#nothing like a 'hey' out of the blue text loll

[augustslippdaway]

imessage 📲 niko

Nancy: hey

[twst-bs]

NRC Students and an Anxious MC

And with this, I've done all of the students at NRC!! Well, with the nervous MC, anyway, I have some other stuff in the works too.

Also, in case anyone was wondering, I'm open for both requests and commissions!

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Ace: “You look awful.”

The Ramshackle Prefect shot Ace a glare, but it lacked their usual fire. “Thanks, Ace.”

“Come on, I didn’t mean it like that and you know it.” he caught up with them easily when they turned around to keep walking. “I just meant you looked like you had a rough night. Or like you’re stressed out. You know.”

“Your grave only has to be six feet, Ace, you can stop digging now.”

Ace rolled his eyes. “You aren’t usually this crabby. Seriously, what’s up?”

They sighed. “You’re right, I had a rough night.”

“Any particular reason why? Or just ‘cause?”

The two of them had reached Crewel’s classroom, but they still had a few minutes before they had to be in there. The Prefect bit their lip nervously. “I kind of freaked out last night because of the homework.”

“It was pretty hard, huh?”

“Well, that too,” they crossed their arms, almost like they were trying to hide themself. “But, it’s like...I feel stupid, you know? You guys all know this magic stuff, but I’m struggled to handle even the basics. Then I thought, well, if I can’t handle the basics, I’m going to get punished, and I would deserve it because I’m an idiot, and...you can see how the spiral went.”

Ace was quiet for a moment, studying them with an unreadable expression. Then, he heaved out a side and grabbed their wrist, tugging them into the classroom. “I guess it can’t be helped, then.”

“Huh?”

He plopped unceremoniously into his seat and dug around in his bag. “Be quick about it, okay? Queen only knows what Crewel’s punishment for getting caught copying homework is.”

The Prefect stared at Ace with wide eyes. “Seriously?”

“It’s better than nothing,” Ace shrugged, slapping his notebook down on the desk. “If he says anything, I’ll tell him you helped me word it. Now, come on!”

Deuce: They weren’t getting anywhere.

The longer they stared at the question on their worksheet, the less they could focus. Apparently this was supposed to be basic stuff, but there were so many strange ingredients with different magical properties that they couldn’t keep track. And the more that had to flip back and forth between their textbook and worksheet, the more stupid they felt.

“...right? Hey, are you alright?”

Deuce’s voice broke through the panic that was beginning to set in, and when they finally looked up, his blue eyes were wide with concern.

“What? I’m sorry, Deuce, I kinda...spaced there for a minute.”

That only made the crease in Deuce’s brow deepen. “You looked really freaked out. Is something wrong?”

The two of them had made a habit out of studying in the library together. Since Deuce wasn’t the best student and the Prefect was playing a very intense game of catch up, they figured they could motivate each other while studying. But lately, all they had been able to do was sit there and be anxious about everything.

"I...um…" They absent-mindedly clicked their pen, unable to look Deuce in the eye. "I'm sorry."

"What are you apologizing for?" he asked incredulously. "For real, are you alright?"

The genuine worry in his expression made something in them burst. They threw their pen down on the table and buried their face in their hands. "I don't know what I'm doing! I went from magic not existing to suddenly having to study it, and I can't even master the basics! I'm terrified that I'll fail and Crowley will kick me out and -"

"Whoa, whoa, hey, it's okay!" Deuce's chair scraped against the floor as he hurried over to their side, grasping their hands in his. "Everything's gonna be okay."

Their chest heaved as they tried to suck in enough air. "But -"

"Listen," he cut them off. "The stuff you have to deal with is a lot. And I'm sorry for not realizing it earlier. If you want, we can go to Professor Crewel and ask for some tutoring, or even remedial lessons. Whatever you need, I'll help."

Cater: “What are you looking at?”

At the sound of the Ramshackle Prefect’s voice from behind the couch he was sitting on in the Heartslabyul lounge, Cater lolled his head back to grin at them. “Heya! Just scrolling through Magicam, what else is new?”

“That is your favorite pastime, huh?” they leaned on the back of the couch, looking at the screen.

“What are you doing in Heartslabyul, anyway?” he asked.

“Ace thought he could get away with not studying if he ‘forgot’ his textbooks at Ramshackle. I’m returning them before Riddle thinks I was in on it.””

“Yeah, that tracks.”

The two of them lapsed into a companionable silence, the Prefect watching as Cater scrolled. However, out of the corner of his eye, he could see their expression gradually get tighter and tighter, like they were trying to control whatever emotion was trying to show through.

“What’s with that face?”

“What face?” they asked defensively. “This is just my face.”

“That’s the face you make when you start having bad thoughts but don’t want anybody to know.”

“Get out of my head, Cater.”

He snorted, turning so he was sitting sideways on the couch and could get a better look at them. “Come on, tell Cay what’s on your mind.”

They hesitated, picking idly at the loose thread on the couch. “...It’s just me being stupid.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“...The people on Magicam are way more good-looking than I am.” the finally mumbled, looking away. “I keep wondering when you’ll realize that.”

Cater’s green eyes widened before he giggled. “Nope.”

“Nope what?”

“I won’t realize it,” he reached around them to pull their face closer, kissing them affectionately on the cheek. “Because it’s not true. And whenever you start to think like that, you tell me, so I can reassure you.”

Jack: Something felt off.

Nothing in particular had happened, it was just one of those days. But, it was bad enough that they thought about just going back to Ramshackle instead of waiting for Jack like they normally did. Waiting outside of the classroom just made them feel even more antsy.

Just as they were about to shoot him a text to say that they weren’t feeling well - which wasn’t technically a lie - said wolf came out of the classroom, tail wagging involuntarily when he saw them waiting like it wasn’t an everyday occurrence.

Before he could even greet them, however, his nose scrunched up. Furrowing his eyebrows, he leaned down and began sniffing them.

“Jack, what the hell?”

“You’re nervous about something.”

Right. Nothing could beat that canine sense of smell.

“It’s nothing.” Jack opened his mouth to reply, but they cut him off. “No, literally. Nothing actually happened, it’s just a...a weird day, I guess.”

It was clear from the expression on his face that Jack didn’t quite understand, but the guy was nothing if not sympathetic. “Do you need help with anything?”

“Nah, it should eventually work itself out.” They tried to muster up an encouraging grin, but from the look on Jack’s face, they didn’t quite hit the mark. “I’m fine, Jack, promise.”

His tail had dropped, and his ears were pressed against his head. “...When I get worked up, going for a jog usually helps me. Gets all the energy out.”

They raised an eyebrow. “You and I both know that your jogging is my sprinting.”

“Then I’ll walk and you jog,” he grinned. “If you want to, that is.”

They paused before shrugging. “I probably won’t do a good job on the homework if I’m like this, anyway.”

Floyd: Don’t fall asleep. Don’t fall asleep. Crewel will turn you into a rug if he catches you falling asleep.

Their internal monologue was the only thing preventing them from passing out onto their desk. They had had a hard time falling asleep last night, and of course they were working on sleeping draughts in Alchemy today. The vapor wafting from the cauldron was enough to knock them out.

They hadn’t noticed that their eyes had closed until a hard knock on the classroom door startled them open. When Crewel called out for whoever it was to come in, the door opened to reveal Floyd.

“The Headmaster wants to see Shrimpy!” he sang, leaning against the doorframe. Crewel nodded, motioning with his pointed cane for the Prefect to get out.

Physically shaking themself awake, they stood. Next to them, Ace went “Oooooooh~”

“Trappola, just for that, you’re responsible for giving them the notes for the lesson.”

“Aw, come on!”

They didn’t even have the energy to stick their tongue out like they usually would. They just inched past all of the other students until they were at Floyd’s side. The merman casually slung an arm around their shoulder and steered them out of the classroom.

“What does the Headmaster want?” they asked. It could literally be anything, honestly.

“Oh, I lied!” Floyd giggled. “He doesn’t need to see you at all.”

“Huh?”

“You looked exhausted this morning,” Floyd tugged them closer. Not quite a squeeze, but there was something intensely protective in the embrace. “I figured you could use a nap.”

“So you busted me out of class?”

“Yup! This makes me your favorite, right?” he grinned, showing all of his teeth.

“Definitely.”

Epel: They always did have a nervous stomach.

There was a test in Trein’s class that day. No matter how much they studied the night before, they didn’t feel prepared, and their stomach was committing mutiny in response. They hadn’t been able to eat any breakfast, so now they were nauseated and hungry at the same time. They were either going to puke on the test or eat it, they hadn’t decided yet.

“Are you alright?”

They jumped. They had been so caught up in their own head that they hadn’t even heard Epel approach. “Hey. Yeah, I’m fine. Just a bit of test anxiety, haha.”

Epel didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure? You look kinda pale.”

“Really, I’m fine. I was just a bit too nervous to eat breakfast.” they insisted.

“Well, that’s not good.” Epel frowned. “You’ll do even worse on the test if you’re hungry.”

Oh, why did he have to phrase it like that? Just the thought made their already roiling stomach turn, and they whined softly as they hugged themself around the middle.

“Ah, wait, I didn’t mean it like that!” he backtracked. “I just meant it won’t do you any good!”

Epel reached into his bag for a moment, mumbling to himself. “I know I have some in here...ah-ha!” he pulled out a bag of dried apple chips. “Here! It’s not exactly a full meal, but it’ll help. And they’re really light, so if you’re sick because of nerves, they won’t upset your stomach.”

“Are you sure?” they asked as Epel handed them the bag.

“Pos’tive.” he grinned. “I’ve got plenty back at the dorm. And Ma’s always sending me stuff from the farm anyway. So go ahead, I don’t want you passing out!”

Sebek: They had no idea what he was talking about.

It was a feat in and of itself to be able to not pay attention to Sebek. The man was a walking lightning bolt. But today was just not a good day, mentally.

A pity, too. They always liked walking around in the woods with Sebek. Something about being in nature and listening to him talk passionately about whatever was on his mind was almost soothing, but it just wasn’t working this time.

“Are you listening?”

They jumped when he said their name. They had gotten so sucked into their own head that they hadn’t noticed him turn his monologue into a conversation. “I’m sorry!”

“What are you sorry for? Is everything alright?” he looked them up and down with sharp amber eyes, scanning for anything that could present any danger. “Are you ill?”

“No, no, it’s not…” they sighed, shoulders slumping. “I didn’t sleep well last night. Nightmares.”

Bad dreams had been a problem before they arrived in Twisted Wonderland, but now they were really plaguing them. It made concentrating difficult, even on simple things such as a walk with their partner.

Sebek stepped in front of them, forcing them to stop in their tracks. His angular features were serious, thrown into deep contrast from the light of the sun setting between the leaves. He clasped both of their hands in his own, holding them tightly as he looked into their eyes.

“You needn’t worry about such things. I will not let anything harm you, even your own mind.” he squeezed their hands. “On my honor as a knight.”

Silver: Watching Silver train with a sword was...something else.

They could watch him all day, going after the training dummy like it was actually an enemy.

Well, usually, they could.

It had been another sleepless night, up worrying about all the various things they needed to do. They only managed to fall asleep around four AM, and they needed to be at their first class by eight, so they hadn’t exactly gotten well-rested. They were impressed that they had managed to stay awake during their lessons, but now it was catching up to them.

The warm sun shining on their face and the rhythmic swishing of Silver’s practice sword was vaguely soothing, and before they really knew it they had slumped against the tree they were sitting under, fast asleep.

When they awoke, they were moving. It took a minute to gather themself, and they blinked sleepily at their surroundings.

“You can go back to sleep.” Silver’s voice rumbled against their side. He was carrying them. “We aren’t that far from Ramshackle.”

“...You could have woken me up.” they mumbled, nuzzled closer to his chest. “I would have walked.”

“You looked so peaceful.” he responded, adjusting his grip. “Unless you want me to put you down?”

“No.” they sighed. “This is nice. Me and Grim are always saying that it takes forever to get to Ramshackle from anywhere in the school, I’ll take the ride.”

Silver chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to their forehead. “Go to sleep.”

[bucksfucks]

         amorosa // steve rogers

        chapter five: paris, france

 chapter one // chapter two // chapter three    

                    chapter four // chapter five

               ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

                             main masterlist

                            series masterlist

summary || steve takes you to paris to accompany him to a business gala where you meet an old friend and partner, discovering some secrets about your steven.

pairing || sugar daddy!steve x reader

word count || 2,023 words

warnings || financial struggles, sugar daddy dynamics, daddy kink, undefined age gap, minor panic attack, angst — 18+ ONLY//MINORS DNI

     When Steve said that the private jet was learning first thing in the morning, he meant it. It was three in the morning, the sun not even close to being up as you rode through the empty and dimly lit New York streets with Steve's hand on your thigh.

    He decided to drive, sometimes you thought he was superhuman, running off of only a few hours of sleep, yet wide awake and alert.

    You envied him as your head lolled to the side as drowsiness washed over you. You yawned, big and loud as Steve chuckled.

    "You can sleep on the plane, Princess. I know early mornings aren't your thing." He teased as you shot him a tired look, but smiled as you placed your hand over his.

    When you opened your eyes next the car had stopped in the middle of the runway, a sleek private jet in front of you as your eyes went wide with excitement. You'd never gotten anywhere close to a private jet, the closest thing being bumped up to business class on accident.

    "Is this it?" You asked, sitting up as Steve opened his door, "sure is, buttercup." He winks, coming around to open your door and help you up. The air was cold, the smell of frost faint in the air as Steve wraps his arm around you.

    "I've never been on a private jet," you mumble, more so to yourself as Steve laughs in response. He takes your hand, leading you up the stairs of the jet until you're entering the lavish cabin.

    "Then by all means, Princess, let me be the first to introduce you to them." He purrs from behind you, arms snaking around your waist as you take in the clean leather and polished surfaces.

    "Steve this is…" you're at a loss for words, mouth agape as you spin around to plant your lips on his. You're standing on your toes, arms hastily thrown around his neck as Steve lets out a surprised grunt before catching his balance on the nearby wall.

    "All for you." Steve finishes your sentence and you just about melt in his arms.

    He chuckles when you explore the rest of the jet, taking the time to talk with his pilot, Léon, about the flight plan. Their voices are hushed as you enter the back of the plane, walking into the bathroom to take a moment for yourself.

    It's a lot, overwhelmingly so and you start to feel your heart racing when you think of Steve.

    You've loved before, but have you been in love? The realization causes your breathing to become shallower as you wonder if these past few months have been a whirlwind romance destined to burn out like the brightest flame?

    Or perhaps this bubbling feeling deep in the pit of your stomach has been blossoming, nearly blooming into what so many people refer to as love?

    You gasp when you hear soft knocking on the door, "are you all right, buttercup?" It's Steve, and the nickname causes butterflies to flock to your chest as you swallow your feelings.

    "Just checking out the bathroom," you giggle and well, it wasn't a lie.

    He smiles, taking your hand, "pick a seat, Princess, we take-off soon." Steve says before you're sliding into one of the comfortable, almost too comfortable seats and buckling into it. Steve's hand is in yours, thumb rubbing soothing circles against your knuckles as you feel the same swell in your chest.

~

    Paris, France.

    You'd never been, although you don't think you'll ever want to leave.

    When you arrive it's late in the evening, the bustling city life is alive and well as the car drives from one end of the city to the other and you still can't believe your eyes as you pass by the lit up Eiffel Tower.

    The hotel room is nothing but lavish, with tall windows, balconies, gold and champagne detailing and the largest bed you'd ever seen. The sheets are soft and clean and you want nothing more than to collapse into bed with Steve.

    The bathroom has a claw-foot tub, a full shower, and four sinks along with a velvet chaise.

    "How about a shower, Princess?" Steve asks, sitting on the bed as you fall back onto it. His voice is coarse and rough, no doubt tired from the many hours of travelling as your tired eyes meet him as you nod.

    "Here," Steve stops you when your fingers hook under your shirt, "let me," he offers before slowly undressing you.

    The bathroom is quiet, nothing but the sound of running water heard as Steve removes your clothing before shedding his. The moment is soft, gentle and caring as his touches are featherlight.

    Once the water hits your tired body, you let out a sigh of relief. It's warm, your muscles relaxing under the stream as Steve steps behind you. The glass door fogs up, encasing you in your own world as Steve's hands knead over your tight shoulders.

    "Just relax, Princess. Let Daddy take care of you tonight." He whispers in your ear, it's not sultry, but instead washes an overwhelming wave of relief over you as you let Steve take care of washing your body.

    A fluffy towel is wrapped around your body before the cold air even has time to hit your body. By then the water has lulled you into a state where all you want is for your head to hit the bed, engulfed by the covers as Steve's steady heartbeat soothes you to sleep.

    You aren't really aware of when you get into bed, all you know is Steve is telling you goodnight, pressing a kiss to your forehead before you're thrust into a state of comatose.

~

    The sound of quiet voices is what wakes you, bright sunlight streaming through the nearly translucent curtains making you squint as you let out a groan. You aren't sure how long you've been asleep, but it's probably far too long.

    You roll over, the alarm clock reading 11:37 and yup, you've definitely overslept.

    Who cares, you're in fucking Paris.

    "There's my girl," Steve beams, walking into the bedroom dressed in a casual, yet professional attire. Simple fitted slacks and a tight button down that's not done up all the way with the sleeves rolled up.

    You smile as he presses his lips to yours.

    "I've got some business to take care of this morning, okay? I shouldn't be more than a few hours." He explains as you give him a small pout. "I've ordered breakfast to the room, take your time gettin' ready. Tonight's the big gala so your dresses should be here soon, along with hair and makeup."

    Your eyes nearly bug out at the sound of his words, hair and makeup? Multiple dresses?

    "Don't act so surprised, buttercup. You know Daddy takes care of his girl," he smirks before standing up to his full height.

    "Guess I'll just have to find the best pastries alone," you playfully retort, "I love croissants, remember that." Steve winks before he's giving you one last kiss and disappearing out into the Parisian streets.

~

    Paris was breathtaking, beautiful, and everything you could've dreamed of.

    Yet you couldn't help feel out of place as you walked through the streets alone, soft music playing through your headphones as you tried to scout out the best café in the city.

    You felt stares on you as you tried to keep your head down, people stopping as they looked at you. Maybe you were in your own head, but you could've sworn you saw people take out their phones to… take pictures of you?

    No, you had to be in your own head.

    The hotel was in your sights as you bolted in its direction, a text message from Steve prompting you that everything would be arriving at the hotel soon and that he was on his way back to get ready.

    Your heart hammered, thumping as you realized that you would be on Steve's arm as he introduces you as… his girlfriend.

    "You okay, Princess? You've been quiet this entire ride." Steve asks, fingers lacing with yours as you look down at the gold satin dress you've chosen for the night. It compliments all your best aspects, the colour great on you as you nod your head.

    "Just nervous." You mumble, it was the truth as you felt your stomach churning as you approached the banquet hall. It was gorgeous, lavish from the outside and you couldn't imagine how much nicer it would be on the inside.

    "You've got nothin' to worry about. I won't leave your side, promise." Steve says softly, holding out his pinky for you to hook yours against it. You giggle, doing it as your worries vanish for a split second.

    When you walk into the hall it's littered with people wearing their most expensive gowns, suits, and jewellery as Steve grabs to flutes of champagne.

    "For the nerves," he jokes and you take it, the bubbly alcohol running down your throat distracting you for a second before Steve's hand is on your lower back, leading you through the people.

    "Hey Punk!" The voice that shouts it is low and deep, hearty and boisterous as Steve whips around with the biggest grin on his face.

    "You Jerk," Steve replies playfully, the two embracing in a hug as you take a good look at the other man.

    He's slightly shorter than Steve, dark brown hair in a loose messy bun paired in an all-black suit. If that didn't make him look intimidating enough, he's got a black and gold prosthetic to match his aesthetic.

    "So this the dame that's captured your heart?" The man smirks, casting his eyes on you as you can't help but feel your body flush.

    "Sure is, this is James." He introduced you, your name squeaking past your lips as you shake his hand. James rolls his eyes at Steve, pressing a kiss to your hand as you admire the cool shade of blue his eyes are.

    "Call me Bucky, Doll." He comments as Steve claps his hand over his shoulder, shaking his body as you're thrown into conversation with the two men.

    It's a strange sight, seeing Steve being thrown around by whom you learned to be his childhood best friend turned business partner some years ago. Though you must admit that you like Bucky, he seems like a good influence on Steve.

    "Here, I'll go grab up some more drinks," Steve offers, standing up to press a kiss to your cheek before striding off to the bar leaving you and Bucky alone.

    "You know I gotta admit Doll, I'm real surprised that Steve's found someone." Bucky muses, fixing his collar before turning to you. Your expression is full of confusion as you silently press him to explain himself.

    "After Peggy, I really didn't think the kid had it in him to love again, but here we are." He smiles, it's not malicious or venomous, it's a genuine smile but your heart has dropped into your stomach and all you can hear is the ringing in your ears.

    "Peggy?" Is all you can manage to ask as your heart begins to hammer in your chest.

    "Steve's ex-wife, he didn't tell you about her?" Bucky asks and suddenly he's got a remorseful, regretful look on his face as you shake your head, "no."

    "Paris has the best champagne," Steve breaks the conversation as you look up to meet his eyes, trying to hide your hurt as you take the delicate flute between your fingers.

    "I'm gonna go to the bathroom," you say with a tight-lipped smile. You don't wait a response, quickly seeking out the nearest bathroom before you're holding yourself over the sink, trying to calm your breathing.

    Bucky's words continue to replay in your mind, an ex-wife, an ex-wife that he chose to keep secret? You felt tears brimming your eyes and you wanted to scold yourself for thinking a man of his power had no dirty secrets.

    How ironic to have your heart broken in the city of love.

tagging // @jennmurawski13​ | @nakedrogers​ | @vollzeitliebe​ | @kelbabyblue​ | @jevans2​ | @babyyhoneyydarling​ | @rogerslovesstark​ | @cloudystevie​ | @lahoete​ | @speechlessxx​ | @aikeia​​ | 

any and all feedback is always appreciated! <3

[det-loki]

poison & wine pt. nine

Oh darling save yourself

Oh won't you save yourself from someone else

warnings: angst, blood, guns, drugs/overdose

pairing: detective loki x female reader

word count: 1,369

A/N: major apologies for the VERY long wait. I hope this fills the void, part 10 will be the end!

REWRITE MASTERLIST

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 ⌽

It was raining when you arrived at Holly Jones’ home. You should have known then that you should have waited for backup. You didn’t though, desperate to do some right in the world, telling Holly Alex had been found.

She opened the door looking disheveled, eyes wide with shock and concern. When you stepped into her kitchen and told her the news, the reaction you got shook you to your core. She wasn’t happy or relieved or any similar emotion that a person who just got told their nephew had been found alive. She was angry.

The last thing you remember was flashes of your daughter in your mind before it all went black, your body falling limp onto her kitchen floor, the drugged drink concoction spilling around you.

Your head pounded as you slowly woke up, Holly’s voice floating through your ears, “You know, after my husband left, getting kids got harder. Had to try something different.” You groaned as you attempted to roll over, your body feeling like it weighed a ton, sluggish and slow. Your arm brushed against a warm body, your head rolling to find Anna Dover lying in a lump on the floor, eyes closed, chest rising and falling slowly.

Holly continued above you, as she floated in and out of your field of vision, “Your little girl was the guinea pig, injected her with ketamine when you went inside but you came back out and fucked it up. Poor baby overdosed because of you. Couldn’t let you see me so I ran, left your little girl lying in the grass. Such a sweet little thing, pretty like a flower, shame I couldn’t keep her.”

Flashes of memory played in your head, running out of the house and seeing your baby unresponsive on the ground, screaming for the neighbors to call 911, David arriving at the hospital and you collapsing against him, screaming into his chest until your throat felt like it was bleeding, the burn of tears in your nose. Bile worked its way up your throat, your body physically sick at the mental pain you were experiencing.

Your head lolled to one side, too weak and disoriented to control your movements. The magnolia tattoo adorning your ribcage physically pained you, you wished nothing more than to claw it out of your skin; ripping the ink-stained skin off of you and your soul, wishing to breathe again. You would never breathe properly again, not after that day, your Magnolia, who was named after the only good person in Loki’s life, his late grandmother, was dead. As you saw Holly hover you with a needle in hand, the world went black once more.

You dreamt of fields of flowers, Loki, Chinese food, and rain, nothing making sense in the dream, only horrific mashups of everything tied to your life in Conyers. Warmth gathered at your side, and then weight added to that, Anna nuzzling closer to your unresponsive body.

You were woken up again to a distant sound of knocking. You prayed to a God you didn’t believe in that it was David. You had only hoped the lack of text message from you concerned him enough to find you. Your body felt heavy, brian groggy, everything blurred between fake and reality.

Footsteps shook the floor as Holly approached you and Anna, more syringes and vials of liquid in her hands. You rolled further over, your arms creating a protective hold against Anna as Holly approached further with a scowl on her face.

“Don’t be dumb, girl, you know this has to happen.” She spits down at you as she drew up the sedatives, needle darting to Anna’s arm. You lay helpless on the floor as she injected Anna, then approaching you with a different needle.

“No, no.” Your voice scratched horribly, tumbling out of your mouth as Holly gripped your arm tightly. You could faintly hear shuffling along the floor outside the room, but you didn’t know if you were hallucinating or not. You tried jerking your arm away to no avail, too weak to do anything.

Movement in the corner of your eye caught your attention, eyes darting to the doorway as Loki came into view. You knew you weren’t dreaming by judging the look on his face, his gun drawn in a rigid form.

“Show me your hands right now.” Holly pauses, needle inches away from your arm as Loki called out.

“Don’t move and show me your fuckin’ hands right now!” Loki’s voice shook with rage and fear as he trained his gun on Holly’s hunched figure, obstructing his view of you and Anna.

Holly advanced with the needle, piercing your skin with a sharp pinch as Loki yelled, only it was too late, “Stop! Right now!”

You felt your body go limp, starting at your toes as exhaustion crept its way up your body, eyelids heavy.

“Show me your fuckin hands. Do not move and show me your hands.”

Holly dropped your arm with a thud, “Make sure they cremate me. I sure as hell don’t want to be buried in some box.”

Holly stood slowly as Loki yelled at her, “Both hands, right now! Right now!”

Holly drew a gun from her waistband and turned violently in the direction of David. Gunshots rang out loudly, your ears ringing as you slowly slipped in and out of consciousness. Holly dropped next to you dead, Loki scrambling over to you and Anna.

“Baby, hey baby.” Loki’s hands shook as he took your face in his hands, needing to see you alive.

You opened your eyes slowly, feeling as if you were floating in a nightmare, "David, get Anna."

Loki's brow furrowed, blood dripping further down his face leaving a trail of red staining his skin. You felt his hands leave your face as he moved over to Anna, taking her limp body in his arms as your eyes fell closed. You were happy to die if it meant Anna lived.

Your shoulder shook as Loki balanced Anna with one arm, the other nudging you violently. You wanted to sleep, your body heavy, screaming at you to let go.

"Y/N, dammit baby. You gotta wake up for me, we gotta go. You can't leave me, Y/N. Come on baby!" Loki frantically yelled.

You felt a weight in your hand, small and warm. You mustered up enough energy to open your eyes, your daughter staring back at you, wearing the same clothes she wore the day she died, "Mommy, you have to get up."

