, anyway.

It’s only in between your stints of dozing to the sound the sickly sounding auburn news anchor on the TV and mulling about whether sweets or a drink would taste better first, that you notice the approaching presence of Herald’s feather white aura growing closer, and realize that he must be in the building.

Even the now-napping cat seems to stir in acknowledgement before the both of you notice the sound of keys struggling in a locked door, as if you couldn’t try to pinpoint Herald’s exact location by entering his mind from your comfortable position with a little effort if you really wanted to try.

Immediately, the cat jumps from her comfortable perch to the floor, and rushes to the front door in an attempt to reach Herald halfway, get a scratch, and then rat you out as if he’d even listen if she could talk.

Either way, he’s home.

You can hear meows, and it’s easy to imagine how she tangles around his ankles as he squats to give her ears a good scritch. The pleasant imagery is interrupted too soon, though, as suddenly she yowls and you can hear the pit-pat of her feet as she rushes your way in her attempt to tattle on you.

“Oh, you,” you can hear him mutter at her as his footsteps echo in your direction before he hobbles into the room with a nasty limp. He looks about as close to someone who just got hit by a car and lived as someone possibly could, as his mess of gold hair is wind-blown and tangled, face bruised and dirty, and from the way his head is tilted down, must’ve been slouching for a while.

He looks... defeated, and you smile at the sight, hoping that you somehow look kind.

The cat continues to meow until Herald looks up, eyes widening in surprise when they finally meet your gaze, and despite his bad posture, or lack thereof from his aches, brightens immediately at your smile.

“Hi,” he breathes, finally standing up to throw his keys onto the little table resting by the door to his room.

“I wasn’t sure if I could let myself in-” You nod in his direction, before he interrupts you.

“Of course,” he blurts, almost too quickly, and then quickly looks away from your face when he finishes. “Always.”

You smile, feigning relief, even if you don’t really care.

Herald continues on, shuffling from where he’s standing to a dresser not far away, and you sit up in his bed to watch as he strips from his Ranger suit to reveal another handful of purple-blue wounds and scratches layered above his already scarred chest. He must be hurting.  

“Daniel...” you call to him in an attempt to seem worried, and he hums in acknowledgement, “Are you okay?”

He grunts, and in the silence that follows, the TV seems to grow louder in his place. You hadn’t realized that it switched from the weather special to a Los Diablos Breaking News! segment.

“Ranger spotted in successful attempt stopping local mob,” the smiling woman says, eyes blurred toward the camera as a clip of Herald handcuffing a man in a black jumpsuit takes over the screen.

You smile again because he’s a really good guy. A great one. And his fighting has been getting better.

Part of you wonders if it’s due to the fact that you’ve been training him, and the other part wonders if you should be worried. He’s always been someone who appears a lot weaker than he actually is. And you want to stoke the flame.

“You don’t have pull the tough guy act with me, Daniel,” you say to him, this time more forcefully.

You know he always notices when you use his real name, which is one of the reasons why you started using it. This time, you watch as he lowers the green shirt he’s been holding to his chest to look at you with those endless blue eyes and sigh wistfully.

“I get it, you know I do,” you try again, this time with the intent of at least getting him to open up.

You’re nervous, at first, scared of what he could say to you. That he knows you’re playing games, or that he doesn’t want you around anymore. But nothing has ever warranted this response in the past, so you wonder what’s happened to him to make him look at you like you just hit him over the head.

Ha.

You have hurt him. You even ruined one of his legs, but that was in the past, and it’s not like he knows that was you. If he did, you’d hope that he’d just be grateful enough to appreciate the fact that you didn’t kill him that night, too. He shouldn’t have any reason to look worried when you’ve just been here, lying in bed, silently waiting for him to join you, so you suppose you shouldn’t be worried either.

The TV speaks again.

“Impressive feat for the youngest member of the Rangers, who just under a year ago was taken down by the notorious Puppetmaster at their debut sighting.”

Herald is still paused, except this time, you notice his gaze has moved from you to the screen in front of him.

Though the news channel was initially spouting a success story, it’s no surprise that they’re now comparing Herald’s skills to when the both of you fought. It’s also not a surprise when the golden boy of the Rangers suddenly looks even smaller than before when he whips back around as to stop glaring at the news anchor as if she could even see him. You wonder what she would do if she could.  

You don’t speak.

