#just to feel her pelt my face with spit while she holds hands with the sweet boy she met.

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Eight (Part 2)

The thing I simultaneously love and hate about St. Stephen’s night is that you get to see everyone you’ve ever known on the streets of your hometown. There’s the kids you knew in primary school, the girls from your swimming club, your 5th year maths teacher, everyone and anyone you’ve encountered in your life is somewhere among the heaving crowds of one hopping pub or the other, and if everyone has had enough to drink they might even feel moved to speak to each other. 

Claire and I squeeze into a pub that we frequented a lot during 6th year and the moment we’re inside I know that finding a seat will be a rare chance. People are everywhere and the sound is utterly cacophonous. She reaches for my hand and together we wrestle through the crowd and eventually find ourselves spit out into the smoking area where there’s a tiny corner of space just enough for us to squeeze into. Claire takes out her phone and immediately starts tapping out a message. 

“For Shane.” She explains. “He’s already here… somewhere.” Sure enough within moments he appears holding three pints in his hands with the skill and precision of an Oktoberfest beer maid. He holds his laden hands out to me and when I hesitate unsure what to do he says “The middle one there, grab the middle one off me.” I gingerly slip it out of his hands and then he gives the other one to Claire along with a kiss on the forehead. 

“Heineken?” I whine when I realise what he’s given me. “I hate Heineken.”

“Don’t drink it then.” He rolls his eyes. “Here, give it back, I’ll have it.”

“No.” I say, holding it out of his reach, because far be it from me to deny free beer. “It’s fine, I’ll suffer through it.”

“You’re such a baby.”

I give him the finger as I take a drink from my pint, not enjoying one moment of it and Claire sighs impatiently. “You two.” she says. “You act like children, did you know that?”

“No, Evie does.” Shane rebuttals, which makes me snort. 

“You’re way worse.” 

“Nah.”

“Yes! I’ll never forgive you for pelting me with stones in your driveway. You were such a bold child.”

“Ah yeah, like ten years ago.”

“You wish you still could sometimes.” I say gleefully. “You get the same look on your face whenever I’m annoying you. Like right now! I know you would if you could. Go on, grab a handful of gravel, there.”

“You’d swear you were actual siblings.” Claire drawls, and Shane pulls a horrible face at me that makes me want to burst out laughing. He really has been the closest thing to a brother that I’ve ever had, just like Kelly used to feel like a sister to me sometimes, but if someone had told me just two years ago that I’d be closer to him than I was to her I wouldn’t have believed them. When I remember Kelly I get a terrible, sick feeling inside and I wonder to myself whether she’s here tonight. I find myself scanning quickly over the crowd for a sign of her, but there isn’t one. Feeling more subdued all of a sudden, I go back to drinking my pint.

I’m only an hour into the night when I realise I am not there to actually enjoy myself and catch up with old acquaintances. At one moment as I tussle into the bar for the fourth time I realise that I am there to get drunk, extremely, mind altering drunk so that I can forget about the shambles of my Christmas and get to a point that I’m too incoherent to keep repeating the same lie to people about how I had a nice time with my family, and pretend that I didn’t spend it sulking in bed while the rest of them played awkward scrabble downstairs next to my dad who was passed out in an armchair by five o’clock. 

Uncle Sean gave me a hundred euro for Christmas, but after about an hour I’ve whittled it down by half, and I’m sure by the end of the night the rest of it will be spent too. At a certain point I give up on pints, which are just making me need to pee every fifteen minutes, and make the switch to spirits. I order another two whiskeys and fill them up with ginger ale and then I go and stand with a group of people who I knew in school so that I don’t appear to be drinking alone. They’re talking about something that I find boring. Every conversation I’ve dipped into tonight has been boring and I wonder if it really is true what people in Dublin say about those from the country, that it’s all shallow, dull conversation that either centres around sports or their family’s farm. A girl next to me is recycling some gossipy story about someone from school that I heard two years ago and at that point I can’t stand it anymore. I down both whiskies one after another and slink off to find something else to do. 

“Woah, slow down there Evie.” I hear one of them say as I turn away and they all laugh. I’m already reaching that dizzy, double vision stage of drunkenness and I welcome it openly, allowing the numbing drowsiness to envelop me wholly and feel my coordination lapse. I don’t want to think anymore. 

At some point I find myself back at the bar, and I stand and wait for what feels like eternity as the barmen ignore me continuously. I reach out my hand as one of them comes close “Sorry there, can I get-” He serves the person behind me instead. I find the barstool behind my legs and slump into it hoping that it might anchor me a bit as the room starts to tilt. 

“Gin and tonic, please.” There is a familiar voice beside me and I turn my head to see a fuzzy version of Kelly standing nearby. I wonder if she’s seen me yet. Her features are moving around her face in front of my eyes, but I know it’s her. She looks different with her hair straightened and I kind of want to tell her that. I also don’t want her to be angry with me anymore, and I see this as a good moment to start that conversation. 

“Kelly.” I say, and she snaps around to look at me. It must be the first time we’ve made eye contact in a year. “Hi.” I say, and I can see her mouth tighten into a thin line as she hands her debit card to the barman. She says nothing to me. 

I try again and I reach out to touch her arm and am aware of how sweaty my hand is against her smooth skin. She flinches away immediately, eyes blazing. “What do you want?” I drop my hand onto my lap pathetically. “I wanted to say hello.”

“The state of you.” She retorts. “I wouldn’t be seen in public hanging over a bar pissed drunk like that.” I can tell she wants to leave but the bartender is still making her drink so she can’t. She starts looking at the exit, over my shoulder for someone else to talk to, anything to get away from this conversation I’ve roped her into. It makes me feel unbearably sad. 

“Why do you always run away from me?” I say miserably. “You never want to talk about why we aren’t friends.”

“There isn’t anything to say.”

“It’s not fair, you can’t just walk away from it all. I didn’t do anything wrong-”

“You were an awful friend.” She cuts in. “Hanging out with you was fucking shit, alright?” 

“Not always.” I say, offended, and then she ignores me and takes out her phone to scroll through it as a last resort. I feel like I’m going to start crying as the gravity of it all comes crashing over me. How we were so close for so many years, we shared everything with each other, I know everything about this girl and yet we’re strangers now. It makes my heart feel like it’s breaking. 

With a last ditch effort, I attempt to compliment her. “Your hair is nice like that.” I say, and I reach out to touch it, only she doesn’t hear me, and as she flinches away from me in alarm some of it gets tangled in my rings and I end up yanking it. 

She makes a horrified, furious face. “Ouch!” She exclaims, and I see her eyes blaze, wide with disbelief as she holds onto the part of her scalp that I wrenched. “Did you just pull my hair?” 

“No!” I start to protest, but there are murmurs in the crowd around us. I look over my shoulder and two girls are whispering about me while someone else is shaking their head. Kelly steps in closer to me, leaning over a barstool so that we’re almost nose to nose. “You’re a bitch.” She hisses. “Go fucking die.” She takes someone’s warm, discarded pint off the bar and throws it over my top and I cry out in shock. Everyone is looking, everyone is laughing, and then something terrible happens to me. 

I start to get angry. Really angry.

I lash out at her before I can stop myself, and my hands shove her arms away from me, sending the pint glass straight to the floor where it shatters into smithereens, then I lunge towards her and shove her into the crowd of men behind her. “You’re a bitch!” I shriek. She looks like she’s going to murder me then, and comes, coming at me with her hands clawing at the air and her face contorted like a wild animal. As time slows down I ask myself, am I really about to get into a fist fight with Kelly? I’m bracing myself for her nails on me when I am yanked from the scene with violent speed, and all of a sudden Shane is in my face instead. 

“What is wrong with you?” He’s shouting, and the ferocity in his voice brings startled tears to my eyes. I don’t know what to say. He’s holding me by my upper arms and squeezing me and it hurts but I don’t dare say anything about it. “Get outside.” He kicks open a side door and throws me outside into an alley filled with used beer kegs and plastic crates. My legs almost give out underneath me and I stumble backwards into the wall. 

Prev // Next

[nastybuckybarnes]

Hoist The Colours  -  3/3

Pairing: Pirate!Bucky X SeaGoddess!Reader 

Summary: An encounter with the man you used to love lands you and your new crew in peril, stuck on a ship with the people responsible for binding you. And what they have planned for you is far worse than what you’d first imagined.

Warnings: Language, Angst, Fluff, Violence, Injuries, Death,

Word Count: 2.2K

A/n: Oof another thing is finished. I’m gonna start actually finishing stuff but Idk what to write I’m sad that my stuff is ending :( But I hope you enjoy this!

~*~

The door to your cell gets wrenched open, pulling you from your light sleep.

“You!” Rumlow snarls, grabbing you by the throat and lifting you to your feet.

“Where have they taken my prisoners?” You furrow your brows, yanking out of his grip.

“How am I supposed to know? I was left behind.” He grinds his teeth together and grabs your bicep, dragging you out of your cell and onto the main deck.

The clouds are dark and gloomy, the waters wild and violent, but not by your doing.

“You must’ve helped them, that other witch too! So tell me, how did you do it?” He shoves you and you gasp, tumbling onto the wet wood of the deck.

“How could I have helped them? You have me chained up like a dog!” You spit, glaring up at him. He stoops down to your level, grabbing your face harshly.

“You will watch your tongue or you will lose it. You do not need your voice to do my bidding.” He shoves you back down and you bite back a yelp of pain.

The sky darkens further, thunder booming and clouds rolling in.

“I will never do your bidding!” You snarl, a flash of lightning punctuating your words.

Rumlow’s eyes widen for a moment, and then he’s got his sword pointed at you, the tip just brushing your throat.

“On your feet, witch!” You obey, standing up with your chin held high.

“You will do my bidding, or you will join all those who you have sent to the depths. It is your choice.” You follow his gaze over your shoulder to where the plank is being extended over the raging ocean.

You look back at him, jaw set, and he knows you’ve made your decision.

The wind whips around your hair as he walks you to the plank, his sword digging into your back just hard enough to cause discomfort, but not pain, not yet.

You carefully step onto the plank, taking deep breaths of the salty air as the water rages beneath you.

“I will give you one last chance, wench. I will spare your life, all you need do is swear your powers to me. You’ll have the sea back in your grasp, the power to do what you please. You need only do so at my side.”

Raindrops splatter against your face, just gently at first, until you’re consumed in an intense storm, the water pelting down against you.

“You’ve forgotten, Captain, that you are not sending me to the depths,” you look over your shoulder at him with a small smile, “you are sending me home.”

You look down at the water, preparing yourself for the cool embrace, when a particularly harsh wave rocks against the ship, sending you stumbling back a step.

A wave rises up over the ship, a spiral of green swirling inside of it and for a moment you think that you’ve already died.

The wave crashes against the ship, sending the men falling and scrambling, submerging the deck for a moment.

But you stay rooted in place, the familiar green hue just touching your fingertips, the ends of your hair, then slowly becoming part of you once more.

You hear the men shouting and coughing, feel Rumlow’s sword pressed against your back once again, but you only turn around to face him.

The storm continues, the waves fighting the ship, and you cock your head to the side, sending a gust of wind towards the man threatening you. He stumbles back, eyes wide with fear.

“H-how do you...” You take slow steps towards him, waving your hand behind you as his crew-mates try to run at you. The wind pushes them back, keeping them a safe distance from you and the captain.

“You will give me answers and you will give them to me now!” You hiss, glaring daggers at him.

“Whatever it is that you wish to know, I will tell you. Just please, spare my life.”

You watch him for a long moment, fighting tears as the question bubbles out of you.

“Why? Why did he do it?”

Rumlow only shakes his head, on his knees and ready to beg for mercy.

“’twas me... I caused him to do it. With the help of a siren for the price of his left arm, I got the binding spell from him. He knew not what he was doing, though he gave the information.” You let out a shaky breath, a weight lifted off of your shoulders.

“All this time I had thought it was he who betrayed me... but it wasn’t.” You turn your gaze to him, eyes glowing green with the influx of power.

“It was you. You and your greed.” He shakes his head and scrambles back desperately.

You step aside as a sword comes down right where you were standing, and Rumlow uses your momentary distraction to sprint away.

“Kill her! Kill the Witch!” He shouts, grabbing his own sword.

You shake your head, the wind whipping strong enough to keep them away.

A nagging in your mind stops you for a moment, and a smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

“The King and his men stole the queen from her bed... and bound her in her bones.” Your voice travels on the wind.

“The seas be ours, and by the powers, where we will, we’ll roam.”

“Captain! We’ve got a ship coming up starboard!” A man shouts, pointing his sword at the familiar ship.

“They’re upon us! Battle stations!” The men scramble to their stations, trying to get prepared as the ship approaches.

“Yo ho, all hands, hoist the colours high. Heave ho, thieves and beggars, never shall we die.” The voices ring out to you clear as day, responding to the call.

It’s only a matter of moments before canons start firing and men start boarding the ship, swords clashing and guns firing.

Your eyes scan the crowd, freezing on a man approaching you. You simply look at him and he crumples to the ground, grabbing at his throat.

“Rumlow!” You shout, following your instincts up to the foredeck and finding the captain cowering, exactly how you thought he would.

“You want to throw me overboard, captain?” You sneer his title, taking another step towards him. He stumbles back, slipping on the wet wood and scrambling away from you and towards the main deck.

“You forget that I am the sea and all things in it.”

The rain pelts down on you and the wind whips your hair around your face wildly, your eyes glowing green with the force of your power.

At that moment, you look every bit the sea goddess that the stories described. And today, you’re planning on being just as cruel.

“You stripped me of my purpose, my power. Bound me to my form and took away my reason for existence! You sacrificed the man I love for your own greedy gain. What do you have to say for yourself?” Your powers protect you from the fighting around you, the man before you protected as well.

No one will take your vengeance from you.

“I’m sorry!” He cries, slipping back further.

You shake your head and grab him by the front of his tunic, tossing his sword aside and glaring into his eyes.

“No, you’re not. Not yet. But you will be, that I promise you.”

You cock your head to the side, your free hand coming up, fingers flexed.

The water on the deck swirls around your ankles, clawing up the man before you.

“You’ve never had your purpose taken from you because a man like you has no purpose.” You twist your wrist, controlling the water around you and watch in satisfaction as his eyes widen, the water rising up over his face.

“So what else can I take, but your life?” You ask rhetorically, watching as the water trickles into his mouth and nose, slowly at first, then picking up speed.

He tries to claw at you, but his hands can’t reach you. His struggles are futile, though that doesn’t stop him.

You steal the life away from him, exactly the way he did to you.

He collapses on the ground, his body convulsing for a moment before falling still, death embracing him.

You take a deep breath, embracing your freedom, then slowly turn around.

You’re instantly meet with piercing blue eyes staring at you from across the ship. His chest is heaving and he’s squinting through the downpour, but his eyes are on you.

You walk over to him, the rain lessening with each step you take until you’re right in front of him.

The wind dies down and the ocean becomes calm. The fighting around you draws to a sombre end, victory on the tip of your tongue.

His sword clatters to the ground, his hands finding yours ever so gently, his eyes filled with so many emotions.

“Gentlemen, the ship is ours!” Steve shouts, a smile on his face. You turn around, pulling Bucky’s arms around your waist as you watch the crew celebrate their success.

Your eyes find Wanda’s and Tony’s through the crowd, both of them smiling brightly up at you.

The two crews celebrate, Pirates and Kingsmen, and you can’t help but smile at them.

“Back to the ship! We’ve gotten what we came for. The King can enjoy plundering Rumlow’s ship. I trust that will keep him off of our back for a while, yes?” Steve looks at Tony pointedly and the brunet nods.

You step out of your lover’s arms and walk down to the two men, one hand gently finding Tony’s forearm.

“I owe you a debt, Tony. One I fear I may never be able to repay.” He shakes his head, taking your hands gently in his and smiling at you.

“You’ve no debt to be paid. But if you feel so inclined, could you maybe hold back any storms for the next day or so? I’d like a chance to dry my clothes.” You giggle and nod, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you, for all that you’ve done for myself and Wanda.” He gives you a tender smile and nods.

“It’s what I wish had been done for my mother.” He sniffles then straightens up.

“Now come on, men. It’s time we return to the King!” His crew-mates start busying themselves quickly.

“Alright lads, back to the ship!” Steve calls, leading his own crew members to their ship.

You watch as everyone eagerly crosses, smiling encouragingly at Wanda. She crosses swiftly, her eyes drawing to the helmsman for a moment.

“Are you ready?” A soft voice asks from behind you. You take a breath then nod, looking over at him.

“Yes.”

The two of you cross back to his ship, the ship almost cooing at you as soon as your feet hit the deck. You can’t fight the smile the spreads on your face at being back, and you don’t try to.

“It’s good to have you back,” Steve says, giving you a nod. You do the same, sighing happily.

“It’s good to be back, Steve.” Bucky takes your hand then and tugs you gently towards his quarters.

The door closes softly behind you and you take a moment to reacquaint yourself with the room.

You can feel his eyes on you, the tension palpable but not unpleasant.

Without looking at him, you speak.

“Could you help me out of my gown? It’s far too heavy.” He walks towards you, untying the back and watching as the fabric slides down your body, leaving you only in your white slip.

His hands hesitantly trail over your skin, one cold and one hot and the contrast is so delicious.

You close your eyes and lean into his touch, head falling to the side as he presses soft kisses to your neck.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you, my love,” he whispers against your skin, spinning you around to face him.

You gaze up at him lovingly, one hand coming up to cup his jaw.

“Show me,” you whisper, leaning up to gently brush your lips over his.

“Show me how much you missed me. Give me a reason to clear the skies and calm the seas. Make me give us good wind and easy sail. Prove to me that you’re still worthy of my mercy.”

He brings your hand to his mouth, kissing each one of your fingers then smiling.

“I’ll never truly be worthy of your mercy. But I am more than willing to both swear and prove my loyalty to you. I will give myself over to you; body, heart, mind, and soul.”

You look up at him tenderly, cupping his cheek gently.

“I will sail to the ends of the Earth for you, fight the gods if I need to. Anything to keep you in my arms.”

“My heart belongs to you, James. And never will it belong to anyone else.”

[jasontoddswhitestreak]

fluff prompts 10 & 19 with pietro maximoff would be so cute 🥺

elevator talk

summary: while on a mission with the avengers team you manage to save pietro’s life leading him to want to show his appreciation for you inspired by this prompt list

content warning: pietro maximoff x fem!reader, fluff, slight angst, mentions of blood, set after age of ultron but pietro never dies and civil war doesn’t take place <3

note: i hope i don’t disappoint you with this fluff! i’ve been reading more quicksilver comics recently and this is the outcome of that :)

REQUESTS ARE OPEN! (lmk if you want to see anymore content like this <3)

masterlist

"Remind me again, why did the ENTIRE team need to come on this mission?" You complained, fighting off two grown men while waiting for the signal Tony was supposed to give to tell you it's safe to go inside the building.

"Call it a group bonding session." Tony teased while flying near the building in his Iron Man suit, trying to figure out how to lower the shields. Ever since the fall of SHIELD, it became even more difficult to find the remaining Hydra bases and due to the Ultron situation that occurred a few years ago, the difficulty only increased.

"Could we do a little less chitchat and a little more fighting?" Steve demands, you could hear Cap's grunts through your earpiece, making it obvious that he's struggling to fight off the Hydra goons.

You were a couple miles away from the building attempting to make your way closer to it, the enemies clearly noticed your arrival when they saw a person in red and yellow suit flying pass their windows, easily recognising the well known Iron Man.

And because a huge green angry Hulk isn't exactly easy to ignore.

"Clearly Cap can't keep up with us superheroes." Pietro teased, with a blink of an eye he knocked out the enemies surrounding both you and Steve.

"Thanks for the help Sonic, I'd give you some onion rings but I don't have any on me right now." You joked, smirking at the exasperated speedster that stood in front of you.

"I just saved your life and this is how you repay me Prinţesă?" He feigned hurt, placing his hand over heart.

"Saving her life? That's a bit of an exaggeration even for you Piet." Wanda's voice was heard from the comms, she managed to make her way into the building effortlessly, fighting beside Vision.

"Mind your business Wanda." Pietro scoffs biting back the smile forming on his face, he could hear his sisters laugh through the earpiece.

"As much as I love hearing the two of you argue with each other, now may not be the time." Natasha commented, followed by Clint agreeing.

You sighed, knowing they were right, focusing on the mission instead of the twin in front of you, glancing around at your surroundings. You noticed the enemies lined up behind Pietro preparing for an attack. You would've seen it earlier if it wasn't for the conversation distracting you.

You thought it was too late when you saw the bullet fly through the air, aiming directly at Pietro, it felt as though it was moving in slow motion. The piece of metal cutting through the air making its way to the speedster. Not registering the fact that Pietro had super healing abilities your mind recalled what happened in Sokovia. The bullets going through Pietro in every angle possible. Him falling onto the ground, the colour drained from his face, everyone thought he was dead, Wanda included. That was until the speedster managed to spit out a joke about Ultron's good aim.

You didn't register what you were doing until after you did it. Rushing to protect him from the bullet you pushed him out of the way last minute, the bullet barely missed him, you felt the bullet scrape against your arm instead. Pietro fell to the ground with a yelp as you fell on top of him, wincing due to the pain the bullet caused you.

Steve ran over to the two of you after knocking out the culprit.

"They're both down." Steve states, Pietro shakes his head, attempting to sit up, lifting you up and placing you in his lap comfortably.

"Why'd you do that? You know I can take bullets right?" Pietro scowled, glancing over your body to check for anymore injuries besides the bullet wound, his hands were gentle, brushing over your body in a caring manner as he lets the palm of his hands rest on the sides of your face, holding your face in his hands.

"Now i saved your life." You joked, blushing at the position the two of you were currently in and trying to hide the pain the bullet was causing you. You weren't a super soldier or someone with super healing abilities, so jumping in front of a bullet to save someone that could survive getting shot multiple times wasn't smart thinking on your part.

But you couldn't help it.

You wouldn't say you and Pietro were best friends, you did get along well but the twin refrained from getting close to any of the avengers. Your relationship consisted of teasing each other often and bumping into each other constantly during midnight, resulting in the two of you having your own midnight sessions where the two of you sat in the kitchen drinking hot chocolate.

You reminisced on the last time you had your 'midnight session' with Pietro, not being able to focus on what Pietro and Steve were saying to you, there was a loud ringing in your head, echoing as you closed your eyes to stop the headache that was forming, you felt yourself being lifted up in someone's arms.

Maybe you underestimated how bad the bullet wound was.

"Fine weather we're having don't you think?" You laughed, glancing over at the window, the heavy rain pelted against the glass of the compound, that alongside the wind that sounded much louder in your bedroom made it difficult to even attempt to sleep. You could just barely make out the trees in the distance due to the night sky.

"Didn't think you'd show up tonight, don't you need the sleep before our mission tomorrow?" Pietro questioned. He was facing the stove, you could smell the hot chocolate that was heating up. You made your way next to him, grabbing two mugs and placing them next to him before moving to the fridge to grab the whipped cream.

You swapped positions with Pietro, passing the can of whipped cream to him and grabbing the spoon that was used to stir the hot chocolate.

"Oh wait! I made cookies today, we could have them now!" You remembered, grabbing the plate of cookies from the cupboard and placing it on the table, Pietro immediately reached out for one, and then another.

"I don't know if you know this yet but, I love you." Pietro confesses, grabbing another cookie. You pushed the plate away from him before he could grab another.

"You gotta slow down Piet, don't want you emptying the plate before we even get to have the hot chocolate, now do we?" You grinned and he complains, reaching out for another.

"It's nice to know you care so much about my well-being dragă." You rolled your eyes at the smirk plastered on his face. With the blink of an eye he was stood across from you, closer to the plate of cookies, with another in his hand.

The two of you couldn't stop the smiles that formed on your face, even going to bed in a much better mood than you were in previously.

It was hours after the mission, you were patched up as soon as the quinjet landed at the compound. After a long lecture from Steve and the debriefing, you were finally able to be alone, only wanting to go back your room and sleep for days.

You made your way to the elevator that would take you to your floor, too tired to take the stairs. You attempted to fight back the tiredness, blinking harshly to keep yourself awake, missing the blue streak of a superhero making its way into the elevator and right beside you.

"How are you feeling Dragă mea?" Pietro speaks out after a couple moments, you jumped in shock not realising the speedster was next to you.

"Dammit Piet! What did I say about doing that?" You held your hands over your chest, frightened. He looked at you apologetically before moving to the elevator buttons, pressing the button that stops the elevator from moving.

You stared at him as he sighed, struggling to put his thoughts into words.

"Piet... what's wrong?" You whispered, analysing his face and posture, you could tell he was stressed. He turned to look at you, his face softening when your eyes met.

"I can’t lose you prinţesă." He manages to say, making his way to you, reaching out for your hand.

His hand was warm in yours, he held onto your hand tightly, you looked at him confused, raising your hand to rest against his jaw, your thumb stroking his cheek gently.

“You’re not going to lose me, where’s this coming from Pietro?” You asked softly. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest, your head rested against his chest. You could feel his uneven breaths, almost as if he’s on the verge of having a panic attack. Pietro struggled to even out his breath, panic bubbling up inside of him, he can’t lose you. Even the thought of losing you filled him with dread, he doesn’t deserve someone to risk their life for him, especially someone like you.

“How did I manage to get you?” He finally whispers, pulling back to look at you.

That’s when you understood what he was trying to say.

“I don’t want to lose you too, you know? Even the thought of it, it just-” You take a deep breath, smiling solemnly at him. “Every-time we go on a mission I’m terrified Piet, after what happened in Sokovia- after what happened to you. I cant lose you, I care too much about you.” The memories of what happened in Sokovia haunted you. You weren’t close to the Maximoffs then but you understood them, you understood their pain and loss. Similarly to them you had no one, no family, no one to say ‘I love you’ too.

Until now.

“That’s a very complicated way to say you love me, dragă.” He teased, you could see the redness in his eyes from the tears that were threatening to spill.

“Well no one else enjoys my baking as much as you do.” He rolled his eyes in response knowing your referencing the night before, while still holding you in his arms, he reaches out to turn the elevator back on.

No more words were needed to be said, not for now at least. You had each other, and that’s all that mattered to you, for now.

[millenialfanfictionaddiction]

Go Go Karasuno: An Old Rival (Pt 2 )

THIS FIC IS 18+

Warnings: swearing

Word Count: 7,000+

A few days had passed since the practice match. You hated to admit it, but you thought about Keishin often. 

He looked good.

Really REALLY good.

Like better than high school good.  He always looked nice but it was overshadowed by his complete desire to be an utter ass.

You sighed as you finished up a few emails to send off before you took your grandma to the hospital to visit your grandfather.

He was set to be discharged in a few days and then you would start the process of moving them to the elderly community. You had taken your grandmother to visit him daily as she would often have make him meals. He hated the hospital food. He said the flavor was lacking.

You had to laugh. The man had only ever eaten your grandmother's cooking since they married at a young age. He often complained or refused to eat any other food because it was never was good as his wife’s cooking. 

You had to agree. Your grandma was an amazing cook.

You arrive at the hospital with your grandma in toe. She says her hellos to the staff as they all reciprocate the greetings. Your grandma was a complete sweetheart. She was loved and adored by everyone. She always helped when and where she could, volunteering wherever she was needed. You're actually surprised your grandfather managed to charm his way in to her life.

Your grandfather was a rowdy old man. Literally the opposite of your grandmother. He could be bitter and always liked a good argument. He was never outright mean to people, just very outspoken and upfront. He was a lot to handle.