The floor vibrated under the weight of Loki's boots as he left the room, time passing slowly before he reappeared without Anna. You felt the floor disappear underneath you, your stomach lurching at the movement. Your head pounded, your insides shook, you felt like you were dying. Your head fell limp against Loki's neck as he carried you out of the home.

Rain pelted Loki as he laid your body in the backseat of the car, Anna leaned against the seat next to you, unconscious.

You drifted in and out of reality, waking occasionally to Loki weaving through the rainy streets of Conyers, yelling at you and Anna to stay awake. His hand reached behind him, blindly finding your hand and grasping it, silently pleading for you to still be alive and to stay with him.

He couldn't live without you, not able to bury you too. The cemetery was already too full, your daughter's grave didn't need her mother's too. Loki shuttered at the thought of having to walk into that cemetery again, only this time it would be with your casket, not your daughters. And this time he wouldn't have your hand to hold. He wouldn't have anyone.

The car lurched forward, your body sliding against the passenger seat in front of you as Loki pulled in front of the hospital, red and blue lights flashing against your skin.

You could hear the car door click open, Loki reaching in for Anna, "I'll be right back baby, I'm gonna get you both help."

Loki's voice faded away, faint sounds of him yelling for help as he entered the hospital lulled you back to sleep.

TAG LIST: @lexie-wayland @whew-oh-em-gee @winterlavenderskysworld​ @buck-this-nasty @heeyirenee @pinkpunkdynamite @eleventhdoctorsangel @multiyfandomgirl40 @thanossexual​ @speedybonkuniversityzine​ @booklove103​ @curly-q3 @msfarr88​ @glittrguts​ @space-helen @spidey-is-morgans-brother

[transsergio]

Emily's Top Surgery (Read on AO3)

Penemily / Gen / 4038 words

Emily has top surgery and their loving, perfect, beautiful girlfriend Penelope is their caretaker.

Notes: I refer to Emily as Penelope's girlfriend intentionally; Emily is a non-binary lesbian and in this particular story, is comfortable with the gendered term "girlfriend". However, if you see Emily referred to as she/her at any point, that's an editing mistake on my part and I mixed up their pronouns with Penelope's. I went through this a couple times to make sure I gendered them correctly, but one might have slipped through the cracks!

Also feels important to say that Dr. Dolan is a totally fictional doctor and not a reference to any real life surgeon

-

Surgery Day

Penelope has seen her team through too much already. Kidnappings, stab wounds, bullets – their jobs aren’t exactly arts and crafts. Yet, she thinks this might be the most nervous she has ever been. She’s been rapid-fire tapping her heel for the last hour and forty-five minutes, and trying to distract herself with her cell phone. Morgan texted a couple times to check in (once on behalf of Reid), but otherwise, radio silence. The few messages mean more than she can say; she is intimately familiar with how busy they are on a case. But she really wishes any of them were there to squeeze her hand right about now. She’d even take Strauss.

In the middle of Penelope’s billionth Candy Crush level, a doctor materializes in front of her. She startles and fumbles her phone trying to click it off. “Is it over? Can I see them now? How’d it go?”

As the doctor peels his surgical mask off, she sees he’s laughing at her. That’s good, right?

He says, “Everything went just fine, Ms. Garcia. Emily’s in the recovery room now, and we’ll let you back there about twenty minutes after they wake up. They’re going to be a little groggy and maybe nauseous. It all depends on how their body reacts to the anesthesia. They’ll most likely sleep for the rest of the day, but make sure to keep up with their medications, alright?”

Penelope nods fervently. “Absolutely, Dr. Dolan. Can do. Will do! And I’m sorry to ask this again but I really have to make sure, the whole operation was totally fine? Nothing went wrong? Everything…chopped off okay?”

The doctor stifles a chuckle. “Yes, Ms. Garcia. Everything went exactly as planned, no complications as of yet. We’ll see you tomorrow for Emily’s one day post-op appointment to check the surgery site and switch out the bandages for a binder, and then for their first week post-op. Okay?”

Penelope smiles back, still nodding along like Emily’s health depends on it.

The doctor shakes her hand and ducks back into the surgical ward, leaving Penelope to update the group chat.

“Emily’s out!!!!!! Doc says all good!!!!!! Will be with them soon 😍💖🥳”

She types almost as quickly as her heart is beating.

Penelope makes it through another few rounds of mobile games and desperately refreshing her Twitter feed before she risks checking the clock. It’s been half an hour. Shouldn’t Emily be awake by now? What if they never wake up? Could someone be permanently anesthetized? Reid would know. Maybe Penelope should call Reid. No, she can’t do that. They’re all off in Texas trying to catch a serial killer and she doesn’t need to distract them, not when they’re already down two team members. Kevin Lynch is pretty good, she hopes. She’s seen his work and it’s adequate. Nothing like the multi-tasking Penelope pulls off, but in the same ballpark. His boyfriend, Grant Anderson, vouched for him. It was unnecessary, and maybe Kevin shouldn’t have sent the person who got Elle shot to sing his praises, but at least they knew Grant. Kevin was a stranger from another department. A back-up.

“Penelope Garcia?” A nurse calls as she emerges from swinging double doors.

“Yes, right here!” Penelope chirps. She leaps to her feet and scurries over as quickly as her heels will allow.

The nurse walks her through the recovery ward and the steps to Emily’s post-op instructions. Emily has four different prescriptions already filled and two cannot be taken at the exact same time while one is an antibiotic and the other is just for nausea which they might not need and –

“This is all written down, right? Sorry, my head’s just like, woo, swimming right now,” Penelope says. Her eyes are wide and darting frantically between the curtained beds. She hates the fluorescent lights. Her skin is buzzing with all the sour electricity. The nurse assures her they’ll send them home with physical copies along with phone numbers in case of emergency.

They round the nurse’s station and finally, come to Emily. They’re shifting slightly in their bed, leaning forward and sipping at a dixie cup of water. They're groggy and slow, with the IV still in their arm. Penelope’s glad they don’t have a mirror – their bangs are scattered over their forehead in three wispy chunks, a way Penelope knows Emily hates.

“Hey sweetheart,” Penelope coos. She leans over the bed's plastic siding to kiss the top of Emily’s head, and run her fingers through their dark hair. Emily leans into the touch.

They croak, “Hey,” and cough to clear their throat, wincing all the while.

“That’d be because you were intubated,” the nurse says. “Take plenty of cough drops and you should feel much better.”

Penelope assures the nurse they will while Emily drifts in and out of focus.

“Did it work?” they ask.

“Did what, Em?”

“M’surgery.”

“Oh! Yeah, totally. You’ll see in a little bit. You’re just sleepy.”

“M’kay,” Emily says. Their head lolls back into their pillows as the muscles in their face tighten.

“Emily, what would you rate your pain out of ten?” the nurse asks, coming closer with her clipboard at the ready.

“Uh, five? Maybe six.”

Penelope looks to the nurse. “Is that bad? That sounds bad. I thought it wasn’t supposed to hurt right now.”

The nurse jots down a few notes before she answers. “It’s not unusual. We’ll up their pain killers before we remove the IV.”

Penelope plants herself firmly at Emily’s side in the meantime. They’ve redressed Emily in their own clothes, an oversized button-down and sweats. Well, Penelope assumes they put Emily’s bottoms back on. The blanket is still tucked tightly around their body like they’re some kind of soft, hot mummy. They stay like that for another fifteen minutes, Penelope working her nails through Emily’s scalp as they try to relax.

When Emily rates their pain at a four, then a three, Penelope helps the nurse settle them in a wheelchair. They roll a few feet into the hall before Emily claws for Penelope’s arm.

“Where’s the barf bag?” Penelope asks. She has her hand out and ready for the nurse to pass it over, and swings it into Emily’s face.

Emily, thankfully, does not puke. Their slow, steady breath crinkles the blue plastic bag, but all they fill it with is air. They keep a tight grip on the thing for safekeeping, even as they’re helped into the passenger’s seat of Penelope’s car.

“You ready to go home, lovebug?” Penelope keeps her voice low and sweet, like dark honey. Emily nods and Penelope grants her wish, starting the engine and turning out of the parking lot.

-❤-

One Day Post-Op

Penelope holds her breath as the nurse unwraps the medical bandages. She wonders if Em is doing the same. While she’s watching them, Emily’s eyes flit between her and the floor-length mirror fastened to the exam room wall.

The nurse is talking, and they’re both supposed to be listening, but who could expect them to? Emily has spent a couple grand (after insurance) and something like four years waiting for these next seconds. Penelope is just as invested, if not more, in Emily’s happiness. She’s not going to get the camera out, but wonders if she should just in case Emily cries.

Their eyes follow the final bandage as it unravels from Emily’s form.

And Emily’s mind goes quiet. They have two, deep red swoops where their chest used to bulge. Above and below, their body is nothing but smooth skin. They thought this would feel like shock. Like disbelief that they were finally here. Instead, it just feels right, as if this is the way it’s always been and some crappy daydream is over at last. They giggle, and Penelope glows like the sun has risen.

“Wow,” Penelope says, soft. She’s wrenched with admiration.

The nurse is smiling in the corner. She takes out a roll of Steri-Strips and measures them against Emily’s new scars. Scars! Emily finally has scars!

“Now the bruising should lessen in the next three to four weeks,” the nurse says. Oh, bruising. Emily almost hadn’t noticed. Their body is splotched with patches of yellow, green, and purple as if it’s trying to camouflage itself, but Emily’s not hiding from anything anymore.

They’re given more practical information, like how often Emily should be walking to avoid blood clots, how high they should lift their arms, how much they should be carrying – most of which tells them to stay reclined, arms down, to sleep as much as possible, but get in ten minutes of walking every few hours. Penelope hears more of this than Emily does, and again, they’re given written instructions just in case.

Emily takes one last look before the compression vest goes on. This will be the most uncomfortable part of the process, thank god. Emily chose a surgeon who used a tighter suture method rather than the typical drains intentionally. Still, the fit of the binder is exciting. Emily’s never had something lie flat on them before. Their body now falls in one fluid line without anything, even nipples, to interrupt.

“Em?”

Emily snaps to Penelope, who is standing and holding the door for them.

“Oh, right,” Emily says with half a laugh and a daze in their eyes. They thank the nurse, and the receptionist, and a passing surgeon that isn’t even Emily’s on the way out. This is the most gratitude Emily’s ever contained in their life, and they need to flush it through their system.

“And especially you,” Emily gushes as Penelope helps buckle their seatbelt. “You’re amazing. I can’t believe you’re taking time off for me, or that you’re not stir crazy already. Thank you.”

Penelope grins like she might burst, and can’t answer just yet. She gets them safely onto the highway for home first. “Of course I’m here for you, dumb-dumb! Not only because you literally can’t do anything for yourself right now, or because the hospital said you couldn’t have the surgery without having a caretaker, but, well – okay, maybe half for those reasons too. But because I love you. I’m so happy for you, and how happy you’re going to be, and that this is so good for you. I love you so much.” Penelope sniffles.

“Maybe you should have said all that before we left?” Emily asks. “You’re gonna cry the whole drive back, babe.”

Penelope swats at them. “I know, I know! But you’re on a strict schedule, my lovely angel, and you need your meds in like, thirty minutes.”

Emily laughs and catches Penelope’s hand in their own. They squeeze it tightly and press their lips to Penelope’s fingers. Emily only releases when Penelope tugs their grip toward the steering wheel.

“Next stop, Recoveryville,” Pen jokes.

-❤-

Five Days Post-Op

Emily is more or less comfortably laid on their couch. They have an arsenal of pillows stationed behind them, under their arms, and at the bend of their knees, and Penelope’s militant care routine keeping them afloat. For the last four days, they’ve done nothing but watch French art films together, eat ice cream, and order takeout. It’s been a nice break, Emily realizes. One they didn’t know they needed.

Penelope emerges from the kitchen with a bag of Doritos and a bright blue DVD in her hands.

“This looks like a bribe,” Emily says with a wry smile.

“That’s because it is. I am in no place to object to your choice of movies, especially after I promised I wouldn’t make fun of the accents anymore. But I was sorta hoping this would be a good opportunity to manhandle you into watching a real classic.” Penelope blocks the television in her pink pajama pants and Emily’s Yale hoodie. Penelope is well aware that Emily loves when she wears their clothes; she has to be doing this on purpose. And it’s working.

Emily bobs their head from side to side, considering the offer. “Alright, shoot. I’m willing to cut you a deal.”

Penelope slaps the movie cover over her face. Mamma Mia! (2008) Dir. Phyllida Lloyd.

“Oh, god.”

And Penelope reemerges, scowling. “Hey! I didn’t complain when you made me watch that sad movie about the woman with the dead family. This time, no one’s dead! And they’re in Greece! Okay, admittedly no one wants to hear Pierce Brosnan sing, but if you ignore him and focus on Meryl Streep the movie gets a lot better!”

This is not the first time Emily has heard argument on behalf of Mamma Mia! and it likely isn’t the last, either. Movie night in the Garcia-Prentiss household is in a state of constant debate and usually decided by a fair and unbiased coin toss. Emily considers it a miracle that Penelope’s lasted this long without putting up a fight, and considers it part of her generosity as their caretaker.

Emily scooches themself into a more upright position. “Trois coleurs: Bleu is a beautiful movie and you said you liked it, first of all. And I thought we were watching my movies because I’m the one healing.”

Penelope hesitates. “…Yes, but I may have also been doing a little eensy weensy bit of work at the same time because they’re also like, really slow and boring and Kevin needed the tiniest, tiniest bit of help on the Texas case.”

“Traitor!” Emily is aghast. “What about the deal?”

The deal, of course, was the promise they made each other after their third movie night. Emily was texting throughout The Muppets Take Manhattan and not entirely invested in Kermit and Miss Piggy’s wedding. Penelope was hurt, Emily was confused, and didn’t fully get it until Penelope fell asleep twenty minutes into Deux ou trois choses que je sais d'elle. From that point on, they agreed to compromise more on movie selection and to pay undivided attention to the films they did pick.

“You passed out! I thought the deal was void if you weren’t awake during your own movie!” Penelope said.

“Why didn't you wake me up?” Emily argued.

“Oh, yeah, I’m going to wake up the person who just had surgery so they can pay attention to the third sad foreign movie of the day. You need your rest, and Kevin has maybe half of my inimitable skills!” Penelope’s words were jumbling together as she went up an octave. “I know I’m on vacation but the team needed help and I didn’t want to abandon them with some computer monkey who doesn’t know the first thing about my system, much less the way the team works, and isn’t even a regular assist on cases like me and—”

Penelope is cut off by three short raps at their front door. A welcome escape.

“Pen!” Emily calls after her. “We’re not done here!”

“I think we are!” Penelope shouts back. She passes down the hall and peers through the peep hole, though, she really doesn’t need to. She recognizes the voices on the other side.

“We’re not too early, are we?”

“It’s two in the afternoon, genius.”

“I mean in days since Emily’s operation. They might not be up to company.”

“Then we’ll say hi to baby girl and head out, no big deal.”

Penelope swings the door wide open. “Definitely say hi to me, definitely do that!”

Morgan and Reid stand in their building’s hallway, Derek carrying bags of Chinese food, and Spencer juggling some sort of gift basket. Their eyes are tired and Derek’s stubble is looking rougher than usual, but they perk up in the light of their friend.

“Hey, there she is,” Morgan says. He comes in for a tight hug as he and Reid crowd themselves inside. “How’s everyone holdin’ up?”

“Peachy keen,” Penelope says. She squeezes Derek’s shoulder and leads them back to Emily by Reid’s hand. “Look who missed their favorite co-workers!”

“Hey, guys,” Emily says. Their heart warms at the sight of them. “What’re you doing here?”

“Now how’s that any way to greet a friend?” Morgan laughs. He lowers their takeout food to the coffee table and dives onto the couch beside Emily. “You been good to Garcia so far, or do we have to put the hurt on you?” He playfully punches Emily in their arm, and they cower in mock pain.

“Hey, no roughhousing!” Penelope scolds. “If anyone pulls any sort of muscle in the next twenty minutes, you’re all in timeout.”

Emily and Derek snicker in their seats and launch into the most recent case details. It’s a lot of the gory, icky stuff that Penelope doesn’t want to know unless she’s in her bat cave, so she takes Spencer and his basket into the kitchen.

“Doritos, huh?” he notices the bag Penelope drops on the counter. “You were trying to get something from them?”

Penelope answers with her head stuck in the fridge as she paws to the back for Spencer’s La Croix. “I may have wanted to watch one of my movies today, and I may have offered chips in payment.” She fishes a couple cans of LimonCello out, and huffs. “So what’s all this?”

“It’s from JJ. She wanted to come herself but didn’t think bringing Henry over was the best idea,” Spencer explains. He holds his drink gingerly with both hands and peers into the basket. It looks a lot like the one Penelope used for JJ’s baby shower, and is also definitely the same basket. Inside are a few bags of beef jerky, chocolate, a backscratcher with a little pink hand at its end, and an airline neck pillow with the Texas flag patterned over it.

“Awe. I’m definitely baking her cookies,” Penelope says. She leans back against the counter and eyes Spencer up and down. “Tough case?”

Spencer shifts from side to side and looks into the dark pit of his La Croix can. “Not much worse than usual. It was just… long. And Emily would’ve been a big help. None of us speak Spanish.”

“But you didn’t want to call right now,” Penelope guesses. “It’s all over though, right? All good? Everything wrapped up with a bow for good luck?”

Spencer nods and purses his lips. He looks over his shoulder to the living room, where Derek is describing something with his hands and Emily watches, wide-eyed and entertained. Spencer says, more to himself than Penelope, “It’s always good to be home.”

-❤-

Two Weeks Post-Op

“Emily Elizabeth Prentiss!”

Emily freezes with one arm reaching desperately above doctor-recommended height, and another gripping the cabinet door like their life depends on it. They press their forehead into the shelf, groaning, “That’s not my middle name.”

“I can make up whatever name I want! You know what Dr. Dolan said, and this is so far out of bounds!” Penelope stands in the kitchen threshold with her hands on her hips. She sighs and tugs Emily away from the cereal cabinet by their waist. When their arms are safely lowered to their sides, Penelope puts on her serious face, with her seriously furrowed eyebrows, and her serious frown on her lips. She asks, “Do you, like, want to injure yourself? Is this your new favorite hobby?”

Emily is petulant. “No, I want breakfast, and it’s on the third shelf. Let’s just pretend you got it for me, okay?”

Penelope grumbles her frustrations under her breath as she pulls down the family size box of Lucky Charms. She flurries around the space until she’s collected a bowl and spoon and settled them on the other side of the kitchen counter, where a bar stool and carton of milk wait for Emily.

“Sit,” Penelope orders. Emily complies with a glint in their eyes.

“Thank you,” they say, saturating their words with genuine love.

“Oh, stuff it.” Penelope pecks a kiss to their cheek regardless. She tries not to think about how cute Emily is when they’re smug, but it’s a losing battle. The way their nose scrunches, the smirk; not helping. Instead, Penelope picks a smidgeon of a fight.

“Your hair is greasy.”

And Emily’s face falls flat and exasperated. They let their spoon rest in the pool of marshmallows. “Can we do this after I eat?”

“Oh, lovebug. Absolutely not,” Penelope smiles knowingly. “You haven’t washed it in like, four days, which tells me that it’s not as easy as you said it was. Y’know, I was wondering who said washing your own hair was too much work immediately after having an operation? It would have to be someone super smart and beautiful and funny and—”

“It was you, Penelope. We all know it was you.”

“Funny; it was, wasn’t it?”

But Penelope lets them finish their cereal. She was about to eat her own Eggo waffles, after all. Once the dishes are rinsed and in the washer, she marches Emily straight into their bathroom. The tub thankfully doesn’t share a wall with the toilet, making it easier for Emily to scoot in next to the faucet. Penelope folds Emily’s towel (the towel that is dark purple, and not spring green, which Penelope keeps carefully out of the splash zone) (unlike Emily, who does not mind if their towel is damp long after it should be dry, and probably growing some type of mold) (okay, it’s not growing mold, but Penelope insists that it will eventually become mold-ridden if Emily doesn’t start hanging it up more consistently) along the side of the tub. Emily fits the towel under their neck, and Penelope guides them into position.

“Your hair is so thick,” Penelope comments.

Emily says, “You tell me that once a week.”

“Because it is. Now close your eyes.”

Penelope detaches the removable showerhead and lets the water warm her hand. When it’s a comfortable temperature, she douses Emily’s head. She maneuvers carefully around Emily’s forehead to avoid hitting their face, though Emily’s eyelids flutter when they worry the stream is near. Penelope thinks with their long eyelashes, they look like butterflies about to take flight.

She works the shampoo in with a gentle, but thorough touch. It’s when she rubs the lather into Emily’s scalp that Emily lets a soft moan break, and Penelope smiles. She takes pride in her work, whether she’s at her desk or in her soapy bathroom.

The shampoo swirls down the drain as Penelope rinses Emily free. Emily opens their eyes and tries to sit up, but Penelope pins their shoulders to the tub.

“Hold on! I haven’t conditioned yet.”

“Isn’t shampoo enough? We’re going to be here again in three days. It’s a hassle.”

Penelope does not think so. For the low price of two-thousand dollars and the risk of post-op complications, Penelope’s seen her girlfriend relax for the first time in, maybe ever. She’s going to drag it out as long as she can. Which, for right now, means dumping a handful of conditioner into her palm and rubbing it through the tips of Emily’s hair.

The final rinse is cleansing, like the weight falls from Emily’s shoulders. Penelope swipes the towel from Emily’s neck and cocoons their hair inside. She manages to keep their shirt dry, for the most part. Emily sits up with a pain in their shoulders, and does their best to hide it.

“What’s wrong?” Penelope prompts. Their best is not nearly good enough, not when Penelope has the analytical eye of someone who loves them. Penelope plants Emily on their shared bed for the first time since their surgery, already grateful to have a little of Emily’s smell in the room again. She sits behind them and overlaps their legs with hers. Penelope digs into the knots wound through their back as if she's torturing for information.

“It’s almost like you have a stressful job or something,” Penelope says.

Emily snorts. “Yeah, something like that.”

Penelope massages her way down until Emily feels looser under her fingers. She leans her head into the crook of Emily’s shoulder and presses a kiss to their skin. “We could ask for more time off,” she offers.

Emily slouches against Penelope’s body. “We could. But we have to go back at some point.”

“Let’s pretend we don’t.”

Emily exhales. “Sounds good to me.”

[plaidbooks]

Hi! Could you please do a detective Sonny and reader where they’re both kidnapped together? The reader volunteers herself to be hurt/etc. to protect Sonny? It leads to them eventually disclosing their feelings for each other before being rescued by the team.

Bartering Pain

A/N: Oh Anon, you’re after my own heart with this prompt! I live for this (cause I’m a SLUT for angst!). This gets kinda heavy, but I hope you still enjoy!

Tags: torture, knives, stabbing, attempted rape

Words: 2897

Taglist: @the-baby-bookworm @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @stardust-fray @permanentlydizzy @infiniteoddball @ben-c-group-therapy @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @lv7867 @reading--mermaid @averyhotchner @mrsrafaelbarba @detective-giggles

It was your partner’s, Sonny’s, day off, but you were still texting him, keeping him up-to-date on some of the cases he was missing. After some back and forth, you eventually offered to bring him some files and notes, bring him up to speed in person rather than over text.

“You stay safe, [y/l/n],” Olivia warned. “Text me when you make it to his place.” She didn’t need to say why, and you didn’t ask; there was a small group of unknowns who were furious with the NYPD. Officers had been disappearing off the streets, only for their bodies to be found weeks later, bloodied and broken.

“Will do, Lieu,” you replied, smiling. Grabbing all the files you needed, you headed out of the department, your gun on your hip.

 ********************

You buzzed Sonny’s intercom when you made it there, and he said he’d come down, meet you outside. He was quick down the elevator, smiling as he saw you. “Hey, hun,” Sonny greeted. He gave you a hug, which you happily returned; you and Sonny were close, best friends—even if you wanted something more—and you were both big huggers.

“Hey Son. Here’s those files on the Williamson case.”

He nodded. “Perfect. Why don’t we go up, chat about it there?” Before you could respond, there was a sharp pain to the back of your head, and then everything went black.

 ********************

Groaning, you squinted your eyes open, the room fuzzy around you. You were sitting in a chair, your hands bound behind you and your legs attached to the front legs of the chair with duct tape. There was a splitting headache behind your eyes, and you had to blink a few times to clear your vision. You were in a plain room; the walls used to be an off-white color, but were now covered in grime, dried blood splattered randomly. There was a plain door on the wall across from you, but there were no windows, no other furniture…except for Sonny. He was slumped in a chair in front of you, bound as you were, blood leaking down the side of his face from his temple. He hadn’t yet awoken, but his chest was still moving—he was alive.

“C-Carisi,” you murmured, then louder, “Carisi!” But he didn’t stir, his head lolling on his chest. You looked down at your bound legs, trying to struggle against the tape, but it was futile. You vaguely noticed that you no longer had your gun nor your phone, and the panic started to set in. Stay calm, you thought; panic wouldn’t help you here. Besides, you never texted Liv—she had to know something bad had happened. And, in paranoia, your Lieutenant also forced you all to carry around SMS chips, hidden in your shoe so that the department could find you in case of this very thing.

“Carisi!” you tried once more before the door opened. You watched as three men came into the room, all burly men of Hispanic descent, but unfamiliar to you. They were unmasked, which was bad for you—they didn’t expect you to survive, to ID them later.

“Well, well, someone’s awake,” one man said, sneering at you, the door shutting behind them. He had a short knife in his hand, the blade maybe 2 inches long. You swallowed as it glinted in the light.

Your eyes went from the man who had spoken to Sonny, then back to him. “Let him go—he’s not a cop. He’s—he’s just a friend I was visiting.” The blood on Sonny’s head was already making your heart hurt, and you had seen the crime scenes of the officers who were found. You couldn’t let that happen to your partner.

The man came closer, playing with the knife in his hands. “You hear that, boys? We must’ve made a mistake. Apparently, this is not Detective Dominick Carisi Jr. with Manhattan SVU, in the 16th precinct.” Your heart sunk—they must’ve memorized the department…but, if they were outside his apartment, was this a hit?

The man sauntered up closer, until he was right in front of you. He twirled the knife in his hands before gripping the hilt, looking you directly in the eye. “Don’t. Lie. To me,” he growled before he sunk the blade into the top of your thigh in one smooth motion. You cried out in pain, the sharp steel gliding through your skin easily. Sonny stirred, but was still out. The man let go of the knife, leaving it sheathed in your leg as he gripped your chin, forcing you to look into his eyes.

“Listen, you little bitch; you and your partner are going to die today. That’s just a fact. Now, the more you piss me off, the longer I’m going to draw this out. So, please, piss me off.” He wiggled the blade, twisting it in you, and you whimpered.

Sonny let out a low groan as he came to, rolling his neck as he opened his eyes, taking in his surroundings. His eyes locked to the knife in your thigh, then to your face as he jolted against the duct tape binding him.

“Get away from her,” Sonny snarled, his voice low. His eyes weren’t completely focused, and you knew he had a concussion.

One of the other men went over to him, saying, “oh don’t worry, there’s enough to go around.” He cocked back his arm, then punched Sonny in the face. The force of the hit pushed him onto two legs of the chair, and the man grabbed it, pulling him back onto all four.