“You know…” Herald starts, ignoring your previous words all together, “I’m worried about you.”

This doesn’t shock you, though not because you’re a telepath. He’s a naive boy, so of course he is worried, and because part of you cares about him in some twisted way, the good in you wishes that he wasn’t.

Worried or naive?

Both?

Deep down, you know he shouldn’t like you and you crave to tell him as such. To berate him, to beat it into him, to scream that he’s just a stupid, little boy in love with an animal who has a past he’d never understand. But it’s easy to stop yourself because you always do.

You hesitate to respond, but mutter back anyway. “Why?”  

You know he means it well, he means everything well, but the words come out harsher than you intended them to, and you quickly have to pat the spot next to you in bed to ensure that Herald thinks you’re not angry at him for simply… being him.

The little, sweet and young Sidestep that is still left in your heart is screaming to be kinder; telling you that you should just be happy that there is someone still cares for you and is able to show it. But there’s an ache in your heart, and suddenly the thought of both your past and your future make you feel like you have to get piss-shit drunk, puke all over yourself, and then immediately get heartburn.

So you decide to ignore the thought all together, and focus on the fact that Herald is now staring intently at you again. Only half-dressed (which is distracting), still, but staring nonetheless.

He tilts his face towards the ground to slouch once more, before whispering, “I just don’t want… them to come after you, too.”

“Oh, hush,” you say instantly, patting the bed again, before reaching out your arms for him to join you as he makes his way over. You know who he means, and the person already has.

You.

You are coming for yourself.

“Puppetmaster is growing very strong, when they learn you’re still around… they might-” He cannot finish the thought before he reaches the bed and ducks himself into your waiting arms.

You roll your eyes as you rest your cheek on his soft head. He really is a silly boy.

“I’ll be fine,” you say, into his hair, “I still have you, don’t I?”

He stays silent, so you continue the charade.

“You’re the one on the frontlines, so if anything, I’m the one who should be worried,” are your final words, before Herald cups your cheeks in his large palms in an attempt to kiss you. Before he makes it, however, you have to swat his face away because you can’t stop the laugh that bubbles deep from inside your chest at the realization of the situation.

Herald looks stunned, but smiles meekly in return when he decides you aren’t angry, and then laughs with you, even if he doesn’t get the joke.

“You’re silly, Daniel,” you say, settling with simplicity, because what do you say to the love who you’re lying to? What can you say, even if you kind of love them back?

But Herald, or maybe Daniel now (as you don’t much care which anymore), just blinks slow and smiles, content being held tightly in your arms.

You want to consider it strange, all this dedication to a person he doesn’t really know, this old Sidestep person, whoever they are, except that in a way, you realize, he does know you.

He knows the you that you have given him, this laughing kid, and in a sense, you truly believe that that’s not really you at all; because you just play this game too well, and he’s been wrapped around your finger from the start. You allowed for this, and you don’t want to say you regret it.

He’s a sweet boy. Always has been. And he never fails to surprise you.

“I love you,” he declares suddenly, voice quiet, sweet, and calming.

And you’re shocked. Not because you didn’t know that, but because you weren’t expecting to really care. And underneath his covers, everything seems three times as sweet. You weren’t expecting to be flattered, and there’s a part of you doesn't even mind. Another thing you could easily get used to. So responding is easy.

“Thank you, Daniel. I mean it.”

And he nods, still cuddled against your heart, your tattoos, looking at you like someone who could truly be loved. He is smiling all the while, too.

“Even if you can’t say it back, I’ll wait,” he says, lips barely curled, blue eyes sparkling.

It’s a nice gesture: this sudden, heartfelt proclamation, but you can’t say it’s one you deserve, as you have been so cruel to both him and yourself. Even though the Sidestep in you would rather jump off a roof, crash, and die before breaking his heart, you have long since realized that there is still a villain inside you that is hungry to laugh and cheer when Herald finds out who really tore him apart on that night at the museum.

You’d feel worse, but that day really was amazing. Finally making yourself proud, even at his expense.

However, the thought quickly escapes you, as this time, when he leans over to kiss you, you let him. His lips are warm on yours, and as you find your fingers tangled in his hair, for a second, it almost feels as though this relationship wasn’t built on a lie.  

“I know,” you respond, smiling sweetly at him for once, genuinely, because even if could change your behavior, you cannot help your pride, and you cannot help your heart.

