#plus i keep feeling a sense of dread so i just continue lying down

[duoduotian]

it's so frustrating living with misophonia especially when the person that is causing the sound you hate, is aware you don't like hearing it and still do it. :) for me, i immensely dislike tv volume higher than usual range when no one is watching the tv. just turn it off it's not that hard lmaooo

[shoichee]

teiko manager anon back ~ my juicy part 2 will disappoint bc guess what: we're skipping two years into the future. akashi never found out what happened, and by third year the gom were the epitome of cruelty. so reader picks a fight with them after meiko game, only to collapse out of stress after. they graduate, she follows kuroko to seirin and they train to defeat gom. but why is she so insecure and easily sad when gom is mentioned? they get their answer when they catch her overworking

oh teiko anon, so so bold.... really out here stirring the pot of chaos with this part 2 huh KEK alright folks BUCKLE IN YOUR SEATBELTS IT”S TIME FOR PART 2 and part 1 is right here ! part 3 will be here ! update: part 4 is here !

Akashi x Reader

Part 2

[Teiko!manager Headcanons]

remember how I said in part 1 how Akashi would find out sooner or later? this would normally be the case, but in this exception…

you came back to school pretty quickly and restored, only to be in shock when Akashi himself confronts you about where you’ve been… like hello? YOUR CRUSH?? is? talking? to you? about your wellbeing?

here’s the thing, Akashi can easily detect lies through body language because he has an extraordinary sense of kinetic vision and critical thinking, but he’s still a human, not to mention… a middle schooler, and he’s not a true mind reader as some teammates would wholeheartedly believe

still, after some easy sleuthing he easily drew out confessions from some teammates who badmouthed you, although every single one were some type of half-truths and inconsistent testimonies that didn’t really make sense in painting a big picture

instead of incorrectly assuming things, he wanted to hear what’s been going on from your own mouth (keep in mind, this is still Oreshi, the guy who’s still cordial and wants to confirm this with you out of respect)

when he asks you some questions, he doesn’t detect any physical signs of lying from you, which only makes him believe that there wasn’t anything wrong to begin with other than you being under the weather and the other teammates saying utter nonsense either out of fear in his presence or using you as a scapegoat to cover up other delinquencies that he may have yet to discover

“(l/n)-san, I take it that you’ve been resting well? I heard from Kuroko that you were absent due to the seasonal flu.”

“Ah, y-yes! I’ve actually gotten plenty of rest and proper meals, so I’m back on my feet quicker than expected.”

“I actually also wanted to ask you something, if you don’t mind?”

“What is it?”

“Has anything odd happening to you lately? Anyone who has given you trouble or has been uncooperative with you as head manager as of late?”

at the question, you only frown in genuine confusion before you answer no; you genuinely believed that these teammates weren’t in the wrong for “speaking their mind” and if anything, you felt like you were the problem in not being capable enough in managing your own job and your health in the process (despite being knowledgeable in health yourself)

because Akashi saw that you weren’t lying, he dropped it completely out of respect and asked you that if there was anything troubling you that you could reach out to him

oh how he was so, so close to finding out the truth

this wouldn’t be brought up ever again because you and Akashi only continued to grow busier and busier with your own duties; eventually, your fears came true when the Generation of Miracles had in fact “left” you behind when their talents blossomed too fast and left unchecked

honestly, you developed a horrible habit of overworking despite Kuroko’s and Kise’s constant checks on you

what do you know? of course the coaches and faculty members would ignore your opposition against putting the GoMs in every game; after all some of them had been quite dismissive of you already

it’s kind of ironic because if Bokukashi was the one interrogating you back then, he would’ve either easily (correctly) assume based off of the teammates’ testimonies alone, or he’d be a lot more insistent in discerning the truth of the situation and nipping it right in the bud to stop the “nonsense”

but at the same time, Bokukashi has a lot more pressing priorities than a few poor-attitude teammates when he has the entire reputation of Tekio’s legacy on his shoulders; anything pertaining to you never crossed his mind ever since his domineering side emerged

you were really excited for Kuroko since he was gushing about playing against his old friend, since his friend couldn’t make it to finals the first time // needless to say, you were also Kuroko’s mental support when he felt really down at that time

after Kuroko sustained an injury in the game before Meiko, you immediately accompanied him to the infirmary

there, Kuroko requests you to go watch the game and you only reluctantly agree because you wanted to see the game just to relay back to Kuroko just in case if he couldn’t make it, and you were still a manager with a job to fulfill; you’d figure leaving Momoi to watch over was sufficient enough

when you walk out the door though… you bump into Akashi, which is the first time in a while where you two were face-to-face like this; your heart sank when you realize that you had to accept the fact that he’s changed and allowed the distance to grow between you two

but a small part of denial makes you quickly turn and flee out the hallway, but you really begin to evaluate your crush on him as you scurry away; Akashi just stares at you for a moment before he enters into the infirmary where Kuroko is

you’ve distanced yourself from other people (GoMs in particular) in basketball out of denial of the fact you were really left behind (plus, you already dread attending to their games because it’s always a cruel reminder that you’re not working hard enough to achieve results of the same level), which is why reality slapped you in the face after the aftermath of the Meiko game… when you witnessed the full extent of their cruelty on the court

you were really hurt—in fact, you looked more distraught than the Meiko teammates themselves

especially, since the fact that Kise himself, who you thought of him as someone you can trust in, partook in this as well (this is actually your first time in seeing his cruel side in action, since he’s always been very sweet and helpful to you because he respects you)

you first confronted Kise when he was alone for a bit, sounding absolutely heartbroken and on the verge of tears; you shocked him out of his cold side and he immediately becomes a mother hen and asking if you needed water or a seat to calm down before you overexert yourself

after telling him your feelings about the game and your growing distance in the friendship, he sincerely apologizes for making you feel in such an awful way and tells you to let him know next time before a game, so that he wouldn’t suggest this type of entertainment for the game again.

you were in complete disbelief… the fact that your best friend suggested this himself? You dumbly asked for his reason, and he only says that you wouldn’t understand it because no one ever gives the GoM a proper challenge

even though he didn’t intend anything bad when he said this, it just made you feel worse, but you still accepted the apology to get it over with

the other GoMs come and you immediately become angry again and tension just skyrockets; Midorima simply looks away and says nothing, and Murasakibara and Aomine do most of the talking back/arguing… and Akashi only impassively stares at you

later, when Kuroko himself confronts them while everyone was walking in the hallway, you completely lagged behind on the group, tearfully staring at the backs of the GoMs and how you felt really alienated and unmotivated to continue being a manager for a team you don’t even recognize anymore

you grew dizzy again, and you knew your body was dealing with too much at once but you willed your body to at least last the trip

at least you gave a warning when you assumed that you were away from the GoMs at Teiko before you went unconscious; Kise happens to catch you before he brings you to the school infirmary

he does stay with you the entire time, knowing the reason for your collapse was all the extreme emotional and mental toll accumulated in such a short time; he feels absolutely guilty, and when you were about to stir awake, he simply leaves a lighthearted note and a cutely shaped bread before he leaves, knowing that you’d be stressed again if you saw him (around this time is when Kuroko confronts Akashi to quit the team, which is why he was nowhere near you at the time of your collapse/rest)

you felt better that at least Kise still sees you as a close friend when you see what he left behind

you still feel awful, to say the least

it felt wrong of you to quit mid-season, since you felt that you were simply giving up and further perpetuating the fact that you weren’t doing the most that you could

but you didn’t feel like staying for the rest of the season, so you decided to overwork yourself again to get the rest of the paperwork and training plans out of the way for the remainder of the games; you even left detailed instructions to Momoi in how to relieve certain pressure points and muscles for instant relief in case someone hurts themselves

a little timeskip where you decided to tag along Kuroko in attending Seirin High, but you were more reluctant in joining basketball again because you didn’t want to re-experience the stress and burdens in Teiko

well, until you made friends with Riko, and her story in how she was skeptical about basketball at first too inspires you to give it a try again

Kuroko feels really happy that you’re at ease again for the first time, but he definitely notices how you grow gloomy when the Seirin teammates praise the GoMs

you slowly relapse into the habit of overworking to “compensate” for your lack of contributions to Seirin’s team, but this time, every member DROPKICKS you to stop working and relax sometimes (Riko and Hyuuga are the main culprits)

even though you never tell them the reason for your poor habits, the Seirin team members just SENSE and KNOW what to say to make you feel like you’re doing more than enough to support the team in their own unique ways (Mitobe giving really cute shoulder pats and thumbs-ups… Koganei giving you slaps on the back and high-fives… Riko bluntly telling you to relax and giving you encouraging winks… Hyuuga being a roundabout in his praises… Teppei openly praising you… and Kagami telling you that you were doing too much LOL)

Kuroko gives you the SOFTEST SMILES (everyone freaks out every time he does that, it’s hilarious)

however, wounds slowly reopen more once again every time Seirin goes against schools that the respective GoM plays for

after every win Seirin achieves against the GoM’s respective school, each GoM would eventually learn a little tidbits here and there about your tendency to overwork and collapse and possible speculations of why, but you never confirm anything with them

even though you easily forgive Kise after the Seirin vs. Kaijo match (seeing how he interacted with Kagami and Kuroko in the park), for the others… you weren’t so ready to confront…

… particularly with Akashi

[jojoreadwhat]

lie  / h.s. x fem!reader • smut

where y/n has had enough of their “arrangement” and harry is unsure about his feelings.

words; 4k, this isn’t proofread and I’m sorry

warning; friends with benefits theme. angst, strong language, sexual content including handjob, oral(f!receiving) fingering, edging, penetrative sex. under final cut. then will be concluding with lots of fluff and aftercare. reader is advised

I listened to this

+

it was going on 3am and Harry was finally giving up on the idea of sleep.

he thought he would have fallen asleep by now after the day he had previously. jam packed with photoshoots, interviews, some time at the studio with Mitch and then ended the night with a party. it was seeming like the liquor he downed earlier on, coursing through his veins wasn’t ready to slow anytime soon yet. and he was over it. tossing and turning in his king sized bed since midnight. he sighed roughly to himself the moment his back met the mattress, lying there still now. defeated and annoyed, looking up at the clear, white ceiling above him. with his mind speckled in thought, the real reason why he wasn’t in a heavy slumber right now.

tonight wasn’t the first one without a good night of sleep. this was night five now. with you on his mind and not next to him. and it wasn’t because you miles apart from each other, on different sides of the earth no. you on his mind wasn’t something new or missing you either. but it was different this time around. when a few days ago, that all changed. when he let you walk out that door, because of him.

harry hasn’t seen you or heard from you for nearly a week now. since you stormed out of this room. he remembers the moment, so vividly. it hasnt left his brain, instead embedded itself to remind him of how much of an asshole he truly is. your naked frame scurrying around his room, picking up all your clothes scattered from the events that took place shortly before. with anger, embarrassment, the sadness that you contained by biting your bottom lip. after spilling your heart out to him, that you loved him. breaking the first rule to your arrangement.

you and harry had a very complicated friendship in the last eight months. at first it wasn’t, it was a very traditional one. both of you met at a mutual friends party a year earlier, hitting it off from the start and the rest became history. you two were inseparable, doing everything, literally, together. you were his date to most of his events, went on trips and getaways together, did mundane things like grocery shopping, which was always a experience. you both hung out all the time. smoking together most nights and playing records, while laying on his living room floor. talking about everything to anything. harry even gave you a key and your own spot in his dresser. you two were a dream team, the friendship that many aspired to have. the one that everyone was waiting to watch bloom into something more.

things changed out of the blue one night. you had come over, distraught over a guy that you were seeing for two months who wasn’t ready for anything to go further. Harry and you did the next best thing, passing a blunt back and forth among each other. lying on his living room floor, listening to fleetwood mac faintly in the background. talking over the worthless two months, the piece of shit of a guy Jared was and how finding love in this day and age just didn’t make sense. next thing you knew, Harry’s waist was wrapped in your legs, his weight heavy enough on you as he kissed you hard and long. your fingers twisted in his little dark brown curls at the back of his neck as pulled him back down to you. neither of you knew how it started, what made the sudden change but you never looked back.

this friends with benefits thing went on for eight months, filling in some void that you both were missing. it was great, really great. you had each other whenever you wanted. whatever how long you wanted. nobody knew about it as far as you know. you were careful, even when the need was necessary at strange times or at places other than both your beds. there was one time that harry flew you out to italy for a weekend for nothing but that (and you as a plus one at gucci) it was a weekend that neither of you would admit, still gave you both chills looking back. all around your arrangement worked, it wasn’t a disaster like some of the stories or movies told. it was perfect in every way.

until now. where you both were going through the longest drought to date and feelings were involved.

for harry, the night that you admitted how you felt for him after all this time. it wasn’t that he didn’t feel the same as you, he just wasn’t sure that he did. he needed you more than he realized, more then he wanted to believe. for a while now. he has been denying the change for so long that when he was faced with the reciprocation, he froze and put his guard up. but in all reality, he has been in love with you since the beginning of time.

you were his girl, his person. you knew him in and out, you didn’t care about his status or money. you treated him as harry. your best friend. his number one cheerleader. the hug he needed after a rough day. the laugh he wanted hear before he closed his eyes and when he woke up. the child like heart of yours as you sat in the cart, sneaking candy in the cashier line. the dance partner he needed in the early morning in the middle of the kitchen. his plus one that he was excited to have on red carpet with his arm around. the lips he wanted to kiss, all the time and not just in the moment. so soft and sweet against his. he wanted, needed everything before and after the arrangement. he needed you and he should’ve told you before letting you leave.

in a rush, harry threw his gray duvet off his shirtless himself, sitting up and standing out of his bed. not caring about his hair or the sleep deprivation evident on his face. he threw on his black hoodie, searching for his cream vans and heading down the hall to grab his keys to his Mercedes and out to the driveway he went. on his way to you.

——————————————————————————

not finding the ability to sleep. you were laying on your couch, lights off with only the blue light reflection off the tv screen while aimlessly watching a movie you didn’t catch the title to. this was becoming a ritual for the last few nights. awake past your usual time, feeling it hit hard in the morning. drinking the sleep you missed prior in a paper cup. overwhelmed with the same thoughts from morning to night. you huffed, having enough of it. hastily flicking off the tv by the remote before turning over on the couch, clutching the yellow throw to yourself and closing your eyes tight.

after no calls or texts, a clear indication that it was over. you were feeling like a fool on how much you allowed this to get to you. you shouldn’t be feeling this sad. you finally got your answer. you shouldn’t be missing him. you should be pissed off. mad. you should be going out with your friends and trying to find someone to forget the dreadful blissful months you endured. but you’re not. because you miss him. because you love him. everything little thing about him and he doesn’t feel the same. you’ve never felt so stupid in your life. so confused by everything.

none of it made sense. his response beat the shit out of you. you werent expecting him to love you back but at the same time, you knew there had to be something there. the way things were even when you weren’t tangled up in each other limbs, fucking like rabbits. harry gave you so much confidence that he was feeling the same way about you like you did for him. holding your hand in public, kissing in the most exposed places, never denying that you weren’t his girl when asked at events. instead, his grip on your waist would tighten. he would smile at you, kissing the top of your head. making sure you were okay at all times, keeping his focus on you no matter the situation. when you were alone, he would declare you as his all the time. every fiber of your skin he touched “all mine.” he would say, so low to hear but for your ears only. you wanted it all back. even if it was all for fun and games.

hypothetically kicking yourself for being so brave. for placing your heart on your sleeve for it only to be held by cheap thread. for wanting it back, for wanting to continue the charades because it’s better than nothing at all. you didn’t deserve that. you needed better. someone willing to give you that in reality and not only behind closed doors. someone who is lucky to have you at all times and not when its for a fixing.

you sighed to yourself, rolling back over to glance at your phone on the coffee table. bright in the darkened room, squinting to see, it read now quarter to 4am and you rolled your eyes. done with the fiddle faddle with your thoughts, you needed sleep and you were over allowing this situation to consume you further. rising from the couch, you wrapped the throw over your shoulders to protect you from the chill from here to your bedroom. looking around to make sure all was good before continuing on.

approaching the foyer of where your staircase and living room entrance met. you were startled by hard, repetitive knocks to your front door. you froze where you stood. who could be here at this hour? You thought to yourself. you quietly reached for a vase on a nearby table. creeping closer to the door.

the knock happened again before stopping once more. “love, y/n.” you heard the raspy, tired voice from the other side of the door. it was Harry. “it’me, please open up.”

you bit your lip, rolling your eyes. fuck, you muttered to yourself before placing the vase back down. unlocking the door and flinging it open gently. there he stood in front of you. in your favorite attire, all casual in just a hoodie and joggers that hugged his bottom half just right. his chestnut hair, a mess and disheveled, golden at the top from the porch light above him. scruff peppered around his mouth and along his jaw. his green eyes like daggers on you as he watched you search him, using the time to figure to say hey right. the stare made you feel a bit beside yourself, pulling the throw closer to yourself and over your flimsy pink cami paired with gray sweats. you cleared your throat, looking at the street and breaking the silent stare.

“I hope your not here to get something from me.” you stated, then. looking anywhere but at him like you wanted. taking everything you to keep yourself together as you placed between wanting to yell at him and tell him to never see you again and wanting to pull him in to make up for the lost time. “ha, no.” harry shook his head at your comment. raising his hand to his hair, raking his fingers through it, nervously. “I came m’ere to talk.” he said, “if that’s alright?”

you both stood there for a moment before opening the door further slowly. giving him room to come right in. his cologne of vanilla and sandalwood hitting the brim of your nose the second he slipped by you. something you missed, being caught up in it. you pressed your back against the door, hearing it shut behind yourself as you followed after harry to the living room where he made himself at home. he stood poised next to your gray linen couch, waiting to see you approach the room before he took a seat on it. patting the spot next to him. overwhelmed by the time, by his presence and all the emotions bouncing around like a pin ball machine in your mind and body. you treading carefully around your coffee table, joining him shortly after and becoming leveled with his green orbs.

it was quiet for the first few minutes, and not the comfortable kind that you’d fall into from time to time. watching Harry’s rosy plump lips open and close, seeing his hand rise to them, his index and thumb pinching his bottom lip, struggling with what to say first. tongue tied by the fact that you let him in in the first place. he wasn’t prepared to not be given a fight. he sighed, roughly. “I’ve missed you so much.” he began, taking you by surprise and lacing his fingers with yours.

you shook your head, leaving his grasp before standing up from the couch. “please don’t lie to me, harry.” stopping whatever his plan was firsthand. “I’m not falling into this.. trap. I told you how I felt and that’s that. don’t take it for granted.” harry stood up to meet you, wanting to get closer, pull you closer to him but he left the space for you.

“M’not lying. I missed you.” going on, “I came ‘ere to talk. to tell ya I’m sorry. that I regret the moment that ya walked out the door.” he finished, his eyes never leaving yours for a second as he spoke. you furrowed your brows, the confusion rising again. “why are you sorry? you don’t feel the same and I just have to deal with that. that’s nothing to be–” harry grew closer at the last bit of your speech. cutting in. “but it wasn’t the truth. I do feel the same and I let you leave thinking I didn’t. that’s what I’m sorry about.”

you were stuck. shocked to say the least. you couldn’t believe what just came out of his mouth, but your inner self wasn’t going to let it sink in so easily. “please don’t do this. harry, if you lying to me. I will never forgive you. so please stop.” feeling your eyes becoming glassy as tears threatened the rim. harry shook his head, his hands meeting at the top of your shoulders as he looked you in the eyes. “I won’t stop because I’m not lying.” feeling his hands running down your arms, slow to stop and grab your hands in his. “I love you, y/n. I fucking love you.” you looked up at him at rise in volume at his last words. his eyes searching your face and yours doing just the same. trying to find any flake that this wasn’t real, that what he just said was only in your mind and wasn’t just said into the air. you bit at your now quivering bottom lip, trying to keep yourself together.

“if you’re messing with me, H. I swear to god” needing another reassurance, harry flashed his cheeky infamous smile at the use of his nickname from you. feeling normalcy, before his large, soft hands left yours to scoop your face. tilting it up to his. “I mean it. with everything I have, all I own. I mean it.” he said, “I love you, I always have and will.” his words silver off his lips. you couldn’t explain the feeling that rouse in you but you felt tears, happy ones, beginning to make way down your cheeks. “I love you too.” you muttered softly to harry, him still smiling toothlessly now as his thumbs collected the droplets. before leaning down and capturing your lips with his.

the moment they met, your body responded immediately. rising in heat from head to toe. melting into harry as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. one hand still caressing your cheek, while the other dug tightly at your waist. the long days of not being wrapped up, sharing sweet pecks or laughs amongst one another was felt right now. the kiss starting out so sweet and tender, feeling the smiles and hearts combust in happiness. soon were taken over by neediness, lust and desire from the lost time. his tongue running along your bottom lip, asking for entry to deepen the kiss. never feeling something so powerful shared between the two of you. never pulling away long enough to catch breath, harry directed you both towards the couch. his hands clasping are your bum, silently telling you to jump into his arms before settling you both down with him beneath you, straddling his lap.

you let out a breathy moan when his lips met the spot connecting your jaw and neck. peppering kisses along your jawline as your fingers got lost in his thick curls. feeling him smiling against you with every little sound only he could get out of you, marking what belonged to him. he pulled away slightly, having you chase his lips and cheeks and leaving him in a fit of chuckles. understanding the neediness you were trying to release, you could feel his against the inside of your thigh. he placed his hands back on your face, pulling you down to kiss you again, before backing away once more and resting his forehead to yours. “do you want to go upstairs?” you asked, softly. hands flattening at the fabric on his broad chest, straightening his shirt. meeting his gaze, harry smiled slightly, cupping your cheek and bringing your lips to his again. “I’d love to.” his warm, minty breath grazing your mouth. you smiled, then.  before rising off of harry. your feet touching the chill of hardwood floor, standing between his legs before reaching out for him to grab a hold of your hand. allowing you to direct him, hand in hand, up the stairs and to your bedroom.

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

the moment harry and you entered the bedroom. he beaconed you to the bed, immediately bringing you down with him. leaving where you left off moments ago, on harry’s lap, hands in his hair. his green eyes, darkened in lust, smirking up at you before his lips met yours in a slow, sweet embrace. 

“I want to take my time with you tonight.” he spoke, breathlessly. Looking up at you, pecking your nose. running his thumbs under eyes, noticing the lack of sleep evident likewise, then along your cheeks and to your bottom lip. “Are you up for that, love?” He asked, like the gentleman he is. “Hm?” eyes on you, going in and kissing your collarbone. leaving you to bite back a cross between a whimper and giggle, “please.” you cried.

”good.” he muttered, softly. smirking and placing both of his hands on you bum, squeezing light before rolling you over so quickly you couldn't register what was happening until you were lying flat on your back, him hovering you now and his teeth were nipping at you ear. you squealed and wiggled beneath his heavy, toned body, and his mouth left kisses on your neck, your collar bone, back to your lips again. one of his tattooed arms, rested next your head, steadying himself while the other roamed your body. savoring any exposed skin of yours on his fingertips. your body following the feeling of his hands as they ran along it, up and down your waist, to your hip. moaning lightly into one of the grazes of your lips, harry's own curling up at the sides.

with his hands clasping your waist and under your shirt. you began to feel the fabric rise up. harry broke his lips away from your neck, rolling the shirt up and over your head. throwing it to the floor. the chill of the room now hitting your topless body, your nipples hardening more to the new adjustment. your hands falling into harry’s hair again as he lowered himself along your body. kissing the skin over your breasts. looking up at you, watching you.  harry took one of your harden nipples into his mouth, the other between his fingers of his hand. tracing X's and O's over and around. him kissing, licking, sucking, biting at every bit of your bare skin. earning him moans and whimpers from you, continuing to watch you lose yourself. feeling privileged to see this sight of you, only him. only he could get this arouse out of you. your head rested on the pillow, a whimpering mess from only his mouth. giving him all the rights to ravage your body. 

the anticipation was getting the best of you. you wanted him now, you were already over with his toying around. “harry, please.” you whimpered, “p-please do something.” harry looked up, smirking at you, devilishly before he climbed back up. your legs wrapped around his middle, pushing him closer to you. “eager aren’t we?” he retorted. you smiled into a moan when you felt his erected shaft underneath his joggers, graze your throbbing clit, covered in your drenched panties. you weren’t the only one.

harry tilted your face up towards his, pecking your lips sweetly and pulling away only centimetres. “stay patient, love.” he muttered, then. before going back down your body again. trickling kisses above the waistband of your sweats. feeling his long, slender fingers slid under the band, pulling the pants down agonizingly slow before he was faced with your panties now. 

he groaned at the sight of the wet spot on them, causing you to gasp when he ran three fingers over your clothed heat. “you’re so wet.” he swallowed, meeting his green eyes with yours, darkened and glazed over in lust and desire. “and its all for me.” not wasting another second before pulling the fabric down off you and you hissing at the sharp chill grace your cunt. 

harry continued to tease, starting from your knee and aligning kisses on your inner thighs. feeling his breath graze where you wanted his mouth the most. you bucked your hips once at him, immediately his hands meeting them “ah ah.” he spoke, you looked down at him, him raising a brow and his green eyes flashing up at you. silently telling you to “be patient.” again. leaving you irritated as your head forcefully met the pillow. but the little tantrum working in your favor when you felt his lips kiss your mound, following a stride of his tongue against your swollen clit. like an electric shock to your body. he worked you slow and hard, careful, taking his time like this was going to be the last. building you up to the top, then slowing down to do it all over again. your hands wrapped up in his curls, bringing him as close as you could. directing him where you wanted him as you rotated your hips until he had enough, holding your lower half down, your legs on his shoulders and your hands in his. as he devoured you like a delicacy. and having you come on his tongue. twice.

once he was done tasting you, so fucked out and spaced, you hadn’t noticed him standing at the end of your bed. undressing himself until he was left in his briefs, crawling back over you, his legs parting yours at the knees as his large hand cupped your cheek, bringing your lips to his. nudging his nose with yours, he pecked your cheek, “are you still with me, love?” he asked, noticing how you were still trying to get to your whereabouts. harry’s fingers of his other hand were drawing little circles to your hip, to the top of your heat. you nodded slow, giving him the go to continue further when you felt his finger slip through your soaked folds, before entering you. you moaned at the feeling, harry now resting his forehead to yours as his fingers moved in and out of you at a generous pace. one of your hands, met harry’s face gently. while your free one went searching passed his tented briefs, before embracing his hard, thicken shaft in your hand. causing harry’s breath to hitch at the contact. collecting the pre-cum at the top of his swollen tip, lubing him up and running your hand tightly around his cock, stroking him. his free hand holding your face close to his, both swallowing each other’s moans in between heated kisses as you got each other off.

harry could feel you tightening around his fingers, growing closer to the edge. he pulled his fingers away from you and backed away from your touch. you shuttered in surprise, pouting from the loss of contact. looking up at him, searching for an explanation for only to be left watering in your mouth from the view of harry the two fingers that were occupied and covered by your juices, into his mouth. tasting you. in a need, you leaned up to meet harry halfway, pulling him into another countless kiss. your hand travelling to his shaft that was resting stiff against his abdomen when his hand met it mid stream, tangling his fingers with yours.

“no love, I need you now.” he commanded, gently pushing you back down. laying on top of you, feeling his cock resting against you. the same hand still wrapped in yours, now next to your head. while the other placed your thigh around him, before wrapping his hand around his shaft, positioning himself perfectly aligned with your cunt. feeling the tip. his head falling into the nook of your neck, his curls tickling your skin, lips warm against your neck and shoulder as he slipped into you, slow.

you gasped at him expanding your walls, being cautious, taking his time as he waited for you adjust to him. muttering sweet nothings, kissing you all over the place before he heard the green light from you. starting a nice rhythm, pulling almost all the way out and thrusting right back in. his hands all over you, his mouth connected to any bit of your skin that he could taste. his moans and grunts grazing hot at your ear were enough to have you orgasm right then and there for him. but any moment that you felt like you were growing closer, harry would slow down. lazily pounding into you, muttering affirmations. “you’re so beautiful.” to “you feel so good, love.”

your new favorite though almost was barely audible when he began to pick up the pace, colliding with the friction of your skin meeting. kissing you deeply, “I love you.” he said, softly but sincere. your eyes opening from focusing on the repetition to his words, “say it again.” you said looking at him with half lidded eyes, your glistening skin in a sheen of sweat. harry smirked big before you watched his mouth almost ‘o’

“I love you, y/n.” he said again. leaving you to moan at the sound of it, leaning up slightly, chasing his lips with yours. “I love you too” you spoke against his mouth, wrapping your hands around his back. soon beginning to dig when you felt yourself growing close.

harry began to feel you clenching around him. “are you close, baby?” he muttered. immursed in the how beautifully your bodies moved today, like they were made for this. you met his gaze again, “y-yes” you stuttered in between a moan, he then peck your lips, grabbing your hands like daggers from his back into his large hands, setting them above your head. beginning to speed up, driving to home base. thrusting into you erratically, both your breathy moans and sounds echoing against the walls of the room. his head falling to meet his mouth to your ear, “come with me, come with me, come with me” he repeated.

and before you could even think of attempting to hold back. without a warning, you cried out in absolute pleasure as your orgasm ripples through you. your back arching, collecting every bit. harry’s hands clasping to meet your middle as he senselessly pounded into you when his hips snapped back, meeting his own euphoria and he released warm and heavy into you. collapsing limply onto your body, his weight heavy and him completely exhausted, but in a unrelaxed, happy state. in a haze from what just took place seconds ago.

you both lied there, motionless. breathless with a dry throat, panting and clammy. you lazily ran your fingers through harry’s hair where his head lied, resting on your chest between your breasts. he slowly looked up at you. his green eyes soft now, his smile, toothlessly and dreamy that you felt butterflies sworm. “you alright, love?” he whispered, you smiled, nodding to answer. your hand, caressing his milky, glistening cheek. leaving you in a fit of giggles, when he turned his mouth in the direction of your palm. kissing it before lazily climbing up you and placing his hands on your cheeks. just staring at each other for a moment, gazing, taking each other in before he smile, kissing your cheek and bringing his attention back to you.

“did I tell you that I love you?” he smiled, feeling heat rise to your cheek. biting your lip, you shrugged. “Mmm, maybe once or twice?” you said, then. wrapping your arms around his neck. harry flashed a bright smile, leaning closer to your lips with his. “well i’ve got all night to tell you more.” he said, before crashing his lips on yours.

[cathrrrine]

RUN | Pietro x Reader

Originally from my Wattpad

CHAPTER 17 - SPEED DIAL

———

"I'm about to do something really stupid." Steve put his hands on his hips and stared at the entrance before him, as if he was still contemplating whether or not it was worth it.

"What is it?" Pietro followed the Captain's gaze, both of them eyeing the doorway. It took him a while to figure it out, but once he connected Steve's nervous stance to his reason to standing in front of the room where Y/N was being held, he felt stupid for not knowing immediately. "Oh. That's very stupid."

"I know."

"You're really going in there?"

"Seems like it."

Pietro wondered if he should explain his own situation with Y/N to Steve, but decided against it. There was enough drama going on for the man, especially when the possible key to unlocking his best friend's whereabouts were just a few feet away. Steve could live without knowing Pietro's dilemma.

"Good luck then." He gave the Captain a brief nod, smirking a little when Steve did nothing in response. Pietro watched as he entered the passcode for the door to open, backing away as Steve began to enter.

———

Just as I thought I would be alone again — and this time more willingly — someone else stepped inside. The familiar muscular figure strode across the room, his boots clacking on the floor as if to announce his arrival.

I sighed and stayed laying down on the bed, not bothering to sit up and give him any sort of greeting. First the speedster, now him? What was he going to do, tell me the values of a great American?

"Jokes on you, I'm not even American." I mumbled to myself in response to my mental rambling.

"Huh?"

I groaned, putting an arm over my eyes to block the light. "What are you doing here, Captain?"

He cleared his throat. I could hear him shifting from one foot to the other in discomfort. Was he...nervous? That was definitely intriguing. What the hell is wrong with these Avengers? They were more complicated than I thought they would be.

"I came here to ask you for something."

I put down the arm I had over my eyes and shifted my weight onto my elbows, propping myself up so I could get a better look at my uninvited visitor. "Another deal?"

"Something like that." His lips stretched out into a thin line, his arms raising from his sides so he could cross them in front of his chest. "It's an offer. If you want it, take it. If you don't-"

"You'll kill me."

The Captain's eyebrows met together furiously, "That wasn't what I was going to say. If you don't want to take my offer, then it's up to Fury to decide what to do with you."

"So...no difference, then. He'll kill me."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to." I shrugged. I swung my legs over the bed and stood up so I was exactly across him. "So, what's this life-changing opportunity you've got in store?"

His shoulders immediately sagged, telling me how much he dreaded what he was going to say. I stood in anticipation, slowly taking small steps forward.

"You knew him." Steve blinked. "You knew Bucky."

"Who?"

"James." He sighed again, like the weight of the world was sitting on his windpipe. "Or...the Winter Sold-"

"Stop right there." I put a hand up, my palm facing the son of a bitch. "If I hear that name one more time, I'll rip your organs out through your mouth and shove them back in through your ass."

I hated how he said his name, his actual name, with such fondness and nonchalance like he was anything more than a torture machine who made my life a living hell. Steve tilted his head, stretching his neck. I could see the muscles of his jaw flexing even from where I was standing. It was almost impossible how his teeth were still intact to this day, with all that tension in his jaw and the stress-grinding.

"I just need you to help me track him down."

I couldn't help but chuckle. Hell, laugh even. That finally broke the dam that I tried to hold up and all hell was breaking loose right this moment. Steve Rogers, everybody! The world's greatest comedian! Round of applause!

"Track him down? You think I have his phone number on speed dial? What do you want me to do? Call him up and say, 'Hey, bestie! What's up? Wanna go shopping for knives? Maybe kill some people on the way? Oh, how about we get some ice cream and reminisce the time when you tried to kill me but I ran away and I've been running ever since? Good times!' HA!"

"I'm not asking you to make friendship bracelets, I'm just asking for information that only you could possibly know."

"Are you crazy, Rogers?" I yelled so loudly that my breath fogged up the glass I was basically pressed up upon. "You'll never track him down. He's under Hydra's thumb 24/7. Even if we do manage to get to him, what do you think will happen? You're the face of the enemy. He'll kill you on the spot. He's not your best friend anymore, Rogers. He's a weapon bound to blow up in your face."

"Wait, what?" He uncrossed his arms and replaced them on his hips. He pointed to me, "Why do you think Hydra's still watching him?"

"I said don't make me say his name again-"

"No, no- you think he's-" he cut off abruptly. "You don't know, do you?"

The hand he had been using to point at me moved towards his face to stroke his chin. "The Winter Soldier escaped Hydra not too long ago, when S.H.I.E.L.D was compromised."

What? I felt my body go numb. It was like the world was caving in on me, trying to crush my body with it's cruel, cruel walls. How did I not know that? "What? No. You're lying."

He shook his head, "That's why I want you to help me track him down. I can't leave him alone out there."

My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach. Hearing Steve talk about him like he was referring to a friend, humanising him...felt so wrong and disgusting that it left a bad taste in my mouth. I wanted to throw up.

"No."

I walked away from the front of the cell and turned my back to him, wanting nothing more to do with the conversation. Everything I thought was true turned out to be a rotting corpse of a lie. There was nothing else to revive, not even the remains of hell that I blew away a lifetime ago. There was no phoenix that would suddenly rise. Just cold, painful and numbing reality, hitting me in the face.

I should be glad, right? The knowledge that he was no longer who he used to be should be enough to send me dancing for joy and painting the town or whatever it is that happy, liberated people do. But instead I was scared. He was out there, blending in with civilians as if he wasn't a total monster. I was confused too—the sole reason I'd handed myself over to S.H.I.E.L.D was because I was running from him.

Then, the gears of my brain suddenly hit the brakes.

"You're lying." I said, with my back still turned to the glass. "He's not out there. He's still with them. I heard him, the day Hydra raided this place!"