“Hey! Leave him alone! H-hit me instead,” you said through gritted teeth. Sonny locked eyes with you, shaking his head slightly, blood trailing from his split lip. But like hell were you going to let them hurt Sonny…your sweet, kind Sonny….

“No, let her go—” Sonny started but the man leaning over you cut him off.

“Q, shut that prick up. I’ll take care of this one.” You only had a moment to see the man—Q, apparently—punch Sonny once more in the face before you got a fist in the cheek. Your teeth rattled in your head, and the ache behind your eyes exploded into pain.

The third man, who had been quiet this whole time, finally spoke up. “Come on, T. Let’s just kill them before their team finds us.”

“Relax, D. The NYPD has been fucking useless in trackin’ us down—they won’t find us any time soon. We can afford to have some fun,” T replied. He gripped the knife still lodged in your thigh and yanked it out, blood seeping out of the wound. It didn’t seem like a lot of blood, so you were hoping he had missed your arteries. You glanced up at Sonny, eyes locking to his. He looked…scared, still working his arms against the duct tape. The wound at his temple had reopened, fresh blood trailing down his face and onto his shirt, and you wanted nothing more than to hold him. The fear was setting in; you were going to die here, weren’t you? But, if you could stall just long enough, maybe Liv could find you guys…or at least Sonny….

T looked between you two, noticing your stare. “You both work sex crimes, huh? You know what would be really fun?” T murmured. You had a sinking suspicion you knew where he was going with this, and you start to pull at your restraints. This just made T smirk, and he looked over at Sonny. “How long have you two worked together? 2 years, right? I bet you’ve pictured her naked before.”

Realization passed over Sonny’s face, and he was struggling so hard, the chair was scooting across the floor. “D, you hold whitey’s chair, make sure he watches this. Q, why don’t you get a little taste first?” T ordered, motioning him over. “You can have her loud mouth; I want her filthy fucking cunt.”

“Don’t you fucking dare touch her!” Sonny yelled, fighting desperately to get free.

T brought that sharp knife under the collar of your shirt, cutting away at the material. You pulled away from him as much as you could, instinct taking over as you tried to retreat. But in your haste to move away, the knife sliced into you, and you whimpered at the fresh pain, the blood tickling you as it trailed down your skin. Q came to stand behind you, resting his big hands on your shoulders and holding you still as T finished cutting your shirt off your body.

“You can go first; I can wait,” T smirked at Q before looking at you. “You bite him, and—” he placed the knife against your throat— “it’ll be the last thing you ever do.” You froze, your body going stock still as the sharp blade bit into your skin.

You looked across the room at Sonny, who was still fighting the restraints. There was a wildness in his eyes, a deep fear as he pulled hard, and then there was a deafening pop, and Sonny screamed in pain, his left arm going limp behind him as he slumped forward. The sound of his pain ripped your heart in two, and you sobbed silently as you watched him sit in defeat. Chest heaving, he pulled his head up, eyes locking to yours, tears in his eyes as he mouthed the words, “I love you.”

Your heart clenched and you mouthed them back, tears sliding down your cheeks, the blade of T’s knife pushing against the skin of your throat. You stared into Sonny’s bright blue eyes until Q’s body blocked him from your view, standing over you, straddling you, his bulge directly in front of your face.

Disgust welled up inside you, and you fought the urge to vomit. At least this was happening to you, and not Sonny; you couldn’t imagine sitting there, watching this unfold, unable to do anything.

His hands went to his belt, undoing it quickly and shoving his pants down, his boxer-covered erection mere centimeters from your mouth. With T’s freehand, he grabbed your jaw, forcing your mouth open. Q grabbed the waistband of his boxers, a huge grin on his face.

There was a loud crash as the door was slammed open. Q dove to the side off you, and T pushed the knife against your throat, sinking the blade in deeper as he screamed threats, but he was cut off by a gunshot, his limp body falling away from you. You took a shuttering gasp as the pressure from your throat was now gone. You frantically looked for Sonny, for the security of his bright blue eyes. He was still sitting across from you, eyes wide, in pain, but also such relief. Olivia, Fin, and Rollins were behind him, as well as a slew of ESU officers, all armed to the teeth. They quickly cuffed Q and D, Liv coming towards you.

“Take care of Sonny first…please,” you begged, your voice weak. But Fin was already there, cutting the duct tape at his wrists.

“It’s okay; you’re both okay,” Liv murmured, going to work on your own restraints. Once your arms were free, Liv handed you a jacket to cover yourself, then went to work on your legs. “We need EMTs in here,” Liv called out, examining your wounds. As soon as you were free, you shakily pushed yourself out of the chair, weakly stumbling towards Sonny, who still had one leg duct taped down. Fin freed him just as you got to him, and Sonny pushed himself to standing, wobbling a bit, his left arm hanging uselessly at his side.

Letting out a loud sob, you fell against his chest, clutching at him desperately, ignoring everyone else around you. Sonny let out a low grunt in pain, but held you close, stroking your hair with his one hand. “You’re okay. You’re safe,” he whispered into your hair.

“We’re safe,” you sniffled back, nuzzling into his chest.

The EMTs came into the room quick enough, leading you and Sonny out of the room and towards the ambulances. But you couldn’t force yourself to let go of Sonny’s side, suddenly afraid that you’d never see him again, no matter how ridiculous that was.

“We need to take you to the hospital,” one of the EMTs said, trying to pull you away from him, but you clung on, unable to explain your fears.

“It’s okay, doll. I’ll see you at the hospital,” Sonny murmured, kissing the top of your head.

You shook your head. “I-I can’t leave you, Dom. Please,” you replied.

“There’s not enough room on the gurney for both of you…don’t make us sedate you,” the EMT warned. You sighed as you let them put Sonny in the back of an ambulance, his eyes boring into yours before they closed the door on him, then led you to your own ambulance.

 *****************

The stab wound in your leg had missed your arteries, needing only a few stitches, while the cut in your shoulder and along your throat were shallow. You had a mild concussion from the hit to the back of your head and you were in shock. Sonny had a more severe concussion and a dislocated shoulder, plus a split lip, but was otherwise fine.

After you were stitched up, you grabbed your IV stand and forced yourself to your feet, wandering the halls, looking for Sonny. You needed to see him, needed to know he was alright. Rollins had found you stumbling through the hospital, drugged and dazed.

“[y/n]? What are you doing out of bed?” she asked. She had two vases of flowers in her hands; tulips, with little balloons saying “GET WELL SOON”.

“S-Sonny,” you mumbled, and Rollins nodded, gesturing with her head and leading you down a hallway. She hurried into a room, coming back out without the vases, wrapping her arms around you and helping you into Sonny’s room. He was still asleep, the pain meds flowing through him.

Amanda deposited you into a chair, standing next to you, still looking concerned. “What were you doing wandering around? You shouldn’t be up yet—”

“I needed to see him, Rollins. I-I needed to know he was okay,” you murmured. You felt weak, and you hated it, but you felt better, safer now that you could see Sonny, alive. Amanda looked confused, but you didn’t know how to explain it. “I…you weren’t there. You—don’t know what we went through, what it was like in that room….”

She nodded. “You’re right; I wasn’t there….” She stood then. “I’ll, uh, I’ll leave you two alone, come back later.”

You smiled your thanks, then returned your gaze to Sonny’s face. You could still hear his ear-piercing scream when his shoulder had popped out, could hear the threat in his voice, see the danger in his eyes when he said, “don’t you fucking dare touch her!”. Your heart strained; you were glad in the moment that the kidnappers had taken it out on you. But now that you sat and thought about it, them torturing you probably hurt Sonny more than any physical wound ever could. You couldn’t imagine sitting there, unable to do anything as they hurt Sonny, but Sonny had to endure that with you. Tears in your eyes, you reached out, grabbing his hand.

Slowly, Sonny’s eyes opened, a small groan leaving his lips. “[y/n]?” he asked, voice raspy.

“I’m here, Son. I’m safe—we’re safe,” you whispered.

He gave you a small smile, his hand turning over to interlock his fingers with yours. But the smile faltered as tears clouded his vision. “I-I thought we were gonna die in there. And—and you were almost…almost—”

“I know, Son. But I wasn’t. And we didn’t. We’re alive and we’re safe.” The tears were in your eyes now, and you blinked at them, trying to stop them from falling.

“I’ve…never been so afraid in my whole life; I couldn’t even think to pray. I could only think about you, trying to distract them from you,” Sonny said softly, closing his eyes, letting a few tears fall. He opened his eyes, locking them to yours. “I-I love you so much, and I couldn’t take that—” his voice broke as he sobbed.

You couldn’t stop the tears that spilled down your cheeks. “I-I love you, too, Son. I was…I could take it, if it meant you were spared. I couldn’t let them hurt you.”

He sniffled, trying to control himself. “But I couldn’t take it—watching you get hurt was the worst pain­—"

“I know, Son, I know. I can…still hear your shoulder….”

Sonny grimaced. “We…we have to move past this; stop living in that room. We’re safe, we’re okay. Let’s start there, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agreed. Standing, you leaned over him, giving him a wet, slopping kiss, the salt from both of your tears mingling. Sonny wrapped his good arm around you, his lips desperate on yours, as if he’d never get the chance to kiss you again. Reluctantly, you sat back down, unwilling to leave his bedside, unable to go back to your room. You knew this would take time, and a lot of therapy to work through it, but Sonny was safe. That’s all that mattered.

[nitewrighter]

28. Widow/hanzo?

28. First Kiss

This one’s taking place in the same continuity as that Widowhanzo fic I wrote a while back.

----

Hanzo pushes through the door of the grubby little hotel room, his bag hanging on one shoulder. He isn’t as careful with quietly padding across the floor as he was their first few weeks on the run. Weeks plural--he’s still trying to wrap his mind around that. Some days seem so long, and it seems a miracle just to make it to the end of each one, others fall into an ouroboros loop of light and darkness wheeling rapidly overhead. But at this point her body is so weak that the instinct to be roused from sleep at any sound he could make is suppressed by her own exhaustion. Or maybe she trusts him at this point? He almost chuckles at the thought. She still talks about how she’s going to kill him, but she lets it drop as quickly as she brings it up with the sort of casualness you might get from a notification text on your phone. He zips open the bag to see the multiple biotic cartridges and vials, glowing yellow within the bag.

“I got you enough for the next few days,” he says, walking across the room, cramped with that almost comforting smell of tropical rot pressing in against the age-yellowed floral wallpaper. He pulls his hair from its ponytail and ruffles it slightly, trying to loosen the sweat and exhaust-smells of the streets outside that has embedded itself in the strands tied back flat against his scalp. He needs a shower. “But we can only stay one more night, if that--” 

He glances back at her sprawled across the bed, staring at the ceiling, completely unresponsive, and his stomach lurches as he steps over. “Hey--” One of her arms is strung limply over the side of the bed. Her eyes aren’t focused.

He knows the scent of death too well--he would have recognized it the second he opened the door--but her skin is beaded with sweat and her lips are cracked with dehydration and she’s only making the shallowest and quietest of breaths. “Amélie?” He shakes her shoulder a little. A groggy rasping noise ekes out of her throat and her chest convulses upward as if being pulled by an invisible string, her back arching as she drags in a rattling breath. He pulls his hand back in a flinch but her own ice-cold hand catches his wrist. Her sweat-shined eyelids curtain half of her eyes unevenly as her head lolls. She’s trying to will movement into her body at the sight of him. 

“Gérard...” her voice croaks and a chill runs down his spine, “Gérard, tu es venu...” 

“I’m not--” Hanzo starts.

“Je savais...je savais que tu viendrais pour moi...” 

“Amélie,” Hanzo sits down on the edge of the bed next to her, he brings his hand behind her back, supporting her, “I need you to focus on the sound of my voice. You’re delirious--”

“Why..?” a sound too weak to be a laugh shakes her voice, “Why are you speaking english?”

“You need water,” he pulls his wrist from her grip and brings both arms under her, scooping her up and carrying her to the equally grubby hotel room bathroom. She’s warm in his arms, and that scares him--she shouldn’t be this warm, not her, not after what Talon did to her. The words ‘Death warmed over’ come to his mind and he tries to fix his focus on gently lowering her into the bathtub, but she’s strung her arms around his neck.

“Don’t leave me,” she whines.

“I’m right here--” he manages to say before ducking out of her arms. She slumps over the side of the bath without his weight under her. He wets a waschloth at the sink, cold water, and drops to one knee, carefully pushing her to a semi-upright position and tucking her hair away from her forehead before smoothing the wet washcloth over it. He turns on the bathtub spigot. Cold. Something, anything to snap her back to reality. her clothes are clinging wet and heavy to her.

“Gérard...” she sighs after him as he rushes out of the bathroom, seizes a biotic field canister and hurries back in, slamming the cylinder down on the floor and making it ripple out a glowing field of yellow. She takes a deep breath then, like some deep wincing pain is easing. He plops down on the floor himself, the exhaustion of a sudden rush of adrenaline after expending so much physical energy out on the streets outside now hitting him. He rakes a hand through his loose hair, the roar of the bathtub spigot bouncing off of the tile walls a relieving sound in its thunder.

“Emmène-moi d'ici,” Widowmaker moans, her eyes closed to protect against the dripping water of the washcloth on her forehead, “Before they hurt me again...” 

Hanzo pulls himself to his feet one more time, grabbing one of the brown plastic cups sitting next to the sink and filling it.

“They can’t hurt you, you’re safe,” says Hanzo. A half lie. He sits back down next to the tub and supporting Widowmaker’s head with one hand while putting the rim of the cup to her lip with the other, “Drink.”

“Mm--” She manages to get a few gulps in before clumsily pushing the glass away with the back of her hand with an uncharacteristically dense swallowing sound and exhale. Those yellow eyes stare into him, but they seem to be staring past him. Something ripples across her face and her mouth twists up, “I’m so sorry,” her voice cracks into sobs, it sounds alien, it sounds wrong after so long hearing her words so flat and clipped, “They made me say horrible things, Gérard.” Even with her movements so slowed by weakness, the sobs bunched up her shoulders, “And I--I had to say it--but I didn’t mean it--I didn’t mean it---I would never... never...”

“Amélie, I’m not--” he starts but her head suddenly lolls up and she presses her mouth against his. She has the sour taste of sleep on her tongue. He freezes, his entire body tensing as if it has just received an electric shock. The cup in his hand drops to the tile floor, sending water spilling across it. A droplet of water from her washcloth trickles down his temple. Her blue-tipped fingers brush through his loose hair. She’s not well, he thinks, This is wrong. But he doesn’t stop her. A part of him reasons that maybe it’s kinder--at the most, this is all a dream for her, and it would be easier for all involved for her to just ride this out into oblivion. Another part of him is burning. How long has it been since someone touched him? Since someone looked at him like she looks at this delusion? She pulls away and blinks several times, her brow furrowing. “Ugh...” she presses her fingertips to the wet cloth on her forehead.”Something’s... something’s wrong...”  she murmurs.

“Coming back to the land of the liv--?” Hanzo starts to quip before she vomits on him and passes out.

------

Hours pass when Widowmaker’s eyes blearily open and she finds herself in the bed, wearing the thin hotel bathrobe with wet hair. She’s lying on her side. 

“Night...?” Widowmaker squints outside the hotel room window, “When... I--I only just closed my eyes. How long have you been here?”

“I got back a few hours ago. You were... semi-conscious, delirious, and burning with fever,--at least, burning for you,” Hanzo is fiddling with one of his sonar arrows in an armchair opposite her. 

“Delirious,” she repeats with a huff, “Please tell me I didn’t make a fool of myself.”

Hanzo gives a dismissive hand wave. “You muttered some things in French. Even if it was something foolish, it was nothing I could understand.” 

Widowmaker huffs and curls up on the bed a little. “Good.” 

“Mm-hmm,” Hanzo keeps his eyes fixed on the arrow. Just focus on the arrow. 

[returntobeaconhills]

Moonrise - Chapter Two

Chapter Two - The Hungry Fox 

Walt puts out dishes heaped with eggs and bacon as everyone takes a seat for their post-run breakfast.

"What are your plans for the day?" Talia asks her children, but her eyes are specifically on Derek.

"I don't have class. Thought I'd draw for a while, out at the edge of the preserve." Derek clears his throat and picks at his bacon.

"That sounds like a nice day," Walt says. "You should stop back in for lunch and I'll make you a chicken pesto sandwich. How does that sound?"

Derek smiles. "Yeah, Dad. Thanks."

Cora checks the time. "I've got to head out. I'm supposed to open the coffee shop today."

Laura finishes up and stands. "I can give you a ride."

"Have a good day, girls," Talia says.

"Thanks for breakfast, Dad," Derek says as he finishes his own food.

"Of course. I'll see you at lunch." Walt starts to clear the dishes.

"I look forward to seeing your sketches later," Talia tells Derek with a smile, but her face is still lined with concern.

Derek leans and nuzzles lightly against her shoulder, head bowed.

Talia sighs, comforted by the touch. She pets over his hair. "You never tell me that I worry too much like your sisters do."

"I don't know what's wrong with me," Derek says with a small laugh. "Anytime we're not all together, it's like there's a hook in my chest, pulling me to wherever the others are."

Talia turns her face to look at him. "There is nothing wrong with you! You just feel a strong bond to the pack." She hugs him. "Would you like to stay home with me today?"

Derek shakes his head. "No, I'm okay." He pauses. "That's what makes it so strange, you know? I don't even remember making the decision to break from the pack and chase. I just did it."

Talia's lips go thin. "Do you think something else was controlling you?"

Derek tilts his head and considers. "I don't know. I don't think so, but...felt like instinct. Felt like when I was first learning to control the shift, and I'd turn without even realizing I'd done it."

Talia studies him for a long moment. "Promise me you'll be careful."

"I promise," Derek murmurs. Talia squeezes Derek's hand. "So, tell me, what did this fox look like?"

"It was a little fennec fox. Sort of tan-colored. Great big ears. They're not native to California, but. Immigrants, I guess." Derek licks his lips. "And as a boy, I didn't see him very long, but he was tall and pale and... freckly."

"I see." Talia suppresses a smile. "Maybe you can draw the fox from memory while you're out today."

Derek's eyes light up. "You're right. That's a great idea."

Talia stands and kisses Derek's hair. "Take some snacks and water with you so you don't get hungry."

"Yes, ma'am." Derek gets to his feet, stretches, and waits for his mother's dismissal.

Talia nods. "You may go."

Derek bows his head and goes upstairs to shower and dress.

As soon as Derek steps outside, it feels as if he is being watched. Derek tightens the straps on his backpack, a nervous habit, and starts walking out to the edge of the preserve.

As Derek is making his way through the preserve, his eye catches something unusual. As he approaches, he realizes it's a pile of clothing: a discarded hoodie, a T-shirt, jeans, sneakers, socks, and boxers. He kneels down next to the pile, scenting the air.

Once he catches the scent, the fox comes into view. The fox tilts his head as he watches Derek.

"Hey," Derek says, surprised. "It's you."

The fox lets out a short bark.

Derek flashes his eyes blue. "You never saw me like this. Do you recognize me?"

The fox huffs and nods his head. Still on his knees, Derek holds out a hand, palm up.

The fox approaches slowly. After several long moments, he sniffs Derek's hand. The fox pushes his head against Derek's hand in order to be petted.

“Hey, little guy,” Derek says with a laugh, gently running his fingertips along the fox’s ears.

At the use of 'little guy,' the fox nips lightly at Derek's wrist.

“Ow. Oh--sorry. You’re not just--those are really nice ears,” Derek offers.

The fox preens and ducks his head to offer Derek his ears. Upon closer inspection, Derek can see a small dusting of freckles and moles along the cream-colored fur.

“Wow, you have freckles even in your shifted form.” Derek’s fingertips hover over the freckles, mapping them from a distance like stars. “That’s...I didn’t even know that could happen. That’s amazing.” He gives a self-conscious laugh, looking away as a blush creeps up his neck.

The fox jumps on Derek's arm and climbs up to perch on his shoulder. He noses at Derek's red cheek before moving over Derek's shoulder to paw at his backpack.

“I’ll show you what’s inside, but you gotta jump off first. I don’t want you to fall off when I set it down.”

The fox uses Derek's shoulder as a launch pad to jump from. He settles on the hoodie as he watches with large eyes.

“Okay.” Derek swings the bag off of his shoulder and unzips it, pulling out several bottles of water, a brown paper bag with a bit of a grease stain on the bottom, a box of pencils, and a sketchpad.

The fox immediately pounces on the bag. He tries to tug it with his small teeth, but the sight is mostly comical.

Derek’s brow furrows slightly, even as his lips pull up. “Hey, little g--uh, fox. Are you hungry?” His eyes widen. “D-did I keep you from doing your hunting last night?”

The fox scratches at the bag and looks up at Derek.

“Sorry, yeah, let me...” Derek pulls a plastic container out of the bag, a bit of oil fingerprinting the outside. He opens it to reveal an aromatic Greek-style pasta dish with a bit of cooked lamb tucked into the corner, placing the meal in front of the fox.

The fox dives in, his little paws slipping in the dirt as he moves to eat. The fox eats about half of the food before pulling back. He yawns and curls up on the clothes.

“I’ll leave the rest for you. After your nap.” Derek puts the lid back on the container and picks up his drawing materials.

One of the fox's eyes stays cracked open, curious as to what Derek will do next.

Derek opens one of the water bottles and sets it upright on the ground next to the food. “Thirsty?”

The fox gets up and moves toward the bottle. He uses a paw to knock the bottle over and starts to drink as the water spills out.

“That’s good.” Derek clears his throat as he opens his sketchbook. “We always have plenty of food. More than enough.”

The fox gets his fill of water before settling back on the clothes. He hides his face with a paw as he sleeps.

Only the sound of the pencil moving across paper accentuates the fox’s even breathing. Derek stays perfectly still except to draw.

His phone goes off with a text. The fox stirs and lifts his head to look at Derek with as much annoyance as the small face can muster.

Talia to Derek: Everything okay, sweetheart?

Derek turns his phone to silent.

Derek: Yes.

The fox stretches out and sleeps for another half hour. When he wakes, the fox jumps up on a tree stump to get a view of Derek's drawing.

Derek breaks his pencil in his clumsy rush to try to cover up an extremely detailed sketch of the sleeping fox.

The fox huffs and scowls as Derek moves to hide his work. He jumps down and moves into Derek's backpack. He pokes his head outside, but doesn't make any other movements to leave it.

“Get cold sometimes?” Derek asks, voice a little too high as he closes his sketchbook.

The fox moves its head from side to side to indicate he’s not in the bag because he’s cold.

"That's good." Derek reaches out to pet him.

The fox starts a soft purr under the attention. Derek chuckles, a low, pleased rumble. The fox moves out of the bag and starts jumping around in a circle. He flashes his eyes at Derek.

"What's this?" Derek smiles at the sight, but scents the air to make sure it isn't a warning.

Sensing nothing, Derek looks back to the fox, who noses at the hoodie, then jumps up again before tugging at Derek's pant leg.

"Should I follow you? Want to show me something?"

The fox gives up and sits back. He considers for a moment before he darts off as fast as he can.

A growl escapes Derek before he can help it. He tugs off his clothes and shifts with a groan, running full-speed in pursuit.

The fox swishes his tail, almost taunting. With a short, joyful howl, Derek leaps over him, landing in front of the little fox so that they're facing each other. The fox scents at Derek before rubbing its face against Derek's legs. Derek flips onto his back, paws up by his chest, giving the fox room to play on his belly. The fox jumps up on Derek's stomach and nips at Derek's jaw.

As the fox's nose moves over Derek's throat, he goes perfectly, unnaturally still. The fox sits back on Derek's belly, confused. Derek shivers, nearly dislodging the fox in the process. The fox jumps down and lowers its head. Derek gets back up, shaking his head, taking a moment to recover before licking the fox’s nose in reassurance. The fox nuzzles against Derek. The wolf mouths at the fox’s snout again. The fox pulls back and sneezes, his small head twitching. There’s no mistaking the smile that overtakes Derek’s face, letting his long, wolfish tongue loll to the side. He leans in and licks the top of the fox’s head. The fox playfully slaps at Derek's nose before sprinting off.

They spend hours this way--Derek chasing the fox, constantly tackling or pouncing or nuzzling, and the two of them taking breaks in between to roll around and play in the underbrush.

As it grows dark, Derek hears Talia's howl.

Derek stills, ears pricking up. He howls in return, eyes bright blue, before he makes eye contact with the fox to see if he understands.

The fox licks Derek's nose before running off.

A soft, saddened whine escapes Derek, but he only allows himself a moment before he obeys the call.

Talia is standing in human form at the edge of the yard when Derek returns. Her face is etched with worry. Walt stands at her side.

Derek sucks in a sharp breath. Once he’s within a few feet of them, he lifts his chin up, baring his throat.

Talia relaxes at Derek's appearance but her tone is stern as she says, "You didn't answer your phone."

“I was shifted,” Derek murmurs. “I’m sorry.”

Talia reaches out to cup Derek's cheek. "You're okay?"

“Yeah. I’m good.” Derek leans into the touch, flashing his eyes as a sign of respect.

Talia matches it with her own red eyes.

Walt slaps Derek's shoulder. "See, Tal, no reason to worry. He just lost track of time, right?"

Talia huffs but her lips pull up the smallest bit. "You were just as worried when he didn't come home for lunch."

“I’m sorry,” Derek says again, biting his lip. “Did you howl before you got really worried? I-I tried to get back fast once I heard it--”

"It's okay," Walt assures him.

Talia tilts her head. "Were you with the fox again?"

“Yes, ma’am,” Derek murmurs.

Talia sighs. "I worry about this shifter being a bad influence. Did you get his name?" Derek winces. “No, ma’am. He didn’t shift back this time. But he seems very…sweet.”

Talia pets over his hair. "Go ahead and get washed up for dinner. You must be hungry. Did you finish your pasta?"

“No, ma’am,” Derek says, barely audible.

Talia kisses Derek's temple. "It's okay. You don't have to be upset."

“He seemed hungry,” Derek says quietly.

Walt frowns. "Did he need food? You could have brought him home for dinner."

“I sort of tried to ask about it, but...when he heard the howl, he took off.” Derek shrugs. “Maybe he’s scared.”

"Maybe." Talia leads Derek inside.

After getting washed up, Derek helps Walt finish preparing the meal and sets the table.

Talia keeps casting concerned glances at Derek throughout the meal.

"So, you found him," Laura comments. "Did you ask him out?"

Derek’s face goes splotchy and pink.

"Leave your brother alone," Talia warns her.

"I think it's good you made a friend, Der," Cora says as she helps herself to a second serving of food.

“Yeah. Kinda different for me,” Derek says, genuine. He pushes his food around on his plate.

Walt's brow furrows. "Is there something wrong with the food?"

“No, no.” Derek takes a bite, looking back up at Walt as he swallows it down.

Walt squeezes his shoulder. "I think there will be leftovers if you want to take some for your friend."

"Walt," Talia says. "It's getting late."

“Yes, ma’am. It can wait.”

After dinner, Laura pulls Derek aside into her room. "I can tell you how to sneak out if you want."

“They were pretty worried about me,” Derek says, putting his hands in his pockets.

"But this is so romantic. You need to at least get his name!"

Derek smiles a little despite himself. "You really think I should?"

"Yes!" Laura shakes his shoulders gently. "You almost never make connections with people."

Derek's smile falters.