And when you’re going to break his anyway, even though you know you should stop this mess, because a small part of you loves him, you might as well make sure it hurts.

[audreysl0ve]

Dark OQ: Days 2-3

This covers Getting Acquainted with the Wish Realm and First Fight.  Enjoy :)

Her magic does not work well in the wish realm, it turns out. She had thought that a fresh start meant no one would recognize her, that she could finally be free of the reputation of the Evil Queen. So when magic did not come to her that first night in the tavern, she paid it no mind. It would come back, she had mused, at some point. But for now she could just enjoy life as Regina.

There are drawbacks, of course, to having no magic. Getting in and out of her dress without help is a nightmare, it turns out (she won't let Robin help her put her dress back on, it's a level of intimacy they both haven't reached). Robin insists she let him steal her something more sensible to wear, but she will have none of it. Everything in this realm is different and she needs her own clothes, just her one source of comfort to feel herself��.

For three days, other than the discomfort of dressing herself and the need to reuse the same dress, she finds the realm... easy to enjoy, even without magic. And what's not to enjoy, when your Not Soulmate is there to kiss and touch at night, and there's a whole new world to explore in the daytime?

But on their fourth day in the realm something changes. She strolls through the village as she has done everyday before, but on this day, peasants shriek and run from her as if she were the most frightening monster they had ever seen.

"What's happening?" she whispers to Robin. He looks just as confused as she does, though he doesn't look the least bit concerned.

"I'm not sure. This is a fictional wish realm, yeah? Maybe someone made a new wish and it... changed things? People cared fuck all about you before but they certainly seem to care now."

People abandon their carts of fruit at the market, running and ducking for cover, and Robin looks at her, pleased as punch as he hands her an apple off the cart. "You make my job easy," he says. "Thievery requires no skill when people leave their valuables and run away. Do you think you could do me a favor and walk into that shoe store? I need some new boots."

She rolls her eyes. It's not funny. People are running away because they think she has magic, but if they find out she does not... they will run toward her. They will run toward her with hot tar that will burn her flesh, they will either burn her alive or string her up by a tree and stone her slowly until she dies. That's the punishment for killing royalty, after all.

They journey back to Robin's camp that night, Regina aware she can no longer stay in the inn that she had called home since moving to this realm. She knew she'd end up here eventually (she was kidding herself for ever thinking otherwise), but it does seem a bit... soon.

"They are terrified of you, I can't imagine why you are afraid," Robin muses.

"I'm not afraid, I'm concerned." Regina corrects, for god's sake she is not scared, does not scare, is certainly not scared of a bunch of peasants .

Robin raises a skeptical eyebrow before reminding her, "They don't know you don't have magic. No one's going to risk confronting you given all the stories of those who tried and failed. Relax."

He's an idiot.

As if to prove him wrong, they hear the noise of an angry mob moving through the forest that night. It's mostly villagers with pitchforks and pointed sticks, some set aflame, but they are directed by... others... on horseback. Regina urges Robin to hide with her, behind a tree at the top of a hill while they watch the crowd in the valley below.

"The Evil Queen killed your King, Queen and Princess. She must be destroyed. Scour every thicket in the forest, search every home or hobble you can find... bring her body to me, along with the one who is harboring her, bring them to me dead or alive, and you shall have your reward - all the riches you can carry on horseback!"

It's Henry, and it kills her, hearing his sweet voice demanding her death.

It's not really Henry she reminds herself. Her Henry would never. But still….

"Ah, a reward!" Robin says with a chuckle. "Forgot about that. Nothing gives a man brass balls like the promise of opulence. Well, off we go, then." He urges her up, that amused smirk on his face. He's not scared, he's not panicked. He looks like he's tickled pink about this grand new adventure.

What an idiot.

"This is serious," she says through clenched teeth. "They are going to kill us and you're acting as if we are plotting to avoid a surprise party."

"And you act as if this is my first time escaping an angry mob," he chides, "come now, follow along, I know the drill."

For days, for weeks, they live like outlaws. Robin wins the argument over her clothing, and that seems to please him. She doesn't wear a frilly cotton dress, though, he steals her some leather britches and a couple of white thermal shirts she quite likes. When he finds her a fur vest it hits her - she's worn this outfit before. She's reliving Isaac's heroes and villains universe, this time with a dramatic twist, and it would be funny, if she didn't have to see evidence of how much her Not Son hates her every minute of the day.