"I thought you might bring that up. I'm not lying, Y/N."

Something told me I should turn around, and so I did. He was taking something out of his pocket. A small, metallic black, oval device that resembled an earpiece, with a wire attached to it. At the end of the wire was a tiny cube. "We found this on one of the Hydra agents' bodies, it was attached to his ear and his neck. We examined it immediately."

He held the thing up for me to see, the cube dangling from the wire. "Advanced technology."

He didn't need to say the words. I already knew what was coming.

"A voice modifier."

I chewed the inside of my cheek to keep myself from doing something stupid–the range was vast–and took a deep breath. Today was a day of revelations, it seemed. This cell is a feelings brothel.

"They knew, didn't they?" I scoffed, smirking despite my own conscience. "They wanted me to be scared."

Steve shoved the horror device back into his pocket, nodding once and staying silent, a gesture for me to continue. I dared myself to meet his eyes.

"This doesn't change anything." I heard myself saying. "I'm not helping you find him either way."

He sighed, shaking his head as if in disbelief. "I thought you might say that."

I didn't know what to say. But then suddenly, I heard the sound of a click and felt a sudden rush of air behind me. I whipped my head around to see the door hanging slightly ajar.

"Advanced technology."

Life was getting stranger by the second for me. I was just starting to figure out all the ways I could escape seamlessly, but then he stopped me.

"I'm not done yet." What now? "You can get out of here, on one condition. You help me find him. Then you're free to go wherever you want to go after."

Deals after deals after deals. My life was a joke. Everything I do involves a gamble.

"That's it?"

"Listen here, Y/N." The Captain's voice dropped an octave, a threat waiting to ignite. "I'm doing this on my own accord. If you help me, I'll be more than glad to return the favour, but only if you swear not to show up on anyone's radar for at least a year or they'll find you. Do this and you can forget about everything. I'm offering you a clean slate."

It was the negotiation of the century. But I sensed there was more. "And?"

"And, if you so much as step a foot out of line, I won't be the law abiding Captain you know me to be, kid."

I smirked. "Huh. I like you more like this, Cap. Suits you."

"So, what's it gonna be?"

I let the thought of it marinate for a while, weighing all the pros and cons. Pros? I get to get out of here and forget about ever 'pledging my loyalty' to this freak show. Cons? I had to actively and consciously search for the man whom I'd been running from forever.

"Deal. But I have one condition."

He raised an eyebrow lazily, as if surprised but also not at the same time. I was becoming way too predictable for these people. "What would that be?"

I couldn't go alone, not with just the walking flag, and I still had some unanswered questions to deal with. Plus, truth be told, I had a feeling he was the only person I could truly trust, especially on a rogue mission.

"Pietro has to come along."

[kim-bobbae]

88. “I’ll see you later.”

This is legit the first gif I’ve EVER made in my life cos I couldn’t find one of Jay looking hot bothered...like mad kinda bothered. Haha. I swear the only reason why I enjoy writing angst is so I can imagine Jay looking hot and shit (is that normal? am I weird??). But he’s such an angel... Like what in the world could he possibly be mad at his girl about??? I know the flow for this one is pretty similar to what I just posted recently, but it’s been in my drafts for a hot minute so I hope y’all enjoy this one nonetheless!

“I’m sorry. Can we please talk?” 

You sighed for what felt like the hundredth time of the day, burying your face in your hands as you threw you phone aside, already expecting Jay to ignore your texts again. It’s been two days since you’ve last seen or spoke to him, and the fact that you were going to see him at work in a few hours amidst the silent treatment was already making you dread it. 

The thing about Jay was that he wasn’t really one to get angry at anyone but when he did, he’d rather cool off alone while you, on the other hand, preferred to iron things out there and then. Then again, despite the little squabbles over the two years that the both of you had been together, there hasn’t been any particularly huge fight…until your dumbass decided that it was a great idea to get yourself drunk as fuck in front of your boyfriend and his colleagues while they performed at the club that you and your friends were drinking at, that is. 

“We can’t dare you to go up there and make out with him, can we?” Your best friend challenged, downing another shot. 

“C’mon, what do you think?” You replied, shrugging her off. 

“Then it’s no fun, why are we even here if we can’t dare you and Jay to do shit!” Another chimed in. 

Your friends were in town for a few days and having not met them for a few years since your graduation in London, you took the opportunity to take them out for dinner where one of them suggested a round of drinks after. Jay who had been scheduled to perform at Soap then offered to book you guys a table and here you guys were, wilding it out on a Friday night with a game of truth or dare after having a shot too many. 

From making out to dancing with strangers, your friends were definitely taking this game more seriously than you had expected them to, especially when you were pretty bad with alcohol yourself and had to down shots one after another when none of their dares for you even seemed logical. Sure, they had toned it down taking into consideration that you were attached hence sparing you from going up to random dudes on the dance floor, but with how some of their ideas were literally out of this world, you were left with no choice but to drink continuously and very soon you were more drunk than you’d like to be. 

“Well, he felt bad that he couldn’t join us so he tried to make up for it. Plus points for a VIP table, no?” You tried reasoning. 

While you tried to be a good sport and answered some of their prying questions about your relationship with your superstar boyfriend, some were inevitably too personal to be answered – not that you really minded, but you were pretty sure Jay wouldn’t be too pleased if you were to spill the beans on your sex life. You were thus left with no choice but to chug shots after shots and in no time, you were too intoxicated for your own good. 

At this point, your vision was a blur and you could literally hear your heart throbbing in sync with the bass of the music playing in the background. Yet, your last bit of consciousness managed to miraculously bring you and your friends to the dance floor. Jay’s voice in the distance as he performed had your body automatically grooving to the music, a stupid drunk smile plastered on your face as you threw your hands up and moved your hips without caring about how ridiculous you looked at this point. 

Egged on by your friends who were in no better states of mind than you were, everything about that situation got you more excited…except you weren’t the only one as a man who had been dancing near you came up close behind you, his hands very enthusiastically helping themselves to the curves on your body as he grinded against your ass. 

You weren’t sober enough to make sense of the situation and it wasn’t until you felt his hands tug at the hem of your blouse did you snap your head up, catching a glimpse of a very unamused Jay through the slits of neon lights in your hazy vision did you finally realize what was going on and the next thing you knew, you remembered being pulled out of the club, the rest a distant memory. 

You debated on the idea of turning up at the office a little earlier in hopes of at least speaking to Jay before the photoshoot and despite the several ‘what if’s, you decided to do just that because no, you wouldn’t be able to just turn up to work, putting on makeup and doing his hair in front of everyone else, pretending that everything was perfectly fine between the both of you. 

A tray of coffee in hand, you knocked on the door to the meeting room where Jay and some of the guys were chilling, taking a deep breath before you entered the room. 

“Hey,” You started, glancing briefly at Jay – to which he looked right back at you – before smiling at Kiseok and Wegun. 

“How are you?” Wegun greeted you, a warm smile on his face as usual. “What brings you here?” 

“Jay has a magazine shoot in a bit, thought I’d just drop by with some coffee since it’s been a while since I last spoke to you guys,” You replied. 

“Well you could’ve spoken to them after the show that day if Dukhwa didn’t have to drag you out of the club,” Jay spoke, his expressionless gaze on you unwavering. 

You sighed, “Do you mind if we talk outside for a second?” 

Sensing the tension in the air, Kiseok whispered at him to cut it out but to no avail as Jay ignored your request and continued, “Did you really have to get yourself in that mess while I was performing? What were you thinking?” 

You bit your lip, lowering your head in embarrassment as Jay literally lectured you in front of his colleagues. Yet, the fact that he had decided to have this conversation in front of them angered you for a bit. Sure, you screwed up, but did you really deserve to be humiliated in front of them yet again after what they had witnessed at the club two days ago? What was he even trying to prove? 

“…we’ll leave you guys to talk,” Wegun spoke, signalling at Kiseok and getting up from his seat. 

“It’s fine, there’s no point if he’s just going to be like that,” You interrupted, then stalked out of the room. 

You were just trying to be professional about it, hoping to resolve the feud before you guys had to face each other at work because like it or not, despite the perks that came with dating and working together, it was times like these that truly made you wish you didn’t have to see him at work. 

It ticked you off even more realizing that the entire situation had only snowballed purely because he was being such a kid about calling you out in front of his colleagues for it. They were, after all, your coworkers too and his petty tantrums were completely uncalled for. 

Needless to say, you were fuming throughout the shoot. You tried your best to keep your composure as you did his makeup, though the rest of the staff had noticed that you were quieter than usual and that you had refused any eye contact with Jay throughout the whole time you were getting him ready for the shoot. With the little saga earlier at the office being your first time on the receiving end of Jay’s hostility, you wanted nothing more than to be done with the shoot without any more drama. 

This being the longest you guys have gone without speaking to each other despite being in the same space had Jay feeling a little conscious of you by now, sneaking glances at you from time to time. He’d watch the way you’d squint at the monitor as you observed the pictures carefully, then step in to put strands of his hair back in place every now and then. Your jaw was clenched the entire time, face void of any expression compared to your usual chipper self that he was used to seeing and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t beginning to regret what he started earlier. 

“You okay?” He whispered as you dabbed the beauty blender under his eyes. 

You ignored him, exhaling deeply as you finished off with some loose powder. 

“Ji Eun.” 

“I don’t wanna talk. Not now. Not after I tried to resolve this earlier this morning and especially not after the shit you pulled on me.” You fired back at him in a hushed whisper, then turned your back against him as you walked back behind the camera. 

He sighed, then briefly stretched his neck and went right back to work – not without glancing at you once more. Jay being a natural in front of the camera as always thankfully allowed the shoot to wrap up in a few short hours and you couldn’t be more relieved to retreat back into the dressing room, away from Jay’s piercing gazes but the respite was short lived as Jay cracked the door open slowly, the both of you making the first brief second of eye contact in the several hours of the shoot before you looked away and started packing up. 

“Let me help you with that,” He said, walking towards you. 

You didn’t reply, putting away the brushes and palettes. 

“Babe-” 

“What?” 

He pressed his lips together, slightly taken aback by your little outburst before gesturing for you to hand him the bags in your hands. 

“Don’t lecture me in front of your colleagues then pull a sweet boyfriend shit after. Make up your fucking mind,” You said. 

“I don’t know what got into my mind this morning…” He trailed, his gaze on you softening as he watched how tears were beginning to well up in your eyes. 

You didn’t even know why you were crying. You were mad, so mad, but you hated how weak you were for him every damn time. 

You looked away, tilting your head back in an attempt to stop the tears. The last thing you wanted was to cry in front him. As much as you were upset, your screw up had started this whole mess and you knew very well that he’d feel that much worse if he was the reason for your tears. 

“I’m sorry,” He apologized, grabbing your hand to get you to look at him. 

“I tried resolving this nicely, texted you, and turned up earlier at work to apologize but you decided to be a dick about it. Yes, I fucked up. But no, I don’t deserve this,” You told him, shrugging his hand off as you busied yourself packing, tears blurring your vision by now as they rolled down your cheeks. 

“Hey c’mon,” He said, hands on your shoulders as he spun you around to face him then cupped your face, wiping away at your tears with his thumb. “Don’t cry...”

“I just wanted to talk. I don’t want to fight,” You told him, your voice coming out as a soft whisper. 

“Me neither.” 

He watched as you simply looked up at him, resignation evident in your bloodshot eyes and he leaned in to bring his lips to yours, desperate to draw a reaction – anything – from you to be reassured that everything was going to be okay. There he was, thinking he could diffuse the situation with a few sweet kisses after being an absolute asshole and you hated that it was working. 

You hated that you knew this was exactly how he was going to salvage the situation, as with all your other fights, yet here you were, kissing him like he didn’t piss the hell out of you just hours ago, as if he had not ignored your fifty calls and text messages over the past forty-eight hours. 

This wasn’t just an argument of who should be doing the dishes, nor about the time you turned up half an hour late to a date that he had painstakingly squeezed amidst his busy schedule all because you couldn’t find that one dress you were looking for and refused to wear anything else and you hated that despite the gravity of the situation, it didn’t take much for you to succumb to his sweet gestures. 

You pulled away as soon as he you felt his tongue pressing against your lips and he looked at you, a mix of worry and disappointment in his eyes. 

“I have to go,” You told him, gathering your belongings. 

“Don’t-” 

“I have another schedule to attend to, Wonjae’s shoot starts in two hours,” You explained. 

“I’ll pick you up from work.” 

“You don’t have to.” 

“I want to,” He said immediately, and the way you silently looked at him with an unreadable expression frustrated him to no end. 

He held your gaze with his own and for a while the both of you just stayed like that, his deep brown eyes pleading with yours for any form of reassurance and in all honesty, that was enough for you to want to put this all behind so that you guys could finally go back to having pizza on the couch and cuddling to sleep. 

You pressed your lips into tight line, giving him a small smile before you picked up your bags and walked right past him. 

“I’ll see you later,” He whispered, reaching his hand out to hold yours. 

And the little squeeze you gave in response before walking out of the room was just what he needed to hold up until he could see you again that night.

[spiderman-homecomeme]

nuts about you

It’s simple. Thirty days. All of November. No nutting allowed. Can Peter survive? A friends/roommates to lovers tale of stupid bets, sabotage, and most important of all, nuts. 

thotumn. day 11. free prompt day finale.

Thank you @spideysmjs​ for organizing this magical month for us!! Because I am TOO impatient, I’m posting this a day early (also to keep my tradition of not posting things at the right time). Enjoy this purely goofy adventure. 

--

Of all of the stupid ideas Peter and Ned have thought of in their ten-plus years of friendship, this one’s up there. 

Easily in the top three. 

No, it’s more than stupid. It’s ridiculous. It’s pointless. No one in their right mind actually thinks this is a good idea or that there’s any reason to do it. It’s an internet joke that’s too old, a meme that has no right being funny anymore. It’s run its course, and the guise of it raising awareness for anything other than the masturbation habits of penis-havers is complete and utter bullshit.

Again. It’s stupid.

Still, Peter Parker is not one to turn down a challenge, no matter how stupid. He’s nothing if not competitive. What can he say? If he won’t do it, who will?

This is what he considers as Ned lays it on the table for him.

All of November. Thirty days. 

Peter doesn’t know how the conversation even started or how they ended up betting against each other in the world’s most moronic challenge. All he knows is that Ned is more than convinced that Peter is weak and won’t last. In fact, he’s so convinced that he’s willing to bet money on it. His reasoning ends up being that Peter isn’t strong enough.

And Peter? Well, he’s convinced that he will make it, that he can survive an entire month without giving in to his desires to bust a nut, to beat his meat, etc. etc. And he, too, is willing to bet money—a stupid amount, maybe more than a hundred—on his own success and his friend’s failure. He doesn’t want to appear too cocky, but he’s more than a hundred percent sure he’s got this in the bag. Yeah, it’s thirty days of cutting out one of Peter’s favorite pastimes—if not the favorite—but there’s no doubt in his mind that he’s more than capable of practicing a little restraint. 

Still, confident as he is, there’s still that part of him that can’t help but dread the coming month the more and more he thinks about it. 

“So, definitely thirty days?” Peter asks, eyes narrowing in thought. He tries to appear casual, as if the idea of no release for that amount of time isn’t a big deal. It’s more for clarification. “November has thirty days?”

Ned scoffs. “Yeah. Thirty days.”

“Any strikes? Any free coupons?”

“Nope.” Ned shakes his head with a soul-crushing finality. “Why? You don’t think you can make it?” 

It’s Peter’s turn to scoff, face scrunching dramatically as he recoils. “What? No. I’m worried about you, man. What are you gonna do about Betty?” 

Ned fixes him with a deadpan stare, clearly not buying whatever bullshit Peter’s trying to peddle. “A bet is a bet. She will respect that.”

“How can I trust you, though?” Peter asks, eyes narrowing in slight accusation. “You’re always at her place. I mean, how’ll I know you’re not lying?”

Ned glares. “How can I trust you?”

Peter sputters, desperately thinking of ways to throw a reverse Uno at this situation. “Wha—I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m—I’m single, man.”

Ned blinks. Once. Twice. “Do we need to talk about Felicia?”

“That was—”

“Cindy?”

“Dude—”

“Johnny? Jessica? Gwen—”

“I get it. I get it—”

“Carlie? Oh—Debbie? Caleb! Then there was Angela—”

Peter’s expression contorts into one of confusion. “Angela?” He tilts his head, squinting, searching for any kind of memory. 

“Cute red head. You met her in line at Aldi.”

“Ahhh…” A knowing, borderline too-telling smile of recognition pulls at Peter’s lips. “Angela...” he sighs, almost dreamily. Okay, so maybe Ned has a point. But just because Peter enjoys the company of other people so much that he’s got his own version of Mambo No. 5, doesn’t mean he’s incapable of living without the warm touch of another human being or his hand. 

Peter freezes, glancing at his friend. “Okay. Well. What do you want me to do about that? It’s not like I’m gonna call any of them up or anything. I have some sense of self-control.”

Again, Ned blinks. 

“And besides, Felicia was freshman year… she’s our friend now. I don’t hook-up with her anymore.”

Another blink. “Dude.”

“Fine.” Peter huffs, whipping his phone out, eyes nearly rolling out of their sockets and onto the floor as he starts swiping through his contacts. “But I’m not deleting any of ‘em, okay?” 

“Peter…” 

“I’ll change their names! How ‘bout that?” 

A beat passes of silent, overtly-judgmental staring on Ned’s part. He huffs after another second, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Fine.” Then, his frown shifts into a nonchalant smirk. “Whatever makes it easier for you to lose and me to win.” 

“Please,” Peter scoffs. “I’m not the one with a girlfriend. You’re going down.” He tilts his head, narrowing his eyes, lips pursed in mock-contemplation as he points a finger. “Or I guess… Betty’s the one going down.”

Ned nearly chokes on his water holding back a snort. “Come on, man.”

Peter shrugs. 

“Okay, well, are you gonna change the contact name for your right hand, too?”

It’s Peter’s turn to spit out a laugh. 

But before he can even come up with another totally awesome comeback, he hears the jingling of keys, the clanking of locks as their roommate comes home after a long day of classes. All he sees is a flash of her curly hair before he’s tearing his gaze away from the front door, suddenly finding the pads of his thumbs to be pretty damn interesting. 

“Hey, MJ,” Ned greets casually, as if they weren’t just sorting out a bet where neither of them are allowed to orgasm for an entire month. 

“‘Sup.” Michelle flashes them a brief, closed-mouth grin as she makes for the refrigerator, swiping up some baby carrots and the brita filter. 

Really, the conversation from earlier should be done there. Nothing else needs to be said. Especially not in front of their roommate. 

But Peter can’t help himself. 

“Let’s shake on it,” he says, putting his hand out, knowing that the more he keeps talking, the more danger he’s in of saying too much. 

Ned takes it readily, eyes narrowed in determination. “Let’s.”

The corner of Peter’s lip twitches upward, but he holds it back. “No… Peanuts.”

“No walnuts.”

They have that understanding, speaking in the code that the two of them have just made up on the spot, something that Peter can’t help but feel pretty damn proud of. 

MJ glances between the two, carrot half-way to her mouth, frozen in place, brows pinched in suspicion. 

“Peter and I are giving up all nuts for the next month,” Ned says proudly, answering the question that she most certainly did not ask. 

“Cool.”

Ned throws a not-as-subtle-as-he-thinks-it-is wink across the table, giving a just as subtle thumbs up from behind one of his stray history books. 

Peter nods. 

“Why?” Michelle asks, her question—one that shouldn’t have been as much of a surprise at is was—causing them both to exchange wary glances. 

There’s a silence that follows, one that might clearly show that these two guys have no idea what kind of hole they’ve dug themselves into. Ned watches Peter expectantly. Peter glares back. 

“Is it like a health thing?” MJ offers, popping another carrot into her mouth.

Peter nods a little too quickly. “Yeah. Health stuff.” His stomach flips when her gaze meets his, her eyes squinting as she chews thoughtfully. 

“May thinks Peter might have a nut allergy,” Ned hastily spits out. When both sets of eyes land on him, he laughs. “So his allergist suggested going a month without ‘em. To see if that makes it better.”

And honestly, Peter thinks that’s a pretty damn good save. 

The best part is that MJ seems to buy it. She nods. “So why are you doing it, Ned?”

“Solidarity,” Ned offers quickly. 

Nice save. 

“Ah,” MJ purses her lips, though she still doesn’t seem to care all that much. “Well, good luck. I guess. I know how much you guys… love… nuts? I guess?”

Peter nods solemnly. 

When she turns back to grab a cup from the cabinet, he throws Ned a quick single nod.

Well played.

--

“So, Peter’s doing no nut November.”

Felicia nearly chokes, snorting as she struggles to keep her vanilla latte in her mouth. “What?” She asks after a dangerous second. They were supposed to be having a nice study sesh, reading about Bloom’s taxonomy, not talking about Peter’s nut habits. 

“He and Ned made a stupid bet to see who could last the whole month,” MJ answers, taking a quiet sip of her London Fog. “Apparently they bet a lot of money on it.”

Felicia’s face scrunches in amused confusion. “Why?”

“Do they really need a reason to do dumb shit?” 

Considering that for a second, Felicia nods with a satisfied frown. “Fair.”

“I bet against Peter, though,” MJ continues. “After he left, I made Ned let me in on it. There’s no way Pete can last the whole month, right? Not even a week.”

“Oh, definitely not,” Felicia vehemently shook her head. “I honestly feel like he’d spontaneously combust after, like, a day.” Then, she lets out a quiet snort. “Combust a nut.”

Michelle wrinkles her nose. “Ew.”

“But for real. He’s not gonna make it.”

“That’s what I said. Ned seems to have some faith in him though—no idea why. I told him that Peter wouldn’t even last a week… and now I guess I’m involved.”

“This would be so easy to sabotage though.”

“Right?” 

“Seriously,” Felicia snorts. “All I’d have to do is hit him up one more time and he’s gone.” And then, in that next instant, her face lights up like a Christmas tree. “That’s it!” Before she says anything else, she’s pulling her phone out, quickly scrolling through, looking for God knows what. “Girl, I am gonna win that bet for you.” 

MJ leans forward, curious, yet still cautious. She’s not sure if Peter hooking up again with Felicia is the best idea, given that relations within the friend group would just make things a giant, tangled up mess of complicated awkwardness. “How?” Michelle dares to ask, craning her neck to see what the hell Felicia’s doing on her phone. 

Her friend is quiet for a moment, locked in concentration on her screen, bottom lip tucked between her teeth, brows knit together. Then, she cracks a satisfied, sly smile, turning her phone to show MJ just what she was looking for. 

Simply; a picture of Felicia’s relatively new tattoo which, in and of itself, doesn’t seem like it would get Peter’s peter going. It’s pretty. Floral. Nothing to lose one’s mind over. 

No, it’s more the placement. 

It’s a tasteful shot, the simple flowers lining the underside of her breasts, her hands acting as makeshift pasties, just barely covering her nipples. 

Still, though there’s no actual nudity, it’s enough to make MJ’s eyes bug out of her head for a moment before she’s realizing what she’s looking at. 

“Okay. So?” Michelle waits for an explanation. 

“I send him this,” Felicia says simply, pulling her phone back and (seemingly) drafting up the very message. “Ask if he wants a closer look at it.” 

Michelle considers it a moment, knowing that there’s a very strong chance that Peter could almost immediately fall into such an obvious trap. The corners of her lips twitch into a casual frown. She shrugs. “Honestly. Yeah. That might work.” 

“Might?” Felicia almost scoffs. 

“You’re a genius.”

A smirk tugs at Felicia’s mouth as she leans back in her chair, swiping up to send the message before putting the phone down on the table. “I know.”

They sit in silence, the two of them watching the screen with bated breath. They both gasp when the read receipt pops up, followed by a dead silence. MJ can only imagine how stressed that boy must be, opening his phone, thinking it’s an innocent text from Felicia, then BAM, he’s vibe-checked by her boobs instead. 

She holds back a snort, her stomach jumping into her throat seeing the dot-dot-dot pop up at the bottom of the screen. It’s almost as if she forgets to breathe, waiting to see what he’s going to say to such a blatant come on. 

It’s like he’s typing a damn novel with how long it’s taking him though, and Michelle’s not sure she can take it much longer. 

And then, her phone dings. 

Felicia’s lips pull into a frown reading the message. “‘Wow. Looks cool! No thanks, though.’ Aaaaand,” she spins her phone for MJ to read it. “Thumbs-up emoji. Smiley face with sunglasses.”

Even MJ’s surprised at that response. Maybe Peter is really taking this No Nut November thing seriously. Maybe he’s not as weak as she thought. But… it doesn’t make any sense. Nothing’s adding up. 

And with this confusion, there’s a sense of relief, knowing his response. Waiting wasn’t fun. 

“Huh.” Felicia sighs, biting her lip in thought as she starts typing out another message and sending it. 

“What did you say?” Michelle asks. 

“I told him I’d been thinking about getting my nipples pierced and wanted to know what he thought.” 

At that, Michelle snorts. “You’re an evil woman.” 

Felicia shrugs innocently. “I think he’d really like ‘em.”

Truly, it’s a genius move. It’s something that Peter has to address; Felicia’s nipples. The idea of them being pierced. It’s too much for his brain to handle. 

And again, just like before, they get into a staring contest with the conversation, watching as the read receipt pops up again, immediately followed by the ever-cruel ellipses as Peter no doubt struggles with a response that’s not too-eager. 

But then, he completely throws them for another loop. 

“‘I support you, friend!’ with…” Her eyes narrow. “A smiley face.” 

“Wow,” Michelle says, genuinely surprised. 

And Felicia seems just as shocked, if not a little offended that one of her oldest tricks in the book seem to have no effect whatsoever. “Did he just… friendzone me?” She asks, absolutely appalled.

“You were already friends before?” Michelle laughs. 

“But in this context?” She huffs, shaking her head. A beat passes where all she does is stare at her phone. “That’s weird,” she says slowly, lips quirking into a confused frown. “Huh.” 

“There, there,” Michelle deadpans, patting her friend stiffly on the hand. 

Felicia laughs. “It’s fine…” She draws out. “A hit to the ego is good for me every once in a while.”

“Oh my God,” MJ rolls her eyes. “You’re still hot. Don’t worry.” 

With a sad, a little over-dramatic nod, Felicia’s frown deepens as she pretends to wipe at her eyes. “Yeah. I am.” 

“I can’t believe that didn’t work,” MJ muses. Really, she can’t. Peter’s perhaps the easiest person she knows—and there’s nothing wrong with that at all; it’s just a fact of life. The sky is blue. Grass is green. Peter is a thot.

“I guess he’s really following through with this whole no nut thing…” Felicia’s brow furrows as she recoils. “How much money did he bet anyway?”

“A hundred.” 

“Oh my God.”

“Yeah.” 

“How much did you put in?” 

“...A hundred.”

“MJ!”

“Listen!” Michelle reasons, holding her hands up in defense. “This is gonna be the easiest two hundred dollars I’ve ever made.”

Felicia sits back, clearly impressed. “Does Peter know you’re in on it?”

“Nope,” MJ says, emphasizing the ‘p’ with an audible pop. 

“Well—” Felicia starts, shifting in her seat, crossing one leg over the other. “—I’m sure you’ll find some way to make that boy give in. Sorry I couldn’t help.”

Michelle lets out a light snort. “It’s okay. You tried.” 

“If I think of anything else, I’ll let you know.”

But honestly, MJ already has a vague idea of what her next step is. 

And it brings her to his bedroom, to his desk, messing with his laptop while he’s out for his Sunday patrol. His password is entirely too easy to guess—really, you’d think a guy as smart as Peter would have something a little more complicated than “webshooter69.” 

If there’s anything she knows about Peter—maybe a little too much about her friend—is that while he mostly enjoys the company of a flesh and blood human being, he’s not above the occasional perusing of adult websites. 

The guy likes porn. 

The plan is to make his chrome homepage one of his regular sites. Confront him with the images that really get him going. 

She browses through his history, hoping that he hadn’t thought to delete everything or go incognito. And… luckily for her, that particular idea seemed to have slipped his mind entirely. Literally not even a week out and she’s found a slightly-more-than-nefarious-looking website. 

Easy enough. 

And it’s exactly what she’s looking for. Nudity galore. There doesn’t seem to be a corner of the site that doesn’t have a boob or a butt. It is truly Peter’s domain.

For a moment, she wonders if she should make the homepage specifically something he searches for… his favorite genre perhaps. 

She shakes the thought away immediately. It’s too invasive. Besides, the front page should be more than enough—there’s literally a video that frustratingly autoplays every time she goes back to that one page. And why would she need to know what Peter likes? There’s no reason for that. At all. 

Making sure to close out of everything before logging out, she slams the laptop shut, sprinting out of his room as if he was just about to get home. Her heart races as she slams her own bedroom door behind her, catching her breath proving to be more difficult than usual. 

And now, she waits. 

It turns out, she doesn’t have to wait very long. 

That evening, in fact, after Peter’s come back for dinner. 

He takes his time microwaving his leftovers from the day before, whistling to himself as he bounces around the kitchen. The whole time it feels like MJ’s just holding her breath, anticipating his early demise the instant he opens up chrome on his laptop. And honestly, this does feel like a low blow, like she’s just snatching up that low-hanging fruit—God, MJ, phrasing—but then she’s reminded that this, again, is the easiest two hundred dollars she will ever earn. 

And then she feels a little less bad about what she’s done. 

The second he’s finished with his food and disappears into his room, her eyes are on his door, and then it occurs to her that there’s not really a way that she can know he’s, well, “lost.” It’s all based on his own honor, if he’ll admit to succumbing to his most basic need. She likes to think that he would, though. Peter’s too much of a good, honest guy—hiding his secret identity aside—that he couldn’t lie to his friends about it. 

Ned comes home not two minutes later, deflating on the other side of the couch. 

“Rough day?” MJ asks, the teasing hint to her tone not going unnoticed. 

Ned rolls his eyes. “Told Betty I was doing this whole month thing.”

MJ winced. “Yikes.”

“Yeah,” Ned chuckles. 

“Well, if it helps, this whole thing is probably gonna end in—” she checks her phone. “—five or so minutes.”

Ned’s gaze darts right and left. “What… What do you mean?” 

Before she can answer, Peter yelps from the other side of his door. There’s a loud crash that sounds suspiciously like a laptop being yeeted across the room in a hasty, knee-jerk reaction. Before either she or Ned can move, Peter’s bursting through his door, eyes blown wide, his face drained of all color, and he’s frozen in place, one hand gripping the doorframe. 

And it takes everything in her not to grin. “Everything okay?”

Peter coughs, scratching the back of his neck, before his gaze lands on Ned in a challenging glare. “DUDE. Not cool.”

Poor Ned looks as confused as ever, his jaw dropping, brows pinching together as he glances between the two. “I—What—what are you talking about?”

Peter narrows his eyes even more. 

“Did I hear something break?” MJ asks carefully, as not to seem too suspicious. 

He startles at her voice, sputtering out a response that mostly sounds like the macaroni glue art of sentences. “Oh—uh—no. It—It was the—the laptop. There was—a thing. And—I just kinda—threw it.” He laughs nervously. “It’s fine though. Not—not broken. All good—” He throws some finger guns. “—in the hood.”

Her lips twist as she nods. 

Peter nods back, hands in his back pockets as he starts to retreat back into his room—though not before throwing another I’m watching you glare at Ned. 

As soon as the door clicks shut, Ned’s in full interrogation mode. 

“MJ, what did you do?”

She shrugs, toying with the loose thread of her hoodie. “Nothing much. Just… Set his default homepage to some porn. No biggie.”

Ned’s jaw drops, thoroughly scandalized, but there’s a hint of amusement behind his eyes. “Dude… That’s evil.”

Michelle gives another shrug. 

So, her second plan had failed. Even after surprise-porn, Peter’s still in the running. He’s still holding out. Almost a two days into November, and he is surviving, a surprise to everyone involved, and already, MJ’s running out of ideas. Well, good—plausible ideas. There are plenty of ways she’s sure she could compromise him. Take him to a strip-club maybe, but there’s not a doubt in her mind that he’d be able to pick up on what she was doing. There’s no way he’d fall for it. 

Hiring an escort was definitely out of the question. 

Theoretically, both of those could work. Were they good plans? No. Absolutely not. 

He’s already turned down a previous hook-up. He broke his laptop out of the sheer panic that seeing porn brought him. 

There doesn’t seem to be much more that she can do. 

It’s not until the next day, as she’s walking the clothing section of Target with Felicia that she’s struck with an idea. 

Felicia specifically striking her with said idea. 

They’re in the middle of the sleepwear section, MJ mindlessly rifling through the fuzzy sock bin, when she nearly collides with the underwear display. She’s distracted for a moment, wondering if it’s too soon since she’s bought new underwear to justify taking advantage of the sale, when Felicia nudges her with her elbow. 

“Peter’s really into pretty underwear,” she says as if they’re not in the middle of Target. As if there’s not a mom and two kids in the actual pajama section two displays over. 

Michelle recoils slightly, startled. “What?” 

“He’s like, really into it,” she says, taking a casual sip of her iced coffee, reaching over to pick up a particularly lacy number. “Just saying. Might be useful.”

For some reason, MJ feels a strange heat rise to her cheeks. “I’m not gonna put these on for him!”

Felicia smirks, holding a hand up in defense. “Who said anything about you wearing it? You can just… leave it lying around for him to find, or something.” She tilts her head to the side, both brows raising. “Jeez, MJ.”

“Oh…” Michelle says, though her face still burns. “Right.” 

It’s not a bad idea. In fact, it’s pretty good. If Peter’s as into fancy underwear as Felicia says he is, then maybe leaving them around like some kind of weird scavenger hunt is the best plan. She doesn’t buy much, picking a pair of relatively cheap lace and polyester. She could use her own underwear for this, but… that would be weird right?

(As if this isn’t weird enough already.)

And besides, the ones she’s buying are a little more extra in that department. They aren’t meant to be worn for long, not from comfort. 

They’re perfect. 

She feels like some kind of underwear fairy, planting them somewhere in the apartment, making sure they’re hidden, yet visible in a place that Peter frequents; it sticks up between the couch cushions, not subtle in the slightest. The second Peter’s butt hits that couch, he’ll see them. There’s no other way around it. 

It becomes another waiting game as she sits in the living chair, knees curled into her chest as she pretends to read quietly. It’s pretend because she can’t focus long enough on any single letter to let her brain absorb anything on the pages. Finally, the front door opens. Peter greets her with a cheery smile, making immediately for the kitchen. 

Good. Yes. He gets his after class snack. Important. 

Just as she’d planned. 

He emerges not two minutes later, bag of cheese crackers in hand as he launches himself over the back of the couch. “‘Sup?” he asks after shoving a mouthful of Cheez-its into his face. 

Michelle wrinkles her nose, her eyes unconsciously darting between the guy on the couch and the panties peeking out from the cushions. “Reading,” she offers, brandishing the very unread book.

Peter nods, tearing his gaze from hers after a beat and reaching for the remote. When he sits back, his hand brushes the cheap lace and he pauses, curious as he looks down to see what he touched. 

All of this while MJ desperately pretends not to notice. 

When he picks the pair up though, his brows pinch together, at first unsure as to what he’s actually looking at. “Uh…” 

At that, MJ looks up, seeing right as the realization sets in. 

Of course, she plays dumb—by staying silent. 

Peter quickly looks to her, eyes wide as if he’s seen a ghost. “It’s—it’s not—these aren’t—” His lips press together as he forces a breath through his nose. “I—Oh god—”

And then, for a split-second, she feels the slightest bit guilty. Is this actually a good plan or is she just tricking him into getting a boner over cheap department store undies? That, and is she technically lying to him by not claiming the offending undergarments? By making him freak out over nothing?

He seems to be having some sort of existential crisis, wondering if these really are from some recent hook-up and the psychological effect of not nutting in three days has caused him to forget. 

This was a terrible idea.

She has to put him out of his misery. 

“Oh, shit. Those—” Her laugh is breathy, short. “—Those are mine.” 