You exit the elevator carrying the box of food your grandma had prepared. She told you she was preparing a meal for your grandfather's roommate as well. She said the man was just as insatiable as your grandfather. You imagined they were quite the duo.

As you round the corner you start the head arguing. You eyes widen as you realize it's coming from your grandfather's room. 

 Your grandma just smiles as she shakes her head knocking lightly at the door.

"Yeah yeah" a voice shouts. 

 You both enter as you begin to observe the sight before you eyes.

Your grandfather and his roommate are watching volleyball on the small TV in their hospital room. Shouting at the apparent bad plays.

"Anyone could have hit that set with their eyes closed" your grandfather shouted "what is that spiker doing?"

"He's just a weakling like all the others" the other man shouted "that wouldn't be happening under my coaching."

You roll your eyes and smile. Man these two were made for each other.

Your grandma slowly starts to unpack and plate the food she made for both the men. They continue to watch the game as your grandma hands them the food.

"Dont worry dear I packed enough for everyone" she smiled as you observed all the food. The box was heavy that you carried in but you didn't think there was an entire week's worth of food there.

"By everyone did you mean the entire hospital gran" you giggle as she laughs.

"Oh Y/N" your grandfather says as he looks up from his meal for a second "this is my roommate. You might know his grandson. I think he went to school with him."

The other man grumbled "I apologize if you do know him, the weakling."

You smile as you chuckle "Well sir its nice to meet you, I'm Y/N"

The older man turns to you smiling "oh I know who you are sweetheart, I'm Ikkei Ukai"

WHAT DID HE SAY?

You were about to speak when a knock sounded.

"Yeah yeah, what is this grand central in Tokyo?" your grandfather huffed as the door opened.

"Just came to check on my fav-" Keishin spoke as he entered, shutting the door and turning around.

His eyes were met with yours. He gulped as the two older men and older lady looked at you both.

"Y/N, I didn't know you would be here" Keishin says as he lifts his head to the back of his head.

"I told you last week my roommate had a granddaughter your age" Ikkei spoke sharped tongue.

"Well you didn't mention here name!" Keishin glared at his grandfather.

“You didn’t ask” Ikkei huffed as he turned his attention back to the game as Keishin placed his hand over his face.

You giggle at the circumstances. 

This all had to be a joke right? No way this was coincidence!

"Ah Keishin it's so good to see you again" your grandmother says breaking the awkward silence "here have a plate"

"Oh you as well ma'am" he said bowing "thank you ma'am but I'll have to pass I’m just stopping by quick"

"Sit down you idiot the women made great food" your grandfather shouts at Keishin as you chuckle.

Your grandmother makes him a plate as he settles in by you at the spare table in the corner. Your grandmother sits beside your grandfather as he kisses her forehead. You smile as you watch them, all while Keishin watches you.

"Your grandfather and mine are one in the same" he says trying to break the silence.

"Ha ha yeah you can say that again" you say smiling as you eat.

"I honestly didn't know your grandfather was his roommate" he says.

"Well you probably wouldn't. They are my mothers parents so we don't share the same last name" you say looking down at your plate.

"You know, it was really great to see you play again Y/N" Keishin smiles at you.

You look up smiling back "Thank you. It was a lot of fun. You really have some great kids."

"Kageyama and Hinata couldn't stop talking about your sets. Kageyama said they were almost perfect" he said taking another bite

"Well I wouldn't say perfect. They can always use improvement" you say pushing your food around the plate.

"Give yourself more credit Y/N. You really are a great setter. I always thought so" Keishin says as he stares at you.

You laugh ironically "is that why you were always such an ass to me then?"

Keishin sighs "yeah I was an ass but it wasn't because you weren't good. I was stupid high school kid"

You sighed as you look to his smiling "I guess we've both changed a lot"

Keishin smiled softly at you as you take both plates and disguarded them in the bin.

"I'm going to step outside for a minute" you speak, kissing your grandma on the forehead.

"I'll come with you" Kishin says as you begin to walk outside

The silence is awkward. Neither of you know what to say to each other. It's like your years of high school rivalry has been reduced to this weird state of unknown.

"Look Y/N" keishin starts.

"Keishin" you interject "we both changed. It's ok. I'm not mad at you anymore."

That wasn't completely factual nor completely a lie.

You didn't hate Keishin.  In fact, thinking about it, you never really did. You admired the man but he annoyed you to no end. He was always better than you and you were jealous.

Keishin threw his cigarette as he walked towards you "Y/N I want to apologize."

You look at him with narrowed eyes "for what?"

"Well one for being a complete jerk back in high school" he proceeds.

"Jerk is an understatement but continue" you say smiling.

He laughs awkwardly "Listen Y/N can I at least make it up to you?"

You fold your arms "ok and how Keishin? It's not like we can go back in time and you can not mess up my serves" you spit as he looks towards the ground.

"Y/N please" Keishin says "my grandfather was right, I was a weakling back then. I was jealous of you. You had such talent and well, I enjoyed getting a rile from you. I know it was immature but it was the only way you'd talk to me."

“Wait what” you think as you try to process what he was saying

"I always admired you Y/N. You were a great captain and a fantastic setter. You worked so well all the players on your team. I honestly was a bit jealous" he continues as you state at him confused.

Keishin was jealous? Of you?

You say the only thing you can properly formulate "Well Keishin you sure had a hell of a way of showing it! You pissed me off, annoyed me to no end and now you tell me you were jealous?"

Keishin stares at your outburst.

"Keishin I apologize for yelling but it just seems unreal to me. I spent all of high school trying be as good as you and now your telling me you looked up to me? It just seems unreal" you say as you sit on the bench.

"Y/N" Keishin sits down in the other side of the bench "I know I was a complete jerk. I honestly didn't know it bothered you so much. I was a punk ass kid who was just trying to be someone. But I now realize I hurt someone who really meant a lot of me."

You look up from your hands to see Keishin with a soft smile on his face.

"Well this is awkward" you say as you stand up. You were never great with upfront feelings and awkward silences.

"Y/N please" Keishin says as you start to walk back to the room "Please just let me make it up to you. Let's have dinner. I promise. Just hear me out"

You sigh knowing the conversation was unavoidable. It wasn't that you didn't want to have dinner with Keishin, it's just that you still reeled from your past.

Maybe you were being petty and it seemed like Keishin had changed but were you really ready to admit that? Were you really ready to move on from a grudge you held for almost 10 years?

"Where" you sigh in defeat.

"Huh?" Keishin looks to you with question.

"Where and when" you look back at him with a less than eager face.

"How about Friday night? My families store?" Keishin shouts a little too enthusiastic.

You chuckle at his response "ok but I swear of you start shit I'm going to pelt a volleyball right at your forehead"

He laughs "there's the Y/N I remember"

You push him playfully as you both walk back into the hospital heading to your grandfather's room.

You enter the floor as you both hear loud shouting. You look at each other and take off running towards your grandfather's room. You bust open the door with Keishin on your heals as you see your grandfather on the floor and your grandmother holding her mouth.

"I'm fine I'm fine just got a bit worked up" he says.

Keishin moves to help your grandfather as you console your grandmother.

"Grandpa really? Getting worked up over volleyball?" You spit at him.

He glares at you "you're one to talk Y/N!"

Keishin’s eyes widen as you glare holes on your grandfather's head. He chuckles at your response.

"Oh Y/N it's about time you forgive the boy, it's been almost 10 years" your grandfather says

"Dont forgive him so easily Y/N" Ikkei interjects "make him work for it"

Keishin glares at his grandfather as he chuckles with your grandfather and they continue watching the game.

You and Keishin both sigh as you smile softly towards one another. 

You're night out with Keishin approaches faster than you hoped. Honestly you were really indifferent about the whole situation. You had to admit, Keishin had probably changed since high school. I mean the Keishin you knew would never coach a high school volleyball team.

Right?

[dancingazaleas]

𖨆. 04 / all for us

summary: a few weeks later, you’re finally allowed to leave your room. however, you notice something that you later wish you hadn’t.

note: i had the worst headache whilst editing, i apologize for mistakes.

taglist: @the-sun-baby @voltairelesecond @baelo80 @uniquepickle

warnings/notes: cursing, last chapter was the calm before the storm, brutal assault, abuse, manipulation, blood, slight mind break, drugging, use of alcohol

YOU were surprised whenever erwin and levi told you that you'd been good enough to venture the house a little more a few weeks later. you had been doing the same thing as before, sitting in your room and crying, hanging with the two men for two hours, and back to being lonely.

right now, you were stuck in your room. staring out of the window into the garden with dull eyes, silent tears running down your face.

you want to go home and sleep in zeke's arms. you want to tell pieck you love her and you didn't mean what you'd said to her. you wanted to play goofy songs on the piano with bertholdt. you wanted to lay in the sun with porco and reiner while they both commit to a workout routine.

you'd do anything to have that again. anything.

you wiped away your tears whenever you heard footsteps. the door opened to reveal levi followed by his bear of a boyfriend. erwin had on a gentle smile while levi looked the same; irritated.

"c'mon, you're playing for me today," levi grunts and your eyes light up at the opportunity.

you haven't played any instrument since you were taken. your hands missed their place on the objects, fingers delicately strumming the strings or pressing on the keys. they missed their home, just like yourself.

you're glad that they hadn't caught any signs of you crying. if they had, you would've had to stay in the room and talk it out with them.

you obediently follow behind them, nightgown swishing as you walk excitedly. you watch them unlock a door that leads to your quarters, and for the first time you're in the living room without crying.

the living room is big and clean, so much to where you wonder if it's even been touched. you turn your gaze to the left, eyes acknowledge the large, black front door. your eyes widened while the voice in your head screams at you.

'RUN!!!' it says, 'THIS IS YOUR ONLY CHANCE!!’

your eyes dart down to look at the doorknobs and it's locks. the door was left unlocked.

you gulp down the ball starting to form in your throat and try to ignore how you've started to sweat. you look back at levi and erwin, who are not paying any mind to what you do. they made the mistake of not holding your chain and not having one of them walk behind you.

before you can even really think, you're gliding across the room to the door. swinging the door open just as levi and erwin turn to scream at you, and you almost feel your stomach drop at the view before you.

it's a long stone walkway with a gate sitting at the end, almost teasingly. you run quickly, ignoring how the rough stone scrapes roughly against the soles of your feet. the window is rushing through your hair and slapping against your face, something you relish in temporarily.

your legs are starting to ache from how fast you're pumping them, trying to get to the gate as quick as you can. the wind has you tearing up once more, but you reach up and wipe away the small tears.

you ignore the sound of levi's footsteps as well as his and erwin's angry screams, you're so close, you're almost there.

your mind flashes to porco and reiner for a brief moment. you thank them in your head, now happy with how the two would make you race with them during their workout routines sometimes.

you're almost there, your fingers even graze against the black metal of the fence. but your breath is being knocked out of your body as you're tugged backwards.

your chain. your chain was the cause of your demise, it had been loosely swinging behind you and over your shoulder as you ran.

your head along with your back slam against the stone, loud screams of pain bursting through your mouth. you're sliding towards the person your chain is being tugged by, nightgown now tearing apart because of the friction.

levi is above you, eyes looking almost animalistic along with an angry face that stares at you as he huffs to get his breath back. you lay in the fetal position, crying out at the tip of levi's shoe kicks into your stomach. it has you barfing, but as soon as you finish levi's hands are grabbing you by the hair and dragging you back to the house.

but halfway down the pathway, he lets go and it makes you nervous. his foot comes into contact with your nose, blooding immediately gushing out of it. you sob out after he kicks you in the same spot once more, you think you hear a crack.

his foot kicks at your ribs now, taking all the breath out of your body while your eyes go blank. you can't think, even as levi's knuckles connect with your jaw. you spit out blood and cry at the scratch you get from levi's wedding band.

his hand is tangled with your hair, and instead of trying to pull away, he uses it as leverage. he squats onto a knee, eyes widened as he slams your face into the stone. you screech, nails clawing at the rough terrain and look to erwin.

"HELP!!! HELP, PLEASE," you gargle out blood mixed with your spit, reaching a shaking hand to him.

"HE'S GONNA KILL ME, PLEASE," you wail just as levi hits you again.

"that's enough levi," erwin says, now standing behind levi and staring over his shoulder.

you look absolutely damaged. blood, spit, and tears smeared across your face and scrapes all over your fragile body. levi slams your head down one last time, detangling his hand from your hair and storming off.

erwin only sighs and takes you in his arms, ignoring how your whole body trembles the moment he touches it.

"you're ignorant," he shakes his head, "i told you that levi would hurt you if you tried to run, and you didn't listen."

he's placing you onto your bed after he's walked back inside, eyebrows furrowed and nostrils flared from irritation. his palm smacks you across your face, and you sob from the pain.

"let me tell you something," he murmurs into your ear, "even if you'd gotten passed the gates, we would've found you."

you're panting and sobbing, wanting erwin to step away from you.

"that little collar of your's has a tracker," he whispers, "you'll never be able to get away."

those are the last words you hear before you black out.

————

you sit in the bathtub a few days later, listening to the gentle singing of erwin as he drenches you in warm water.

it burns against your skin, something you'd pointed out, but they ignore. you supposed it's an extension of your punishment.

when you get out of the bath, erwin tends to your wounds. he puts on a new bandage over the cut on your face from levi's wedding band, and new bandages onto your arms and torso.

later that night, erwin finds you curled in a ball into the corner of your dark closet. hands protectively shielding your head and covering your ears, shoulders quivering as tears run down your face.

"darling," he frowns, "you've got to stop coming in here."

you don't answer, which doesn't surprise him, and only pull your hands closer to yourself. he knows you won't willingly get up, so he brings the tray into the closet.

"i have to feed you, i need you to comply," you relax, hesitantly taking your arms away from your head and lowering your knees onto the floor.

he feeds you in silence, the only noise being the air conditioner coming off and on as he spends his time in there. he notices how you struggle to swallow down your food, probably from how levi's kicks damaged your ribs along with your stomach. before he can leave, he hears your hoarse voice asking for an answer.

"erwin...," you say, "how... how did you guys kidnap me?"

erwin sighs a bit, deciding to get himself comfortable as he begins the story.

————

it was a rainy night, raindrops froze against your skin as they pelted towards the ground. erwin and levi, your newfound friends, had invited you to go drinking with them a couple of weeks prior. you accepted with hesitance, but the hesitance was thrown out of the window whenever you and pieck had gotten in a fight earlier that evening.

you needed to get your mind off of the heated argument, pieck told you that you're a fuck up while you said that you hate her. you knew that you would regret this in the morning, but right now you're way too sad to even give a fuck.

when you enter the club, you find levi and erwin sitting and talking to one another at the bar. they both already have drinks and look as handsome as ever.

you sing out a greeting as you take the stool between them, ordering yourself a fruity drink.

"glad you could make it," erwin smiled to you, bringing his transparent drink to his lips.

"i promised i'd be here! besides, after the night i've had, i deserve to get drunk. what are you two even drinking," you smirked while looking to levi, bumping your shoulder against his.

he rolled his eyes your antics, while erwin spoke, "levi isn't really able to get drunk, but he's drinking whiskey. i'm drinking bourbon. what happened?"

you sighed, but it's cut off whenever the bartender puts your drink onto the counter in front of you.

"my best friend and i got into a fight, something about the house we share and something her cat did. she said i was a fuck up, i said i hated her. we'll be crying and apologizing by tomorrow," you fanned your hand and take a swig of your drink.

erwin opened his mouth to say something, but you interrupt him with a hoot as you slam the glass back to the counter.

"that's strong!" you laughed, barely noticing how quickly you downed it, "can i have another one?!"

"you shouldn't drink too much," erwin said while he pats your back.

you can't yell at him since levi asks a question before you could, "wanna have shots?"

"yes, please! what should be get," you grinned, the both of you ignoring the disapproving look from erwin.

"kamikaze shots," he smirks, "unless you can't handle it."

"are you fuckin' kidding?! let's go, right now," you're overly excited, slightly buzzed as you move around.

said shots were placed before you and levi. you picked it up and clinked glasses with him as you laugh, slamming it back down to the counter and downing it with a grimace. you shouted out in excitement once again, throwing your hands into the air.

"let's fuckin' go!!"

"let's not," erwin pulled your hands back into your lap, which you giggle at.

levi orders you another drink, you don't exactly hear what it is even whenever the bartender puts it down in front of you. your words are slurring as you laugh and chat with the two of them, eyelids heavy as you feel yourself getting more and more tired.

"hey, (name)," levi pushed his knee against your's, spinning the liquid in his cup around.

"wh... what's up," you grinned stupidly whilst laying your head against the counter.

"we like you, romantically," the statement had you sobering up, eyes shooting open and head shooting up.

"huh? what'd you say? i think i'm really drunk now."

"i said what i said," erwin's slightly panicking over your shoulder, "would you want to be with us?"

you squinted your eyes, temples suddenly throbbing with pain. you came out to have fun, not this.

"no," you sighed sadly, "i don't like you guys like that. plus, i'd feel intrusive."

levi gave a drawn out hum as he takes your drink from the bartender and putting it onto the coaster before you.

"it's okay, don't worry," levi shrugged, hand retreating back to his glass of whiskey.

you sighed in relief and break into a smile, once again drowning yourself in the fruity drink levi's given you. when you slam it back down, you cringe and your face is pulled into a grimace once more.

the drink tasted weird, nothing like the name implied. you try to wrack what alcohol exactly tastes the way this one does, salty. it tastes salty. and it's not like it's only alcohol in the drink, at least you think.

your eyes shoot wide as you come to the realization. this is a rape-date drink. and you've just downed the drink within seconds.

your mouth opened, but nothing but gibberish comes out. the last thing you see before your eyes droop is levi's small smirk with arms opened wide.

————

the story has you recoiling into a ball again, tears streaming out of your face while erwin tries to put a hand on your shoulder.

levi inflicted so much pain. physical and mental. he's the one who got you drunk, he's the one who drugged you, he's the one who slapped you day one, and he's the one who beat you. and erwin helped. erwin ordered.

"don't touch me, please," you whisper, backing yourself further and further into the corner of the closet.

"please, i want to comfort you," he frowns, once again reaching his hand out.

"NO!!" you cry and slap his hand, immediately retracting from fear.

"i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i didn't mean to," you fumble with your words and curl inwards more, "please don't hurt me again, please. i don't want to hurt anymore."

erwin's heart aches as you start to tremble, noticing how hard you were digging your nails into your scalp.

"it's okay," he says calmly, "i won't hurt you."

you choke out your words, "but levi will. he'll hurt me again."

erwin stays silent, knowing full well that you were correct. erwin was barely able to smack you without feeling bad, he couldn't imagine kicking you in the ribs. erwin can feel a ball in the back of his throat, picking up the tray in silence and leaving you alone.

you cry as you lay on the floor now, fetal position. you're going to fall asleep soon, and you're okay with you. you feel slightly more protected in the closet on the floor than in your bed.

your eyes are fluttering close.

you hope that you won't get hurt again.

[waitimcomingtoo]

Where We Start Again 2

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: how do you fake date someone you have real feelings for?

Series Masterlist and Regular Masterlist

Playlist by @tiny-friggin-human

“This is my room.” Peter weakly gestured to his bedroom as you walked through his door. His eyes were immediately drawn to everything he needed to hide as you began to look around. He kicked a pair of boxers into the closet and threw a hoodie over the vials of web fluid on his desk. When he looked up at you, a smile dawned on his lips. You stood out in your mini skirt among his nerdy ambiance, but you didn’t look out of place. You noticed him staring and tucked your hair behind your ear nervously.

“What?” You asked, feeling a little self conscious under his gaze.

“Nothing. I just like looking at you.” His lips moved faster than his brain and he was defenseless to stop the words from coming out. Luckily, you found it sweet and gave him a small smile.

“Star Wars bedsheets?” You nodded towards his unmade bed where tiny green Yoda heads dotted his sheets.

“Those aren’t mine.” He scoffed playfully, watching as you took a seat on his bed. His throat tightened at the thought of your bare legs on his sheets. The skirt he’d fawned over so many times was on his bed right now, and he was beginning to panic.

“Uh huh.” You humored him and ran a hand over his pillow. “They’re very soft. You should thank whoever they belong to for taking care of them.”

“I have your laundry- oh! A female.” May was startled by your presence when she came to Peters open door. Peters eyes widened when he noticed she was holding a few pairs of his boxers in her hands and prayed you didn’t notice too. Unfortunate for Peter, you had manners and got up off his bed to shake Mays hand. You shoot Peter a look when your eyes fell on the pile.

“Hi Mrs. Parker. I’m Y/n.” You said politely as you shook her hand. May looked between you and Peter with a surprised expression.

“Y/n L/n?” She asked and you nodded.

“Yeah, that me.” You told her. Peter looked up at the ceiling, silently cursing God for what was happening in front of him.

“It’s nice to finally meet you. Peters been telling me about you since freshman year. You’re the one with the skirt, right? Oh, you’re wearing it now.” She laughed spritely and handed Peter his boxers. “You were right, Peter. It is a nice skirt. And please, call me May.”

Peter knew a nail in the coffin when he saw one. There was no coming back from what May just said. You were gonna think he was a creep and your fake relationship would end before it began.

At least you sat on his bed, though.

“Thank you, May. It’s from H&M and I hear there’s a sale right now. It kinda matches your nails. They’re so pretty.” You told her and she looked down at her nail color. Peter did a double take between you and May. For some reason, you weren’t running out of his apartment in fear.

You were giving his Aunt shopping tips and nail compliments.

“Oh, wow. It does. And thank you. I just got them done but of course this one didn’t notice.” She gave Peter a pointed look before returning her attention to you. “I think I’ll go check it out. I’ll leave you kids to it.” She winked at Peter before closing the door.

Peter braced himself for an abrupt end to your newfound relationship as you turned around. Instead, you had your arms folded and a surprised smile on your face.

“Have you been talking to your aunt about me?” You put yourself hand over your heart like you couldn’t believe it. Peter opened his mouth to apologize, but decided against it when you didn’t show any signs of disdain.

“However did you know?” He replied sarcastically and got a laugh out of you. So you didn’t want apologies, he thought. You wanted humor. “I hope you know, you just witnessed the most embarrassing moment of my life.”

“Well if I know anything about women, she’s gonna be at H&M for a while. You don’t have to worry about her coming in here to embarrass you and drop off your Scooby Doo boxers.” You picked up a pair from the pile he was holding and dangled it in front of his face. He snatched them away from you and quickly stuffed them in his drawer.

“Give me those. They also aren’t mine.” He lied and you held up your hands in defense.

“I believe you.” You insisted and walked over to his LEGO Ferris Wheel. He joined you, standing next to you in silence for a moment as you admired it.

“Ruh roh.” You muttered and his head snapped to you.

“Hey.” He whined. You leaned into him as you laughed, making his breath hitched in his chest when you touched him

“I’m sorry. How does this thing work?” You returned your attention to the Ferris wheel. Peter took a moment to admire the wonder in your eyes as they trailed over the bricks. He pushed a button on the side and it began to move.

“Effervescent.” You said flatly at the anticlimactic way it worked. Peter watched you fondly as your eyes followed the LEGO man and woman in one of the carts.

“What made you want to come over?” He asked suddenly. “Do you have to do community service or something?”

“No.” You said like it was a crazy thought. “I wanted to hang out with you.”

Peter was taken aback by this answer and thought for sure you were lying. He looked at you skeptically as you watched the Ferris wheel.

“Why?” He asked. “And how has nothing you’ve seen so far made you want to stop hanging out with me? You know, the boxers, the bedsheets, the aunt.”

You leaned against his book self and looked down at your boots as you shrugged.

“The boys in our school show up hung over, smelling like mango juul pods and hotdog water. They sleep through class and pelt spit balls at each other at lunch. And I’m pretty sure half the football team hasn’t made the full transition from monkey to human yet.” You said as you kept your eyes down.

“These are all things I already know.” Peter said when you didn’t answer his question. You looked up at him and shrugged slightly.

“You show up in button downs and cute sweaters, smelling like apple shampoo. The one that can get in your eyes and won’t sting. You pay attention in class and build LEGO desk lamps for the science fair. And you give people your gogurt.” You said timidly. The corners of Peters mouth turned down as he fought a smile, as well as the urge to scream into a pillow.

“Well she packed me an extra one.” He reminded you and you rolled your eyes. You walked away from his bookshelf and over to where he had set the LEGO lamp down.

“Can I help you glue the legos down?” You changed the topic. “It’ll go faster with two people.”

“Sure.” He nodded and joined you at his desk. He took a vial of web fluid from under the hoodie and handed it to you. “Here.”

“What kind of glue is this?” You asked as you examined the vial.

“Oh, uh, I made it myself.” Peter stammered as he pulled up a chair for you. You gave him a grateful smile and took a seat.

“You made your own glue?” You asked him once he sat down next to you at the desk.

“Yes?”

“You’re incredible, Peter.” You shook your head and started glueing pieces down. “Out here making your own glue. Elmer’s is quaking.”

Peter took a moment to collect himself before he started glueing the pieces together. Everytime he thought he did something lame, you liked it. And not only that, you praised him for it. All the things that made him unpopular were the things you seemed to enjoy. He was curious about your intentions and could only hope they were good.

“The fair is this Friday, right?” You peered at him through your lashes as you focused on sticking a piece to the base.

“Yeah, right after school.” He replied, freezing momentarily when your pinky touched his.

“I’ll be there.” You said definitively. He stopped what he was doing and looked at you to see if you were joking, but you looked completely serious.

“You don’t have to. It’ll be really boring.” He said softly but you dismissed him.

“Then I’ll hang out by you the whole time.” YIU said simply. “What kind of fake girlfriend would I be if I wasn’t there to watch my boyfriend win the science fair?”

The tips of Peters ears turned pink when you called him your boyfriend. As much as he’d love to have you cheering him on at the science fair, he didn’t want to make you do something you didn’t want to do. He was about to insist that you didn’t have to go when he stopped himself. Something about all the impossible things that had happened today made him want to go against his normal behavior.

“It’s every boys dream to have his fake girlfriend watching him awkwardly tell judges about his science fair project.” He said instead of telling you you didn’t have to come. You seemed like you wanted to, and he’d love to have you there. Why not let it happen?

“I know, right? How’d you get so lucky?” You tossed your hair off your shoulder and winked at him. Peter has gone from never speaking to you to you winking at him three times in one day. You were right. How did he get so lucky?

“Are you sure about committing to this whole fake dating thing? If you’re at the science fair with me, more people are gonna know. It won’t just be between you and me and Flash anymore.” Peter warned you. You stopped glueing legos and looked at him.

“I am sure. I want to do this. It’s just until the dance right? I can dedicate two weeks of my life to mess with Flash.” You insisted as you put your hand on top of his. He tensed up so you quickly drew it away and cleared your throat. “We should probably come up with nicknames for each other to really sell it. What do you want to be called?”

Still recovering from the hand holding incident, his mind was blank.

“You pick.” He said blankly.

“Thank God. I thought you were gonna say “my lord” or some shit.” You laughed and went back to glueing. “How about baby? Nice and simple.”

“Sounds good.” He smiled shyly. He wasn’t even on your radar this morning and now you were calling him baby.

“What do you want to call me?” You asked. The hope in your eyes made Peter determined not to disappoint you.

“Daisy.” He said confidently. You raised your eyebrows at his quick response.

“You had that prepared.” You remarked and he rubbed the back of his neck.

“I see you drawing daisies on your notes all the time.” He admitted. “And then you color the center with yellow highlighter. It’s cute.”

“Good eye, baby.” You emphasized the pet name for effect.