She enjoys this Robin. Enjoys him more than she thought possible. They live in the woods, it's cold and dirty and wet, but she feels warm and safe with him. But there's a problem. She's distanced herself from him emotionally since they took flight.

She has no power. She's too reliant on him and she can't stand it. She doesn't want him to see her as a burden, or as weak. And it's hard to imagine he wouldn't see her as both of those things when she so clearly does.

She's never been the weak one in the relationship, but she is now.

Robin steals for her. Robin finds them food. Robin always has an escape route — a way to take out a wandering guard, a way to hide in the forest without being noticed.

The only thing she can do is cook, and even that is difficult, given that they are in a forest with meager supplies. Still, she wants to contribute, so she makes the most of little ingredients that grow in the forest, grateful for the time when she had easy access to cookbooks and 28 years to learn how flavors compliment each other. Robin is appreciative, it seems, though he disapproves of her cooking methods because, admittedly, they are dangerous. He tells her he is fine with charred unseasoned meat and overripe fruit, because they are safe.

"You keep spoiling me and I may become picky," he laments as he moans into a well seasoned, perfectly cooked stew. "Besides, we both know that cooking like you do is risky. Hours with a burning flame? You know the smoke gives our location to anyone nearby. No more of this, yeah?"

"No. Just because we live like animals doesn't mean we have to eat like animals," she argues.

She works on her magic every night. Spends every hour until she falls asleep trying, until tears of frustration and worry (and yes,��of fear) fall quietly while Robin sleeps.

And then in the morning she throws on her simple garments and cooks.

He's right, though. She's making another complicated stew that she's been brewing since dawn when she hears the mob approach. Robin curses and gives her a look, that look, the look that says he was right and she was wrong. The look that says this all her fault, that she's ruined his life, that she's a burden, that she's…

He throws dirt on the fire and snuffs it out hissing "Come on," to her, motioning to a nearby tree.

He makes it there first despite the fact he's carrying a small bag of their supplies. This particular tree is big and tall, without branches until several feet in the air, not climbable, if not for the rope he's wound around the thick branch high above them.

"You first, now."

It's not the first time they've used a tall tree as a hiding place, but this is so close to camp…

"Here? Shouldn't we... put some distance between us and camp?"

"Do we have time to argue?" Robin asks in an angry whisper. "They could be coming from different angles, this is safest. And besides, they won't look for us here, so close to camp."

He's an idiot. Such an idiot. But he's right; they do not have time to argue. So she shimmies up the rope and he follows. He's barely had time to pull the rope back up when the guards come, inspecting the campsite.

"Fire was just put out, they didn't go far," says a guard. "Search every direction, they left in a hurry so it must be someone with something to hide.

"Someone should stay here, in case they return," says a guard, peering into the stew.

Regina elbows Robin in the ribs and hisses "You see? Bad idea, they are going to wait on us all night."

Robin whimpers in pain and rubs his ribs tenderly. "Ow. Why are you blaming me? That guard only suggested that because of your stew. Look at him, the fat bastard, I guarantee he'll eat the whole pot while everyone else is off looking for us."

He's right, unfortunately. This Robin is good at reading people, he may be crap at everything else, but... he can sense a person's motivations like none other.

And as he man helps himself to Regina's meal (it wasn't even finished, it had to to simmer for a few more hours, dammit), Robin shoots her another I told you so glance.

"Your need to play culinary queen of the forest strikes again," he mutters, "Now we are feeding the people who want to kill us, wonderful…"

He's right, and it hurts, but she's the Queen, and he should not talk to her that way. "Oh shut up," she hisses back, "you kept saying you didn't even like that stew, what are you so upset about?"

"Oh, of course I liked the stew, it is bloody amazing!" he argues, "I don't like that we need to luxurious meals, when we are running for our lives, but I guess I should have expected this while traveling with a queen. The next time I enter the outlaw life it won't be with royalty, I can tell you that."

Her face flushes red, and her heart sinks. He resents her already, it seems. So now she will go. "Well, good news, we will stay up here until the man falls asleep and then we can climb down from here, and it's the last you'll ever have to see of me."

He looks perplexed. "What does that mean?" he asks, "Where do you plan to go?"