And instantly, Peter drops the thong, as if his hands had been burned. “Oh!” he coughs, his gaze straining as if he’s trying to keep his eyes on her face. “S—Sorry.” He swallows.

“Yeah.” Rising on legs that are shaky—from sitting so oddly in the chair for so long—she goes to snatch up the baby pink lace, clutching it behind her back before Peter can get another look. “Sorry. Must’ve forgot. Uh, when I did… Laundry.”

Peter nods, breathing out a chuckle. “Yeah. Yeah. S’fine.” He waves her off, scratching the back of his neck. 

But even after that, Peter still seems off. For some reason, he still doesn’t seem to be able to look at her for more than a split-second. He doesn’t say anything else, sitting in silence, his cheese crackers long forgotten on the coffee table. 

Michelle wonders if she should say something else. Break the tension. It’s awkward, obviously, because he feels weird about touching his friend’s underwear. Anyone would, really. He touched something that theoretically would be on her body; something that normally, he thinks is really sexy, or whatever. 

After another minute of some good old soul-crushing silence, Peter stands, excusing himself to his room without another word. 

Huh. Weird.

--

It’s the movie night that finally gives her that clarity she’s been looking for; that moment where everything clicks into place, and she can finally see how she’s going to win this. 

Ned’s out with Betty, leaving her and Peter alone not for the first time. 

She and Peter are sitting on the couch together, her head resting on his shoulder—because that’s what friends do, obviously—the two of them sharing a gray fuzzy blanket. This is a normal occurrence. They’re close enough in their friendship that some occasional cuddling isn’t too weird. Especially given how chilly it’s been lately. And, it’s comfy. Just some nice head-to-shoulder contact. 

But later in the movie, when MJ starts to get dangerously sleepy, feeling herself drooping further and further, unable to completely pull herself back to reality. Things are fuzzy, almost dreamlike, as she just pulls herself up from his shoulder, giving up entirely on watching the movie and just grumpily laying down right on his lap, his thigh her make-shift pillow.

This isn’t weird. 

It’s normal.

She’s sleepy.

And Peter’s a surprisingly comfy pillow.

Peter doesn’t even have time to ask what she’s doing before she’s just nestling further into his lap. She misses the pure dread and panic that flashes across his face when her head lines up with his head. There’s no safety here. Just a few wrong movements, and she’ll definitely know what’s up. She’ll be an unwitting tourist to Boner City, population: one. 

Peter has to do something. He can’t let this continue. Having his best friends head just straight up on his crotch is not helpful in the slightest. 

“MJ,” he gently nudges her, grimacing slightly when she just burrows further into him. 

He nudges her again, and she grumbles, finally opening her eyes and looking up at him. She puts a hand on his thigh to steady herself. 

Peter swallows. 

“What?” She asks, not opening her eyes.

“I uh—” Peter can’t seem to speak, trying desperately to come up with some excuse as to why he has to get the fuck out of there. “—I gotta pee.”

She cracks an eye open skeptically. “But I’m comfy,” she emphasizes her point by—once again—snuggling her face into his lap. 

Peter’s about to lose his damn mind. 

In MJ’s defense, this had started with the best intentions. She truly was just wanting to lay down and sleep on her friends lap—again, a perfectly normal thing—but now… even through the haze of sleep, she’s seeing how much this is effecting him. 

It hadn’t occurred to her until now, that she could be the one that makes him “crack.” They’re just friends. Sure, she thinks he’s attractive, and yeah, maybe she’s had the one or two or three sexy dreams about him before (even some soft, fluffy ones), but that doesn’t mean she thinks about him in that way. 

He's just Peter.

Sweet, adorable, kinda hot Peter.

Again, she doesn't think about him that way.

But she supposes it makes sense. Really, she should have known before putting her head on his crotch that he might get a little flustered from the proximity, that it might remind him of certain things. It's just the body's physiological reaction to a stimulus; the stimulus being her head. It's simple science.

So then, it would also only make sense for her to take advantage of that physiological response she's able to get out of him. Maybe not right at this second, given she's been a little blindsided by this whole thing. But maybe now she can rethink her gameplan. Now she has access to tools she didn't know she had access to before.

Her own sensuality.

She can certainly use that.

And it's not as if she'll do anything too out there. Just... make him feel the heat—the pressure—just a little bit. Make him sweat.

Felicia's of course delighted by this development, giving her full support in "seducing Parker into busting a nut."

(Her words, not MJ's.)

She'd also said something about how it's about time, but that'd been promptly ignored—mainly because MJ didn't know what the hell Felicia was talking about.

The problem is now, though, Michelle's not exactly sure where to start. After Peter had made a dead sprint to the bathroom the night before, he's been a little more, shall we say, cautious, around her. He bounces on his feet, trying desperately to appear casual, acting as if nothing was weird about their movie night.

She only has three days left in the week, so she has to think.

And fast.

--

Peter's not sure if MJ's up to something, but he can't help but feel as though she's acting... strange. First, the underwear thing, which made him feel all kinds of flustered and weird, and then her head being dangerously close to his dick. It's a lot. She can't possibly know about this No Nut thing, right? She wasn't there, and Ned wouldn't have told her... right?

Still, he tries to avoid her as much as he can, ready to fly away the second she's in the same room as him.

Truthfully, he's always had maybe the tiniest crush on his best friend. It's faded in and out over the years, especially in their college years. But it's always been there, even if just the ghost of one. And now, he's starting to see maybe how bad of an idea this was in the first place—No Nut November. His roommate is literally probably the prettiest person in the world and he's being constantly reminded of the one thing he definitely should not be thinking about under any circumstances if he wants to win. It's a disaster that should have never happened in the first place. This could have been prevented, he thinks.

He's not sure how he didn't think about that when he'd agreed to do this.

He just knows that he has to do something, though he's not sure what.

But any and all ideas of how to protect himself instantly leave his mind, crashing his brain, when he comes back to the apartment the next day to find it sweltering. He looks at the thermostat, thoroughly confused to find the heater set to eighty. He peels off his jacket, recoiling when the humid air sticks to his skin. It's hot. Too hot. Even for early November. It's not that cold outside.

He's about to call out for his roommates when MJ emerges from her room, and he feels like he has to pick his jaw up from the floor.

Her shorts are too short for it being fall. They show too much of her legs for his eyes to not be immediately drawn to them. Her white tank top is tight against her skin, hugging her form in a way that almost makes him jealous. And then, it's almost too much, too dangerous, when he can very clearly tell that she's apparently decided to forgo a bra for the evening.

"Oh, hey Pete!" She says, as if she's not looking like that.

"Hey—hey. Em..." He clears his throat.

Dear God. It's been less than a week. Hold it together.

"Is it..." Peter swallows. "Is it hot in here? The—the heat? Is it—is it on?"

MJ's eyes widen a fraction.

"Oh, yeah. It is," she replies casually. "Is that okay? I was just a little cold."

"So you turn it up to—" Peter stops, craning his neck to look at the thermostat on the wall. "—eighty-two?"

She glances left and right, as if there's nothing wrong with that temperature whatsoever. "Yeah," she says with a nonchalant shrug, her lips tugging into a frown. After a beat, she lets out a faint snort, apparently finding something particularly funny, before turning to the fridge. She opens the freezer, sighing as the cool air hits her face.

Peter doesn't realize he's staring as she reaches in, pulling out a box from the top shelf. When he sees what's in the box, he knows that his doom is near. It's bright, colorful. It's popsicles. He has to leave immediately if he knows what's good for him, if he has any sense of sanity left. She grabs a crinkling wrapper from inside the box, casually whipping it out. She holds one out to him.

"Want one?" She offers.

Peter can only shake his head, swallowing a near-silent, voice-cracking, "Nope."

And it's at this point, as she shuts the freezer door, as she starts peeling the wrapper off the way-too-phallic popsicle, that he knows he should run. It's not safe here.

But he's frozen in place, trying to burn his gaze into the intricacies of the granite countertops, tapping his fingers in an erratic rhythm.

He's an idiot, for sure, because he looks up at exactly the wrong time, right as she wraps her lips around the tip of the pop, her eyes meeting his for a fraction of a second.

How can it only be eighty-two in here? 

Thankfully, he gains some sense, tearing himself away from the counter and going over to actually turn down the thermostat. "Is it okay if I—" He coughs. "—Turn this back down?"

"Sure." MJ doesn't stop him. She wets her lips, hiding her satisfied smirk by taking the popsicle deeper into her mouth.

But again, he makes the fatal mistake of looking at her again, because now... well, now she's just messing with him. She has to be.

No one eats a popsicle like that.

When he thinks it can't get worse, she has the fucking audacity to hum as she pushes it further into her mouth. "This is so good," she says, half-way a moan.

Who actually says that about a fucking popsicle?

It's evil, truly it is, because it makes him imagine her swirling her tongue around it inside her mouth, and suddenly, the tightness in his pants gets even more uncomfortable.

He hurries to somewhere else in the kitchen, pouring himself a nice glass of water. It's still too hot in here. MJ sidesteps him easily, still inappropriately eating—sucking off—her popsicle. And he nearly chokes, because as his eyes meet hers again, she takes the damn thing out of her mouth—he thinks he's safe, but oh no—she slips her tongue out, licking a long stripe up the base, swirling it around the tip before taking it into her mouth again.

"What?" She asks—she fucking asks—when he can't look away.

And unsurprisingly, Peter can't speak. Can't even get a single syllable out.

"Is my tongue red?" She asks, sticking said tongue out that was just seconds before all over the popsicle.

"I'm gonna go hop in the shower," Peter spits out, dropping his water in the sink and making a mad dash to the bathroom, not waiting for a response.

A shower is what he needs right now.

A nice, cold shower.

He needs to take a deep breath. Think of not sexy things. Things that don't make his life out to be a bad porno.

Then, he needs to leave. Hide in the forest. Live among the trees, away from temptation, until November is over. Only then can he be at peace.

That's it!

Trees. Nature. Forests. Cold. Snow. MJ in the snow. Kissing MJ in the snow—NO.

NO.

He slams the bathroom door, leaning back against it. He heaves out a shaky sigh, running a hand over his face in frustration. How he can possibly survive the rest of the month, he has no idea.

MJ has to be messing with him, right? There’s absolutely no way in hell she’s not doing this on purpose. And why? Why is she torturing him like this? What has Peter ever done in his life to deserve this torment? It isn’t fair. 

No matter how desperately he wants to take care of the not-so-little problem in his jeans, he holds himself back, clenching every muscle in his body as he switches on a very cold shower. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to will the image of Michelle—his best friend and roommate—eating a popsicle out of his mind. It has absolutely no right to be there. 

And still, as Peter stands under the stream of freezing water, letting it run down his back and front as he holds himself up with one hand, he can’t help but think that the worst is yet to come. That somehow, someway, MJ would top simulating a blow job on an ice pop. He doesn’t know how she’d do it, but he knows it’s coming. 

He must be ready. 

--

Not to MJ’s surprise, Peter avoids her the rest of the day. He keeps his head down, not daring to even glance up at her as he walks past. Weirdly enough, this is a good sign. It confirms her hypothesis that her actions can have some sort of an effect on him. It helps her to know what to do next. 

And, well…

She’d be lying if she said it weren’t at least a little bit thrilling. 

There’s something deep inside her that finds all of this so interesting, so amusing. She wants to know how far she can go, how hard she can push before he cracks under the pressure. And the fact that it’s her that has all this power over him—it’s certainly a revelation. 

But still, even if this is “fun,” she can be professional about this. She would never let it get “too far,” whatever that would be. No, the goal here isn’t to seduce her way into Peter’s pants, but to seduce him—innocently—enough that he just does it to himself. 

Her next plan might be a little more unfair, a little more direct, and perhaps a little more daring than the last one. 

And—she should add—much more difficult than she had anticipated. 

For one, she just can’t seem to get the right angle, holding her phone above her body, making sure to get both the underside of her breasts—a tasteful amount of boob, thank you very much—and the same cheap, pretty pink undies she bought from Target. It’s awkward, tilting and twisting her phone, her thumb just barely reaching the shutter button. The first few shots aren’t anything to be particularly proud of. Too blurry, her arm cramping up from holding the camera up so long. This isn’t something she’s really done before, given she’s never seen the appeal. Why send pics when you could just, you know, show them the real thing? 

But for some reason, it makes her heart climb into her throat, makes her face almost unbearably warm. 

It’s when she changes her positioning on her bed, finding some nice light filtering in from the early evening sun. Golden hour has always proven to be exceptionally kind to her. She finds a decent pose, covering both breasts with her forearm, arching her back, making sure to get that perfect “booty tooch” that would make Tyra proud. She breathes out in an attempt to cool her heated nerves, parting her lips in a way that’s sure to incite some kind of reaction. 

Click. 

And then, she’s got the shot. 

Okay, technically it’s not a nude, but there’s something about the idea of sending this picture to Peter of all people that gets her stomach twisting in knots. 

And as her hand hovers over the send button, her heart hammers in her chest, hesitation holding her still. She takes her bottom lip in her teeth, beginning to wonder if this is the best idea. Her plan had been to send the picture, play it off as some kind of mistake, and hope that he goes to… take care of himself. Sure, it might get a reaction out of Peter—one big enough that causes him to give up this whole no nut thing—but it almost feels as if she’s crossing some kind of line. 

Miming a blow job on a popsicle was one thing—one that she can’t decide if she’s proud of or not. That was just a performance. It wasn’t something she was doing to Peter. This—sending him a racy picture when he’s literally in the next room—is a direct interference. 

Plus, there’s no telling what this would do to their friendship. It could ruin everything. Catastrophically. 

Awkward would be an understatement. 

She puts her phone face down on the mattress, avoiding the picture all together, before getting up and pulling on one of her comfy robes. 

God, all of this was a terrible idea. 

Wallowing in her own self-pity and regret, she flops back down onto the bed, grabbing her phone with the intention of deleting the picture once and for all. It’s still there in the text conversation, just waiting to be sent. She scoffs, shaking her head at herself, only for her heart to stop in her chest when—in her frazzled state—she hits “send” instead of that little “x.”

“SHIT.” 

No no no no no NONONONONO.

She drops her phone immediately, wrapping her robe tighter around herself as she scrambles for her bedroom door, nearly tripping over her rug in the process. 

Peter’s sitting on the couch, blissfully unaware, when his phone pings. And to Michelle’s utter horror, he picks it up. 

“NO!” MJ shouts, jumping on top of him. It’s a futile attempt really, seeing as her best friend—she stupidly forgets—is an actual superhero. 

Peter yelps as she pushes him down into the couch, tumbling onto the floor, holding his phone away from her grabby hands as she straddles his hips. “What the fuck—” And while he could push her off of him with a ridiculous amount of ease, he stills, becoming suddenly aware of their precarious position. 

“Gimme your phone!” Her voice comes out in a half-plea, half-demand. All panic. 

Peter still holds it away from her, his own brand of panic flashing across his features when his other hand naturally falls at her hip. He yanks it away, instead holding her back by the shoulder. “Why?”

It’s also then that he sees what she’s wearing—or rather, what she isn’t wearing. 

And in his distraction, Michelle snatches his phone, instinctively throwing it across the room. She winces apologetically when he looks up at her, jaw dropped and brow wrinkled. 

“What the hell, MJ—”

“—I’m sorry! I panicked!”

“Why?!”

“I—”

It’s then, as they both stare at each other in shock, that they both realize the position they’re in—but neither of them seem to be able to move away, frozen solid on the living room floor. 

Peter can feel his heart beating relentlessly in his ears, his throat suddenly going dry when he notices how tightly Michelle’s thighs are holding him in place. Another problem starts to arise when he sees how her cotton robe is pooled around their aligned hips, his eyes catching the sliver of shiny pink underwear when one side falls back. “What—” He clears his throat, his voice coming out uncharacteristically breathy. “—What was on my… my phone?”

“Uh—” She presses her lips together. “A picture.”

Peter’s gaze drifts lower for a split second, dipping to the exposed dip in her chest, drawn to the rise and fall with each breath. “Of?” 

“Me?”

“You?”

MJ breathes out a laugh, glancing down. “I, uh—accidentally sent… You a picture. Well—I meant to send it to you, not that like, it wasn’t for you, but I kinda decided not to send it… and then… I did. Accidentally.” 

And even though he’s trying everything in his power to keep his eyes on her face, he can’t help the way they seem to travel lower and lower with each second. He’s confused at first, but then, it hits him, like a train, what exactly that picture was. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

The air crackles between them, static in their ears. Michelle finds her own gaze drifting lower, lingering on his parted lips, a warmth pooling in the pit of her stomach. She shifts slightly, her breath catching as she suddenly feels the hardness pressing into the inside of her thigh. Peter stares up at her, something in his eyes bringing her closer, inch by inch. The warmth and weight of both of his hands tentatively, slowly moving to her waist causes something to ignite within her, and in a split-second, her lips are on his. 

Michelle’s surprised to find herself… well—surprised—at how this kiss doesn’t immediately turn into an all tongue-and-teeth, ripping-eachother’s-clothes-off kiss. It’s sweet. Slow and tender—as if the two of them are savoring it. Nothing like she’d expected Peter to be capable of. Nothing like how he’d painted himself to be from all of his hook-up stories. 

And she’s not entirely sure who’s “fault” it is when it turns into more. 

It could be the way she’s subtly grinding her hips against his, her body alight with the friction. 

It could be how his tongue swipes over her bottom lip, innocently at first. 

It could be her soft, breathy whines as one of his hands moves lower to cup her ass, pulling her closer, the new angle against his hardness bringing an indescribable feeling. 

And then again, it could be her robe starting to fall off her shoulders—she’s not sure who starts that, but all of a sudden she’s feeling cool air on her skin. 

She almost smiles into the kiss, thinking about how easily and quickly this “chaste” kiss had shifted. 

And it’s immediately after that thought that she snaps out of it. 

“Wait!” She says, pulling back and sitting up—but still staying in Peter’s lap. Before this can go any further, she has to tell him the truth. He has to be able to… back out of it. 

Where this sudden sense of generosity’s come from, she has no idea. 

He follows, sitting up with her, brows creasing, his expression a concoction of worry and panic. “Oh, fuck. I’m so sorry—”

“No!” She puts a hand on his shoulder after fixing her robe. Her thumb smooths over the fabric of his shirt. “No. It’s… fine. I just…” Surprisingly, she finds herself chuckling, unable to bite back her smile as he looks at her with concern. 

“What is it, Em?” 

It’s the nickname for her nickname that does it for her. Truly. 

“You good?” He asks, wincing as she shifts in his lap again. 

“Yeah, uh—” She coughs, trying unsuccessfully to hide the way her lips are twitching violently as she fights her smile. It takes her more than a few moments, the deep breaths she’s taking not doing all that much to help mask the humor in her tone. “—I know about No Nut November.” 

At first, Peter’s confused, staring back at her with furrowed brows, his mouth in a cute little ‘o’. He tries to play dumb, maybe thinking that he can get away with one final attempt to save his pride—letting out a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of his neck, he shrugs. “Yeah, my new diet. Crazy, huh?”

She blinks, blankly staring at him. “Peter.” There’s some amusement there, especially as she pointedly glances down to their current position. 

“What?” He asks dumbly. 

“Ned told me.”

Peter curses, wincing. “Damn it, Ned.”

“Yeah…” In a strange, very unwelcome bout of insecurity, Michelle removes her hands from Peter’s shoulders, twiddling her fingers together in front of her. “I made him tell me… and I kinda… also made him let me in on the bet.”

His eyes nearly bug out of his head. “What?!”

“We kinda made our own bet that like… If you lasted less than a week, I would get all the money.”

“You didn’t think I’d last a week?” Peter almost takes offense at that, even if there’s merit to her prediction. “Damn, MJ…”

“I mean… I also wanted to win. So… I kinda tried—or I guess have been trying… to sabotage you?” 

At that, his jaw drops. “No! Wait—You—What? I—” He stammers like that, his brain short-circuiting as she still watches from his lap. “That was—what? The porn? On my laptop?”

MJ nods, grimacing. 

“The… underwear? Just in the couch?” 

“Yeah…”

“And you were gonna…” He looks down at her, the cotton robe still just barely tied around her—the journey his eyes make also coinciding with his mouth going dry once again. “...That picture you took…?”

She nods again, looking down at her hands. 

“Putting your head on my lap?!” He asks, as if he of all people is scandalized. 

“That wasn’t part of the plan. That was kinda what helped me figure out that… I could just… do it myself.” 

“Oh my God,” he puts a hand on his face. “The popsicle. The fucking popsicle.”

“That was probably my best work, honestly.”

“That was so cruel.” 

And when he laughs, his eyes crinkling, she starts to see that maybe this will all be okay, and a sense of relief fills her chest. “Yeah, sorry. I also had Felicia help.” 

“You put her up to that?!” 

“Nah. She offered. I felt kinda weird about it—” She says the last part without realizing it, immediately shutting her mouth. 

“That’s why I said no,” Peter replies. 

It’s Michelle’s turn to be surprised. “What? Really? I thought it was just ‘cause you were so dedicated to this whole no nut thing.”

“I mean, yeah, I was but—” He laughs, reaching a hand up to smooth the curls at the base of his neck. “—I just… felt weird about it. With you guys being friends and all.” 

The way MJ’s heart flutters is strange, but not entirely unwelcome. “Why would that be weird?”

“Why did you think it’d be weird?” He throws back, his lips twisting into a curious grin. 

And not for the first time when talking to Peter, Michelle feels all knowledge of the English language leave her body. It’s strange, how much confidence she can have while literally dry-humping him on the living room floor, but how scared she can be trying to explain something about how she feels. 

She only shrugs. 

A beat passes, and still, Michelle can’t bring herself to move. 

“So…” Peter draws out after another moment. “All that—” he clears his throat. “—stuff… that was just to win that bet?” 

“Well, I mean—yeah?” The look of hurt on his face makes her heart lurch in her chest. She’s quick to correct herself. “But—I… I think maybe that could be a good thing.” 

His brows raise in careful curiosity, though he still seems apprehensive. “A good thing?” He asks slowly. 

Michelle nods, swallowing. “Uh—Yeah. ‘Cause… If I hadn’t then I wouldn’t have figured out that—um… I might—” It’s weird, how frustrating it is that she can’t seem to find the words she wants to say, that her brain seems to have completely abandoned her in her greatest, most dire time of need. And this shouldn’t be this hard. She’s an adult. She’s in her third year of college. 

Confessing the feelings that you’ve just realized you have for your best friend since high school should be easy right?

Right?

And she’s only just figured this out. In the last five seconds. That all these years of weird feelings, long glances, warm faces has actually lead to something, they’ve actually meant something other than a weird stomach bug or whatever. 

All it took was attempted sabotage during No Nut November for her to realize that. 

The power it has. 

“MJ?”

His voice grabs her attention; the caution in his tone snapping her gaze to his. And for a moment, she just looks at him, mouth hanging open as she tries to say something, anything. But still, she can’t.

So, she does the next best thing. 

She kisses him—again—trying her best to put all of the words she can’t seem to figure out into it. And although he kisses her back—easily—he doesn’t seem to understand what she means, because he pulls away not ten seconds later. 

“Listen—MJ—” Peter stammers, running a jittery hand through his hair as he breathes out a huff of laughter. “—I don’t think I can do—” He gestures between the two of them. “—This… if it’s just… casual.” 

So, he really didn’t get it, and now, she’s feeling the impatience creeping up her neck. 

“I really like you, MJ,” he confesses, and for a moment, she’s not sure if she heard him right, or if she heard him speak at all. Her brain must be playing some nasty, cold-hearted trick on her, because Peter—perpetually single and ready to mingle Peter—just said that he liked her. 

God, she feels like she’s a teenager again. It feels so high school, the amount of butterflies in her stomach hearing him say that. 

Even more so when she finds herself responding automatically, “I really like you, too.”

“Cool,” he says lamely, his breathless chuckle making her heart flutter in her chest. 

He doesn’t waste another second before he tugs her back to him, capturing her lips to his, one of his hands moving to cup the underside of her jaw. She tilts her head, letting out a gentle sigh as he deepens the kiss. His tongue brushes against her lips before slipping into her mouth. The weight of his other hand on her waist is comforting in a way, heavy and solid as he holds her in place. 

Truly, she hadn’t expected any of her plans from earlier in the week to come to this. 

Instinctively, her hand snakes down to his hips, sliding underneath the hem of his t-shirt and dragging across his stomach, smiling into the kiss as his muscles twitch underneath her touch. It’s then, as her hand dips even lower, palming him over his sweats that he seems to snap out of whatever trance she put him in. 

He grabs her wrist—gently, of course—pulling it away and breaking the kiss. 

His chest is heaving with each breath, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in an apologetic smile. “I—I can’t—the… the bet.”

And it dawns on Michelle then, that she’s been cockblocked by No Nut November. 

Even though she tries to appear understanding, he must be able to see the disappointment in the twist of her lips, the way she nods quietly. 

“But—” He starts, pressing his mouth together into a thin line. He nudges her, pointing his finger as he’s hit with a revelation, talking slowly. “—You’re not… doing… No Nut November…”

MJ lets out a surprised laugh, shifting in his lap as her face warms even more. A beat passes as she stares at him, giving him a chance to take it back. “Are you sure?” She finally asks.

Peter nods quickly, insistently. He’s got this. Clearly. “Oh. Yeah. Definitely. I’ll be fine.”

Yeah, she’s not sure how much of that she actually believes. 

Probably none of it. 

But, that doesn’t mean she’s turning down the offer. 

“Okay…” She trails off, unable to bite back her grin at the brief self-doubt that flashes across his features. “What do you—what do you wanna do?” She asks, her face burning, suddenly finding herself the slightest bit tongue tied. It takes everything in her to at least look calm and not like she’s about a half-second away from just jumping his bones. 

Or, one in particular. 

Peter clears his throat, the tips of his ears turning an adorable shade of red. “Uh—” He huffs out a laugh. “I mean… Whatever you’re comfortable with? I’m cool with whatever you want.”

He’s cool. Okay. Yeah. 

She shifts her weight again, biting back a smirk when he inhales sharply as she brushes against the hardness in his gray sweats. “Sorry.” Feeling merciful, Michelle climbs off of his lap, sitting back against the couch, curling her legs underneath her. “Any ideas?” 

Though, Peter can’t seem to tell if he’s happy with this new development or not—as hard as it was having her sitting on him. “Um—” And his expression tells her that he does have one. “I could…” He coughs again. “I could go down on you?”

It’s funny, how casually he says it, like he’s offering to give her a ride to the airport, or something. But it still makes her ears ring. 

“Yeah,” she says, nodding slowly. She swallows. “That sounds—that sounds good.”

“We should probably—” He gestures to his bedroom door, huffing out a laugh. “—not do this out here.” 

“Probably,” she snorts. 

The speed at which he scrambles to stand and runs to his bedroom, compared to her somewhat-leisurely pace, makes her let out the most undignified laugh. 

A silence falls between them as he shuts the door, the click echoing. MJ takes a moment to glance around his room—literally a single moment, because in the next he’s wrapping his arm around her waist, yanking her to him and crashing his lips to hers. His hands are greedy, twisting handfuls of the soft fabric of her robe, finding purchase on her ass and grinding her against his hardness. 

MJ revels in the groan he lets out as she melts into him, her hands winding themselves in his soft curls, twisting and tugging ever so slightly. 

He guides her to the bed, pausing to gently lay her back on the mattress before crawling over her, his mouth finding itself on the underside of her jaw, his lips and tongue dragging along the column of her throat. With one hand, he prises her legs apart, happily settling between them while his other fumbles with the tie of her robe. 

His eyes meet hers first, silently asking for permission, before pulling the thick string back. His eyes darken as Michelle helps him slip the robe back, leaving her almost completely bare underneath him. He unconsciously wets his lips as his eyes hungrily rake over the expanse of her body—he feels as if the only accurate description for how he feels at this moment being a deer caught in really well-defined headlights. 

She thinks for a moment that he’s just going to do this—stare at her—instead of, well, what he said he’d do. 

But he doesn’t seem to have that kind of patience. He lurches forward, his mouth hot on her neck, trailing open-mouthed, wet kisses down to her collarbone, her sternum, the swell of her right breast. 

She bites back a gasp as he takes her nipple into his mouth, her back arching off the bed as his tongue swirls around it, palming the other with his hand. It’s a sight to see for sure, Peter’s head on her chest, his curls tickling her skin.

His trail continues, back to the dip in her chest, lower and lower, his kisses hot on her stomach, down to her hips, the lace trim of her thong.

Peter sits back on his heels, breathless as he looks down at her. “Fuck—” He curses, drawn to the damp patch in the middle of the soft faux-satin, how it clings to her. 

He doesn’t give it another second, hooking his thumbs around the lace and roughly pulling them off of her legs. 

He’s diving his head down in the next instant, his lips leaving scorching kisses on the inside of her thighs. He thinks that he can maybe tease her, trying to slow his pace as he gets closer and closer to where she wants him to be. 

(Okay, it’s where he wants to be, too.)

He pulls back a little, trying not to smile too much at the disappointed edge in her shuddering sigh. As much as his mouth waters with her so close to him, he controls himself. Kind of. To a degree. He takes a finger, experimentally teasing her entrance, his sweats—somehow—tightening at Michelle’s quiet gasp as he touches her. There, he collects her wetness, coating his finger in her arousal, swirling it over her cunt, around her clit. And he sits there, marveling at how impossibly wet she is already. 

Though, it’s not long, probably less than a minute, before his impatience kicks in again. 

He thinks he might actually die if he doesn’t eat her out. 

Dramatic? Maybe. 

Valid?

Who’s to say?

But he can’t help himself, and any thought about slowing down is thrown out the window as he licks a long stripe up her center, his eyes rolling back as he tastes her. He dives right back in, his tongue circling her entrance, lapping her up. 

And Michelle can’t help but notice how at home he looks between her legs, how in his element he is as he moves to start sucking on her clit, flicking it back and forth with his tongue as he teases her with two fingers. 

His eyes meet hers and she wonders how on earth she’s going to survive this, especially when those two fingers push into her, curling as he pumps them in and out. 

“Shit—Peter!” She cries, her back fully lifting off the mattress as he picks up his pace, moaning against her. 

Clearly he’s enjoying this, too. 

A choked gasp slips from her lips when he slows suddenly, his eyes locking with hers again before picking back up even harder and faster than before. She reaches down, tangling her hand in his messy curls, holding him in just that right spot. Her thighs try to close on him, trapping him in as the coil in her tightens, but his free hand grips her, holding her in place. And she can’t fight the way her hips buck against him as she begins to grind herself against his face. 

It builds and builds, teetering just on that beautiful edge, when Peter adds a third finger—and then, she’s seeing stars, her brain going fuzzy as all of her muscles tense, electricity shooting from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She comes with a strangled moan, panting as her body’s overcome with pleasure. 

Peter’s movements slow, and he pulls off of her sensitive clit, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm, before taking each finger into his mouth, sucking them clean. 

MJ sits up on her elbows, her chest heaving with each breath as she watches him—and at that moment, her eyes drawn to the hard line in his sweats, she curses No Nut November again, because honestly, she’s never wanted him to fuck her more, never been so angry at a single month.

He seems to be in the same fire, his expression wrought with the inner turmoil he feels. His eyes screw shut, and he pinches the bridge of his nose, trying desperately to ignore how painfully hard he is, how he can feel his dick pulsing already, and how stupidly hot and beautiful MJ is. 

His decision’s made before he opens his eyes. 

Michelle lets out a surprised yelp as he leaps on top of her, his mouth on hers before she can start laughing. Somehow, his hands are greedier as they explore her body, squeezing and kneading her breasts, her waist, her hips, down to her ass. 

None of that’s to say that she’s complaining, though. Peter just ate her out like it was his full-time job, like he was stopping crime as Spider-Man. As far as she’s concerned, he can do whatever he wants right now. 

It’s when he starts to take his sweats—and boxers—off that she gets confused, if not a little too hopeful. 

“What about the bet?” She asks breathlessly when he pulls back.

He holds her gaze, his lips curving into a sly grin. “Fuck the bet.”

If there’s a god, Michelle wants to thank her right now. 

Peter’s hands grip her thighs, his fingers digging into her skin as he wraps them around his waist. He takes his dick in his hand, pumping a few times, swiping it down her center, tapping her clit, before Michelle suddenly remembers to use their one collective brain cell. 

“Wait—” she gasps. “Condom.”

Peter curses under his breath, hanging his head for a moment, biting his lip. “Yeah. Yeah. You’re right.” 

If she thought he was fast running to the bedroom, watching him scramble through his bedside drawers looking for a rubber is something else. A giggle—a fucking giggle—bubbles up out of her at his relief when he finds one. 

He rolls it on quickly, expertly, days of No Nut November clearly not slowing him down. 

He’s back on her in the next second, eager as he gathers her arousal and coating himself with it. 

They both let out a string of curses as he pushes into her—finally. Peter screws his eyes shut, taking a shuddering breath as he feels how warm and snug she is around him, almost unable to believe how well she fits him. MJ grips his shoulder, face burning as he gives her a moment to adjust, a moment to take all of him in. 

When he starts to move, they both wonder again why they hadn’t been doing this in the first place. 

As with everything else, Peter doesn’t waste their time. Even though he revels in how fucking amazing she feels around him, how he can’t even remember the last time this felt so good, so right, he picks up a steady pace, fucking into her like it’s the last chance he’ll get. He hikes her leg higher on his waist, the new, deeper angle causing Michelle to arch her back, a wet moan ripping through her. 

“Peter—” She chants his name over and over, unable to say anything else as his hips snap into hers. “Fuck—”

“God, MJ, you’re so fucking good,” his voice is almost a growl, lower and more desperate than he’s ever sounded. “Taking me so well.”

Michelle should’ve guessed he was one for dirty talk, though she can’t say she’s surprised. 

Or that she minds. 

Peter bites back a groan, stilling momentarily as she clenches around him, burying his face in the crook of her neck. He’s already so close, teetering just on the edge, but he’s filled with a sense of determination at the sting of her nails digging into his shoulders. 

His hand trails down her stomach, his thumb pressing her clit, scrubbing furiously as he pumps in and out of her. She squeezes him again, head thrown back, slack-jawed as he tilts her hips even further, the new angle causing a string of curses to spill from her lips. Her muscles spasm around him as she comes for a second time, her eyes screwed shut as she clings to him for dear life. His own orgasm crashes over him, and he moans loudly into her skin, holding her to him , fingers digging into her hips as he comes undone. 

It’s something MJ can’t help but want to see again. And again. 

He flops down on top of her, his head on her chest as he struggles to catch his breath. 

Her hand comes to smooth down his curls at the nape of his neck, and she smiles as he shifts his head to look up at her. 

“God, fuck No Nut November,” He breathes into her skin. 

A light laugh bubbles up out of her. 

He lets out a heavy sigh. “What day is it?” He asks.

“November fifth.” 

He groans, squeezing his eyes shut. “Damn.” He pulls out of her, standing up to throw the condom away, almost missing the bin in the corner of the room. 

“You made it longer than I thought you would,” Michelle laughs.

Peter flops down next to her, his eyes narrowed, though there’s still a smile on his face. “What?” 

“Well, yeah. I bet Ned that you wouldn’t last a week,” she replies, patting him on the chest as she gets up, disappearing into the bathroom. 

Peter’s eyes widen before he covers them with his hands. “Oh. Shit. Ned.”

He’s still there when she comes back; still naked, too. 

“Ned, doesn’t have to know,” MJ says, falling back into the bed with him. 

Peter peeks out from underneath his arm. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. We can like, pretend you’re still doing it.”

There’s a crooked grin on Peter’s face as he stares at her—a look that makes her insides gooey and heart fuzzy. 

And she hates how much she doesn’t hate it. 

“And when Betty inevitably breaks Ned,” she shrugs. “We can split the money.”

He shakes his head, amazed and somewhat scandalized. “MJ, you’re a genius.”

Again, she shrugs. 

“So, we can keep doing—” He gestures between them, brows raised. “—And let Ned lose. The money’s ours.”