Laura bites her own lip. "Sorry, I didn't mean it to sound like a bad thing. It's really not! I just think if you're happy with him, you should pursue that."

"But what if it's..." Derek swallows, looking down at his shoes. "He didn't want to shift back with me there. He only did it the first time 'cause he was scared of me, didn't know what I was gonna do, at first. What if that's all it is, a fox and a wolf in the woods?"

Laura wraps her arms around him. "Did you ask him to change back? Maybe try talking to him instead of just playing."

"Maybe," Derek murmurs.

Laura pulls back. "If you don't want to, I won't push you into it. I just want you to be happy."

Derek nods. "I know."

Laura points to her window. "Go out my window if you want to try. Your room is too close to Mom and Dad's. If their window is open, they might hear you drop down."

Derek huffs a laugh. "Got it."

Laura winks at him. "I'm going to go watch a movie with Cora."

"'Night." Derek goes to his bedroom.

Talia and Walt both check in before they head to bed.

Derek sits cross-legged on his bed, going over sketches in pen.

Around midnight comes a soft tapping on his window.

Goosebumps rise on Derek’s skin. He drops his sketchbook and leans over to open the window, listening for any sign of his parents rousing as the wind moves through his room, sweeping up his papers.

The same young man from the woods tumbles through Derek's window, this time fully dressed in the rumpled clothes from the woods.

“Fox,” Derek blurts out, because he doesn’t know him by any other name.

The boy raises an eyebrow. "Stiles." “ Stiles,” Derek breathes out, slowly, testing the sound of it.

Stiles nods. "I waited. You didn't come back."

“I couldn’t come back.” Derek’s brow furrows in confusion. “My alpha called me.”

"Oh." Stiles shrugs, as if he doesn't quite know the weight of this. "Do you want to play now?"

“Um.” Derek shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Well, are you hungry? I’m a little hungry.”

"I could eat," Stiles admits. "What do you have?"

“Lots of stuff. My dad’s a chef, so we always have plenty.” Derek points to the door. “Want to?”

Stiles hesitates. "What about the others. Four others, right? I caught five scents total."

“That’s my dad, my mom--she’s the alpha--my older sister and my younger sister. But nobody’ll mind,” Derek rushes to add. “Promise.”

Stiles squirms. "They're all wolves?"

Derek’s eyes tighten, a small, nearly unnoticeable flinch, as if Stiles had pulled back to throw a punch. “They’re my family,” he murmurs.

"Okay." Stiles nods. "If you think they won't mind. Most wolves, they don't like foxes, it seems."

“Most people don’t like wolves,” Derek says simply.

Stiles scuffs his shoe along the floor. "They make you leave," he says in a small voice.

“You don’t have...?”

"I have someone," Stiles rushes out. "I have my dad."

“Oh.” Derek relaxes a little. “Is he hungry, too?” His eyes go wide, blood rushing to his face. “I-I mean...would he want to join us, or, or--is he a fox? Not that it matters if he’s--um.”

"He's not," Stiles says. He inches back towards the window. "He's human. And he's fine. I'm fine."

“Okay.” Derek clasps his hands in front of him to keep from trying to cover his blushing face. “Sorry.”

"I should go," Stiles says. He casts a glance at Derek's sketchbook. "You were busy."

Derek bites his lip and drops into a sitting position on his bed. “Okay,” he murmurs.

Stiles hesitates at the window.

“Sorry,” Derek says again, numbly picking up his sketchbook just to have something to do with his hands. He doesn’t actually open it, just turns it over on his lap, ducking his head so that Stiles can’t see his face.

The sound of a sneaker being kicked off draws Derek's attention as Stiles starts to undress. “What are you doing?” Derek squeaks out.

Stiles shifts. Once he's a fox, he jumps up onto Derek's bed.

“O-okay.” Derek lifts his hand, letting it hover over the fox’s head.

The fox pushes against Derek's hand. Derek’s muscles relax a little as he pets over the fox’s soft fur. The fox paws at Derek's legs like a cat settling in.

With a chuckle, Derek focuses on the fox, scratching behind his ears, rubbing his belly, running a thumb over the fine little hairs above his eyes. The fox's eyes grow heavy until he finally nods off, curled up against Derek.

Though he doesn’t remember the moment it happens, Derek falls asleep easily, slumping down to the bed like a puppet with cut strings.

When Derek stirs the next morning, he wakes to a very human, very naked Stiles sleeping against him.

Derek slaps his hand over his own mouth to keep from yelling. Hands shaking, he grabs an extra blanket from the foot of the bed and drapes it delicately over Stiles’s body.

Stiles nuzzles against the pillow.

There's a knock at the door.

Derek catches himself at just the last moment from clapping his hands over Stiles’s ears to keep the noise from rousing him. He swallows thickly, blushing to the tips of his ears.

"Derek, Dad wants you to know breakfast is almost ready!" Cora calls through the door.

“I have a guest,” Derek says, voice comically high-pitched.

The door cracks open enough for Cora to stick her head in. "What?"

Derek looks up at her, expression pleading.

Cora's eyes go wide. "Oh, my God," she mouths. She gestures for Derek to come out into the hallway.

Scowling, Derek gestures to Stiles, still sleeping soundly half-on top of him.

Cora rolls her eyes and closes the door. A moment later Derek's phone vibrates with a text.

He’s careful not to jostle Stiles as he checks it.

Cora to Derek: Omg!!!! Who is it??? I can't see his face! I never thought you had it in you! Scandalous. Derek: WE DIDN’T DO ANYTHING. He’s the one I told you guys about. He came in last night and shifted. I was going to get us some food, but he fell asleep, and then I fell asleep, and THAT’S IT. Cora: likely story. 👉👌👬❤️❤️❤️ Derek: 😡 Cora: How am I supposed to cover for you? I can't exactly lie to them. Derek: Tell them the truth. Just leave out the naked part! Please Cora: Okay. I'm going to eat all your pancakes. Derek: Save enough for Stiles Cora: Stiles?? That's who it is??? You know who he is, right? Derek: ...no? Cora: That's the sheriff's son you're in bed with. Naked. Derek: Oh my God. Is he Derek: ! Derek: Please say I'm not committing a crime right now Cora: No crime. He's 18. It's legal.

A pause this time.

Derek: You gave me a heart attack, Cor Cora: Sorry! I just thought you should know.

Stiles snuffles against Derek. "Your pulse started racing. Calm down," he mumbles, still partially asleep.

"Okay," Derek whispers, adjusting the blanket so that it covers more of Stiles's body.

Stiles nudges his face to hide under Derek's arm as he falls back asleep.

Derek stays perfectly still for fear of waking him. His phone goes off with another text.

Talia to Derek: I would like to meet your guest before he leaves. Derek: Yes ma'am

After twenty minutes, Derek starts to hear another vibrating phone and realizes it belongs to Stiles, still tucked away in his pants pocket on the floor.

Derek chews his lip before gently shaking Stiles's shoulder.

Stiles jerks awake. "Wha?"

"Your phone," Derek whispers.

Stiles rubs at his eyes. He falls out of bed and crawls over to grab his phone. He types out a text before standing up and stretching, still nude.

Derek averts his eyes, cheeks blazing red.

"Oh." Stiles looks down. "Sorry. Must have shifted in my sleep." He pulls on his clothes.

"There's breakfast," Derek says in a small voice.

"Cool." Stiles runs a hand through his hair. "You okay?"

Derek gives a jerky nod. "Just--didn't want to, um..."

Stiles looks down. "You've already seen me naked," he says, confused.

"Th-that's not an open invitation. I didn't want to, you know--take advantage. You shifted in your sleep this time. It was an accident, so."

Stiles shrugs. "I'm not embarrassed."

"Okay. Yeah, sorry, I didn't--of course." Derek gets to his feet. "There's pancakes downstairs." He heads to the door.

"Awesome." Stiles follows Derek out.

Derek leads the way down to the dining room.

The family is all sitting at the table still. Cora smirks at Stiles. Laura gives Derek a thumbs up.

Derek clears his throat. "This is Stiles. Stiles, this is my mother and alpha, Talia. My father, Walt. And my sisters, Laura and Cora."

"Hi." Stiles gives a small wave as he sits down.

Talia purses her lips.

Derek takes his own seat, watching his mother nervously.

"When did your friend arrive?" Talia asks Derek.

"Last night. He wanted to go out to the woods again, but we ended up just falling asleep," Derek says. "Just falling asleep."

"I see." Talia clears her throat. "We prefer Derek to only go out shifted at night with the pack, Stiles."

Stiles fidgets in his chair. "Oh."

"I'll get you some food," Derek rushes out, jumping up to go into the kitchen.

Stiles gets up to follow him. "Maybe I should go," he says when he gets into the kitchen. "I don't need breakfast."

Derek stills, eyes on his shoes. "They're protective. The way people are about wolves...there’s so much fear and hatred. We're strong, but that doesn't mean we aren't vulnerable without our pack there to protect us."

Stiles rocks on his heels. "I don't really know anything about packs."

"It's a connection," Derek says softly, hand coming up to rest on his own chest without realizing it. "It's always there. It pulls at you, like the moon pulls the water. That's where we got it from." He lets out a self-conscious laugh. "That's what my grandmother says, anyway."

Stiles gives him a small smile. "That's cute."

Derek leans back against the counter, loosening up the more Stiles does.

Stiles eyes a stack of pancakes.

Laura enters. "Mom wanted to see if you needed additional help," she says with a pointed look.

Derek shakes his head roughly. “Got it.” He stacks pancakes on a plate and hands it to Stiles.

"Thanks." Stiles pours a lake of syrup on the pancakes before he carries the plate back out to the table.

“You guys are freaking him out!” Derek whispers to Laura, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"Sorry!" Laura whispers back. "It's weird! Cora came down and said you had a guy in your bed."

“Nothing happened! Nothing at all. Sleeping happened, actual sleeping.”

Laura laughs. "You're so innocent!" She gestures back to the dining room. "We should get back out there before Mom interrogates him."

Derek’s eyes go huge. He nods vigorously and goes back into the dining room empty-handed.

Walt frowns. "Aren't you going to eat?"

“I’m good,” Derek says.

“So, Stiles--tell us about coming in through Derek’s bedroom window last night,” Talia says, pouring honey over her pancakes.

Stiles takes a huge bite of pancake. Talking through the barely chewed food, he says, "I thought he might want to go for a run, and I didn't want to bother anyone else," he says easily.

“We’re pleased to meet you, but there are rules in this house, and I expect them to be followed, even by guests.”

Stiles swallows and puts down his fork. "Like what?"

“You will receive my permission before spending time with Derek after dark or in his bedroom,” Talia says sharply.

Stiles's jaw clenches. He nods. "Got it." He pushes his plate over to Derek. "Have mine. I need to get home. My dad is wondering where I am." He stands. "Thanks for having me," he tells the others.

Derek looks gutted.

Stiles hurries out the door with his hands shoved in his pockets.

Talia sighs. "It wasn't an unreasonable request."

"I know," Derek says quietly, sliding Stiles's plate to the middle of the table. "I'm still tired. May I go back to bed for a little while?"

Talia reaches out a hand for Derek. "Sweetheart, of course I want you to be happy. You know that. I'd like for you to find a nice person that is good for you."

"I know." Derek ducks down under her hand so that it rests lightly on the top of his head.

Talia strokes over Derek's hair. "You may go back to sleep if you wish. Do you have class today?"

“Yes, ma’am,” Derek says. “This afternoon.”

Talia smiles at him. "Good. That will take your mind off everything. Go ahead and rest some more, then you can eat something before you go." “ Yes, ma’am.” Derek flashes his eyes and bows his head before going upstairs.

When Derek reaches his bed, he sees a note scrawled out hastily on a blank sheet of his sketchbook.

It reads: Meet me at 2pm where you first caught me. - S

[overheardatthecontinental]

Talk Chapter 16

AO3 Link

Thanks to @meetmeinthematinee for editing and reassuring me on this chapter <3

Mornings for John have become excruciatingly difficult. Driving away from Helen had always been hard. Leaving her office, then later her home always felt impossible. Each step away was like torture but nothing compared to the pain of leaving her at the cottage.

The drive to New Jersey isn’t much further than New York but every mile stretches on. What once wouldn’t have phased him now tears at his soul.

The only comfort he has is every hour he drives is an hour closer to the time he can turn his car around.

It’s a little after noon when he finally reaches the motel by the airport. He pulls into the lot, driving by the strip of rooms, looking for something to indicate which is Sofia’s.

He finds a window with a playing card in the window. The ace of hearts. She had used a sharpie to etch on the letter ‘V’.

His v-card. Hilarious.

John parks the car outside the window with a sigh, shaking his head as he does. He walks over and knocks on the door. It doesn’t take long for Sofia to answer.

Her hair is piled into a ponytail. She’s dressed inconspicuously. Blue jeans and a hoodie as she hides away in a sleazy motel.

“Hey, Sof.”

“Owe me big, John. This bitch is a talker.” She replies shaking her head, the start of a smile on her lips. She opens the door wider, allowing John to slip in. The motel room itself is shit but he knows that Sofia has slept in far worse conditions.

The room is adjoining, and an open door leads to a second room. John walks over, looking in. Isabella DeLuca’s are bound behind her, a rope leading from her hands to the headboard. Her head lolls in a way that tells John she is asleep rather than resting.

“She wouldn’t shut up, so I sedated her. Hope that’s okay.”

“Considering how many times Helen was sedated by her son, I have no qualms.”

That causes Sofia’s head to swing in his direction and it occurs to John that he never really went into detail with his friend.

“I’m sorry, what?”

John dips his head, “It’s a long story.”

“We got time.” She says without room for argument. Sofia shakes her head as she turns back to her room. She walks over to the small, two-person table and sits. “What the fuck, John?”

Having already sat for the past four hours, he remains standing, leaning against the wall as he does. “I should probably preface this with the fact Helen and I aren’t actually together.”

Sofia makes a face, “You’re kidding.”

John shakes his head.

She makes a large show of sighing, rising to her feet. Sofia walks over to the window and reaches just past the blinds, pulling out the card she had left in the window.

“Guess you can keep this.”

She throws it at him and John catches it with ease, placing it face down on the table as Sofia settles back into her seat.

“You’re hilarious.”

“You’re hilariously disappointing.” She shoots back, “Here I thought I was helping you save the love of your life.”

“I never said she wasn’t that.”

Sofia narrows her eyes, “So you love her. But you’re not together.”

“That sums it up.”

She rolls her eyes, “So what are you? Friends? Neighbors? Confidants?” And like Winston, he can see the moment it clicks in her head, “Oh, fuck. She’s not your therapist.”

John changes his mind about standing in that moment, pulling out the chair and sinking in. “We met in a café about seven months ago. Gave me her card, introduced herself.”

“And you thought she was pretty. So instead of asking her out like most people would have done, you booked an appointment.” She shakes her head, “Jesus fucking Christ, John.”

“She was normal. And kind and pretty. And I knew she didn’t belong in our world.” John leans forward, desperately trying to explain where his thoughts had been all those months ago. “I didn’t mean for it to turn into what it did. I just wanted to talk to her one more time, get her out of my head. But, instead, it became addicting. Being around her.

“After two months, we were starting to run out of things to talk about. And I was more afraid of losing her than I was the consequences when I told her about the Underworld.”

Sofia puts her face in her hand, “You didn’t.”

“I did. In hindsight, I think I was looking for her to reject me. To force me to move on when I wasn’t strong enough to walk away on my own. But she didn’t reject me. She wasn’t afraid or disbelieving. And it was around there that I went from being obsessed and infatuated to madly in love with her. It was also around there when I got a little out of control.”

She looks up at him doubtfully, like she can’t believe it’s going to get worse.

“I started following her.”

“John!”

“I’m not proud of it. And God knows I’ve done worse things in my life.” He shrugs, “I—again, it started small. I told myself it was just curiosity that made me follow her home the first time. And then it became every Friday. Then every weekend. Then every day. But nothing stays a secret forever.”

“DeLuca.”

John nods, “Last Friday, Hels was taken from her bed in the middle of the night. I got a call not long after saying I would get Helen back, alive and unharmed, if I killed Lorenzo, Gianna, and Santino D’Antonio. At the time, I didn’t know it was DeLuca. I didn’t have a name, an organization. Just an order and a blind promise.”

“It was two days of hell, trying to find anything on who had her. Where she was. But Hels is nothing if not resourceful. She managed to manipulate one of the guards into sending me a text, letting me know who had her. Sunday night, I was able to get her out. Took her home.”

“And Monday the contract went wide.”

John nods, “One-part revenge, one-part manipulation. Mateo still wants the D’Antonio’s dead. Did you get the file that was scanned to you? On Isabella?”

Sofia nods back, “Yeah, got it before I even landed in Rome. Isabella’s mother was a D’Antonio.”

“It’s a whole lot of political bullshit that I don’t care about.” John admits, “The running theory is that Isabella thinks she can simultaneously get revenge on her family and strengthen the Syndicate by eliminating Lorenzo and his heirs.”

“But if you eliminate Lorenzo, the High Table and the Camorra come for you.” Sofia finishes, “That said,” she looks up at John, curiously, “I heard a rumor Santino D’Antonio is dead.”

“Good.”

“Did you kill him?” John pulls out his phone and finds the pictures. He hands it to Sofia. Her eyes widen as she looks back to him, “The Camorra is going to destroy you!”

“It’s staged.”

Sofia looks back at the picture, eyes narrowing. “It is?”

“Lorenzo and Gianna have agreed to do the same. Hopefully, it will be enough to convince Mateo. If not…” He gestures with his head towards the other room.

 Isabella was the contingency plan. Unfortunately, she was the contingency plan for every possible thing that could go wrong.

“How’d you get Lorenzo to agree?”

“I agreed to testify in front of the High Table that Mateo was trying to commit treason. Reverse of DeLuca’s plan. Instead of the Camorra falling and the Syndicate reaping the benefits, Syndicate will fall. The Camorra will be strengthened. And the contract on Helen will be lifted.”

Sofia nods along, handing John back his phone.

“Not bad. I can’t believe you thought of it.”

“I didn’t.” John says with a shrug, “I was more than willing to just kill them and suffer the consequences.”

“There’s the idiotic bastard I know.”

“Helen wouldn’t entertain it as an option. She came up with faking their deaths. And the plan with Isabella.”

Sofia inclines her head, “Seriously?”

His lips twitch just thinking about his love, “Hels is incredibly good at what she does. She pieced together that DeLuca wasn’t working alone long before I did. Kept telling me that he was too self-absorbed to come up with that kind of detailed plan. Kept pushing me to look at his mom.”

The other assassin leans forward, eyeing John with blatant curiosity. Like she can’t quite decide what she thinks about it all. After a minute of not being able to find whatever it is that she’s looking for, she says aloud, “I don’t get it.”

“Get what?”

“She’s smart. Pretty. Clearly cares about you if she’s willing to put up with you and figure out how to save you. You admit you’re in love with her.“

John looks away, “So?”

“So why aren’t you fucking?”

He shakes his head, still looking at the ground, “You’re worse than Marcus.”

“I’m serious. You’ve kept her around, despite the obvious dangers of our world. But you’re still keeping her at arm’s length. Why?”

John exhales a long breath. If she had only asked him that question a week ago, he would have been able to respond without hesitation.

It was safer for both of them to avoid intimacies. Of course, he can’t say he wasn’t attached to her already. The stalking negated that in itself.

But sex complicated things. It always complicated things.

Then there was the matter that she was, technically, still his therapist. And though Helen was right, they did have god-awful boundaries, enough had changed over the course of the week that he couldn’t use that as an excuse.

And, if he was already being honest with himself, he didn’t think Helen felt that way about him. She was always so professional, even when she teased him. It never occurred to him that she might have feelings for him too.

By the time he found out, they were already in over their heads with DeLuca.

And, truth be told, it didn’t matter that she held some kind of affection for him, too. She was still too good for him. And despite what she said and thought, he would always believe that.

“I thought I could keep her away from our world. That if I didn’t cross that line, no one would come for her.”

Sofia nods, genuinely looking sympathetic to his plight. “Relationships and the Underworld don’t mix. You can’t go to bed with someone when you’re both clutching a knife under your pillow, but you can’t date outsiders. You can’t walk in two worlds.” She inclines her head, “But her contract went viral. And now, for better or for worse, she’s in our world.”

John shakes his head. “No. No, Helen can’t stay in the Underworld.”

“People aren’t just going to forget, John.”

“She has a life. Family, friends. A career that she’s worked hard for. I can’t take that away from her.”

“I know it won’t be easy, but she’s already in. There’s no turning back from that.”

He blinks and licks his lips, considering a thought he had never allowed himself to fully entertain. “What if there was?”

“There isn’t.”

“Helen’s only tie to the Underworld is me.” John says aloud, “But what if I wasn’t tied here.”

Sofia’s eyes narrow, “You mean leaving?”

It was unheard of, he knew. A near impossible task, especially for someone like him. Someone who had so many ties to the Underworld and virtually none in the real world.

He nods, more to himself than to her.

“Could you really give this all up?”

“For her?” John asks, nodding, “Yes.”

Sofia shakes her head, pushing, “Don’t just say that, John. Really think about it. If you cut ties from the Underworld, you’ll be isolated in a way you never have experienced. You won’t be able to come and go from the Continental. The High Table won’t protect you from legal trouble or the police. Friendships will be compromised because you can’t just walk between the two worlds. All those markers you’ve spent years collecting will be worthless.”

“You’d have to blend into the real world. And the rules are different there. No more fights, no more killing. You’d have to follow the social rules that exist for outsiders. And it’s a whole lot of bullshit. If someone disrespects you, you can’t just snap their neck. You have to take it.”

“And you’ll be utterly alone. You may love Helen and she may love you, too, but she won’t understand. She won’t get that the rules you two live by are different. She won’t understand the extent of everything you stand to lose—wealth, status, privilege. Because you’ll be nobody.”

“And, John, you hate to depend on anybody for anything. But you’ll need to depend on her to navigate the real world. You’ll need to trust her implicitly. Have to learn to let her take the lead. You, who have spent your entire life alone, will have to figure out how to let somebody in completely.”

“Now, tell me, do you really think that you can do that? That you can give up your entire life and livelihood for this woman?”

For her to be happy? To have her life back?

“Yes.”

 Sofia watches him, but he holds her gaze. He knows it wouldn’t be easy, but he also knows that he could do it. Without regret or hesitation.

After a minute, she softly asks, “Then what’s stopping you?”

“She deserves so much better and—”

“That might be the most misogynistic thing I’ve ever heard you say.” Sofia interrupts.

“What?”

“Your Helen, she’s smart, right?”

He nods, “Ridiculously.”

“Uh huh. And she’s emotionally stable?”

“She shouldn’t be, all things considered, but she is.”

“Then why are you doubting her ability to make her own damn decision about what she wants and what she deserves?”

The breath he has just taken now feels trapped in his chest. John is frozen in place as he realizes that is exactly what he had been doing. Not purposefully, but true all the same. Making decisions, calling the shots.

But that wasn’t his job.

Fuck.

“I have to go.”

…………………………………………………………………………

The drive is a blur and it’s a miracle he doesn’t get pulled over. He doesn’t touch the brake pedal until the moment he’s turning into the driveway of the safehouse.

Half his day has been lost in a car and he can’t bring himself to care as he throws the car into park. He slams the door behind him, hurrying up the stairs and into the house. Marcus looks up as John reaches the living room, eyeing him over a furrowed brow.

John ignores him, focusing instead on the sound of someone moving about in the kitchen.

Helen looks up as he rounds the corner and her mouth curves into a smile at the sight of him, “You’re back earl—mm!”

John places a hand on either side of her head, drawing her in for a kiss.

There’s a moment where she freezes, almost stunned, before Helen seems to realize what is happening. And then her arms wrap around him, reaching up over his shoulders as her lips part. She kisses back with fervor.

Her lips are softer than he imagined and, oh, he had imagined them a thousand a day for months.

He kisses her again, unable to stop himself now that he has begun. She tastes sweet and perfect and he can’t quite figure out how he’s made it this far without ever having done this.

Helen’s tongue brushes across his lip and he meets it, licking and sucking at her like a dying man.

And, fuck, he hopes he dies like this. Asphyxiated, drowning in her kiss.

Let this be how he dies.

He’s never wanted anything so badly in his life. Just release with her taste in his mouth, her body pressed to his. Oh, how he loves her.

Her hand winds its way into his hair, holding him to her. Unyielding. He growls in response, his own hands trailing down her body. Down her torso, his fingers digging into her flesh as he tries to learn and memorize the way her body feels under his hands.

“Fucking finally!” He idly hears Marcus exclaim but he literally doesn’t give a single shit.

His hands reach Helen’s waist as her teeth gently graze at his lower lip before sucking it into her mouth again.

John grips her hard, lifting her from the ground, pulling her body impossibly closer to him.

And his beautiful girl responds by tightening her arms around him, wrapping those perfect legs around him.

Good, he thinks, because they aren’t doing this here. Both for their sakes and for Marcus.

She doesn’t stop kissing him as he turns around to head back to their bedroom. Her wet mouth trails over his beard. Her lips press kisses across his face, his neck as he rushes down the hall before slamming the door behind him.

Helen unwraps her legs as the door closes and John, reluctantly, gets the hint and lowers her back to the floor.

Even as she stands, however, she doesn’t stop. Instead, she kisses him with renewed vigor. Her grip in his hair remains the same, pulling him down to her height.

He wants to get lost in her kiss.

Her warmth, her softness, her taste…

He needs to commit it to memory so he can never forget how she feels. To know what it’s like to kiss someone you love.

And no, this isn’t his first time doing this, but it’s like a puzzle is clicking into place. A realization, a moment of oh, this is what it’s supposed to be like when he kisses the woman he loves.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

He wants to say them but his lips are otherwise preoccupied. Helen controls the kiss now, as his hands rest, one on her waist, the other wrapped around her.

Her tongue circles his and John barely finds the strength to maintain his balance. They each vie for a better angle, deepening the kiss and he wonders, to himself, if she’s as weak in the knees as he is at the contact.

He wants to swallow her; to consume her.

To be swallowed and consumed by her.

Is that possible?

And he’s not making assumptions. He doesn’t want to presume that this is going in any specific direction but his heart just about leaps out of his chest when she breaks the kiss. She steps back half a step, placing enough room between them where she can reach down. He watches her tug her t-shirt over her head. She discards it without a care.

He barely has a moment to soak in the sight of her, the dark blue of her bra standing out against her creamy skin, before her arms are back around him. Encasing him.

Helen steps backwards and John finds himself kicking off his shoes as she leads him back towards the bed.

She releases his hair only for her hands to drop to his chest. Releasing the buttons on his vest, and his jacket. John’s hand goes for his belt, undoing the clasp to allow him to pull out the ends of his shirt. She pushes the shirt off of his shoulders, taking the vest with it, as she turns so that John is the one walking backwards.

His legs meet the edge of the bed and she gives him a guiding push. He lets himself sit on the edge of the bed as she has wordlessly directed.

He can barely process a thought before she has climbed onto his lap, a leg on either side of him. Helen catches his face in her hands and kisses him again.

John never wants this to end, he thinks, as she rises up on her knees so that she is a head above him.

How can she be so gentle while she is being so passionate?

She breaks the kiss, only for the sake of oxygen. Helen gasps for breath as she rests her forehead on his, her eyes flickering open to look down at him.