She shrugs. "Anywhere is better than here. I'll figure it out. On my own. I'm best on my own."

Robin rolls his eyes. "Yes, you'll be better off without me, because I've been such a terror to you. Remind me again, whose fault is it that we are up in a tree?"

"Mine!" she nearly shouts, remembering just in time that she must whisper. "It's my fault, this whole thing is my fault. I've been nothing but a burden since I arrived. I'm utterly useless without my magic. I won't stay that way. I'll make it on my own. You're free of me, Locksley."

She crosses her arms and moves as far away from him as she can, but they are in a tree together, and unless she's climbing up or down, they are stuck, right against one another. She hates this.

"You're not a burden, Regina," Robin says softly, after a few minutes of silence. "And you're certainly not useless. I get it, you can't use your magic, and it's a struggle to not have such power…"

"It's not just that—" she protests, but he brings a finger to his lips, and she finds herself obeying, letting him say his peace.

"I've had… partners over the years. No one can climb a rope quite like you. No one has taken to tracking quite as fast. And when I distracted that merchant, the way you pilfered those goods without him ever noticing, I could not have done that alone, and it is not something just anyone could do. So give yourself some credit, okay?"

She hadn't... she really hadn't thought of those things as a skill. But he seems so sincere. She's used to offering so much more, it seems impossible that only contributing this much would mean anything… It doesn't feed them or clothe them or protect them as much as he….

"I can cook," she finally says meekly, and he chuckles and nods, mutters a You certainly can , but he doesn't get it, so she elaborates. "I can't do much, but I can cook. That's why… I keep insisting. It's all I feel I can offer."

"Bollocks, you offer loads more than that," Robin scoffs. "I wouldn't pick anyone else to stay by my side. To be quite honest, I highly doubt anyone could take my company for this long uninterrupted. That's why I'm usually alone." He cups her chin tenderly and looks her in the eye. "I much prefer it this way. I'll take living in trees and hiding in bushes for the rest of our lives over living my old life. So don't leave me alone again."

She blinks back tears, contemplating his words. She wants so desperately to tell him that she doesn't want to leave, that this is the closest she's been to happy since the brief time she had the old Robin in her life, when she let herself dream she'd have a family. But she still feels so vulnerable, so easily broken that sharing this with him seems too dangerous for her poor heart. So she nods, and says nothing.

Robin, however, has more to say. "I hear you at night." he says softly. He looks down as if ashamed of himself. And he should be, that's spying, he's been pretending to be asleep when…

"I didn't know how to bring it up," he explains, "you work yourself to the bone trying to bring your magic back. You don't have to. Let it come, or hell, let it stay away. We don't need it. We have each other. We're a good team without the magic, yeah? So stop beating yourself up at night. And for the last time, stop cooking because you think you need to contribute. You contribute a fuck lot just by being you."

Tears come, but it's getting dark now, and maybe he doesn't see them. Maybe. She keeps her voice steady as she whispers "Alright," into the dusk air.

He smiles and raises an eyebrow suggestively. "Also… I know we're currently in a tree, but... I miss this. " He grabs at her waist and kisses her, letting his hands wander, rubbing over her breasts down to the swell of her backside. "I know you're new to the bandit lifestyle, but once you adjust, I do hope we can resume these… activities more often."

Regina sighs, tries not to look too terribly affected (she likes when he talks like this to her, loves it, really, but she shouldn't) but can't help biting her lip as she rolls her eyes. "I guess we'll have to see if you're able to win me over," she chirps softly.

He laughs and shakes his head, tells her he intends to do just that.

The guard falls asleep after eating nearly half a pot of stew (she can take the credit for that one, Robin says, her stew is so homey and warm it can settle nearly anyone to sleep), and they escape, taking off into the forest to make yet another new start.

This time, Regina feels much stronger, and even lets herself become optimistic that this is a life that could work for them.

In three days' time, her magic returns to her, gentle, like a feather falling on her back. She feels it, feels the warm power pulsing through her.

For her first act of magic she poofs a perfectly cooked stew into Robin's hands. As he looks at the bowl, awestruck, she chuckles.

"I'm tired of playing bandit," she muses, a fake pout on her lips. "I have an idea for a new place we could go. How do you feel about yet another fresh start?"

"With you?" he asks, a glimmer in his eye. "Absolutely."