“Right.”

He lamely sticks his hand out, offering for her to shake on it.

“Deal?” He asks.

She kisses him. “Deal.”

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Κατακηλέω (νοσταλγία deleted scene)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Κατακηλέω: to charm, cast a spell over (Ancient Greek)

Pairing: Ivar/Reader, Narses/Reader but you know how that is

Summary: This is a deleted scene that happens between chapter 16 and 17, it centers mainly around Narses.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: The usual, plus a graphic depiction of burning alive (or my best attempt at writing it anyways)

A/N: Yeah idk what to say here lol, I put this together mainly bc @xbellaxcarolinax​ made a point of there being little Narses on the story, and bc she was interested in a chapter more centered around him. I write a lot of rambles that I don’t post cause I don’t think people wanna read ‘em, but here it is one of em, in deleted-scene form lol. Hope you like it, and thank you! <3

Also yes I have Michiel Huisman as Daario in my head as a faceclaim for Narses, idk what to tell ya, I suck at describing characters so of course you had no way of knowing that, and I’m sorry.

Taglist: (I’m sorry if you don’t wanna be tagged in these kind of chapters btw, just lemme know and I’ll keep you on the main story ones only, or just the main story and Ivar PoV ones, whatever works for you) @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax @pieces-by-me @angelofthorr @samsationalwilson​

“It scares you, doesn’t it?” Freydis starts suddenly one night, and you lift your eyes to her but don’t say anything. So, she continues, “The reminder of what you could do.”

“If you mean-…”

“You know what I mean. You could lie, and I keep wondering why you don’t.”

“Lying is what you would do, is it not?” You snap, head tilted to the side.

The blonde’s smile turns smug, as if she just made you give away a card. Instead of saying anything regarding that, she shrugs,

“You have traveled a lot, lived a lot,” She states, moving carefully and taking a seat next to you, seemingly choosing to ignore your eyes following her. “Will you tell me you are unaware of what men are able and willing to do for a woman’s love?

She stops whatever it is she was going to say next when an elderly woman enters the apothecary, her blue eyes following the woman’s moves. You are reminded of that night when she shared her thoughts by a window and was interrupted -eyes and ears follow the witch-, and realize why she holds her tongue.

Instead of waiting for the other woman to leave, she stands up and asks you to follow with but a gesture of her head.

Certain steps take you both to the same elevated patch of cold and foreign grass that saw you lay on your knees and pray to whatever Gods heard you to give you an answer.

And so, Freydis continues on,

“Look at all Ivar did to get you to be at his side. Imagine what he would do with the promise you could love him,” Manic blue eyes meet yours as Freydis stops you with a hand on your arm. You pointedly look down at it and back up at her face, feeling a tightness in your chest, dread mixed with disdain. “Imagine what he would do if you pretended to love him and threatened to take it away.”

There’s only one answer you can give her.

“Get your hand off me.”

If you were your mother, you’d have a sword in your hands and a snarl on your lips. But you never wanted to fight like a man, and so you only let the cold of this land seep into your voice and harden your expression, your voice.

She remains frozen for a few moments too long, and you once again pointedly look at her hand and back into her eyes.

“I don’t like repeating myself,” You state, and only then does she comply, her eyes searching yours. You return your arm to be comfortable covered by the warm cloak, and turn to keep walking. “I do not want to hear another word of this, you hear me? Not another damned word.”

“Does that mean you’ve given up? You’ll let him keep you here?”

“I said not another word.”

Freydis swallows whatever her words are to be next, and nods her head, accepting your order as if she thinks you gave her a choice.

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Freydis speaks again.

“You choose to protect him now, is that it?”

Her dainty and delicate voice loses none of the edge and the certainty, even as her eyes betray something more human.

“You are a smart woman,” You concede instead of answering her questions, and tilt your head to the side, “But a smarter one would know when to hold her tongue.”

“You don’t hold yours.”

“I never claimed to be smart,” You reply easily, before bowing your head in goodbye. “Goodnight, Freydis.”

She knows it is a dismissal, and a rude one at that, but she only returns the gesture. You could swear a strange sort of pride shines in the girl’s dark blue eyes as she takes her leave.

____

And now you sit alone overlooking that same cliff and you cannot get her words out of your head. You wish you could hate her, berate her for her games and call her names, say she is nothing but a liar, a whore.

But it is not so simple, is it? You seduced a man into giving you his army, did it so well Freydis trusted you to seek Freyja’s favor and do the same with the King, knew you had what it took with only but a look at you.

You promised your love to Narses only for the faint possibility that he could drive the Byzantine Christians off your lands, that he could bend his army and his strength to your will and give you the kingdom you deserved.

And you did to Narses everything that Freydis would have done to Ivar. You kissed, lied, and promised yourself; for the sake of a game.

Because when all you are told you can be is a warm pair of legs to wrap around a man, a pretty little jewel for him to keep and parade around, a quiet and beautiful maiden to stand beneath who the Gods deem you belong to; you learn to play games, all women do.

You wrap your legs tight enough he begs for mercy trying to escape your spell, you show them how even jewels draw blood if squeezed too tight in a fool’s hand, you let beauty carry you near him and your voice be a whisper as it reaches his ear. You play games.

But, as you sit on the cold grass overlooking Kattegat’s horizon, the sea and the sky meeting far away and reminding you strikingly of dusks and dawns spent on that temple overlooking the ocean and awaiting for those ships; you think about how no women speak of what happens when the game ends.

Because it always ends. It is a world of change, after all, a world of wheels turning and of days and nights and of seasons unending. It goes on and on, and the world changes, the games end.

Maybe you don’t hear women speak of what happens when it ends because few survive it. Those that do, maybe, just like you, refuse to speak of it, refuse to give voice to the pain and the shame that comes after playing with a heart not your own.

Refuse to admit the regret.

“You’ll do it?” He asks, eyes shining, “You’ll be my wife?”

“I would love to marry you,” You lie, you lie, you lie; and it burns your heart, “But I don’t want to bring our children into a world that will push them into the dirt for the Gods they follow, Narses.”

And just like that, promises, vows, oaths, fall from his perfect lips like he cannot help it. And you believe him, because if you hold your breath and dive past the smoke into the memories of your past, you can recognize that the way Narses looks at you now is the same way your father used to look at your mother.

You remember Sieghild’s teachings about Freyja, about her ways of persuasion and seduction, and wonder if, even if you are foreign to her, the Goddess looks over you. You wonder if she would smile or frown at your games.

You fall down on the grass, keeping your hold on Narses’ hands to tug him down with you. Narses falls with a laugh, legs and arms holding him up above you, dark green eyes shining as they look down upon yours.

It is remarkably easy, to surrender to his kiss. You close your eyes, letting your fingers go up into his hair, and allowing your lips and tongue to dance with his.

When his impatient lips move down to your jaw, your neck; you let him, craning your head back so he can have more access to your skin. If you clear your mind, you can almost feel nothing but pleasure.

When you tug particularly hard on his hair as Narses bites at your collarbone, you feel a breathed laugh leave his nose.

Lifting himself up in strong arms on each side of your head, Narses looks down upon you. His words should not hurt like they do by now, as you are so familiar with them you know what they will be before he even opens his mouth.

He steals another quick kiss, and whispers, “I love you.”

As a lover, as his future wife.

You smile through the pain, and answer, “I love you.”

As a friend, as the protector of your people.

As an instrument of war.

You are reminded of the safety of Narses’ embrace, however suffocating; and you can almost taste your name on his lips, bloodied as they were the last time you saw him alive.

“You are in the Elysian Fields, I know,” You start telling the wind, hoping it can carry your words to him, “Or maybe these Varangians’ Gods are fighting with ours to take you with them to Valhalla. Either way, I hope you can hear my voice one last time, my friend.”

You laugh brokenly to yourself, lowering your gaze to the grass under your body, caressing the dark tresses of nature.

“I know I don’t make much sense, I-I never did to you. Ramblings about Fate and empires fallen and tales of Gods and heroes; things that you had no interest in hearing. And yet you still looked upon me like something…something out of a dream, Narses,” You tell him, pain clawing at your heart, reopening wounds you thought you closed long ago. You smile sadly still, and reminisce, “You used to tell me I was your dream, and…I wish I could tell you that you were mine, I truly do. But I can’t.”

And regret fills you, the useless and heartbreaking gift of hindsight showing you that the path you took led only to pain and war. Narses was sent by your choices, by your games, by your mistakes, to die; and you…you were sent here. To what?

You dare think not even the Gods have an answer to your present, or future. But you do have answers to your past, and if someone deserves to hear them, it is Narses, wherever he may be.

“Returning to Eleusis choked me with the smoke of all the fires lit before I left and during my time away. I…blinded myself with ambition and I thought the only way I could fight was through you,” You explain, honestly, brokenly, the only way you know how to, “I knew that if I had the heart of Thebes’ Strategus, I could get what I wanted. I just had to have enough guile, enough lies, enough poison; to trick you into giving me your heart.

You offer the wind a hollow chuckle, bitter and angry and oh so filled with regret you can feel your heart poisoned with it.

“And I did exactly that. Maybe Aphrodite and Peitho blessed my lies, maybe Sieghild was right and Freyja watched over me,” You look over Kattegat’s horizon, facing the truths of your past when you don’t know what you want out of your future, “Either way, I used you, I hated myself but I still did it and…I got what I wanted.

As the agony of the flames crawls over your legs, scorching your skin with the inferno, blinding your eyes with the smoke, flogging your throat with your screams; you turn your gaze to the sky, blackened and barren as it is, and plead the Gods you have fought and bled for to grant you a moment of mercy, a painless death.

And flesh being charred smells awful, making your poisoned lungs heave for unattainable retrieve. You hold a moment of clarity in your mind to beg for Sieghild’s forgiveness, that you left her in this world alone after she sacrificed so much for you. You hope her Gods let you visit her in Folkvangr.

With one last ragged and angry scream, you let your strength leave you, your agony leave you, your regrets leave you.

When you awaken you find yourself in too much pain to accept this is the Underworld. Before you open your eyes, a moment of panic and dread fills your heart at the thought that the Christians left you alive to torture you, but you hear familiar voices, smell familiar fragrances.

Sieghild’s hand over your forehead, gentle and loving in ways she rarely is, makes a small smile tug at your dried and bleeding lips.

“I know you are awake, open your eyes,” She chastises, gruff even when relief clogs her voice. You do, and her smiling inked face settles your quickly beating heart, makes you forget the pain for a moment. “I love you, you stubborn child.”

You allow yourself a smile, closing your eyes again and focusing on breathing for a few moments, before whispering, “I love you too, minn móðir.”

The shieldmaiden chuckles brokenly, pressing rough lips on the crown of your head. After a few moments of silence, she sighs.

“By the way, you mad woman, you did it.”

“Did what?” You ask raggedly, wincing as you lift your head to accept the cup of water she offers.

“Listen, little one,” She instructs, and when you do, you hear the rustling of armor plates, the heavy steps of soldiers outside your door. The Viking woman shakes her head in almost disbelief, “The Strategos, that boy, he saved you from the flames.”

“Narses?”

“His soldiers came with us, we have nearly a thousand men here.”

“I did so many things wrong, Narses. I lied and manipulated and pretended, and maybe because the Gods are cruel, or maybe because reaping what you sow is an empty promise; I succeeded, and I got what I wanted. I knew I wouldn’t win, not against the Empire, not against the Christians, but…I wanted them to remember me, to remember our names and our Gods and our ways. To remember we don’t die silently.

And even if it hurts, you admit to yourself that you would do it again. You wish you could have loved Narses the way he deserved, you wish you could have been honest, you wish you could have found other ways to fight for your kingdom; but…you understand why you did it, and feeble and useless as it is, you want to forgive yourself for it.

Where there is war there can never be love, right? And you wanted war, you will not lie to yourself and say you truly wanted peace all along.

No, you wanted to see those Christians that came to take your home bleed at your feet, you wanted Attica to be free again, and Laconia, and Macedonia, and Arcadia, and many others. And you would wage war for your freedom for a thousand years if needed.

You would promise Narses your hand again if it came to it. You know you would, because the person you were when Attica was yours…she would have done that and much more for a chance at freedom. Now, you know better. Now, you let yourself be softer. Now, the world is a lot bigger than it seemed back then.

Now, things are different. Maybe you are, maybe the world is, maybe your heart is. Maybe Ivar is.

You smile at the barren horizon that doesn’t seem so foreign and intimidating now, and whisper, “I could do it now, I know. I would end up dead when he knew the truth, that’s for certain, but the victory would be mine, our people’s, by the time Ivar could catch up with my lies. I could, Narses.

“We need Stithulf’s support. We will ally with him, and even if you scream and fight it is what will happen.”

But you are shaking your head before he even finishes speaking.

“As Anassa of Attica I ca-…”

“As the commander of your forces, as the man you’ll marry, I’m telling y-…”

The hostility, the command, in his tone startle you to attention, and you narrow your eyes as you step closer. You don’t reach his shoulder, but the years have taught you there’s few things a man fears more than a woman that refuses to fight like a man but still fights.

“If you try using that to silence me, I fear you will not live long as my husband.” The threat drips from your lips like wine, but Narses doesn’t cave for once, and he drags a hand over his face.

“You always fight me, why do you…why can’t you be…?” His words die in a sigh, and you lift your eyebrows.

“Why can’t I be someone I’m not? Would you love me if I were anything other than me?”

“Sometimes, I wish you were,” He sentences, a hand over his eyes as he grunts out the words. Your heart drops, and so does your guard. He sighs again, and a hand reaches up and cups your cheek, unaware your whole body tightens to a coil the moment he touches you. “Sometimes, I fool myself into thinking I still see the woman you once were in you. The woman that wanted a life surrounded by Eleusis’ warmth, the woman that cared not for war, for vengeance.”

You grit your teeth, and step back, closing your eyes tightly as you croak,

“That woman was never all I was. I wanted Eleusis, I still do, but that doesn’t mean I never wanted revenge, Narses. Those Christia-…”

When you feel he finally drops his hand from your cheek, you open your eyes and watch his hand clench into a fist.

“Why do I have to love a woman like you?” He hisses, turning his back to you and slamming both hands on the weak table in front of him. “I’ve asked the Gods why, you know. Why I have to love a woman arrogant and ambitious and…Hera help me, a woman that is not mine. Never was, never will be.”

“I-…What are you saying?”

“Do you think I’m enough of a fool to think I can make you my wife? If the Fates don’t stop me you will,” A humorless chuckle leaves his lips, “Lord Hades might split open the earth and drag you to the Underworld before I get to call you my wife.”

“Don’t say those things.”

“It is true! I was not Fated to have you, even if the Gods know I was Fated to love you,” He shakes his head, teeth gritted and eyes failing to meet yours, “We both know what made you say yes to me, and it is what is keeping you from saying yes to Stithulf. It was never love.”

Shame chokes you, keeps the next words form leaving your lips. Your lips tremble and your eyes cloud with tears as you look at his tense back, nothing but regrets shining in your eyes.

“Are you-…will you l-leave?”

Will you leave me? Is the question you dare not ask, because you do not have the right to believe he should want to stay at your side, not after everything.

You still don’t want him to leave you alone here.

But the Thebesian takes a deep breath, straightening his back again and turning to you. The same anguished softness you saw so many times in his eyes still shines in them now, and he shakes his head.

His voice when he replies feels like warmth, like safety and nostalgia,

“I will always be at your side. Until Hades summons you home, I’ll be at your side.”

You look into his warm eyes, and with shame still burning your chest, you ask,

“Why? The Gods know I do not deserve it. Why do you stay?”

The answer leaves his lips with the same certainty it always did, with the same hope and the same truth,

“I love you.”

You like to believe you would have loved Narses, you like to believe you would have been content remaining as Eleusis’ Priestess. You like to believe you could have birthed him children for you to teach the way of the Gods and he to give the fame of his family.

Problem is, you fear now, with the taste of this strange freedom still fresh and sweet on your tongue, you don’t think you could have ever lived with the binds of what Narses wanted to make out of you. A priestess, whose ambition is forgotten when he wills it so; a woman, whose eyes will need to lower from his; a wife, to be quietened when he speaks.

And you don’t want that, to be what Narses wanted you to, what Galla wanted you to, what Freydis wants you to, what Ivar wants you to. You want to be you, and you want to fight, and be compassionate and revengeful, and be soft and relentless, without needing to choose one or the other.

You want nights of stupid arguments and infuriating talks, you realize around a broken chuckle, you want foreign languages and even more foreign customs, you want…you want Ivar. In all his vitriol, in all his bloodthirst, in all his awkward gentleness and in all his armored heart, you want him.

Tears of regret and the path not taken fill your eyes, and you find yourself sobbing out a small laugh, “But the person that lied and tricked you, that could do the same to Ivar…she died amongst the flames, left me in her place, I think.

The Priestess is dead.

Taking the small knife Ivar gifted you what seems like a lifetime ago, you hold a lock of your hair in front of you, and cut off the wind-blown and tangled strands, holding a short tress in your hand that weights like a decade of apologies and promises made.

“I’m sorry. For everything I did and everything I didn’t do,” You promise him, closing your eyes and almost seeing his smiling face before you, his eyes shining and his sun-kissed skin weathered around a smile. “In another life, I may have loved you like you deserved.”

You open your palm, and let the strands of grief be carried off by Kattegat’s winds way across the sea.

And in another world, on another land, a dead man takes a breath.

____

So, hope you liked it, hope that last sentence got you wonderin’, and hope you have a nice day/night!

Thank you so much for reading, see you Tuesday with the scheduled update: chapter 18 :)

[welllpthisishappening]

On This Night and in This Light (3/3)

Emma Swan knows she’s pretty good at what she does.

Helping the magically afflicted and affected find jobs in this realm isn’t the most glamorous thing in the world, and, sure, there’s a lot of paperwork, but she figures she’s helping people and that’s the important thing. It’s structured. Calm, even.

Until. It’s always until.

Killian Jones shows up with his stupid smirk and his tendency to lean against the door frame in Emma’s office and his distinct lack of magic. Or knowledge of what they’re really doing at Mills Personnel. Everything kind of goes off the rails after that.

—-

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 6.5K of magic and eventual happily ever after

AN: There’s some magic here. Some kissing. Some curses. And happily ever after, of course. Thanks for reading along with this little distraction from the legitimate stress of the real world. You guys are all an absolute delight.  

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll || Or start from the top

—-

“Are you good?” Tilting her head up to meet Killian’s vaguely crinkled forehead and passably confused expression, Emma almost regrets the question she didn’t plan on asking. That’s the problem with him. And them, at least in the abstract sense. 

Words tumble out of her without much thought to their meaning or collective, if not slightly metaphorical, weight. Defenses she’s spent a lifetime cultivating feel as if they’ve crumbled at her feet, which is impressive since she’s laying down, but the metaphor still checks out and Emma keeps asking questions. 

Without being wholly afraid of the answers she’ll get. 

“Be more specific,” Killian murmurs, and her heart does something stupid. Skips a beat. Sparks her magic. Threatens to leave her glowing in the tangle of sheets she’s absolutely stolen in the middle of the night. 

“Just—I mean with everything.” Nosing at her cheek, Emma can practically hear Killian’s smile. “‘Fraid that’s not any more specific, my love. But if we’re going to speak in the abstract before coffee—” “—Oh, we should make coffee.” He kisses her cheek, that time. “Then I am exceptionally good.” “Pretty vast adverb.”

“Well, you asked a very broad question. But I stand by my answer, particularly when you’re not wearing any clothing. Why, am I giving off not-good vibes?” “Maybe lame ones if you keep using the word vibe in actual conversation. I just—I don’t know, wanted to make sure, I guess. Working for Mills isn’t exactly the height of luxury and it can be a weird place, and I...we never really looked at apartments for you, because we can do that if you want to, but—” Stumbling over the words, Emma wishes her hands were free. She’d like to wave them around. Use them as a distraction to whatever has settled on her face and in the pit of her stomach, and this wasn’t really the plan. Granted, the plan occurred while she was overly exhausted and reeling a bit from rather large emotional realizations, but telling him the truth about absolutely everything is suddenly a bit more daunting in the light of day. 

And they haven’t even had coffee yet. 

Killian’s hand moves. Faster than Emma’s entirely ready for, his fingers brush a strand of wayward hair away from her eyes and then he’s kissing the bridge of her nose and pulling her against his chest and—

“This was not my plan. In some great expectation for my life, I’m not sure I could have ever imagined this is what it’d be like. But,” Killian adds, as soon as Emma’s magic shifts into something far closer to dread, “if all of this ended with your freakishly cold feet waking me up every morning, then I can’t be very upset about it.”

Swooning pre-coffee can’t be advisable. Emma’s heart doesn’t care. It flips and flops and does that possible explosion thing again, and she’s a little concerned the force of her smile will have adverse effects on the paint in her bedroom. 

“You don’t think Mills is weird?” “Do you?” Emma shakes her head. “Nah, no questions for questions. This is—” “—An inquiry?” Her shoulders slump. Under the blankets, and she’s really got a shit ton of blankets. “I don’t know, Swan. Mills is...a place, a job. One where you work, and that’s mostly why I’m interested in continuing to work there. Should I not be thinking that?” The last few words come with a bit of understandable concern and maybe a hint of frustration, and she should have said something earlier. 

It’s very frustrating to realize how much smarter the part-time cricket is than Emma.

She hopes he’s enjoying his job, too. 

“My feet aren’t really that cold.”

Killian scoffs. “I promise, they are like little ice cubes attached to your legs.” “Lucky you’re here to provide external heat, then.” 

Burrowing her face closer to the crook of his neck, Emma gives herself a moment to relish in that warmth, like he’s some sort of personal sun or a battery or another bit of science she doesn’t understand and David always likes to say that science is just explained magic. Emma wonders if it works the other way, too. 

Magic is something that simply hasn’t been explained yet. No rational reasoning, or anything except the kind of gut feeling that can change everything. 

“I am,” Killian says, and it probably isn’t meant to sound like a promise. “Are you good?” Dots of light appear behind Emma’s eyelids every time she blinks, trying to come up with an answer that won’t send him running and she doesn’t know what she’ll do if he runs. Energy prickles at the tips of her fingers, curling around either one of her wrists and lingering in the slight bend of her left elbow because at some point her left palm has flattened itself against Killian’s stomach. “Mills can be kind of weird,” Emma mutters, trying to pick her words more carefully now. “And that’s...there’s a reason for that, and a reason I started working there and—” A phone starts vibrating. 

Loudly enough that it also immediately falls from the nightstand it was charging on, and keeps buzzing around on the floor. Killian sighs. 

“Hold that thought.”

Emma wishes she could. But her hands are already back underneath the blankets, and she’s all too aware of how bright they’ve gone in the last few seconds and the state of Killian’s shoulders make it obvious he’s not all that pleased with whatever he’s being told. “Yeah, yeah, I can—I mean, it’s like twenty blocks the wrong way, but—God, yes, Scarlet. I can come back for a few minutes.”

He doesn’t bother to plug the phone back in, and for like a solid half second Emma gets distracted by the lack of clothes before her eyes fly up and Killian’s sighing again and the weight in the pit of her stomach grows. 

“Coffee later?” Emma blinks. “Sure. Is everything ok?” “No idea, just that Scarlet said he had to talk to me and it couldn’t wait and—” Killian shrugs, fingers finding the back of his neck. “I probably won’t be that late, but if Regina asks—” “—I’ll tell her.” Something tugs at the back of her mind, a warning Emma can’t place, but she can sense a lie with almost startling accuracy and she knows Killian isn’t lying to her. She just can’t figure out why Will would lie to him. 

Halloween’s not her favorite day. 

People assume all magical and mythical creatures thrive on this one day of the year, but more often than not Emma finds that it’s just another busy day when those same magical and mythical creatures come out of the metaphorical woodwork in droves to get jobs. And sure, some of the rumors are true. There are certain times when the fabric between realms can be a bit more flimsy than usual. Both midnights, for example. Eleven-eleven’s another big one. So, teenage girls had that one right, at least. 

And yeah, ok, Halloween also means Regina bakes half a dozen apple pies for the whole office, but when the whole office is already overrun by inquiring applicants, Emma can’t find it in herself to be very excited for a dessert she only kind of likes. 

She’d never admit that to Regina. 

Self-preservation instincts, and all that. 

Plus, days like this are always cold. Fraught with that certain nip in the air, and leaves that crunch under Emma’s boots. Only to also get stuck to the bottom of Emma’s boots, and she has to twist her wrist to get rid of her leaf-based trail on her way to her paperwork-covered desk. 

The same one David’s leaning against. 

“You tell him yet?”

She missed one leaf. Figures. Emma never even went trick-or-treating as a kid. Halloween’s a sham. “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.” “Sure you don’t. It’s dumb that you haven’t yet.” “Voice your opinion a little louder, please.” “Nothing is going to happen,” David says, but Emma barely hears over the sound of sudden and complete disagreement that scratches its way from the depths of her soul. Maybe Halloween makes her a little maudlin, actually. She can’t believe she didn’t get to tell him. “It hasn’t yet.” “Why are you jinxing things like that?” “There is no such thing as jinx, and c’mon, if you guys can get through today with a hundred magically unemployed people, then sky’s the limit.” “Not even clever.” David shakes his head. “You’re impressed and swayed, I know it. Plus it’s not like you’re a bad witch or anything.” “I’m sorry, a bad witch?” “Yeah, you know. None of your intentions, even when lying to the guy you’re stupid into—” “—Opinions keep coming fast and furious, don’t they?” “Because he’s right,” Ruby calls, twisting around desks to involve herself in a conversation Emma doesn’t want to participate in anymore. “You really didn’t tell him yet? That’s nuts. And you’re a good person, Em. With a very good looking face. Who wouldn’t want to make out with that? Ad nauseum.” “I’m going to be honest, using a word that sounds like nauseous isn’t helping your case much,” Emma says. “And I’m going to tell him. I am, just—things got crazy this morning.” Ruby howls. With laughter. Drawing more than a few curious stares, and rather pointed glare from Regina’s direction. David pales noticeably. “Did they?” Ruby presses. “How crazy are we talking and was it also vaguely acrobatic, because I feel like Jones could move if he had to, but that’s strictly theorizing on my part, so—” Sentences without end are quickly becoming Emma’s least favorite thing. Only slightly edging out ringing phones. The one on her desk lights up, which doesn’t happen very often, but she can’t imagine the light is supposed to be green. 

David’s talking. She’s dimly aware of it — the soft hum that sounds more like Charlie Brown’s teacher than any of the human characteristics Emma is certain they both have, and that’s another quasi-Halloween reference. Rocks appear to have landed rather forcefully in her stomach, and that’s what she gets for optimism. 

“Swan,” Killian breathes, as soon as she pulls the phone to her ear. “Swan, Emma listen to me, you can’t—” Seriously, the lack of sentence structure is becoming intolerable. Killian grunts, the sound turning into a gasp almost immediately and a few shouted no, no, no leave them alone and Emma doesn’t remember standing. 

Only that she’s knocked her chair over in the process. 

“Is this Ms. Swan?” a new voice Emma almost recognizes asks. “Because it seems I’ve got something of yours, while you have something I’m particularly interested in. Let’s make a little exchange, shall we?”

It’s disappointing that her mouth goes dry. Emma assumes that’s because she’s all but panting, bent awkwardly over her desk while her eyes scan the room for something or someone and—it clicks. The voice. 

“Zelena. This is Zelena, isn't it?” Both David and Ruby make matching noises of disbelief, but the buzzing is back and Regina is moving and the line’s gone dead anyway. “She’s not supposed to be here,” Regina says with enough calm that it grates on every single one of Emma’s already-fraying nerves, “magical control sent her back to Oz.” Emma can’t cope with this. Any of it. All she wanted was to drink coffee with her decidedly human and very normal, if not ridiculously attractive boyfriend and they’ve never actually used relationship qualifiers. 

That’s disappointing. 

“Right, right, yeah, ok, of course” Emma mumbles, and she doesn’t bother to fix her chair. “Happy fucking Halloween, I guess.”

It takes her all of five minutes and one person dressed in costume to realize that running is absolutely and completely pointless. 

Emma’s a goddamn witch.

And it’s raining. 

Drops slide down her temples, drip down the back of her neck and work under her jacket because she never even got the chance to take her jacket off. Which is something of an exceptionally small miracle now, but she’s already cold and she’s always so fucking cold and—

He called her Emma. 

He called her—

“My love,” she whispers, entirely to herself and that part isn’t really true. Shadows hover just outside the edge of her vision, what Emma knows are her friends waiting for instructions or a plan, and she’s got to come up with a plan and she doesn’t know where Belle and Will live. 

She doesn’t have to. 

Reaching her hand back, Emma’s fingers lace through Regina’s, and her soft instruction of “all instinctual,” doesn’t get lost in the hum of the city or the bustle of a holiday that requires masks and chocolate-based gluttony. It takes root. In Emma’s mind, and those same pieces of her soul, finds the tiny bits of space between her stomach rocks and spreads out from there. 

Warming her from the inside out. 

She closes her eyes. 

“What the fucking fuck?” Will shouts, Emma’s feet slamming into hardwood floor that was probably highlighted in this apartment listing. Eyes bugging, he’s plastered to the wall opposite her, and Emma’s pleasantly surprised to find he’s not gagged, but she also kind of figures it’s because Belle is and there’s something inherently villainous about allowing the love interest to make noise while their partner is being tortured. 

By a woman wearing a pointed witch’s hat. “Kind of cliché, isn’t it?” Ruby muses, and Emma’s not surprised they’ve started their rescue mission with sarcasm. She also can’t respond. Her eyes are too busy trying to take in the scene. 

Stacks of books litter the floor, half the living room furniture on its side as if it’s been knocked over in a fit of inevitably-magical rage, and Belle doesn’t look as scared as annoyed that she’s been bound in one of the few upright chairs. Emma’s heart stutters. Catching her breath is impossible, head on a swivel as she tries to find—

“Killian,” she exhales, and he’s not gagged either. No visible restraints keep him a few feet away from Will, but Emma can feel the magic rippling off him and it smells strongly of bitter lemons. Or expired key lime pie. 

Neither of those things are inherently Halloween, or all that magical. But then Zelena’s turning slowly and the green splotches on her face ensure any attempts at passably funny metaphors or desperate attempts to maintain her sense of reality disappear. 

“Huh,” David says, “that’s new, actually. We ever see anyone change color before?”

Regina clicks her tongue. “She’s not changing color. She’s giving in.” “To what, exactly?” “Jealousy. Isn’t that right, Zelena? Been the crux of the problem forever, hasn’t it?”

Emma’s head is spinning. She’s not moving. “Wait, wait, what the fuck is going on?” One side of Killian’s mouth tugs up, amusement in his gaze and that can’t possibly be right. “You are stuck to the wall, idiot!’ “Oh, Swan, you do know how to flatter a man.” “What is happening?” He can’t shrug, but Emma knows he tries and that should not be as charming as it is. Mary Margaret squeezes her hand. The one that’s almost neon. “Turns out Scarlet didn’t actually want to talk to me this morning. We definitely could have had coffee.” “Is that a euphemism for—” Ruby starts, only to snap her jaw closed when Regina gapes at her. Emma’s starting to lose feeling in her fingers. 

And she sees the exact moment any sense of teasing and entirely false bravado leaves Killian. Lips going thin, his shoulders still don’t move, but Emma swears his fear reverberates through her and that’s not the emotion she was interested in sharing that morning. “You’ve got to get out of here, love. Now, it’s—” Zelena’s hand moves so quickly, it’s not much more than a passably-green blur. Nothing else comes out of Killian’s mouth. His jaw moves, working against a shield none of them can see, and Emma’s stomach is somewhere in the vicinity of her throat. 

Even with all those rocks. 

“How did you get back here?” Regina asks, stepping towards the front of their ragtag group. Fire bursts from her hands, flames that flicker up her forearms and draw another grunt out of Will. Whether it’s surprise or just the generic sound of being impressed, Emma’s not sure. 

Bits of green cling to the end of Zelena’s mouth when she smiles. “Shall I start at the beginning, then?” “God yes, please,” Emma sighs. 

Zelena doesn’t take her hat off. Really, she’s almost making it work for her. As far as costumes go, this one’s kind of basic, but there’s no cape or a broomstick and Emma’s never met a witch who was interested in flying a broom anywhere. 

“Wanted to stay conspicuous, you understand,” Zelena says, “Draw too much attention to myself and—ah, well, that’s not what’s important now.” “What?” “Why you, Emma Swan. Obviously.” “This isn’t the beginning,” David mumbles, and both Emma and Regina shift before Zelena can so much as lift her chin. One of the windows on a different wall flies open, half a dozen pigeons descending on the living room and nipping at the ends of Zelena’s hair. They pull on the sides of her dress and peck at the green spots that are growing on her cheeks. 

Whistling, Mary Margaret jerks her head and the pigeons fly away, looking a little like an avian synchronized swimming team. “Leave him alone.”

“Shit,” Ruby says, “that was impressive and aggressive. Ignore the rhyme.”

Emma tilts her head. “Slant rhyme, right? Can’t rhyme matching sounds.” Someone makes a noise — it comes from the general direction of Killian and Will, but it can’t be Killian and Emma wants it to be him anyway. Zelena doesn’t look very impressed with any of them. That’s fair, it’s probably frustrating to have your monologue interrupted so often. 

“If you don’t mind,” she sneers, Emma waving her free hand like she’s capable of giving the bad guy permission to keep talking. “It had been quite some time since I’d been in this realm, and plenty of things had changed. More magic, a certain kind of power that hung in the air. Energy that could change the course of everything, strong enough that it could probably rewrite time itself if it wanted to. And I want it to.” “To what?” “Were you not listening? Rewrite time.”

Breathing out of her mouth is not attractive. It’s loud and makes Emma’s tongue feel larger than it actually is, especially when she has to keep using it to lick her lips. “That’s—that’s insane. You’re insane. You didn’t just want to get a normal job? I mean...you were at Mills. I saw you.” “Power of the Universe at my fingertips and you think I’d be satisfied with a normal job? No wonder you have no idea what you are. Which,” Zelena glances meaningfully at Killian, “means you, Emma Swan, are the reason I’m here.” “Speak English!” Zelena huffs. “I am. What I felt when I returned to this realm? It was you, my dear. Your power, your magic, your ability. And, yes, I could have given into the hum-drum existence of this place and the structure of Mills Personnel, but where exactly is the fun in that?”

Emma hopes she’s not expected to answer. She doesn’t have one. It’s entirely possible she’s going to snap several of Mary Margaret’s fingers in half. 

“Anyway,” Zelena continues, “locating that power wasn’t easy, but Regina Mills’ ability to make things happen is legendary. Finding a person’s niche, that’s her greatest talent. And so I did come to Mills, looking for a position that would help me get the rest of the requirements.”

Ruby keeps shaking her head. Emma can’t seem to move. Or breathe. Her eyes keep darting back towards Killian, trying to make sure he’s breathing or reacting in a way that doesn’t threaten to make her cry. Nothing. 

He’s plastered to a wall with magic, of course not. 

“You see, a time spell is one of the more complex out there. Need all sorts of things in addition to the kind of magic that can fuel it. Which is what I wanted when I got to Mills. Hoped I could get placed in a hospital or something of the sort.”

On the increasingly small scale of things that surprise Emma, that somehow makes the cut. “You need, like, an IV drip or something?” “A baby,” Zelena replies easily, and Belle whimpers against the gag. “Pure of spirit, you understand. Other things too. Courage, wisdom, maybe a heart if I could get lucky—” “—An actual heart?” Will balks. “Spend a lot of time in Wonderland, did ya?” “I mean, she could probably get the heart in the hospital too if she wasn’t picky about her choices,” Ruby reasons, and this whole thing is absurd. Maybe that’s the theme for Halloween as a whole, though. 

More of Zelena’s face is green. 

