#realizing I could have used glamour as an excuse all along

[cosmicnovaflare]

I like the sketch you made! You should try a dark blue and white colour for a lunar look with moons and wispy parts and twinkle stars

Ah!! I can picture that exactly. I started one like that when I was trying to draw Levana in a Wires and Nerve style, but trashed it because she didn’t deserve it and I didn’t have the motivation to spend time on her.

I’m currently working on a blue and purple modified cloud collar design for Cinder, but I’m going to add in some Lunar elements now!

I’m going to keep this specific idea in mind for the future. I no longer need an AU as an excuse to exaggerate the whimsicalness.

[skullhorn59]

Heavenly Hell

A/N: the story inspired by a daydream, and the name by @hazelfoureyes (sorry not sorry for the tag :P), I cooked up another fic. sinners - enjoy. >:3 Tags/Warnings are added progressively, design changed/fixed with time. mostly proofread! Summary: you have always been a fan of the show Hazbin Hotel in your life - and as you are spawned in a Hell identically matching the Show, you can't believe your sheer luck. you're immediately on your way to eagerly meet the celebrities (at least they are in your world), but your arrival hadn't gone unnoticed... Pairings: Lucifer, Valentino, Adam, Alastor, Vox, Angel Dust, Sir Pentious, Husk x Fem!Reader Tags/Warnings: self aware and insecure Reader, Spoilers for the Show

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Minors DNI 🚨🚔

The moment you open your eyes, you see red. red above you, red around you, red everywhere.

Are you dreaming..?

Your other senses begin returning to you, and you groan in pain. your entire body aches as you force yourself to stand up. where were you? you sure weren't dreaming, judging by your physical pain.

Wait a damn minute. your body changed. you can feel more muscles aching, in places where none have been before. testingly moving those muscles, you are taken aback. the position of your ears changed. and you even... have a tail?

Looking around, you seem to be in a city, glamoured by a red pentagram in the red sky. lights everywhere, a familiar tower in the distance, and you can even feel the bass from the music of the clubs that are all around. wait. your eyes shoot back, and you squint at the tower in the distance. are those three V's at the front..?

Wait.

You've seen that tower before.

In one of your favorite shows.

Hazbin Hotel.

As the realization hits you like a freight train, your blood runs cold. but with more excitement than dread. did you die and spawn in the Show??? was everyone from it gonna be here, alive (well - undead rather) and kicking?? when did you spawn here? before the extermination?? after?? who was gonna be there??

You take a deep breath to try and calm yourself down. but who did you want to find first? Valentino? Vox? Lucifer? Alastor? someone entirely different?

You do think about going to the Hotel first, but judging by where you've stranded, it would be a lot quicker to go take a look for the Vee's first. and knowing good ol' Alastor, you think with a scrunch to your face, he would likely snatch up your soul right away, should he find out you've only just gotten here.

Nah - no way you are risking that.

At least for now.

And so - you have a makeshift goal. doing your best to keep your excitement at bay as you begin walking towards the Tower, you think about what kind of excuse you'll make up to be able to even see one of the Vee's upclose, let alone get away without having to sign a contract in the end.

Offering them your soul? - immediate no. suggesting to work for them? - as bad as the first, so hard no.

Glancing in between buildings from time towards the Vee's Tower to make sure you're still on the right track, you furrow your brows in thought.

Hmm.. there has to be a way.

Coming to a stop infront of your destination before you could think of something, you feel your heart flutter against your chest. a rare occurance - but all the more fitting. looking up and along the tower to the three V signs, you give your braincells another kick. and suddenly - they kick back.

Information!

Yes! that's it, you can give all of them valuable information! and in return.. ohoho. so many things you could ask for. you are definitely gonna go see Vox first. you have so much to sell him, it's almost depressing. but Val..? you don't have very much that's of use to him. maybe you can somehow convince Vox to get you a... talk... with his fellow Vee. surpressing a smirk, you look forward again, internally preparing your introverted body and mind for the upcoming social interactions.

The doors glide open quietly, as expected, and you step in, immediately being hit by a wall of cool air from an air conditioner above. it's like entering a store, you think.

With a rather fast glance around, you're greeted with a Luxurious Lobby. snuggled into the far right corner, there's a reception, with a bored looking demon behind it. a camera is seated in the corner above it, with Vox's signature line on it. you can spot another one placed in the opposite corner as your eyes search around the ceiling corners.

Red Armchairs instead of regular Chairs are generously placed in the three leftover corners of the room and a few along the left wall too, low coffee tables in between. as your gaze rises along the wall, you see lots of Voxtek advertisements as well as a few screens that almost lazily switch between even more ads. you can't help but take a step closer, your eyes flitting over each and every one of them with barely held back interest, trying to take it all in at once.

Until the sound of someone clearing their throat brings you back to where you were. oops. you turn your head to where it came from, and you see the receptionist almost glare at you over their glasses. you can't tell their gender at first glance - and you aren't gonna assume it.