“I just have a good view, daisy.” He did the same. You pulled your tongue between your teeth and giggled. The sight of it made Peters knees weaken as he glued on the final piece.

“You should give me one of your shirts or something so I can wear it to school.” You said as you got out of your chair. “Do you have anything that says your last name on the back?”

Peter got up from the desk and dug around in his closet for his decathlon hoodie. He made sure not to touch the area where his suit was hidden.

“Would this work?” He asked as he held it out to you. You traced your fingers over the bold white block letters and smiled.

“That’s perfect. And here.” You slipped your scrunchie off your wrist and gave it to him. “Wear this on your wrist. I wear it a lot so people will know it’s mine.”

Peter put it on his wrist and thought of all the times he’d seen you wearing it. He loved it when you wore your hair up. And down. He loved it all.

But so did the rest of his school.

Guilt bubbled in the pit of his tummy at the thought of what the fake relationship could do to your reputation.

“You really don’t have to do this, Y/n.” He said softly. “You’re committing social suicide.”

“That’s not a thing.” You stated as you tied his hoodie around your waist. “And I told you, I’m happy to do this. Flash needed to be put in his place. I always hear him picking on you over nothing.”

“Yeah. He’s a real piece of work.” Peter shoved his hands in his pockets and blew out a breath.

“You pronounce “dick head” funny.” You smirked. “Why do you let him get away with what he says to you? How do you resist the urge to punch him in the face?”

“He’s not worth.” Peter shrugged. “I want to get out of here and go to a good college. I’m kinda depending on scholarships and I hear schools prefer kids who don’t get into physical fights with other students.”

“Well you’re very patient.” You complimented him as you stepped closer. “I see him beating up on you all the time.”

“Are you stalking me?” He teased and you shoved his shoulder.

“Says the boy who tells his aunt about my mini skirts.” You shot back before pulling your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Touché.” He squinted at you. “You know, you could’ve just told him to back off. Now you’re stuck pretending to be my girlfriend.”

“Would you stop?” You pouted as you sat back down on his bed. “I don’t feel stuck. I think this is gonna be fun.”

“Not that I’m not enjoying looking at legos with you, but wouldn’t you rather be spending your time with your actual friends? Not your fake boyfriend?” He asked as he took a seat beside you. You took a rubix cube off his nightstand and toyed with it, solving it almost immediately.

“Wanna know a secret?” You asked him as you handed him the solved rubix cube.

“Tell me.” He urged.

“I hate those people.” You laughed sadly. “All of them. Everyone who cares more about what brand you’re wearing than how your day was. I don’t think I’ve ever had an intelligent conversation with any of my “friends”.”

“Then why do you hang out with them? And how was your day?” He added to make you laugh.

“It’s a lot better now.” You said as you drew your knees up to your chin. You had shed your boots at some point and Peter could see your mismatched socks. “And I hang out with them because they count on me to. I don’t know when I became the cult leader around here but now they don’t leave me alone. It’s like, you have to be at this party and you have to wear a dress by this brand unless you got it from this store because that’s cheap. And you must wear your hair this way and drink this alcohol and know this song. It’s exhausting. That glue smells like flint stones vitamins, by the way. It’s all over my hands.”

“I didn’t realize being popular was so trifling.” Peter replied as he reached for a bottle of web dissolver (disguised as hand sanitizer) on his desk and offered it to you. You held out your hands and he squirt some in.

“I know how it sounds.” You said lowly. “I know that people would kill to have my status. But no one in my circle is happy. They’re running on 10 shots of expresso and fake smiles.”

Peter took what you said into consideration as he watched the solemn expression on your face.

“Are you unhappy?” He realized. You had said no one in your circle was happy, and he worried that included you.

“Sometimes. A lot of the time, actually.” You admitted and his heart sank. “I know it looks like I have a lot of friends, but I don’t have a single one. Not one who cares about me or checks on how I’m doing, anyway. I would give up my dozens of fake friends for one real one.”

You kept your eyes down as you spoke to hide your emotions, but Peter couldn’t ignore it. He tried to redeem himself from earlier by putting his hand over yours.

“I care about you.” He promised. “And I may be your fake boyfriend, but I’m your real friend…friend.”

You gave Peter a half smile and flipped your hand so you were holding his instead of just under it.

“You know, this is the first time I’ve done something after school that I actually enjoyed.” You told him.

“We could hang out more, if you want.” He suggested, not thinking you’d actually say yes.

“Yeah, totally.” You agreed, much to his surprise. Your smile seemed different to him, more genuine.

“To convince Flash, I mean.” He added quickly. Your face faltered a little and you took your hand away from his.

“Right.” You gave him a tight smile. “Flash.”

~

“I need to talk to you.” Peter whispered harshly the next morning when he found Ned at his locker.

“Is this about you walking home with Y/n? Everyone’s talking about it. People are saying you took her to an alley and killed her.” Ned recanted the rumors he heard with excitement.

“What? I didn’t kill her.” Peter defended. “She wanted to come over to see my legos.”

“Oh wow. And I had Tia and Tamera over to bake me a loaf of bread.” Ned said seriously.

“I’m being serious, Ned.” Peter sighed. “Flash was making fun of me and she just-“

“Peter!”

As soon as Peter turned around, you jumped into his arms and wrapped your legs around his waist. He quickly wrapped an arm around you to keep you from falling as you hugged him tightly. When you let go, he could see you were wearing his hoodie over a jean skirt. It reminded of of his sleepless night as he couldn’t get over the fact that his bedsheets now smelled like you. He tossed and turned all night with a smile on his face, too giddy to go to sleep. He didn’t even care when he heard the birds chirping, signaling that he had never fallen asleep. Nothing could break his smile.

“Good morning, baby.” You cooed as you kept your arms around his neck.

“Baby?” Ned sputtered. “Big confused.”

“Haven’t you heard? Peter and I are dating.” You smiled brightly as you linked your arm through Peters. A huge grin broke out on his face at your display of affection as Ned’s eyes bulged out of his head.

“Fake dating.” He said to calm his friend down.

“Semantics.” You replied quickly. “If anyone asks, we’re together.”

“That’s what I was trying to tell you.” Peter explained when Ned still looked shocked.

“Look! I’m wearing your hoodie.” You pulled the hoodie forward so Peter could see.

“And I have your small headband.” Peter held up his wrist to show you where the scrunchie was.

“It’s called a scrunchie.” You giggled. You took his hand and held it to your chest. “We look so convincing. Ned, don’t we look like a couple?”

“I’m having network connectivity problems.” Ned mumbled as he struggled to understand what was going on.

“Wait. I forgot I have to talk to the student council about the dance decorations.” You remembered. “See you at lunch?”

“Have a good day, s-sweetheart.” He stuttered out a new nickname he had always wanted to call you.

“Sweetheart? I like it.” You twirled yourself under his arm before walking away. “Shaking things up.”

Peter and Ned watched you walk away, Ned with his jaw slacked and Peter with his eyes soft.

“Dude.” Ned breathed.

“I know.”

“You have a fake girlfriend.” Ned said in disbelief. “And it’s Y/n.”

“I know.”

“You’ve been in love with her for years.” He whispered.

“I know.”

“She is way out of your league.” He looked at his friend.

“I know!” Peter exclaimed. “Do you think people are gonna buy it?”

“I don’t know.” Ned answered honestly. “Why did she agree to this? You didn’t try to kill her in an alley did you?”

“No, Ned. This was all her idea. She asked for my hoodie and gave me this little skirt for your hair.” Peter held up with wrist with the scrunchie again.

“It’s called a munchie, Peter.” Ned rolled his eyes.

“Well she gave me hers so people would know she’s my girlfriend. Or fake girlfriend. I don’t really know the details.” He sighed but broke into another smile. “She came over yesterday and God, she’s so much better than we thought. She’s funny and a good listener and everytime I thought I did something lame, she liked it. She liked me! This might be the greatest thing that ever happened to me, Ned.”

“But is this really what you want? You’ve liked her since the first day of school when her dad almost hit you with her car and she started crying.” Ned reminded him. “Do you really want your first relationship with a girl, especially this girl, to be fake?”

“MJ was right, Ned. A girl like that will never be interested in someone like me. This is the only chance I’m gonna have with her. And yeah, it’s a fake relationship. But it’s a real friendship. I’ll take what I can get if it means I can be close to her.” Peter decided.

“I don’t want you getting hurt, Peter. If this ends badly, it’ll crush you.” Ned said sincerely.

“I know what this. I know she’ll never actually like me. As long as I keep reminding myself that, I’ll be fine.” Peter insisted.

“Okay.” Ned patted his back. “If you say so.”

“Don’t-“

“Didn’t even notice. No punches there to roll with.” Ned began to sing as he walked down the hall. Peter kept his distance as he followed him to class, already thinking about the next time he’d get to see you.

~

Peter waited a lifetime for the lunch bell to ring. The best parts of his day were when he got to see you. Those parts were the morning if he got to his locker on time, lunch, 7th period, and after school when you had Volunteer Club. They met right across the hall from the Decathlon team and of Peter angled his chair correctly, he could catch a glimpse of you.

He kept his head up as he headed to his table, always on the lookout for you. He spotted his hoodie a few seconds before you made eye contact.

“There you are, baby.” Your eyes lit up as you made your way over to him. “Come on. Let’s eat together.”

Peters heartbeat quickened as you lead him towards your usual lunch table. It was already full of popular kids, the very popular kids that Peter feared.

“Your friends won’t like me.” Peter protested to save himself from 40 minutes of torture.

“No one at that table likes each other, Peter.” You laughed but he sensed a sadness in your voice. “Let’s sit with your friends then.”

You pivoted away from the cool kids table, earning yourself a glare from every inhabitant. It struck fear in Peters heart, but it didn’t phase you. You linked your arm through his again and led him towards Ned and MJ’s table.

“Are you sure?” Peter asked nervously as he made eye contact with an angry quarterback.

“Yes. Come on.” You tugged him harder until you got to the table.

“Hey guys.” You greeted Ned and MJ as you sat down. Ned looked up in shock and the water he was drinking fell out of his mouth.

“Girl?” He asked Peter, reverting to his inability to speak around you.

“Yes, girl.” You chuckled. “Come sit with us, Michelle.”

“Fine, but only because this cannot end well.” MJ picked you her stuff and slid next to you. You handed her her daily granola bar and she took it with a sly smirk.

“Flash is coming.” Ned whispered and you quickly took Peters hand. You leaned your head on your other hand and stared at him with a dreamy smile as Flash walked by. He shot you guys a look and pretended to gag before walking away.

“He totally bought it.” You squealed as you watched him sit down. “We are so good together.”

Peter nodded stiffly, his full attention on the fact that you were still holding his hand.

“Are you in the science fair too, Ned?” You changed the subject but began to trace patterns on Peters palm. It took him a moment to realize you were drawing daisies.

“No. I’m not.” Ned replied and everyone perked up.

“He just said a full sentence.” MJ realized.

“Yay!” You released Peters hand to clap softly. His hand felt cold without yours holding it and he felt disappointment sink in. He thought he’d be okay as long as he reminded himself that the relationship was fake, but he wasn’t. He wanted to hold your hand all the time, not just when Flash was around.

“Why not?” You asked as you opened up your lunch bag.

“I usually just hang out by the snack table until Peter wins. Then we go to Delmars and order a sandwich with every single ingredient on it.” He explained. “It wasn’t that bad until they added tuna to the menu. Tuna really doesn’t go with peanut butter and hot sauce.”

“Haha, he’s kidding.” Peter lies and shot Ned a look. “We don’t do that. That would be absurd.”

“I have this really strong feeling that you do do that-“

“Do do.” Ned chuckled.

“-and it sounds fun. Is it cool if I tag along this year?” You asked Peter, slipping your hand back into his. Peter looked at your intertwined hands before looking to Ned for approval.

“Girl welcome.” He nodded until he realized he was doing it again. “Damn it.”

“Of course you can come.” Peter made the decision when Ned was no help. “But I have to win first.”

“I’ve seen your picture in the display case the last three years. Come on, you had the robotics arm, the homemade spinneret, and the thing with the flies.” You surprised Peter by listing his lady entries. “This solar powered LEGO lamp is gonna blow the judges away. You’re gonna win. My boyfriend is the smartest guy in school.” You gloated as you moved some hair off Peters forehead.

“You know your don’t have to call him your boyfriend around us, right? We’re not the ones you’re trying to fool.” MJ cut in. Peters has tightened at MJ’s interruption.

“I know.” You said timidly and took your hand away from Peter again. He huffed out an angry breath but kept his mouth shut. If you could take his hand, he could take yours.

“She can do what she wants.” Peter said decidedly and laced his fingers through yours. You smiled proudly at him and squeezed his hand.

“Thank you, baby.” You said, happy he was taking initiative. “What are you doing after school today?”

“You’re in luck, Y/n. You chose the best possible boy to fake date. His schedule has been open for the last 18 years.” MJ jeered.

“Haha. Don’t you have a chicken to ritualistically sacrifice or something?” Peter shot back.

“Ooo. Witch joke. Original.” She whispered and twiddled her fingers like she was casting a spell.

“I’m not busy, daisy.” He ignored MJ and kept his eyes on you. “What did you have in mind?”

“I’ve been so busy planning the dance that I never got a dress.” You told him. “Would you come with me to pick one out?”

“Do I want to spend my afternoon watching you try on dresses?” He repeated your question back to you and you realized how boring it sounded.

“You don’t have to-“ You began.

“Hell yeah I do.” He cut you off and you smiled. “Where do you want to meet?”

“If you walk me home after school we can go from there.” You suggested. Peters mouth dried out at the thought of going to your house but he forced himself to nod.

“Okay.” He squealed.

“Shoot, I almost forgot. I have to meet with Mrs. Carlisle about the DJ.” You packed up your lunch and cupped Peters chin. “I’ll see you later?”

“I’ll be at your locker.” He nodded as your thumb slid off his chin.

“Good boy.” You smirked. “Bye Ned. Bye Michelle.”

Ned waited until you were out of sight until he freaked out.

“Dude! She invited you to her house! She totally wants to jump your bones.” He whispered loudly.

“Why would she jump on my bones? Like my skeleton?” Peter asked innocently. “You think she want to kill me?”

“How is the hottest girl in school interested in you?” MJ shook her head. “Especially when you ask questions like that.”

“Shes not into me. We’re fake dating.” Peter reminded them.

“And who’s idea was it to do that?” MJ cocked her head. “Because she called me yesterday to tell me all about your little plan.”

“Yesterday you were saying I’d never have a chance, and today you’re insisting that she’s into me?” Peter asked in confusion. “Wait, she called you? About me?”

“I hadn’t seen you interact before yesterday. She was doing girlfriend shit when no one was watching. Not even you! Check your notebook.” MJ grumbled and angrily took a bite out of her granola bar. Peter curiously opened his notebook and found a pink slip of paper inside. He opened it up and read it out loud.

“This is my favorite color on you. Have some sweet tarts, for my sweetheart. See you after school.” He read the note and held up a fun sized packet of Sweet Tarts.

“She put that in there when you were too busy staring at the jocks.” MJ told them. “Now tell me, why would she sneak candy into your notebook entirely out of Flash’s view? Who does that convince?”

“I love sweet tarts.” Peter muttered as he stared at the note. Even your handwriting was pretty.

“Everyone knows that. Remember when you had to go to the nurse freshman year on Valentine’s Day because you ate 18 packets?” Ned brought up.

“I don’t remember that.” Peter mumbled, trying to think of what Ned was talking about.

“Because you were sent home for going into a sugar coma.” MJ snorted.

“Wow.” Peter raised his eyebrows. “I never knew that.”

“Well she did. And now she’s sneaking you candy.” MJ said and laughed in disbelief.

“What’s so funny?” Peter laughed defensively.

“I think Y/n actually likes you. And I think that hilariously paradoxical.” She laughed again.

“What? No.” Peter didn’t allow himself to have hope, even for a minute. “She doesn’t like me. She’s just faking.”

“You’re going to her house today right?” MJ raised a single eyebrow. “See how she behaves. If you acts like your girlfriend when no one is around, you’ll know she isn’t faking.”

“Okay.” Peter decided, figuring he had nothing to lose. “Okay. I’ll do that.”

~

Peter stationed himself at your locker directly after school. He kept MJ’s advice at the front of his mind as he waited for you to arrive. All he had to do was observe you. He did that all the time anyway. Only this time, it counted. He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans and let out a breath.

“Baby.” He heard your sweet voice from behind him. He turned around and saw your equally sweet smile.

“Ready?” He asked as he took the books from your hands. You gave him a puzzled look and he explained. “I’m carrying your books for you. My uncle told me to do this when I got a girlfriend. I figured he’d still appreciate it, even if our relationship is fake.”

“He sounds like a smart man.” You said kindly and Peter nodded.

“He was. I’ll tell you more about him on the walk.” He offered and you smiled like you liked the idea. “Lead the way.”

Tag List 🏷

@a-villain-vying-for-attention​ @wendaiix3-blog​ @dorbiksbitch​ @t-monosapiens-h​ @badhollandfluff​ @silteplaittais-toi​ @thisisthebiplace​​ @seasidecrowbar​​ @spideygirl2003 @5-seconds-of-mendes @bitchylittleredhead @oh-whatabeautiful-parker @everydaymj @write-from-the-heart @blackpetalsmeandeath @electraheart-3174 @shawni-h @peterparkoure

[shittybundaskenyer]

✹ ▬   𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐑𝐄𝐃

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈.   — 𝓖𝓻𝓲𝔃𝔃𝓵𝓲𝓮𝓼 𝓔𝓪𝓼𝓽      |     𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟏  — The Goddess of War, Morrigan Marlowe I.

pairing: Arthur Morgan x Morrigan Marlowe (OC)

summary: She saved him and with that he saved her in return. It was a strange symbiosis, like wildflowers in a fruitless garden, alluring curious bees. He made her garden bloom.  —  Arthur Morgan thought he was done with living, but in a gentle golden sunrise, on that cursed mountain, he's rescued by a mysterious woman. 

warnings: descriptions of injuries and sickness, blood, Arthur has TB, some self-hatred and unkind thoughts

𝑁𝐸𝑋𝑇 𝐶𝐻𝐴𝑃𝑇𝐸𝑅    |    𝐴𝑅𝐶𝐻𝐼𝑉𝐸 𝑂𝐹 𝑂𝑈𝑅 𝑂𝑊𝑁

There’s a wolf. 

Between gently swaying raspberry vines and dried grass its eyes glint. Golden, with a hint of forest green. He can see it clearly, even though his vision is getting cloudy with stinging tears that are forcing their way through until they can escape from the corners of his eyes. He was never a man who cried easily but the happenings of those last few hours are starting to clear in his mind, and loneliness is slowly sinking its sharp claws into his barely beating heart. 

The wolf scents the air, maybe it smells his fear now, or the lingering gunsmoke the wind stirs towards its way. Will it rip his throat out? That would be at least quicker than slowly choking on his own blood. 

But the wolf doesn’t move like it would attack. It just watches him, cautiously stepping closer until he can feel its fur brushing the torn up knuckles on his right hand. It brushes its muzzle over the ripped fabric of his shirt where a bullet grazed his shoulder and where Micha's punches start to bruise a dark reddish purple. 

He feels blood mingling with the tears on his cheeks, a salty copper taste lingering in his mouth as he gasps for air. The wolf snarls, but not threatening, drawing closer to his face. 

Their eyes meet and the sun slowly creeps over the horizon, painting the landscape purple and golden in the early morning mist. Arthur's chest hurts, so much that he can barely catch his next breath. The wolf sniffs his face and for a second they inhale the same air. Its ears flatten, golden eyes meeting his. 

There's something in its gaze, a warmth almost, like when he would look at sunlight filtering through the canopy of a forest on a hot summer day and let it gently caress his face.

Arthur struggles for another breath, even more desperate now. He starts shaking, wrecked by sobs and pain and the need to fill his lungs with the air that is barely pushing past his throat. The wolf nudges him then, places its head between his collarbone and neck, bares its teeth and he thinks now, it will tore his flesh open. 

He tries to reach for the light fur that grows on the wolf's head but he doesn't have that power in him anymore. His hand lies limp over his stomach, absentmindedly pressing down on a wound to slow the bleeding. Not that it would mean too much. 

His vision starts to go black around the edges but it's not from the wolf's attack. It just… rests there, like it would listen to his breathing, the slowing beats of his heart, until it rises and stomps its large paw on his chest, flaring up the pain from broken ribs again. He wheezes and the wolf growls, almost annoyed. It circles him and pushes its head under his arm and shoulder and turns him to his side. It's even worse now, the pain and the lack of air, and he moves as the wolf pleases, too weak, so goddamn weak.

The wolf rams its head into his back, making him cough until a thick patch of reddened spit and phlegm leaves his mouth. He can feel blood trickle down from his nose and he retches, helpless, and spits again.

There now, he can gulp down a breath. 

It doesn’t let him rest. Hits him with its paw and nose, bares its teeth when their eyes meet after the reddened saliva dribbles down his chin. He’s too tired to do this, too weak to keep on breathing, but the most animalistic instincts of him and the wolf doesn’t allow him his final rest, not yet. So he wheezes and coughs and chokes until he calms down, until the wolf looks at him once more, with the rising sun glinting in its eyes, and rests its head on his aching chest, huffing a warm breath over his jaw. 

Sunrise paints the landscape golden and under, the misty forests a warm reddish-purple. The world is quiet, only his tired breaths are mingling with the quietly whistling wind that twists and turns around the Grizzlies and the old, crooked pine trees. A whitetail buck grazes not too far, the sunshine glinting on his antlers. He raises his head and Arthur and the wolf stare back at him until he turns and jumps, disappearing between frost-kissed blackberry bushes. 

The wolf and the sun warms him, caressing his face and pained body, gently lulling him until the sky turns into pink, purple, and then a brilliant blue. 

He can’t keep his eyes open anymore. 

 *

 When he wakes the wolf is gone but there's a woman. 

He's in a room, laying in a bed that is covered with something soft, maybe a pelt. His senses are still muddled, but they slowly creep back to him. The ache in his body is still present, breathing is still a struggle. The light coming from a hearth and a kerosene lamp is making him blink back tears, but with his hazy vision he notices the woman quietly busying herself with brewing something, and the air is heavy with the sweet smell of burning herbs. 

And then he coughs.

The coughing fit wrecks his body, makes him gasp for air between spitting up blood and choking on it. It stains the fur he's laying on, and drips down the corner of his mouth, disappearing in his beard. 

The woman drops the kettle she was holding and rushes to him, carefully pulling him by his uninjured arm to lay on his side. He spits again, the blood finally clearing from his mouth while she holds him in place with one hand and hits his back with the other until he coughs up the mucus that's choking him. 

Arthur goes limp when it's over, wheezing in painful breaths while she regards his face and the stained pelt under his head. She reaches for his overgrown hair and brushes it out of his face, her gaze meeting his. She has doe eyes that glint golden in the light of the dimmed kerosene lamp placed on his bedside. He doesn't recognize her but somehow he feels he knows her at the same time. Maybe from another life. 

"Better now?" she asks quietly while she places his hand on the bed and gently lays him back. 

Arthur tries to speak but only a tired groan leaves his lips while a string of bloodstained saliva dribbles down his chin. He tries again.

"Not much," his voice is so quiet that only a whisper of a gentle breeze could blow the words away. But she listens and lays her palm flat on his forehead. His skin is clammy there, probably the result of a fever, and she clicks her tongue disappointedly, confirming his assumption. "If—If I may ask," he rasps out, trying to be polite, even if speaking feels like being stabbed in the throat every second, "where am I, Miss?"

She pulls back her hand and glances towards the window on the far wall for a minute, where blinking stars and an inky black sky is visible through the glass, and then back to his eyes. 

"Found ya half-dead while I was huntin'. You're in my home now, up in the Grizzlies." 

Arthur just nods and closes his eyes, not having the energy to keep them open anymore. The woman pulls back for a little and when she returns he feels a cool, wet rag on his forehead, and soon after, her hands again, sneaking under his head to keep him upright while a tin cup is lifted to his lips. He forces himself to look up at her when he feels the fresh water hitting his tongue. 

She’s a bit surprised when he grabs the cup she’s still holding, his palm wrapping around hers so he can drink all of the water. When he’s done she doesn’t pull away immediately, but regards his face, the scars and blackened bruises still lingering there. The blood on his chin over an old, jagged scar. 

“Why did ya bring me here?” he rasps, every word a stinging pain to form. She looks down for a moment, at his bruised hand that carefully releases hers. The tin cup is empty. 

“Guess life ain't done with you yet.” 

That's all she says and he sighs, regretting it the next moment as his lungs try to expand, so tired, so weak. He stifles another cough into the fur he stained with blood earlier.

“You’re wrong, Miss. I’m as good as dead.” 

Her face turns a bit worried, but she tells him she saw him fighting on that mountain. That after all he did she couldn't let him die while those other men in black swarmed the place like rats to search through the dead. 

His face falls at that, a frown drawing his brows together while she watches him. He tells her that she got herself into something that could kill her. She answers with a sad, bitter smile and that she knows exactly how cruel men could be. He doesn't ask her how or why, he only nods and turns his head to the side where he can see the stars glinting silently outside the window. He knows women who met cruel fates. 

If the Pinkertons didn't find his body, they'd track him down. Milton assured him that he would be hunted to the ends of the earth until the end of time. Agent Milton was dead now, shot down by Abigail when Arthur's strength failed in fighting him off. Still, his voice whispers in his mind regardless. 

Arthur is sure that they'll hunt him down and shoot him like a dog, or make it last like they did with Mac Callander. The sick bastards .

And this woman, they will kill her too. There's no mercy after what happened, no offer for amnesty. Just a gun and a finger on the trigger. 

"If they turn up… They'll kill us, Miss."

"They can try," is her only answer.

She lifts the rag from his forehead, puts it in a bowl of water he can't see from where he's laying, but he can hear it splashing as she wrings out the cloth. The cool touch of the fabric is back in a few seconds while she rises from the chair next to him and her pinky finger accidentally brushes his scarred knuckles as she lifts up the tin cup from his weak grasp. 

Arthur doesn't feel like talking anymore.

 *

 He spends a week sweating out his fever. The woman brews him herbal teas that taste awful and knock him out cold within five minutes. She feeds him broth when he's too weak to even lift a spoon and she tends to his wounds and bruises. 

Arthur tried to refuse her help, the food she made for him, the care she gave so willingly. He never could defeat that kindness in her, however stubbornly he tried. She just gave and cared and made sure he was living day after day, not letting him succumb into that self-destructing hole he dug for himself. Arthur marveled at how such a pure soul can still exist in such a cruel world. She told him it's easier when she's alone in the mountains, and that people are kinder here than stuck up city folk. That, he agreed on. 

And now, after each passing day he feels vulnerable. He never had to rely on someone else when he was wounded or sick—he always managed on his own, even stitched his own wounds sometimes. They always left a jagged, ugly scar, but he never had to bother someone else with them. Now, he's furious. But his anger is directed only at himself, his weakness, his foolish self that got himself sick, that worked himself to the ground, that didn't die on that mountain. 

He asks her to stop once, when she's taking out spoonfuls of broth into a bowl. She doesn't understand. Arthur looks at her when she comes closer with the bowl in hand, sitting down next to him on an old wooden chair. He tries to sit up but his broken ribs protest and he sinks back into the bed with an annoyed huff. 

"Why're ya still doin' this?" he asks while she lifts the bowl to his lips. He drinks it, his body fighting, not as stubborn as his stupid mind—it fights to live, because it always fought for that. 