“I had hoped I’d get someone competent who could help me. Or even the source of the power. Naturally,” she jerks her head in Killian’s direction, “I ended up with this sot. Who suggested working at a clinic or agreeing to something called an orderly position. Well, I knew he wouldn’t help me, but I did get something out of it. I knew you were there, Emma. And—” Zelena’s eyes rove towards Belle, and the hands collapsed over the front of her stomach. Realization crashes over Emma in waves, the rocks disappearing only to be replaced with a bone-deep chill that douses any bit of light in her. “So I do have a few options for you all now.” “What are you trying to fix?” “Hmm?” “Fix,” Emma repeats, “or change, I guess. I mean—that’s not how life works.” Zelena hums in what can only be passing interest and something almost like an agreement. “Seems unnecessary to tell you my whole plan, but when it works it won’t make much of a difference. I want to get rid of the girl. That nasty little thing that fell in Oz and ruined everything. Robbed me of my chance to prove myself, claimed there had to be good witches and bad witches and you’re absolutely right, Ms. Swan. That’s not how life works. Nothing is quite so cut and dry as all that.”

Words hang off the tip of her disgustingly dry tongue. Want to be said and proclaimed, and for all the mistakes Emma has made — good and bad, right and wrong, trusting and the opposite, she’s happy to find she’s not particularly interested in changing them. 

Not if she ends up here. 

Well, maybe not here—with her boyfriend, they’ll get to that eventually, magically silenced and Belle doing her best to glare daggers at the half-green witch who commandeered her living room, and Ruby’s teeth are definitely getting longer. But maybe here-adjacent. With people who care about her, who followed her without question or thought and the guy who is still somehow staring at Emma like he’s got every intention of keeping her feet warm. 

Ad nauseum. 

“I’m not really interested in anything you need.”

Disappointment flashes across Zelena’s face, only to immediately morph into something much closer to fury. “Hero types, always so sanctimonious. That’s why I said several options. It’s one now, but—” Flicking her wrist, Killian slides down the wall in what Emma knows isn’t actually slow motion. Still, the amount of time it takes for his knees to crash to the ground seems to last forever and Zelena doesn’t try to stop Emma from rushing forward. 

Eventually, she’ll realize why. 

“Regina discovered what I was trying to do,” Zelena explains, “my fault. Kept coming back to Mills, demanding better placement and as much as it pains me to admit she’s smart...well, she sent me back to Oz.” “So how are you here?” Mary Margaret demands.

Emma doesn’t need that answer, either. Halloween is a bullshit, overrated holiday. Pulling Killian close to her, he’s far too limp and impossibly silent, and Emma barely spends a moment thinking about either of those things before she’s kissing anywhere she can reach, mumbling apologies and half-explanations into his skin and—

“Ah, I’d be careful if I were you,” Zelena says, a soft lilt to her voice that rattles down Emma’s spine. “See, your option is to give me your magic, Ms. Swan. If you won’t do it willingly, I’ll take it by force.” “I don’t—” 

Movement catches Emma’s attention, the soft flutter of fingers across her back and she has absolutely no idea what he’s doing. At first. All it takes is a few seconds, and that’s probably another sign. She hopes so. Tracing letters on her jacket, Killian’s eyes flutter shut like he’s exhausted and determined not to sleep and— “No,” Emma exhales, but Zelena’s smile looks victorious. It’s too late. They’re too late. And there’s nothing they can do to change that. 

Slumping against her, Killian’s eyes don’t open again. His breathing evens out, and Emma supposes that’s something of a very twisted victory because he isn’t dead, but he’s even more obviously sleeping and sleeping curses are notoriously hard to break.

“Especially when they so often require a kiss,” Zelena grins. “True Love, and all that. So let me ask, Ms. Swan. Do you think what you and the plebe have is True Love and, more importantly, will you be willing to sacrifice your magic for it? Because the only way he’s waking up is with a kiss and the next time you kiss him, you’ll lose your magic.”

To suggest that it kind of all goes to shit after that is something of an understatement. 

Light pours out of Emma, unsteady legs under her even as she juts her chin out. To her credit Zelena doesn’t back down. She stands there and she turns a bit more green, and magic is so goddamn weird. Emma’s also never been in a magic fight before. 

Spending so long hiding that part of her — certain it was going to be the reason everyone left, the opportunity never really presented itself. Fighting for the sanctity of time itself and Killian’s consciousness seems as good a reason as any to flip the script, so to speak. 

Heat races through Emma, wind swirling at her ankles as frames clatter to the ground. Shards of glass fly on the manufactured breeze, Mary Margaret darting towards Belle and David sprinting towards Will, and it’s something of a confidence boost when they’re both able to pull them away from the battle. 

Although Emma can’t really believe she thought the word battle, even in her head. 

“Not exactly the magical dominance you were bragging about, huh?” Emma quips, twirling a finger in the air. Bands of light circle Zelena’s calves, twist up her legs and turn her answering laugh into a gasp that also does dangerous things to Emma’s ego. 

“I never—” Zelena grunts, twisting against bonds that don’t even flicker. “—You were the powerful one, I thought I made that blatantly obvious.” “I mean,” David shrugs. 

Ruby nods. “She did kind of, Em. That’s true.” “Whose side are you on?” Emma snaps, but the retreat back to absurd is almost comforting in a familiar, banter-filled sort of way. 

“Please,” Regina sighs. Her hands are on fire. “That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said, and I know you claimed you didn’t have to tell Killian the truth before.” “Yeah, well, cat’s pretty much out of the bag on that front, don’t you think?” “Flew out on pigeon’s wings, I think.”

Laughter has no place in a moment when Zelena’s entire face has turned green, and her own fireballs are threatening at her palms, but Emma can’t help herself and maybe the dumbest thing she’s ever done was suggest Killian shouldn’t have worked at Mills. Or that she couldn’t be head over heels in love with him. 

That helps, honestly. 

“You’re not getting my magic,” Emma announces, all too sure she sounds as ridiculous as she feels. Heroic soliloquies are also overrated, it seems. “And you’re not getting Killian or—God, were we actually talking about Dorothy that whole time?” Zelena snarls. That must be the response. 

“Well, you’re not getting her either. Sneaking back here on Halloween was dumb. Trying any of this was ridiculous and threatening Killian was the worst of all your ideas. Because—” Emma takes a step forward. Nothing shakes. If anything her knees almost lock out, the hair falling over her shoulders noticeably brighter than usual and Zelena recoils. Seriously, her confidence is through the roof. “Magical job placement might be boring, and it might have a shit ton of paperwork, but it’s also a chance to help people and that’s...that’s the point, isn’t it? Finding that sense of belonging? Giving a person a chance. Being able to—” “—Fall in love,” Mary Margaret cries, scrunching her nose when Regina and Ruby shush her. “I mean…that’s what it is, isn’t it? Love’s not a weapon. It makes Emma glow.” And that makes Emma curse. “Maybe we phrase it differently?”

“Maybe we worry about language once we actually defeat the witch, huh?” Regina challenges, and that seems like a legitimate plan. 

Balls of fire fly through the air. Ricochet off Emma’s lights, and every window flies open as Mary Margaret calls upon not only pigeons but what look like several sparrows and a few nightingales if the sounds they’re making is any indication. Leaves swirl around the room, partially from the actual wind and also from whatever Emma is apparently capable of. 

A lot more than she thought, honestly. 

Warmth rises in her spine, sets her shoulders in a straight and determined line and she gives Will an appreciative smile when he pulls Killian out of the fray. Only to immediately jump back in, ducking and twisting and there’s a lot more cardio involved than she thought, but then a flash of magic nearly singes her ear and Emma’s thankful for her own agility.

She moves. Refuses to back down, ignoring the growing ache in her muscles and the weird popping thing her hip is doing. And Zelena starts to cower. In an especially villain-type of way.

Backing into the nearest wall, she stumbles over her feet as light tightens around her. It pins her arms to her side, curls around her ankles and guarantees she can’t run away when Emma stalks forward. 

With a smile on her face. 

Oz authorities appear at eleven-eleven, which seems to suggest it is somehow still morning and Emma cannot rationalize that at all. 

They thank Emma for containing the fugitive, nod towards Regina and well—that’s that. Leaving the rest of them in a slightly singed apartment with pillows that somehow haven’t burst, and what feels like a distinct lack of oxygen. 

“So,” Will drawls, “what do we do now?” He doesn’t have to look at Killian. The still-sleeping form is the far-more-attractive-than-an-elephant elephant in the room, draped across a couch that David had to lift on his own. One of his feet is hanging over the side. “True Love’s Kiss isn’t a real thing,” Emma whispers, but the words taste like ash on her tongue and Regina makes a very obnoxious noise. 

“Dumb, dumb, dumb.” “Do you think I’ll lose my magic?” “Do you actually care?” Shaking her head, Emma doesn’t bother saying the words. Not when she knows they’re so obviously painted on her face and sudden realization is almost as annoying as not ending sentences. She knows what he was tracing on her back. 

Maybe she is the idiot, actually. 

And for a moment, Emma’s mind falters. Remembers that other moment, standing frozen as a different set of lights threatened to blind her and metal snapped around her wrists and she’d been so certain then. Never again. Nothing else would get through the defenses. No one else would know. No more mistakes. 

This isn’t a mistake. 

Careful to avoid the glass on the floor, Emma tiptoes forward and crouches next to Killian. She brushes her fingers over that scar on his cheek, the ends of lips that are somehow still tilted up into half a smirk and—

“God, just do it already,” Belle shouts. 

That’s that, again. 

Kissing at this angle isn’t particularly easy, and Emma’s knees aren’t particularly pleased with the amount of pressure she’s putting on them, but it does allow her to basically drape herself across Killian and that also makes it easier to get her hand under the hem of his shirt. And nothing else really happens. 

No sharp inhale. No tilt of his head. Absolutely no sign of his tongue, which Emma has come to find herself almost obsessed with in the last few months. She doesn’t care. Doesn’t allow herself to stop, not when there’s a flicker of hope and all that want simmering between her ribs, mixing with her magic and how ridiculously in love she is and it’s annoying that she’s the one who gasps. 

As soon as arms circle her waist. 

Emma can’t really tumble when she’s above him, but the edge of the couch digs into her thighs and Killian’s doing an admirable job of trying to get her parallel to the rest of his body. Her fingers find his hair when he arches up, his own hand roving the expanse of her back before his arm curls tightly around her like he’s trying to make sure she’s still there. Leaning into her palm against his chin, Killian’s lips drag across the back of Emma’s wrist, sparking another round of magic and even more glowing. “Oh shit,” Emma mumbles, not able to pull herself away from Killian. Because of his arm. And...other reasons. 

“Was that a response to me, or—” “—No, no, I just—well, there’s still magic. I’ve still got magic. And, uh, I’m a witch.” He laughs. Throws his head back and lets his body shake under her, which really isn’t helping Emma’s state of mind at all, but she’s admittedly preoccupied with the overall volume of the laugh and how wide his smile is. “Swan, Emma love, did you honestly think I didn’t know?”

She—

Has absolutely no idea what to do with that. 

Ruby might fall over. Regina’s eyes bug, Mary Margaret using David to stay upright, Belle covers her mouth with her hand, Will cackling loud enough for the both of them. 

“Did you,” Emma starts, but Belle and Will shake their heads and Killian’s tongue click is awfully put-upon for a guy who was just cursed. 

He taps on her jaw until she’s able to look at him. And his stupid blue eyes. “I could feel it, love. Also you have a tendency to...glow. Which I'm assuming is a compliment, for me. Or us. There's an us, right?" She nods. Can't do much else. "And you’re not very subtle. Extra cinnamon in the cabinets, moving the remote so I don’t have to look for it. Working at a job placement agency that helps the magically afflicted. Plus there was paperwork. Was Freddie really a gold statue at one point?” “Yeah, but they un-statue’ed him with water from Lake Nostos. Not True Love’s Kiss.” “So we won, then?” “Competitive weirdo.” “Absolutely,” Killian nods. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I figured you’d get around to it at some point and then you were talking today and—” “—We’re not such shitty friends that we’d demand Killian show up back here before nine,” Will reasons. “Plus, it’s been kind of nice to have a free couch.”

Killian gags. “Did I say congratulations yet?” “We were busy.” “Wait, wait,” Emma sputters, and she’s going to go into cardiac arrest. Or magic overload. “So this whole time. You knew.” “Well, not the whole time,” Killian objects. “Most of it though, yeah.” “But you’re still here.” “Where else did you expect me to go? Aside from your apartment now that we’ve defeated the wicked witch? I’m assuming we defeated the wicked witch.” Emma nods. “Well, then I’ll apologize for drawing you into that, too. She was half the reason I started to suspect anything, honestly. Told Regina about her and the last thing I expected when I got here was to see her, or to have her demand I get you here. I tried to avoid that.” More nodding. More aching muscles and poorly performing hearts, and Emma wouldn’t mind if Killian traced several other sentiments into a variety of different areas, but they’ve got an audience and a pregnant lady and they never did get coffee. So, it makes sense to ignore that for a second. Or several. 

“I love you,” she says instead. Shouts, really. “More than I realized I could and I—” Any other words get lost in the feel of Killian’s mouth on hers and the ability of his tongue to incite butterflies in her stomach, and she hardly hears him say I love you back. It doesn’t matter. She hears it on loop for the rest of the day, once they’re ushered unceremoniously out of Belle and Will’s apartment. Neither of them think much about getting coffee. 

And she’s just on the cusp of sleep, eyelashes fluttering and blankets halfway to stolen when Emma hears something else. Pressed into that one spot below her ear. 

“I’ve got no intention of leaving,” Killian whispers, “not because of the magic or the power that comes with it, only because I love you. A ridiculous amount, honestly.”

Sleep seems kind of pointless after that. 

He decides to leave Mills, eventually. 

“I don’t have magic,” Killian rationalizes, and Emma supposes that makes sense. “But I will need some help finding a job.”

Sliding a file with his name written in swirling script across her desk, he’s got the gall to smirk at her and Emma resists the urge to magic him into her chair. “Luckily I do have other skills, including a job offer—” “—If you’ve got a job offer, you don’t really need my help.” “Yeah, but you’re very pretty and I hear you’re real good at what you do.” “Which is?” “Moving in with me,” Killian says, which isn’t the last thing she expects but it still manages to catch her off guard. Lights erupt at the end of several strands of hair. “The reaction I was going for, absolutely.” “No, no, that’s—that’s dumb.” “Is it?” “I was going to ask you to move in with me. First.” “Competitive weirdo.” “I have an apartment,” Emma argues. “With laundry on site.” “Ah, yeah, that is a marker in the pro column. Plus, you’ll be there right?” “In my apartment? Yeah, probably,”

Pushing back on the chair he’d never really been sitting in, Killian leans across Emma’s desk. To kiss her. Hard. Magic flares in the air around them, causing bulbs to flicker and more than a few cries of get a room . “What I’m trying to do,” Killian mumbles. “If you’re asking me to move in, Swan, I’m going to accept.” “Make it sound less like a warning next time.”

He chuckles against her mouth, either ignoring the desk that must be pressing into his stomach or not bothered by it at all, and Emma tries not to throw herself at him too quickly when he brings a whole box of recently-bought blankets with him.

“So you don’t get cold, love.”

[one-boring-person]

Only Traitors Consort With The Damned. (Part Fourteen)

The Lost Boys x reader

Warnings: injuries, death, blood, use of harmful gas, bad language

Context: (Y/n), Dwayne, Nico and Paul try to reunite themselves with David and Marko.

A/N: I'm sorry if this is getting a bit repetitive now, I promise it won't go on much longer!😅

Edited By: @jawline-of-steel

Masterlist

A hand on my shoulder wakes me, the gentle yet insistent sensation of someone shaking me from my dreamless sleep becoming apparent. I crack my eyes open to look at who it is, immediately meeting a hard grey stare as I do so, Nico's slightly dishevelled hair falling into his face slightly as he carefully tries to wake me, a grim smile creasing his features as he sees me looking at him. Withdrawing his arm, he replaces it where it was before: at the small of my back. Realising now that I'm lying on his chest, I go to roll off, hoping I haven't made him feel awkward in any way, only for him to stop me and gingerly help me sit up with him.

"Go steady, (Y/n). You're hurt, remember?" The werewolf chides me, lifting me very carefully off of his lap and onto the sofa beside him, keeping his hand at the crook of my back as I let out a whimper of pain, accidentally putting weight on my back leg.

"Yeah, thank you." I smile at him, turning my gaze to the room, where I see Dwayne and Paul watching us closely, both of them tense and jittery. Somehow neither of them look as if they've slept well.

"Sleep well?" Dwayne asks, voice sounding oddly detached, his mind clearly elsewhere.

"Surprisingly, yeah. You?" I respond, rubbing my head as the events of the night before come flooding back to me, dread reawakening itself in my core at the memory.

Paul laughs, bitterly.

"Not at all." 

I nod, hearing exactly what I expected, pulling a sympathetic face as I do so.

"Do you think we can get back to the cave?" Dwayne interjects, the brunette anxious to get back to his friends.

I think for a minute, considering the dangers and odds of what might happen if we did, replying a minute or so after, noticing now how Dwayne has started pacing.

"We should be able to. If they found nothing, then the team will have moved on to the next likely spot, so there'll probably be very little risk in trying. If there is any threat, it'll probably only be a guard or two left there to catch me, but I reckon David and Marko will have taken care of them." I frown momentarily, "You guys must be hungry. When was the last time you fed?"

Paul and Dwayne look at each other briefly, seemingly considering when their last meal was, neither of them particularly sure of themselves.

"It definitely wasn't yesterday. We were going to, but then things went wrong, so we never really got a chance." The blonde reveals, scratching his head slightly, "Can we go, please?"

Unsurprised at their eagerness, I go to stand up again, groaning when a bolt of agony spikes up my leg. Frowning, Nico moves to support me, pushing me back onto the sofa with a firm hand.

"Take it easy. I'll carry you." He reassures me, getting up to stretch out his rippling muscles, his bones cracking audibly as he does so, the sheer size of him made more apparent than ever in the small confines of the safe house. The three of us can only watch in awe at the sight of the werewolf tensing and flexing some of his more painful muscles, eyes naturally drawn to him. Noticing our stares, Nico lifts an eyebrow.

"What?" He asks, looking at us all in turn, clearly confused.

"Nothing." We all say in unison, looking away again until he's finished, at which point he comes over to me and scoops me into his arms again.

"Ok, let's go." Dwayne proposes, leading the way out of the safe house and to the ladder leading up to the abandoned gas station above, where Nico briefly hands me to Paul so he can climb up and take me from him again when he's made it through the opening. Once the three of us are out in the open again, we start walking in the direction of the Bluff, Nico following on after Dwayne and Paul, who are going much faster than him, despite his broader stride, due to their nervous disposition. Neither of them say a word, choosing instead to focus on getting where they need to be, navigating the darkened surroundings with ease, using their heightened senses to the best of their ability. 

As we walk, however, I become increasingly aware of Nico tensing behind me, the werewolf becoming warrier with each step, his grip on me incredibly tight as he moves along behind the vampires. The werewolf's head twitches in each direction every now and then, listening out for any tell tale sounds, though I can tell from the set of his jaw that he has not heard anything.

"What's wrong?" I ask him softly, worried at his behaviour.

"It's too quiet, I don't trust it." He says, looking down at me momentarily.

I frown, tensing my own muscles as I realise he's right: the surroundings are silent, not a sound to be heard for miles around except the footsteps of the three walking beings, the air laced with secrecy, my gut starting to wrench as my instincts start screaming at me to run. Before I can say anything, however, I notice that we've arrived at the Bluff, the raging sea audible from here as the cool breeze blows harshly around us.

Instantly, the two vampires run forwards into the light fog that surrounds the top of the cliff, something which I've never seen before up here, both of them eager to see their friends. Nico is more hesitant to follow, only just stepping into the mist to avoid continuing on into what could be certain doom. As he does so, I catch sight of two familiar figures standing at the crest of the cliff, looking as if they are waiting for us, their features obscured by the fog, though their silhouettes are very recognisable: David and Marko.

With cries of relief, Dwayne and Paul run towards the other vampires, only to slow down when neither of the others reciprocate the movement, both of them remaining stock still. Paul and Dwayne come to a halt, calling out their friends' names, only to be met with silence, something finally clicking in my mind.

"Shit, they used gas. Cover your face, now!" I yell out to them, aware now that we've been duped into feeling safe. Nico growls and steps back, his head twisting frantically from side to side, eyes flashing amber as Dwayne and Paul turn to face us, clearly confused. As they do so, two audible whooshing noises are heard, grunts of surprised pain escaping the vampires as crossbow bolts suddenly appear, protruding from their stomachs, blood erupting from the new wounds as they look at each other, then at me, terror clouding their eyes momentarily before they collapse to the floor, unmoving.

"No!" I scream out, wishing I could go to them, horror flooding me like a burning acid, fear and panic shredding any rational thought I had beforehand, my body writhing in Nico's grip.

"(Y/n) we have to go! Come on!" The werewolf says to me, sounding oddly aggrieved and reluctant to do so, clearly regretful that we have to leave them behind, only for a yelp of pain to fall off his own tongue, his eyes widening as he looks down at the silver knife in his chest. Staggering, he tries to hold me up, only to awkwardly fall to his knees, dropping me in front of him as his hands clutch at the bloody wound in his chest, his breathing heavy and ragged, the light leaving his eyes as he looks over at me one more time, before he drops to the floor, his muscular body soon going still.

"No, no, no! Nico please wake up! Please! Come on, this can't be happening! Oh, god, please wake up!" I shriek out, tears suddenly finding their way out onto my cheeks, coursing down my face as I sob into the bloodied shirt of my best friend, clutching at him as if I can bring him back.

"And this, my dear, is precisely the reason why you are no longer suitable for your job." A cold, snake-like voice cajoles me from somewhere behind me, the sound inciting a feeling of anger deep inside me, "You know the rules."

"Fuck off." I spit, turning to face the newcomer, keeping a grip on Nico's limp body.

"Now, now, there's no need to be vulgar." She chides me, coming closer, though her features are obscured by the presence of a gas mask. I know exactly who it is without needing to see her, however, and my suspicions are only confirmed when she makes a hand signal and the gas is switched off, the fog gradually clearing.

"I'll be vulgar if I want to be." I snarl back at her, glowering defensively at her as she removes her mask.

"Maybe around the scum you consort with, but not with your superiors." Valentine Fletcher commands, her pale, gaunt features highlighted harshly in the light from the tower just past the Bluff, each alabaster plane of skin cast in a bluish hue. Her pallid hair is swept up into a tight bun, her piercing heterochromatic eyes fixed sharply on me as she nears, "Plus, if you behave yourself, your friends might stand a chance of surviving."

At this, I frown and look ober where she is pointing, my heart dropping even further when I see what it is. 

David and Marko are tied to respective chairs, their legs staked to the seats with their eyes covered in what I can only assume are holy-water soaked blindfolds, blood staining their skin and hair, their heads bowed to their chests. Behind them stands a line of black-clad Hunters, their faces masked, too, to ward off any remaining effects of the gas. Horrified, I look back at Valentine, who smiles at the look on my face.

"Well? Can we discuss things in a civil manner?" She chuckles mockingly.

Part Fifteen

[daebakinc]

Hero Among Thorns   - Pt 6

Pairing: Hyunwoo x Reader Genre: Undercover Detective AU, Action, Romance  Word Count: 2.5K Summary: When a mistaken connection results in your kidnapping by one of the city’s most notorious gangs, the undercover detective Hyunwoo has no choice but to rescue and protect you, and, most dangerously of all, fall in love with you. Warning: Mentions of violence and blood. Parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

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  Hyunwoo immediately looks over to you, but you can't read anything from his face. Minhyuk's, on the other hand, is drawn. His fingers tap rapidly where they rest on the car door. Something has him agitated and this time, it's nothing you've done. At least, you don't think.

You glance out the windshield. Numerous high-end looking cars sit around the spacious shop floor on lifts or on the ground with hoods open, but they're all abandoned. The rest of Hyunwoo's crew, all outfitted in coveralls with varying grease stains, stand in an open area of the floor around Changkyun, who has one of his tablets in his hands. Their bodies mimic Minhyuk's, tense like warriors awaiting orders to confront the enemy head-on.

A sickly cool settles on your skin. Something's definitely wrong.

“Can I get out first?” Hyunwoo asks Minhyuk.

He backs away from the car.

The car is suddenly too stuffy despite the open window. You put your hand on the door handle, but something closes around your other hand, stopping you. You look down.

Hyunwoo's hand rests on top of yours. Your eyes shoot up to his, your heart thumping. He doesn't smile, doesn't say a word. He only squeezes your hand and nods. A simple dip of his head.

For some reason, that's enough to calm you. That silent reassurance that no matter what has his team so uneasy, Hyunwoo won't let it touch you. Not ever.

His hand is gone the second before his door opens and he slides out of the car. You hurriedly unbuckle and slip out as well, following close behind him.

“What happened?” Hyunwoo stops in front of his teammates, scanning each face.

“Not here. Upstairs.” Minhyuk's eyes land on you for a split second before he jerks his head toward a set of metal stairs. They lead to what you assume is an office space on the upper half of the garage that has a single window to look out of.

The message is clear. Whatever it is, Minhyuk doesn't want you to see it. You can't help but wonder if there's an actual reason or if he's letting his grudge be a pain in the ass.

“If it concerns me, I want to know,” you demand.

Minhyuk doesn't look at you, only Hyunwoo, and shakes his head at the leader's questioning gaze.

“I want to know,” you repeat.

“It's not about you, alright?” Minhyuk retorts. “It's about another witness. It's classified.”

You almost snark back with 'What? Another one die on your watch?' but you bite your tongue. No use pissing this guy off again if he's lying. Plus, if you're right, you probably don't want it confirmed. You do not need to jinx yourself.

“We'll be right back,” Hyunwoo says, addressing you. “There's a couch over there if you want to sit down. It should be clean. I'll show you around after if you want.”

You shrug, crossing your arms. As eager as you were to get out, you'd rather be back in your room right now. At least there, there are no surprises.

Hyunwoo heads for the stairs, the others following. Everyone except Minhyuk and Changkyun.

Minhyuk looks pointedly at Changkyun, who points to the tablet. “Gotta transfer the files first.”

Minhyuk sighs, walks towards the stairs, then turns around to walk back to you. He glances at Changkyun one more time, then says in a low voice, “Look, I'm... sorry.”

Your eyes, which had been following Hyunwoo, shoot back to Minhyuk. You misheard. “What?”

He bites his lip, fiddling with something in his coverall pockets. Sighing through his nose, he says, “I said I'm sorry, okay? For when I blew up at you at the apartment. When you said you didn't know if you'd testify.”

“Oh.” So you had heard correctly. For Minhyuk to apologize to your face is as surprising as Darth Vader being Luke's father. At least on the first watch-through.

“This case is kind of personal,” Minhyuk continues. “Remember the agent we said Yew killed? He was my friend. His name was Jung Jaehyun. He was a good agent and a better man. He didn't deserve what happened to him.”

“Oh,” you say again, more quietly. Whatever anger you still felt towards Minhyuk falls away when confronted with the pain evident in his expressive face. “I'm sorry.”

He wipes at his nose, sniffling, and looks away. “Yew needs to answer for that and everything else he's done. So much of our evidence could be ruled circumstantial; first-hand witness testimony could be what makes him pay, you see?”

Minhyuk's eyes beg for you to understand, to agree. You remember the recital of Yew's crimes, the venom and disgust with which your protectors spoke of him. You remember that tattooed arm and the way it so casually set in motion your shooting, drugging and kidnapping, the way it could have sentenced you to death. Such a man is no man at all. He is the shadow of humanity given form and such shadows are always searching for light to consume whole.

“Minhyuk...” You repeat his name so he finally looks you in the eye again. Summoning what reserve you have, you say, “I'll testify. I promise. For Jaehyun... and me.”

He stares at you, jaw dropping. It could almost be comical if not for the situation. The single promise leaves your legs weak, but it feels right. You know it’s what’s right.

Coming to his senses, Minhyuk shuts his mouth and shrugs. He turns away, tossing over his shoulder, “Thanks, but don't promise anything yet.”

Changkyun waits until his teammate is halfway up the stairs to get off his stool. “Just so you know, Minhyuk doesn't apologize often. If he does, he means it.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

“Well, better get up there, I guess. Just wanted to make sure all our security cameras were working,” he says, stretching his arms with his tablet in hand, the screen facing you.

You catch a brief glimpse of a small room like an office. Hyunwoo leans against a wall opposite the camera, beside a large, black television screen.

Changkyun sets the tablet on his chair, winks at you without a hint of smile that lacks warmth in his eyes, and ascends the stairs.

Watching him until the door shuts behind him, your eyes then fall to the tablet. It sits there, as tempting and revolting as Pandora's Box. If Minhyuk lied, and what happened does involve you, do you want to know? Or do you want to live as ignorantly blissful as possible?

Your deliberation only lasts a few seconds. Fuck it. There's probably some kind of price on your head. How much worse could it be.

Grabbing the tablet, you sit on the rather battered-looking brown couch. You find the volume button and hold it down.

Hyunwoo's voice grows louder. “... no way to trace it back to Yew?”

You can't see Changkyun's face, but you hear him answer, “I tracked the email. It's a bogus account sent from a burner phone. The signal was from some cafe in down-town. No known connection to Yew. We could always go to the cell's last location to see if they dumped it in the area, but I doubt it. They haven't been that stupid in the past.”

“Go check it out after this anyway. We're sure it's him?”

“Watch it. It's him,” Hoseok says with finality from somewhere off camera.

Changkyun presses something held in his hand. The screen by Hyunwoo lights up white, then a video starts playing.

Out of focus, it shows the outside of a brick building during the early gray hours of dawn. Whoever is taking the video is high up, at least three or four stories. The camera shifts and zooms in, going out of focus again. The sounds of a city are faint. Only a heavy breathing is captured clearly. The video slows to focus on a window of the opposite building.

It's open and without curtains. The camera zooms in even closer.

You gasp. The tablet drops from your frozen fingers.

The image, full of shadows as it is, leers back at you, still on the screen.

That's the blanket on your bed, the lamp on your bedside table, your face peaceful in sleep against the pillow.

The long muzzle of a rifle enters the shot. The end of its barrel aligns itself with your head like a hound trained on a scent.

You watch yourself roll away from the camera's view, completely unaware your safe-house could become the scene of your death.

A voice, mechanical and menacing, breaks the anonymous videographer's breathing.

“You let your girl sleep alone?” it asks, giving a low chuckle that makes you shiver with its chill. “Consider this a professional courtesy. Guess you didn't take my warning to guard her better seriously, Shownu. Bad idea.”

The video goes black.

Bad idea... Bad idea...

Changkyun comes down first, pausing at the foot of the stairs long enough to catch your eye. The look on your face must have confirmed you watched, but he doesn't stay to talk, instead heading out a side door. You drift from car to car after everyone but Hyunwoo and Hyungwon return to the garage floor, handing them tools or fetching needed parts. You know you're probably more hindrance than help. But they keep thanking you and patiently explaining what they're doing when you ask regardless. Jooheon especially pays attention to you, probably sensing your new restlessness. The mechanics may go over your head, but puzzling over it keeps the fear at bay. Somewhat.

Bad idea... Bad idea...

The pizzas Kihyun brings back smells amazing. One of them is even your favorite, but you're not sure you can even take a bite. Your stomach feels too tense to allow food of any kind in. You just smile and wave away Hoseok's call, pretending to be interested by a parts catalog you found on one of the benches. Hyunwoo wordlessly puts a paper plate with two slices of your favorite by your elbow. Rather than insult his kindness, you eat it all. The pizza tastes like ash and sits like a leaden weight in your stomach.

Bad idea... Bad idea...

Dread weighs on your chest when it's time to go. Hyunwoo and the rest of the team have done nothing but prove you can trust them. However, you doubt the windows in your bedroom are bulletproof. Maybe they'll move you somewhere else. But what if Yew can find you then too?

“Hey.”

You look up. Hyunwoo is watching you, holding the car door open for you. You had unknowingly stopped a few feet away. “Sorry, coming.”

Hyunwoo says nothing after he shuts the door after you, nor after he pulls out the garage. The closer you get to the apartment, the tighter your hands grip the seat. They start to ache, but you can't convince yourself to let go. The sanctuary you were so eager to leave feels even more like a trap than before.

Hyunwoo pulls the car into the same spot as before. As he turns the keys off, he says “Are you-?” just as you blurt out “I don't-”

“Sorry, you first,” Hyunwoo says, waving his hand in invitation.

Clearing your throat, you focus on your feet. “I don't want to go back in.”

“Why?”

“I... I saw the video. The one Yew sent.”

“How?” There's surprise, but no anger in Hyunwoo's voice.

You still don't dare to lift your gaze. “Changkyun's tablet.”

“Ah. He did try to argue you should know what's going on.”

You look up to watch Hyunwoo's face when you ask, “Were you going to tell me?”

Your ears suddenly feel hot at the thought of them keeping you in the dark about the new threat. Wouldn't they want to know if someone almost put a bullet between their eyes as they slept?

“We were still deciding,” he replies, meeting your eyes head-on. Even now, his directness is almost shocking. Shocking enough at least to cool some of your anger towards them. “Guess it's out of our hands. We didn't want to scare you any more than we know you are.”

“Too late.” You chuckle mirthlessly.

“If Yew was going to kill you, he would have done it already.”

“Gee, thanks. That makes me feel loads better.”

Hyunwoo sighs at your heavy sarcasm. With patience clear in his voice, he says, “When you were kidnapped, that was a warning. We were entering his game without his permission. I'm still not sure why he got personally involved, but now we're messing up the chain of power. Showing he can still get to you is his bid to scare me and make us back off. But he won't do anything to you again.”

It's incredibly hard not to scoff. The obvious conviction in Hyunwoo's face stops you. “How can you know that for sure?”

“Because Yew's style is mind games. He isn't usually direct; he typically prefers being more subtle than overt. It's why he's been so hard to catch.”

“So what's to stop him from hiring someone to shoot me so it doesn't lead back to him? He killed your other agent.”

“A murder by sniper in a neighborhood like this? Of someone with no known ties to criminal activity? That would make news more than a nameless body in an alleyway. He must've thought our agent was a no one like that. Yew doesn't like news surrounding any of his crimes. News brings pressure on the police to solve the crime. Pressure that could hurt him or his business. He won't risk that.”

You feel like you're missing something. ��So how are you supposed to get him?”

“Stealing high end cars was his beginning, now a hobby. We're stealing business from him. If we make him angry enough to do something drastic again, he'll come after me personally. Because I'm making this personal.”

So Hyunwoo is acting as a kind of bait. You shift in your seat, an unwelcome image of an injured Hyunwoo flashing in your mind. It's an uncomfortable thought to say the least, but just how sharp the pang is in your heart is jarring.

Hyunwoo says your name, making you look at him again.

“If I ever thought you were in real danger, that I couldn't protect you, I would get you out of here. I'd send you somewhere safe. Do you believe me?”

To your disbelief, Hyunwoo truly looks worried about your opinion of his ability to keep you from harm. Why should it matter to him? He's in charge of this whole thing in more ways than one. He's the badass skilled agent. As long as you don't run away, which you won't because you like living, he can do anything he wants with you. Hyunwoo could even use you as bait to try to draw out Yew again if he gets impatient.

But you know, as certainly as you've ever known anything, he would die before doing so.

Slowly, you nod. How could you not after everything he's done for you.

Hyunwoo smiles a little, his shoulders sagging slightly. He leans back against the seat, glancing out the window. “We'll move your things into my room. That window faces a brick wall. Should've put you there to begin with, but Jooheon suggested leaving you where you were. To give you your own space to help you feel more secure.”

“Where will you sleep?” you ask.

“On the floor of the same room in a sleeping bag if you're comfortable with that. Just to be close. Like I said, I don't think Yew would risk the attention of a forced entry and murder. It would be just in case. If you're not comfortable, I can take the couch.”

All the times your mother admonished you for not having matching cute pajamas suddenly ring in your head. You can just picture the smug look on her face. “I don't mind,” you squeak out, “but won't the floor be hard on your back? Especially after a few nights in a row?”