She smiles slyly and presents him with the sparkling bean she had been able to uncover with her newfound magic, and tells him, "Let's go find ourselves a home."

[clan-fuildarach]

beginner mistakes 

vaska returns to her old fuckup ways and also is a useless lesbian about ailbhe

~

After fleeing the market in disgrace, the Cú na Mara had found another safe port a little further north. Morning dawned bright and breezy, as wind from the interior of the Windswept Plateau cleared away the oppressive heat rising from the Ashfall Waste.

Vaska stood at the crow's nest, gazing out at the coastline with wide eyes. It was so rare to see such a nice view without having to bother with flying. Leaning against the wooden railings, she stared off into the distance, trying to catch a glimpse of the Cloudsong. The cloud-scudded sky was empty of any tell-tale flash of orange.

“Hey! Hey, Vaska!”

She turned to see Lehine and Ailbhe pull themselves up into the crow's nest. Vaska studiously avoided looking at Ailbhe. Lehine was waving a couple of large green glass bottles.

“Check it out,” Lehine said excitedly, producing a corkscrew from somewhere in her clothing. Handing one bottle to Vaska, she set about starting to uncork the second.

Vaska turned over the bottle, searching for a label. “What is it?”

“I don't know,” Lehine said, “but it was the cheapest shit I could find at the market. The shopkeeper said it would burn my mouth out!” Apparently very enthusiastic about this thought, she gave the corkscrew a final inexpert tug and succeeded in opening the bottle.

“I've been telling her we shouldn't,” Ailbhe said, in a vaguely pained tone. “We can't be getting drunk when there's work to do, right? Why don't we wait until this evening?”

“Don't be silly,” Lehine said, taking a sip directly from the bottle. Lowering it with a gasp, she went on rather hoarsely, “there's nothing going on, Leo and the others are out looking for another market. We just have to hang out here until he gets back.” She elbowed Vaska with a grin. “Tell her, Vaska.”

Vaska bit her lip. Both of them raised good points, but disagreeing with Lehine would seem cowardly, and disagreeing with Ailbhe just didn't sit well with Vaska. But, at the same time, Vaska didn't want to look churlish in front of Ailbhe.

“It should be fine,” Vaska said. “We can just stay up here.”

Ailbhe thought about it for a good few seconds, a tiny, adorable frown on her face. Then she nodded and smiled, flashing her stubby tusks. Vaska felt herself blushing and quickly turned away again.

It was nice. Just the three of them and two bottles of unspecified alcohol that may or may not have actually been floor cleaner. They sat together, Lehine complaining loudly about how the market trip had been cut short the night before, Ailbhe visibly struggling not to gag every time she raised the bottle to her lips. Vaska sat directly beside her, thigh-to-thigh.

Ailbhe's hand lay, unsuspecting, on the floor. Vaska stared at it. The conversation – both Lehine and Ailbhe were now sharing stories about their childhood in the Sunbeam Ruins – had started to pass right over Vaska's head. Someone passed the bottle to her and she took it without really paying attention, almost spilling half her mouthful of drink down her front.

“Vaska, are you okay?” Ailbhe had turned in to face her; Lehine had wandered off and was trying to climb one of the innumerable ropes running from the mast.

Vaska nodded quickly. “I'm fine. Um. How are you?”

Ailbhe smiled. Vaska literally felt her heart skip a beat.

“I'm fine! Can't complain – I got a letter from my parents a couple of days ago, it was really sweet.” Her golden eyes were so warm. Any more drinking and Vaska would probably start composing poetry about them. She hastily set down the bottle.

“That's really great,” Vaska said, stumbling over her words a little. “I remember them from my training, your mother is so sweet. Your father, is, uh...”

Ailbhe laughed. “I know, I know, but you get used to it.” She sighed wistfully and reached for Vaska's hand all on her own. Abruptly, Vaska didn't know whether she was supposed to be happy or horrified, surely her hand was all awful and sweaty, why would Ailbhe ever want to hold it-

“I heard about the healing thing,” Ailbhe said, apparently blissfully unaware of the minor mental breakdown Vaska was going through. “That you can't get a proper tutor. That sucks!”

This was a good distraction. Vaska nodded. “I really wanted to be a healer, too, I thought it was, like... my whole future... but no one wants to teach me.” She squeezed Ailbhe's hand for support. “What's wrong with me? Luke was fine with it before but now I think I've done something wrong and I don't know what... maybe I should apologise...”