"'Cause you're not gettin' better."

"You know what I mean."

"We're more similar than ya think. I was in your place once. A stranger helped me, and now look at me. I live. And you'll live too," she manages to be so openly honest with him without revealing any real detail about her past. Arthur's beyond curious, but he just takes the bowl from her now, gulps down a mouthful because he feels, for the first time in a month, truly hungry. 

She watches him while he finishes the food, smiles at him when he pulls away the bowl and his upper lip and beard is smeared with the broth. She has a kind smile, a lady's smile that was not born to live in the wilderness like this. 

He wipes his mouth with the back of his palm, the ache in his shoulder flaring up like gasoline poured onto embers.

Arthur realized a few days back that she was the only person who lived here. One night, when he couldn't sleep from the nightmares and his aching chest he listened how she walked around the house, checking the doors and lighting the lantern outside, on the front porch. 

But no one was coming home in the late hours of the night. 

He asks her then, that she lives alone or her family is just away. She looks down, a hint of sadness softening her features before she can hide it behind a fake, barely there smile. They're not coming back. 

"I'm sorry."

It's not pity, not when he's lost so much too. It's more like a deep understanding, a knowledge of hidden wounds that never can heal fully. She looks at him again until their eyes meet and he's confronted with an honesty that usually only mirrors can muster. 

"It was a long time ago now," she tells him while she takes the bowl into her hands, leans back on the creaking chair. Arthur follows her movements with tired, bloodshot eyes. She looks outside, through the small window where the curtains are only half-open, the early morning sky burning behind them in a deep red and purple. 

She rises then, takes the bowl to the washbasin in the other corner of the room. She brews coffee, its familiar scent awakening a comforting warmth in his still aching chest. She offers him a cup, leaves it on his bedside to cool a little while she takes her own and steps out to the front porch, into the sunrise in red.

 *

 She asks his name the next week, when he still doesn't start to heal. Arthur answers her with a bitter smile and his name, so strange now on his tongue that still tastes of coppery blood after coughing. 

"You wanted something to write on my gravestone, ain't ya?" 

"Don't be silly Arthur," she scolds him, walks closer from the stove where she's brewing some new kind of tea. He likes how his name sounds when it rolls down her tongue. It's soft. Strange. After so many other people had said it with hate and anger, it's nice to hear it like he could be a normal person. Not a no-good ugly bastard like him. It's also nice hearing his first name, the one that is stained with a bit less blood than Morgan , the one that shines inky black on every wanted poster from Blackwater to Annesburg.

She sits beside him, on the bed this time, and she checks the cool rag that's draped over his forehead. Her hands smell like various kinds of herbs, of the outside, of the wilderness. Arthur inhales it deeply, fights down a cough while he ignores his aching chest. He misses the outdoors. It's nicer dying in a forest than a bed. It's more fitting for him, too. No outlaw deserves the warmth of a home in his last days. 

"It's still burnin'," she sighs and pulls back her hand. 

"I'm not gonna get better, Miss." Arthur turns towards the window again, where he can see the pine trees basking in the early afternoon sunlight. Frost glimmered on their branches earlier and painted the cobwebs in the corner of the windowframe a shining silver. "I have consumption."

Admitting it to her feels like a mistake, just like being in her house, eating her food, accepting her care. He doesn't deserve all this, not when he has taken so much from kind people like her before. He tried to do good in the end, he tried , but—

"I know," she nods, a hint of sadness sparkling in her eyes. "My Pa had the same symptoms. He had it as well."

He starts to understand now, the things she said about her family. He wants to ask but he bites into his lip instead and nods. She watches him for a moment, her eyes following the tired lines of his face. 

She tells him her name then. Morrigan. Arthur remembers the Irish tales and legends Hosea used to read for him when he was still young and somewhat careless and happy . A Celtic goddess, war and fate and doom and death. How fitting for him. But not for her, not when she's so gentle. She reminds him of Boadicea, another kind soul named after women of war. 

"I've seen enough death, Arthur," she whispers and she stands up from the side of his bed, walks towards the whistling kettle on the stove, but she turns back for a second to look into his eyes and say "I don't wanna see yours too."

[hehron]

Snowball

Somehow I was in a very intense writing mode and managed to whip up another one shot for @fightfortherightsofhouseelves hinny Christmas fest!! This is a little hinny au where there was no war, and everyone’s alive. I really love the idea of Harry having friends as a child. So just assume that the marauders all had kids that were his age :) Oh, also, I love the trope of Hermione being Harry’s sister!

Summary: The little sneak from next doors who used to pummel him with snowballs unfortunately grew into a rather attractive minx Harry couldn’t quite get over.

FF.net   AO3

“Incoming!”

“Everyone! To the fort!”

“The fort's fallen!”

“Last chance, losers! Give in!”

“Never! Harry, there's the snow shield!”

“I've got it!” Harry exclaimed, running towards the hedges that separated his and Ron's house. He had picked up the plastic shield, and was brushing the snow off of it when-

“Hey!” He turned around, glaring at his sister. “That's against the rules!”

“I haven't done anything,” Hermione shouted back.

“Yes, you did! You hit me with a snowball!”

“Did not!”

“Did- ow!” He spun around as another snowball hit him in the face. Narrowing his eyes, he peered over the fence, from where someone let out a small giggle.

“Who's there?” He asked, shuffling forward on his knees towards the hole they'd made on the fence last summer. He squeezed through the shrubs tickling at his neck to come face to face with mischievous brown eyes.

“Hello,” She smiled toothily, before hitting his face with yet another snowball.

“Stop that,” He complained, spitting out some of the snow he'd caught in his mouth.

“Why? You're having a snowball fight, aren't you?” She asked, bunching up snow from the pile she'd made.

“We were but-”

“No buts!” She said, throwing it at him again.

“What are you doing? We're losing!” Ori came up beside him, only to be hit by another one of her snowballs. “Hey!”

“You suck at this,” She grinned at them.

“Who is she?!” Ori asked, ducking as she threw another one.

“What are you- Ginny?” Ron said, poking his face in.

“Merry Christmas, brother dearest!” She sang, pelting him with half a dozen snowballs.

“That's it,” Harry said, wiggling out, and throwing one back at her. Unfortunately, she was prepared and took cover behind her snow hill.

“Why are you wasting our time? Just admit defeat or fight!” Hermione stomped over, Teddy and Neville, right behind her.

“It's not our fault! She was the one who started it!” Ori protested, pointing at Ginny's head peeking from behind her hill.

“Who-”

“She's my sister,” Ron said impatiently. “Ginny, I told you to leave us alone!”

“But I want to play!”

“You're a girl! This is a boys-only game,” He said.

“No, it's not! She's playing!” Ginny accused.

“Hermione's not a girl-”

“I am!” Hermione said angrily. “And I say we let her play,” She glared at Ron, much to Ginny's delight.

“That's not fair! You'll have four players then,” Harry protested.

“I'm going inside. I didn't want to play in the first place,” Neville moaned, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

“Come on, we can hide behind my snow hill,” Ginny said to Teddy and Hermione.

“It's still unfair,” Harry whined, as they tried to find a place to hide.

“Why didn't you let her play with us? We could have won,” Ori grumbled to Ron.

“I didn't know she was so good at it!”

“What are you doing here? This is enemy lines,” Ori asked as Teddy joined them.

“They kicked me out! Said they wanted a girls vs boys game!”

“It's four against two,” Ron said hopefully. “We can win this.”

“I don't think so,” Harry said, just as the girls rolled over their snow hill into a gigantic ball and sent it towards them. Before they could even register what was happening, the ball hit them, half burying them in the snow.

“We win!” Ginny and Hermione chanted, walking around them as they loudly protested and tried to free themselves, failing miserably. It was a good Christmas.

20 years later

“Yeah, yeah, it was a great Christmas,” Harry called exasperatedly as he made his way out into the back. As much as he loved both Hermione and Ron, he thought he'd explode if they regaled their proposal one more time.

“The lovebirds are here then?”

Harry turned his head to see Ginny sitting on a box by the friends, a bottle of butterbeer in hand.

“They arrived two hours ago,” Harry said with a slight shudder.

“Merlin! The proposal took two minutes! How on earth do they stretch it out for two hours,” Ginny asked horrified.

Harry snorted. It honestly wouldn't have been so bad, if Ron hadn't forced the plan down his throat a dozen times before proposing.

“They're coming to yours next,” Harry said.

“I was never here. You never saw me, ” She said, looking him dead in the eyes.

He laughed, feeling the familiar burst of excitement like he did every time he saw her. Honestly, it had been too long.

“Been a while, hasn't it?” Ginny smiled slightly, as though reading his thoughts.

“Last World Cup, after your game,” He said, a little too quickly.

“Almost four years,” She nodded, a faraway look in her eyes.

“Heard you're up for this year's team as well,” He commented.

“Yeah,” She said, pursing her lips in a way that was very unlike her. I 

“Big step down from last time's reaction,” He raised his brows, remembering her jubilation.

“I'm thinking of quitting,” She said abruptly.

“Oh,” He didn't know what to say to that. For some reason, he thought she'd play till she was old and wrinkly.

“What are you smiling about?” She asked with narrowed eyes.

“Nothing, never thought you'd want to quit.”

Her lips quirked. “Thought you'd have to pry away the broomstick from my dead, cold hands?” She asked, thinking of all the times she'd used that phrase when her mother protested her choice of a career.

“Something along those lines,” He said, amused.

“I would have thrown a fit if someone told me four years ago that I'd be considering leaving Quidditch,” Ginny commented.

“Why are you leaving, then? Is everything alright?” He asked gently.

“Yes,” She sighed, taking a swig of her butterbeer. “It's just… It's just not fun anymore. I miss home. I'm missing out on so many things. I couldn't even make it to Vic's birthday two years in a row, and I haven't come home for Christmas in what-”

“Three years,” Harry supplied. “I get it. You don't have to justify anything. I was only curious.”

She smiled. “I know. But I'll only quit after the World Cup. Got to set some more records, haven't I?”

“I thought being Witch Weekly's sexiest athlete was the highest honour,” He teased.

“I'm afraid you've been lied to,” Ginny said with mock sympathy.

“Witch weekly? Lie? Never in a million years. Next, you'll be telling me you and Angelina aren't in a scandalous relationship, hoping to conquer the Quidditch world?”

“I'm afraid Angie chose George over me. Don't know why she'd pick his sneaky ass over innocent old me,” She sighed dramatically.

“You? Innocent? You're sneakier than George,” Harry narrowed his eyes at her.

“Oh?” She asked innocently, before pelting his face with snow she'd hidden in her fist, just like she'd done the first time they'd met.

“At least, you don't have a giant mountain to hide behind, this time,” Harry retorted, aiming a snowball at her.

“Who said that?” She laughed before hiding behind a snow hill Vic or Dom had probably made.

“You never play fair!” He accused.

“You sound like all those losers of the opposite team, who just can't admit defeat,” She stuck her tongue out at him as another snowball hit him. “That's how you throw, learn it from a pro,” She bragged.

“That's funny 'cause there's something we aurors do when the other guy is playing dirty,” Harry said.

“What's that?”

“We tackle them to the ground,” He said, spinning her around by the waist.

“Harry! You use magic to catch them!” She shrieked, through her laughter.

“Not in muggle areas!” He corrected, before losing his balance and falling over Vic's hill, Ginny squished between him and the snow.

“Looks like you lost your snow hill,” He murmured, heart beating wildly at how close they were.

“Don't you aurors have to pay for the property damage?” Ginny demanded.

“Ah, you caught me,” He said with mock disappointment. “Go on, name your price, then.”

“You got snow all over my mouth, and now I'm freezing. I think you ought to kiss it better,” She said seriously.

“Oh yeah?” He grinned.

“Yes.”

“Well, if I must,” Ginny's snort of amusement was lost in her throat as he closed the distance between them.

“All better?” He mumbled against her lips.

“Mm,” She smiled.

“You hit me in the face with snow twenty years ago, I think you owe me something too.”

“Well, then,” She said, kissing him again.

“With interest since you're paying me back so late,” She laughed into his mouth, both of them feeling inexplicably happy.

“I'm so glad we're doing this. I have no idea how I'd have managed not to do that if we're going to be organising a wedding,” Ginny said as they pulled back.

“I know I wouldn't have been able to hold back. Besides, isn't it tradition for the Best Man and Maid Of Honour to bet together?” He winked.

She let out a laugh, giving him a short kiss, just as they heard voices from inside.

“It's time for proposal listening again, I guess,” Harry sighed.

“I put some of Fred and George's canary cream in Ron's pudding,” Ginny smirked, and Harry thought that handling what was sure to be an exasperating wedding would turn out to be the most fun in the world if she was there by his side.

[thejollyroger-writer]

Where Your Heart Will Fly on Wings - 1/2

Part One: A Ship, A Map, and A Secret

A Neverland arc (season 3A) rewrite where the gang doesn't meet Captain Hook until they get to Neverland to rescue Henry. Most of the end of s2 ("Second Star to the Right..." "... and Straight on' Till Morning," the last two episodes of the season) are the same: Greg and Tamara kidnap Henry. With Killian not present, I imagine that David succeeds in wrestling a bean away from Greg. They go to Rumple for help, and though he refused before, Blue's potion worked in giving Belle her memories back and he changes his mind. Somewhere in his shop, there is a ship in a bottle, and he removes this ship, docks it in the harbor, and leads Emma, Regina, Mary Margaret, and David through a portal that takes them to the waters surrounding Pan's island.

Also on AO3

Special thanks to @shireness-says my forever beta who only makes my life (and my stories) better, and all the ladies on discord who answered all the little questions I struggled with while writing this. Thanks, ladies. ( @kmomof4 @hollyethecurious @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @stahlop ) Written for @neverlandnewyear. Some other interested pals: @thisonesatellite @darkcolinodonorgasm @scientificapricot @carpedzem @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @regi-writes-stuff @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @winterbaby89 

The ship touches down on the waters, the portal disappearing from around them — but what they find is no better. Fat, cold rain drops pelt them from above, and below them, the waves begin to toss the dilapidated ship in every direction.

“Great job, Gold!” Regina yells, wrapping one of the ropes around her wrist. “You landed us right in the middle of a storm!” 

“Believe it or not, dearie, my powers do not include the ability to control the weather, and certainly not in this realm!” 

"We don't have time for this!" David chimes in, helping Mary Margaret keep her footing on the quickly-dampening deck. "If we're even going to make it onto the island, we have to get through this storm together!" 

"And how do you expect we do that?" Regina chides. "This ship is barely more than a pile of old boards, it's not going to survive this storm." 

"Then maybe we should work together to try to make it through this!" Mary Margaret yells. 

"What do you expect us to do?” 

"Well, we can start by trusting each other!" 

Regina scoffs. "You think trust is going to get us through this storm? Is your trust going to keep us from taking on water?" 

"No," Emma mumbles, looking down to her feet, and the water that she finds there makes her realize just how much trouble they're in. 

And that's when something rams into the side of the ship. And again. And again. 

"What the hell was that?" 

"Sharks?" 

"Afraid not," Rumple mumbles, trying to plant his feet on the slippery deck to keep control of the helm. 

Regina looks over the railing, conjuring a fireball in her hand. "Mermaids." 

"Mermaids?" Emma repeats. "They're real, too?" 

"Does that really surprise you anymore?" Regina asks. 

"We have to do something!" Mary Margaret yells over the wind. 

"I am not being capsized by a fish!" David sloshes across the deck to a small cannon, which he loads a length of chain into before firing it into the water.

Mary Margaret picks a large net up off the helm, tossing half of it to Emma. “Help me get this into the water!”

“What are you going to do, catch one of them?” Regina tosses a fireball towards the surface of the water — which, surprisingly, works, and a mermaids around them back off the ship. 

“Yes!" Mary Margaret stops for a moment to glance at Regina before tossing the net into the waves. "And ask her to help us.” 

“Mermaids aren’t going to help you, dearies!”

“Obviously you’re also not going to help us, either!” Regina crosses the deck and throws out another fireball, clearing the starboard side just as she did the port. “There.” She wipes her hands on her soaked slacks and smiles at the fact that the storm also seems to have left with the mermaids. “They’re gone.” 

“Not all of them!” Mary Margaret says, grunting as she and Emma struggle to pull their fishing net back onto the deck. “What about this one?” 

With a flick of Regina's hand, the creature is out of their net and sprawled on the boards of the deck, her hands bound in front of her and her shining tail flopping into the inches of water that have settled onto the boards of the deck. 

But her presence on the deck only causes an argument to break out between them, each offering their own way to deal with her — to ask for help, to kill her, to let her go. With every question they ask her, she offers them a vague but threatening answer, and the storm that Regina thought was over slowly begins to reform around them. Even after Regina turns her to wood with a whoosh of her magic, they continue to argue amongst themselves, the storm surging around them — all except Emma, who realizes the mermaid’s plan was to set them against each other to be destroyed by the storm. With no other option, she tries to get their attention, screaming across the small ship towards them, but nothing works — and she dives into the sea. 

Quickly followed by a piece of metal rigging, pulled off by the winds into the water behind her and making hard contact with her head, immediately knocking her unconscious.

Without a second thought, David moves to dive in behind her, but Mary Margaret’s hand tight around his arm stops him. “No! You could get pulled under, too!” 

“Not to worry!” A voice cuts through the rushing wind and water, another ship appearing out of the darkness of the storm. Within moments, it is close enough for the man to follow Emma into the water, a rope tied around his waist. 

For a few long, terrifying moments, nothing happens. The storm still surging around them makes it impossible for them to see into the water, and they can only hope that the mysterious man can save her before it's too late.

After what feels like forever, a head breaks the surface of the water, Emma's bright hair a strong contrast to the dark waves, and the other man follows. 

"Pull me up, Scarlett!" he calls, facing away from their small ship, and the man just visible on the deck of the nearby ship does as asked, pulling the man with Emma in tow. David wants to oppose, beg the man to bring Emma back to their ship, but just the feeling of Mary Margaret's hand on his arm keeps his mouth closed.

"Can you get us over there?" Mary Margaret asks, turning towards Rumplestiltskin. He rolls his eyes, but twirls his hand in front of him anyway, taking them all onto the other ship's deck in a wisp of smoke.

"Is she okay?" David asks as soon as he finds his footing, kneeling beside where Emma is laying on the deck — just as she spits out a mouthful of seawater and rolls onto her side. Mary Margaret drops to her knees on the deck beside her daughter, wrapping her arms around Emma's shoulders.

"Perhaps we should give the lass a moment? A bit of space?" the man who rescued her says, leaning against the bannister behind him, his arms crossed behind his back.

"Oh, come on !" Regina cuts him off, raising her hand towards the wave, moving ever-closer to their ship. "We don't have time for all this." 

"Alas, she's right. I'm afraid we'll have to save the pleasantries until after the dashing rescue," he says, striding to what can only be his rightful place behind the helm and leading them quickly away from the waves, away from the storm. David helps Emma to her feet and they all watch as their old ship crumbles beneath the waves, after which the storm around them seems to disappear at an alarming rate; within mere minutes, the sun shines down from a cloudless sky and the soft wind blows lightly on the sails.

The man locks the helm into place and holds his hand out in a welcoming gesture. "This seems a much more appropriate time for introductions. Welcome aboard the Jolly Roger. "

"Okay,” David says, crossing his arms across his chest. "Who are you?"

"Captain Jones," he says, mimicking David's position -- which only draws attention to his left arm, which is blunted just shy of the elbow, replaced with a shining, metal hook. "But most people have taken to calling me by my more colorful moniker—"

Rumple laughs, cutting him off mid-sentence. "You've really owned up to your ailment, haven't you, Captain Hook ?" he says, spitting the last two words between his teeth. 

The man turns around, noticing Rumple standing behind him for the first time. "Oh, now that's just my bloody luck, innit?" He pushes his dark, wet bangs off his forehead with his wrist and lets out a small laugh. "All I was expecting was a few damsels in distress," he says, turning towards Emma for a moment and waggling his eyebrows at her before returning his attention to Gold. "Yet it appears I've caught myself a crocodile." 

"Like, Captain Hook Captain Hook? Waxed mustache and perm and Peter Pan?" 

"Well, love, I must admit I'm uncertain about the first two, but I'm glad to hear that you know who we're going up against."

"Up against? I just want to save my son." 

"Why do you think they brought him here, dearies?" Rumple asks, flourishing his hands to conjure a whisp of purple smoke, revealing a new outfit of dark pants and a black, reptilian-scaled vest. "Pan is the one behind it all, I have no doubts about that. And he is a far more powerful foe than any of you are able to go up against." 

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Regina bites back, but Rumple is gone in another wisp of smoke before the question even leaves her lips. 

"It appears that even after all these years, he is still as helpful as he's always been," Hook says, his jaw obviously tight with tension.

Emma's head is spinning. She's spent months trying to wrap her head around everything about Storybrooke and her life, around the idea of true love and fairy tales and everyone's stories intertwining — but this, running into handsome, one-handed pirates in Neverland that have a history with Gold, goes beyond all else.

"Wait, you know Mr. Gold?" Mary Margaret asks, voicing the question they all seem to be thinking.

"Aye, " he says, wrapping his hook around one of the spokes of the helm, where his attention is also focused. "though he was not known by that name. Before he became the Dark One as well, if the rumors are to be true."

For once, Regina seems interested in what he has to say." But he's been the Dark one for —"

"Lifetimes, aye," he says, cutting her off, but turning his eyes down to where she is standing on the lower deck.

No one knows how to respond to him, so the deck stays silent. For the first time, Emma looks around, taking in the small crew that stands around them. There are five that she can see, not including the captain: another tall, dark-haired man standing against the railing, arms crossed over his chest; a stout man with a red beard and an even redder hat; a fierce-looking woman with a mess of dark hair piled high on the top of her head, her dark orange tunic and black pants having seen better days; and two dark, brooding young men, no more than twenty, on the far end of the deck.

"What brings you all to Neverland?" the woman asks. Emma is not surprised that she is the one who tries to make conversation, though she vaguely remembers something about women being bad luck on ships. 

"They took my son," Emma and Regina say simultaneously, and none of the ship's crew are able to keep their immediate reactions off their face.

The dark haired man leaning against the railing behind David barks out a laugh, but when Regina turns her glare in his direction, he snaps his mouth shut.

"What could Pan want with your son?" Hook asks. 

"Does it matter?" Emma spits back. "We need to get him back."

Hook holds up his hands in a gesture of reluctant surrender. "Of course, of course, you're right." He turns to the man still leaning against the railing, who pushes off to his feet when he sees the look on the captain's face. "Prepare for a return to open waters, I would like to dock at Pirate's Cove before dinner time, Mister Scarlett."

Emma expects a salute, given the rest of the captain's countenance, but the man — Scarlett — just nods and walks away.

"Dinner?" Regina asks, her voice dripping with anger. "What part of ' we don't have time for this' don't you understand, pirate?" she spits.

"Can I ask you how many times you've visited this island, your Majesty?" he asks, the same fire in his voice.

She's taken aback for a moment, but answers nonetheless: "Never."

"That's what I thought. I, however, have been here for longer than any of you can even imagine, which gives me the kind of knowledge you could use on this type of quest. Are you really going to turn that down?"

To this, Regina has no response.

"Now, the beaches at Pirate's Cove will prove much more useful to your mission here, and by sailing around the island, it will rid you of the necessity of walking either through or around the Dark Jungle, which I can assure you is something you do not want to do. So, yes, we are going to chance the few hours it will take to sail around the island to hopefully cut days off of what it would have taken you on foot, and then we will be closer to Pan's camp and it will hopefully prove easier to find your boy."

This time, it's David who is angered by his response: " We ? What do you mean 'we'?"

Captain Hook practically rolls his eyes at this, which almost pulls a laugh out of Emma. “Do you expect to navigate the island yourselves?"

Emma intervenes, trying to calm the tension while also ensuring they stay focused on rescuing Henry: "He's right, David, we could use his assistance."

He winks at Emma. "I had a feeling I was going to like you." 

  Though she knows she should be resting, bunking with Regina, David, and Mary Margaret belowdecks, Emma instead finds herself drawn to the crew of the Jolly Roger , and spends the next few hours chatting quietly with them as the ship makes its way across the surprisingly quiet waters surrounding Neverland.

Especially the woman — Tiger Lily, Emma learns. Something about her keeps Emma interested in their whispered conversation, and it does not take her long to learn that, like her own, the woman's background is full of sadness and sacrifice.  She tells Emma how she sacrificed herself to try to stop someone from turning evil and spending the rest of her magic to get to this island after exiling herself; tells her about being found by Pan and working for him in return, only to learn how evil and twisted his ways are, stealing boys from their families and never allowing them to leave. (" And there's something deeper and darker behind it all, something that he only mutters about with his second in command, a Dark Magic that keeps the island alive — I believe with the sacrifice of the boys who decide they want to leave." ) And Captain Hook, saving her as she tried to escape Pan, though she knew it was impossible — or, well, improbable. 

"And I've been in his service ever since. He was working with Pan for a while, too, and able to leave this realm. He asked every time we docked somewhere if I wanted to leave, to live a better life, but I've enjoyed the time I've spent with him as my captain. I've never known a better man." 

"Oh, is that so, Lily?" the very man appears behind them, a smile covering his dark features — except his eyes, Emma realizes. His eyes are the brightest blue she has ever seen, the same color as the soft waves moving in the sunlight. 

"Now, come on, Captain," she laughs, and the way she sets her hand on the captain's arm sends an unwanted shiver down Emma's back. "You and I both know you're nothing if not a man of honor." 

"Yes, but you're not supposed to divulge that knowledge to our new guests just yet." 

"And why not?" Emma asks, knowing that her crossing her arms over her chest is a defense mechanism, but that only makes her pull them closer to her. 

He wags his eyebrows across his forehead, then winks at her once more. "Can't go around telling everyone that Captain Hook is a big softie. I have a reputation to uphold." 

Emma rolls her eyes and walks away, if only to save herself from any more unwanted shivers or repressed feelings. 

Their mission is to save Henry. Henry comes first and everything else has to wait.  

  "Well, what are we going to do once we're ashore?" David asks, hunched over the Neverland map spread across the desk in the Captain's cabin. 

"Pan's camp is only a short distance from the Cove, remember?" Mary Margaret adds, the focused planner and adventurer that Emma has only seen glimpses of. "We can sneak up on him and—"

"Nope," Hook says from where he has planted himself in the corner, one boot crossed over the other and his arms crossed over his chest. "There's no way to sneak up on Pan." 

Regina's eye roll is practically audible. "You keep saying that but offering no helpful advice." 

"And you keep saying that but not actually listening to what I have to say." 

"Hook is the one with the knowledge of the island, Regina," Emma reminds her. 

"And I'm the one with the knowledge of magic, maybe we should just give that a try!" 

"What are you suggesting?" Mary Margaret scoffs. " Poof ing yourself into the middle of a camp on a magic island you've never visited before?" 

"What do you suggest, Hook?" David asks, if only to keep Mary Margaret and Regina from fighting. It's obvious that the last thing he wants to do is take advice from a pirate, but even David realizes that they are left with very few other options. 

"There is no way to plan what is going to happen once we reach those shores. Everything we do, everywhere we go, Pan will know about it and will always be steps ahead of us." 

"How have you spent all this time in this realm and not learned even a few tricks that could help us?" 

"Most of my years here have been spent on this ship, provided with rations by the very demon himself. Before that, he and I had an agreement that made us more comrades than foes, and all the time I spent on the island was for his own doing." 

"Oh, that's helpful," Regina mutters, leaving the cabin without another word. 