So you walk over to them, your eyes somewhere near their face, but not actively looking into it, you're still exploring your surroundings a little. you start speaking, insecure from the moment they laid eyes on you. "uh, hello.. I'm uhm.. here to see.." what should you call him? best to go with the most polite one you can think of. "Mr Vox." taking a deep breath, you fiddle your hands together while you continue. "I have information for him that he's.. gonna want to hear."

The Receptionist raises an eyebrow at you, but before they can respond, you hear a noise that reminds you of electric current, and you feel a cool hand on your shoulder, sharp claws firmly placed on your thin clothing, but they aren't piercing through. and before you can process everything, you hear a very familiar voice speak. you gulp.

"Information, you say? sounds like something we should discuss in my office, privately."

─❲♡❳▷Hazbin Masterlist ─❲♡❳▷Main List

[spiralinghours]

“I’ll Be Seeing You” (2/?)

Fandom: Saw franchise

Pairing: Mark Hoffman x Peter Strahm

Rating: still PG-13 I think?

Tags/Warnings: middle aged men using rude and crass language with each other, internalized homophobia typical for the 90’s/early 00’s, chubby chaser Strahm (still), mentions of Angelina

Summary: Stakeouts then and now.

Author’s Notes: Wrapped up this part in kind of a hurry because I liked what I have so far but also there will be more on these stakeouts. I was just getting impatient. Hope it’s still okay. Drunk editing so apologies for any errors.

MAY 1992

“God, who’s the rent-a-cop stripper over there?”

Peter cut a smarmy look in Mark’s direction. Officer Hoffman, rather, as Diane at the front desk had dreamily pointed out. She may as well have been twirling her hair around a finger and sighing.

Which. Like. Okay. Peter could kind of see why. This guy had a crystalline, doe-eyed softness to him—friendly enough, but sort of quiet. It was all very soft focus, romance novel cover, glamour shots-centric. Not that he would know anything about all that.

At the same time, Mark was dumbly chewing on a Twizzler, mouth slightly agape like a cow as he squinted at fold of newspaper in his grip. From what Peter could peek at, the puzzled and concerned look was over something in the horoscope section.

This man was an idiot. What even was his job around the station? Who gave him a badge?

Peter realized he was letting his harsh judgments run away with him for no reason. ‘Don’t be that way,’ he had to remind himself.

“Excuse me, but where is Detective Halloran?” Peter inquired, leaning over the edge of Diane’s desk. “I was told to get in touch with him. I’m supposed to work with the team going out to case the Smith warehouse.”

“Oh right,” Diane nodded along, “you won’t actually be joining Halloran—he got pulled into some other business. He’s partnering you up with another officer.”

“Oh. Did he say who?”

Peter should have known, by the grace of the universe, like some big joke, that he was going to get paired up with him: the guy he had been mentally razzing since he arrived, the guy who was currently walking towards him, as if he could hear his thoughts…

“Hey,” he extended a hand, “Mark Hoffman.”

Peter’s glare clung and drifted from Mark’s hand, up his arm, to his chin, his lips, the little gap between his teeth… Such a genuine smile. He almost felt bad for being a prick about him.

“Special Agent Peter Strahm,” he mumbled, trying to avert his stare.

“Good to meet you. Ready to go?”

“Uh, sure.”

2006

Agent Erickson stood by the superior officers in the middle of the conference room, hands folded in front of him, face stoic. It was a debriefing for all agents and officers on the case, now that everyone assigned had arrived.

Strahm couldn’t focus with Hoffman sat directly in his line of sight, resembling a tired, overfed cat on the brink of falling asleep. One thing to note was that Mark barely smiled, looking miserable, maybe only giving one little polite grin to Perez when he was showing her around the station. Peter wished he could see what that toothy smile looked like on Mark’s softer features, instead of having to face a constant vacant pout.

He noticed a lot of the audience was starting to thin out, apparently dismissed and ready to get to task.

“Peter,” Erickson called, making a small “come here” gesture. “You and Hoffman are going to scout out this location here.” He passed forward a sticky note with an address. “We think this might be a location for an upcoming game set up by one of Jigsaw’s accomplices.”

“What about Perez,” Peter protested almost petulantly, “she—”

“She has her assignment, Peter,” Erickson finished. “I specifically need an agent out there patrolling with Detective Hoffman.”

Mark, having tuned in from across the room somehow, had strutted over after Erickson had walked off.

“Like old times, huh?” he teased, voice low as he leaned in over Peter’s shoulder.

MAY 1992

“So, uh, what do you do outside of work?” Peter bumbled. “Like, to stay sharp.” ‘Christ, you might as well tell him he has a nice body, fuck,’ he cringed to himself.

The connotations were lost on Mark, who seemed distracted by his own loosely-strung thoughts. “Oh, uh, I mean I work out in the facilities when I can… Used to play soccer…”

“Oh, nice. I would’ve assumed you played football or something. Got the shoulders for it.” ‘No, was that too queer?’ Peter scolded himself. He had to wonder, either way—for a guy with such a medium frame, Mark’s shoulders and chest were pretty prominent. Meaty, even, if he was being candid.