Hyunwoo's smile widens and he shakes his head. With a hint of pride, he says, “I've slept on a lot worse. Once, I fell asleep on concrete for a three hour nap.”

“Ow.”

“It wasn't too bad til I woke up. The shoulder I got shot in didn't like it. It's sensitive to cold.”

“You got shot?” You shift to completely face him, looking between his shoulders as if the wound was recent. “When? Are you okay?”

Hyunwoo laughs at your concern. “It was a few years ago. I’m fine, no lasting damage. Just gets a little achy when it's cold.”

“Oh.”

He glances out the window. “We should go in. Same way as we went out. Ready?”

There's a loaded question. Regardless, you answer, “Yes.”

You're not sure what you were expecting in Hyunwoo's room, but it definitely wasn't this. To call it Spartan would be too generous. The only furniture in the gray-walled room is a plain, metal-framed bed, a small trashcan, and a dresser closer to the side of a bedside table than an actual dresser. A large water bottle, the kind you remember jocks walking around with in high school, sits beside the bed on the floor along with a phone charger.

There's nothing personal. Of course, Hyunwoo can't have anything too personal on a deep-cover mission, but still. It looks more like a spartan hotel room than a bedroom.

As you stand in the doorway, clutching your pillow, you hear Hyunwoo shuffle out of the bathroom to stand just behind you. “I changed the sheets while you were in the shower, so you're all set,” he says.

“Thanks,” you say. Walking into the room feels like an intrusion, but you make yourself do it anyway. You step around the already laid-out sleeping bag for Hyunwoo, hesitating before you sit on the bed. When you look to the door, you're glad you did sit.

Hyunwoo is standing in the doorway, still drying his hair with a towel. His tan skins absolutely glows between the low light and the warmth from his shower. The plain gray sweatpants and white tank are hardly sexy on their own, but on Hyunwoo, clinging in all the right places and leaving just enough to imagination. What would it be like if instead of sleeping separately, you could sleep against him...

He drops the towel into the hamper in the hall. “Want me to turn off the light?”

“Yes, please. Thanks.” You quickly dive under the blankets, facing away from him. Hopefully he didn't notice you staring. The sheets smell like the detergent Hyunwoo bought for you. For a crazy second, you wish they still smelled like him.

The room goes dark. Hyunwoo's bare feet pad across the room. The nylon of the sleeping bag crinkles as he slides inside.

“Are you sure you're okay with the floor?” you ask quietly.

“The sleeping bag’s actually not bad,” he replies. “Lots of padding.

“Ok. Good night. Sweet dreams.” The last part slips out naturally. You screw your eyes shut, waiting for his reaction.

He only chuckles under his breath. “Good night.”

You were afraid knowing Hyunwoo was in the room with you would make it impossible to sleep. However, the adrenaline rush brought on by your eavesdropping finally catches up with you and you fall asleep shortly after settling in.

Unfortunately, sleep brings you back to a place you wish you weren't familiar with.

You know each sharp turn and twist of the abandoned street, each slash of shadow, even the haunting smell of garbage and fear and the uneven dips in the ground beneath your feet. You know how this dream goes. You know how it ends.

You wish you could fight to change it. The times you’ve tried to are countless. Unluckily, this isn't one of those dreams.

There's only one street with no end in sight. Every branching alley is blocked, sealed with impossibly high walls of bricks. Each building you pass is boarded up, derelict and hopeless. 

The asphalt and concrete echoes with your racing footsteps and panting breath. Potholes and garbage grab at your feet. Every time you stumble, the noise behind you gets louder. A distant, reverberating growl of some monster. You don't know what it is. But animal instinct tells you it's danger. It's death if it catches you.

A faint light beckons in the distance. You run faster even as your legs feel like toothpicks ready to snap. The light gets brighter and brighter, just as your dread grows and grows.

When you reach the source of the light, your hand involuntarily reaches out and opens the warehouse door.

Don't do it! you scream at yourself. It's about as useful as yelling at the character of a horror film not to enter the haunted basement.

Inside, the only light is a single, bare light-bulb swinging from a cord high above the dirt floor. It sends shadows scuttling like rats around precariously stacked boxes. Plenty of places to hide, but you know they won't be enough.

The door behind you rattles and shakes like it's been struck by a battering ram. Although your entire body is on the verge of collapse, you lurch forward with a sob.

Hide. Hide. Hide!

You dive behind one of the towers of boxes just as the door explodes open. Gravel digs into your knees and hands. Tears sting your split lip. Your heart is beating so hard you feel dizzy. Unable to do anything else, you curl in a trembling ball. Praying for the miracle that never comes. Not this time.

The boxes that provided your pathetic cover fly away.

“Found you,” a deep voice says with a sinister chuckle.

The fear that strikes you is so potent you choke on it. You try to scramble away, but a foot connects harshly with your shoulder, sending you sprawling into the corner.

“You won't escape this time,” that voice says again. You could die a thousand times and never forget that voice.

Someone shouts your name in the distance. You know that voice too, trust it, but it's too far away. They won't reach you before it happens.

Hands enclose around your throat, jerking you up. Desperation turns your fingers to claws that scratch at those hands, but to no avail. You can't fight the dark.

Metal presses itself to your head.

But instead of the usual bang and flash of light, water fills your nose and mouth.

Spluttering and coughing, you're jerked from the nightmare. The faceless murderous wraith is gone, leaving Hyunwoo's worried face filling your sight, dimly back-lit by the lamp.

You shrink away, but you don't get far. Hyunwoo drops the water bottle in his hand to cup your face.

Hyunwoo says your name again, eyes darting all over you. His grip tightens, forcing you to look at him. His voice is soft and calm, but commanding. He repeats your name. “Look at me. It's okay. It is okay. You're safe.”

You can only stare at him a moment before you burst into tears that are equal parts relief and exhaustion. Your arms shoot from their petrified position against your chest to wrap around his. They're weak, robbed of all strength by the nightmare. Yet Hyunwoo lets you pull him closer, burrowing as much of yourself against him as you can.

He encircles your shoulders like a weighted blanket. Surrounded by the soothing weight and solidness of Hyunwoo, your trembling slowly eases to occasional shivers. The lingering, grasping phantoms fade away under steady strokes of his hand from the top of your head to your back.

“Nightmare?” he finally asks when your breathing mirrors his.

You nod, not daring to speak. You're afraid his gentleness, so different from your dream, will make you cry all over again.

“Has this happened before?”

You shake your head. Then you nod again. It's happened too many times to count. Nights of waking up alone and breathless in sheets sticky with sweat. Maybe this time, your subconscious knew someone else was nearby to be your savior.

“The first night after we brought you back here,” Hyunwoo says, continuing to stroke your back, “you had a nightmare. I wonder if it was the same. That nightmare was so bad you screamed then too. It made me angry.”

“Why would it make you angry?” you ask, your voice raw. Had you really screamed? You'd kept it in all the other times.

He doesn't answer at first. Then, his voice so quiet it's barely a whisper, he says, “Because I couldn't do anything. I... don't like not being able to keep you safe.”

What did he mean by that? No one can protect you from your own mind. At least he'd saved you in reality. Why did a nightmare matter? You sniffle, your tired brain trying to make sense of it and failing.

“Are you alright now?” Hyunwoo asks. “I can call Jooheon. He probably has some medication ---”

“No. I'm okay,” you interrupt. It was just a nightmare. A terrifying one, but you shouldn't disturb Jooheon over it. Half to reassure him, half to reassure yourself, you repeat, “I'm okay.”

“I'm not sure about that.”

Hyunwoo tries to pull away, but you don't release him. You can't.

“Please.” Your voice cracks. You hate it and how small it sounds. “Please don't go.”

“I won't.” He pats your back. A sigh brushes the top of your head, but it sounds more exhausted than annoyed or frustrated. “I need you to let go for just a little though, okay? I'm just going to grab a dry shirt. I'll be right back. Promise.”

Carefully, Hyunwoo peels your arms away from his torso. He winces as he stands from his kneeling position. Guilt pricks you. How long had he stayed in that position during your meltdown? Definitely too long for comfort.

You hadn't noticed you were shivering again until Hyunwoo comes back wearing a new shirt and carrying an additional blanket. Scooting over, you pull the blankets up to your chin and grab the new one as soon as Hyunwoo shakes it out over the bed. When he slides under the blankets himself, it feels like he brought a furnace with him. Like a cat to a fire, you can't help moving closer to him. To your surprise, he puts an arm around you to draw you snug to his side.

Lifting your head just enough to see his face, you find his eyes closed. His chest is already moving up and down in sleep's lazy rhythm. Damn, the man can fall asleep at the drop of a hat.

Hyunwoo suddenly speaks, his eyes remaining closed. “You've been brave through all of this, braver than I expected. I'm proud of you.”

You're unsure if he expects an answer, but you decide not when he continues speaking.

He sighs sleepily. “This is just for tonight.” The way he mumbles it makes it sound almost as if he's telling himself that as much as you, but your fatigued brain is probably playing tricks on you.

“I know,” you reply, tentatively lowering your head to his chest. Beneath your ear, his heartbeat thumps like a lethargic lullaby.

“You'll talk with Jooheon about this nightmare tomorrow. He can help.”

“Okay.”

The nightmare doesn't return.

[bunnygirl330]

𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚗 𝚜𝚒𝚌𝚔, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚝;

pairing: ander muñoz x omar shana, background guzman nunier osuna x nadia shana

genre: angst, fluff, future au

word count: 6.3k

warnings: internalized homophobia  

summary:  Ander's grandparents are coming to visit for the first time in 7 years, there's just one problem. They're Catholic and unaware of Ander's relationship with Omar. Ander is hoping that he can get through the week without them finding out and without him losing his temper.

a/n:  The title of this comes from Take me to Church which I know is an old song now but I've always loved it and I felt like it really applied here. This fic is only edited by me so all mistakes are my own, please let me know if you find any so that I can fix them.I have seen a lot of fics about Omar coming out to his family because that's what they focus on in the show but I thought it would be interesting to see Ander's perspective of coming out to someone who wouldn't be as accepting as his mother.It was also really important to me to show someone accepting Ander (which in this case was Mateo) because I think a lot of the time Catholics (or any other badly portrayed religion) get a bad reputation and it's important to remember that not all strictly religious people will be unaccepting. AO3

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Ander had never dreaded anything more in his life than he was dreading this next week. He’d graduated high school, he’d got a degree, he’d even helped Omar come out to his parents but nothing was as bad as this. Ander hadn’t spoken to his grandparents in almost 7 years, except of course for the occasional phone call on is birthday and Christmas, but this was different. They were coming to stay for a week and there was absolutely no way he could avoid them for that long.

Ander’s grandparents know absolutely nothing about his life, they think they do, but none of it’s true. They didn’t go to his wedding, well they had never been invited, they thought he was single, much to his grandmother’s dismay, and Ander couldn’t stand the thought of having to keep up that charade for a whole week.

“Hey,” Ander snapped out of his trance as Omar’s arms snaked around his waist and he relaxed into his touch. “still thinking about next week?” Omar asked cautiously, knowing the impending visit was becoming an increasingly touchy subject for Ander.

“I can’t help it,” Ander whined “every time I think about it it makes me want to be sick!” Omar spun Ander round to face him,

“Listen, I know that this is difficult, but if we got through three years of a relationship without my parents knowing, then we can go through one more week of pretending.” Omar was trying his best to soothe his husband but he knew at this point that it was basically useless.

“But I thought we agreed we wouldn’t pretend again, not after all the shit we went through with your dad.” Omar gave Ander a look of sympathy as he pulled him into a hug, “Ugh,” Ander sighed “why do my grandparents have to be fucking Catholics?” Omar chuckled as Ander continued to grumble into his shoulder.

———

The next week came around far too quickly for Ander’s liking and before he knew it he was lying in bed with Omar dreading the next morning when his grandparents would arrive. Ander was spinning his wedding ring round on his finger so Omar could tell he was nervous.

“I don’t wanna make you feel any worse but you do know you’re gonna have to take that off when your grandparents are here right?”

“Oh my god, I didn’t even think about that!” Ander said as he dropped his head into his hands with a groan.

“It’s not like it’s just you. I can’t wear mine either, do you really think I’d be your roommate if I was married?” Ander looked up at Omar with a dejected look on his face.

“You must realise that that doesn’t make me feel better. All it does is make me feel as if we’re going backwards.” Ander looked as if he was about to cry and Omar felt a pang in his heart as he looked at his face, “To your parents I was your roommate for three years and I don’t know if I can do that again…” Ander trailed off as the tears began to fall from his eyes and his head fell onto Omar’s chest.

“I know…… I know,” Omar whispered as he started stroking his fingers over Ander’s soft curls, “but you heard what Azucena said, her parents are almost eighty and if you told them now they might end up dying from the shock.” Omar’s attempt to lighten the mood earned a small giggle from Ander but it sounded more like a hiccup because of his crying. “Plus you’ll still have me there, I won’t be gone. And you’ll have Guzman and Nadia. We’re here for you Ander. I promise.” Omar leaned down and kissed his hair. Ander looked up and kissed Omar, gently at first but then Omar opened his mouth and deepened the kiss. Everything would be alright, Ander knew that, because he had Omar, and nobody could ever take that away from him.

———

The next morning was a flurry of activity. Nadia and Guzman arrived at 9 to help them set up and Ander’s grandparents were due to arrive with his mother at around noon. All pictures resembling any sort of romantic relationship between Ander and Omar were taken down and hidden in the airing cupboard, all of Ander’s belongings were moved into the spare bedroom and Nadia had cleaned the entire apartment from head to toe by 11:50, Guzman had tried to help her but gave up after half an hour as Nadia saw him as more of a nuisance than a source of aid.

The four of them stood surveying the apartment, Ander had a look of complete helplessness on his face.

“It just looks….. empty.” Ander said. Of course, he didn’t mean empty in a sense of a lack of furniture and objects, they were all still exactly where they had been. What Ander meant was that it seemed empty of happiness and love, as if by taking pictures off the wall they had stripped his and Omar’s house of the very thing that made it their home. For Ander that wasn’t even the worst part though, he kept touching his ring finger expecting the cool metal to be there but each time was instead filled with a sense of dread. Omar and Ander had put their wedding rings back in their boxes earlier that morning and he felt as if a small piece of his soul had been put in the box too. Ander felt like he was about to break down but was interrupted by a knock at the door. Nadia and Guzman went to sit on the couch as Omar spun Ander to face him, gripping his shoulders tightly.

“Hey, listen to me, it’s gonna be okay. It’s not like they’re staying here so you don’t have to pretend all the time, it’s just a few hours. Besides, I’ll be right here the whole time.” Ander quickly pecked Omar on the lips and then tried to muster up the best smile he could as Omar joined the others on the couch.

“Grandma! Grandad! It’s so lovely to finally see you again.” Ander hugged his mother, shook hands with his grandfather and then finally came face to face with his grandmother, the source of all his nightmares over the past two months.

“Ander, honey, it’s been too long!” His grandmother exclaimed pinching his cheeks with excitement. Ander plastered a smile on his face and replied,

“I know it has Grandma, I’m happy you’re finally here.” his grandmother gave his cheeks one last squeeze and then released him.

The four of them made their way over to the living area where Nadia, Guzman and Omar had been awkwardly waiting, not entirely sure what to do amidst the family reunion. The three of them stood up to greet the guests, all giving Azucena a warm hug and shaking the hand of Ander’s grandfather. As his grandma approached Guzman her face lit up,

“Oh, Guzman, it’s so lovely to see you! I can’t believe you and Ander are still friends after all this time!”

“Mrs López, it’s lovely to see you too.” Guzman said politely as she pulled him into a hug.

“Oh don’t be silly, call me Camilla. I’ve known you for too long for you to still be calling me that.” Camilla looked over at Nadia - who was stood closely by Guzman’s side - with a slightly odd look on her face. “And who’s this?” She directed the question towards Guzman rather than Nadia herself much to Nadia’s annoyance, but she kept it hidden well.

“This is Nadia, my beautiful wife.” Guzman stated with a fond look down at her as he wrapped his arm around her waist. Nadia smiled towards Camilla and extended her hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ander’s told us so much about you.” This, of course, was a lie as Ander preferred not to speak of his grandparents, but she didn’t need to know that. Ander’s grandmother simply pursed her lips and nodded towards Nadia leaving her to awkwardly drop her hand back down to her side as Camilla’s hands stayed clutched to her small handbag. Ander, of course, had anticipated this as it was difficult enough for Camilla to accept that him and his mother were atheists and even without her hijab Nadia was clearly not of Spanish or Catholic descent. Still, it hurt Ander to see that his grandmother hadn’t learned to put aside her prejudices yet.

Now it was the moment of truth as Camilla approached Omar, Azucena and her father having already greeted him and sat down on the other end of the L-shaped couch. Camilla’s lips became a fine line as she slowly looked Omar up and down,

“And you are…?” she said slowly as Omar shifted uncomfortably under her gaze.

“I’m Omar, Nadia’s brother.” Omar said, refraining from sticking out his hand after her reaction to Nadia and deciding to stare down at his feet instead.

“Why does that qualify you to be here now? This is a family reunion for Ander, not Nadia, not even Guzman.” Camilla’s tone was becoming harsher with every word that came out of her mouth and Omar realised that he’d clearly used the wrong relationship to introduce himself. Ander could feel the tension building in the room and quickly moved to stand beside Omar clasping his shoulder in his hand as he did so.

“Grandma, Omar is also my best friend and my roommate. Remember? I told you about him on the phone when you called to say you were coming.”

“Hmm.” Was Camilla’s only reply as she stalked past the two of them to sit between her daughter and husband. As Ander moved to take a seat next to Omar his grandmother carefully cleared her throat and Ander moved to sit between her and his mother instead.

Camilla made small talk with Ander and Azucena for the next 15 minutes occasionally stopping to ask Guzman a question but blatantly ignoring the other two people in the room. At one point Nadia got up to start making lunch as she had offered to do the day before considering Ander couldn’t cook to save his life, Azucena offered to help but Omar stepped in instead clearly feeling uncomfortable in his current situation.

Lunch was ready 45 minutes later and the seven of them sat down to eat. Nadia had cooked Tortilla Española and patatas bravas in order to keep things traditionally Spanish for Ander’s grandparents.

“Guzman, your wife can cook very nicely.” Camilla said, ignoring the sour look on Nadia’s face that the compliment had been directed towards her husband rather than herself. As if somehow being married to Guzman made her just another part of him, but Nadia said nothing knowing they were here to support Ander.

“Why don’t you have a wife by now Ander?” Camilla turned to look at him with a slightly smug look on her face at her own ability to turn a conversation into something she was interested in. Ander had been dreading this all night, he knew it was bound to come up and yet he prayed that the further they got into the conversation the less likely she was to bring it up, oh how wrong he had been.

“Maybe he’s just waiting for the right person darling.” Ander’s grandfather piped up for basically the first time since they arrived, clearly happy to let his wife do most of the talking.

“Mateo hush, Ander can speak for himself.” Camilla snapped back at her husband.

“I’ve just been focusing on my career right now Grandma.” Ander spouted the pre-prepared lie out of his mouth before the other part of his brain could make him say something stupid. Something like, ‘I am married and I just never told you. Oh and also I’m married to a man.’ because as much as he wanted to say it he knew deep down that it wasn’t the right time, that it was never going to be the right time.

“And I’m sure that’s very good for you darling but my friend happens to have a granddaughter moving down here and it would be lovely if you could meet up with her. She’s very pretty, and I know that you’re not Catholic but it might be nice to see why it’s not such a bad thing to believe in God, despite what your mother may have told you.” She directed the last part of her sentence towards her daughter, the smug smile having returned to her face. Ander gritted his teeth to prevent himself from hurling his plate across the room towards his grandmother, he thought that he and Omar had gotten past all of the arranged marriages with Yusef and Iman but apparently his grandma also thought she had the right to decide who he married. He sighed, he couldn’t let his anger get the best of him, there was no way he’d be able to stop if he started so it was better just not to start.

“It’s very nice of you to offer Grandma but I think it’s better if I find someone on my own.” Ander said with a quick glance towards Omar who had a small smirk on his face, clearly he found this more amusing than Ander.

“But-” Camilla started to retaliate but was quickly cut off by Azucena.

“He said no, okay mum? If Ander wanted your help with his love life then he would ask.” Camilla turned back towards her food with a deep scowl and the four 20-year-olds had to suppress their happiness at Camilla being told to back off, especially Nadia who was beginning to get a sense of deja vu from her own parents before they knew Omar was gay.

Lunch continued in silence and not long after Azucena stated that she would take her parents home considering they’d had a long drive and that they would be back again tomorrow, Azucena and Ander having taken the week off work in order to spend time with Mateo and Camilla. Everyone stood to wave off the three of them and then Ander slammed the door shut after them with a sigh of relief.

“Well that was the longest three hours of my life.” Guzman stated, making the other three burst into laughter considering they all felt exactly the same way. They went to sit back on the couch, Nadia and Guzman intertwined on one side and Ander resting his head on Omar’s chest on the other. With this Ander turned towards Nadia with the intent of apologising for his grandmother’s behaviour but Nadia was too quick and knew Ander too well.

“Ander please don’t start apologising. It’s not your fault that your grandma is a little….. old-fashioned.” She said, trying to find the right word.

“I know but she was just so rude to you. To both of you.” Ander said turning his head back to look at Omar, “I feel like I should’ve said something….” he trailed off staring between the three of them.

“Ander don’t worry about it honestly.” Nadia said gently and then proceeded to move the subject onto something else.

Nadia and Guzman stayed for the rest of the day, the four of them chatting and watching films until they left at around 9.

As Ander gently closed the door behind them Omar came up behind him, spun him round and pushed him into the door Omar’s lips quickly coming into contact with his own as they kissed deeply.

“I’ve been dying to do that all day.” Omar said staring at Ander, his pupils blown with lust.

“Oh yeah?” Ander said with a smirk on his face as he wrapped his hands tightly around the back of Omar’s neck.

“Yeah.” Omar whispered into his ear as he bit down on his earlobe and started kissing down Ander’s neck eliciting small moans from Ander.

“Omar?” Ander moaned out.

“Yeah?”

“Take me to bed.” And so that’s exactly what Omar did.

———

The next few days went by in a whirlwind. Azucena and Ander were taking his grandparents to all the local landmarks, meeting up with several of their upper class friends, including Guzman, much to the delight of Camilla, especially since Nadia wasn’t able to attend that particular meet up. They ate in fancy restaurants while Ander filled his grandparents in on everything that was happening in his life, but of course leaving out the bits that included his marriage to another man. Every night Ander would return to Omar and their small apartment counting down the days until his grandparents went home.

It was three days before Camilla and Mateo were due to return home and Azucena had an emergency to deal with at Las Encinas so it was just Ander and his grandparents. Ander felt less uncomfortable than he thought he would as they sat down in a beautiful restaurant that his grandmother had been very insistent on coming to. He was actually beginning to believe that he might get through this week without everything going to shit and that was something he would count as a miracle.

They ordered their drinks and Camilla whispered something to the waiter before starting up a conversation with her grandson about his job. Camilla knew that Ander was focusing on his career, and she was incredibly proud of him, but at the same time she couldn’t help the sense of dread she felt whenever she thought about his lack of a wife. She wasn’t quite sure where the dread came from but she knew that she needed to make it go away and the easiest way to do that was to get Ander a wife, or at the very least a girlfriend. At that moment Camilla noticed Liliana approaching the table and a huge smile spread across her face.

“Liliana you look beautiful! I’m so glad we got to see you while we were here.” Camilla had stood up and pulled the girl into a warm embrace at the same time that Ander looked up to see who his grandma was talking to. Ander started to feel as if there was an alarm ringing in his ears and a voice in the back of his head telling him to run, but he couldn’t. He just sat there stock still and unable to move, looking intently at the woman in his grandmother’s arms.

“Ander, this is Liliana, the girl I told you about at lunch on Sunday. Liliana, this is Ander, my grandson.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Liliana said looking nervously between Ander and his grandmother. Ander looked over at Mateo who appeared to be as shocked as he was at this woman’s magical appearance at their family lunch.

“Umm, you too.” Ander said reaching out his hand. As angry as he was right now he didn’t want to seem rude, after all it wasn’t this poor girl’s fault that his grandmother appeared to know nothing about boundaries.

“Sit, sit.” Camilla said, ushering Liliana into the empty seat at the table, which happened to be beside Ander, before sitting back in her own.

For the next 90 minutes conversation flowed between Liliana and Camilla, the two of them occasionally looking at Ander but he remained silent, consumed with rage. He didn’t understand what made his grandma think that she had the right to do something like this, how she could possibly believe that it was ok. Not only was she wasting his time but this woman’s time as well. More than anything he just felt anger, towards his grandmother, towards this woman (even if she didn’t necessarily deserve it), towards this whole fucking restaurant.

“Ander darling, you’re being rather rude. You haven’t said more that two words to Liliana since she sat down. She manages this restaurant you know? She’s taken time out of her day to come and have dinner with us.” Rage surged through Ander at Camilla’s words, at the insinuation that out of everyone here, he was the rude one.

“Grandma, I’m sorry but you must be joking right? I told you on Sunday that this wasn’t something I was interested in.” A deep frown took it’s place on Camilla’s face as Liliana sank back slightly in her seat, feeling more than uncomfortable. “I told you but you didn’t listen.” Ander hissed, his voice rising with every word. “I cannot believe you!” He shouted, standing up from his chair, “I’m sorry,” he said towards Liliana, “but I’m not looking for a relationship right now let alone a wife.” and with that Ander stormed out of the restaurant and started walking quickly back towards his apartment, back towards Omar.

———

Ander stormed into the apartment slamming the door angrily behind him as Omar looked up from the pan he was hovered over, clearly planning to make dinner and assuming that Ander wouldn’t be back yet. Ander was cursing under his breath as he began to pace around in the space between the living room and the kitchen.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Omar asked as he tried to get Ander’s attention.

“My fucking grandmother tried to get me a wife that’s what’s fucking wrong!” Ander knew that his anger was being misdirected towards Omar but he couldn’t help it, he just wanted to hit something. Omar felt rage boil up inside him. How could she do something like this? Omar hated when people made Ander angry, or sad, or just any sort of negative emotion really. It wasn’t fair that just because his grandparents had certain religious beliefs that they felt entitled to make him get married. Omar could feel old feelings coming back from almost four years ago, before he’d come out to his parents, only now he felt them on Ander’s behalf. But that wasn’t what Omar needed to focus on right now, he could see Ander’s rage slowly turning into tears and he knew that he needed comfort. Omar pulled Ander into his arms and they stood there like that for 20 minutes while Ander cried into Omar’s shoulder and until both of their legs began to ache.

“Hey, come here. Give me one second.” Omar deposited a still sniffling Ander onto the couch and ran quickly into their bedroom and ran out a few seconds later with their wedding rings in his hand. On Sunday, being unsure of when Ander’s grandparents specific daily visits would be, Ander and Omar had decided to leave their wedding rings off until Camilla and Mateo had returned home, which had, for obvious reasons, made Ander even more depressed.

“Here.” Omar took Ander’s left hand in his as he sat down on the couch next to him. Omar placed Ander’s wedding ring back onto his finger and then brought his hand up to his lips and kissed it gently. “You don’t need to worry about your grandma finding you a wife, ‘cause you already have a husband, and I have no intention of letting you go.” Ander now had fresh tears in his eyes as Omar caressed his cheek gently. Ander silently took Omar’s wedding ring out of his hand and slipped it onto his finger, kissing Omar’s hand in the same way Omar had kissed his. Omar then cupped Ander’s cheek and pulled his face towards his own, their lips crashing together in a mixture of love, passion and tears. Ander felt his heart swell, he knew everything would always be okay, as long as he had Omar right there by his side.

———

The next day came far too quickly and before he knew it Ander was being ripped out of his blissful sleep by a loud knocking on the door.

The night before, after the two of them had calmed down, they’d had a quiet night in, eating the meal Omar had cooked and watching movies together until Omar had fallen asleep with his head on Ander’s chest.

Ander shook Omar awake as the knocking persisted and the two of them stared at each other. Confused and still half asleep Ander stumbled around grabbing a pair of jeans and a shirt and then ran towards the door, opening it with a pissed off look on his face. He came face to face with Guzman and Nadia who were looking at him sympathetically, as if he was a turtle who had landed on his back and couldn’t get back up.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Ander continued to stare at them as Guzman just laughed and pushed past him into the apartment.

“Relax man, we heard about your shitty day yesterday and brought you breakfast.” Guzman said, as if that was a good enough explanation for why they had interrupted Ander’s sleep, and on a Saturday of all the days, he didn’t even need to be awake for another 45 minutes.

“How did you even know about that?”

“Omar texted me last night and told me.” Nadia explained as she busied herself making breakfast and slapping Guzman’s hand away every time he tried to grab food. Ander spun around to look at Omar who had now appeared from their bedroom still rubbing his eyes in an attempt to wake himself up. Omar just shrugged and smiled sheepishly as he made his way to the kitchen to take over from Nadia as everyone knew Omar could make better waffles than Nadia ever could.

Once breakfast was ready the four of them stood around the kitchen island eating and listening as Ander once again recounted the horrors of his previous afternoon. Nadia was enraged at the idea of Camilla trying to find Ander a wife but that wasn’t particularly surprising considering she wasn’t Camilla’s biggest fan. Guzman however, found the entire situation absolutely hilarious saying he could just picture Ander’s face, which only made him laugh more. Omar tried very hard to keep a straight face but couldn’t help joining in and eventually Nadia did too, because if you really thought about it, it was quite funny. Ander was obviously and (mostly) openly gay so the idea of him being faced with a woman that wanted to marry him was far too funny for Guzman to comprehend.

On the other hand Ander failed to see the hilarity of the situation and stood there staring at his friends and his husband with a look of disdain on his face. He was about to start yelling at them to shut up when there was a rapid knocking at the door for the second time that morning.

“Who the fuck is here now? It’s only 9 o’clock in the morning can people not leave us in peace?” Ander grumbled as he made his way to the door and swiftly opened it to reveal his stony faced grandmother on the other side, Mateo and Azucena in tow.

Camilla walked past Ander and straight into the apartment stopping to stand in the living room and stare disapprovingly at the three adults clustered around the island in the kitchen. Mateo quickly followed and Azucena stopped to greet her son.

“I’m sorry.” She said “I tried to stop her but she wouldn’t listen.”

Omar, Guzman and Nadia had all stopped laughing and were now staring awkwardly anywhere other than Camilla, unable to look her in the eyes without bursting into a second round of hysterics. Eventually Ander made his way over to his grandparents with his mother trailing after him, he gave the other three a look telling them to stay where they were and to stay quiet.

Ander came to a stop in front of Camilla as Azucena joined her father on the couch. Ander’s hands were clasped nervously behind his back and he was staring intently at a particular spot on the floor. However Camilla just stood there staring straight at Ander with her lips pursed and her hands clasping her tiny handbag in front of her.

“Listen, Grandma-” Ander started.

“No you listen.” Clearly the patience had been a front to try and start the conversation. “All I was trying to do was find you a respectable wife without you having to do any of the hard work. I wasn’t even expecting you to marry her but you could have at least gone on a date, or tried to get to know her. But no! Instead you storm out of the restaurant like a little child, I mean, you’re 25 years old Ander, you could have at least had the courtesy to tell us all why exactly you refuse to date anyone.” Ander took a deep breath trying to process the whole of his grandmother’s rant without hitting something.

“Grandma, I know this is hard for you to understand but people don’t get married as young as they used to anymore and I’m trying really hard to build up my career before I take on the responsibility of another person in my life.” He hadn’t come this far to give up now, he was going to stick to his lie and if she didn’t like it then she was going to have to live with it. At least it was possible for her to live with this, which was more than could be said for the truth. Camilla took Ander’s hands in her own and looked up at him. “I know honey, and I know you’ll have a fantastic career but-” The smile and softness that had appeared on her face after Ander had said his explanation suddenly vanished as she gripped Ander’s left hand and looked down at it with an unreadable expression on her face.

The next ten seconds seemed like ten years as Ander pulled his hand from his grandmother’s grasp and swore profusely as he saw his wedding ring still on his finger from the night before. He’d gotten so used to wearing it that he didn’t even notice it anymore. Omar, who realised immediately what had happened, quickly shoved his left hand behind his back having also forgotten to remove his ring. That being said Omar wasn’t sure what use that would do now considering at this point the truth was inevitable. Guzman and Nadia stood staring at each other utterly confused. Azucena also swore as she put her head in her hands and Mateo just sat there with an oddly smug look on his face.

But Camilla…….. she just stood stock still, stunned into silence and unable to speak.

“You’re wearing… you’re wearing a w-wedding ring.” That was all she could manage to say as she stumbled backwards and landed on the couch next to her husband.

Guzman froze and Nadia looked quickly at her brother as it dawned on them both exactly what had just happened.

Ander felt defeated. He’d been lying to his grandparents for almost a week and for what? The truth came out anyway, he might as well have not bothered. But the one thing he knew right now was that he had to sort this out, he had to be honest. So with a new plan in mind he walked slowly and kneeled on the floor in front of his grandparents, looking up at them with eyes a mixture of happiness that he no longer had to lie but also anger at what he was going to have to do and at the inevitable reaction. Ander was about to open his mouth but Camilla beat him to it.

“So……. you’re married.” She stated, a blank expression her face. “Well at least now I have a proper reason as to why you didn’t like Liliana. But what I don’t quite understand is why you felt the need to lie to me. Is she not Catholic? Because that doesn’t bother me. And when can I meet her? Is she away? Will she be back in time for me to see her? Is she-”

Ander cut off his grandmother with a large sigh as he tried to get himself together. “That’s not it Grandma, okay? She’s none of those things, in fact, she’s not a she at all. I’m gay.” Ander said those last two words whilst staring his grandma right in the eye and then looking to his grandad. It felt so good to finally say it and for them to know. Mateo had a look on his face that Ander hadn’t expected. It was pride, happiness, almost. Camilla however looked white like a ghost. She was staring at Ander unable to speak, or move, or even breathe.

Ander quickly stood up, jogging to the kitchen, grabbing Omar’s hand and pulling Omar back towards his grandparents with him.

“Omar is my husband. We’ve been together for almost nine years and we got married two years ago and if you can’t accept that then I don’t want you in my home. In our home.” Ander stood defiantly staring at Camilla and Mateo with a huge smile on his face. He no longer cared what they though or how they reacted as Omar squeezed his hand and looked at him with pure love and admiration.

“Well, in that case I think it’s best if we leave.” Camilla said standing and avoiding Ander’s gaze before making her way to the door. “I’ll be waiting in the car and we’ll be leaving once we’ve collected our things. I can’t believe you knew about this Azucena.” She hissed out her last sentence and with that, she was gone. It wasn’t as if Ander hadn’t expected that exact reaction but it still hurt and he felt a shot of pain in his chest.

“I’m sorry Mama.” Ander said as he turned towards Azucena who pulled him into a tight hug.

“Shhhhh. It’s okay. It’ll all be fine.” She whispered as she stroked her sons hair and squeezed him tightly. “I should probably go and talk to her.” Azucena made her way towards the front door, grabbing her coat, and making her way out of the apartment. It was now silent. Omar wanted to hug and reassure Ander, as did Guzman and Nadia but the three of them were all put off by the presence of Mateo who was yet to leave, however the reason for his remaining presence was unknown and it was something that was making Ander increasingly nervous with every moment that passed.

Mateo stood slowly and made his way over to Ander. He then wrapped his arms around Ander’s form and hugged him. Ander was in shock as his grandfather was never one to hug him, or anyone else for that matter.

“I’m proud of you.” Said Mateo “I know how hard that must have been for you especially considering our religion portrays us as not particularly accepting people but I’ve had time to come to terms with it and to understand it.”

“But……. how?” Was all Ander could manage now that his grandad had released him.