Dark, like a Belarusian forest, her eyes gaze at him with a mix of adoration and curiosity. But she doesn’t ask, instead, drawing her head up so she can kiss his forehead.

Affection blooms in him anew and he knows, he knows that he doesn’t deserve this.

But Hels didn’t believe in deserving or not deserving. And Sofia had been right when she had reminded him that this choice didn’t rest on him. It was Helen’s to make.

She kisses his nose and his heart skips a beat.

I love you.

The words that had been trapped in his head, his heart for months on end. Rattling around, growing louder and louder every time he looked at her or heard her voice. Every time she entered his thoughts, which was all the time.

“I love you.”

Her hand slips down to his chin, tipping his head up so that he meets her eyes. “I love you, too.”

Her lips descend on his again before he can even process her response. She deepens the kiss, wrapping her arms around him to pull herself closer to his body.

And then, it clicks. Her words settle into his head.

John moves quickly, faster than she’s ever seen him. An arm comes around her and Helen is flipped from his lap onto her back. She gasps in surprise as John suddenly appears above her, straddling her.

He kisses her back, hard. His teeth graze at her lip before he demands, “Say it again.”

Helen’s breath hitches, her hand coming around to run over his chest, stopping at his heart.

“I love you.” She tells him, holding his eyes. Leaving no room for fear or doubt or disbelief.

His heart clenches.

No one, save her, had ever uttered those words towards him before. Not once in his life had that kind of affection ever been directed his way. Not in any language, by any person.

“I love you.” She repeats, bowing her head slightly to maintain eye contact as he starts to get lost in his thoughts. Helen pulls him back, like she always does. His life, his love, his anchor.

John kisses her again, keeping one arm wrapped around her. Her skin is warm and soft and he wants to touch and kiss every inch of it.

Helen presses a soft peck to his lips before her head veers to the side. She kisses his neck, licking at the exposed flesh. Sucking it between her lips and John feels his length aching and straining against his pants. He shifts to alleviate the growing tension. It only serves to remind him that he is atop her.

He moves his hands, trailing her torso. Feeling her curves under his palm. Her skin is soft and smooth, unmarred with battle wounds. Attesting to her innocence.

Her teeth graze at his neck and his fingers dig into her flesh. He can’t help but hold on to her at the sensation.

“Fuck!” He swears and he can feel Helen’s mouth form into a smile. She kisses the spot she had just grazed before kissing his mouth again.

She arches her back and moves her hands from his body, reaching under herself to the clasp at her bra. With nimble, practiced fingers, she undoes the latch. John pushes up to give her the room to discard the garment. Helen crawls backwards up the bed and he follows her, entranced by the sight of her breasts.

He feels powerless to stop himself, surging forward and kissing the swell of her chest. He licks at her flesh, dragging his open mouth across the soft mounds until he reaches her hard nipple. He swirls his tongue around the bud, reveling in the way she takes a sharp breath at the contact. She arches her back, pressing her breast further into his mouth.

He sucks greedily at her, his hand coming up to caress her untouched breast. His fingers do the best they can to mirror his mouth, squeezing her flesh and pinch at her nipple.

“John!” She gasps his name and it encourages him all the more. He nips at her tit, grazing his teeth along before he switches attentions.

He kisses her other breast as he switches hands, groping at her. He feels his own spit in his hand as he rubs her tender flesh.

She moans, her head falling back into the mattress. Her hips grind into his and it’s all he can do to not let his eyes roll back into his head.

Even still clothed, he’s harder than he’s ever been.

Helen reaches between them, her hand slipping into his pants, under the band of his boxers. He hisses as her hand brushes against his cock.

One hand weaves its way into his hair, pulling him up from her breast so she can kiss him again.

Is she as addicted as he is? He wonders, while her other hand wraps around his length.

Her hands are impossibly soft as she runs her hand up his cock and gently back down. He feels himself twitch in her grasp and he deepens the kiss. His tongue swirls around hers before he sucks the muscle into his mouth.

He loves her clever tongue. The gentleness that rolls off it in quiet, tender moments or the lashing of the storm in the moments she takes no shit. It tastes as sweet as her.

Helen’s thumb circles the head of his cock and he thrusts into her hand.

Is this real? He thinks. Is this actually happening? Or has he finally lost it?

He’d spent so long imagining what her touch would feel like, what her kiss would taste like that it couldn’t possibly live up to the expectations in his mind. But, fuck, she was better.

She pumps him in her hand and John shoots out his own to catch her wrist, to stop her, before it’s over before it begins. Helen whines softly at being stopped but releases him, only to reach for the edge of his pants to push them down.

He obliges, discarding them with the rest before hooking his fingers at the top of her leggings and dragging them down her body, along with her panties. He crawls down her body, kissing her chest, her stomach with every inch.

He can fucking smell her arousal. She kicks them off at the ankles and John parts her thighs, getting lost in the sight that befalls him.

And, again, he has dreamed of this. Of burying his face between her thighs and driving her wild with his tongue until she is an aching, quivering mess. A myriad of fantasies slip into his head where he has done just that.

He glances up at her, watching the harsh rise and fall of her chest as she tries to regain her breath. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips as she watches him.

His lips quirk into a small smile, holding her gaze as he bows his head. John’s tongue slips between her slick folds, tasting her essence. He growls at the tangy flavor, dragging his tongue up to her clit.

Her hips jolt and John smiles against her. He kisses the soft bundle of nerves before licking her again. And again.

John’s mouth dips to her opening, pressing his tongue inside as her wetness floods his tongue and coats his beard. Just like her very presence, he thinks of how easily it will be to become addicted to this. Her taste and smell. The way she grinds her pussy against him to alleviate the tension he knows must be growing within her.

And John has changed his mind. This is how he wants to die. Drowning in her pussy as she convulses around him desperately.

Her thighs hold him in place and he would be more than happy to remain here until he either asphyxiates or drowns in her.

He moves his tongue and Helen keens, her high-pitched moan egging him on. He swallows her down and nips at her lower lips before turning his attentions back to her throbbing clit.

He takes the bud within his mouth, teasing it with his tongue as a stream of swears and pleas escape Helen’s lips.

“Fuck, John! Fuck! Please… right there. Fuck!”

He rolls his tongue over the bundle and her please turn into a shriek. He doesn’t ease up.

Instead, he continues his ministrations, bringing a hand to her opening. He teases her with a finger. He coats it in her slick before sliding the digit inside her. She clamps down around him and John rewards her by sucking her clit.

She cries out again and John slips a second finger into her.

Helen’s leg comes up and around his shoulder. She uses the position to bring her pussy impossibly closer to his face.

John breaks away long enough to nip at the soft, sensitive flesh of her thigh as his fingers stretch her, preparing her. He turns his hand and curls his fingers up and Helen almost seems to levitate with the way she arches up into him.

Her words have lost meaning, slipping into a cacophony of non-sensical begging for his cock. His name on her lips drives him crazy.

He’s torn between tormenting her like this, riding his fingers while she grinds against his tongue, and giving her what she begs for.

John decides on mercy, if only for the sake they had both waited long enough.

He removes his fingers from her and sucks them into his own mouth, tasting her again. Addicted to the taste. Crawling back up her body, he rests himself between her thighs and he kisses her.

Her breath comes out in a stutter as he thrusts his tongue deep into her mouth. He forces her to taste herself on his tongue as he wraps his hand around the back of her head, his fingers becoming lost in her hair.

“Next time,” he promises as he breaks the kiss, holding her back from following him with his grip in her hair, “Next time, I’m going to fuck you on my tongue until your throat is too hoarse to scream.”

She tries to lift her head to kiss him, only for him to yank at her hair.

“John, please!” she rolls her wet core against him.

“Please what?” He kisses her jaw.

“Fuck me!”

His lips twitch as he presses his lips to hers, slanting his mouth to deepen the kiss as he reaches between them. John takes his cock in hand, leading it to her soaking pussy.

She brings her hips to meet him as he kisses her hard enough to bruise both their lips, and John slips inside of her.

Helen whimpers at the contact, again, wrapping her leg around him to take him deeper.

John chokes on his breath. He’d waited so long for this, for her. And now she’s here. In his bed, naked, beneath him. He’s buried inside her and he wants to savor it but he wants her to come undone around him even more.

He rolls his hips and Helen’s grip on him tightens all the more. He reaches down to her leg still stretched out and brings it up. Eagerly, she wraps it around his hips, like the other one. Clinging to him.

She was already close before they began and, already, she found herself on edge again.

He hopes she knows that he’s not letting her go after this. He can’t live without this now that he knows what it feels to be inside her.

His movements, which had started gently, slowly, pick up a pace. Become more frenzied.

Nails rake down his back.

He responds with a bite to her lip, grazing his teeth along. As they part, Helen curls her head into his shoulder. Her breaths come in quick, sharp increments.

Her mouth opens on his shoulder and she bites down, making John groan. His already frenzied thrusts start to lose control as he can feel pleasure building inside of him.

Helen screams, muffled by his shoulder, as she breaks apart. Her nails dig into his back as she thrashes into the mattress, but John doesn’t stop.

He reaches between them, pressing his thumb on her clit as he continues to thrust. The action prolongs her orgasm and he feels her pussy convulsing around him.

John feels dizzy, intoxicated as his own pleasure reaches a new height before he, too, comes undone. With a cry, he feels himself release, spilling inside of her as his hips start to slow, still rocking against hers.

He gasps for breath as her pussy milks him. He turns to kiss the top of her head, her face still buried in the crook of his neck. Her breaths are still uneven.

John swallows as he wraps his arms under her, holding her to him as he rolls to his side, taking her with him.

Helen curls into him, holding him just the same. He strokes her hair, still caught up in the stunned disbelief of what had just happened between them.

It occurs to John that he has lived his entire life with one foot in the grave. Ready for death, even if not expecting it. But as she holds him, clings to him, it breaks over him at once that he is not ready to leave the world behind.  

Salvation found in her kiss; heaven is where he is still buried deep within her.

Can he stay here forever?

He feels her lips shift into a smile against his neck and he kisses her head again.

Hels looks up, her eyes twinkling playfully. She reaches a hand to his forehead, brushing back sweat-soaked hair so she can see his face.

“What took you so long?”

[littlemissagrafina]

Comfortember Day 12. Therapy/Emotional Support Pet

Cinnamon Hot Chocolate

@comfortember

Read On AO3

Peter was sad.

Usually he could push it away, shove it down and occupy his mind with something else but there were still times that his sadness and loneliness felt like a heavy cloud that never wanted to leave.

It was a permanent fixture in his life, it came and went just as the days of sun did.

Peter preferred sun days. They didn't have the same restless exhaustion that cloudy days did. He could smile easily, laugh freely, and walk tall on the sunny days because his heart felt at ease. Happy.

That wasn't always possible on cloudy days for they brought deep resonating sadness with them. It always felt like they dredged up every bit of hurt and sorrow that Peter had felt in his life. It was exhausting but he couldn't sit still, couldn't relax, couldn't sleep.

And so he walked. There was a chill in the air and remnants of slush on the ground in some places but the cold was nothing that his thick coat couldn't ward off.

He walked past Delmar's, past the numerous subway entrances and street vendors. Past a building that he had accidentally webbed himself to the rooftop of once.

Tony had never let him live it down after seeing it in the suite's footage.

The brief thought of his mentor made him smile but it faded when he remembered that the man was away on a business trip for the weekend.

Peter found himself walking the same route he would take to the tower but didn't change his course since he didn't have any desire to go and distract himself alone in an empty lab. Even Tony had admitted that he didn't like the silent loneliness of the lab after so many days with Peter.

Said teenager probably wasn't meant to hear it of course but he couldn't exactly stop his super hearing now could he?

So yes, lab time was out of the question. Instead Peter found himself on the familiar path to a nearby park.

As he walked, Peter couldn't help but watch the people there with their friends or family, how they smiled and laughed so easily. He was jealous.

Peter would never wish his depression on anyone, not for a second, but it didn't stop him from wishing he could be like them, carefree and happy even just for a moment. He wanted to forget his worry, his sadness, his fears, but he didn't know how.

And so he let them fester. It wasn't a good idea and he would probably regret it, but he was tired of fighting his thoughts off. It was nice to just let them free.

Peter saw a food cart nearby, the smell of peppermint, chocolate, and cinnamon soon drifted towards him. He walked over and bought a cinnamon and whipped cream hot cocoa with the couple dollars he had stuffed in his pocket.

The smooth taste of the chocolate gave him a burst of sunlight before it faded slightly.

Peter moved over to sit on a bench nearby. He didn't trust himself not to trip and mess his drink everywhere.

He sat there until his hot chocolate was long since finished, the empty take away cup sitting on the ground next to his foot.

Suddenly a cold but gentle nose nudged his hand and Peter lifted his head to look into possibly the cutest puppy eyes he had ever seen.

A curly haired retriever sat in front of him, tongue lolling out of its mouth as it huffed a doggy smile up at him.

"Hey there, Woofy." Peter murmured, his voice sounding fake even to his own ears.

"Mec! There you are!" A new voice called out from a few feet away, a slightly southern drawl to the words. Peter looked up, and saw another boy around his age walking towards him. He had dirty blonde curls and blue eyes Peter noticed as he got closer.

"Hey." Mr Southern stopped in front of Peter and the calm dog, who's name was apparently Mec, and Peter vaguely noticed concern in the other teen's eyes but dismissed it because why would a random person be worried about him? He didn't deserve that. The thought was proven correct only moments later when Mr Southern spoke again.

"Are you doing okay?" He asked before turning slightly red. "Uhh, sorry. Um… I just wanted to ask because Mec is an emotional support dog and he usually only goes up to people he feels are having a rough time. So uh… yeah…" The other boy trailed off awkwardly but Peter was too surprised to worry about it.

"Oh! I um… today hasn't been the best day but I'll get through it." Peter found himself saying and he was shocked. How did this random guy make him feel so comfortable with being open like that?

"Thank you for asking."

Peter received a crooked smile in return. "No problem. And thank you for answering."

"I'm Harley Keener by the way, and this is Mechanic." Mr Southern said, ruffling Mec's fluffy ears and sticking his other hand out to Peter.

"Peter Parker." Peter smiled at Harley as they shook hands.

"I'm sorry but I'm gonna have to cut this short." Harley apologised with a grin. "I actually have an appointment I gotta get to. I was wondering, though, if I could get your number before I go?"

He actually wants to talk more? To me? Peter thought before realising he had started at Harley for a moment too long.

"You don't have to if you don't want to or anything," Harley said quickly. "I just thought it would be cool or whatever."

Peter couldn't help but smile at the constant rise and fall between Harley's awkwardness and his confidence. "You're good, don't worry. Here." He passed his phone to Harley and watched as he put his number in. His phone was handed back.

"Thank you. I really have to go now but it was nice meeting you, Peter Parker."

"And you, Harley Keener. I guess I'll see you around?"

"That you will." Harley waved as he walked a few steps backwards before turning and heading off with Mec trotting on at his side.

A moment later, Peter's phone vibrated with a new message. Wanna grab some hot cocoa later? I know a really nice cafe a few blocks over. Only if you have the time and are up to it! The text said.

Peter replied with Only if it's cinnamon hot cocoa, then you've got yourself a deal.

His phone buzzed again.

Cinnamon it is.

[1989dreamer]

Colors Never Seen (an ocean in a sink) - Teen Wolf

AO3 link

Summary: Derek goes missing for a week, and when they find him, he's a wolf and he might be feral.

Tags: Stiles is 18, full shift Derek, Panic Attack

Title comes from The Daylights - Black Dove

Inspired by this post from Pale-Silver-Combs.

                                                                                                                     ~ * ~

“Stiles!” Scott yells.

There isn’t anything to do but brace himself. So, Stiles closes his eyes, not wanting the last image he sees to be a feral wolf snapping its jaws around his neck.

Instead, he feels hot breath panting over his face and then a warm, wet tongue sliding down his skin.

His eyes pop open in time to see the wolf bow its head, tongue still lolling against him.

“Derek?” Stiles tries, one hand coming up to cup the back of the wolf’s head. Derek huffs out a breath, high pitched, almost whining, and then licks Stiles’ face again.

“Stiles?” Scott calls. “What’s going on?”

Stiles pats at Derek, scratching over his head. Derek whines, pressing against Stiles and nosing at him, washing him gently. “I think he’s just scared. Isn’t that right, big guy?”

“Stiles, are you sure you’re okay?” Allison asks, and Derek whines high in his throat, burying his snout against the hollow of Stiles’ throat.

Stiles glances up to see that she’s still aiming her crossbow at Derek.

“Hey, come on now,” he tells her. “He’s not hurting me, see?” He scratches Derek’s ears again to show her that he’s not doing anything except alternatively licking or whining.

Allison steps closer, her aim never wavering, and suddenly Stiles falls backward, overgrown wolf thumping down on top of him, almost crying as he scrambles to get closer.

“Back the fuck up right now,” Stiles tells Allison, surprised when she actually listens, moving back at least three paces. “Now put down the fucking weapon.”

That she doesn’t do. “Stiles,” she says, pinched face.

“Stiles,” Scott pipes up, “what if he loses control?”

“Does this look like he’s losing control?”

Despite the way the wind was knocked out of him, and the way that his back will ache with tenacity after this, Stiles doesn’t feel the least bit in danger from Derek. Allison with her crossbow bolts and Scott with his claws is another matter.

So far, the only thing Derek is doing to Stiles is trying to seek protection from him.

He’s trembling so hard his fur shakes and he’s panting too hard to even try to wash Stiles’ face now.

If he were human, Stiles thinks Derek would be having a panic attack. And it makes so much sense that he’d seek comfort. It almost makes sense that he’s seeking it from Stiles.

“I need you guys to leave. Right now.” Neither of them moves. Stiles pats Derek. “I’m so sorry about this, Derek.” He clears his throat. “He’s having a panic attack,” he announces. “If you don’t leave, I can’t get him calmed down. He won’t lose control but he also won’t shift back.”

Saliva, thick and foamy, coats Derek’s muzzle, and Stiles can feel his heartbeat rattling in his chest while his belly pumps up and down from the heaving breaths he’s barely managing.

“Scott,” Stiles implores, “what would you do if it were me having a panic attack?”

Scott cocks his head. “I’d do whatever I could to calm you down and get you breathing properly again,” he answers.

“And Derek is having a panic attack right now. Trust me. I need you to back up right now. Please?”

Scott finally shifts back and takes a step back. He also reaches out to Allison and lowers her crossbow. She doesn’t look like she agrees with Scott, but she lets him lead her back until they’re out of Stiles’ human hearing.

Not for a second does Stiles think Derek can’t hear them, but he does seem to relax marginally.

Stiles pats at him, scratching at his ears again. “Wanna sit up?” he asks when Derek isn’t panting as hard. Derek huffs a little and then licks at Stiles’ face, close to his mouth.

Stiles read somewhere that wolves tended to exchange kisses like hugs. For bacteria reasons, he doesn’t want to let Derek stick his tongue in his mouth while he’s in wolf-form, but he wouldn’t be opposed if Derek stuck his human tongue down his throat.

Derek shifts, sniffing pointedly at a certain part of Stiles’ anatomy.

“What?” Stiles asks. “It’s not like I can just turn off my attraction to you, dude. You’re just lucky I’ve got good self-restraint and don’t jump your bones 24/7.”

Derek tilts his head, leans into Stiles, and noses at his stomach and chest, head-butting him lightly.

“No, I’m up.” Stiles stands up, reaches down, and runs his hands through Derek’s soft fur. He needs a bath in the way a dog that rolls around in the most stinky thing he can find. It’s because Derek’s been missing for the past week. None of them had any idea where he’d gone, but only Stiles cleared his schedule completely to go looking.

Scott and Allison had accompanied him because today is Sunday and boring if you’ve got all your homework done, which Stiles hasn’t because he’s been busy looking for Derek for a week.

Derek whines, licking at Stiles’ hand before head butting him again softly.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Stiles tells him. He’ll get to the bottom of why Derek disappeared later. Right now, he leads Derek to his Jeep and opens the passenger door.

Derek stares at him almost amusedly as Stiles fastens the seatbelt around him.

“Hey, can’t be too careful,” Stiles says around a smile. “I may be a good driver, but even I have days where the road just wants to kill me.”

Derek yawns widely, and Stiles’ heart thumps extra loud at the little yip on the end of it.

Derek probably knows that Stiles thinks he’s fucking adorable right now. Stiles doesn’t care. Derek deserves to know that he is loved and wanted.

It just sucks that Stiles is the only one who seems to want to tell Derek these things.

Wolf!Derek isn’t much less quiet than Human!Derek, and Stiles finds himself checking on him often. Derek sways in his seat, head dropping for a moment before it snaps up. Poor thing is exhausted.

Stiles parks behind his dad’s cruiser, thinks better of it, and parks on the street. Then he realizes that his dad is home and he now has to sneak a big black wolf past him.

Derek gives him an unimpressed snort when Stiles waves his hands at him to get down and belly crawl around the house to the back door.

“Stiles,” his dad says, throwing the whole pretense right out in the open where it can barely stand under the weight of his father’s glare. “Why is Derek Hale sitting on my lawn?”

Derek sticks his tongue out again when he pants. It looks deliberate, and Stiles stifles a desperate giggle.

“How’d you know it was Derek?” Stiles asks. His dad waves his phone at him, which Stiles takes to mean that Scott or Allison texted him. He’d bet Scott. He doesn’t think Allison has his dad’s number, even after the fiasco that was junior year. “Okay, yeah. Can he stay with us until he shifts back?”

Dad looks to Derek, gaze softening. “Sure,” he agrees easily. Stiles squints suspiciously. Dad laughs. “Look, Scott was not very kind on the phone. He said that he was afraid that you were going to get bitten. Then he mentioned that you said Derek was having a panic attack.” Dad sighs. “Stiles, I’ve gone through panic attacks with both you and your mom. The best thing is to get Derek somewhere safe, and apparently that safe place is you.”

“So is it okay if I give him a bath?”

“Why don’t we see if he gets his opposable thumbs back first?”

Derek refuses to look at either of them as he trots into the house and then up the stairs. Stiles has a feeling he’s going to have to dig Derek out of his closet later, but Dad pulls him into the kitchen under the guise of helping out with supper.

Stiles finally escapes when the casserole has to go into the oven for an hour. Immediately he runs to his room. He finds a wet, naked Derek Hale asleep on his bed.

Derek’s on his stomach, blanket pulled over his hips, but one bare leg is sticking out, knee bent, and his arms are under his head.

Stiles just stares, his throat working to swallow nothing, his mouth gone dry. Derek looks good as a human, and better in Stiles’ bed.

Stiles’ fingers twitch. He wants to trace Derek’s tattoo, follow it with his tongue. Go down the slope of his back and lower, wants to see how far Derek will let him go.

When Derek turns his head a little, one eye opening, Stiles’ throat finally clicks. “Hey,” he coughs a little, “so, um, my birthday was in April.”

It’s May now.

Derek closes his eye and rolls over, the blanket pooling beneath him.

“I know you want this,” he says softly, but he doesn’t open his eyes. Stiles frowns before moving to the bed. He digs the blanket out from under Derek and drapes it over his lap. Then he rearranges it so that it covers most of Derek’s stomach and chest.

“But you don’t,” Stiles says, sitting next to him. Derek hums, flicks the blanket down so that it’s just barely covering himself. Stiles readjusts it, says sharply, “Don’t.”

Derek’s eyes open. Blue. Stiles leans in close, presses a closed-mouth kiss to his cheek.

“I was just letting you know that I’m legally an adult now. I didn’t mean that we should hop right into things.”

“But,” Derek starts. Stiles shakes his head, and Derek falls quiet again.

“You’re right: I do want you, but I don’t want you if you don’t want it too.”

“I might never be okay enough for that,” Derek admits quietly, surprised, like he’s not just saying it for Stiles.

“And that’s okay too. Look. You turned into a wolf for a week, now you’re in my bed. My dad might kick you out if he knows you’ve shifted back, but any time that you need something like you just did, come to me. I won’t ever make it weird.”

“I can smell you,” Derek points out. “I always smell everything. It makes it harder to say no because…Because I’m the one that makes you smell like that so I should—”

“Should what, Derek? Help me ‘take care of it’?” Stiles laughs a little bitterly. “No. It’s not you who makes me smell like that. That’s me. And I can take care of it. I’ve got a perfectly working hand and some toys.”

“I know,” Derek says seriously, tapping the side of his nose.

Stiles snorts at him. “What I’m trying to say is that as much as I’d like to jump all over you, I’m not going to. I respect your right to say no, even if that no is nonverbal. Understood?”

Derek nods. He sits up, letting the blanket fall to his waist. “I may need to borrow some clothes,” he says.

“Good thing I bulked up last year, huh?” Stiles jokes as he goes to his dresser and pulls out a stretchy t-shirt and some sweatpants. “I don’t think my boxers will fit though,” he says, wistfully, thinking of Derek’s thighs and the package between them.

Before it can get much worse, he shakes himself and hands the clothing to Derek, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m going back downstairs. Dad and I made tator tot casserole. You’re welcome to stay for supper.”

Then he beelines for the door, intent on running away before his boner gets even more awkward and he has to rub one out where Derek can do more than smell it.

“Stiles?” Derek calls when he’s almost out the door.

“Yes?” Stiles refuses to turn around, affording Derek that bare bit of privacy while he covers his bare bits.

“Thanks. For looking for me, for offering me sanctuary. For not making me do something I’m not ready for.”

“No worries, dude.” Stiles does turn then, finds Derek already dressed, Stiles’ school bag hooked over one shoulder. “What are you doing with my homework?”

Derek shrugs. “You spent a week looking for me. Are you going to turn down my help to get your backlog cleared?”

No. Stiles won’t turn that down. And later, after supper, when Dad is trying to get Derek to watch baseball on TV with him while Stiles finishes his calculus worksheet and Derek proofs it, Stiles thinks he could get used to nights like this.

Derek is freaking adorable as a wolf or as a human, and Stiles will always come looking for him when he’s lost. Always.

~ End ~

Derek was having a bad week where he was living in his memories of his past until he shifted and ran to protect himself from the memories he couldn’t escape. He and Stiles spend months discussing where they want their relationship to go and slowly they find what works for them.

[getdeatjgrops]

internet boy.

shigaraki x reader one-shot

Summary: You are on a popular video chat website late at night. After many disconnects, you come across a dusty-blue haired boy. You wait for him to say “show your tits” to skip him, but strangely enough he didn’t say anything. To this, you become intrigued, and stay to chat with him.

Warnings: swearing, slight yandere tendencies.

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x Reader

Word Count: 4680

You yawn. You check the time on the corner of your laptops’ screen. 2 AM. Why weren’t you sleeping? Well, you were on Omegle for almost two hours, and you didn’t realize how fast the time flew by. You were bored and couldn’t sleep, so you chose to talk to strangers online who were also up late at night. Maybe you were the strange one.

You haven’t gone on Omegle for a long time, so you forgot about all the dick showing and the dudes asking to either show your tits or your ass. If you didn’t comply they’d call you a bitch and disconnect. Sometimes if you got lucky, you connected with someone sweet and you’d chat a bit until they needed to go. At least there were still some people who just wanted to talk.

You sighed as you disconnected from another penis on your screen.

If I see another dick one more time, I’m getting off.

You tapped your fingers on your laptop, waiting for someone to connect.