"So, let me see if I understand this," Emma asks, knowing that neither David nor Mary Margaret will be able to be civil about this. "Your plan… is to not have a plan at all?" 

Hook nods. "There is no other option in Neverland. It's Pan's game there, and he makes all the rules. Best we can do is be ready for whatever he throws at us." 

"I don't like this," Mary Margaret mumbles, and David wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to press a kiss against the top of her head. 

"It's what we have to do to get Henry back, and that's all that matters," he says, a princely tone of finality in his voice, and the room falls silent.

  "Can I ask you something, love?" Hook asks, his eyes leaving the horizon for just a moment to look at her (again, though she has only noticed a few of them) where she is sitting against the railing on the starboard side of the ship. 

"I'm not your love," she bites, looking up from one of Hook's maps that she's borrowed from his quarters. 

"I've had my share of run-ins with the Crocodile, and I've even crossed paths with the Evil Queen once or twice. The other two, that's Snow White, the princess, right? And her husband?" 

"And how do you know that?" 

He pauses, trying to chose his words carefully. He knows that if he says the wrong thing, he'll lose the small amount of ground he's made with them trusting him. "I've been… through an agreement with Pan, I can leave these waters every once in a while, as long as I fulfill some of the things he asks of me." 

"You work with him," she says, but her face fails to give away any of what is going through her head. 

"In a way, aye. But I've been to the Enchanted Forest, and I know what happened to it. How is it that you got here?" 

"Well, there was a curse." 

"Aye." 

"And I — I broke the curse." 

" You broke the curse?" 

"Yeah, I — I'm the Savior , apparently, because I — I'm their daughter." 

"Snow White's?" He's not nearly taken aback enough. "And the Prince." 

She nods. So does he. Somehow he is wrapping his head around all of this much easier than she did. Maybe once you're alive for a few lifetimes, things like this are a lot less surprising than they were for Emma. 

"How is it that you and the Evil Queen share the same son?" 

Emma can't help but laugh. Where does she even start? "No offense, Hook, but it's a very long story that we don't really have time for." 

"Aye, that I can understand." He lifts his hand off the helm to scratch his beard before moving his hand behind his ear and to the base of his neck. "But do you — you know — live together?" 

"No, no, it's more like… joint custody." 

"Come again?" 

Right. "Joint custody," she says again, even though the centuries-old pirate knows nothing about the ins and outs of child custody. "We, uh… share him, I guess. Take turns." 

"And what about the boy's father? Is he a part of this taking turns ?" 

His question turns her blood to ice. Neal. Where does she even begin? For a moment, she's angry — at Neal, at herself. "No." How dare he. How dare Hook to even ask about Neal, he has no right — 

He has no idea. It was an innocent enough question, there's no way he knew the still-gaping wound that a question about Neal would inflame. 

"He's — dead." 

"Apologies, love, I didn't mean to stir up any unwanted emotions." 

"Stop calling me that." 

"I'm afraid it's more of a habit than anything." 

She has no response to this and turns her attention back towards the map.

    "Bloody hell," Hook mumbles, though Emma and Smee, his first mate, are the only ones close enough to hear him. At first, they don't see whatever the problem may be, but as the ship continues to approach the shore, Emma sees him leaning against one of the trees just on the other side of the shore.

Pan. Emma can sense it somehow — her motherly instincts, maybe, or something like that, but she can feel that the man on the shore is Peter Pan. 

No. No, not man. Boy , with a pudgy teenaged face and dark hair that falls down to his eyebrows. 

"That's him," Emma says. She means for it to be a question, but it does not come out that way.

"Aye." She turns to him just in time to watch the edge of his jaw tick as he grinds his back teeth together. "That's the demon Pan." 

For a moment, Emma is unsure how she feels about all this. Hook's plan to take them around the island has already taken hours of their precious time, and all under the guise to keep them from Pan — only to have him waiting for them right where Hook brought them to shore. What if Hook had been playing with them the whole time? Giving Pan time to plan ahead while he wasted time sailing them all around the island?

But then she looks at him again, sees the rage obvious on his face, and she almost feels bad for questioning his motive even though she has every right to. 

"Bested us again," he mutters, but then straightens his back and looks out over the ship. "Prepare for docking!"

Pan watches, unmoving, from the shore as Hook and his crew lead the Jolly Roger to the dock — and, still unmoving, as they come ashore. Finally, he speaks. "Thank you for bringing our special guests ashore, Captain," the boy leers. "Good to see you're still good for something."

"You know I can't pass up the opportunity to give assistance to a damsel in distress, nonetheless three. And Dave." There's a joking tone in his voice, but it's not present anywhere else in his body. 

"Ah, yes," Pan says, pushing himself away from the tree. "Welcome, your highnesses. I hope you find Neverland as welcoming as you have spent all those years hoping your Enchanted Forest would be. And you, Regina, you and I have more in common than you may want to believe." 

Regina rolls her eyes, conjuring a fireball in her left hand. "Oh, please," she spits. "Let's do this the easy way: give me my son back and I won't burn your whole island down." 

Pan just laughs. "No, I’m afraid that's not going to happen. You're on my island now, and you're going to play by my rules." 

"Do you think this is a game?" 

"Oh, your majesty , that's exactly what this is. So, Emma, I'm going to give you a map." He pulls a folded piece of parchment out from under his tunic. "A map that will lead you straight to your son." 

"If this is some kind of trap," she starts, taking a step towards him with her hand on the sword on her hip. 

But Pan's soft laugh stops her. "I may not be the most well-behaved boy on the island, but I always keep my promises. The path to finding Henry is on this parchment."

"Why are you giving it to me?"

He chuckles again. "See, it's not about finding Henry. It's about how you find him. And, Emma," he says, placing his hand on her wrist as she reaches out to take the parchment. "You're the only one who can."

She takes it from him, then unfolds it — only to find it blank, save a pattern around the outside. "It's blank." 

"You sound surprised," Regina bites, but no one pays attention to her. All eyes are on Pan. 

"You'll only be able to read that map when you stop denying who you really are." 

Emma looks down at the map once more. Everyone around her looks at it. 

And when they look up, Pan is gone. 

  As they follow Hook's lead through the jungle, Emma's focus is on the map. She thinks of all she can: her background, everything she's learned since coming to Storybrooke. She even attempts to admit that she's the savior during a short break, but nothing works. 

Regina, angry and impatient and nothing if not motivated, takes it from her, insisting on magic, despite the arguments from the rest of the group. It works — to a point, leading them not to Pan's camp, but to an ambush by a group of Lost Boys. It does not last long, the heroes quickly overpowering the boys, but David gets nicked with a Dreamshade-tipped arrow — a secret he tries to keep from the rest of the camp.  

Hook sees it, though, the one in the group that really knows how deadly the poison can be, but he, too, keeps it to himself. 

He leads them away from the ambush, towards a cliff that looks out over most of the island. From there, he insists, they can plan a route through the jungle and maybe even scout out Pan's camp. But by the time they get there, the sun has set, and all they can see is shadow. "Now that you've seen what Pan can do in just a few short hours, we need our strength. I suggest we make camp."

Regina, unsurprisingly, is against his idea. "You want to sleep while my son is out there suffering?"

"If you want to live long enough to save the boy, yes," he argues, and no one has a comeback for this. Regina is first to walk away, huffing knowing that Hook is right. Hook is second, closely followed by David, who barks an order about finding firewood, leaving Emma and Mary Margaret looking out over the jungle.

They are silent for a moment, Emma obviously worrying about something, but Mary Margaret has learned not to push. And after a few moments, Emma does say what's on her mind:

"Regina's right, Henry's out there somewhere."

But Mary Margaret is ready with her positive comeback. "And Hook is right. We have to survive if we're going to get him."

"I know. I just hope we're not too late."

Mary Margaret leaves her there, knowing that sometimes, her daughter just needs her space to think. She stands there as the others build their camp, her attention turned once more towards the blank parchment — the map , removed from her pocket.

Though he does not mean to, Hook startles her with his approach. "I opted for first watch so you and the others could get your rest." 

Emma just shakes her head, starting towards the campfire, needing the monotony of the crackling fire to slow her mind down. "There's no way I can sleep here without solving this map."

"Then it appears you and I will be not sleeping together, love," he jokes, waggling his eyebrows at her with a smirk on his face.

Emma just rolls her eyes. "Listen, Hook. I am here to save my son. The very last thing I'm going to do is get distracted." 

His smirk is gone, not even a trace of a smile left on his features. "Of course, Swan. I meant no insult."

They sit in relative silence, the rest of them falling asleep quickly — or, at least, staying quiet. The sounds of the Jungle seem to grow louder in the darkness, almost deafening. But Emma's attention is still on the map.

"Nothing I can think of is working," she groans, dropping the map to the ground beneath her feet.

"None of those are what Pan is looking for. What have you been avoiding? What have you been hiding from, love?" 

She is already on edge, and his endearment only makes her angrier. "I am not your love, Hook. Why are you helping me, anyway?" 

He's been wondering the same, so he's quick to answer. "I've been searching for a glimmer of hope when it comes to defeating this demon for as long as I can remember. If finding your lad and ruining his plans takes his power from him, then helping you is the very least I can do." 

"But why? What did Pan ever do to you?" 

He's silent for a moment, trying to decide how much he wants to divulge to her, and he maks a quick decision. "It wasn't me personally," he lies. "But it's the principle of the thing. He preys on boys who think he's taking them to a better life, but all he's doing is taking them from their families. Growing up alone is the worst thing that could happen to a boy, and Pan thrives on separating families." 

"Sounds like something you know a lot about." She doesn't mean to be so forward, but once it's out, there's No taking it back.

"Pardon?" 

"Only someone who grew up alone would talk like that." 

Now it's his turn to get defensive. "And how would you know that? You're the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming. What can a princess know about growing up alone?" 

She knows that there is no way for him to know otherwise, to know the truth about her childhood, but his assumptions about her still make her a little angry. "You have no idea what you're talking about," she grits, trying not to let her anger get the best of her. "My parents sent me through a portal when I was only a few hours old. I grew up alone , spent my whole life alone . I was an orphan, too, Hook. Or, at least, I grew up believing I was." 

"I'm — I'm sorry, Swan, I shouldn't have assumed—" 

"No, you shouldn't have." 

"You're right though, love. I, too, spent much of my life alone. My mum was sick and passed when I was a boy, and my father took my brother and I on a ship to a far-off land. Until one day, we woke up and he was gone. He left us there to settle a debt and we never saw him again." 

Silence settles between them for a moment, and then he smiles. "It seems you and I have quite a lot in common, then, love," he chides, but Emma barely hears him. She's too distracted by the parchment in her hand, which has revealed a map at some point in their conversation. 

"Hook—" she tries, but he cuts her off.

"Apologies, I know, you're not my love ." 

"No, Hook, that's not it." 

Finally he looks at her, trying to find what she is talking about on her face, following her eyes down to the parchment in her hands. But there is something else that has changed, too, something about her . He can't quite put his finger on it, but he thinks he maybe sees a glimmer of hope in her eyes. 

[madhyanas]

here be dragons

Part 1 of the Hospitality series

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x fem!Reader

Rating: T/PG-13

Word Count: 4.6k 

Warnings: One use of a slur, aimed at the reader.

A/N: ahhhhh it’s a little late, but i finally finished this. now i can finally start posting this series in the RIGHT order, oh my god. check it out on ao3 here, if you want.

It’s late.

You lie in your cot, staring into the darkness. Unable to sleep, surrounded by the vicious tempest outside. It’s raining heavily; pelting down so hard you can hear it through the roof and feel it through the floor. Occasionally, you hear a boom of thunder, and the inn doors rattle and shake.

You’re glad you fixed the waterproofing this morning.

In a storm like this, you hold some half-hearted hope that a traveller will stop by. Someone soaked and freezing; desperate enough for you to hike up the price of lodging without turning away business.

Swindling a tourist here and there can’t hurt, in the grand scheme of the galaxy. You have to eat, after all.

The rich scent of waterlogged earth fills the room, and something about it seems unfamiliar. You’ve accustomed to the occasional downpour by now, having lived on Takodana for many years. But the lingering air of petrichor reminds you just how different home was — all dry deserts and salt flats, the odd dust storm. Certainly no lush greenery or blue skies.

As a lump settles in your throat, you miss the mechanic stand from your childhood. The slick smear of oil on your mother’s cheek as she gave the speeder a tune-up. The stripes on your father’s montrals above the welding mask as he soldered wires back together. When he was done, he’d always squish your little face in his palms. Smoothing his thumbs over the white markings on your face, near identical to his. The only symbol of your Togruta heritage, contrasted on a face of your mother’s colouring.

You sigh, and sit up. Now, you’re stuck here. Running an inn by yourself, out of business and in denial about it. You miss the feeling of freedom that came and left with youth; running through the streets, being swept up in warm, protective arms. Your mother rolling her eyes. Your father’s laugh.

Suddenly, a bang. You hear front doors slide open, and your heart leaps into your throat. The sound rings in your ears for a moment with its violence. Blindly, you grab the vibroblade from the table and scramble to the entrance. You’ve never used it before, and you pray the doors are just malfunctioning.

As you skirt through the narrow passageway, your stomach drops. No such luck. A large, silhouetted figure stands before the main desk, looming ominously as the wind howls outside. Maker, they’re huge. Far bigger than you, and a small, nagging part of your brain says they could kill you in a heartbeat.

It’s still dark. Frozen as you are, you haven’t turned the lamp on. In vain, you hope they might leave if no-one arrives. A bolt of lightning flashes outside, and the glare arcs off the stranger’s helmet.

Your eyes widen at the glimpse of a smooth, glass t-visor. A Mandalorian.

Oh, you’re fucked.

In that moment, they turn to you directly. The back of your neck tingles, and you realise they can see you. Their helmet turns down to the vibroblade in your hands, before returning to your face calmly. Of course. You don’t think you’re a very threatening sight, cowering in the doorway like this.

You feel remarkably stupid.

Hesitantly, you step forward and switch on the lamp at the desk with your free hand. Light pours out softly between you, doing nothing to calm your nerves. You squint, eyes adjusting to the brightness, trying to control the pounding of your heart.

“I am in need of lodging.”

You blink. The voice, low and rumbling, is scrambled by a vocoder. Male, from what you can tell, and the static scratches at your ears. He’s covered from head-to-toe in deep blue armour; rivulets of water drip off the steel, puddling on your floor. Some kind of pack rests on his back, and you try, fruitlessly, to ignore the glint of a trigger and scope.

Towering over you, you’d have to crane your head just to look him in the visor. You don’t have the nerve, in any case.

It occurs to you, faintly, that you could die tonight. It also occurs to you that the chances of an untimely demise would be significantly higher, if you keep gawking at him like this.

“Uh…”

“Lodging,” he repeats, sounding distinctly impatient. “Is there a vacancy?”

Maker, when is there not.

“Yes! Yes, there’s a— there’s a vacancy.” Fumbling for the log-holo, you set the vibroblade down in a cubby under the desk. Still within reach, and your receptionist autopiloting kicks in. “Uh, single room, how many nights?” You glance up at the shiny helm. The usual questions, but it feels… impertinent, asking for information. Like you’re violating his sanctity, or something, just daring to wonder. Especially about someone so clearly hostile. How does a faceless sheet of beskar manage to make your stomach churn?

“One.”

Of that, you’re grateful. One night, and you’ll be done with this. “Okay,” you reply, dragging out the sound. You sound nervous. He must be able to tell. “And, uh, name?”

He stares you down. It suddenly feels cold, frigid, even though his visage most definitely cannot change. It strikes you, in that moment, that even your sensitive nose can’t detect anything on him. The rain has washed it all away, except for a stubborn, smokey hint of blaster ammunition. Recently fired. A shiver runs up your spine.

Acerbically, he snaps, “Pick one.” There’s a rising heat behind the words, you don’t push your luck.

“I’ll— I’ll just put ‘Mando’,” you mutter, entering the moniker into the log. Once again, in the span of less than five minutes, you feel like a moron. Heat rushes to your cheeks.

But there’s one more caveat. You should probably forget it, just this once, but for some reason: “You’re not allowed to bring weapons inside. While— While you’re staying.”

A golden rule. One of the conditions upon which you were even allowed to run this place was your responsibility to maintain peace. (You often wonder what the Pirate Queen was thinking, believing you capable of breaking up any kind of violence.)

To your relief, the Mandalorian doesn’t explode with rage, or any such violent gestures. His shoulders are tense, but this — dealing with irritated, tired travellers — is familiar. He’s no different, you tell yourself.

“The weapons stay.”

“I can’t let you—”

“I’m a Mandalorian. Weapons are part of my religion.” You blink, and your silence seems enough for him to continue. “I won’t be using them on you, if that’s what you’re worried about. Keep your distance, and there won’t be a problem.”

A threat. Perhaps he’s trying to reassure you, in some strange way, but it doesn’t stop the cold fist of dread from closing around your heart.

“I’m… not supposed to—”

“You have my word.”

A muscle in your jaw ticks. Despite the nerves wrenching your stomach, there’s an urge to stand your ground. To defend the principles of Maz’s territory. (Or, more selfishly, to rebuke how easily he’s trampling all over you.) You shift, ready to argue.

But then he moves, one hefty arm lifting upwards, and you flinch. He pauses, before fishing a leather pouch out of a pocket and dropping it on the counter. You hear the familiar clink of credits. The sound elicits an instinctual reaction, a lurch of hope. You lean forward with a frown, inspecting the offering.

You gingerly pluck it by the drawstring, and its weight is a pleasant surprise. The contents are promising — a fee far exceeding the cost of one night’s stay.

A prickling mixture of shame and embarrassment heat your cheeks. Oh, how quickly your righteous anger fades at the promise of payment. Again, the back of your neck tingles. A reminder, that the Mandalorian is watching.

Taking a steadying breath, you bring your eyes back to the visitor. “Should I… show you to your room?”

A beat, then he nods.

You step to the side and flick the overhead lights on, waiting for him to go first. But he continues staring, and your skin itches with the weight of judgement. You realise he’ll only follow behind.

You swallow thickly, keeping your gaze averted as you lead him inside. Your little bungalow inn doesn’t have that many rooms to begin with, so you keep them all clean and ready for a guest — that’s not the issue.

But you have to go the night knowing there’s an elite warrior, perfectly capable of silencing your heartbeat, staying two doors down. You have to sleep with that knowledge.

You realise the vibroblade still rests in your palm. It feels clunky. Foolish, in your inexperienced hand. The Mandalorian’s heavy footsteps thud behind you, accented by the clank of metal armour. You clamp down the urge to rub the back of your tingling neck, and in some peculiar urge to reconcile, you half-turn to him as you walk. Slowly, showing him the weapon.

“Ah, I wouldn’t use this, you know. On you.” He’s crushingly silent, appraising you. He has to duck his head slightly to fit in the passageway, nearly filling up its width with his bulk.

You blather on, blindly spitting out words to fill the silence. “It’s just— all sorts pass through here, you know? This place has Kanata’s stamp of approval and all, but better safe than sorry.”

Still, no response, and you wince at just how green you sound. You swallow, having reached the doorway; you’ve led him to the quarters with the largest bed, having figured he’ll need it.

“There’s instructions to set the passcode inside. If you need anything,” you say, hoping he won’t, “I’m that door over there.” For one, awkward moment, you stand, feeling horribly out of place with the brooding figure at your side. “Well. Goodnight, then.”

You turn around, credits and blade in hand, ready to step into your quarters and get some kriffing rest, when the crawling, fuzzy feeling on the nape of your neck intensifies.

With one foot through the doorway, you hear him call out to you. “I thought no weapons were permitted.” A coarse noise crackles through the vocoder, and you realise it’s a laugh. You feel a cold sweat run down your back. “Is that blade just for show, then, little innkeeper?”

He— he sounds amused. Finding entertainment in your clear disadvantage. You feel sick, sick to your stomach, and slam the button to close the door behind you. Wetness springs to your eyes like clockwork, but the tears don’t fall even as you collapse on your cot. You’re pathetic, you think. Unable to stop him from belittling you, never mind barring him entry.

Sleep, though it eventually comes, is fitful and disturbed. Phantom helmets and mocking, modulated laughter fill your head.

In the morning, his room is emptied out. Bed made, fresher tidied.

No trace of the Mandalorian, at all. You’ve never been more grateful.

———

The second time you meet the Mandalorian, you’ve got your hands full.

“I’m not running a charity here.”

A Zabrak man has his hands planted on the desk, leaning into your space uncomfortably. Maker, guests like these test your patience.

It’s a poor attempt at intimidation. He’s taller than you, certainly, but gangly in a way that screams awkward, rather than lean. Scrawny, drawn out. Even the spikes protruding from his yellowish face are lumpy and faded. You wrinkle your nose at the faint, rank odour of sweat and booze. Overall, you’re unimpressed.

Besides, imposing figures don’t phase you much anymore. Not since that fateful encounter, nearly a cycle ago. You’d feared for your life that night.

Few were as large a threat as that Mandalorian.

The Zabrak hisses in your face, “Maz Kanata owes me a great debt. I’ll take it out of my bill.”

In your periphery, you can hear the telltale sounds of landing gear outside — a new arrival, but you can’t deal with that right now.

You blink slowly, and sigh. “Listen, this shtick you’re trying to pull? I’ve heard it before.” So, so many times. You’re not the only cheapskate in these parts. “You have a problem with Maz, you take it up with her. She doesn’t control my inn any more than I control the Castle.” That’s… not exactly true. But you doubt it matters to him.

Twisting his face unpleasantly, the man snarls, “I demand recompense, innkeeper. Return my credits, and we won’t have a problem.”

You recall being browbeaten at similar words. That night you cowed, frozen by the weight of mortality hanging over your head. But you have since hardened in the months that passed, and you steel your resolve.

Leaning close to the Zabrak, getting in his face, you speak through bared teeth. “You’re right. You get out of my inn, and we won’t.” Curling your lips into a disgusted half-sneer, “So I’ll be keeping my credits.”

“Insolent fool,” the Zabrak growls, and he moves to reach for something concealed behind his back. You jaw clenches — how did you miss that he was armed? — and you flinch backwards as he reveals a blaster. Before you can reach for your trusty vibroblade, the doors slide open with an innocent ting.

Standing there in the doorway, is your Mandalorian.

Your eyes widen at the sight of him, huge as ever, ducking his head to step over the threshold. Armed to the teeth, as per usual.  He saunters forward slowly, purposefully. The swagger, the presence in his gait impossibly makes him seem… bigger? Somehow even more bulky than last time?

The Zabrak whirls round, only to balk at the steely-blue cuirass his chin comes to level with. He’s harmless compared to the warrior before him. You can only imagine how tiny you must seem. The Mandalorian keeps his head inclined down to the horned man, who’s now gripping the desk behind him, but his words are for you.

“Trouble, innkeeper?”

Maker, it’s been months since you heard that rumbling voice. It still knots your stomach, but less so, you think, than it did. You’re surprised he remembers you.

Your confidence with the pesky guest has not dissipated, however, and you find your words. “I don’t know.” You address the Zabrak calmly, “Is there any trouble, sir? It’d be a shame if things got… unpleasant.”

The wilting man cranes his head to you with a frantic look in his eye, and you feel a flash of pity. Ah, kriff. You’ve made your point.

Glancing at the Mandalorian, you make a subtle ‘back-up’ motion with your palm, half-wondering if he’ll take offence. But thankfully, he does as you request, and the Zabrak’s wheeze of relief is audible as he deflates.

“Takodana Castle,” you start, a little gentler than before, “Is three miles that way.” You thrust a thumb to the side. “One path, cuts through the forest. Can’t miss it.”

The Zabrak stumbles his way around the Mandalorian, never taking his wide eyes off the helmet. The armoured man steps aside silently, and it’s a wonder how he makes such a simple gesture seem so mocking. Saying that he’s the one in control, even if it’s temporarily at your behest. All in the way he shifts, the dangerous glint of his blasters in the light.

The memory of his laugh, hearty and sinister, echoes in your brain. Your toes curl in your boots.

Once he’s out of the door, the Zabrak gains some ill-founded sense of security. His wiry frame tenses, and he glares at you, spitting, “Watch yourself, halfbreed.” With a single, fleeting glance to the Mandalorian, he runs off towards the forest.

…ah.

You purse your lips, and look to the floor out of habit. Heat rushes to your cheeks. The slur is not unfamiliar to you. Your lack of montrals and lekku allow you to blend in, to lie low. But your markings reveal who you are. It’s strange; you think you’re proud of them. What they represent, who gave them to you. But the wave of shame that crashes over you sends blood roaring in your ears. For the Mandalorian to witness this? It’s a pitiful sight.

In the corner of your eye, you see him clench a fist, and you quash the sickness of your heart down with a vengeance. There are more pressing matters at hand.

“So. It’s, uh, been a while.” You cringe at the heavy-handed attempt to change the subject. Now that cursed Zabrak has left, it’s like all your bravado has sputtered out. And, really? Last time you saw the Mandalorian, a man from a culture of elite warriors, you thought he was going to murder you in your sleep. Been a while, indeed.

He plays along. “Well, I was in the area. Figured I should save the damsel in distress, while I had the chance.” He leans an elbow on the counter, resting his weight on it, and for a moment you’re perplexed.

The Mandalorian is… teasing you. Relaxed against your desk, standing close but not enough to be invasive. It’s a far cry from that shadow in the pouring rain, haunting your doorstep. “Although, from where I was standing, you didn’t seem to need much help,” he continues smoothly.

Compliments? Maker, if it were anyone else, you might even think he was making a pass at you.

But it’s him, and you give the helmet a strange look. It’s a little freaky, in all honesty. “I… see. What business do you have here, then, Mandalorian?”

The helm sags slightly in what you can only describe as a falter. It’s jarring. So incongruent with the persona you have crafted in your mind.

“I can’t just drop by?” You imagine your disbelief is evident on your face, because he sighs, a deep and raspy thing, before his voice sobers a fraction. “I have business with the Pirate Queen.” Your shoulders slacken. Of course. It’s a relief, in some way, to know that the purpose of his visit is so normal.

You ready the holo-log at your side. “Ah, sure. How many nights?”

He straightens and rubs a hand to the back of his neck briefly. You stare at the offending limb, entranced by such a normal, hesitant movement. It’s… It’s so very human, for lack of a better word.

“I’m not looking for lodging.” You blink up at his visor, frowning. “My work should only take a day, at the most.”

“Then…”

“I told you. Just wanted to drop in.” That doesn’t answer anything at all, and he elaborates, “I rarely visit Takodana, innkeeper. I thought I’d say hello while I was here.”

Your lips part. What? How… how can there be so much lost in translation? You’ve been afraid of this man, or a barebones idea of him, for months now. Like some kind of boogeyman, under-the-bed horror to spook children into good behaviour. And he comes to you with something like friendliness, with a smart one-liner and warmth in his tone?

You shake your head, dazed; reluctantly, you decide to give it to him straight. “I… I wasn’t under the impression that we were friends, Mandalorian.” He stills, and you keep going. “Honestly, uh, last time. It wasn’t great, for me. You— You scared me.”

‘You still do’ sits on the tip of your tongue. In the disarming haze of his amicability, you can’t tell if it’s true or not. You ramble in the face of his silence, if only to quiet the conflict in your mind. “I thought that you’d— I mean, I thought that I might. Y’know. Die, that night. I was tired, okay, and— and I didn’t know what to think…”

You trail off.