“Well I tried to ignore it at first, all those years ago, but it gets to a point where some things are hard to ignore. The way that you two were looking at each other on Sunday, that was a look of love, not friendship. I expect it was easier for your grandma to ignore it, people tend to ignore the things that they don’t want to see. But don’t worry, she’ll come around eventually, it just might take her a while, that’s all.” Mateo reached his hand out towards Omar and Omar shook his hand gently, still shocked at Mateo’s speech, “It was lovely to meet you Omar, I’m glad that you make my grandson as happy as he is.” and with that he was gone.

“What the actual fuck just happened?” Was the only thing that Ander could come up with at that moment. The other three just shook their heads, not sure what to say about the old, Catholic, white man having just accepted his gay grandson.

Of course, Guzman was the one to break the silence saying, “Well, it could have gone worse.” which, for some reason, made them all burst into laughter.

“Hey,” Omar said having regained his composure and turned towards Ander, “you did it. You came out to them, now it’s up to them. They have to decide what they want to do, and if your grandma can’t accept it then that is not your fault.”

Ander couldn’t find any words so instead he just grabbed the back of Omar’s neck and crashed their lips together. The kiss was getting deeper and deeper and Guzman and Nadia felt extremely awkward.

“Okayyyyy, I think that’s our cue to leave.” Nadia said with a hint of a smile on her face as she grabbed Guzman by the hand and dragged him out of the apartment.

Meanwhile Ander had grabbed Omar’s waist and started walking backwards towards the bedroom, their lips still interlocked. They entered the bedroom and Ander felt the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed just before he fell back on it, Omar quickly climbing on top of him. Omar was about to start kissing him again when Ander put a hand on his chest to stop him.

“I love you.” Was all Ander said as he stared into the beautiful hazel of Omar’s eyes.

“I love you too.” Omar replied before he began to kiss Ander all over again. This, this was all Ander needed. He didn’t need his grandparents, he didn’t need a wife, he didn’t even need a job because the only thing that truly mattered to him was Omar and as long as Omar was here, with him, then everything would be perfect, always.

Thanks for reading! Like, comment and reblog! <3

[storiesforallfandoms]

remember me ~ machine gun kelly

word count: 2174

request?: yes

@xxkellsvixen19xx “A request for Colson Baker x Reader fic where shortly after they are married (few months) she’s in a car accident with amnesia and he helps her remember that plus that she’s pregnant (which is shortly before that happens but she had forgotten) please and thank you”

description: in which colson must help his wife remember who he is

pairing: machine gun kelly x female!reader

warnings: swearing, some sadness

Colson raced down the hallway of the hospital. His shoes weren’t even properly tied, his coat was half off, and he realized upon getting out of the car he realized he hadn’t even taken his wallet. When he received the call, he raced out of the house in a flash and got to the hospital so fast that the car ride was all a blur.

He walked up to the first desk he could find, trying to find his voice.

“I-I need to-to know where (Y/N) Baker is,” he stuttered.

“What’s your relation to Mrs. Baker?” the woman at the desk asked.

“I’m her husband,” Colson responded, flashing his ring as if that were the evidence the woman needed. “I’m Colson Baker, I was talking to someone like 20 minutes ago. He said my wife was brought in after a bad car accident, but he wouldn’t give me any more details over the phone. Please, I need to see her.”

The woman pointed Colson to where (Y/N)’s room was. He mumbled a quick thank you and raced down the hallway. As he approached the door, a doctor was walking out. The doctor put his hands out to stop Colson.

“Are you Mr. Baker?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m fucking Mr. Baker. Can I see my goddamn wife?” Colson snapped.

“Mr. Baker, I understand that this is a very emotional time, but I need to give tell you what happened to your wife before you go in there,” the doctor explained. Tears were pricking Colson’s eyes. He wiped them away and nodded, not trusting his own voice to speak. “Your wife was in a serious car accident, Mr. Baker. A driver blew a stop sign as she was driving through and t-boned her on the driver’s side. The impact was pretty severe, she hit her head off the window and was rendered unconscious at the scene. Luckily, the paramedics got to the scene very quickly and managed to get to her before any permanent damage could be done...however...”

“However?” Colson prompted.

“She may have some brain damage,” the doctor finished. “Her brain has some swelling, however that should go down by the time she wakes up but we can’t promise that there won’t be any side effects to that.”

“Side effects like what?” Colson asked.

“She may have some speech problems, she may have to learn basic motor functions again, and she may have some memory loss. We cannot tell you how far back the memory loss could effect, but I wanted to warn you in case it’s as far back as your wedding. I’ve seen many a brain damage victims wake up and not remember their loved ones and how hard that is for the loved ones. I try to give a warning in case.”

Colson nodded, although the thought of his loving wife waking up and forgetting him tore his heart out.

“We just found out she was pregnant,” Colson said. “Like just found out maybe a week ago. Do you guys know if the baby is okay?”

“We can do some testing to make sure,” the doctor said. “We’ll let you know as soon as the results came back.” The doctor stepped aside. “You may go see her, but please try to keep as calm as you can. Even unconscious she’ll be able to sense your presence and it’s best for her recovering to remain as calm as you can.”

Colson nodded again. He tried to take a deep breath and pull himself together, but he found it incredibly hard. He wasn’t sure what to expect when he walked through the door, but he knew he wanted to see her. He knew he had to.

When he opened the door he couldn’t help but suck in a breath. Laying there on the hospital bed was his beautiful wife, so pale he was afraid she was lifeless, with a large scar on the side of her head, where she had hit the window and needed to be stitched back up. Colson crossed the room to sit at the chair next to her bed. He reached out and took one of her cold hands in his and squeezed it slightly.

“I’m right here, baby,” he whispered. “I’m gonna stay here till you wake up.”

~~~~~~

One painful week later, things were starting to look up. (Y/N)’s injuries were starting to heal and she was beginning to look like herself again. But she was still asleep. The doctor assured Colson that that was a good thing as it gave her body time to rest and recuperate.

Colson kept true to his word and stayed right in the chair next to her bed, waiting patiently for her to wake up. He cancelled any interviews and shows he had and had to tell Cassie, who was in a frenzy of her own, that he would come to get her as soon as (Y/N) woke up. The only times he moved from the chair were to get a shower, and even then he only went as far as the bathroom attached to (Y/N)’s hospital room.

He stepped out of the bathroom one day, fresh from a shower wearing clean clothes that Rook had brought for him, his hair still dripping wet, to find his wife lying in the hospital bed with her eyes open.

He wasn’t entirely sure what to do. He wanted to rush to her and hug her tightly, to kiss her and tell her how happy he was that she was awake, but he knew that he still couldn’t overwhelm her too much. He wasn’t sure how much her brain still needed to heal, plus he didn’t want to overwhelm her too much when she was just awake.

“(Y/N),” he finally said, as calmly as he could. “You’re awake.”

“Where am I?” she asked.

“You’re in a hospital,” Colson explained, sitting himself down next to her again. “You were in a serious accident about a week ago. You had a bit of brain damage and you were bleeding a lot, you’ve been recovering very quickly though, and the doctors say that’s great.”

She nodded, although she still looks lost. “And...and who are you?”

The words he had been dreading all week. Hearing them felt like a knife through his heart. He tried to keep back the tears that were threatening to fall down his face. “I’m - uh - I’m your husband, Colson.”

Her eyes widened and she looked down at the ring on her left ring finger. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I...I don’t remember...oh God I feel awful.”

“No, don't apologize,” Colson said, taking her hand in his. “I was warned that a bit of memory loss was a possibility. It’s okay, I’m willing to try and help you remember.”

(Y/N) nodded. She opened her mouth to say something else when a knock came at the door and the doctor came in. He smiled at (Y/N). “Well, look who’s awake. How do you feel, Mrs. Baker?”

“Confused,” she responded, causing Colson to chuckle.

“That was a possibility,” the doctor said with a nod. “Listen, we can do this in your own time, but we did tell your husband that once you were awake and ready that we needed to do another test on you to check on the health of your baby.”

(Y/N)’s eyes widened as she looked back at Colson. “I’m pregnant? I’ve always wanted to be a mom.”

Colson smiled. “We only found out a week ago. You found out then you planned out this elaborate way to tell me, you even set up a camera to film it, but you were so excited that you just blurted it out the minute I walked through the door. I have the video still if you want to see it.”

Tears were starting to form in (Y/N)’s eyes and Colson could see the sadness and frustration starting to grow in her face. “Yeah, yeah I’d love to see it. But I um...I think I should do this testing first. Even if I don’t remember it, I want this baby to be okay.”

~~~~~~

Another week later, (Y/N) was discharged to go home on the condition that she continued to get a lot of bed rest. After a few tests at the hospital, the doctors confirmed that the baby was okay and was still very healthy, but advised her to get regular monthly check ups in order to make sure the baby remained healthy.

On the drive home, she watched the video on Colson’s phone of her telling him that she was pregnant. She kept replaying the video, as if hoping that re-watching it would jog her memories of the event. But Colson could tell that the video was just making her more sad that she forgot it.

“Who’s Cassie?” she asked as she listened to the old her on the video announce, “Cassie’s gonna be a big sister!”

“That’s my daughter,” Colson responded. “Your step-daughter. She adores you, and you her. You guys are basically inseparable. She’s been worried sick about you.”

(Y/N) finally locked the phone and passed it back to Colson. “I don’t even remember who she is.”

“I know,” Colson sighed. “But I’ll help you to remember. The doctor said pictures and videos should help jog your memory, and we have plenty of those.”

Upon stepping into the house, (Y/N) was met with dozens of memories of herself and Colson and Cassie. There were pictures on the wall of Colson and (Y/N) on their wedding day, pictures lining the tables of different memories; their first date, their first award show red carpet, pictures of the three of them at Disney together. (Y/N) walked through the house, taking in every piece of it in hopes it would jog her memory of something.

“What are these awards?” she questioned, pointing some of Colson’s music awards that he had on display. “You’re famous?”

“Don’t tell me you forget that far back,” Colson said with a teasing smile. “I’m a rapper and an actor. That’s how we met, you got tickets to an award show and we got to talking on the red carpet. You gave me your number.”

(Y/N)’s eyes lit up. “Wait, yes! Okay, that sounds familiar. I saved up for months to try and get to this award show that was being held in my hometown. I went with my best friend, she freaked out when you walked down the red carpet because she was such a fan. She was so jealous when you flirted with me, even more so when I gave you my number and you actually responded.”

Colson chuckled. “Yeah, she won’t let either of us live that down. She even made it a whole story in her Maid of Honor speech.”

“That makes sense,” (Y/N) said, nodding. “I...I kind of remember some of these things. I have some blurs of the scenery around the picture, but I can’t see any faces or remember exactly where or what happened.”

“That’s okay,” Colson told her. “The doctors said it’ll take some time, but don’t strain yourself or you could really hurt your head more.”

(Y/N) nodded. Tears started to form in her eyes again as she sat down on her and Colson’s shared bed, another place she couldn’t even remember. Colson was quick to sit by her side as she began to sob into her hands. He rubbed her back soothingly, assuring her everything would be okay.

“I’m sorry,” she said through tears. “I’m really sorry for all of this. I feel awful, we have all these memories and we’re married and we’re having a fucking baby! And I can’t remember any of it! I feel so awful.”

“Hey, stop that,” Colson told her. “None of this is your fault, it’s the fault of the asshole who decided they wanted to run a stop sign. We’re going to get your memories back, I promise. No matter how long it takes, I’ll be here through every step of the process, as long as you want me here.”

(Y/N) looked at Colson. He took her hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, taking him by surprise. Despite not remembering any of their past kisses, (Y/N) kissed him so naturally. He expected it to be a while before she felt comfortable enough to even want to stay in the same bed as him.

When she pulled away, she smiled at Colson. “I may not remember much of our relationship, but I do know that I love you. I know that you’re the father of my child, and you’re the love of my life. If there’s anyone I want to be by my side while I regain my memories, it’s definitely you.”

Colson smiled back at her. “Well then I promise to stay forever.”

I hope you enjoyed your imagine! For anyone who is also reading my “Not So Bad” series (not the official title just yet, I don’t really have one right now) and you want to be tagged in it, just let me know in the notes of that imagine and I’ll tag you in part two! (Which hopefully will be up by Saturday at the latest)

[cryxmercy]

Mist & Memory || Mercy & Arthur {POTW Flashback}

Bloody Mary ruins Netflix and Chill. 

Who: Mercy and @arthurjdrake

Where: Drake Residence, evening When: near the beginning of the Bloody Mary POTW/end of the memory monsters POTW

TW: assault, injury, blood, gore, mentions of mass death and illness

Mercy had spent the better part of the day - which had been mostly sunny and fog-free, thank the gods - working in the backyard, tending to the small vegetable garden she’d started for her and Arthur. It was all neat and tidy now, with it’s little baby plants all in rows, and even a scarecrow to frighten off any critters that thought they could get a free meal out of Mercy’s hard work. She’d been quite filthy (and just a tiny bit sunburned) by the time she’d finished up. So filthy that Arthur had threatened to hose her down himself (risking bodily harm in the process) before she came back inside. Mercy had merely grinned at him - knowing he was (mostly) full of shit - and flicked a bit of dirt his way before ducking inside and racing off to her room to shower. 

Now she was clean, hair washed and dried but still in a mess of wavy locks that fell down her back, and wearing a long-sleeved sweater and sleep shorts. She and Arthur had watched the first Lord of the Rings movie, and Mercy had drifted off at some point, the combination of a long day’s work and Arthur’s familiar presence - as well as several mostly sleepless nights in the last week - too much for her tired body to resist. She dozed lightly, her fingers having found their way just beneath the hem of Arthur’s shirt as she slept. They moved absently over the soft warmth of his skin as the last few minutes of the movie played out.

Outside, the thick, creeping fog had returned as evening fell. It drifted up from the ground, enveloping the house and the yard in a blanket of grey mist that was impossible to see through.  As full dark descended, a small furrow appeared in Mercy’s brow, and she made a sound of discontent as she shifted restlessly. 

It wasn’t entirely uncommon for Mercy to fall asleep during films, Arthur had grown rather accustomed to it in fact. So much so he ended up propping the bowl of cheese laden doritos on her side as a makeshift table considering he couldn’t reach the coffee table in front of the sofa. Plus considering how tired she’d been looking he’d felt it was only right to let her sleep, after all, there would be plenty of other times to watch movies.

As the final credits rolled, he grabbed the remote and switched the TV over to a lo-fi playlist off youtube considering he was rather effectively trapped on the sofa by Mercy. Not that he minded. If she got some sleep even only a little bit it was better than nothing, and it wasn’t as if he had anything else to do with the time.

Grabbing a few more chips he popped them into his mouth, letting his arm fall over the back of the sofa, sliding a little further down the sofa so he could prop his head on the arm. Night was coming in earlier now and it wouldn’t be long before darkness took the town for the night.

Mercy didn’t often mention her sleepless nights to Arthur. Not because she was trying to keep something from him - she’d decided a long time ago that she wasn’t going to do that anymore - but because it had been going on for so long that for Mercy, it was normal. But Arthur knew her better than anyone, and he noticed. She knew he did. She often wondered if he noticed how much better she slept when she was next to him. Tonight, however, was an exception. Her dreams were troubled, full of writhing shadows and the smell of rotting flesh. Stained and splintered bone and glassy, sightless eyes. A darkness so fathomless and so ancient that even Mercy was frightened of it. Of what waited beyond the torchlight… in the deep… in the dark… 

The world trembled-

Mercy woke with a start, and it took a moment for her to realize where she was. Her heart still thrummed frantically in her chest in the dim light of the room. The fog was thick and milky through the windows, and she could’ve sworn she saw something move in the far off shadow of the trees lining the waterfront. But as she kept watching, it didn’t happen again. She sighed, and the warmth next to her drew her back to the present. Mercy pressed a weary hand over her eyes as she sagged back against Arthur. “Fuck me… sorry. Bad dream…”

Arthur was just reaching for another handful of doritos when Mercy startled awake, thankful that it was mostly crumbs left when the plastic bowl toppled off and onto the rug considering his slow-reaction attempt to try and snag it failed rather spectacularly. Resigned to not being able to move and get it he ended up tiling his head back and dropping the chips into his mouth. Little else to be done really and he was hardly going to let them go to waste.

With the credits music rolling and Mercy having woken up Arthur watched her with quiet concern. “Again?” for all their lives Mercy had struggled with nightmares and dreams, these so-called prophecies she’d been gifted with since childhood. He’d never truly known what to make of them or what they might mean but they always worried him. His arm dropped lazily over her hip, hugging her gently in the hopes it might help settle her a fraction. “Was it anything in particular?”

For the most part, Mercy had grown used to her dreams. Most didn’t even faze her much anymore, except on occasion when she was overtired or over stressed. Or when she was faced with ones that were unfamiliar. Either way, they were just a part of her life. Always had been, and always would be. Arthur knew it as well as Mercy, having worried over her for the better part of twelve centuries now. “Yeah…” Mercy breathed, opening her eyes as she lay back down. The warm weight of Arthur’s arm was soothing, and she lay there for a moment, fingers toying idly with the Mjolnir pendant around his neck as she tried to calm her racing heart. 

It was so stupid… to be frightened of a dream. At least it should feel that way. But Mercy didn’t feel stupid. She felt… a sense of dread… foreboding. Uncertainty that she couldn’t rightly explain. Other than the old feelings the memory - the nightmare - had brought back to life. “London Below,” Mercy said quietly. “The Labyrinth.” She frowned deeply, fingers stilling on Arthur’s pendant. He knew the story of what had happened there. “The old forest god...”

Some things simply couldn’t be changed, they were a part of your life and you simply learned how to deal with them. Freyja’s nightmares were just one of those things, Arthur couldn’t take them away but he could listen and let her share the burden they took on her. Around her there was no effort to try and hide, so when she took the pendant that tended to remain tucked under his shirt and toyed with it he didn’t try to pull it back.

It took a few moments for Arthur to remember the story, there were so many sometimes they blended so much that it was hard to tell one from another. “That hasn’t been an issue for hundreds of years though right?” his fingers ghosted over her arm up and down in a soothing motion. “You got rid of it. It’s probably just old ghosts coming back to haunt you.” After all, once they’d been dealt with especially by Mercy of all people those things tended to stay gone.

“Right. I’ve… been back several times over the years, to London Below… to the Floating Market, and a few other places... but never to the Labyrinth. It was just the once.” When London and the surrounding countryside was being consumed by the Black Death. Mercy had dreamed of that time in her life before, but rarely.  It had first come round again when she’d still shared her thoughts with Morgan. These last couple of weeks had seen it recurring more and more often. Recurring nightmares tended to recur for a reason. At least for Mercy. And that worried her.

The light brush of his fingers eased that worry a bit, as did the notion of it being nothing more than old ghosts. “Probably.” Mercy’s frown remained, but her fingers started their slow movements again, eventually tucking the pendant back where it belonged beneath Arthur’s shirt. She lay her palm over it. Felt his heart beating there as well. For a long moment, Mercy was quiet, finding solace in simply lying there with Arthur. But the ghosts wormed their way back into her head. “What if it’s not?” A sensation like being doused in ice water rolled over her, and goosebumps raced along her arms. Outside, the fog shifted unnaturally, and Mercy could’ve sworn she felt the ground tremble slightly. Though it could’ve been her that trembled.

“I won’t be able to kill it this time, Arthur.” 

“How’d you even come to learn about it in the first place?” Granted Mercy had a lot of contacts and people in places that Arthur didn’t know of nor did he always want to know. Sometimes you were better off just happening upon things as they happened than knowing every single detail about every single thing. It took the fun out of situations when they did crop up and this was one such example of that.

“I don’t see how it could be anything but, it’s not like they’d come back hm?” his fingers continued their soft pattern, moving up and down her arm eventually stilling and resting against hers. “How could it be? Unless it’s somehow able to teleport across miles of water and end up here? Which last I recall of you telling me this story it can’t teleport…”

“Why not?” it didn’t make sense that it couldn’t be killed. Everything could be killed given means and motivation.

“Of the Labyrinth?” Mercy’s brow furrowed as she tried to find the answer. But it was so long ago. “I don’t remember. I think I always knew.” It was a vague statement, but not that unusual coming from Mercy. “The beast I heard about at the Floating Market. The sort of thing that’s… whispered about but never really spoken about out loud.” A shadow fluttered across Mercy’s face. “They said it was a demon. That it had brought the plague.” Her voice lowered, as if even now she was afraid to speak too loudly. “And that… the only way to end the dying was to slay it.” Mercy closed her eyes. “I remember sitting near a fire… night after night… listening to all manner of men and women - soldiers, hunters, casters, demon-killers, thrill-seekers - argue and fight over who should be the next to go down into the dark. They were all very brave… and very strong. Yet most never returned. The few that did…” Mercy made a small sound. “They were different.” 

A small beat of silence followed. “Eventually, there was no one left who would go. The plague was... so many were dying. So… I volunteered. Should’ve done it sooner, but… I wanted to see what it would make of the others first. If they could succeed. When they didn’t, well.” Arthur knew the rest of the story. And Mercy didn’t care to relive it again. 

“It can’t,” she agreed. “It never could. It wasn’t a spirit, or a phantom. It was real and it was ancient and it was… something other than just a boar… but it was flesh and bone and blood. And I killed it… I painted it’s blood over my eyes… and left it to rot in that place.” Her voice was slowly rising as she started to get upset. “Because I lost my spear. I used it on that fucking squid demon…” Mercy sighed, pressing a hand back over her eyes. “It’s at the bottom of the lake. And I can’t kill the boar without the spear…” If it were even real, and not just a ghost of a nightmare, as Arthur said.

For a moment after that, Mercy thought she was trembling again. And maybe she was. But when something in another room shattered as it fell to the floor, she opened her eyes, giving Arthur a familiar look that needed no explanation.

“Did you hear that?” she whispered, going very, very still. 

It was strange for Mercy to not bite the bullet sooner, an action orientated individual he knew it was simply her nature to charge into battle without a second thought for the safety of a situation. But those were different times and circumstances changed so Arthur didn’t think to question too further on that account. She did what she needed to do and that was that. 

“Well then, as you say… It’s dead.” And if it wasn’t, well there wasn’t much they could do about it now was there? “What about getting your spear back? I’d say I would help but…” he gave her a mildly apologetic look knowing they were both acutely aware he would be no assistance in this department. “What about diving equipment? I’m sure you could scour the lake.”

“Mm.” But the quiet comfort he’d been letting himself sink into was interrupted by the crash from the direction of the kitchen and Ren had to stop himself from sighing. “Yeah” he answered lowly before grumbling under his breath “why can’t we get five bloody minutes of peace in this place?”

If she hadn’t lost her spear, Mercy would’ve already gone after the creature that she knew she’d seen prowling the woods. But she remembered the dark and the rot and the ones that never returned from below. She remembered knowing that the weapon was the only way. That she was the only way. And if this thing had truly come back from the dead somehow… then there was no one else who could stop it. No one else who would. Or so the part of Mercy that still feared the old gods… and the deep, deep dark... told her. 

But Arthur, as always, pulled her back from that darkness. She smiled at him, some of the tension easing out of her face. “I know you would…” But the spear was beyond his reach. It might be beyond Mercy’s as well. “I could,” she nodded, a small furrow returning to her brow. “ I tried to get it back once. Recently. I even had help.” But that hadn’t worked out well for either her, Mina, or Ariana. “But I… I don’t think I can go back into that water…” It was rare for Mercy to be frightened of anything. But the last time she’d been beneath the black water of the lake, she almost hadn’t returned. She didn’t need to say it out loud to know Arthur would get her meaning. She was scared. 

The shattering glass was a singular sound that didn’t come again. As the house stayed quiet once more, Mercy slowly forced her body to relax again. It wasn’t fair, she knew - hearing Arthur’s muttered annoyance - to never have peace. That was what Mercy wanted more than anything, despite the Fury nature that would always have a need and a craving for turmoil and chaos. She didn’t want to merely survive anymore. She wanted to live. With Arthur. To finally have the one thing that had always eluded her. The one person that had always been just out of reach. But who was here now, lying with her, listening to her fears and her failures and taking them all in stride. As he always had. 

He deserved better than a life of pain and fear and heartbreak. So Mercy let herself settle. The house was quiet, the thick white curtain of fog still shifting strangely outside, but she turned her focus back to what was, instead of what might be. “It’s probably just Nana…” Mercy said, letting her fingers drift along the curve of Arthur’s arm. “Or Loki.” She traced the images inked into his skin, using them as a focal point as her tension continued to fade. Old fears were getting the better of her lately. Slipping between the cracks left over from recent events. The wraith. The mimes. Arthur’s brush with death. Mercy’s drowning and the blindness that followed. Their trip through her memories to save a friend who had died anyway, murdered in the street. Some days Mercy wondered what the point of it all was. And then Arthur would smile at her, or she’d hear his laughter, and Mercy remembered.

“Let’s stay here…” She looked up at him from beneath her lashes. “I like it better here.” 

As much as Arthur would have liked to stay right here and not go and investigate, he couldn’t entirely bring himself to forget about the fact that something had smashed. His eyes pressed closed for a few moments knowing these would be the last few he’d likely get before they had to figure out what had been smashed and the process of fixing or replacing it. “I just hope it isn’t one of my antiques, do you know how hard it is finding a good potter these days?” His fingers drifted over Mercy’s waist waiting and listening yet nothing more came.

Was that a good sign or bad? He tried to continue listening, though the brush of Mercy’s finger over the dark interwoven patterns of their history and their home that he’d had inked into the very essence of his skin started to shift his focus away from that and everything that had come to pass of late. “We should build a big bonfire this year, for Samhain. I also still haven’t warded the house which is definitely something we should do before the end of the month hm?”

“Hm,” Arthur stretched out on the sofa folding one arm behind his head lazily “you make a convincing argument. I’m very comfy right now.” 

Mercy hummed in agreement. “I’m sure it’s right up there with finding a decent swordsmith. Or authentic Thai food.” She relaxed a bit as they waited for a follow up crash, enjoying the warm weight of Arthur’s hand at her waist. But the house remained silent, and Mercy didn’t care to seek out trouble. Especially if it drew her away from the sofa. 

But Arthur’s focus slipped from the sound and back to Mercy’s attentions. The thought of a bonfire for the upcoming holiday made her smile, and a soft laugh followed. “A giant bonfire that’ll light up the night sky… and rain down fiery embers for us to dance beneath, our faces painted to hide from those spirits who might wish us harm.” It had been quite awhile since Mercy had celebrated properly. “But yeah… the warding should probably come sooner rather than later,” she agreed. Else who knew what might come calling. 

Mercy watched him as he stretched. Her fingers drifted to his waist, gently seeking the warm skin beneath the hem of his sweater. “That’s good…” she murmured, snuggling closer. A mischievous look glinted in her eyes as she rubbed her nose lazily against his, ‘Eskimo’ style. “Was afraid you’d run off and leave me all by my lonesome…”

“Actually I’ll have you know that sword shop in town is pretty solid in that department…” Arthur said. “Though I’m convinced they have a vampire behind the scenes authenticating all their stock. No way are they all that legit without some historical perspective.” 

“Like we did when we were small, right? We did that?” there were only vague recollections of distant memories, most of the faces blurred and lost to time. Though it was hard to forget the pounding beat of drums and swell of music that sank into your bones and moved you to a place of higher belief. An existential experience. Though that could partly be blamed from the mushrooms they foraged at such events.

“Never. I’m not that cruel.” But even the comfort of Mercy’s presence wasn’t enough to diminish the nagging hypervigilance that White Crest had bred into him and Arthur frowned as another crash came from the kitchen. “Oh come on…” he groaned begrudgingly pulling away from Mercy to walk in the direction of the kitchen “Nana if that’s my vase we’re gonna have words!”

And yet, as Arthur stepped into the kitchen he blinked in apparent confusion. “What- there’s no- What’s going on?”

“Excalibur?” Mercy asked, giving him a skeptical look. “The one time I went in there the guy at the counter tried to sell me a knock-off. It was a good one. But still a knock off. Though I think he was also really high…” She shrugged, grinning a bit. “At least you know your antiques and can’t get ripped off like other people.” 

Mercy’s expression softened a bit at the mention of their childhood. So long ago now that she barely remembered it except for a few vivid memories that were unlikely to fade. “We did. We painted our faces-” She pulled two fingers lightly over his eyes. “-and braided feathers and bone in our hair… we danced until our legs fell out from under us.” A small laugh escaped her as the memory rose up, warming a special place in her chest. 

It warmed a bit more as Arthur started to tease her in return, but another resounding crash from the kitchen made them both groan in frustration. Mercy stood, scrubbing her hands over her face as she followed Arthur into the kitchen, ready to clean up whatever mess the ghost had caused this time. Though it wasn’t like her to break things so vehemently. “Is it the vase…” Mercy started to ask as she came up beside Arthur. 

But the scene before her answered her own question. There was a something in their kitchen, but it wasn’t Nana. It was something else. Something... dark and terrible. Something that made even Mercy’s skin crawl with a sense of… wrongness. But she barely had time to register what was happening before the spirit was on them. “RUN!!” Mercy pushed in front of Arthur and held up her arms to try and deflect the attack, but there was nothing she could do as the creature slashed at her. White-hot pain flared once, twice, three times across her forearms… and a line of searing fire split across the side of her neck. Mercy turned and shoved Arthur away from the kitchen. She tried to scream at him again, but her words tasted like copper, and she could only choke and cough as she silently begged him to Go! Now! 

“Oh really? Huh, must’ve been a different guy when I went. They had some authentics in there that were actually rather tempting but I feel like people would start questioning me if I had too many sharp things on the wall… I already have two axes up, more and I think magic folk would get the wroooong idea.”

What Arthur wasn’t anticipating was an extremely pale and bloodied woman in a white dress, to pull herself out of the fragmented glass. He blinked, shocked into silence and uncertainty about how best to handle this occurrence when his stasis was broken by Mercy’s scream. A scream that cut short into a wet gargle of crimson splashing the countertops from a sharp glint of something reflective wielded by the other figure in the room. “HEY! YOU LEAVE HER ALONE” he yelled, moving to reach out and grab the figure by the arm, and while his hand seemed to sink into her apparition he managed to gain purchase on something ice cold. Still, he dug his fingers in and shoved the creature in the other direction watching it sail across the space and vanish back into the glass. “What the ever loving fuck?”

Instead, cold dead eyes remained fixed on their target from the shimmering depths. 

“GO” Arthur yelled, moving to grab Mercy and shove her towards the door, “hide! Now! GOGOGO!”

“You obviously haven’t looked underneath my bed,” Mercy grinned at the mention of sharp things. They were forced up after that, Mercy silently wondering if she and Arthur would ever be given the chance to do anything more than share a few kisses here and there. It seemed like they were always being interrupted somehow. 

But those thoughts were stripped from Mercy’s mind as the source of the interruption became clear. There was no time after that for anything but the need to get away. As far away as possible. Because Mercy could withstand nearly anything the raging spirit came at her with, but Arthur… Arthur couldn’t. So Mercy did as she’d always done. She protected him. Or tried to. Blood splattered the countertops, the floors, the walls… the attack was so quick and vicious that Mercy was bleeding out before she realized it. But then Arthur was there, putting himself between her and the horrible shade screaming for her blood… blood that was pooling entirely too fast on the kitchen floor. 

And then Arthur was the one pushing Mercy out of the room. She nearly slipped in the slick puddle of gore beneath her feet, but Arthur steadied her and they pair fled the kitchen as fast as they were able. Behind them, the sounds of shattering glass came again, and the angry wail of a killer denied her victim followed. Mercy moved towards the stairs, scrambling up as best she could. They ran the length of the upper floor, away from the kitchen - leaving a gods awful trail of blood in their wake - and when Mercy spotted the large, walk-in linen closet near Arthur’s room, she gestured they should get in. There were no mirrors, no reflective surfaces, so unless the ghost was aware enough to actually follow the trail they’d left behind, they would be safe. 

Mercy slid to the floor was the door was shut, clasping a hand to her neck where the glass had nearly severed her carotid. It still bled entirely too fast, but she could feel the hot sting of skin starting to knit itself together. Her arms were better off, but still not healed completely. If she could only stem the flow long enough… and not pass out… she’d be fine. But Arthur… she grabbed his sleeve, pulling on it to get his attention to make sure he was okay. 

Muffled wails echoed from downstairs as the murderous spirit hunted her prey.

There was no initial recognition of whatever entity was in the kitchen, Arthur only saw the bloodied fingers clasped tight around a shattered piece of glass going for his dearest companion. It spurred him to action, even as Mercy tried to put herself in harms way for his sake. Not this time. No that wouldn’t fly. Giving Mercy a shove he grabbed the salt dispenser on the side and backed up, dumping it in a line across the threshold of the room. This had to be some sort of spirit right? How did you deal with spirits? Salt and iron.

Backing up into the hallway Arthur stared at the figure as it advanced, steps stilted and stiff. It paused as it reached the line of salt and there was a momentary feeling of triumph that lit Arthur’s chest at the sentiment of something so simple beating this creature.

A feeling that dissolved as one foot stepped over the line and a wicked smile cracked the pale visage’s lips. Mockery. A look that seemed to say, oh dear, you’ll have to try harder than that little boy.

“Shit! Gogogo!” Arthur yelled, following Mercy’s trail up the stairs and following her into the darkened space of the upstairs hallway. He sank down to the floor within, grabbing a loose towl and fumbling in the dark to feel for her neck and the slick press of her own fingers against the weeping wound of her neck. “Here…” he whispered bringing the towel forward to try and help. “What the hell was that?”

Mercy couldn’t answer for several long moments after they ducked into the closet. They simply sat there in the dark, Mercy trying not to choke on her own blood as Arthur pressed a towel to her neck, and they waited on the wound to heal. “Mary…” Mercy managed to say, though it came out in a coarse whisper. “Bloody… Mary… s’ghost…” Another wail came from somewhere in the house. “Can’t… stop her… hav’to… hide…” 

She coughed, trying to stay quiet, but unable to help it. A few moments later, the wail was closer. It sounded like the spirit had come up the stairs. When it came again, it was right outside the door. Mercy closed her eyes, pressing her hand over her mouth as she tried to stay quiet. A floorboard creaked… the handle started to turn… and then… nothing. No sound. No wailing. Mercy was almost convinced the specter had gone. Almost. Until something snatched her by the hair and lifted her off her feet. She was slammed once, twice, three times against the closet door, until it too slammed open, and the spirit started to drag Mercy - literally kicking and screaming as she tried to escape - back down the hall. 

“Arthur, RUN!” she cried, even though she knew he wasn’t going to listen. 

The silence was oppressive, broken only by the wet painful breath of Freyja beside him. His own heart pounded loud enough that he swore it was about to beat right out the front of his chest. And so they sat, hopeful that perhaps they could wait it out. "Bloody Mary? Isn't that a kids tale?" Typical she would show up here of all places.

Yet the silence was shattered, the spirit attempting to bash Freyja's skull in on the hard timber frame of the dark space they were in. Each a short sharp sickening thud until she was being dragged down the stairs and Arthur was once again scrambling after them. "NO! NOT MY GIRLFRIEND YOU BITCH!" he wasn't sure what compelled him to grab Mercy's other arm but in a fit of panic it was all that he could think of. He pulled, feet skidding on the carpet as he yanked fighting for control and possession with a determination rarely seen from the scholar. Not this time it said.

Until finally the spirit's grip gave way, right at the top of the stairs. If she couldn't end it then why not let this empassioned fool do it himself? They tumbled backwards down the wooden steps, bashing backs and heads in the process until they came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs bloodied, bruised and right a ringing headache pierced by another wail.

It was slow to process, but Arthur fumbled unsteadily pushing to his feet and grabbing the back of Mercy's jumper to haul her towards the door. To keep moving, the lock clicked open and Arthur flung the door open dragging her out barefoot into the street towards some kind of salvation.

Wherever that thing was not.

~

[bestfrownsforever]

Frown of Doom: Chapter 3

(Cover art by @usf2020​)

The fortress doors opened and Master Frown flew in as fast as his body could carry him.  He yelled as he slammed his fist into his desk, almost crashing into it.