And someone did. It was an odd looking guy. He had shaggy light blue hair and deep, red eyes that you could hardly see. He had a tightened black hoodie, so you couldn’t see his full face; only his eyes and nose. He was leaning against a white wall behind him, and his camera only showed his torso and up. The only light was from his own screen, illuminating his face.

You furrowed a brow. He didn’t say anything, so you started typing.

You: hey

You notice his eyes move to the chat, and down to his keyboard. He started typing, and you heard the sound of the keyboard clicking. So he did have a microphone.

Stranger: what’s your name

You: (Y/N). what’s urs?

At this point, you expected him to ask something vulgar, so you hovered your mouse over the “Really?” button to disconnect if he did. But shockingly enough, didn’t.

Stranger: uh. you can call me Tom.

You smiled a bit. You found the name “Tom” funny considering the fact that maybe he was using a fake name, and to add onto your suspicion he added an “uh” in the beginning.

You: cool. i hear that u have a mic. do u wanna talk? i’m too tired to type lol

You: or do u have to be quiet because of your parents loll

You watch him read the chat, and hear a “tch” noise come out of his mouth before he aggressively starts typing.

Stranger: i can talk. but you aren’t talking, so i’m not talking. wouldn’t it be weird if i was the only one talking? weirdo.

You huff and roll your eyes. “The whole point of me asking if you want to talk is so we could talk instead of texting each other. Watch who you call a weirdo, weirdo.” You retorted. He furrowed his brows and rolled his eyes back.

“Whatever. Anyways, what time is it for you?” He asked. You noticed his voice was slightly gravelly. You squint your eyes. “Aren’t you a curious one. With the blunt questions and everything. It’s 2 at night here. You?” You smile slightly. “It’s 2 am here too. Why are you up so late?” He plays with the strings attached to his hoodie.

You sigh. “Dunno. I’m tired but can’t sleep. Why are you up so late?” You ask back. He makes his hand through his hair and hoodie and scratches his neck. “Well, I’ve been thinking about stuff, so I can’t sleep either.” You hum in response, and there’s a minute of silence between you two.

“Well, what’s on your mind then?” You ask, trying to break the awkward tension.

He grumbles. “It’s nothing. Just have a few people that I don’t like on my mind. No, hate. Deeply hate. They are terrible.” He growls, and continues scratching his neck. You frown and look at him. “Hey, don’t worry about them okay? Don’t let bullies effect you and how you feel. They’re dumb.” You comforted. You felt a bit weird comforting a person you just met online about bullies, but you really did feel sympathy for him. He probably has a hard time with them.

He looks away and nods slowly. “Yeah.. bullies..” He stops scratching his neck and puts his hand down. He looks back at the camera. “Do you have anything we can talk on?”

You giggle. “We’re talking on something already, idiot.” To that, he just looks at the screen with an annoyed look. “I’m just playing. Here’s my instagram. Or, if you prefer-“

“Instagram is fine.” He cuts you off, seconds after pulling out his phone and searching up the username you put in the chat. You pressed your lips together, and pull out your phone yourself.

tomxrxow.s has requested to follow you!

“So, Tom.. your name is an abbreviation of Tomorrow?” You ask, quietly chuckling as you accept the follow request. “Uh, sure.” He mumbled. You requested to follow him back, and in an instant he accepted. You notice he has no posts and the only people he follows is a few pro heroes and you. He only has about 20 followers too. You found it slightly uncomfortable, considering that you had a few posts of you and a couple hundred followers. You look back at the screen and see him holding his phone up and moving it to look at you.

“Hm, you’re kind of weird looking right now compared to your posts.” He shows one of your posts of you in a restaurant. You looked pretty in that photo, until you realized that he insulted you. You gasped and furrowed your brows. “Hey!” You pouted. He smirked and put his phone down. “I’m just ‘playing.’” He says, quoting you from earlier. You squint your eyes and scoff, but silently smile to yourself. You like this guy.

“Well, you got my instagram, so we could chat more. I’m feeling kind of tired, so I’ll text you tomorrow morning okay?” You smile. He sighs through his nose. “Alright, good night.” He puts up a backwards peace sign. “Don’t let the villains bite.” You roll your eyes, and to that, you disconnect and shut your laptop.

What a strange guy.

You lay down and close your eyes, and soon enough you drift to sleep.

—

You stir your cereal, waiting for Tom to finish typing.

You and him have gotten close the past 3 weeks. He was quite nice to talk to. He talked about his problems, and you talk about yours. I think it’s safe to say that you guys were great friends, and were there for each other. Not in real life, but through each other’s screen. And you were okay with that.

txmxrxow.s: i haven’t got much sleep last night.

You: ahh well you should go to sleep earlier today!

You smile to yourself. You and Tom stood up late at night talking. Sometimes you guys would call, sometimes you guys chose to just text. In the beginning of your friendship with him, you guys first went from talking for an hour, to a few hours, to the whole night. You found him interesting. The way he talked, what he talked about.. he was just nice to talk to.

txmxrxow.s: but i want to talk to youu :’(

Your heart fluttered as you read his text message. You smile goofily.

You: and i want to talk to you too! but if you don’t go to sleep early then you might just fall asleep while we’re talking, and i’ll get worried that you’re not responding. how about this, we can talk all day today and you can go to sleep tonight so we could talk tomorrow. deal?

You sigh happily. You haven’t had someone to talk to this much in a long time. The world is in a middle of a pandemic; it’s not like you can go out and hang out with your friends when everyone is in quarantine. You walk to your living room with the bowl of cereal in your hand and put it on the coffee table. You sit down on your couch, and turn on the TV. You put a spoonful of cereal in your mouth and lean back to watch what the news is for today.

“Breaking news. The League of Villains attacked the city unexpectedly last night! Heroes came late due to the fact that it was at 4 am. But thankfully, we can never not trust our strong heroes! They were close to defeat, but they struck back with all their might, leaving the villains running away! Thank you for your service Pro-Heroes, for keeping us and the city safe!”

The T.V showed footage from a helicopter above of the villains running away into a dark alley. They all disappear as they enter a purple portal one of the villains created. The camera then showed the pro heroes panting in exhaustion, walking away from the scene like it was nothing. You couldn’t blame them, it was late at night- they were tired. They weren’t willing to have an interview this late.

txmxrxow.s: Did you see the news? Smh. Pro heroes this, pro heroes that. It’s getting tiring.

You take another bite of cereal and pick up your phone to reply.

You: Yeah, but at least they keep us safe. And on that note, im glad you’re safe, but I mean we were literally up at that time just texting each other lmaooo

txmxrxow.s: haha, yeah :)

You pick up the remote control and switch the channel to something else. You were getting tired of hearing about villains and heroes all the time too.

You: anyways, i’m bored. wanna call?

txmxrxow.s: sure

You: i mean like, video call? we haven’t video called since omegle lolol

txmxrxow.s: hmm.. nah.

You frown. Didn’t he just say sure a few seconds ago?

txmxrxow.s: but i miss your cute little face. so, get on discord.

You blush and furrow your brows. Who does this guy think he is?! You huff, and pull out your laptop and open discord. Seconds after, you receive a call from Tom and accept it.

“Hello. Guess you couldn’t resist my cute ass face.” You teased. He chuckles in response, and turned on his camera. Again, he’s wearing a black tightened hoodie, so you could only see his eyes and nose, along with his messy light blue hair. “I really couldn’t.” He responded flatly. You blush and roll your eyes. “Shut up.” You grin.

You and him talked about random things. You would occasionally take a bite of your cereal, and he would snap a photo before you eat the spoonful of Froot Loops. “Hey!! Delete that!” You pleaded, covering your mouth full of milk and cereal with your hand. He laughed in response, showing his phones’ screen to the camera, which was the photo of you about to put the spoon in your mouth. You swallowed the food in your mouth and crossed your arms. “Not funny! I’m turning off my camera.” You huffed, and turned off the camera.

“Nooo! Come back!” He pleaded, exaggerating the “No.” You laughed, and turned on your camera just as fast as you turned it off. Needless to say, you enjoyed talking to Tom.

—

You and Tom were on call for the past five hours. You didn’t get bored of his company, and although your laptop was heating up, you wanted to stay.

“Hm.. say,” He started. You hummed back. “What’s up?” You didn’t lift your eyes from your phone. You were scrolling through your instagram feed and occasionally were sending Tom funny cat photos and videos.

“Do you want to meet up?” Your heart skipped a beat. You looked at your laptops’ screen with wide eyes. “Now?” You ask. He shrugged, twirling his hoodie string between his finger. “Sure. Or, if you want we could meet up later this week. Or later tonight, so there isn’t much people, especially with the whole virus thing going on.” You nod.

Should you go today? Later tonight? I mean, he seems pretty real to you. And you really liked talking to him. You liked him in general.

“I um, have to talk to you about something too.” He said, slightly choking on his words. Your heart rushes. You look at the time on your phone. 3 pm. Wow, time flew by fast.

“Sure. Let’s meet up at 10 pm.” You smile. He sighed in relief. “Okay, cool. I’m.. excited to see you.” He blushed. Your heart continued pounding against your chest and you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m excited too.” You guys sat in silence, scrolling through your phones. You gulped, feeling uncomfortable.

God, why is everything so much more awkward now?! It’s fine. You’ll meet each other, and talk. It’ll be your first time seeing each other in real life, and it’ll be fine.

You turn to your laptop screen. “Well, my laptop is heating up really badly, so I’m gonna go. We can still text if you want.” You put your index finger on the trackpad, hovering it over the hang up button. “Alright, see you soon.” He puts his phone down and waves. You smile and make a silly face before hanging up. You needed to get ready, even though it was only 3 pm.

— *Time skip to 10 pm*

You didn’t want to appear to extra and flashy on the first time meeting, so you went with an oversized (F/C) sweatshirt and jeans. You let your hair down, and put on mascara. Your heart was beating loudly. You were excited, but nervous. What did he want to talk about? You had an idea, but you dismissed it.

You heard a notification go off and checked your phone.

txmxrxow.s: let’s meet over here.

After he sent that text, he sent a photo of a building that you passed by occasionally.

You: okay. see you soon! ^^

You smile to yourself. You breathe in and out to calm yourself. You turn off the lights and put your phone in your pocket. You grab a mask and put in on your face, and put on latex gloves. You shut the door behind you and start walking towards the direction of the building. You decided to listen to music to calm yourself.

What a weird coincidence that you met a person on Omegle that lived in the same country as you. Matter of fact, in the same city as you. You couldn’t believe it. And you fell in love with him? Truly strange. But, you don’t hate it. You smile happily. You realize that you shouldn’t be nervous. You guys have been talking for three weeks. He was comfortable with you, and you were comfortable with him. You guys were friends.

You hummed to the song that was currently on, and you noticed that you were close to the place you guys were meeting up at. You just had to cross this street and you’ll be there. You patted your hands on your jeans, realizing how sweaty they got from you being anxious. The street sign turned to a walking figure, and you slowly crossed.

You took out the earphones in your ears, and put them in your jean pocket. You squeeze your hands into fists as you see a figure a few yards away from you wearing a black hoodie. He was facing the other way, but you noticed that they were on their phone. You decided to walked up to them. This was Tom, it had to be. You looked at the building next to the figure. Yep, it is Tom.

You walk until you’re a few feet away from him.

“T-Tom?” You let out, almost as silent as a squeak. Their head looks up, and they slowly turn around. Your eyes made eye contact with their deep, red eyes. Their shaggy light blue hair was sticking out of their hoodie, and they had the strings tied together like you’ve seen on video call.

You smiled in joy, and went to wrap your arms around him. You pressed your face on their chest. He slightly stepped back, not expecting you to do that. He hesitantly wrapped his arms around you, careful not to touch you with all five of his fingers on each hand.

“(Y/N), you came.” He smiled, sighing. He didn’t want this moment to end; and neither did you. You moved your head up to look up at him. He was looking back down at you. “Are you always in these clothes? You have the same exact outfit from when we called on Omegle and video called today.” You teased, furrowing your brows. He grunted in response, and rolled his eyes.

“Haha, so funny. No, I don’t. But, I wanted to meet you because I wanted to talk to you about something.” You unwrapped your arms from him and slightly stepped back. You put your arms behind you and tapped the floor with the tip of your shoe. “What did you want to talk about?” You had a faint blush on your cheeks. He rubbed the top of head awkwardly and looked to the side.

“Well.. I know it’s only been three weeks but..” He started, taking a deep breath. You felt your heart beating loudly against your chest. You rubbed your lips together. You fidgeted with your hands. This is it.

“I feel like I’m the most comfortable with you. You let me talk about my problems and you help me with them. I calm down when you’re talking to me. After ending our calls at night, I wouldn’t be able to get you out of my mind.”

You felt your blush grow redder, and your breathing gradually increased. He’s doing it. He’s doing it.

“You’re.. simply to say.. the best thing that has happened to me. Nobody has acted this way to me besides you. Life makes sense when I’m talking to you.” He blushes, and grabs your shoulders. His pinkys don’t touch you. You widened your eyes at this, not expecting him to do that suddenly. You look at his eyes in a daze, feeling your heart almost explode out of your chest.

“(Y/N).. I..” He swallows, his throat dry.

“I love you.”

He finishes it at that, and there’s a silence. You blink, feeling fireworks explode in your stomach. You slowly smile. You raise your arm and move your hand through his hair and hoodie to his cheek. “Tom.. I love you too.” You felt your legs shake. Honestly, you never felt this way about anyone. So why do you feel this way with someone you met online? You didn’t know, but you didn’t feel bad.

He moves one of his hands towards his hoodie strings, and pulls them so they untie. His hoodie loosens, and you finally see his lips. They were chapped, colorless. Scarred. But you smiled. He moved towards you and placed his lips on yours. You close your eyes slowly. Carefully, he moves his hand down to your back, and pulls you closer. You felt yourself going crazy. You moved your free hand and placed it on his shoulder gently. Both of you deepened the kiss, feeling the passion between each other.

After a few seconds, you guys moved away from each other. You breathed silently while you stared at each others eyes. He smiled at you, but then his smile slowly went away. He sighed, and looked down.

“(Y/N), There’s something else I need to tell you.”

You look at him confused, but you still smile. “Yes, Tom? You could tell me anything.”

He lets go of your body and squeezes your hands in his hands. They were cold. “Will.. will you look at me differently? Will you still love me?”

Taken back by this, you didn’t know what to say. “Of.. Of course I will still love you. We’ve come this far, why would I stop loving you?” You ran your hand across his arm, trying to reassure him. He sighed, and suddenly looked up at you in all serious.

“My name is Shigaraki Tomura.” He spoke. “I’m.. the leader of the League of Villains.”

Your eyes went wide. Your whole body froze. You slightly squeezed your hand on his arm.

Leader of the villain league? Him? How? You couldn’t believe it. The same person you talked to about problems you believed to be normal; were just problems of a villain?

He noticed your fear, and his eyes went wide. He grabbed your shoulders, looking at you in panic. “You still love me right? You won’t leave me, will you? You know I love you right? I would never do anything bad to you.” He tried reassuring you, shaking you slightly.

You couldn’t help but be startled by him now. The same person you called insults and teased, could’ve easily lost control and killed you? Right now, you in the grip of his hands; if he lands his pinkies on you, you’re done for.

Do you still love him? You thought to yourself. Just the other night, he went out and attacked the city with his league of villains. That was the same night you guys were texting. You believed that he was at home, in his bed, just texting you. You couldn’t believe this.

“Tom... ura...” You choked. You realized that Tom wasn’t a fake name. It wasn’t an abbreviation of tomorrow. You gulped. Were you in his hands of delusion all along? Since the beginning?

Shigaraki gritted his teeth. “Please... (Y/N).. I’ll- I’ll change for you! I promise! Please.. me meeting you is possibly the most life changing thing that has happened to me. For the better! I love you so much! I would die for you!! I would disband the League of Villains for you! If- If you want, I’ll just kill them instead! The world could be in peace! (Y/N)-“

“Tom. Err.. Tomura. Listen.. this is a lot to take in right now. So please, just calm down. I don’t know your intentions, and I just can’t believe that... you’re a villain.” You let out, frowning. You looked down at the concrete below your feet, debating with yourself. What do you say next? Now knowing his true identity, you felt that if you say something wrong, you’re done for.

You squeezed his hands. Suddenly, you wrapped your arms around him, squeezing his hoodie between you hands. “Just please... change for me. Stop..” You blinked back your tears.

“Stop killing people.”

You heard his breath hitch, and he slowly wrapped his arms around you. “(Y/N).. I love you.” You closed your eyes. This is real life. The guy you met online, someone you felt was a normal person, turned out to be a villain.

You felt him move your hair away and moved it over your shoulder with his fingers. You looked up at him. He had an indescribable facial expression.

“(Y/N), I’m sorry. Just know I love you. But this is for our safety.” You furrow your brows in confusion, until you felt a sharp sting on the side of your neck. You widened your eyes. “Tomura..” You felt drowzy. An injection. You looked at him one final time, reading pain on his face. “I love you.” He said once again, but his voice was muffled. You felt darkness consume your vision, and fell onto your knees.

—

Leather. Your wrists were binded together with leather. You slowly opened your eyes, blinking to adjust to the light.

You slowly realized that your chest and your feet were binded against the chair you were sitting on as well. Your mind felt fuzzy, and you felt sick. Where am I?

“Aww, look guys! Shigarakis little girlfriend is starting to wake up!” You hear a girls voice. What is going on? You look up slowly. You see many figures. There were men, and distinctly one girl. You blinked a few more times to adjust your vision, and you looked to the back of the room. You felt your memories slowly start to come back as your eyes landed on Tomura. You widened your eyes, and felt tears run down your face. Tomura had his villain costume on, the hand on his face making it harder to see what his face looks like.

He got up and walked towards you. Fear pulsing through you, you kicked and pushed- trying to get out of the chair. Your quirk wasn’t much help, so you felt hopeless. Trying to fight back was your only option right now. Tomura bent over and put his hands on your shoulders. You rapidly shook your head. “Don’t touch me! Get off me!! You lied to me, you lied to me!! You never loved me!! You lied.. you want to kill me!” You screamed hysterically. More tears ran down your face. You weeped, noticing that Tomura hasn’t done anything yet. His pinkies were up like last time, and he didn’t harm you yet.

You sniffled. “Why.. why are you doing this?” You whimpered. He took one hand off your shoulder and carefully took off the plastic hand that was on his face. He was unreadable. Is he regretting what he is doing? Is he angry at you? Or does he simply not care at all and is just waiting for you to stop fighting so he could kill you already? He stands up straight and turns to the other villains. “Leave. We need privacy.” He demanded. They nodded, and with that, the villains walked out and left. Where? You don’t know. He turned back to you and put his hands back on your shoulders. You gulped in fear, feeling your breathing quicken.

“Wh-What do you want, Tomura.” You choked, sniffling. He frowned, and sighed. “(Y/N), I’m doing this for your safety and mine. If I just let you go after telling you who I am, you could’ve easily told the police about your connection with me, and they could use that to their advantage to track me down and arrest me. And we can’t have that, can we?” He stood up straight and walked to the wall to the right.

“And for your safety, if someone saw us talking, they would take the chance of kidnapping you themselves. They would try to get info from you and use you to their advantage.” He turns to look at you. You were still silently crying. You bit your bottom lip in anxiousness, until you heard footsteps from him walking towards you. You widened your eyes and quickly shut them, afraid of what is going to happen next.

You felt him cup your cheek softly with his hand. You flinched, realizing you lost all trust for him. “S-Stop..” You whisper. He frowns. He crossed his arms. “(Y/N). Look at me.” You didn’t comply, and still had your eyes closed. He furrowed his brows, frustrated. He banged his fist on the arm rest next to you, making you jump. “Look at me goddamnit!” He yelled. You looked at him with fear in your eyes. He widened his eyes slightly. He didn’t want to scare you. He just wanted you to understand. He softened his eyes and sighed in frustration. He pinched the bridge of his nose and continued looking at you.

“Look. I never lied to you. I still love you, (Y/N). Truly, I do. I meant everything I said in my, err, confession as you may call it. But things are too dangerous right now. I can’t change for you just yet. You understand that right?” You looked down in hopelessness. “I hope you can realize soon enough that what I’m doing is protecting you. Trust me, I won’t let the rest of the villains lay a single hand on you. I’ll treat you with good care.”

He held your chin up with his index finger, and you looked up at him in defeat. He smiled gently. “Alright princess?” --

My first fanfic in a while!! Hope you enjoyed! Hopefully there is more to come ;) this was requested by my amazing friend @crabziee-writez <3!

[thepoppypress]

The Battleline Between Good and Evil (Runs Through the Heart of Every Man)

Chapter 6: 

Harley’s head lolled onto Peter’s shoulder as they settled into one of the comfortable couches in front of the fire. Damian was turned away from both of them, not at all curious about their new guests. There was a suspicious heat to his face, however.

‘Must be the fire,’ he thinks sullenly. Soft growls and barks were heard in the corner as Piper, who had situated with Titus, attacked and viciously gnawed with her blunt puppy teeth at his wagging tail, the Great Dane lazily keeping her entertained.

Bruce sat in an armchair that seemed to shrink with his hulking figure crouched in it. Dick and Jason boxed Peter and Harley into the couch, sitting on both sides of them, Jason to Harley’s side and Dick to Peter’s. Tim sat next to Damian, sipping on his hot beverage. Alfred had excused himself to get two guest rooms and a snack ready.

“You must be quite famished after that catastrophe. Don’t worry one bit. I will be back. Excuse me.”

“So,” Dick said, throwing an arm over Peter’s shoulders, “wanna tell us what that was about?” Tim sat forward in interest.

“Yeah, why did the Joker quite literally crash into Harley’s apartment building?” Peter raised an eyebrow at the slightly taller male.

“How did you know?” Tim smirked smugly, and waved his phone in the air. “You hacked into the security cameras?” The second youngest Wayne shrugged.

“It’s not that hard.” It was Peter this time, who smirked, which threw Tim for a loop.

‘Him and Ned would be great hacking buddies,’ Peter thought, an ache present in his chest when he thought about his best friend. He wondered if he was doing okay in his world, and if he was missing Peter at all.

“Peter?” Tim asked, snapping Peter out of his small head space.

“Yeah,” he said, looking around and realizing that everyone was staring at him, save for Harley who was still leaning against him. “Yeah, sorry, I- uh,” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck with the arm Harley wasn’t on, “got a little lost for a second there.”

“That’s okay,” Dick assured gently, “what were you thinking about?” Peter, not turning towards him, answered.

“A world far away from this one.” There was a far away look in his eyes, one that the Wayne siblings did not appreciate. It seemed like it made him too sad for their liking, and with one look sent over Peter’s head, Jason subtly elbowed Harley awake. While it would’ve fooled a normal person, Peter was far from normal. He felt the movement of Harley’s body and he glared at Jason, who’s smile was a tad too innocent. Harley snorted herself awake (adorably, Peter should add) and her head lifted off his shoulder.

“Wha?” The dazed and groggy look in her eyes made Peter turn his glare into a little giggle. The platinum blonde’s head snapped toward the sound and she squealed.

“Puppy!” Her arms lifted over his shoulders and she hugged his neck, smacking a kiss to his cheek. Peter gave her a small smile, ignoring Dick’s pout.

“Hey Harls,” he said softly, knowing that this was likely the start of shock that would turn into another manic episode. It wouldn’t have been the first time it happened, but she seemed to get over quickly last time (as quickly as one can). Harley opened her eyes and observed her surroundings before adopting a fearful look on her face and jumping into Peter’s arms.

Peter tried not to wince when it aggravated his wounds that had yet to heal (he wasn’t a monster, he could still be in pain from a few cuts). Instantly, he patted her back.

“Hey, you’re okay. You’re safe.” Harley squeezed tighter and it seemed like her happy visage was gone, and instead, replaced by remorse.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, trembling. Peter’s heart broke for his best friend, not for the first time that night.

“It’s not your fault,” he told her, “it’s your ex’s.” That made Peter think for a bit. A while back, it seemed like Harley knew the Wayne’s and their associates (at this point in time, things had started becoming a bit obvious to Peter about Bruce Wayne’s true career, though many things had stayed the same. The enemies for one, and the intention to protect for another.), which was suspicious to Peter. It led him to the Joker. Harley is a good person and wasn’t likely to get involved with them, if they’re mob bosses in this world.

Even before he knew her personally, he also knew a bit of Harley Quinn’s backstory. Everything started the day she met the Joker. Naturally and even more reasonably, that would be the case here as well. The Joker and Batman are mortal enemies, hence Harley was Bruce’s enemy as well (at least before she got involved with Peter, who had gotten involved with the Wayne syndicate. It made him shiver to address them like that).

“Mr. Wayne?” Bruce’s head turned to show that he had his full attention.

“Bruce, Peter,” he corrected gently, “what is it?”

“How much do you know about the Joker?” A careful look was passed around, one he’s seen being passed between Bucky, Natasha, Clint, and other Avengers who were too observant for their own good. He was sure that he wasn’t supposed to notice but being around those kinds of people, it’s impossible to not pick something up.

“Not much,” a little note of hesitancy was held.

‘He knows more than he’s letting on,’ he thought while gazing at Bruce’s face, ‘Joker is his nemesis. Of course he’d know everything.’ But something about this seemed a bit off putting to Peter.

Batman in this world may be a part of the mob but his priority was still to rid the streets of crime (in his own backwards-ass way), so if Peter needed information, considering that at least some of the Wayne children cared for him, Bruce should be able to give it up. So why wasn’t he?

‘Unless,’ he paused, ‘there’s nothing to give up.’ It’s an angle he should work more. In the meanwhile, he should also start gaining Bruce’s trust.

“Does Commissioner Gordon know anything?”

“He’ll probably know more than I do.”

“Sure. I’ll talk to Barbara and see if I can get his number.”

“We can give it to you,” Dick was quick to rush in. Peter gave him a small smile.

“Thanks Dick, but I think it’d be more appropriate to get it straight from them.”

‘I don’t want to owe you anything,’ he supplied in his own brain while bringing out his phone and shooting a text to his red-headed friend. Once he was done, he noticed that Harley had stopped trembling. Lifting her head from his neck, he saw that she was asleep.

“Actually, I also think that it’s a good time for me and Harley to turn in for the night.” Coincidentally, Alfred came in as he said those words, a couple of ham and egg sandwiches on a silver tray. The smell of light salted eggs and honey ham wafted towards his highly sensitive nose and his stomach rumbled loudly. He hadn’t had much to eat that day. Yet another reason as to why he’ll never be able to fight crime here. No food. There was an awkward pause before those around him burst into laughter. Bruce let out a small chuckle and Damian still had his head turned away. Peter blushed.

‘How embarrassing.’

“We’ll also take those sandwiches to-go please.”

-----

A violent jerk next to him had Peter sitting up with an urgency. Harley gasped, her breath coming out short and fast, and Peter was quick to reach for her shoulder and called out her name, as a reminder of him being there. He didn’t want to startle her into more of a panic than she was already in.

“Harley?” He called, brows furrowed. “Harley? Hey. Harls. I’m here.” His best friend cradled her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking with a jarring consistency that reminded him of his aunt’s when his Uncle Ben had died. He squeezed her shoulder gently and gathered her into his arms. A small sob escaped her and Peter shushed his friend, a comforting hand running up and down her back. “I’m here. I’m here,” he reassured her.

Small sniffles and sobs were pressed into his neck before a watery voice spoke.