The Mandalorian stands before you, wordless. Your knees aren’t trembling, but there’s a worry seated deep in your chest. It’s interesting, maybe, that you don’t know who it’s for. Guilt begins to creep up on you, bitter at the back of your throat. Kriff. Just as you open your mouth to say something, his voice comes through the vocoder.

“I apologise. I was not… I did not know. It was never my intention to scare you.” His voice sounds hoarse, like the very thought of your fear repulses him. His words are not clumsy, per se, but there’s a rawness there that makes you notice how eloquent he usually sounds. The visor does not stray from your face. “I am sorry. Truly, I am sorry.” His shoulders are slumped, and he’s curling in on himself slightly. Making himself smaller, you realise faintly, and he presses a gloved hand to his chest. The helmet bows. “Ni ceta. I apologise, innkeeper.”

You blink rapidly, not knowing what to say. That’s… an awful lot to take in. You can’t remember the last time someone really begged for your forgiveness like this. You swallow thickly. Don’t cry.

The air seems muggy, somehow. Heated. As if all the truth that has burst forth carries a flame with it, burning the space between you. Hesitantly, you place a hand on his vambrace. The metal is cool against the warmth of your palm, and you’re careful not to touch any of the buttons on the control panel.

“Thank you,” you murmur. “I appreciate that. It’s— it’s alright. I think.” You nod determinedly, as if to reaffirm your words.

Heartfelt apologies don’t spill out so easily from heartless men, surely. He’s worth more trust than you give him. And his stance — defeated, ashamed — no, it doesn’t suit him at all. The helm tilts back up to your face, and you shoot him a small smile. Some kind of impulse lurches in your chest; to comfort, to come together. It’s genuine, and there’s a rosy warmth to your cheeks that feels pleasant.

You slide your hand away from his arm to offer it in the air. It hovers boldly, an attempt to bridge the abyss. It takes him a second, but he clasps your hand in his. You shake firmly, and his grip is strong, yet not painful. Reassuring, in a way. You suspect he’s controlling it for your sake.

“Let’s start fresh, huh?” You give him your name, and he repeats it.

His baritone resonates in your ears; it sounds like molasses, dripping into chest and heart. To hear your name uttered with respect, reverence, in that clear-cut way he speaks. It is nothing short of a miracle, in a moment.

You reassure him immediately, “I don’t need yours, if you’re worried about that sort of thing.” You lick your lips nervously. “But I do need something to call you. Got a preference?”

He hums, and you’re grateful how at-ease he sounds. It’s better this way. “What was it I told you that day? ‘Pick one’, I believe.”

So. This is the Mandalorian. He’s got jokes.

You snort, more at the realisation than anything else, and his posture brightens. “If you’re sure.” You press your lips together, thinking of a name. The back of your neck tingles all the while, and the weight of his stare is welcome for the first time. “We could just keep simple? ‘Mando’ would work.”

“Original,” he drawls, not unkindly. “But fine by me.” You have no idea, but it sounds like he’s smiling.

“Alright, then, Mando.” It’s so surreal, chatting with your own personal nightmare after months, just to find out he’s kind of… sweet. Nice to talk to, in a way you didn’t know you needed till now.

———

You two make small talk for a while over the counter. Mild, lighthearted. You learn that Mando’s a much more nuanced soul than you first assumed. Thoughtful, contemplative — careful in the way he speaks to you. You’re not used to that kind of consideration, and it’s appreciated. He’s funny, too, in a crooked kind of way. Like a mismatched puzzle piece fitting in the wrong set, bringing a bemused, entertained quirk to your lips. He conveys wry amusement surprisingly well, despite wearing no facial expression to back him up.

Now that you’re not quaking at the sight of him, your curiosity emerges. Is it a pain, lugging so much armour around? Does he sleep with the helmet on? When did he get that ship, parked just outside? Is it painful, having such a pensive heart, but evoking fear with every step?

Mainly, though, you’re just happy. The blue of his beskar is softer to the eyes, now. It’s the feeling of dipping your toes into chill, crisp waters. Testing the mood of the current, of this new depth you have yet to discover.

Being friends. What a novel idea.

Mando turns to look out the window. The day is well into the afternoon; there’s still time before sunset. “I should get going,” he states, but makes no move to shift off the desk.

There’s a twinge of disappointment. “Oh. Right, your work.” You scuff the toe of your boot against the floor. What can you say, really? One day of budding friendship doesn’t give you the right to impose.

“Yes. The Castle is… eastward, you said?”

You hum in agreement with where his finger is pointing. A shame. You thought you’d have more time with him. “Three miles through the forest,” you intone glumly. “Can’t miss it.”

Would you have to wait a cycle to see him again? More? Would you be waiting here, stuck in your idyllic, but oh-so-small corner of the galaxy, waiting for your Mandalorian to return? You purse your lips; the image doesn’t agree with you. You don’t agree with it, rather.

Finally, he straightens, and the height difference doesn’t startle you, this time. (Impresses you, maybe. Makes something giddy flutter in your chest. But you can’t afford those thoughts, can you?)

Mando tilts his helmet side to side slightly, as if he’s considering something. Weighing the pros and cons, and the action is somewhat exaggerated. You pay no heed, picking at a nail bed idly. It’s childish, sulky.

“Three miles can be travelled by foot. No need to waste the fuel.” He turns to you. “Never been through these woods before, though. Might get lost.”

In your disgruntlement, you don’t catch the leading inflection. You sigh. “I don’t think a Mandalorian would have much issue with an uninhabited forest. You’ll be fine. Just one straight path; don’t stray and it’s easy—”

Mando bends down a little, and says your name seriously, prompting you to look up. "I might get lost. Could use a guide.”

Your lips part in realisation, forming a small ‘o’. That’s what you say, too, and heat blooms in your cheeks at his static-filled snicker. He thinks he’s clever.

“So,” you start swiftly, attempting to recover your dignity. “Is it my turn to save the damsel?” He turns to the door, and you step round the desk to join him.

“I can slay my own beasts,” he snarks, and the mirth you hear is lilting. “You can return the favour, for the dragon I just scared off.”

You huff. “Hardly a dragon, I think.” With finality, you flick off the electric lights and step outside into the clean Takodana breeze.  “Wasn’t really a rescue so much as pest control.” You detect the light, spiced scent of the fragrant tree bark nearby. It grounds you to this moment. Taking in a hearty breath, you do your best to put that stinking Zabrak out of your mind.

A few hours off would be good. You barely get any guests anyway, and Maz is the understanding type. Living for millennia must do that to you.

Mando says nothing as you punch the lock code digits into the door, and start to make your way towards the forest. You know the path to the Castle like the back of your hand, like the strokes on your face, but you have never walked it with company. You smile, unabashed.

There’s a first time for everything.

———

[note: if there’s any warnings you think should be mentioned, please let me know.]

taglist: @pikapuff316 @theocatkov​ @starlite41

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[western-writer]

Betrayal Beyond Forgiveness

Fandom: Far Cry 5

Warnings: cussing, descriptions of injuries, mentions of blood and death

Summary: The Whitetails conspire against Rook out of fear but things don't go the way they expected them to go.

A/n: Finally! I've been trying to produce content for the longest time but I couldn't finish anything to save my life. But here this is and I'm very happy with it. I also didn't proof read this but will be going back through as time goes on to edit things. Enjoy!

Betrayal is a funny thing. The stinging, burning sensation that pools and spreads like electricity throughout your chest and settles into a pit in your stomach. How it feels when that first jolt of Earth shattering realization leaves you reeling. Questions racing in your mind, yet somehow you’re unable to think or choke out the words caught in your throat. It’s funny because betrayal always comes from those you would least expect. That's what betrayal is. You enemies... you expect that much from them. You expect them to try to hurt you. You expect them you screw you over. But when it comes from those closest to you... it cuts deeper than you could imagine. 

Rook would’ve expected something like this from Jacob - a set up. But the Whitetails? Eli? Rook couldn’t wrap her head around it. 

It was just supposed to be a simple extraction of supplies the cult had taken. Stealth is her specialty, after all. Rook dropped the Peggies quick - almost too quick. To Eli’s dismay, this only drove his point forward and confirmed a suspicion he had for quite some time. Jacob’s trails had changed her and, the cult having been mostly under control, it was time to put her down. 

Eli and Tammy watched her on his cameras as she worked. Tammy wore a “I told you so" look as Eli ignored it. With a heavy sigh, he raised his walkie talkie to his mouth and spoke. “We proceed as planned. I’m sorry, Dep.”

Having no idea of this so-called plan, Dep went through the plan as she was told. The area is secure, now she needs to check to see if the supplies are there. 

This part felt a bit strange to Rook. Why should she check to make sure the supplies are there? If they sent her out on his mission, wouldn’t they already be sure they’re here?

Rook ignored her warnings going off in her head and she opened each container. Her heart dropped as she heard the familiar click and she knew what was coming. She had just triggered a count down to a bomb explosion. 

Thinking quickly, Rook turned and sprinted away as fast as she could, but she wasn’t quite fast enough. The explosion went off behind her, sending Rook flying through the air. 

Eli thought the plan had gone off without a hitch as a Whitetail checked her pulse and found no sighs of it. “I think she’s gone, boss. I think the plan worked.” Eli could only hope that she died a quick death. Tammy breathed a sigh of relief. 

“It’s better this way, Eli. She would’ve been a danger to us all. I’ve seen what happens to people after they go through those trails. Now it’ll look like she went down a hero. No one will know.” 

Eli sighs, getting ready to announce her death, but there’s one problem. 

Rook didn’t die in the explosion. She was knocked unconscious and came to just in time to hear about the conspiracy to kill her. She laid there for who knows how long just letting it sink in. Her head throbbed, probably due to the conclusion and she’s pretty sure she has a few broken ribs. Rook was pelted with shrapnel and is bleeding from multiple wounds all over her body. Multiple bones are horribly damaged.

Jacob, she would’ve expected to do something like this. Not the people she called family. Not after all that she’s done for them. The Whitetails are playing with fire and if she lives through these injuries, they’re gonna get burned. 

“Deputy, Deputy, Deputy...” Jacob’s disapproving voice rings in her ears. “Bet you wish you listened to me now, huh?”

Rook opens her eyes a little bit, fighting off the drowsiness threatening to take over. Her vision is blurry and her ears still ring intensely from the explosion. She'll be surprised if she doesn't have some sort of hearing loss, even despite the ear plugs she wears.

It was sad seeing the fearsome Deputy laying here in a pool of her own blood. Having been betrayed by none other than the Whitetail Militia. Pathetic, really. 

Rook, being the stubborn woman she is, struggles to sit up, only to have Jacob slowly push her back down. He cracks a smile, finding a bit of amusement in this. 

“What do you want, Jacob?” she tries to hiss, but it comes out weak. 

Jacob sighs. “I tried to warn ya. You didn’t wanna listen. Now look where you are. Alone. Dying. How does betrayal feel?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Rook manages to growl. 

Jacob laughs. “I’ll hand it to ya, kid. You’ve got some real nerve. I can respect that."

Rook coughs, blood ozing from between her lips and she rolls over. Jacob watches her, almost like he's studying her as she spits out the blood. There's not a lot, but it's enough for Rook to be concerned.

"You have blood in your lungs," he tells her.

"No shit," she rasps. "Why... are you here?"

Jacob chuckles, wiping some blood from her mouth. "I hear everything, Deputy. These are my mountains, after all. I heard the whisperings. I'm honestly surprised they followed through. Their plan would've worked perfectly had someone bothered to confirm that you were dead. They just screwed themselves, didn't they?"

Rook nods slowly, beginning to wheeze. Jacob sighs.

"I guess I've screwed with you enough. C'mon." He extends his hand down and slide it under her back, lifting carefully.

"W-what're you doing?"

"I can't let them go and kill my best weapon, now can I?" He puts his other hand under her back and lifts her up. Rook doesn't bother with trying to struggle or fight him. She doesn't want to die. Not yet and certainly not because of people she would've given her life for.

Jacob picks her up, carrying her as gently as possible as to not injure her further. She rests her head on his shoulder, feeling oddly comforted.

Jacob felt oddly bad for the Deputy. It was never a feeling he expected to feel toward the young rookie. He felt her breathing against him, slow and raspy, pained. Anger burned inside him. Maybe he had a soft spot for her. He has to admit he holds a fair amount of respect for her. She's doing what most people couldn't, wouldn't, or would die trying to do. If he's being honest, he feels responsible for putting her in this situation, but at the same time, this is exactly what he wanted so why does he feel so guilty?

News of Rook's death shook the county. Everyone felt the sting of the loss all while she laid at the Vet's Center recovering and healing. Deputy Pratt stayed by her side the whole time in utter disbelief that the Resistance would do that to her. It took months for her to be well enough to stand and walk around but once she crossed that threshold when healed quickly, though, her loyalties had shifted just a bit and she would never be the same again.

Jacob tried to persuade her to forget about the Resistance. "After everything they've done to you," he said.

"It wasn't the whole Resistance, Jake," Rook defended them. "Just the Whitetails. And that still doesn't change the fact that what you and your siblings are doing is wrong."

Jacob just rolls his eyes. "If one part of the Resistance did this, the rest could easily too."

"The actions of the Whitetails don't speak for everyone, Jake. There's still parts of the Resistance that have fought beside me and some people have given their lives for me. I can't just forget that."

"Sometimes I think you're too loyal, Rook. I really do."

Now it's Rook's turn to roll her eyes. "Whatever you say, Jacob. I need answers and I intend to get them, whether you like it or not."

As Rook made her way out of the room, Jacob felt compelled to call after her, so he did. "Hey!"

Rook stop, turning to face him, seemingly annoyed. "What?"

"I just don't want them to burn you again. I don't want you to waste your energy on people that would literally murder you after all you've done for them. What if when you show up, they freak out and actually do kill you? I didn't save you just to have you be killed."

Rook would've be irritated with him if it weren't for the shock overriding her senses. This kind of vulnerability was incredibly uncharacteristic for Jacob, yet here he was. He showed her a side not many people had ever seen. His caring side. A side to him many people would argue is nonexistent.

Rook was confused at where the sudden concern came from but decided to brush it off - for now.

"It'll be okay, Jake," Rook responds, using her nickname for him to ease the tension. "They'll be too shocked to do anything."

Jacob watched her leave and sighs. At this point he feels a sort of obligation toward her and keeping her safe. The feelings confuse him greatly and he's unsure what to make of them. All he knows is that he hates it.

Rook stands in the doorway behind Eli, waiting for the perfect moment to make her presence known. She fights the angry trying to explode in her and reminds herself: you're here for answers, not to start a fight.

"Hey, Eli..." Rook says softly, making the man stop dead in his tracks and turn slowly.

"Deputy...?"

"Hey..."

With just a few strides Eli had closed to distance between them and hugged her tight. He was genuinely relieved to see her and know that he hadn't killed her. Guilt thumped in his chest like a drum as he held onto her.

"I thought you died..."

Rook had to admit, his embrace felt good. She wished she could forget the deception.

Eli pulls back and looks Rook in the eye. He notices that one has obvious damage to the cornea. Rook catches onto what he's looking at.

"Some, uh, some metal shaving managed to find their way into my eye during the explosion. Don't worry, it only took about 30% of my sight in that eye. My hearing though... I have about half of what I had."

"Dep - I am - I am so sorry."

"I also lost about 25% of my breathing capacity. Major concussion that will effect my cognitive function for the rest if my life. Broken skull and major brain bleeding. My left knee cap basically had to be rebuilt because of how shattered it was when I landed on it after the explosion threw me. My right ankle was broken, both wrists, my left femur, and both my radius and ulnar were pretty well mangled. Did I tell you that not only were multiple organs bruised, but my kidney had ruptured just a little bit? Oh and I had a ton of tissue damage, but I pulled through."

"If anyone could've done it, Dep, it was you."

"Yeah, it was me," Rook chuckles humorlessly. "After being left for dead on the ground... left to bleed out or die of organ failure... you'd never guess who found me but that doesn't matter right now." Rook takes a few steps into the Wolf's Den and looked around. The place was seemingly empty. "What matters is..." she trails off, turning to face Eli. "why'd you do it, Eli?"

A look of shock is plastered of Eli's face as he takes a step back. "D-do what?"

"Set me up, Eli. Why did you set me up? Why did you try to kill me? After everything I've done for you and this fucking county."

"I-I'm sorry, Dep. I really am. You were dangerous, or at least that's what they told me."

"You're smarter than that, Eli. Or at least I thought you were. Letting someone manipulate your thoughts like that... Who was it, hm? Was it Tammy? You know she never liked me."

"After the trials Jacob put you through-! She was terrified that he would use you against us. And I saw it Dep. How you took all those cultists down... it was unnatural."

"Are you fucking kidding me!? Seriously!? I have been fighting for my life, Eli! I've had to change to adapt my methods to fucking survive and you wanna say I'm dangerous because I had to get better? You really don't understand what I was up against. While you got to sit in here I was out there doing anything and everything you wanted me to do." She points to the door. "I was being kidnapped and shot and beaten. I killed for you and I wpildve DIED for you but THIS is how you repay me!? Fuck you, Eli. I thought you were family. I THOUGHT I could FUCKING TRUST YOU."

Rook steps forward, shoving Eli hard and he stumbles, falling to the ground. Rook stalks over, kneeling down next to him.

"You thought I was dangerous before? Get a load of this. Jacob saved me. That's right. Jacob. You know how much damage I could do if I wanted to? All I'd have to do is tell him where this precious hideout is and he'd come down on all of you so fast and so hard that you would never know what hit. You all would be dead before you could get your radio out. The Whitetails would be extinct and all it'd take is just a few words."

"You wouldn't dare," Eli hisses, glaring at her.

"Wouldn't I, though?" Rook answers dangerously. "All it'd take is a few words and your life would be snuffed out much like you tried to do to me. You involuntarily gave me so much power, Eli. Guess next time you'll check my pulse yourself, huh?"

"Dep... please."

Rook sighs, standing up and turning away from him. "And even though you'd fucking deserve it, I won't do that. But I will tell the rest of the Resistance what all of you did and let them decide what to do with you."

A crushing weight falls onto Eli. "I'm sorry, Dep. I really am. I never wanted any of this to happen."

Rook sighs and places her hands on the table in the main room. "You know I can never forgive you or any of the Whitetails for this, right Eli? I would've given my life for you guys... How am I supposed to forgive this? No. I can't. I just can't."

"I understand, Dep... I don't blame you."

Rook takes a deep breath and turns to him again, seeing that he has gotten to his feet. "I've been doing some talking and I've managed to talk Joseph down. They're not leaving but they'll stop targeting and recruiting unwilling participants as long as the Resistance leaves them alone."

"What does that mean for you, Dep?"

She smiles a bit. "I don't know... I mean I just experienced life altering trauma, both physical and mental. I have permanent brain damage. Another bad hit to the head could kill me. So I guess... early retirement. I'm partially blind, can't bear for shit anymore and get winded by walking for extended amounts of time so it's really my only option."

He wanted to say it again. He wanted to apologize until he lost his voice. He couldn't believe he had been so dumb. She will never forgive the Whitetails and neither will he. He will never forgive himself.

"Goodbye, Eli," Rook muttered as she left the bunker. All Eli could do is watch her leave and prepare for the chaos that is about to erupt. The Resistance will be furious with them. They'll be luckily if the rest of them don't kill them.

Rook found herself back at the Vet's Center and questioned herself for a moment before going inside. She could've gone anywhere but she chose here. She chose to come back.

Jacob is waiting for her as she enters his office.

"They thought I was a danger to them..." she mutters.

"Why?"

"Your trials... they thought you'd use me against them."

Just as Jacob feared, they had caught onto his plan. But she would never know that.

Surprisingly, Jacob walked over to Rook and hugged her.

She was stunned and almsot pushed him away before accepting the affection. God knows she needed it after the last few months she had. She never thought she'd find comfort in Jacob Seed but here she is.

And as for Jacob, feeling the younger woman in his arms did something to him. He didn't want to let go. He didn't want her to go. And he would do anything to make sure she didn't.

Some things are better left unsaid and Jacob is sure that this is one of them.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Medusa’s Child (part one)

eyyyy, here’s the first part of Medusa being a mom!! sorry if it’s not very accurate to the myths, i am trying my best. feedback and comments are greatly appreciated! i hope you all enjoy!

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

She was first alerted of a presence by an uneven splashing against the nearby shore.

It was the early evening, and the sun was at its best point in the sky, raining down on Sarpedon in just the right way to make her scales light with painless flames. She stretched out on her branch, pressing her bare belly up to the warm rays. Her tail flicked lazily while her mane of snakes hissed and tugged in the direction of the noises. She swatted a clawed hand at them.

  “Let him come,” Medusa murmured in a husky, languid voice, not bothering to open her eyes. “You know he won’t stand a chance anyway.” She ran her black talons down her exposed breasts and stomach, chuckling deeply. “He may as well die with the image of a beautiful woman in his mind. We can give him that, at least.”

There were mixed reactions from her snakes, some spats of disapproval, some hisses of agreement, but they all coiled back down into quietness. Or, as quiet as a head full of serpents could be.

Compared to other creatures across the land, Medusa had a remarkably good childhood if she did say so herself. Her parents were the ferocious Ceto and Phorcys, ancient sea gods that kept the ocean seething with their monstrous children. 

Phorcys was a grey-haired, fish-tailed mountain of a man, with rough red, spiky crustacean skin and huge crab claws that were strong enough to snap off the head of any mortal man that approached his territory. He was faster than any sea creature and stronger than any current in the existing waters. He could create a tsunami big enough to drown Greece with one splash of his mighty tail.

Ceto was quite possibly more terrifying than her father, however. She was a fair maiden with shiny, unblemished skin she never covered up and long, wavy black hair that floated like Kraken tentacles in the water around her. Her eyes were green and sharp enough to cut through obsidian, and her voice was booming enough to crack the earth and drain the entire ocean. She was as venomous as her animal creations, but she taught Medusa discipline and respect at a very young age.

Together, the two of them brought forth a myriad of devilish children. Ekhidna, a dangerous she-dragon with the head and breasts of a beautiful woman and the body of a coiling serpent; Scylla, a giant crab that ate sailors; Ladon, a dragon with one hundred head; the Graiai, three grey hags that shared one tooth and one eye; and the Gorgons, a trio of sisters with the bodies of serpents and hair made of living, venomous snakes.

Medusa was a part of the final group. 

Medusa and her two sisters were born on a dark day, where the sky seethed with storm and the sea seemed to wrath against its gods. Through crashing waves and spitting sea foam, Ceto dragged her soaked, swollen body from the hissing water and into a cave where it was dry. The tide tried to catch her, nipping at her heels like desperate piranhas, but could not chase her all the way up the sand.

Within the cave, the pelting rain and howling gales were muffled by thick stone. Droplets of water dripped from stalactites that hung from the ceiling like dozens of monster fangs. Small tidepools were laid across the ground like traps, seemingly existing to trip Ceto and make her crash down onto her thick belly. But she managed to avoid them, hissing strings of curses to the starfish and crabs and tiny fish that thrived within the wet sinkholes before collapsing to the ground, powerful cramps rippling through her body.

There, Ceto gave birth in the eye of a raging hurricane, her monstrous children writhing out of her womb, clawing and scratching for the world outside of her body.

Stheno was first, born thrashing and hissing and brimming with rage the moment she came out. She was a thin little thing, but her blood red tail whipped around with enough power to crumble mountains. Her red mane of snakes sprung to life instantly, fangs flashing, hissing so loud they challenged the whirlwind outside the cave. The scales upon her head and face made it look like she was permanently stained in mortal blood, and the boar tusks curling out from her mouth looked wickedly sharp. Mere moments after being born, she had lunged at a tidepool and ripped apart a small crab with bronze claws, devouring it in just a few snaps of her powerful jaws.

Euryale came next, sliding out in a slick of fluids and screaming so loud she threatened to bring the whole cave down on top of them. Her white and yellow tail lashed as she cried, sending clumps of wet sand flinging through the air. The mane of snakes upon her skull, which had red snouts that looked like they had been dipped in blood, wailed with her, strange, raspy sounds that vibrated through the air like static electricity. There were small horn nubs protruding from her forehead, which had explained the pain when she was coming out. Stheno tackled her, whacking their tails together, and began wrestling with her.

Finally, out came Medusa, green scales shiny and new-looking. The first thing she remembered was seeing her eldest sister chewing on her second eldest sister’s tail. She had blinked her golden yellow eyes at them, flicking her own emerald green tail like she was expecting something to be attached to it. And then, she was lifted up and saw a beautiful woman gazing down at her. Her mane of snakes snapped at the long black hair cascading down onto her belly.

  “What peculiar little beast you all are,” She remembered her mother rumbling. Ceto scooped up Stheno and Euryale and held all three sisters in front of her. “And what slayers you will all be, indeed.”

And she was right.

Medusa’s childhood passed by in a blur of mortal blood and seawater. Her mother taught her how to strike fear into mortal men. Her father taught her how to swim and fly when all of their wings eventually grew in. And her sisters taught her to hide her prey or else it would get stolen.

She was raised in the darkest reaches of the ocean depths, where granite tunnels formed interlocking caves and caverns below the rolling waves. While most children grew up raising family goats and playing with dolls made of straw, Medusa and her sisters grew up taming sea monsters and playing hide-and-seek venomous lionfish. They created crags of coral along the seafloor with their eyes alone and swept through the ocean currents on scaled wings. When they would go up to the surface, they watched the mortals in their wooden vessels, laughing at the way they attempted to overpower the waves that rocked them mercilessly.

That was when they discovered their deadly eye power.

Medusa was a monstrous teenager, floating along the ocean’s surface, when Stheno presented the idea to her.

  “Swim into their nets and pretend to be dead,” Her older sister had said. Sunlight glinted off her blood red scales. When she smiled, her teeth were like a shark’s. “When they pull you up, give them a scare.”

Medusa gave a laugh. The only thing better than observing a mortal’s stupidity was causing the mortal’s stupidity by interacting with them. Of course, she agreed.

She swam into one of the large nets drifting beneath the boat, startling off a cloud of slippery grey-blue fish. She let herself get tangled up in its loops, tugging on the ropes enough to alert the sailors. After a few moments, the net began to rise, and she faintly heard the giggling of her sister’s vibrating through the water.

Cool sea air hit her bare skin; a series of gasps exploded throughout the vessel. The rough feeling of wood chafed against the scales on her exposed back as the net was dropped into the boat. She struggled to keep in the giggles and play dead as loud murmurs whisked around her. 

The men were wondering what she was, asking themselves how they managed to wrangle up a thing. One of them poked her tail with something pointy and she almost flinched, but managed to tighten her muscles and stay still.

And then, there was a hand grabbing her breast.

The man above her purred out something about her being beautiful and warm and the others should “give it a try.” 

Her eyes snapped open wide. She ogled the man above her in shock and fear and disgust; he was a scruffy and flabby creature with hungry eyes and crooked yellow teeth. His hand remained on her breast as they locked gazes, and then his face did something strange.

It twitched. And his eyes went weirdly blank. And he sucked in a harsh breath.

The man’s entire body jerked like his soul was trying to claw its way out of his back. His brown eyes bulge and roll wildly in their skull, and Medusa could see grey spreading rapidly over the eye balls.

Stone began to march across the man’s flesh like a swarm of fire ants. He tried to scratch it off, but his nails bounced right off. His movements quickly began to stiffen as whatever came over him took hold.

His chest froze solid first, then his hands and feet, his ears, his arms and legs, all the way to his throat. His eyes were no longer brown, rather blank grey. His greasy blonde hair did not sway in the cool breeze. His mouth was open, teeth blunted by rock, and twisted in an agonized expression. One hand was extended outward to his crewmates in a final gesture of desperation.