“THIS DOESN’T MAKE SENSE!” he shouted, “WHY IS SO HARD TO KILL THOSE TWO IDIOTS!?  I’M SUPPOSED TO BE STRONGER THAN THEM!  THAN THIS!”

“Well technically they’re not idiots,” Brock said, walking in from behind, “Hawkodile’s been fighting since like, forever, and Dr. Fox is really really smart.  Plus she’s got hundreds of inventions, so…”

“Brock, what are you doing?” Master Frown asked as he turned around, “I thought I told you to watch Unikitty!”  “Oh,” Brock nervously said, “you did, buuut I heard you come in, so I-“

“And what’s with that key in your hand?” Master Frown raised his voice as he walked closer to Brock until they were inches apart and Brock started to sweat.

(Arty by @friffinx​)

“Oh I…uhh…”

“Brock, this doesn’t have to do with Unikitty, does it?”

“No, it uhh…I just, uh…” Brock stammered, sweating even more.

“TELL ME OR I’LL MAKE YOU SAY IT!” the Doom Lord commanded as his eyes burned brighter and he held his hand to the side of his head.

“OK OK FINE,” Brock confessed, “it’s the key to Unikitty’s cage!  We came up with a plan to bring you back to the kingdom so we could…you know, help you.”

“Of course you did,” Master Frown groaned, his eyes getting dimmer with disappointment until they glowed brighter again with his wide grin, “But now I’ve got an even better idea!”  “Oh no,” Brock whispered as Master Frown giggled.  “Oh yes,” Master Frown said, raising an arm out in front of Brock, “If Unikitty still thinks that talking and some dumb science magic will fix everything, then I’ll just have to give her a reality check!”  Brock shut his eyes tightly with pain, struggling to keep himself together.  “And you’re gonna help me whether you like it or not.”

Brock’s eyes opened with red light back shining in them again.

“My apologies,” Possessed Brock calmly said, “I’m ready when you are.”  “Good,” Master Frown said, “now come on!”  He began excitedly making his way to the conference room with Possessed Brock following him.

                                                     : ~~~ :

Hawkodile had been sitting on the same foyer room couch for hours.  More than anything, he wanted to get off his numb tail end and stretch his legs beyond kicking them up and flexing them.  But though he hated admitting it, Rick was right: he had to stay seated until he was in a better condition.  But by nightfall, Hawkodile was feeling a little better; though his arm still hurt, Richard cleaned, disinfected, bandaged, and even sewn it up surprisingly well.  Still, as Hawkodile held his arm and waited for his blocky friend to return again, he kept worrying about Dr. Fox.  He thought about her the most since she ran off, and she still hadn’t come back from the lab.

“I’m back,” Richard announced from afar, carrying casting tape and more bandages to wrap around Hawkodile’s injured arm.

“This should keep you from trying to use your arm while it recovers,” he said, busily making the cast, “I know it won’t help you recover any faster but this is the best I can do until Dr. Fox comes back.”

“Look, Rick,” Hawkodile said, “you’ve already helped out a lot.  If you think about I should be-“

“No,” Richard nearly yelled, “you won’t be fine, so stop saying that you are or you will be!  How many times do I need to tell you that you can’t jump back into a fight with an arm ready to fall apart!?  You still need time to recover!”

“Well yeah,” Hawkodile almost laughed, “I was gonna say that I should be ok enough to see Dr. Fox.  After, you know, everything that happened, I just hope she’s doing ok down there.”

(Art by @arekusatheamazingx​)

“I can understand where you’re coming from,” Richard said, “but really?  I’m sure that if she’s working on anything at the moment, it’ll take a lot of time considering how the fight affected her.  She’s undoubtedly struggling and under a lot of pressure.”

“Yeah, me too!”

Richard floated back an inch as Hawkodile continued.

“That’s why I want to talk to her!  And hey, since plan A didn’t work, maybe we can try something different to save Unikitty.”

Hawkodile’s nervous, wide smile and shrugging shoulders seemed like enough to not convince Richard, but Rick knew that they were running out of options that’d work fast enough to at least see Unikitty again.

“Well possibly,” Richard admitted and helped Hawkodile stand up.

“Alright,” he said as he led Hawkodile to the lab, “let’s just hope it’s good enough.”

                                                               : ~~~ :

Unikitty kept her restless eyes on the conference room doors, and when they opened she gasped with joy, ready to cheerfully ask Brock about the key.  But when she saw that Brock’s eyes were red and Master Frown came in after him with eyes just as red and spinning the keys around his hand with his magic, she gasped far less excited.

“Awww,” Master Frown mocked her, “you thought you could make your way out of this easy-peasy, huh?  Well not this time, you sushiney little slob!  And you know why?  Because you’re in my NEW world now, and you’re never leaving it!”

Master Frown unlocked the cage and Unikitty prepared to zip out, but he grabbed her tail; first with his red aura and then his hands.

“A-a-aah,” he teased Unikitty as he dragged her midair to the closet, “nope!  You’re staying right here, ‘Princess’!”  He threw her into the conference room closet, slamming the door shut and locking her inside.

Unikitty looked around the dark, damp closet.  She started thinking that when Master Frown said he became bigger and stronger, he meant it, but still tried to stay positive.  What could really be worse than killing the other Doom Lords anyway?

The first thing that caught her eyes was a projector.  She stepped closer, noticing that there was film inside.  She wasn’t sure if she should play it but asked about it anyway, to which Master Frown yelled “YES”.  So she started up the projector and watched the film begin.  It was a piece of found footage.

“Who does Master Frown think he is?” the person filming said, “Master Doom didn’t deserve it!  No one did!”

Master Papercuts was hiding in an alleyway.

“What's he doing,” the hollow-eyed Doom Lord said, “going around all proud of killing people for doing our jobs better than him?  Ok, sure, when I first walked in I freaked out seeing them all dead and ran out before he could catch me.  Does that mean I’m gonna run away some more and let them die in vain?  Nope nope nope nope nope nope NOPE!  Because I’m better than him!  I’ll avenge them and become the real best Doom Lord ever!  A new wave of really really bad papercuts is beginning, and there’s nothing, I repeat NOTHING that can stop me from-“

“No witnesses,” Master Frown said, suddenly sliding in behind his co-worker with the same axe he killed the others with.

(Art by @x-master-brock-x​)

The screen turned to static and Unikitty gulped in fear, trying to distract herself from the fact that Master Frown would take down any opposition for sure.  But then she found Master Papercuts’s hat hanging from the ceiling on a string right in front of her, screamed, and as she backed away, tripped over a gun on the floor.  Though hesitant, she picked it up along with the flashlight next to it.  It was a blaster roughly the size of her arm with a small note taped across the grip.  Unikitty turned the flashlight on with one paw to read the small writing:

“I’ve been on the run for two days now.  Reporting a murder should’ve been easier, but every police station in this dreaded town is the same.  Turns out I ‘don’t have evidence’ or a ‘good enough alibis’.  What part of ‘My brother got killed by a maniac and now the guy’s after me because I was a witness and want to keep our home safe’ don’t you understand???  But I can’t keep this up anymore.  I’m too tired, weak, and hungry, so unless I can find an officer that gets stuff done “

The delicate writing stopped, and Master Frown’s sloppy handwriting invaded the rest of the note.

“U’LL DIE TRYING, HAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Unikitty got goosebumps.  “This is fake, right?” she insecurely asked.

“Flip it over,” Master Frown yelled from outside.

Unikitty sorrowfully gasped as she did.  Snippets of two “Missing" posters were also taped to the grip.  Both victims’ posters were cut in half, one half each taped together to make what looked like an amateur craft project with the face and names sloppily scribbled out in black and red.

“YEESH, WHAT ELSE IS IN THE CLOSET!?” Unikitty cried, stomping on the ground out of fear.  Se heard something small and metallic fall off a shelf from behind her as a result and turned around.  Lying in the shadows was a pen, and as she picked it up, she paid attention to the buttons on the side: play, pause, rewind, fast fowrd, and a red recording button.  Though more terrified and wondering why someone would make a pen that could record things, she gulped and pressed the play button.

“Hey, you wanna see something cool?”  It was Master Frown’s voice.

“Uhh…sure, what is it?” She assumed the other voice was a Frowntown citizen’s.

“See this pen right here?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

SLAM!

There was an unfinished scream, and the recording ended.

Unikitty moved her paw closer to the tip of the pen to put it away, but felt something icky and gagged.  She moved the pen closer to her face to see what it was, and found the victim from the recording’s eye and brain bits still there rotting away on the pen.

She screamed, one so loud and blood-curdling as the pen flew out of her paws, that turned into ugly sobbing.  Master Frown held his head closer to the closet door, enjoying every second of her pain.

“You hear that!?” he excitedly asked a softly grinning Possessed Brock, “OhHOHOHOHOOOOOH, YES, YES!  I LOVE IT!!!”

“OK OK, I GIVE UP!!!” Unikitty bawled, banging on the closet door, “PLEASE, MASTER FROWN, PLEASE LET ME OUT OF HERE!!!”

“See!?” Master Frown yelled triumphantly, “Now you know what you’re dealing with!  And if you try to find a way out again, YOU’RE NEXT, you hear me!?”

“YES,” Unikitty kept crying, “JUST PLEASE, LET ME OUT!!!  I DON’T WANNA BE IN THIS CLOSET ANYMORE!!!”

“Good,” Master Frown growled happily.  He unlocked the closet, to greet a traumatized Unikitty, her body white as snow and shaking so much that she could hardly stand, and her eyes ready to pour more buckets of tears.  “Now BACK IN THE CAGE WITH YOU!”  He tossed her into her tiny prison, and as she crash-landed inside, he slammed the cage shut and locked it.

(Art by @usf2020​, again)

“No…” Unikitty whimpered as she struggled to move until she could stand and yell “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?”

Master Frown and Possessed Brock left the room without a word.

“What have you done?” Unikitty whispered again before breaking down.

                                                          : ~~~ :

Hawkodile and Richard entered the lab in shock.  It became a mess of broken objects and stained walls and floors, one so messy that they couldn’t even see Dr. Fox herself until they spotted her in a curled up, shaking, panicking mess on the floor.  Tear marks stained her furry face and her glasses were cracked.

The two looked at each other, unsure of how well talking to Dr. Fox would go.  But they knew she’d get worse if nothing was done, so they walked slowly towards her.  Richard stopped a few yards away to give Hawkodile more space, and the bodyguard stopped once he felt close enough to Dr. Fox.  He knelt down and softly asked for her by name, to which she turned around, screamed, and turned back, hyperventilating louder and faster than before and trying to cover herself up with bent and crumpled up papers.

“No D-Dr. Fox, it’s ok,” Hawkodile hopefully tried calming her down, “It’s just us.”

“NO!” Dr. Fox yelled, “Please go away!  It’s best for all of us if just you leave me alone…”

“No, it’s really not,” Hawkodile tried to explain, “Because without you we have no chance at stopping Master Frown and saving Unikitty!  Now look, I know that today’s battle was…not that great for us, but it’s all just one little slip up if you think about it-”

“NO IT’S NOT!!!” Dr. Fox had enough strength to say to Hawkodile’s face, “I MADE THE GREATEST MISTAKE I POSSIBLY COULD, DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND!?  THIS CHANGES EVERYTHING ABOUT ME, NOT JUST AS A SCIENTIST BUT AS A PERSON!  AND TO YOU OF ALL PEOPLE, SO HOW CAN YOU SAY THOSE THINGS!?  I DON’T WANT ANYTHING LIKE THIS TO EVER HAPPEN AGAIN!”

Hawkodile thought about how he likely still wasn’t helping but felt that he had to keep trying.

“No, I know!  Believe me, I know.  You’re right, this did happen to me.  But look, it was an accident.  So even if I’m still in a lot of pain, I can’t really get mad at you because this is something none of us have ever prepared for.  So right now the best thing we can do is get up and try again.  And better!  Think about it: this is Unikitty we’re fighting for.  She’d wouldn’t give up on us if her life depended on it, and right now her life depends on us.  So I don’t know but if I were you, I’d get myself together and back on the team, and find her before it’s too late.”

“I-I know,” Dr. Fox sniffled, “I want to as much as you do, Hawk…but what if I mess up again?  You could  all die, Master Frown would win, and it’d be my fault!”

“Listen Doc,” Hawkodile gently put his arm on her shoulder, “you’re putting too much pressure on yourself.  There’s no way we’d let you do all the big stuff alone.  I can still fight!…” He looked back at his other arm.  “Well I’m gonna need some help first, but that still kinda proves my point.  If we’re gonna fight Master Frown again, we need to stick together.  And it’ll be different this time, I promise.”

Hawkodile held Dr. Fox’s hands and looked deep into her eyes.  “I’ll give you all the help you need.”

(Art by @its-a-me-lava​)

“Hawkodile…”

Just when he thought all his words meant nothing, Dr. Fox hugged him.

“You’re right!  It was dumb to think I’d be the kingdom’s big hero anyway.  We gotta give each other the help we need.  In fact, I think I can fix your arm and find a way to successfully raid Frowntown!”  She got up and walked out from under her desk.

“Of course, we have no idea how successful it’ll be, but hey, we still gotta try, right?”  Dr. Fox turned back to Hawkodile and winked at him.  He blushed and giggled.

“Yeah…we do.”

Richard leaned over gave a small smile, proud of his friends.

“So what do you say, guys?” Dr. Fox asked her friends, already regaining some confidence, “Let’s head back out there!”  She held a fist up in the air.  “For Unikitty!”

“For Unikitty!” Hawkodile joined her.  The fist bump turned into them holding their hands…and Hawkodile blushing harder.

The three walked upstairs to discuss potential rescue plans when Puppycorn suddenly greeted them.

“There you guys are!”  the prince said, relieved, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!  Why are you still not telling me what’s going on?  I miss Unikitty just as much as you do, you know!”

Dr. Fox, Hawkodile, and Richard looked at each other, trying to decide who had the best answer to give him.  But Richard got the most stares, so he sighed and floated closer to Puppycorn.

“Well, Hawkodile and Dr. Fox just agreed to go to Frowntown and rescue Unikitty.”

“Aww yeah!” Puppycorn shouted as he wagged his tail, “Can I come?”

“For the last time,” Richard sighed as Hawkodile and Dr. Fox cringed behind him, “no.”

“AGAIN!?” Puppycorn angrily protested, “But why!?  And you better tell me this time!”

“Ok slugger,” Hawkodile explained, ���we know how much you love your sister, and trust us, we’d like to have more on the team.  But Master Frown’s become really dangerous as of late, and you’re uh…”

“Too inexperienced,” Dr. Fox continued for him, “Let’s put it that way.  We’re doing this to keep you safe, Puppycorn!  Hawkodile and I know a bit more when it comes to actually fighting and can’t afford to lose anyone else like we did Unikitty.  You see what he did to Hawkodile, right?  Just imagine what he could do if he got his hands on you.”

“Yeah it’d hurt,” Hawkodile tried putting it lightly.

“Indeed,” Richard agreed.

(Art by Michelle, who’s not on Tumblr)

“Well you know what else hurts?” Puppycorn pouted, “Being left out of something huge because you think I’m not smart enough to understand it!  And it’s not fair!  If you’re so scared of losing me, what about  Hawk and Dr. Fox!?  You can still lose them out there when they’re fighting!  Unikitty’s my big sister!  And I don’t know if I’ll ever see her again!  So if you can’t save her, then I want to.”  He looked away and hung his head to the side.

Everything was quiet until Dr. Fox gasped and shouted “THAT’S IT!  Puppycorn, you’re right!”

“He is?” Hawkodile and Richard asked.

“I am?” Puppycorn happily asked after them.

“Yes,” Dr. Fox joyfully explained, “Hawkodile and I can do the fighting, but you can do the rescuing!  Why didn’t I think of it before?”

“Wait, you’re right!” Hawkodile agreed.

“Yeah,” Puppycorn shouted, “let’s do it!”

“Hold up,” Hawkodile held Puppycorn by the head to stop him from running, “we still need to fix my arm.  Plus we’re gonna need more weapons and gadgets and I’ll have to show you some ways to defend yourself if you get in trouble.”

“Ok cool!” Puppycorn said, his tail wagging again.

“Which means we probably won’t leave until tomorrow,” Dr. Fox added.

“Ok,” Puppycorn’s mood didn’t change as Hawkodile let him go and he ran around in circles, “we’re still gonna save my big sis together, woo-hoo!!”

Richard knew he couldn’t stop them from doing something this risky and even a little stupid, but also that it was the best they could do.

“Just be careful out there,” was all he could say.  “Don’t worry, Richard,” Dr. Fox told him, “we’ve got this completely under control, right guys?”

The brick gave her a stare of disbelief as Puppycorn and Hawkodile cheered “Yeah!”

Dr. Fox put her fist in the air again.  “Come on guys, for Unikitty!  Again!”

“Yeah, again!”

“Aww yeah!”

                                                         : ~~~ :

As the sun rose over Unikingdom the next morning, the castle residents prepared to for the day’s big fight.

“Ok,” Hawkodile instructed everyone, eyeing Puppycorn specifically, “so one more time this way no one forgets: Dr. Fox, Puppycorn, and I are heading to Frowntown together and Rick will stay here to take care of the kingdom until at least one of us gets back.”

“Yes,” Richard said as he wearily looked at his friends, hoping it wouldn’t be the last, “just remember to please be careful out there.”

“We gotcha, Rick,” Puppycorn gave him a salute, “we promise, we’ll have Unikitty with us when we get back!”  He ran off giggling.

“Yeah,” Dr. Fox stepped closer to her floating gray friend, “if we’re successful, we’ll be right back.”

“We got this,” Hawkodile reassured Richard, putting his hand on Dr. Fox’s shoulder.  Then he pointed and yelled “Now let’s move out!”

The mission had begun.

That same morning, Master Frown watched the dull excuse for sunlight drift over Frowntown from the Doom Lord fortress rooftop.

(Art by me)

“Today’s going to be special…I can feel it.”

His evil giggle echoed through the town.

Well…happy St. Patrick’s Day!  :D

(Sorry if the wait for this one was a bit longer than expected.)

But wow oh wow, we’re roughly halfway through the AU’s story already!  Feels like just yesterday I was still working on the asks and still thinking about how the story would end.

A few more co-artists joined since last time as well, so not all of them got to work on art this time.  But the ones that did are, again, credited above.  I also promise that you’ll get to see more of them and their art in the upcoming chapters, so keep your eyes peeled!

(Even if chapter 4 is about as long as chapter 1 was and may take a while.)

See you soon!  ;)

[sokkathebluewolf]

A review Why you do that? Making Sokka mention 28 in his vows now everyone think he slept around after the best time of his life? They both dont deserve this June slaves Hina Tylee now this Please don't make more girls fall for him involve with him feels like the whole fic turned around this Haru deserves better Tylee is flirting around

Don't get me wrong This is your fic and you can do anything you feel fit I'm merely giving an opinion ''cause Gladiator has things which you handled the best There is a Reason for this success I just hope this plus 1 girl thing in Sokkla relationship Stops But I always respect you with your great work(:

You do realize how utterly laughable it is to tell me “DON’T MAKE MORE GIRLS FALL FOR HIM IT FEELS LIKE THE WHOLE FIC IS TURNING AROUND” and then say “you can do anything you feel fit, I respect your work (:”, right?

This is not respect. This is not “constructive criticism”. This is not an opinion so important and valuable that it warrants being repeated about a million times across A YEAR. Most people? They give out their opinions, negative or positive, ONE TIME, and leave it be, because what matters to them is CONVEYING how they feel, not forcing a writer to constantly explain themselves or write whatever they would be comfortable with. Actually? Most people who have given me negative opinions so far have been like that, except one guy who was outright flaming my story because he wanted to wank to it, and he couldn’t believe he had to read 97 chapters to finally reach the smut. That I’m comparing you to this reader and reviewer is PROBABLY a bad sign, don’t you think?

Sokka didn’t MENTION 28: Sokka acknowledged his past mistakes because he’s a grown man who knows to feel remorse when he hurts people he loves. That he brings up having hurt her, to this day, isn’t in the purpose of going “HEY HEY AZULA REMEMBER WHEN I BROKE YOUR HEART LOL”, it’s in the purpose of saying: “I’ve learned from my mistakes and, as it has been for YEARS, I will devote myself to NEVER hurting you again”. That, anon, is a PERFECTLY VALID SENTIMENT for a wedding vow, and one that requires far more character growth and complexity than “Lol I’m so happy we were both virgins because that is the only kind of pure love that has ever been valid in the universe, anything else doesn’t count”.

Hell, you’ve literally made me go right back to the chapter to look at what he says, exactly: “I messed things up between us over my damn stupidity”, he... is literally beating himself up about this. To this day. He’s not talking about it proudly. And yet you’re here complaining as though he were?

SPOILER: More people will have feelings for Sokka in future chapters. In fact, I want to make it even MORE people than I’d originally planned after receiving all these asks. I’d rather derail my story into something you can’t stomach reading than cater to you. Azula will outright JOKE about being “jealous” in a future chapter, and Sokka will know it’s a joke! :D And I’m NOT lying about this to mess with you, it IS going to happen and your persistent asks absolutely WON’T make me alter my content. And why is it going to happen, you’ll ask? Why, because nice, charming, charismatic guys like Sokka attract people whether they want to or not. It’s what they DO about attracting others what matters to me! :’) And that Sokka rejects other people who attempt to be with him should be, I think, a much more important message about loyalty to someone you love than “I ONLY EVER ATTRACTED ONE PERSON IN MY LIFE AND MARRIED THEM”. Because I know that’s virtually the only thing you appear willing to accept, going by the first ask.

And holy crap, Ty Lee is... flirting around? Flirting around... with Haru. The guy she’s in a committed relationship with, whom she’s going to marry. The whole situation is meant to be insanely ironic considering Ty Lee is with the guy she SHOULD be with but it looks like it’s something else? (Hell, nobody even KNOWS it was Ty Lee, Mei Xun didn’t stick around long enough to discover the woman’s identity, so her reputation’s actually safe?) But you’re just so emotionally compromised by anything regarding Sokka being with anyone else, even if it’s 1. not true because he’s MILES away, with Azula 2. a joke 3. a plot device for a FUTURE EVENT, that you just can’t grasp this irony at all?

Ty Lee, by design in this story, has ALWAYS been pretty damn liberal about flirting and relationships. Despite we’ve mainly just heard such relationships mentioned on the side, rather than witnessing them directly, she is objectively the cast member who’s had the most relationships, whether serious or casual or just occasional, with other people. And even then, she’s getting married. Even when she’s had so many people in her past, she’s settling down with Haru for good. And Haru? Haru is THRILLED. Because he loves her. Because she loves him. Because HER past does NOT have a single thing to do with THEIR future. And yet you seriously read these chapters, where Ty Lee is having a lot of fun with her fiancé, and your brain just translated this as “OMG TY LEE IS A SLUT HARU DESERVES BETTER!”? Seriously?

I feel like I’m getting asks from a childish version of Drax from Guardians of the Galaxy. Everything that isn’t straightforward needs to be explained point by point, apparently, and even then, you don’t get it. I literally went to literature school and was told to write intelligent fiction so readers would feel compelled to unravel its complexities themselves... apparently that was a big fat lie? :’) Your persistence actually has convinced me that it is.

Oh and, for future reference (because I KNOW you’ll come back, that’s all you ever do): not because you throw compliments at me later to “cushion” your complaint does it mean you’re respecting me and my story. You can’t slap someone in the face and then go “Oh your cheeks are so plump that I bet it doesn’t hurt”. You can’t just disregard my request that you keep these sorts of questions to my PERSONAL blog rather than the fic’s blog, and pretend you respect me. You can’t come to me time after time with the same complaints and attitude, watch how I’ve basically gone from initially responding with discomfort (because, in my personal blog, there are MANY asks that predate yours, where I’d already explained my reasoning to someone else who apparently didn’t get it, which means the subject wears me out, A LOT), then seeing that I started ignoring your asks, then seeing I closed the inbox so I could regain some sense of normalcy in my life that you refused to let me reclaim, and then seeing that I’m answering with outright hostility, and pretend that it’s ME who has a problem. 

If someone I respected responded in any similar manner to ANYTHING I said to them, I’d basically feel like shit and never talk to them again because I don’t want to be a burden or a problem for someone whom I value in any way. You, apparently, would rather be a problem, and to no avail, because all you’re achieving so far is convincing me to continue writing things that will make you riot until you stop reading my story. If you CAN’T stop reading regardless of the horrifying, amoral, dreadful decisions I’ve made? Congratulations: you still don’t have the right to tell me what to do with my story. And until you GENUINELY understand that, your compliments don’t mean anything to me. I have readers I value who have conveyed complaints, MANY TIMES, in an actual respectful manner. Readers who are even bothered by the same thing you are. And yet I’m even FRIENDS with them. Imagine that :’) It’s almost like the problem isn’t having whatever opinion you do... but rather, the intent of IMPOSING your opinion constantly and persistently until you’ve driven me to lash out as bluntly and cruelly as I may! To the point I’m outright saying I’m going to rewrite my story into becoming EVERYTHING you don’t want it to be so you leave me alone!

And if you’re not the one who’s been here for a year, and this is not really an echo chamber (despite all of these messages have the same complaints, wording, tone, format, style, punctuation and grammar mistakes), yet you SAW that other people have been doing this for a long time, and thought it was PERFECTLY FINE to join the party? You’re no less of an asshole than the rest of them. No matter if it’s your first time voicing your “opinion”. Because it’s NOT about what you’re saying: it’s about HOW you’re saying it. It’s about trying to guilt trip me into writing whatever you want and claiming the story is going off the rails because something makes you personally uncomfortable. This is NOT objective criticism. This is SUBJECTIVE, ENTIRELY. This isn’t a real problem in storytelling, it’s a personal problem for you because it clashes with your moral values. And NO ONE is forcing you to continue consuming content that goes against your moral values, you’re choosing to do that yourself.

If you’re to live by any of the words you said in these two asks, make it “This is your fic and you can do anything you feel fit”. Because that’s literally what I’m going to do. It’s what I’ve done over EVERY complaint in poor faith I’ve gotten, ranging from “quit writing so much happiness it’s boring” to “where’s the sex you prude”. And it’s what I intend to continue doing. What kind of criticism do I value? “This particular scene features a factually contradictory line with a previous event”, such as Zuko claiming he never went to Sokka’s house when he in fact did, and I plain and simple FORGOT about it. What more kinds of criticism do I value? “You need to work out the Gladiator League’s system better because it’s not a solid business venture”, and this one was right? And yet it was too late to fix it, despite it’s 100% spot-on and I should’ve worked it out way better than I did. Another? “Sokka may have gotten over the fact that Azula captured him and tossed him in a slave market too easily”, because? It’s a perfectly valid sentiment? I disagree because Sokka is canonically shown to get over grudges relatively quickly, and yet I CAN see why it seems too fast for some people. What else do I value? Maybe suggestions on wording problems! I’ve made a lot of stupid wording mistakes, in virtue of being a non-native speaker. I’ve done my best to amend those, but it’s a work in progress even now.

Point and case being: in literature, and thus, in fanfiction? Constructive criticism isn’t “WRITE WHAT I WANT TO READ BECAUSE I WANT TO BE PERFECTLY COMFORTABLE WITH ALL I CONSUME”. Constructive criticism is given by people who KNOW storytelling. So I’d only consider it constructive criticism if it’s given by people who can read those chapters and see that the ENTIRE purpose of that conflict is to trigger growth and development as both Sokka and Azula realize their own mistakes and shortcomings with each other. So, someone who’s giving actual constructive criticism wouldn’t come to my inbox a million times with the same complaint... someone who’s giving constructive criticism would come to my inbox, ONE TIME, and say “Hey, maybe this alternative to conveying Azula is instinctively jealous over her canonical insecurities about being a monster and earning people’s love and loyalties COULD have been preferable, despite I know you can’t change that anymore as it’s fundamental for your story”, or “Hey, I thought of another way for Sokka to convey that he realized their interest in each other could result in something TERRIBLE if they ever acted on their feelings, a way for him to not act on that specific impulse to flirt with Suki to push away Azula, but to act on ANOTHER, believable, IC Sokka-compliant impulse that might still convey exactly what you needed to”. But again, even if it were complaints like THESE? I can’t change anything anymore. It’s TOO LATE. If I think it’s too late to fix Zuko saying “lol I never went to Sokka’s house” when it’s not true? It’s WAY TOO LATE to rewrite chapters that are over SEVEN years old, and I don’t even want to do it to begin with. But I WOULD concede these criticisms. I would accept them. I wouldn’t consider them offensive to me, or my work, or disrespectful in any way.

Constructive criticism is NOT about forcing an author to agree with you, or to do whatever you ask them to. Constructive criticism is about helping an author convey what they were conveying in a better, smoother way. If you CAN’T understand what the author was conveying? You don’t qualify for offering constructive criticism. If you need explanations as to why the author did anything they did? You’re, again, not qualified to offer constructive criticism. Your criticism, in any such cases, is NOT constructive, no matter what you’re telling yourself. This is a VERY important distinction, and one you can’t pretend isn’t valid just by throwing a bunch of compliments at me after telling me I’m ruining my story.

Until the day you DO understand the difference between constructive criticism, and subjective complaints? Your opinions will not be considered valuable enough to affect my story in a positive way. And the more disrespectful you show yourself, by continuing to disregard my DIRECT request for you to stop coming back with these complaints, as well as the direct request to stop sending these questions to this blog? The less your opinions will count for me. I don’t bend over backwards for anyone. And I’m definitely not going to do it for you.

[mcfreakin-bxtch]

The Mandalorian and His Light - Chapter 2

Pairing: The Mandalorian x OC (Platonic?)

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,475

A/N: I’m still continuing this series! I have an idea on where I want this to go but I’m still working on that part. 

The Mandalorian and His Light Masterlist

...

My sweet, sweet girl. You are already so smart and strong and brave. I’m sorry for what is about to come, and I wish I could take all the pain away. Please know that mommy and daddy love you very much, and we didn’t want to leave you. Your journeys will be testing; you’ll want to give up, but I beg you not to. I see greatness in you. I know you will do good in this world, and you won’t be alone. No matter what, you will never be alone.

 Luna couldn’t remember much about what used to be her home. It was easier not to, made doing her job much simpler. Not to say that she was entirely proud of herself and her work, but if she could convince herself it made it easier to sleep. She did, however, hold on to the little bits and pieces that weren’t blurred by time. It made her feel wrong letting it all entirely go. But she would continue on on those lonely nights where her thoughts and memories seemed to attack her most; not all of them were attacks, but most of them. Eventually she learned to thoroughly tune them out or turn them into happier ones, even if it was for a short time. The days were easier than the nights.

Now Luna knew that this day was bound to come at some point. She would try to run, would hide for the rest of her life if she had to. She understood why most would think that as cowardly or lifeless, but she needed to survive, wanted to live. And hey, as long as she was left alone then all was good, right? She’d never hurt or kill if she didn’t have to. She had her morals, and she liked to think that someone would do the same for her; if she was going down, she might has well do good anyway. When her bounty hunter walked through the doors of that dreadful tavern, she was very close to getting a medallion from the grimly man’s pocket next to her. A little bit of chit chat and laughter, lots of drinks, and a comfortable atmosphere all around. It was all going so well until he showed up.

The Mandalorian watched her unconscious body from the pilots’ seat. They had landed now, not for another bounty, but to assess. The Child was asleep in his quarters. Mando had no intentions of letting her see him. He didn’t know what to do with her, whether to trust her word. But there were plenty of people after her and the Child seemed to see her as harmless as can be. He contemplated trying to wake her when she finally stirred, groaning as she opened her eyes and looked at her surroundings.

“Wanna talk?” Luna heard a warped voice ask.

Her head whipped to the Mandalorian, who stared right back. The lack of emotion, or a face for that matter, did scare Luna a bit; she couldn’t read him so well. She thought about staying silent.

‘Just gotta find a way out.’ She thought.

“Wanna tell me who gave you the hit?” Luna countered; annoyance laced in her voice.

“Not until you tell me why all these hunters are after you for such a small crime.” He countered back.

Luna rolled her eyes and huffed, trying to seat herself more comfortably now against the ship’s walls, hands handcuffed in front of her.

“Why? Just so you can carbon freeze me anyway and be done with it?”

Luna knew she it wasn’t wise to push people, especially Mandalorians like him but she couldn’t help herself. She cursed herself for not being able to keep her mouth shut when it needed it to be. She’d tell herself that she would work on it the next day.

The Mandalorian sighed, already growing impatient with the girl. “Yeah, something like that. If you don’t answer any of my questions.”

It took a few moments for Luna to answer, and she almost hated him for how patient he was being with her. At least at the moment. But she did have to tell him something, and it might as well be half of the truth. She wasn’t sure it was right timing to tell him one of the truths behind her finding that basically costed her freedom.

“Well,” she finally sighed as she crossed one leg over the other. “I make a living off little jobs and robbery, which you already know. And I just happened to come across one I didn’t agree with.”

The Mandalorian nodded his head once, letting Luna know that he was still listening to her. She wondered if it ever felt uncomfortable, having that helmet on practically 24/7; she never quite understood the religion, knew the basics of it, but didn’t most bounty hunters want a face to the credit when it was due? Given, she knew there were decent people out there who did not give any damns about the credit, only the work and the lives saved, but there seemed to be very few left in the galaxy nowadays.

“It was a child,” Luna continued. “There was a kill order on a child, and my job was to retrieve it. Bring it to client, alive mostly, but dead if need be.”

His senses went off on this information. Alerts rang all around his mind, circling in on the cuffed thief.

Could she be telling the truth? Is it the same child he had no in his possession? The one he too had saved from death? Is she the one who hid him?

“What child?” He demanded gruffly, slightly surprising Luna.

“I don’t know the name of the species,” she answered, round eyes staring into what she assumed was his. “Just that it, or he I suppose, was tiny and green, with these big eyes and ears.”

Her eyes squinted with humor as she turned towards the surprised man, though she did not pay attention to this, a joke laced in her tune.

“What was really funny to me was how they said the target was –“

“Fifty years old.” They said at the same time.

Luna paused and looked at him, floods of questions in her chestnut eyes.

“Yeah,” she drawled in confusion, obviously taken back. “How’d you know that?”

“What’d you do to it?” He tried to keep his composure under check, but it was hard knowing that the very same target was in the same ship as her. He needed to know her intentions, needed to keep the Child safe. If that meant killing her, then so be it.

“I did the only thing I could do; I hid him. I wanted to go back for him, see if could place him in a safer place or hell I even considered taking the kid with me.”

Luna hoped that he couldn’t detect the words she wasn’t saying. Like she thought before she wasn’t technically lying, just omitting some parts here and there. He didn’t need to know them yet, not until she could trust him completely.

The Mandalorian stood up then, shadow towering over Luna. He seemed to be contemplating as he seemingly stared at her. Luna couldn’t do anything but stare back.

“If I let you go, and you don’t do anything stupid, and I do mean anything, I’ll consider using your help,” he told her.

Realization dawned on her quickly, The Mandalorian swore he saw hope in her eyes as well before it quickly disappeared.

“Oh I get it,” she said. “You have the kid, don’t you? Cute little guy, isn’t he?”

He nodded his head in confirmation, holding the keys out in front of her. “Now is that a yes or no?”

Luna took a deep breath, calculating her chances. Of course she was going have to agree to his terms! It was either that or death, something she had been trying to avoid this entire time. And besides, the man seemed reasonable enough so far; he could’ve easily have disposed her and be done with it. Plus, she wouldn’t mind seeing the little guy again.

Using the wall to stand herself up, The Mandalorian starting for help until he saw she didn’t need it and held her cuffed wrists up with a smirk.

“Well,” she said. “Looks like we’re partners now.”

The Mandalorian gave a small tip of his head and pulled out the keys to uncuff her, studying her the entire time. Luna didn’t blame him.

“Yeah,” he held his hand out towards her. “Partners. Until you prove otherwise,” he warned.

Luna couldn’t fight the smile that spread across her face. She wasn’t sure what it was quite was then, but it was a good feeling. She took his hand in hers in a firm shake.

“Of course.”