“Promise?” There was a hesitant pause from him. Could he really promise?

“Yeah,” he agreed finally, “I promise.” The reward for the obvious answer was Harley snuggling further into his embrace. He promised her. However, actions spoke louder than words. So the question really is, would he be able to keep it?

-----

Peter yawned and trudged downstairs, leaving Harley to sleep in a bit more. The rest of the night was spent contemplating and overthinking until his head hurt while his best friend slept on with the occasional sniffle. Needless to say, he was tired.

“Oh, you’re up!” A chipper voice greeted him at the base of the stairs. He met the blue eyes of his least favorite Wayne at the moment. However, considering this was his house, he shouldn’t disrespect him.

“Yup,” he tried to sound as perky (failing, obviously).

“You know, if you need more rest, you should take all the time you need.”

“Yeah, I would but I have to go to work. I don’t have many sick days yet.” Dick grinned down at him, something he was slowly getting used to.

“Don’t worry about that, my dear! You have the rest of the week off!” If Peter was holding something in his hands, he would’ve dropped it at that moment. He took a small pause in stride to process that statement.

“What do you mean ‘I have the rest of the week off?’” Dick, now walking a little distance in front of Peter, turned around and looked at him weirdly.

“I mean that you have the rest of the week off? Why? Is that weird?” The sweet smile on his face left much to be desired. Peter closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It would take all his patience to deal with this.

“I mean, how, Dick?” An innocent tilt of the head. A bright smile that Peter was sure led people to their ultimate demise before. The feeling of his Spidey Sense coming to life. His shoulders tensed minutely, realizing that there was someone behind him.

“We took care of it for you.” A deep voice said and Peter whirled around to face the head of the Wayne household.

“Mr.-” A stern look stopped him in his tracks. “Bruce,” he amended with a sheepish smile, “what exactly do you mean when you say ‘you took care of it for me?’” The tall man shrugged, a devilish smile on his face. He could see where his first son came to get his charismatic ways.

“We called you in sick.” It was almost as if it wasn’t computing for Peter.

“But I don’t have any sick days saved.” Bruce shrugged again.

“Well, now you do.” That left Peter in dumbfounded silence. Both father and son chuckled at the look on his face (it was a cute one, Dick would assure) before the brown haired boy found his voice again, noting the faint footsteps and feeling of impending danger that approached.

“Do I want to know?”

“Best that you don’t,” another voice said behind him, Tim, he recognized. Peter let his eyes roll back into his head and let it loll back, stretching his neck in the meantime. A series of cracks occurred and Peter let out a sigh of relief.

“Alright, you know what? It’s too early for me to want to know what happened. Maybe after I’ve had coffee or something.” Tim, holding his own coffee, placed a hand over his heart, a little smile on his face.

“A man after my own heart.” Peter peeked out of one eye and decided to tease a bit. He blew a kiss and smiled at the resulting laugh. “Walk with me?” He opened both eyes to see Tim offer an arm to him, the look of a proper gentleman (if that gentleman was as sleep deprived as possible) on his visage. With a grin, he took the arm offered and both men walked through the open door to the dining room. Behind him, he hears Damian’s voice say,

“Father? Why does Grayson have such an insipid look on his face?” It took everything in him to not laugh out loud.

-----

Peter sat in the lounge room of the Wayne’s club, the entire Wayne family around him, save for Damian, Bruce and Jim, because they had other things to do. In his lap was a textbook on advanced quantum physics and the theory of space and time, his brows furrowed in concentration.

As far as he knew, Dr. Strange could travel between worlds and would do so once he knew where Peter was. The balance was important to the good doctor after all. Even then, it didn’t hurt to gain more knowledge about the evidence of the multiverse.

Jason and that redhead from the gym were behind him playing darts, while Dick and Tim watched with amused eyes as the redhead, Roy Harper as Peter had come to know him, beat Jason with relative ease. The second eldest Wayne scowled as the others snickered around him. Another man hung around Tim, seeming the closest to him and Steph.

Yet another black-haired, blue eyed guy, complete with shaggy hair that hung in his eyes and a fade in the back. He wore large, round sunglasses and his ears were pierced severely. He gripped Peter’s hand tightly when they shook, and he introduced himself as Connor, Kon as he insisted Peter call him. His anxiety amped itself up in his presence, and where he was more or less used to the reactions to the Wayne family, he was still cautious.

From his meager knowledge about the DC Universe, he knew Roy Harper as Arsenal, formerly Speedy, Green Arrow’s sidekick, and Kon as Superboy. If Batman and his Robins kept their names here, in the Mafia-verse (as Peter so aptly calls it now), it was likely that they also had the same monikers.

At this point in time, a few days had passed since he had come to stay at Wayne Manor and got acquainted with more people from, what Peter was guessing their shadier dealings. Harley was absent today because she had some things to straighten out. She hadn’t left his side for long since that day but she reluctantly did today and Peter was concerned. He knew his best friend could take care of herself but he couldn’t help but worry.

It was then that he thought about what the last few days brought him. Since he hadn’t really had any time off from work, Steph, Dick and the other Wayne kids took turns showing him around the Manor and around Gotham. It amazed Peter. There was so much more than he realized. They also went to the popularized shopping and club district, spending as much as they wanted.

By they, Peter meant the Wayne’s because he did not have enough money to buy the things sold in that particular part of the city. And he wouldn’t accept any charity, he was clear about that before. Despite that, however, it seemed the Wayne’s didn’t listen. If he said he didn’t need or want anything, they threatened to buy everything in the store. When he finally acquiesced and got something, they insisted that that couldn’t be enough.

“A Wayne entering the store and not buying anything? Preposterous,” Dick said, a grin on his face.

“Yeah. Besides, angel, if we don’t buy anything, it’s bad for business. Rumors would spread.” Feral amusement lit up Jason’s features while Tim smirked in the background, Steph tight to his side. Harley hung off his shoulders, relaxed and obviously having fun. Peter, in the meanwhile, was not.

“BUT WE CAN’T BUY AN ENTIRE STORE’S WORTH OF THINGS!” Damian, leaning onto the counter with a nervous looking cashier, shrugged, eyes sharp and yet, laughing. His voice held some form of enjoyment. This made him sick to his stomach. Is this what rich people did?

“It’s been done before.” There was a moment before Peter exploded.

“WHAT?!” Needless to say, they bought all the merchandise in the store. And then some.

Peter returned to Wayne Manor owning more than he had ever had in his life. A new phone, watch, electronics, wardrobe (after hours and hours of Steph and Dick twirling him this way and that, having him try on things, catering to their whim. The manager was helpless to their wrath, and so was Peter.).

The sudden and faint sound of leather being poked reached his ears, snapping him out of his reverie and he knew that someone had nudged Kon, seeing as he was the only one wearing a leather jacket. A small moment passed before Kon cleared his throat. Peter lifted his head to meet his interested eyes.

“So Peter,” he started. Peter tilted his head.

“Yes Kon?” The lilt in the question paired with large, innocent looking eyes and a sweet smile made Kon blush a bit. He cleared his throat again, aware of the jealous glares that were subtly directed towards him.

“Where are you from?”

“Queens. You?”

“Smallville, Kansas, but I was born somewhere else.”

“Adopted?” Peter asked.

“Something like that. So how’d you get to know the Waynes?” Peter fingered the page of his textbook.

“Through a mutual friend, Slade Wilson. Maybe you know him?” The shocked look on Kon’s face was quite funny and Peter just stopped himself from smiling.

“You know Deathstroke?” Peter shook his flattened hand.

“As a friend, not a business contractor. We met at the bar I work at.” Kon filled out his lips into the shape of an ‘o’ and nodded.

“So then, I suppose you know what he does.” Peter nodded.

“Not the full extent, but vaguely, yes.” An awkward silence fell between them, even with the laughter that surrounded.

“So, what’re you reading about?” Peter lifted his book for him to see the cover. “Advanced Quantum Physics? Smart guy, huh?” Peter lifted one shoulder in a half shrug.

“I mean, not really? I’m just good at this stuff.” Steph snorted, teetering on the back of the couch.

“What a liar. You’re really smart Pete. You should start owning it.” Peter shrugged again and Kon nudged the second youngest Wayne next to him.

“Sounds like you, buddy.” Tim hummed, seeming amused as he watched the interaction between Kon and Peter. The look didn’t leave his face as he stood up and walked over to Peter.

“Speaking of being smart, Peter? Can you help me with this?” The chestnut haired boy quirked an eyebrow, aware of the obvious ploy that was happening and he was nervous about letting it play out.

“Sure. I’m not sure I’ll be of much help, but I’ll try.” Steph cooed, leaning her elbow on her knee and brushing a strand of curly blonde hair out of her pretty face.

“Always our humble boy.” Peter reached over and slapped her knee before she saw it coming, dislodging her arm and making her face plummet towards the ground before she righted herself. She cursed playfully at him as he laughed and walked to join Tim at the long table. A whiteboard was situated at the end of it.

About fifteen minutes later, Tim and Peter had nearly figured out everything that the second youngest Wayne needed help on, Kon and Steph joining (after she finished sulking) at Tim’s side.

“So, I was thinking that this-” Peter pointed to a statistic on a spreadsheet before the sound of something metal bouncing off wood caught his attention. His ears perked up and he could hear Roy and Jason’s voices yelling across the space and footsteps starting to stomp towards him. Suddenly, everything was in slow motion.

His Spidey Sense activated, anticipation gearing his systems as the feeling of anxiety got bigger and bigger and bigger still. The three across from him joined in, their voices creating a cacophony that Peter let sink into the background. The slice of metal through air made him tense his shoulders and with the speed gifted from the spider bite, Peter lifted his hand and caught the object that was hurtling towards him, fingers spanning across the grip, the edge of the dart a mere inch away from his temple.

Everything was no longer in slow motion and his Spidey Sense died down. Footsteps halted and a tense silence hung in the air. Peter looked at the dart that he held in his hands and up to Jason and Roy, who were staring at him in confusion. He glanced towards the three sitting across from him and saw the same look etched onto their faces. A few more moments of quiet passed before someone spoke up.

“Where did you learn how to do that?” Jason asked, jaw clenched. Peter floundered.

“I-” He shrugged helplessly, looking around in nervousness, “I don’t know. I kind of just-” he mimed what happened and shrugged again, a lost look on his face.

“You kind of just caught a dart in mid-air?”

“Yes?” He knew he was being less than convincing but he didn’t know how to act in this situation. Back home, everyone already knew about his powers and he didn’t need to explain when he did weird shit like that.

“How?!” Roy looked incredulous. Peter was really happy that Bruce wasn’t here.

“Natural talent?”

He really needed to work on his lying skills.

-----

“Tony,” Stephen gritted his teeth, “it’s been three days.”

“We haven’t found Peter yet.” The doctor sighed at his wonderfully caring, loving, and infuriatingly stubborn husband.

“You haven’t slept.” Tony sipped his coffee, a dead yet still alive look in his eyes.

“I’ll sleep when we’ve found Peter.” Stephen’s eye twitched and he bit back another sigh. He came forward from his perch behind his husband’s back and wrapped his arms around Tony’s waist, smirking when he felt Tony tense.

“Peter wouldn’t want you to do this to yourself. He’d want you to put your health first.” Seemingly ignoring him, Tony mumbled into his coffee.

“Stupid teenagers. Making their dad worry.” The rest was unintelligible by his ears and Stephen rolled his eyes.

“Wherever he is, darling, he’s fine.” Tony suddenly slammed his coffee mug down onto the table and violently turned towards his husband, scowl deepening when Stephen didn’t even move an inch. He just raised an eyebrow at him.

“Did your Wizard Tingle tell you that? How can you be so sure, Stephen?! He could be dead for all we know!” The blue eyed man scowled right back down to his husband.

“He’s not dead, Tony. I know for sure.”

“Yeah? Well I don’t know, so I’m not going to rest until I find my son.” Tony turned back around and continued tinkering around with the dimensional travelling device he was concocting.

If he could make a time traveling machine to go and stop an evil grape with a panini bread chin from eliminating half of the universe, he should be able to do this. “In the meantime, sweetheart,” the endearment was stressed and said through clenched teeth, “keep searching through the universes, dimensions, or whatever. Please. We need to find him.”

Stephen’s eyes softened. He really loved his husband. While the media made it seem like he was self-absorbed and didn’t care about anyone but himself, it was really the opposite. He cared so much that he was willing to go to the ends of the earth for his children. He had the scars to prove it.The doctor moved forward and leaned his head heavily onto the genius’ shoulder, letting his breath fan across the back of his neck.

“If I continue to search,” he whispers, “will you please go to sleep?” Tony was silent for a minute before he released the tension in his form, slumping in defeat.

“Do I have a choice?” Stephen made a humming noise.

“Well, I mean, you definitely have the choice to ignore what I say, but I will do what I have to.” Tony grumbled some more but Stephen knew that it was all in good fun.

“Fine. But you have to keep looking.” Stephen smiled at the brunette’s back as he left the lab and he called after him.

“Promise, honey!” Once he was sure Tony was out, he looked towards the ceiling. “FRIDAY.”

“Yes, Dr. Stark-Strange?” A small smile came upon his face as he heard his name. What an incredible feeling, to have his name in conjunction with the man he loves.

“Lock down the lab until he gets at least a full eight hours of sleep. Sleep Protocol.”

“Of course.” Then, Stephen opened a portal and stepped into his room to meditate. He promised his husband and it wasn’t like he wouldn’t have done it anyway. Peter was like his own son. He cared for Peter and he wasn’t stopping until Peter was found.

-----

“So,” Harley popped her bubble gum obnoxiously, “I heard from a little birdy that my Puppy did something badass today.” Peter snorted.

“Did you? Lemme guess. Steph?” Harley smirked from her perch on the bathroom sink.

“Spot on as always, Pup. So,” she tilted her chin coyly, bringing her knees up to her chest, “what happened?”

“Nothing much. I just stopped a dart from hitting me. That’s all.” Peter finished washing his hands and left the bathroom with Harley in tow, pouting at the lack of information.

“Aw, Puppy! You can’t just leave me without all the details! Spill! Spill!” He laughed, the sound echoing down the long hallway as they walked towards the dining room.

“It really was nothing! Also, how are you so chipper?” Harley tsked, as if the last few days, if not weeks, weren’t immensely hard on her.

“In my line of work, we need to get over things very quickly. This is no exception. And stop changing the subject!” The argument continued until they reached the dining room.

“Look Harley! There’s nothing to tell you other than the fact that I caught a dart when I went to scratch my head.”

“There has to be more than that!”

“There really isn’t! I caught a dart! End of story!” Those who were already sitting at the dinner table looked up as the duo came in.

“Talking about today?” Steph asked, leaning back into the chair. “You should’ve been there, Harley. It was badass.”

“I know!” Harley whined. “It would’ve been so cool!” Peter groaned as they sat down at the table. The others looked at them, not even trying to be subtle.

“There is literally nothing to it! I happened to grab it when I went to scratch my head!” Jason and Dick grinned while Tim chuckled into his water (Alfred said enough with the coffee. For today.). Damian, who wasn’t at the lounge, looked a bit confused but didn’t ask.

“Okay, okay, we believe you,” Dick tried to placate. Peter gave him a deadpan look, knowing for a fact that it wasn’t true. He also knew that they happened to latch onto this new information, considering that their background checks didn’t yield anything useful. Or really anything at all, with him being from another dimension and all that jazz. Peter sighed.

“Whatever.” Steph and Jason snickered while Harley huffed.

“Not whatever, Pup! I still wanna know!” Jason perked up.

“You haven’t told her yet?” Harley shook her head, looking towards the man with extreme excitement.

“Tell me, tell me!” Jason started recounting the situation earlier, Harley paying attention. Damian typed away on his phone, trying to make it less obvious that he was listening quite raptly as well. By the end of it, Harley was gasping with shock (Jason, the Shakespeare nerd he is, made it so much more dramatic than it really had been).

“That was so much more than what actually happened!” Peter scowled at Jason, who smirked in return.

“Every heroic tale deserves to be told in style, angel.”

“I saved myself from attaining a hole in my head from a dart. Whoop-dee-fucking-doo.” Dick gasped, one hand covering his mouth and the other pointing straight at Peter.

“You swore! You shouldn’t swear. Angels don’t swear!” Peter’s eye twitched, an annoyed expression obvious on his face (though he wasn’t as annoyed as he should’ve been).

“I’m not an angel! I-” The doors to the kitchen opened with Alfred and Bruce carrying plates of food. They placed them on the table and sat down at their respective spots (at the head and the right side of the head).

“You what Peter?” The chestnut haired boy blushed and looked away, the feeling of slight embarrassment prevalent in him.

“Nothing.” Bruce gave him a weird look while everyone else looked amused.

“If you’re sure.” Peter said nothing else and Bruce nodded in assent. “Alright. Let’s eat.”

-----

After dinner, Harley, for reasons unknown to Peter, left, but not before meeting Barbara at the door of Wayne Manor.

“Are you sure you guys will be alright, Harls?” Harley rolled her eyes, an exasperated, but fond look on her face.

“I’m sure Pete. Now go and hang out or do something interesting. I swear, you worry as a hobby. You’re gonna get boring.” Peter pursed his lips, looking adorably concerned and a little insulted.

“I do interesting things!” Barbara and Harley snorted. Peter, in an act of defiant childishness, stuck his tongue out at them and closed the door in their faces, ignoring the loud laughter that reached his ears from the other side. “I am interesting!” He muttered to himself, barely surprised when an arm was thrown around him.

“Sure you are, angel.” Peter shot him an irritated look.

“You know, I’m not an angel right?” Jason looked down on the boy trapped to his side.

“What makes you say that?” Peter looked on darkly, weirdly introspective.

“You attract what you are. I’m friends with a mercenary and someone who deals with some of the shadier sides of things. Not to mention, her boyfriend, a notorious gang member, is after us because I convinced her to break up with him,” he said simply.

‘Too simply,’ Jason thinks. ‘He must really believe this.’

“That’s not necessarily true, Pete.” Blue clashes with doe brown as Peter turned his large eyes up to meet Jason’s.

“How so?”

“It’s not that you attract what you are. What if you are kind but you attract people who are mean? Or you’re loyal, but attract cheaters. It’s not ‘you attract what you are,’ but ‘you attract those in desperate need of what you are.’ Like us.”

Peter was quiet for a moment. Seeing that he wasn’t going to say anything else, Jason continued.

“Besides, even if you aren’t an angel, you’re our angel.” Jason lets Peter go from his side and uses his longer legs to stride in front of him, turning when he is to face Peter. He steps towards the shorter man, towering over him. Jason brings a hand up to Peter’s face and cradles his cheek in a calloused hand. Peter stays still, frozen at the contact. “Whether you like it or not.”

-----

“Tony!” Stephen yelled, bursting through his portal and into Tony’s bedroom. Tony blinks blearily before recognizing his husband and sitting up.

“Hey hon. What’s wrong?”

“I figured out where Peter is!” Tony’s eyes widened, now more awake than ever.

“What?! Where is he?!” Stephen shoves something into Tony’s hands. The genius looks down and squints in confusion.

“Why are you giving me a comic book?” Stephen pointed straight to the comic book, which was titled, “Batman: The Mafia-Verse.”

“He’s in there.” A pause of silence before Tony raises the book.

“Peter.” His husband nods.

“Yes.”

“Peter Parker.”

“Yes.”

“Is in a comic book?”

“Yup.” Another pause of silence.

“What the actual fuck?!” Stephen nodded sagely.

“Wait until you read it.” His husband looks at him weird.

It took Tony ten minutes to read to the stopping point.

“OH HELL NO!”

-----

The bad news came in the morning. Jim Gordon, with tears streaming down his face, came knocking on Wayne Manor’s door. Bruce opened it.

“Jim?!” He reacts with shock and concern for his old friend. “What’s wrong?!” The police commissioner of Gotham City collapses into Bruce’s arms, clutching at shoulders awkwardly but too overcome with grief to notice.

“Babs-” he gasped out, voice hoarse, “she’s in the hospital.” Bruce’s blue eyes widened.

By then, Peter had heard the commotion from his bedroom (now separate from Harley’s) and came rushing down to be greeted by the sight of the sobbing commissioner.

“Commissioner Gordon! What happened?”

“He got to her! She’s in the hospital! And Harley! Oh Harley!” Peter’s blood froze, and his ears pounded. In the background, he could hear multiple footsteps rushing towards them. Peter surged forward.

“Jim! Jim! What happened to Harley?!” Jim could barely get his words through, but eventually could.

“Harley. She’s-” a gasp, “gone.” Another gasp. “The Joker. He took her.”

Previous: Part 5

Next: Part 7

[roggenmuhme]

Strawberry Colada

The Pearls x Reader Summary: You get drunk and your unsuspecting gem girlfriends have to deal with it. There's always a first time for everything, right? [A series of short one-shots/Human Antics series] Wordcount: 2.3k

I hope this whole collection isn’t too ‘out there’ for you to enjoy, a lovely person on discord had this prompt idea and it … just took over. I legit couldn’t stop thinking about this, so here goes nothing. So far I have Jasper, Bismuth and the Diamonds planned; if you have any input/ideas, I’d be glad to hear them! (But I can't promise anything, some characters are incredibly hard for me to write unfortunately) As always, feel free to contact me for anything really - imbutahumblefarmer#5583 on discord! Also tumblr is being weird with the format again - can also be read here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23864869/chapters/57363457

Warning: Detailed descriptions of nausea, along with the more uncomfortable feelings of being drunk. Be careful, please (no vomiting)

Dedicated to that one time I fell asleep cuddling a clorox bottle. The hot, humid air around you quickly became overwhelming as you pushed past a couple standing irritatingly close to the exit. Your hand clenched around your smartphone, the only thing grounding your upset stomach right now. You definitely had had one shot too many with your friends an hour earlier and the wild dancing afterwards didn’t help either. As you fought to keep the bile down, you swore off Jägermeister for at least a month. Pushing open the heavy, black door, you greedily breathed in the cold air. It felt almost as good as the ice-cold glass of water you had downed minutes ago, a desperate attempt to keep the nausea at bay. Stumbling away from the entrance, you hastily looked around, searching for any sign of your girlfriends. You had texted them fifteen minutes back, when it became obvious to you that you had to end the night early, too sick to continue. They had answered in seconds, you knew how vigilantly Pink Pearl watched her phone (she had been enamored with the device ever since she got it, because it meant constant and fast communication with you) and now all you had to do was wait for them. Easier said than done, in your drunken stupor all of your thoughts flew to your gut, you knew you had to keep moving or else its contents would soon find another home on the streets - and you hated vomiting.

Pacing around in front of the dimly lit club entrance, the dulled bass soon blended into the background and seconds turned into hours. You cursed yourself for being so careless with alcohol this time, falling victim to the peer pressure of your friends. In the end, it was your fault for accepting too many drinks and you knew tomorrow wouldn’t be fun. But right now, you had different problems on your hand. Just as you were about to check your messages once more, someone yelled out your name as if it wasn’t two in the morning and they hadn’t seen you just hours ago. Quick steps followed and soon an enthusiastic Pink hugged you from behind, her arms digging into your stomach. As much as you wanted to appreciate the sweet gesture, you nearly expelled  your hearty dinner in that moment. “H-hey”, you croaked, slowly turning your head to meet a loving gaze. “C-could you let me go?” In an instant her arms were gone and she appeared next to you, a sweet smile on her face. “Hey!” You tried to reciprocate her grin, but it looked rather pained. Somebody pointedly cleared their throat behind you and you didn’t have to turn around to know who the culprit was. Although you were slightly compromised right now, you still made a show out of turning around slowly, clearly trying to annoy Yellow Pearl. When you finally faced both Blue and Yellow, the latter rolled her eyes at your antics, but you knew she didn’t really mean it. Blue Pearl promptly rushed over to you to greet you with a gentle hug, her voice nearly too quiet to be picked up by your abused ears. “I’m so glad you want to go home so early.” You forgot your upset stomach for a moment as you patted her back, melting into her touch. It was adorable how they all missed you the instant your back was out of the door, even grouchy Yellow. Said gem brought you back to reality with a snide comment, one hand touching her chin. “You look absolutely disheveled, what have you been doing?”, she leaned in to inspect you closer, only to recoil in horror. “Stars, you reek!”, her tone was seriously offended, her face scrunched up as she blinked rapidly. “Oh...”, was all you could muster, suddenly aware of you unkempt your whole presence was. A wave of nausea forced the thought into the background, a hand flying to your mouth as your cheeks comically puffed out. “Oh no”, Blue put a hand on your shoulder, as did Pink. With two concerned pearls to either side of you, you only managed to blurt out a ‘let’s go’, hoping you’d make it to your apartment without any accidents. As you tried to power-walk your way back home, the alcohol hit you once again, making you stagger with each step. Blue and Pink stabilized you with a surprisingly firm grip (sometimes you forgot how strong they could be despite of their slender builds) while Yellow took the lead, arms crossed behind her back, throwing you a glance every couple of minutes.The silence was overbearing and your mind too focused on that dreadful feeling in your gut. You couldn't take it any longer.

"Please…", you huffed out. "Tell me something. Talk to me."

Next to you, Pink piped up, her voice excited. "Blue and I made a batch of your favorite cookies!"

An image of said cookies flashed through your head and your stomach turned at the thought. As much as you loved a homemade batch, food was the least appealing thing you could imagine right now.

You made the most disgraceful gurgling sound. "About anything else, please? No food, I beg of you…", you heaved out.

Pink let out a surprised noise, seemingly at loss for words. Even in your inebriated state you could feel the guilt creeping up, they had no clue what you were going through (not that you could explain it right now, anyway) and were just trying to help you. “Ugh”, you tried talking through a surge. “S-sorry, I can tell you why tomorrow, but I’m j-just not up to speed.” Blue clutched your left arm a little harder and Yellow looked at you a little longer than necessary. Yes, they were definitely worried for you. “B-but it’ll pass”, you took a deep breath. “Promise!” Pink gave you a small smile at that, but you could still see concern in her eyes. You owed them a detailed explanation tomorrow. The chatter picked back up, Yellow and Pink taking turns. One was more or less bickering, the other eagerly talking about the evening they had spent without you. Blue practically hang from your arm, slightly massaging your tense muscles when she felt another tremor working its way through you. You got accustomed to walking after a while, your overloaded brain phasing in and out of the situation. When you finally arrived at home, it felt like you had teleported to the location. Your aching feet told you otherwise. To your amazement, the nausea had died down a bit, probably due to time and fresh air. You’re were still hammered though.