The man had been turned to stone.

The other mortals on the boat began to frenzy. Some ran away in fear, others brandished their weapons, but they, too, met the same ill fate of their crewmate. One stare and they hardened into a statue against their will.

Stheno and Euryale had been alerted by the noise and they flew up to the ship. Both of them looked shocked at what was going on.

  “What is happening?” Euryale asked. 

  “I-- I don’t know.” Medusa replied, slowly sitting up. She was absurdly confused at what was going on. “I turned them to stone.”

  “How?” Stheno demanded.

  “I looked at them.”

  “Hm.” Stheno lashed out at a fleeing young man and flared her giant red wings open, essentially trapping him. Medusa heard a short scream, and then silence. When her sister pulled back, the man was frozen in an encasing of stone.

The discovery of their power sparked great fear across the land, but amazement inside Medusa and her sisters. Stheno used it the most, killing more men than both Medusa and Euryale combined. She kept her favorite statues in her lair as trophies, adorning them with her jewels and other treasures. 

Euryale rarely ever killed, not because she didn’t like it, but because she never went out of her way to go around mortals. She rather watch them from afar, observing their strange hive mind mentality. 

Medusa was a mix between the two. Sometimes she would simply stay away, other times she liked to see how dumb mortal men were when she came across them.

When they eventually came of age, the three sisters ventured off from the darkness of their homeland sea. Medusa went to an island called Sarpedon, claiming it as her own domain. Mortal men saw it as an arena, however, and often sailed to her home to challenge her. It wasn’t long before her island was filled with the statues of foolish men, decorating her gardens with the trophies of her success.

And another was about to be added to the collection.

There were crashes through her jungle; the stupid man was romping through her home and disturbing her nap!

Sighing, Medusa uncoiled her elegantly long body from the tree branch and carefully climbed down the trunk. Her emerald green scales shimmered in the sunlight filtering down from the canopy of leaves up above, dewdrops from the condensation of her garden sliding like melted diamonds down her tail. She slithered through the weeds, passing by ruined pillars and petrified statues, all of which were swathed with moss and vines. She admired them as she went by, as she always did, as she always would. It was quite lonely on her island, but she rather be alone than have the company of a man.

Emerging from the lush underbrush, Medusa set her eyes on a fleeting boat in the crystal clear water. Strange, she thought. There was still a living person on the vessel. Did they think against their decision to challenge her? No, there were footsteps in the sand… Someone was here.

Medusa flicked her pointy ears and slithered out onto the beach. A bright red crab saw her coming and darted into the splashing waves to hide. A mere crustacean was the least of her concern right now, though. She could eat later.

There was blood in the sand. Small, red droplets clumping the white grains together. A trail led across the bay in spatters that looked like the man had been in a hurry, disappearing into the thriving overgrowth of Sarpedon.

Medusa turned and followed the trail. The man seemed rather smart; there were many hiding spots in the jungle, but she knew this island like the back of her hand. He would not stand a chance.

A spray of bright yellow birds exploded from the trees when she came slithering by. Long-limbed creatures of fur leapt from branch-to-branch, poised and waiting to flee while they watched her. The monkeys always liked to test her. Perhaps that was what made them so delicious. The looks on their faces when she managed to snatch one and scarf them down was priceless.

There was rustling to her left. Medusa pricked one of her pointed ears while her mane of venomous snakes hissed in alertness. She smacked the nose of one of them to quiet them down and then went after her prey.

  “Hello?” She called out in a purr. “Come out, come out wherever you are…”

There was no reply, though there had been before. That particular man had really thought he could swoon her. How could anyone fall for the grating voice of a male?

The rustling sounded again. Medusa whipped around, smacking a tree with her tail and sending a macaw flying off with an alarmed screech. 

  “You are a quick little rabbit, aren’t you?” She chuckled. Fine then. She’ll play with her prey before killing him.

Fleeting footsteps squelched through moist jungle mud. He was quick, but she was quicker. Legs were so hindering, while her tail could get her around with graceful ease. It also made a perfect entrapment tool. Nothing was better than constricting her victim and getting to look at them face-to-face while their life drained away from them.

A squeal caught Medusa’s attention. A smirk came to her lips, fangs flashing in the sun. Finally.

Peering through the leaves, Medusa could partially see the body of the man on the ground, sprawled between two trees. His right ankle was caught in some gnarled roots, trapping him.

It was perfect.

Medusa sprang out of underbrush, claws raised and brandished, fangs bared, wings flared out to their full size. Her snakes swelled up and hissed loudly, mouths loaded with potent venom. Her bright yellow eyes were flashing, ready to strike this man into stone, and--

And she froze.

This wasn’t a man.

It was a child.

[6ix-dragons]

Their Desired Future (for Jerza Day 2020)

Series: Fairy Tail Pairing: Jellal/Erza Rating: T+ Word Count: 3,799 words

Note: This story can also be found on AO3, FFN, and Pillowfort!

UPDATE (June 22, 2021): I have updated this story, to make a few changes! These include edits to sentence structure/rewording for some parts of the story to improve the flow, and make them more readable. However, I've also changed a certain part that happens later in the story, by adding more to it! I hope you enjoy these changes, and the updated story itself!

---

It was a little late in the morning, when retching noises erupted from outside the half-open door, leading into the bathroom.

Within the room, a young, redheaded female had found herself on her knees, hunched over the toilet. Clad in only her violet silk bathrobe, the scarlet-haired woman braced strongly against its seat. Her fingers firmly grasped onto it, as she emptied out the contents of her stomach into the bowl below.

Breathing heavily, the redhead coughed, sputtered, and wheezed, before spitting out the remnants from her mouth. She groaned woefully, her lips twisted to a deep scowl.

"Ugh…this…damned illness!" Her trembling body heaved mightily, while she leaned up more against the toilet's seat. "I swear it's been like this, for almost a couple of weeks, already!"

Erza then suddenly grunted, freezing in place, when she felt another wave of nausea hit the core of her body. The intense churning in her stomach had eventually come to pass, without forcing her to throw up—but, it left the redheaded woman with great concern that perpetuated with every passing moment.

A deep sigh escaped her breath. "Seriously," she muttered, lifting her head up from being face down towards the toilet's bowl, for long. "What is going on with me, right now?"

In her mind, she could recall how it all progressed, and culminated, into the predicament she currently experienced, just now. First, she felt mildly nauseous at times, the week prior. Initially, she brushed it off, thinking she had caught some kind of stomach virus. That is, until it all escalated in the next few days after, when she found herself rushing towards a restroom.

It just seemed to hit whenever it wanted to, but Erza knew that whenever it did, it hit her hard. It especially hit her, every time she had taken a bite out of her favourite foods—including her strawberry cakes. In fact, it was so bad, that even the very scent of those cakes had sent her running straight to the toilet. She just found it so odd that it would even happen like that.

The other times Erza had used the toilet, during the days after her mild illness, was when there was a sudden urge to relieve herself. It happened more frequently than she thought, having felt her bladder fill up more than a few times, every day.

Flushing the toilet with a single push on its tap, the female Scarlet gingerly moved towards the mirror above the sink. Grabbing a face towel, she wiped the bottom-half of her face, before rinsing the towel under the sink's faucet.

As she did, she closely observed her own reflection in the mirror, parting away the fringes of her hair that stuck to her forehead. Beneath her messy tresses that were tied into a high ponytail of sorts, her face was flushed with burning red, from the great exertion her body previously made. Even that, however, had failed to hide the dark shades that slowly formed underneath her eyes.

Erza could also recall in her mind, of how fatigued she was, during those same days—when her illnesses gradually worsened. Just like the nausea, she found herself a lot more tired, at any given time. It truly wasn't like her, to fall asleep in the middle of anything. It was even the case for this morning, when she got out of bed a couple of hours later than she'd usually been.

'No, really,' she thought, pressing her fingers against her temples that ached within, while she returned the damp face towel onto a wall-mounted hook. 'What the hell is going on with me?'

The redheaded woman frowned at the aches that pounded away at her head and across nearly every muscle in her body. 'Ugh,' she groaned at the pangs of pain throughout her muscles. 'Where's Jellal, when I needed him the most?'

As she noted in her own mind, her lover and husband had already left their house, off on his own accord. Of course, he had woken up earlier than her—hence, the lack of his presence around their house. And, yet, it would be nice if he was still here…if only to take care of her whims, and needs.

While she began brushing her teeth, and rinsing her mouth thoroughly, Erza thought of every single reason, as to why she continued to experience these symptoms. There was then a thought that surfaced in her mind—one that made her much nervous than how she felt with the symptoms she recently experienced.

Finishing her final rinse of her mouth, the scarlet-haired female stepped out of the bathroom, where she ended up in their bedroom. Taking the calendar off from her nightstand, she peered carefully at the current month it was on. Erza counted back the days, with the grueling question on her mind: 'When was the last time I had my period?'

She gasped aloud, eyes widening, upon the realization that her previous period had occurred the week before those symptoms started.

'No…it can't be,' the redhead narrowed her eyes at the calendar, in disbelief. 'I couldn't have missed it, last week…right?'

Turning away from the calendar, Erza stared into the open void, trying to remember the last time she made love with her husband.

In her mind, there was no denying it that both her, and Jellal were…sexually active with each other. Quite even so, in recent memory. However, for each time they did the deed, protection was always used. Although, there were times when she'd assumed that it was a 'safe day' for her, too.

Whether or not they had used protection for the last time they made love to one another, it really didn't matter much to her, anymore. The rising suspicions in her mind already pointed to a single, potential cause that could dramatically shape the course of not just her life…but, together, with him, as well.

Erza's breath stilled, as the unnerving thought of it all had sent her stomach bloating, and churning away, yet again. Holding a hand against her belly, the sudden wave of nausea had come, and gone, without much incident.

She shook her head, after, her breathy sigh drawn out.

Opening the top drawer underneath her nightstand, her hand crept into the furthest corners of it, before they were able to find what she was looking for. Pulling it out from the drawer, a small box filled with testing sticks was held in her hand.

As she remembered well, she bought it from a local pharmacy, only a few weeks prior. She had her own reasons for purchasing it—among them, in such situations like the one she currently faced.

Closing the drawer, Erza took the box with her down the stairs, into the kitchen. Placing the box on the countertop, she poured herself a full glass of water. Taking the box away from the countertop, the scarlet-haired woman read the instructions on the package, while she drank down the entire glass.

Bowing her head slightly, an unsure frown was plastered on her face. 'Will this…even work?'

The redhead took another moment to carefully examine the box, before she felt a familiar pressure building up in the lower regions of her body. Exerting a wistful breath, quietly, Erza placed the empty glass on the counter. Having opened the box, she took out one of the testing sticks from it, inspecting its pen-like shape.

She carried both the box and the testing stick with her, into the upstairs bathroom, where she set them aside on the sink's counter.

It was now, or never, for her, at this point.

Taking a clear, plastic cup, from a pile sitting atop a nearby shelf, Erza plopped down onto the toilet. Bringing the cup underneath her bathrobe, right between her legs, the redhead began to empty her bladder, sighing softly in relief.

---

With the testing strip portion of the stick fully dipped into the filled plastic cup, Erza could only sit and watch, from the seat of the toilet. Her fingers grasped the soft silk fabric of her bathrobe, trembling away with intense anticipation. The feelings of fear, and anxiety heightened in her mind, with every passing second—despite the test taking only ten minutes to complete.

It was just beginning to be a bit too much for the redheaded female, wondering what the result would be for her. She had to find a way to ease her nerves, to calm herself down, in all of this.

Rather than waiting for the test to finish, she decided to take a shower, in the meantime. Rising up and away from the toilet's seat, Erza untied the knot of her bathrobe, slipping it off from her bare body. Hanging it onto a wall-mounted rack, she undid her knotted strands of hair at the back of her head, freeing her long tresses that flowed down to her waist. She then stepped into the spacious stall, having opened the frosted-glass door to it, before twisting the taps around.

An airy sigh of content left her breath, as lines of water cascaded from the shower head, gently pelting over her exposed body. Erza found the warm water to have soothed her aches, and pains, from earlier, as she grabbed the bar of soap from the corner shelf.

The female Scarlet took in its pleasant strawberry scent, while running the bar across her arms. Her body, however, stilled, when she ran it down her midsection. Looking down on herself, with raised eyebrows, Erza placed her hand over her abdomen. Smoothing over it with her hand, she noticed that her belly wasn't as flat, and toned, as it was before. Rather, it had bulged out slightly.

"Huh," she murmured lowly, pressing her hand lightly against her midsection. "It must be all the food that I ate, lately…"

Moving the bar of soap towards her chest, Erza winced at the prickling pain that surged from her breasts, when she ran it against them.

"Oww," she hissed, taking the soap bar away from her chest. With a free hand, her fingers gave a few light pokes, and squeezes, against her bosom. Groans of discomfort sounded from the redhead, having felt the prickling jabs from within. "How are my breasts this sore? They weren't like that, before…"

Erza also noted right away, about how heavy her breasts were. While her breasts were already enormous to begin with, she didn't think, let alone feel, that they had grown in size—up until this point.

Whatever she may think of it all, it certainly didn't help allay the worries she had.

The scarlet-haired female finished her shower, by wetting her hair, and scrubbing it with her favourite shampoo. After a thorough rinse, she turned the taps off.

Clouds of steam rushed out from the stall behind her, as she swung the glass door open. Reaching for a large towel from a rack at the closest corner, Erza draped the cloth over her shoulder, holding onto it. There was a tall, full-length mirror situated at the wall beside the shower, where the redhead examined her own body with it.

Right away, she noticed the changes in her body that struck out to her, as the most obvious. Her burgeoned chest had indeed become larger, than what they usually were—having grown by almost a cup size, she figured in her mind. The areolae of her nipples also grew a bit larger, alongside, with the redhead having observed the slightly-darkening colour of them.

Lowering her gaze further below the chest of her mirrored self, Erza could barely notice the small bulge that formed around her lower midsection. Upon turning her body to its side, however, the bump had become more apparent to her.

Laying her hand over it, Erza released a low sigh filled with uncertainty. She then took out the large towel that she held over her shoulder, and wrapped it around her body. Taking a smaller towel from the same rack, she dried her hair with it, before wrapping it around the top of her head.

As she did, the chimes of a few electronic beeps reached the redhead's ears. They forced her attention towards the testing stick that was in the cup, signaling that its test was complete.

Holding back the gulp in her throat, Erza paced towards the sink's counter. The crimson-haired woman took a few deep breaths, while she carefully retrieved the pen-shaped stick from the cup. Her fingers trembled mightily, struggling to hold onto it.

'I…I don't know what to think…if it's true that I'm…!' Her bottom lip quivering, Erza closed her eyes, and flipped the stick over. '…Alright…you can do it, Erza. Just get this over with…'

Taking another deep breath to relax, as much as possible, Erza opened up her eyes, and peered down at the front side of the plastic stick.

A huge rush of air escaped the redhead, her body paralyzed in place. Her pupils shrunk within her eyes that grew wide at the results displayed on the pregnancy test that she took.

Two red lines filled the rounded rectangle, on the front side.

It was positive.

The redhead blinked for a few seconds, at first. "No…that can't be right…can't it?" She whispered to herself, finding her grip on the pen-like stick much shakier than before. Her breathing picked up immensely at this sudden revelation, along with the beating of her heart. "You've got to be kidding me…"

As the shock of it all had slowly worn off, a rush of emotions began to overwhelm her. Tears started to gather in her eyes, while she continued to stare at the positive test result, still processing it through her mind.

Erza sniffled, right as she looked down at her abdomen, placing a hand gently over it. With the tears threatening to spill from her eyes, she slowly brought herself back into the open shower stall, sitting down against the tiled wall that was still wet from her most-recent bath.

The tears in her eyes finally leaked out from the corners of her eyes, streaking down her face, as she locked her gaze at the stick. Eventually, the frown on her face turned to a smile of joy.

While she had yet to see a gynecologist to confirm everything, she was now more than happy to know that she was going to become a mother, soon. She was ecstatic, rather. Whatever fears and concerns that she had from the beginning had already faded away, with this finding of her own.

Taking her eyes off the stick, they flew back towards her belly, where her hand remained over it. Sniffling again, Erza placed the stick onto the damp floor, resuming her gaze towards it. She then turned her sights back to her abdomen, wondering to herself about how she'll break this kind of news to her husband.

---

"I'm back, Erza!"

It was later into the evening, when the young, blue-haired male returned to their residence.

Closing the front door behind him, and locking it, Jellal noticed the odd silence that greeted him, right after he stepped in.

"Eh?" He raised his eyebrows, as he called out her name, again. "Erza?"

Her voice came out from around the corner, leading into their living room. "I'm right here!"

His lips crept to a smile, as he walked into the room. He found her seated on their sofa, in her blue silk bathrobe, with her hair tied back into a high ponytail. Only the lamp at the side table next to her had provided the lighting, for the entire room.

"Jellal." The redhead greeted him with a heartwarming smile. "How was your day?"

The cobalt-haired male held back an elated hum. "It was actually nice," he replied with a small grin. "I got to go out more, with Natsu, and the others."

"That's pretty good to hear." Erza gave a soft simper, in response—before she casted her eyes away from him, with a slight frown.

It didn't take long for Jellal to notice that something was off about her, right away. "Is…is something wrong, Erza?" His eyebrows cocked upward at her. "Something on your mind, perhaps?"

"Jellal," she softly requested, scooting aside to make room for him, as she placed her hand on the empty seat. "Please sit down with me."

Blinking for a brief moment, Jellal took up the seat next to her, with a more concerned expression on his face.

"Erza…what is it?" He placed his hand gently over hers. "It's okay to talk to me…"

Taking the moment to go through what she wanted to tell him, said redheaded female took a shallow breath, mustering the courage to do so. "Jellal," she began, quietly. "Do you remember those times, when I got very sick, through all of last week?"

Jellal nodded his head shortly. "Yeah." He brought his hand at the back of his head. "You told me it was a bad stomach virus of some sort."

Erza's frown widened, as she glanced away from him. "Well, it's not actually that."

He raised a curved brow at his wife. "Then…what is?"

Finding it in her heart to go ahead with it, the redheaded Scarlet turned to face him directly. "Well," she revealed, with a small smile. Her smile gradually cracked open to its brightest, as she continued, measuring her pauses carefully. "What if I told you…we are expecting a new addition to our house…our family?"

"F-Family?" Jellal initially blurted out, trying to make sense of her question, before everything slowly dawned on him. "Wh—what…w-wait…E-Erza…a-are you trying to tell me, y-you're—"

Surprise instantly took him, when, in one instance, he saw her rise from the sofa. In the next, she suddenly grabbed his hand, and placed it against her abdomen.

"Yes, Jellal," she finally spoke up, excitedly. Tears welled in the corner of her eyes, as she did. "It's true…I'm pregnant."

Gob-smacked at the news from her, the azure-haired Fernandes didn't know what to make of it. He remained silent, still staring at her with incredulous eyes, and his jaw hanging slightly ajar. He then turned his sights awkwardly away from her.

Erza's eyes widened at him, as she broke the silence first. "…Y-you okay, Jellal?"

She then gasped, when she felt his arms wrap around her. Quickly standing on both feet, Jellal had leaned in closer to her.

"Yeah," he sniffled, burying his face against the crook of her neck, smiling ecstatically. "You have no idea how happy I am, to hear this from you."

With wondrous eyes, Erza blinked for a second. She smiled serenely, letting the tears flow down her cheeks, while she ran her hand gently over the back of his head.

Another moment passed, before Jellal finally released his arms from her. Crouched down, on one leg, his eyes darted to where her midsection lay. He curiously rested his hand over it, through her bathrobe. "Did you see the doctor, already?"

"Ah…yes," she nodded. "I did see the doctor earlier this afternoon…and, she confirmed that I am, indeed, pregnant."

Parting open the flaps of her bathrobe, Jellal managed to feel the exposed skin of her abdomen, stroking his hand around it. "How far along are you, right now?"

Erza held back a small giggle. "A little more than eight weeks," she explained. "That's how my doctor told me." She then took out a postcard-sized photo from the coffee table, handing it over to her husband. "She was willing to take an ultrasound scan, as well."

Jellal was amazed, upon viewing the photo print of their child—no larger than a cue ball—currently developing within the confines of her womb.

"I can't believe it," he murmured in awe, before placing the photo back onto the table. His eyes returned to her belly, having felt its slight bulge with his hand. "More than eight weeks, already…"

Erza maintained her gaze onto her husband, below, smiling happily under awestruck eyes. The redheaded female then felt her husband's lips press against her belly, as he left a few kisses against it.

"H-hey!" She giggled to his warm touches. "That tickles!"

"My apologies," Jellal chuckled. "I can't resist." He then looked up at her, while he took her hand, bringing his large one over it. "Although, I must say, Erza…I want to thank you."

A tinge of red covered across her face, as she blinked. "For what?"

"For everything," he answered, from the bottom of his heart. "For giving me another chance in life." He gently moved his hand around the back of hers. "For being there with me, every step of the way." He then brought their hands together, over her abdomen. "But, most importantly…for making me a father." He flashed a bright smile at her, under weeping eyes. "I'll be there for you and our child…always."

In the back of his mind, this was the best result that could ever happen for both of them. This was a desired future—not just for him, or only for her. But, it was theirs. Together.

Their desired future.

And, it finally became reality.

Tears started to leak from her eyes, again. "That's so sweet," she gasped out, before her lips broke open into a heart-warmed smile. "Yes. Yes, Jellal. I know you will." She softly stroked her hand over his. "The baby and I are very fortunate to have you. Thank you, Jellal."

Rising up onto his feet, the azure-haired male wrapped his arms around her, once again. Erza returned his hug, bringing her arms around him. Gently releasing her from his hug, Jellal's hands remained on her arms, as he leaned in to slant his lips over hers. Erza sighed delightfully, pressing her lips back against his.

Both then pulled their mouths away from each other, the now-expecting couple catching for air. Jellal brushed his fingers gently against the side of her face, wicking away whatever tears were left on her skin.

Erza narrowed her eyes at him, her lips stretching to a curious smirk. "What are you thinking now?" She then gasped, when she felt him scoop her up, with his arms. "Eh? J-Jellal?!"

Carrying his wife in his arms, Jellal gave her a naughty smirk of his own, curving an eyebrow. "I thought…maybe we can celebrate this kind of news, upstairs." His curved brow then hitched upward. "Shall we?"

The blush on her face deepening into the colour of her hair, Erza blinked at him, with stunned eyes. She then released a long, mischievous giggle, in which her husband chuckled back.

With her arm around his neck, Jellal carefully carried his now-pregnant wife out of their living room, and up the stairs to their bedroom—where the real fireworks started from there.

[more-miserables]

I was trying to keep a steady-ish posting schedule but that hasn’t happened. I’m flakey as hell now I don’t have teachers and deadlines. I don’t know if any of you guys still remember or care about my pair of whumpees, but I was randomly inspired tonight. Hope you enjoy this anyway.

Tagging: @albino-whumpee @cubeswhump @liliability

Warnings for dehumanizing language, institutionalized slavery, boxboy universe, implications of past self-harm, implied and obvious abuse, implications of drugging, very brief implication of an eating disorder, panic attacks, lots of messed up stuff, you guys know.

Yates never seemed to get completely better after his illness. He stopped coughing, his fever went away, but he stayed very pale, and Ginger could hear how crackly his breathing was at night. His nerves didn’t seem to recover either. Yates’s hands shook now whenever Stanley gave him a task, and he became clumsy and jumpy, forever dropping things. Stanley stopped being so soft with him and started yelling, which just made things worse. Yates was a bundle of stress.

He cried bitterly every night, cradled in Ginger’s arms. “I’m a failure,” he sobbed. “I keep messing up. I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“It’s not you, it’s never been you. You’re just tired, that’s all it is,” Ginger insisted over and over, but Yates couldn’t seem to hear him.

Seeing Yates looking so pale and miserable all the time made Ginger burn with fury. He didn’t care about the pain in his head now; he was frequently spitting in Ivy and Stanley’s food, arguing back, slamming doors, doing anything he could to draw their attention away from Yates. He was disciplined over and over, in new and creative ways, until he was black and blue all over, but it was worth it to keep Yates safe.

The first time he swore at Ivy he was chained up in the garden all night, completely naked. Ginger drew his bare knees up to his chest and held them tight, shivering. English winter nights could grow cold enough to kill, especially when a person had no protection; maybe that’s what Ivy wanted.

Maybe that’s what Ginger wanted too.

“Ginger?”

Ginger jumped, his head snapping up off his knees. Yates was standing beside him, pale and anxious, carrying a blanket.

“What’re you doing here? How’d you get out of the room?” Ginger asked.

“Window,” Yates whispered, cuddling up beside Ginger and wrapping the blanket around them both. “I couldn’t just leave you out here. Give me your hands, I’ll warm them.”

“You’ll get into trouble if they catch us,” Ginger said, linking his fingers with Yates’s.

“I couldn’t leave you,” Yates repeated firmly. He clasped Ginger’s freezing hands between his own, rubbing them hard.

Ginger smiled weakly. Maybe he didn’t want to die just yet.

It was hard to hang onto that feeling during the day, even so. Ivy found fault with everything he did now, and Stanley was equally brutal with Yates. Ginger’s headache was constant, but he refused to lie down and take it. He argued, yelled, swore and spat like a wildcat, allowing Yates to creep around relatively unnoticed.

Ivy had taken to standing in the kitchen while Ginger cooked, peering over his shoulder and critiquing every single thing he did, even the most basic things like pouring water. Each correction carried its own insult.

“Stir that syrup, it’s sticking to the bottom of the pan! Are you blind as well as stupid?”

“I thought icing cakes was your speciality? Seems you only specialise in failure.”

“You’re too heavy-handed with that whisking. I don’t know why we ever bought you. You’re such a disappointment.”

Ginger knew Ivy was just trying to wind him up - but it was working. He felt like he was boiling along with the syrup. It was so unfair to be stuck making wonderful desserts for two people who told him he was stupid and useless and disappointing - and he couldn’t even spit in the food with Ivy hovering.

Ginger held his tongue, presenting Ivy with the finished cake. It was baked beautifully despite Ivy’s complaints, with pin-neat icing flowers and swirls, the buttercream smooth as silk. It was perfect - but Ivy sniffed scornfully. She gripped the plate and slowly pushed it off the counter, watching it fall face down on the floor with a depressing splat.

“Make another one,” she commanded, then turned on her heel to walk away.

Ginger felt like someone had ignited a bomb in his chest. He burned all over with rage. Without thinking, he grabbed hold of the egg box, took one out and pelted it with all his force at Ivy. The egg hit her squarely in the back of her head, splattering yolk down her back and in her hair. The force of the blow sent her staggering forward with a scream. She peered over her shoulder, looking bewildered. For a second.

Ivy’s face flushed a deep red, and she rushed at Ginger, gripping fistfuls of his red hair and slamming him against the kitchen counter. “How dare you!” she screamed, shaking him so violently he felt she’d yank out clumps of his scalp too. “I won’t stand for this. You’ll learn if I have to beat you till you piss blood!”

“Get off me!” Ginger yelled back. He tried kicking out at Ivy, but he was weak and undernourished, and Ivy was a big, strong lady. He couldn’t wriggle free.

“Give me your hand!” Ivy commanded. Ginger didn’t, so she took hold of his left wrist herself, dragging him over to the cooker. “I’m going to teach you a lesson you’ll never forget. You’ll be able to look at your hand every day after this and remember what happens to disobedient little pets.”