“Well, I don't know about that,” Ailbhe said. “I don't think you did anything wrong? Everyone is really busy and maybe the healers don't have time to take on an apprentice. It's probably not your fault.”

Vaska nodded, reassured. “Yeah... yeah, maybe I should just try in a couple of months, or when Fiach isn't so busy with Tadhg.”

“That's a good idea,” Ailbhe said encouragingly. She glanced away briefly, almost bashfully. “To tell you the truth, I really like hanging out with you and, um, it would suck if you had to have healing lessons all the time... but that's kind of selfish, I guess.” She shrugged limply. “Sorry.”

Do something, Vaska's inebriated mind screamed at her. Kiss her! But what if Vaska was reading the signals wrong, what if Ailbhe really did just think they should be friends, what if-

Oh, shit, she was still waiting for a response. “Uh,” Vaska stammered out, “don't be sorry. I feel the same way. This is... fun.”

Ailbhe was getting kind of close. Really close. Vaska couldn't move for a moment, and then it all just sort of came naturally to her, her awkwardness and anxiety scrubbed away by Ailbhe's warm presence.

They were inches apart, Vaska's eyes drifting shut in anticipation, when Lehine fell. The rope simply gave way, and with a yelp Lehine was gone.

“Oh my gods!” Ailbhe leapt to her feet, releasing Vaska, and ran to the edge of the crow's nest. Vaska followed, her heart pounding, and leant over.

Lehine had fallen once before from the top of the mainmast but that time she'd managed to catch a roll of sailcloth and break her fall. She'd had no such luck this time. Far below on the swaying deck, a small ring of dragons stood around Lehine's still form.

It was a mad rush to get down to the deck, Ailbhe hot on Vaska's heels, the rope ladders burning at their palms. Vaska reached the deck in record time, staggering slightly as she attempted to keep her balance.

“Is she okay?” she called, pushing through the dragons to reach Lehine.

Lehine was breathing, but her breaths were tight and shallow. She clutched at her calf, where – oh, gods, Vaska could hardly look. There were shards of bone tenting the skin, poking out in places, leaking golden blood. Vaska turned away, nauseated.

“Lehine!” Ailbhe threw herself down by Lehine's head. “Hey, stay awake. We'll get a healer.”

Lehine groaned something indecipherable.

“What was that?” Ailbhe said, concerned.

“Ha... ha,” Lehine said weakly. “you guys are so... fucking gay...”

“Ssh, don't speak,” Ailbhe said. She glanced up. “Someone get a healer!”

No one moved. Tadhg, the youngest in the crowd, raised his hand as if he was answering a question in class. “Um,” he said in a tiny voice, “dad and Luke are out... I think Zeta went with them.”

Vaska forced herself to look at Lehine's injury again. It was a broken leg. Just a broken leg. But the sight of it brought back horrible, blood-soaked memories of the clan camp burning around her, Faolín bleeding out... Vaska had been unable to help out then. But now she could. Before refusing to teach her any further, Luke had taught her how to mend broken bones.

How difficult could it be?

“They'll be back soon, right?” Ailbhe said.

Tadhg only shrugged.

“No, it's okay,” Vaska said, “I know this. Someone get me some paper and ink.”

“My hero,” Lehine gasped, as Tadhg ran off to plunder Fiach's supplies.

Now armed with paper and a pen, Vaska set about cutting the paper into spell tags, running through her limited knowledge in her head. There was the healing rune, the depth modifier, the time – well, she didn't know how long it would take, so she could leave that out. This was a bigger heal than the minor cuts and fractures she'd attempted in the past.

“Ailbhe, Ailbhe-” Lehine grabbed at Ailbhe's hand as Vaska started to write. “If I die here... promise me... you'll actually kiss Vaska-”

Vaska finished the first line of her spell and quickly placed the tag onto Lehine's leg. Blood began to soak into the paper.

“Shut up,” Ailbhe said, with a faint, shaky grin, “it's just a broken leg, you're not going to die.”

Lehine snorted in amusement. “On second thought, maybe... climbing the ropes was a mistake...”

The bleeding was stopping. Vaska added another script to the tag, this one focussing on drawing the fragments of bone back together into a whole. Heat radiated from the paper as the spells took effect.