As the Pearls ushered you as quietly as possible into your shared apartment, you could feel the exhaustion creeping up your eyes instead. Your walk became even more sluggish, you barely managed to kick off your shoes (much to the displeasure of Yellow, who gave you an indignant sigh) and you blindly wobbled to your bedroom, all three of them following you. As you simply face-planted into the incredibly soft bedding, Yellow was getting winded. “No, no, no!”, she picked you up by the back of your shirt, hauling you back into consciousness. “You’ll ruin the sheets.” Struggling to find your footing, she only released your top after you were out of the door, the soft giggling of Blue and worried gaze of Pink following you. After closing the bathroom door forcefully behind you, she left you alone. Now it was only you and your haggard reflection in the mirror. “Goodness”, you steadied yourself on the sink while you poked your eye bags. You looked very… unfavorable, to say the least. Nothing a full night of sleep couldn’t fix, though. Sighing, you sat down on the toilet lid to wrestle yourself out of your clothing - all those zippers and hooks had been easier to put on a couple of hours ago. Somewhere during the struggle - probably between wiggling out of your socks and fighting with some knots in your hair, your eyes simply clamped shut. You fell asleep then and there, outfit still on, slouched on the toilet seat. After ten minutes of no noise - especially not the tinkling of the shower head -  Yellow decided to check up on you, the other two in tow. As the three of them peered into the bathroom, Yellow had to suppress a groan at your sight, while the Pink and Blue laughed silently. Rolling her eyes, she strode up to you, lightly touching your shoulder, trying to wake you up. Your head lolled back in response, eyes flickering open for a moment, promptly closing again. She tapped your chest with her index finger once, as if to chastise you. “You should feel honoured that you’re my human”, her voice was barely above a whisper as she lifted you up with a sour expression, the others quick to help her. Together, they carried you back into the bedroom, freeing you of your restrictive clothing. Pink and Blue quickly found their usual places right next to you, cuddling up to you with ease. Your subconscious made you curl into the both of them, Pink lovingly stroking your hair away from your face. Yellow sat on the edge of the mattress, frowning while she watched the three of you. “Why don’t you join us?”, Blue’s voice was hushed, trying not to wake you up. Yellow raiser her chin in response. “And dirty myse-” She didn’t get to finish that sentence as your hand shot up and pulled her towards the cuddle pile with an iron grip. “C’mere.” She squealed in surprise, face immediately on fire. After a minute of adjusting herself, she eventually settled into a comfortable position and reluctantly drifted off, as did the others. You woke up to the sound of soft breathing and an unfamiliar pressure on your stomach. Looking down, you first saw Blue resting on your chest and further down a lightly snoring Yellow. Pink’s face was nestled in the left side of your hair, her breath warming your scalp. Groaning as quietly as you could, you strained your neck to take a look at the time, only to be greeted by Blue’s head shooting up, a tired smile on her lips. “Morning”, you grinned at her, promptly pressing your hand against your mouth. You had the most terrible morning breath, even you could smell yourself. A wave of humiliation washed over you, along with an agonizing headache. She only giggled and pressed a kiss to your forehead instead, then quickly got up to wake the others. After Yellow basically propelled herself out of bed in shock and Pink finally (after many gentle words and loving touches) was ready to let go of you, you were forced to take a shower and brush your teeth, no matter how bad the headache was. To Yellow’s credit, you did feel better after getting clean. The sun was still painfully bright and your head wasn’t done with throbbing to the beat of some imaginary techno tune, but you felt like you could at least stomach some food now. The smell of your favorite breakfast hit you as soon as you left the bathroom, guiding you to the kitchen, where an excited Pink Pearl prepared a hefty plate for you and Yellow and Blue sat at the kitchen table, a hushed conversation going on between the two. As soon as Yellow caught your eye, she crossed her hands over her chest, her voice shrill in annoyance.  “Well, why didn't you tell us you were drunk?”

"Uhm…", you blinked at her for a second, a bit lost. "I thought you weren't familiar with the concept and I swear I didn't plan to escalate like this yesterday. I'm so sorry."

You looked down to your hands, nervously fiddling around with the hem of your shirt. It wasn't like you were lying, in all your excitement you had forgotten to warn them - going out was such a normal thing in life and you weren't usually one to get that wasted. This didn't absolve you of your guilt at all, you had probably scared the ever-loving shit out of them still. They were a trusting bunch that believed you when you told them something - that was perhaps why they hadn't fussed over you yesterday. You had assured them that everything had been alright, after all. Pink sat the plate down at your usual place, a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

"We know you didn't mean to hurt us. But we were worried!"

You said nothing, your face hot with shame, hands now tightly clutching your shirt. “Come, sit down”, Pink lightly pushed you towards the table and you reluctantly plopped down, your non-dominant hand immediately clasped by Blue. She gently stroked it with her thumb, a gesture of reassurance. It helped a bit. Yellow rolled her eyes at your sorry form. “Stars, you are so dramatic!” “It really isn’t much of a problem”, Blue piped up next to you. “Just tell us next time, okay?” One shy glance at each of them later, you reluctantly nodded. “I’m still sorry I fucked up.” “It’s okay”, Pink giggled a bit at your puppy eyes. “I think you’re paying enough already.” As if to illustrate her point, your head throbbed once again. “...Maybe.” As you finally dug in, one last thought got the better of you. Something didn’t really add up here."Wait - how did you know I was drunk?", you asked perplexed, the fork in your hand coming to a grinding halt. Yellow didn't say anything, she grabbed something from her lap instead: Pink's smartphone, cluttered with a million stickers. Holding it between her index finger and her thumb, she began to waggle it in a 'gotcha' motion, her face the ultimate deadpan. The google logo was displayed on screen."You know, your human communication devices aren't that bad after all."

[drowning-in-dennor]

Where We Belong

Going to high school as the new kid isn’t easy, but luckily for Harald, he manages to find someone to help him survive the experience. [Written for @hetabang, with art drawn by @pixeltalia.]

Part One: Gratitude

  For the millionth time, Harald reminds himself to thank his brother.

  When they got the news of Stellan’s promotion, Harald thanked him once for putting food on their table. When they moved, he thanked him a second time for getting them a place to live. And now, as he stares up at his new school building, Harald’s just about ready to pull out his new cell phone, text his brother and spam him with “thank you”’s until he gets blocked.

  Filios International School, the plaque reads, nailed to the iron-wrought gates of the school campus, and it doesn’t take a genius to know, with one look, that the place isn’t somewhere just anyone can get into. 

  Oh, but Harald did. He remembers passing the entrance exam, though barely so, and getting his admission letter. Stellan ruffled his hair and smiled the day they got the news, saying, “a brand new start for the two of us.”

  It’s not until somebody clears their throat behind him does Harald stop staring up at the campus and actually start walking inside, following groups of his classmates into the grand school building. 

  The interior of the school is just as extravagant as its exterior, with winding staircases that lead up to classrooms with elegantly-carved doors. On the first floor, Harald looks around him, seeing walls adorned with vibrant murals; the floor, mosaicked with hundreds upon hundreds of tiny tiles; the ceiling, made of glass and allowing sunlight to shine in and bathe the school in its golden light. 

  Everywhere Harald looks, students are milling around. Some of them shriek as they reunite with old friends, some of them walk hand-in-hand with lovers and some lean against the wall, checking their cell phones.

  As he looks at his classmates, most of them walking upstairs and disappearing down corridors, Harald realises that he has no idea what he’s supposed to be doing. Awkwardly, Harald trails behind a group of girls up the stairs. There, the two carved-glass doors that stand in front of them turn out to be common rooms - one for girls, and one for boys.

  Harald pushes the one on the left open, stepping inside to see some boys lounging around on plush-looking armchairs, some of them rummaging for books in lockers and some of them reading at desks. He approaches the left wall, filled from ceiling-to-floor with locker cubicles, and pushes his half-empty backpack into the one labelled with his name.

  After that’s done, he stares around the common room, thinking, well, the hell do I do now? He settles for leaning against the lockers, trying to look as confused as possible and hoping someone takes pity on him.

  Ten minutes later, when half the boys have left the common room for their classes, Harald’s still leaning against the wall and feeling even more baffled than before.

  The bell chimes after five minutes, and the only boy left in the room shuts off his computer. Harald watches as his last hope to figure out his school picks up his folders, gets up from his seat and prepares to leave.

  Steeling his nerves, Harald decides to clear his throat and step away from the lockers. “Uh, excuse me?”

  Luckily, the boy turns around. “Yeah?”

  He fumbles for his timetable, stammering, “I’m in class 2B, and I’m not really sure where my classroom is, so, uh, do you mind telling me where to go?”

  The boy stares at him for a moment, before heading toward the door. Harald thinks that he’s doomed, before the boy says, looking back, “follow me.”

  Without a moment of hesitation, he scurries behind the boy and follows him down sunlit corridors, passing brightly-painted doors and blank bulletin boards, before they reach a blue door with “2B” painted on it with bright-yellow paint. “Here we are.”

  “Thank you so much.” Harald pushes the door open, relieved to find out that the teacher has yet to arrive. 

  The boy, however, marches in before him, past students who murmur greetings and kicking desks out of the way, before plopping down in a seat at the back. “Hey,” he calls, “what’re you waiting for?”

  Realising that he’s still standing agape at the doorway, Harald walks into the classroom, staring at the ground until he reaches the seat next to the boy’s. When he stares up at him, Harald adds, hurriedly, “wait, if you don’t want me sitting here I can mo — “

  “Nah.” The boy pulls his cell phone out of his pocket, fiddling with the shiny screen. “I can help you out in class, or something. What’s your name?”

  Stunned into silence, Harald pulls out his student card and shows it to the boy.

  “Okay.” The boy shrugs. “My name’s Leon. Nice to meet you, Haraldur.”

  “Harald,” he corrects, “just call me that.”

  Leon shrugs again, still typing rapidly on his cell phone. “Sure.”

  They remain in awkward silence for a while, and Harald’s about to say something when the teacher walks into the classroom.

…

  “How was class?”

  Harald stares at his lunch and replies, “good.”

  “Are the teachers nice?”

  “Mmhmm.”

  “You didn’t get lost, did you?”

  “Nope.”

  Stellan eyes his brother suspiciously over his cup of coffee. “You sure everything went okay?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “You’re giving me one-word answers.” He pokes Harald in the forehead.“When that happens, you’re usually upset about something.”

  “Well, I’m not.” Harald takes a sip of his water. “Things actually went better than I expected. I managed to make a new friend.”

  That gets Stellan’s attention. He leans in, clearly holding back a smile. “Really?”

  “Yes, really. I’m not that antisocial, y’know.” He rolls his eyes, though he’s smiling too. “He’s just some guy in my class. His name is Leon. And, uh,” he adds, “he spent most of the classes just using his phone under the desk.”

  “Really?” Stellan remarks again. “I hope he won’t be a bad influence.”

  “He won’t, he won’t,” Harald says quickly, “the teachers all seem okay with him. He let me sign up for theatre with him, too.”

  That gets his attention. “You’re already part of a club?”

  Harald almost laughs at his brother’s disbelieving expression. “Yep.”

  “You’re better than me, then. When I was in high school I spent all my time in the library.” Stellan gets out of his seat, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “My shift starts in fifteen minutes, so I have to go.” He heads towards the diner’s cashier, pulling notes out of his wallet. “Have fun in school.”

  As he watches him leave, Harald begins packing his bag, ready to follow.

Part Two: Guidance

  Harald glares at the angry red “F”.

  It seems to glare back.

  Leon slings an arm around his shoulders, waving his test paper that flaunts a bold “A”. “Failed again?”

  “Don’t rub it in, idiot.” Harald elbows his friend in the gut and stuffs the test paper at the back of his folder. “I suck at Chinese, I get it.”

  “Why did you pick it, then?”

  “I didn’t have a choice!” He scowls. “I wanted to pick Farsi, but they were full and I got tossed here.”

  “This is, like, the third time you’ve flunked a quiz,” Leon says, “don’t you think that you need to change the way you study or something?”

  The suggestion is met with a deepened scowl. “I’ve tried that.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes!” Harald snaps, though he instantly regrets the outburst. Leon pats him on the shoulder and tugs at his frown, clearly still glowing over his good grade. Harald lets him mess with his face, not in the mood to yell any more.

  “Yo.”

  “Hmm?”

  “You need help in Chinese.”

  “Clearly.”

  “I have an idea.”

  “That’s never a good thing.”

  He thumps Harald on the back. “Shut up. As I was saying, I have an idea to help you bring up your Chinese grades.”

  Harald raises an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”

  “I was thinking that I could tutor you.” It’s clear from the expression on his face that he thinks it’s an excellent idea.

  “That’s a terrible idea.”

  Leon frowns. “Why, though? I’m practically at the top of the class, and I’m your friend.”

  “My only friend.”

  “I’m your friend,” he insists, “and I want to help you out. So why don’t you come over to my place after school so I can help you out?”

  He takes a moment to think of a rebuttal to that. He can’t. “Okay, okay, fine,” Harald finally says, “you can extend your goodwill to this illiterate, pitiful fool.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up about it,” Leon reassures, although he’s grinning triumphantly. “You’re not pitiful, just illiterate.”

  “Wow, thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” Leon teeters back in his seat, lolling his head back. “I’m an amazing person, I know.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Thanks for reminding me that I have a presumptuous asshead as my best friend.”

   “Any time.” Leon’s widened grin is annoyingly bright.

…

  Two hours later, in Leon’s apartment, Harald begins to regret his decision.

  His friend is clearly having too much fun showing off, bringing out his old Chinese textbooks from primary school and loudly proclaiming, “this is the stuff I learned in my first year of primary school. Maybe they can help.”

  He glares at the textbooks, covered almost condescendingly in bright colours, bubbly fonts and cheerful characters. He flips the textbook open. The overly-large characters printed on glossy papers are barely recognisable.

  “Is that still too hard for you?”

  “Shut up, I’m already really embarrassed.”

  “Why?” Leon sits down next to him, slamming down a packet of manuscript paper. “There’s no shame in having trouble learning a language.” He shrugs. “Hell, when we first moved here I could barely speak English, and look at me now.”

  He throws his hands up in the air. “You don’t speak with an accent. I have an accent in both English and Chinese!”

  “But there’s nothing wrong with an accent! That just means that you went through the hard work of learning a new language.” Harald jumps when Leon grabs his hand, squeezing it gently. “Look, I’m sorry for being an ass about your grades. You’re stuck with this language, so you might as well be good at it. I can help you with that.”

  Harald shakes his hand off. “Right, okay, whatever. Where do we start?”

  Leon grabs the nearest textbook, which appears to be targeted toward six-year-olds. Harald does his best to not feel even more embarrassed. “This one, probably. You’re not too bad with the basics.”

  “You overestimate my skills.”

  “Come on, you’re not that bad.” Leon flips the textbook open and yanks out a piece of manuscript paper. “I’ve seen worse.”

  “Very reassuring.”

  “I’ve seen waaaaaay worse, trust me.” He points to the passage. “Now, let’s start.”

…

  “I think we made pretty good progress today.” 

  “I feel less illiterate.”

  “See?” Leon crosses his arms, that perpetually victorious expression on his face even more so. “You’re not terrible at this, you just needed a little push in the right direction.”

  Harald smiles a little, gathering his notes and stuffing them in his bag. “Thanks, Leon. Really.”

  “Hey, no problem.” He winks, stacking up the textbooks and hefting them up. “D’you want to meet up again next week?”

  “Sure.” He slings his bag over his shoulder and begins heading toward the door, raising a hand in a wave. “See you next time.”

  Leon waves. “Bye.”

…

  The next few lessons fly by, copyings and recitations making Harald even more familiar with the language. He stops getting zeros on his homework, discussions in class become less awkward and he stops being miserable while staring at his textbook. 

  After another successful tutoring session, Harald prepares to leave when he remembers something. “Oh, crap.”

  Leon looks up from tidying up his desk. “What is it?”

  “My brother’s working overtime today.” He claps his palm to his forehead, looking at the darkening sky from out the window. “He won’t get home until ten o’clock.”

  “Oh, that’s fine.” Leon shoves the pile of textbooks and exercise books into a drawer. “You can stay for dinner.”

  Harald stares at him in disbelief. “I can what?”

  “Stay for dinner,” he repeats, “Yao can cook for you, too.”

  “No, no, I can’t, I’ll just go to the diner.”

  He grabs Harald’s wrist, making him jump about a foot in the air. “Like hell you are. If you eat all that greasy diner food, you’ll get heart disease and die at age twenty-one.” Leon pauses. “Gosh, I sound like my brothers. But anyway, you’re going to stay for dinner.”

  “I — “ he sighs, sharply elbowing Leon in the ribs. “Okay. I’ll stay. Only this time, though.”

…

  More lessons, more improvement. Then one day, their teacher announces the arrival of a dreaded event — another quiz. Harald jots down the date in his planner, then the syllabus. It’s nothing that he and Leon haven’t covered, nothing that they’ve reviewed over and over again, but he can’t help feeling nervous.

  After school, he takes the familiar route to Leon’s apartment, tossing his now-enormous folder of notes and textbook onto the table. Leon flops down, puffing his bangs away from his eyes. “The quiz is going to be so easy.”

  “For you, maybe.” Harald pulls out a blank sheet of manuscript paper. “For me, it’s going to be a one-way ticket to failure.” He writes down the title with a little more force than necessary. “That is, assuming I’m not there already.”

  “Hey, you’ll be fine. As long as you study enough and remember what we went over, you won’t fail.” Very unhelpfully, Leon adds at the end, “hopefully.”

  “I just love how reassuring you are.”

  “I love me, too.” He leans over to look at Harald, who’s jotting down notes of the first few chapters of his textbook. “But really, don’t worry about it. If you take the quiz all nervous and stuff, you’ll make a ton of careless mistakes.”

  He has a point. Harald flips the page of his textbook, perhaps a little too violently, and blots out a mistake. The blue ink smudges when his hand brushes over it. Leon sits down next to him, reading a bright, garish comic book. Harald tries to ignore his whistling, at how at-ease he seems despite the upcoming assessment.

  An hour and a half later, his hand cramping and four pages of notes packed with his writing, Harald gets up and packs. When he bends down to pick up his bag, pain shoots through his back and he winces. Across the table, Leon glances at him. “Really?”

  “What do you mean, really?”

  “Your back hurts, doesn’t it?” Leon stands up, tossing his comic book onto the table and scooping up Harald’s bag for him. “And I’m pretty sure your hand’s cramping, too. You have to take breaks sometimes, or you’re going to burn up.”

  “Okay, Mom.” He stretches again, picking up his bag and walking away. “I’ll take care of myself or something. See you.”

…

  Leon tilts back in his head so his head rests on Harald’s desk. “So how do you think you did?”

  “I have no clue.” He pokes Leon’s forehead, then his nose, watching as his friend grows cross-eyed. “I just hope I passed.”

  “That’s no good, you should give yourself higher standards.”

  Harald prods him again. “I’ve never passed before, give me a break.”

  “I guess.” At the front of the classroom, the teacher calls Leon’s name. He saunters confidently toward them, taking his test paper and staring at the results nonchalantly. 

  When it’s Harald’s turn to get his test paper, he folds the corner over the red letter, waiting until he gets back to his seat to read them. Once he sits down, he unfolds the cease and looks down.

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “What?” Leon turns around to look at his test paper. “How did you do?”

  “I passed!” Harald shows him his test paper and the C+ on it, fighting a smile. “I actually passed, holy crap, this is amazing.” He sets down his paper before deciding to hug Leon. “Thanks for helping me out.”

  Squeezing him back, Leon smiles.

[pollylynn]

All in the Family—Chalk Talk, Chapter 2: A Two-Shot Caskett Future Fic

Title: All in the Family—Chalk Talk, Chapter 2 WC: 1700

A/N: Can’t sleep. Sad about John Prine. And so an aimless ending.

He has been banished—absolutely banished—from the big bedroom and the surrounding areas. In fact, he is not even allowed on the second floor.  The Mad One insists on Mama, no substitutes, no intruders, if anything resembling normal bed time rituals are to be observed. And he’s fine with that. 

He’s mostly fine with that, except Alexis isn’t going to make it tonight, and she probably will only be able stay the afternoon tomorrow. Even his mother has, of course, gotten held up in the city, so the Official Summer in the Hamptons Kickoff Weekend is slow to get started. 

He’s mostly just feeling sorry for himself for the look of it, though. He’s pleasantly tired with sun and fruity rum drinks—with having a four year old—and he’s glad of the quiet time. And, of course, he loves how entirely Madeleine worships Kate. He revels in every mannerism she picks up from her mother, and he thinks a thousand times a day how lucky he got this time around. 

The only thing—the only thing—he would change about raising Alexis would be to spare her the pain of Meredith’s vagaries. And here, now, feeling sorry for himself just for the look of it, he thinks for the thousand-and-first time today how lucky he got this time.  

It carries him to the French doors standing half open. He looks up at a sky that’s darkening fast. There looks to be a good summer storm rolling in over the water. He can hear Madeleine’s shrieks—happy shrieks, he’s pretty sure—echoing around the master bath, overhead, and Kate’s response to his Do you need an exit? text was a video close-up of the two of them in close-up reminding him NO BOYS ALLOWED. 

It’s been a good day—a lovely day lolling on the giant, sun-baked chalkboard, then slipping into the cool water, only to hoist themselves back up a while later to press their shivering skin into the pleasant warmth of that black, black expanse. 

And they have high hopes for some sleep tonight. Madeleine has to have run the equivalent of a marathon around the edge of the pool to demonstrate her cannon ball, her jackknife, her recently-invented Pony Dog, which mostly involves a kind of gallop, then a spin, then the biggest splash possible. She has done her level best to talk herself out entirely with  mile-a-minute stories, each one illustrated, about her friends at school, most of whom seem to be named Mabel, except for the occasional Braden, Jaden, Caiden, or some other random consonant stapled to a long A sound and a final N. 

She has his gift for character and shameless embellishment, but it’s interesting—it’s interesting—the way she’s into people lately. Heliotrope and Jacquard haven’t gone anywhere—they’re often minor players in her tales from the schoolyard—but they’re definitely more on the back burner than they were even a month ago. 

She’s curious about real people, from her teachers to their neighbors to her friend’s families. She’s nosy and insightful and loves knowing things no one else knows. He hopes she’s destined to be either a writer or a cop, because otherwise she might grow up to be a super villain. 

The first flash of lighting comes as he stands there thinking it would actually be pretty cool to have a super villain in the family. The swipe of its blue-white tongue over the world stirs him. He waits for the thunder and tries to recall if there’s anything out by the pool or on any of the porches that absolutely needs battening down. He’s just stepping through the doors to check when another light—another two lights—sweep across the the glass of  the doors. 

There’s whispering behind him, stage and otherwise. There are giggles and a general air of furtiveness infiltrates the room. He pivots toward the interior of the study and catches them—two very stealthy figures in trench coats. Madeleine apparently has a tiny, devastatingly cute little belted trench coat, and the hem of her Princess Leia nightie is peeking out beneath. To complete the look, they’re each carrying a flashlight. 

“What’s all this then?” he says gruffly, dropping into character with an alacrity that would do his mother proud. “Bedtime violations? I thought we had . . . an understanding.” “It’s a mission,” Madeleine says sternly. “Me and Mama are on it.” 

“A mission,” he nods gravely. “And here I thought this was nothing more than a very tired little girl up past her bed time.” 

“Special circumstances,” Kate’s whisper is conspiratorial. It’s for Madeleine’s benefit, but the look she gives him over the girl’s head suggests there’s something afoot. “The storm—“ 

“Thunderstorm,” Madeleine interjects. 

“Right, baby.” Kate gets a heavy look from her daughter, who is not a baby. He gets a look in turn when he can’t quite stifle a laugh. “We’re going to say goodnight to our friends so they’re not scared about the the thunderstorm.” 

“Our chalk friends,” he says, thinking he begins to see the trouble. It’s one thing for the Mad One herself to happily slop pails of pool water on to one chalk scenario and begin anew; it’s quite another for any of the Mabels, any of the long A, final N crowd to disappear in the rain. “Yes.That’s a good plan,” he finishes, hoping Kate actually has a plan. 

She has a plan, of course, because he’s struck it lucky. He’s allowed to join the mission—after he finds a coat to put on, of course. It’s an old, army green rain poncho he finds in a closet he can’t actually remember ever opening before. Madeleine is disdainful until he produces a heavy Maglite she badly wants to carry. She’s on the verge of another nervous breakdown, but Kate pulls the situation out of the fire. 

“He’s our minion, Mad One.” She drops to one knee and pulls Madeleine into a side bar. “That means he has to carry all our stuff.” 

“Mission minion,” she crows, delighted by the internal alliteration. 

The two of them creep through the doors first. Madeleine tiptoes with about as much stealth as Inspector Clouseau. Kate follows her lead, biting down hard on her lip to keep from laughing. He brings up the rear, lighting a wide arc at their bare feet. 

They flatten their backs to the high wooden gate, then dart from column to column. Madeleine keeps an exaggerated lookout for sneak thieves and curious bunnies and a host of other old friends and foes of Heliotrope and Jacquard. Kate takes her hand as they reach the edge of the chalkboard paint. 

“Are we ready to say goodnight?” she asks gamely, though they hardly need the flashlights to see the girl’s lip quivering and the tears shimmering in her eyes. 

“I don’t want my friends to go,” Madeleine wails. She presses her face into the silvery grey skirts of Kate’s trench coats. “I don’t want my story to go.” 

He steps tentatively into the fray, poncho flapping noisily as the wind gets serious about kicking up. He weighs his options and sets the Maglite on its heavy end, pointing up at the three of them. 

“Hey.” He reaches gently for her shoulder, persisting when she clings tighter to her mother. “Can I tell you a story about stories?” 

“NO!” The word rings out. Mere fabric is no match for the Mad One’s lung capacity. 

“Okay, then. I’ll tell Mama a story about stories.” 

Kate gives him a wry look that conveys a wealth of feelings about this prospect. But lightning jolts the sky, and this is where they are. Kate gives him a Go on shrug, so he does. 

“Mama, do you know how when we go to work—” 

“Daddy doesn’t go to work,” Madeleine can’t resist the tearful interjection. “Daddy stays in jammy pants.” 

Kate’s shoulders shake with laughter. He sticks out his tongue at her and begins again. 

“Mama, you know how when I sometimes go to your work—”

“Not in jammy pants,” she interjects.

“Not in jammy pants, because Mama is a mean Captain,” he adds, even though it’s guaranteed to set Madeleine off again. It does. She howls that Mama is not mean. Her chest heaves, and he relents. “Not because Mama is mean. Because Mama’s work has uniforms. And we tell stories on a big board just like this one.” 

“We do,” Kate picks up the thread. She gives him a look that’s a little sad, because the Board is an infrequent indulgence for both of them these days. “We write and we write and we have pictures.” 

“What kinda pictures?” She tugs at Kate’s coat. “Mama, what kinda?” 

“Oh . . . people and places and . . . pretty jewelry sometimes,” she improvises, looking a little desperate. He sympathizes. All he can think of is bloody implements and scar-faced criminals at the moment.

“But when Mama solves the case—and Mama always solves it—” he reaches down and retrieves the Maglite, “Whoosh!” He sweeps the beam across the black surface, lighting up the purples and pinks and vivid greens for just an instant. Lighting up the curly hair and the triangle dresses, and the lopsided globe on the six-legged desk. “Whoosh! We say goodbye so we can start a new story.” 

“I wanna new story,” she says uncertainly. “For tomorrow. New story.” 

“That’s what we’ll do then.” Kate reaches a hand down to stroke the tear-stained cheek. “Tomorrow—all day—we’ll do all new stories.” 

“But we have to say goodnight to this one.” He steps closer to the two of them. “We can get your pail and Whoosh! Or the thunderstorm can go Whoosh!” He slides an arm around Kate’s waist and makes Madeleine wriggle by tickling under her chin. “Which one, Mad One?” 

She thinks about it long enough that the rain starts to fall in big fat drops. Kate leans against him, her fingers clutching his where they rest on her hip. 

“Flashlight Whoosh!” Madeleine says at last, as she tilts the beam of her own flashlight crazily across her canvas. “Flashlight and thunderstorm. Whoosh!” 

A/N: Aimless.