She swept the dirty saucepans away with a flick of her arm. The hob was still on, glowing bright red with heat. Ginger renewed his efforts to break free, but Ivy hung on grimly, battering him about the head with her free hand.

“Remember this,” she snapped, and pressed Ginger’s palm firmly against the hob.

The scream Ginger let out echoed through the whole house. It was barely human, like the howl of a dying animal in a trap. Ivy held his hand down for a good three seconds, though it felt like a lifetime to Ginger. He arched his fingertips, trying his hardest to escape the blinding heat, but Ivy had her hand pressing down on the back of his own, so Ginger’s palm couldn’t be spared.

When she finally let him go, Ginger collapsed in a heap on the floor, whimpering. He cradled the burned hand to his chest. It was bright red and already starting to blister. The kitchen was filled with a sickly sweet, burning smell, and he gulped in horror when he realised he was smelling his own cooked flesh. He couldn’t stop the tears this time, though he hated Ivy seeing how much she’d hurt him.

Ivy laughed heartlessly. “I told you so,” she said. She crouched down in front of him, her voice soft, menacing. “You’ll never win. You’ll learn to do as you’re told if it kills me - or if it kills you.” Then she stalked out the room, leaving Ginger sobbing on the floor.

Yates was horrified when he saw Ginger’s hand that night. He’d heard the scream, but Stanley hadn’t allowed him to go investigate. Ginger told him the whole story, whispering because his crying had left his voice raw and painful. He couldn’t remember how long he’d cried; it must’ve been hours. His hand was still so painful he couldn’t move it. His fingertips were mostly spared, though they were raw and red, but his palm was screaming and covered all over with throbbing blisters. He couldn’t even make a fist anymore.

“Ivy did this?” Ginger had never seen Yates look so angry. “That’s horrible! Oh, you must be hurting so badly. How could she?” He took hold of Ginger’s hand. “You poor thing... Here, I’ll help you. I’ll fix it.”

They sat up well into the night while Yates cleaned, treated and bandaged Ginger’s palm as best he could with the limited supplies. He didn’t have anything stronger than pharmacy painkillers and it barely touched Ginger’s agony. Before the burn was even properly dressed, Ginger had been begging Yates to stop for almost an hour. He was howling again, light-headed with pain.

“Stop, stop, please...” he moaned.

“I’m almost done, I promise,” Yates whispered. He saw Ginger starting to wobble and quickly pulled him close, right onto his own lap. Ginger was bigger and heavier so Yates must’ve been very squashed, but he didn’t complain. “Put your head on my shoulder. I don’t want you fainting. Your eyes keep losing focus.”

Ginger let his head fall on Yates’s shoulder with a thump, biting his shirt hard when the treatment continued and the pain returned with a vengeance. He managed not to faint, but the agony combined with his sobbing made him retch. He thumped Yates’s shoulder weakly with his good hand. “Le’ me up,” he gasped. “‘M gonna puke.”

“No, you stay there,” Yates said firmly. “I don’t care if you’re sick. Do whatever you need to. Vomit, bite my shirt, bite me if you need to. It’s alright.”

So Ginger stayed, and when he did bring up bile and spit all down Yates’s back and across their mattress, Yates didn’t even flinch. Ginger felt a soft hand rubbing up and down his back, a gentle voice shushing him when he groaned.

“I know, I’m sorry, but we need to make sure it’s treated properly,” Yates said, his own face crumpling whenever Ginger whimpered. “I’ll change your bandages every day, but it’s going to take a while before this heals. How’re you going to do any cooking and cleaning?”

“I’ll have to, won’t I?” Ginger sighed wearily. “Never mind that now. I don’t even care about the mess. Let’s just get some sleep, please.”

The next day was exceptionally difficult for Ginger. He supposed that was what Ivy had wanted. His bandages were cumbersome and clumsy, and the pain was still so terrible he couldn’t put any weight on the afflicted hand. Ivy made sure to give him every possible job that required two hands, eventually resorting to ordering him to move heavy furniture across the room and back with no real purpose other than to cause him pain. Several times Ginger’s knees buckled from the agony, his vision becoming dark and fuzzy at the edges, but Ivy’s shrill voice would always drag him back to reality. He vomited again three times before noon.

Ivy elbowed Ginger out of the way when he prepared Stanley’s lunch tray, piling it with half a dozen plates, cups, cutlery, even a teapot. She smirked, handing it to Ginger. “Be careful, it’s heavy!” she said in a falsely bright voice. “Hold it with both hands.”

Ginger couldn’t. It wasn’t even about defiance anymore, he really truly couldn’t. He was almost sobbing with the pain already, shifting the majority of the tray’s weight to his right hand. He couldn’t take this anymore. He wanted to run far away, across fields and over pavements and through cities. He wanted to lock himself away with Yates and never see another person again. He wanted to cut his own hand off to stop the pain. He wanted so many things and none of them were allowed.

Stanley’s door was closed. Ginger tried nudging it with his foot, but it didn’t budge. He didn’t know how he was supposed to get the door open with just one working hand. He knocked, but Stanley just barked at him to come in already and stop hovering outside. Ginger sighed, juggling the tray and trying to hold it just for a second with his left hand as he grasped for the door handle with his right.

Sharp pain surged all the way up his left arm in an instant. He stumbled through the doorway with a yelp, dropping the tray with a terrible clatter. Food splashed all across the linoleum and crockery shattered into shards of glass like glittering stars. Stanley and Yates gawped as Ginger landed on his knees on the bedroom floor, crouched in the midst of the mess.

“You stupid, clumsy idiot!” Stanley roared, his face flushing scarlet. He grabbed his walking stick and raised it to swing.

“Oh please, sir! It’s not Ginger’s fault,” Yates gasped frantically. “He’s hurt his hand, sir. He shouldn’t really be working at all. Please don’t hit him! He’s being so brave and-”

“Shut up, will you! You’re getting far too mouthy. Ginger’s a bad influence. You shouldn’t question me, boy.” Stanley paused, walking stick still raised like he was about to conduct an orchestra. He suddenly smirked, holding it out to Yates. “Okay. I won’t hit him.”

Yates took the stick gingerly. “R-really, sir?”

“Am I not a man of my word? You, Ginger!” he barked.

Ginger raised his head, glaring through his curtain of red hair.

“Hold out your hand!”

Ginger did as he was told.

“No, not your right hand. The one with the wound,” Stanley said, still smiling. Ginger did so, far more reluctantly. Stanley turned to Yates. “I won’t hit him. So you’ll have to do it for me. That’s what you’ve been trained to do, correct? So whack him six times on that hand with my walking stick. And don’t you dare hold back or I’ll double the punishment.”

Yates stared at Stanley, mouth gaping. “But... but he’s so badly hurt, sir.”

“That’s no concern of mine. Get to it.” He paused. “At once!”

Yates glanced at Ginger, helpless and terrified. Ginger tried to smile at him. It’s okay, he mouthed. He wanted to comfort him, but Yates’s eyes filled with tears - bad tears, that’s what they’d been taught. He’d never seen Yates cry properly.

“No,” Yates said quietly, his voice wobbling. He put the stick back in its usual place by Stanley’s bed.

“What?” Stanley snapped. “What’re you waiting for? Do as you’re told, boy!”

“I won’t,” Yates said. He blinked, and two fat tears ran down his face. “I’m not going to hit him, especially when he’s hurt.”

Stanley trembled with rage. He grabbed his stick and aimed a swipe at Yates instead, and Ginger hurried to his feet to drag Yates out of reach. Stanley shakily swung his legs out of bed, leaning heavily on the stick, practically frothing at the mouth.

“You disobedient little swine!” he yelled, pointing mutinously at Yates. “You’re more loyal to him than me, the man who feeds and clothes you and lets you live under his roof. All Ginger ever does is hold you back! How dare you! You’re not to answer to Yates any longer. I don’t want you attached to my name. You’re not worthy of it. You’re nothing.”

Yates was sobbing in earnest. “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t hurt Ginger like that. I’m still loyal, I promise, I can still be Yates, I-”

“Shut up!” Stanley screamed. He turned to Ginger, crimson in the face and breathing heavily. “And you! You were a mistake right from the start. You’re the cause of all this!”

“What the hell is going on up here? What’s all the noise?” Ivy demanded, rushing into the crowded bedroom too. “Oh for God’s sake, look at the mess on the floor! And what’s your idiot blubbering about, Stanley?”

Stanley wasn’t listening. “Get him out of here!” he boomed, pointing at Ginger. He sounded so fierce that Ivy did as she was told at once, grabbing a fistful of Ginger’s hair and yanking him out the door.

“You just wait!” Stanley continued, staggering out into the hall and yelling down the stairs as Ivy pulled Ginger away. He was exceptionally wobbly without his wheelchair, supporting himself on his stick and the wall. “I’ll turn you out of my house without a care. You’ll die like a dog in the gutter, you’ll see. I won’t have you two together anymore. You’re getting in the way of Yates’s work. You need to be separated!” He wavered precariously, eyes wild.

Ginger felt sudden panic, raw and sharp. “You can’t split us up! We’re a pair!” he yelled.

“I can do whatever I want with you. You’re mine,” Stanley said triumphantly. “And you’ll do as I say, and be out of here by-“

Stanley was cut off by a sudden cacophony of bumps and thumps, then eerie, still silence. Ivy, almost back at the kitchen with Ginger in tow, quickly hauled him back to the bottom of the stairs.

They stopped short. Stanley was lying crumpled in a heap on the floor, one leg bent at an unnatural angle, head twisted uncomfortably and staring at the ceiling. There were shallow, rasping gasps coming from low in his chest. His eyes swivelled round frantically, the only part of his body still able to move freely.

Ivy started screaming. Ginger’s mouth fell open, but he didn’t make a sound. He looked up - and saw Yates standing there at the top of the stairs, face ghostly pale, eyes wide, outstretched arms shaking, like he couldn’t believe what he’d just done.

There wasn’t time to think. They couldn’t let Ivy recover from the shock. Ginger dashed up the stairs, grabbed hold of Yates and rushed him down past Stanley’s crumpled body, along the corridor and out the door. They ran like rats despite the hard pavement cutting their bare feet. They ran even though they had no idea where to go next.

[thecleverdame]

Gods of Twilight - 10

Alpha!Werewolf!Sam x Human!Reader

Master List (posting schedule is there as well)

Summary: You marry Sam, The King of Lebanon, as part of an alliance between two lands. You soon discover that nothing is as it appears and that your husband is hiding a secret that may end your relationship before it can begin.

Warnings: smut, dub-con, canon-level violence, domestic discipline, spanking

Beta:  ilikaicalie

*Chapters 11-26 are available on Patreon. To get access to this and many other stories, subscribe for a pledge of 2.50 per month. CLICK HERE

-

“Are you mad woman?” Theo yells, slamming the heavy book down on the table with a boom.

“Lower your voice, good sir!” you hiss, taking a step back.

He’s a large man, nearly twice your size and formidable on a good day.

“The Kingdom's coffers aren’t your personal funds,” he spits, coming around the table. “I’m entrusted with great responsibility. Don’t make the mistake of thinking your title allows you unfettered access. If you were anyone else I’d have you stripped and flogged-”

“Watch your mouth, Actuary.” Sam steps into the room and you slink back away from both men.

“My King.” Theo bows, jaw tightening. “Please forgive me.”

“You’ll not speak to my wife in such a way.” Sam glances at you, taking a step to put himself between you and Theo. “Need I remind you you’re in the presence of a Queen?”

“Of course not, my lord. A thousand apologies, m’lady.”

“Do you accept his apology?” Sam turns, handing the power to you. “Or should I have him stripped and flogged for speaking to you in such a way?”

“I accept his apology,” you nod. Theo is glaring at you, nostrils flaring as he tries and fails to hide his discontent.

“If I ever hear of you speaking to her like that again, I’ll take care of you myself.” Sam points a finger at the financier who nods his head in return.

“I understand, sir. I don’t know what came over me.”

Sam looks him over, before reaching to take your arm. You scurry beside him as he marches you down the hallway, several knights behind you. Once in the privacy of your bedchambers, he turns to you, eyes narrowing.

“What was he upset about?”

“I wrote a note, a promise of funds.”

“How much.”

“A thousand shillings,” you whisper, afraid of his response.

“A thousand?” He cocks an eyebrow, taking a step toward you. “Why? For who?”

“There is a woman in the village who takes in wayward children, those that no one else will care for. Her house is full, but the walls are crumbling and they’re starving. There was no bread to eat, no wood for the fire. Not even enough blankets for all the little ones. I had to do something.” You raise your chin, despite your fear of him.

Sam stares at you for a moment, cocking his head in thought. “Why a thousand?”

You’re taken off guard by this question, pausing to explain. “Golda and Phillip helped me estimates costs. She needed a builder for her walls, food and clothes for the children. We created a list of costs and threw in a bit extra.”

For the first time since you’ve known him a genuine smile crosses his face as he chuckles. “Well, it sounds like you did your due diligence.”

“Would you have preferred I ask your permission?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “You seem to be doing just fine on your own.”

-

It’s almost midnight. You’re sitting in a chair near the fire, reading and sipping tea when Sam returns.

“Are you hungry?” you ask without looking up. Over the last several weeks he’s made a point of having supper with you nearly every night. Tonight however he was noticeably absent.

“I’ll eat later,” he answers, walking over to you. “Get up and get dressed.”

“Now?” You look at him, trying to suss out what he’s playing at.

Sam is trying to put what happened behind you, but you’re afraid you’ll always feel wary of him.

Not to mention your added security detail. A walk in the village flanked by two dozen guards isn’t a walk, it’s a spectacle. Your life has narrowed down to this room and the small gardens within the Castle’s keep.

“Yes, now,” he instructs, throwing a thick cloak over his shoulders. “Put on something warm, we will be outside for some time and snow has started to fall.”

He waits, standing in the middle of the room as you get up and slink out of your nightdress and into a gown. Once you’re fully dressed in a cloak, hat, and thick fur gloves, he ushers you out of the room.

The halls are empty, the stones echoing with footfall as you walk behind him, following for what feels like a lifetime. You descend down toward the stables only to find a garrison of knights readying their horses.

“You’ll ride with me,” Sam instructs, gesturing toward a huge dappled horse that whinnies as it looks at you.

“I know how to ride,” you offer but he’ll hear none of it.

“Tonight you’ll stay with me.” Offering you a hand he helps you onto the steed’s back and then mounts, sliding into the saddle behind you. You lean back against his chest, gripping the horse’s mane as the entire party starts out of the keep and toward the bridge. They move in a choreographed manner, with Sam at the lead, knights two by two behind him.

Moving through the dark streets of the village you're surprised when the first commoner joins the caravan. He’s waiting in an alley and folds into the formation as they continue onward. A dozen other men join before you’re out of the city and then it’s across the drawbridge and out into the fields.

“Where are we going?” you ask.

“You’ll find out soon enough.” He counters, sliding an arm firmly around your waist, pulling you back in a crushing embrace. “Hold on.”

With one hand on the reigns and the other around you, he takes off at a gallop and his men follow. The sound of hooves pounding the ground and the horse's heavy breath is all you can hear as you near the edge of the forest.

You nearly yelp as the horse makes a sharp left, cutting along the tree line, narrowly missing the outstretched branches. As your sight adjusts under the moonlight you can see the open path in the woods ahead. It’s a small, narrow passage and Sam remains in the lead as they ride single file into the shadowy wood.

The whipping wind is made worse by the speed at which you’re traveling. Your nose has long since gone numb and the cloak you chose, while it is the thickest you own, is doing little to keep you warm.

The journey is a long one but Sam slows the horse as he approaches the unknown destination. Without warning the forest is gone and you’re in the middle of a clearing. There are countless torches aflame, surrounding the perimeter and several dozen men and women are gathered around a fire.

Sam jumps off the horse, placing both hands on your hips to help you to the ground, allowing his horse to roam free.

“Are you are cold?” he asks, watching as you pull the hood of your cloak around your head.

“Y-yes,” you chatter, now realizing that you’re practically frozen.

“Come to the fire, you’ll be warmer there.” He heads toward the gathering and you follow, staying close beside him. “They are all like me.”

“Wolves?” you breathe quietly, unconsciously moving closer to him, your shoulder pressing against his arm.

He places a hand at the small of your back, small comfort as you approach the rather raucous gathering. There’s music, an upbeat song playing on a lute as they pass flasks from one man to another. The chatter winds down to a whisper as Sam approaches.

“Your majesty,” a portly gentleman bends a knee with a roll of his hand and there’s a gentle laugh from the group. “We have a visitor, I see.”

“My wife.” Sam takes you by the arm, pushing you forward as you blink back at the faces watching in silence. No one says a word, and there’s a long, uncomfortable pause It’s a small dark-haired woman who eventually steps forward, raising her flask to the fire.

“We are glad to have you, my queen.” Her words are friendly but her eyes flicker from you to Sam with a spark that you make note of.

After a beat, the music resumes, chatter growing loud.

“What is this?” you ask, turning to your husband. “Some sort of secret society meeting?”

“Something like that,” Sam nods. “There is a full moon tonight. Many will shift.”

There’s no calming the uneasy feeling in your chest, as you look around. “Is it safe for me to be here?”  

“I wouldn’t have brought you if I thought it dangerous,” he confirms. “I will shift as well. Phillip will stay with you.”

“Why did you bring me here?” you sputter, watching as they begin to undress, stripping down in front of each other.

“Because you need to know what I am, to see it. And if you want freedom, you must know what lurks out here in the darkness. I can ensure your safety because you’re here with me and there plenty of my men to keep you out of harm’s way. But in the dark, alone, it’s not only Luther’s murderous men that roam, it’s also all sorts of wild things.”

He stares at you a moment longer and then takes off his cloak, handing it to you. He begins to strip along with the rest of them.

“Come with me, m’lady.” Phillip appears beside you, guiding you closer to the fire as they wander away, into the field.

You watch Sam, your eyes fixed on his naked buttocks as his whole body contacts in a sudden and violent twitch. His shoulders roll back, neck cocking to the side. The brunette who spoke to you earlier appears beside him, nude and jerking in the same fashion. Suddenly the night is filled with a chorus of moans and howls.

It appears as if Sam’s bones are shifting under his skin, moving in a most unnatural way and then the transformation happens fast. In the blink of an eye, his skin becomes a thick pelt of white fur and instead of the man that was there seconds ago, there is now a giant wolf, the very same that you walked with the woods on that fateful night. The woman beside him is now a smaller coal black wolf, turning back to look at you.

Sam takes off, legs springing to action as he sprints off into the darkness and they all follow. The night is filled with howls and yelps that fade into the distance.

You can scarcely breathe, looking at Phillip with wide eyes. For the first time your life you are truly speechless.

“Don’t be afraid,” he explains gingerly. “No one would dare to hurt you. Besides, they’re hungry for furry little rabbits, not a human woman.”

“You aren’t one of them?” You inspect at him in the firelight.

“I am,” he confirms. “I’ll have my chance when they return.”

“I don’t know what to say,” you sputter, staring off into the night.

“I suspect you’ll find the words eventually,” he grins, offering you a nip of his flask.

-

When Sam and the rest of them return they walk out of the darkness in human form, naked and covered in mud and small cuts. Sam is jovial, laughing with a bright smile on his face. His brother on one side and the woman at the other. He finds his clothes, pulling on his trousers before spotting you across the fire and making his way to you.

“I trust you were in good hands while I was gone.”

“Of course.” You force a smile at Phillip who bows his head and disappears. “This is quite a lot to take in all at once.”

“I understand.” He pulls his shirt back over his head, eyes locking on you. “Are you more or less afraid of me than before?”

Gathering your thoughts you start to speak and then stop, choosing your words carefully.

“My fear never had anything to do with...this.” You hold your head high. His brows pulls together, face unreadable.

“I see,” he nods, looking around as people begin a makeshift celebration around the fire. You can’t help the shiver that runs down your spine, you've been out in the elements for hours now.

“You’re shaking.”

“I am not as adapted to the outdoors as you.” Your teeth chatter as you pull your cloak closer around you.

“I’ll take you home.”

He settles behind you on the horse, wrapping his cloak around you as he takes off at a slower pace than you arrived. Several knights trail behind him.

“You’re practically frozen,” he huffs, hot breath at your ear. You’re trembling against him and the arm around your belly pulls you in tighter to him. “I shouldn’t have kept you out for so long.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll have a hot bath when we return.”

“I will join you.”

You sigh at his words, the two you have not been together in an intimate manner since the belting. You would have opened your legs to him out of obligation if he asked you to, but he hasn’t so much as suggested it.

“I am sorry for what I did to you.” He whispers, pressing a warm cheek against your temple. You’re unprepared for an apology, but even more unprepared for the promise that comes after it.

“I will never put my hands on you in anger again. You have my word. Will you please forgive me?”

Your eyes close as you release a breath.

“Yes,” you turn your head to the side, forehead pressing into his cheek. “Let’s not talk of it again.”

[kpophoneybunny]

Aurora (Chapter3) - ATEEZ OT8 Pirate!AU

Genre: Adventure/Romance (Mostly fluff)

Rating: PG-13 (select chapters will have strong language, violence, and suggestive situations)

Disclaimer: Our main girl has a name but feel free to self-insert. (WARNING: this chapter contains blood and gore. If this is a trigger, wait for the next chapter. There will be a bit of plot lost but you’ll catch on.)

Tag List: @unatempesta-dipensieri @sugarrimajins

It took about a week before Jangmi was able to navigate the ship on her own, and without emptying her stomach every few hours. The clothing still felt too revealing but the stares had subsided and she was actually enjoying the freedom that pants provided. She was able to move a lot more quickly and felt less heavy.

She often sat on the main deck, mending clothes while having conversations with whoever was closest. “You’re working fast. You’ll be out of work by the end of the week at this rate.” Yeosang laughed, looking up from his map as he checked up on her. “We might have to teach you something new to keep you busy.”

“Something-“ Jangmi was cut off by Wooyoung yelling. He was talking too fast, he couldn’t really be understood. “Wooyoung, what is it?” Jangmi looked up at him and followed his arm. He was pointing at something in front of them - a storm.

“Shit! Tighten the sails! Seonghwa, take the wheel!” Mingi yelled, starting towards the main mast to tighten the ropes so the storm didn’t rip their sails away.

“All hands on deck! Now!” Seonghwa’s voice left no room for argument. Everyone burst into a frenzy, fixing their sails and bracing the most vulnerable parts of the ship.

“I really hope you can hold on tight, Jangmi.” Yunho grunted as he tightened a few knots, checking the tension in the ropes. “This is about to get crazy.”

Jangmi gulped and held onto the main mast as Wooyoung climbed down to avoid being hurled into the sea. “Jangmi, you’re gonna want this.” He grabbed a bucket, dumping out the mop water and handing it to her. “Trust me.”

They sailed into the storm, the sun being blocked out until it was almost pitch black. Cold rain pelted them from all angles, waves growing rougher and rocking the ship violently. The wind howled so loud that Jangmi couldn’t even hear her own thoughts, the yells of the boys sounding muffled and far away.

And then it really started, waves started crashing over the side of the boat, water rolling across the deck. Jangmi lost her balance and fell, sliding along the ground with the rocking of the ship as she fought to regain her footing. “Agh!” Her fingers clawed at the floorboards until they bled.

She rolled until she crashed into a mast, the wind knocked right out of her lungs. She gasped, water washing over her her and filling her lungs. She coughed and gagged, unable to catch a break from the water that tried to drown her where she lay. Jangmi sputtered, managing to get to her hands and knees, trying to crawl towards anything she could use to anchor herself when a barrel knocked her back over.

She continued to roll and slide, crashing right into someone’s legs. She looked up as the legs trapped her in place, steady, used to the sea. Yunho. He reached down and grabbed her arm, pulling her to her feet and holding her tightly, keeping her from falling again. “Hold on. It’ll be over soon.” Jangmi clung onto him, trying not to repeat the rolling incident.

“YUNHO! Look out!” The voice was frantic and Yunho looked up, a huge wave approaching. Lightning flashed and the silhouette of something large and ominous could be seen in the wave. Yunho held on tighter as the wave practically curled over the ship, slamming what looked like a monster straight from hell onto their deck.

It slowly uncoiled, its body starting to wrap around the ship to anchor itself. Yards after yards of it’s thick, scaly body trapping the ship in what could only be described as the promise of death.

The creature lifted its massive head to tower over the sails, jowls opening as it let out a hellish screech. Even with its mouth closed, dozens of razor sharp teeth could be seen, each at least three feet long. It had two, clouded, white eyes on each side of its head: one set larger than the other. Horns stuck out from its skull, mirroring paintings of western devils.

“Oh my god! What the hell is that?!” Jangmi gasped, eyes widening in horror.

“I have no clue but we’re gonna kill it before it kills us!” Yunho shouted back, trying to be louder than the cacophonous roar of the storm. “Can you use a sword?”

“I never learned! They don’t teach noblewomen how-“ she was cut off by Yunho grabbing a sword out of a nearby chest and handing it to her.

“Now’s as good a time as any. Just… don’t let it kill you.” He rushed off to start attacking the enormous serpent. Jangmi’s eyes darted between the boys as they all jumped in.

Every time a sword was stabbed into its body, the serpent seemed to contract its muscles to push the sword back out, fan-like flaps opening up on either side of its head as it screeched.

“Die, dammit!” Hongjoong brought his sword down, slicing clean through the snake. A large chunk of the snake went limp and slid off of the ship, the fluorescent blood staining the wooden planks. It hissed, lowering its head to snap at Hongjoong, its forked tongue rattling in the air.

Jangmi’s body reacted before her mind could and she ran across the ship, ducking under parts of the serpent and jumping over others, piercing her sword up into its lower jaw as she slid under it. Her eyes widened as blood sprayed onto her face. She gasped, letting out a shocked cry.

“Jangmi!” Wooyoung yelled. She looked up and saw that the serpent was rearing back, staring her down. “MOVE!”

Jangmi scrambled onto her knees, trying to stand to run when the serpent struck. She managed to roll out of the way, just inches away from the jaws of the monster. It ripped its head back up, leaving a hole in the deck and spitting out chunks of wood. Jangmi panted, getting to her feet and rushing to stand farther from the serpent.

Everyone pitched in, stabbing and slashing at the serpent to shorten its body and free the ship. “Get back!” Seonghwa shouted, sprinting up the thick body, climbing it as if it was a hill and stabbing his sword clean through the skull. It went limp and crashed onto the deck, jaws opening as it died.

They managed to make it to the other side of the storm, the sun once again shining down on them. Everyone was drenched in rain, sea water, and sweat. There was blue blood everywhere: on their clothes and skin, staining the deck and the sails.

“Get that damn thing off of my ship.” Hongjoong’s eyes narrowed as he stared down the dead serpent. “It ruined my deck. How the hell are we supposed to fix that?”

“I can make a temporary fix but we’ll have to hire someone in Japan.” Jongho’s voice was quiet but sure. “Let’s hope we don’t run into any more trouble.”

“Uh…guys?” Wooyoung cleared his throat and nodded towards Jangmi who was, once again, vomiting over the side of the ship. “Who wants to handle it?”

“We got attacked by a sea serpent.” Jangmi gasped, her head snapping back to look at the remains. “We got attacked! By a sea serpent!”

“Yeah. Shit happens.” Yunho shrugged, approaching her. “You should sit down. Breathe and process what you just witnessed.”

“I thought sea serpents were just a myth. I thought they were folk lore and nothing more. I thought-“

Yeosang collapsed, causing everyone to whirl around and face him. He had a bruise forming along the side of his face from slamming into something during the storm. “Get him to a bed. Now.”