Vaska was just finishing up the second tag when Lehine froze. A deep shudder ran through her body. Then she started to cough.

“Uh... that shouldn't happen,” Vaska said quietly. She glanced back at her tags, reading through the spell scripts, trying to spot the mistake. Lehine was hacking and retching now, blood running down from her lips. It looked like she was trying to cough up a lung. Ailbhe tried to hold her still but Lehine was shuddering, bringing up bloody mucous and... something else.

Tadhg, who'd hung around to watch, abruptly turned and waved. Vaska sat back, numbly reading and re-reading her spells, feeling increasingly faint. She'd done something wrong, but she didn't know what.

“Dad!” Tadhg called. “Hey, Lehine's hurt!”

Vaska turned. The exploration party had returned, just in time to catch her in the act of killing one of her best friends. Fiach was with Leo, showing off a new pen he'd just bought. Luke and Rúth were both burdened by heavy rolls of paper, chatting animatedly.

Fiach's smile fell away and he started hobbling over, but Luke got to Vaska first. Dumping the paper unceremoniously on the deck, they snatched the pen off Vaska and got to work. They didn't talk to her. They didn't even look at her.

Vaska sat aside, nausea tugging at her guts. Luke discarded her spell tags and instructed Ailbhe to tear up some of the fresh paper to make new tags. They wrote without hesitation, and within a minute Lehine's chest was plastered with glowing spell tags, her leg ignored for the time being. Slowly, she stopped coughing. Her breaths turned into a weak wheeze.

Rúth leant over the scene curiously, apparently the only person present who wasn't particularly concerned about Lehine.

Finally, Lehine's breaths evened out. She remained unconscious, but the sound of her steady breathing was enough to bring tears of relief to Vaska's eyes. Luke turned their attention to Lehine's broken leg, writing a short and very simple spell that served to make Vaska feel even more embarrassed.

“Is she going to be okay?” Ailbhe said softly.

“She'll live.” Luke rose to their feet and stretched, discarding their pen. Then – just as Vaska had been dreading – they faced her for the first time.

“Luke,” Vaska said faintly, “I-”

“Come with me.” They grabbed her by the upper arm and practically dragged her away from Lehine, towards the edge of the deck. Vaska scrambled upright and allowed herself to be led, her head low, her face on fire. Luke shoved her against the railings and released her, watching her expectantly.

“There was no other healer around,” she said quietly. “I thought she was going to bleed out. Otherwise I'd have waited, I really would...”

“Well, you're not wrong,” Luke said. “Blood loss is a major concern with compound fractures.”

Vaska frowned. “So... what did I do?”

“You didn't limit the speed,” Luke said. Amazingly, they didn't even seem angry. “It went too fast and caused some neoplasia, which metastitised... you can always tell when they start coughing like that, it's when you know it has spread to the lungs.”

“Oh.” Vaska stared out at the gentle sea, then quickly glanced back at them. “Was she... was she going to die?”

“Yes. And even now, her lung function might be impaired for the rest of her life.” Luke met her eyes. “Vaska, this is very serious magic. You know enough to be dangerous, and that's my fault, I suppose. Not that you're completely free of responsibility, because, honestly, one of the very first things I told you was that you have to place limitations on a spell. So that one's on you.”

Vaska nodded, accepting this.

“Look,” Luke said. “If you come down to my room later I'll show you what exactly you should have done back then. And then... well, I guess then I should teach you how to reverse the neoplasia... and then how to restore lung function...”

Vaska's eyes widened. “You mean-”

Luke made a bad-natured noise, then nodded. “Yeah. Fine. I'll be your... your teacher. And you'd better appreciate it, I have a busy schedule and it's not my decision to train someone how not to kill people. But I don't have a choice.”

A shaky, delighted grin appeared on Vaska's face. “Oh my gods – do I need, like, equipment or anything? How early in the morning should I visit? I can-”

“On second thought,” Luke said, cutting her off with an upraised hand, “how about I go to you when we have a lesson. Or whatever. Anyway, I'll be busy looking after your friend so I suppose you can shadow me for that.”

“Right,” Vaska said, nodding eagerly. “Thank you so much, uh, sir? No, professor – doctor?”

“It's just Luke.”

“Of course, duh – um, I'd better go and check on Ailbhe... and apologise to Lehine. Is that okay?”

Looking all too pleased to get rid of her, Luke nodded and waved her away.