Peter wanted to slap himself for letting his eyes linger at Mark’s chest too long.

Despite the internal panic, Mark had no idea, innocently chewing on one fry after another, nodding along to whatever Strahm had to say as they waited in his patrol car.

The evening’s task was to case one of the many potential neighborhoods the suspect could have been planning to hit next. It was cookie cutter suburban and exactly the same as the previous two neighborhoods they had staked out in the past two weeks, right down to the beige slat siding and the white front doors. Even if Peter sounded foolish, he was glad to have some form of conversation to distract him from the stillness and boredom.

“Want one?” Mark held out the fast food bag with loose fries rolling around within. He had ordered two large fries and dumped them into one bag, grazing on those and a few burgers the whole evening.

“No thanks,” Peter declined. “My last girlfriend complained I wasn’t eating enough greenery and then the habit just kinda stuck. I think I’d get heartburn if I even sniffed one of those.”

Mark chuckled softly, still chewing. “I get it. I overdo it sometimes but I just go on a run or whatever and sweat out the salt. Can’t help it though. I eat when I’m nervous. And bored.”

“You nervous about this?”

“Heh, no. Not really. It’s something else.”

“Well, what?”

“It’s my little sister. She finally started college. I’m just worried about her being out livin’ on her own. It’s stupid.” Mark tried distracting the thoughts with more fries.

“I’m sure your parents are even more worried. But that’s natural.”

“I wouldn’t know. They’re dead. I think. I dunno, probably haven’t seen my parents since I was a kid. Angie and I were in the system for a while, and then I sorta just took care of her myself.”

“Oh.”

Peter felt a little bad for constantly taking jabs at the guy, even if they were only mental and one-sided. But only a little.

2006

Mark’s eyes curved around in a little J path, dropping down before trailing up Peter’s chest and settling on his face. God, he was so boxy and angular everywhere, like he was drawn in a fit of rage. Mark considered the sharp point of his nose, the light scowl that lived perpetually on his lips, the creases sprawling from his cheekbones. He was a stiffened, colder caricature of the twenty-something Strahm he had known once.

Softly opening a bag of chips, Mark’s eyes stayed fixed, wondering if Peter would notice what he was doing—if he was going to get curious and watch.

“Hungry already?” Peter sniffed, looking Mark up and down. “Just bored?”

“Why do you care?”

“Doesn’t seem like you’ve been going on those runs anymore.” Peter cringed at himself. Why was he being like that? The logical part of his mind wanted to know, but the bitter, excitable vapors starting to flood the recesses of his brain were tapping at something so secretive, guilty, and bothered.

“Oh, another way of calling me fat. You’re so mean.” Hoffman lazily rolled his eyes and bit into a burrito that had seemed to manifest from a bottomless bag of “supplies”. “Again, dunno why you care so much… Unless it… does something for you?” There it was. A cunning smile started to bloom across his thick lips, still chewing thoughtfully.

There was the obvious fact that visually couldn’t be denied: Hoffman’s plush lower belly did rub up against the steering wheel, whereas back in the early 90’s (and however many pounds ago) his athletically thick though trim-enough torso had no such reach. Back then, the black fabric of his uniform had give, one side buttoning cleanly over the other. Now, his blueish-gray shirt was pulled taut, a slight separation of fabric just above his belt where the shirt would no longer tuck in all the way.

“Don’t be disgusting. I’m not a pervert like you.”

“Uh huhhhhh.” Mark set the burrito down on the dashboard in a pause. “You know, I remember. The last time we did this you kept staring. I bet you wanted to watch me get fat, you freak. Well now that you’re gracing me with your presence you can enjoy the view, I guess.” He huffed, grabbing the foil-wrapped monstrosity and biting in hurriedly.

“First of all,” Peter finally grunted, incensed, “You’re the one that didn’t want anything to do with me. Had to be sauced and secretive about it—but I knew. We both know. More than three ‘accidental, drunken’ kisses isn’t an accident.”

“Maybe I didn’t want anyone knowing because I liked keeping my job!” Mark grumbled around a huge mouthful, trying his best to not let that hamper his seriousness. “It was different then!”

“Secondly,” Peter pushed on, ignoring his words, “yeah, I was checking you out. Yeah, maybe the age and that gut looks good on you now. Maybe I also just liked looking at you back then. Back then, now—doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, wow, way to get Brokeback Mountain on me.” Mark tried lowering his husky voice, but his jab only came out like a bratty teenage girl barb.

Peter lunged across the center console, bundling a fist into Mark’s shirt fabric, hasty and heated. “I don’t get you, you smug fatfuck.” His pointed nose was close to grazing Mark’s cheek as he breathed in heavily, angrily.

“I’m sorry for how I was, okay?” He sounded genuinely apologetic for the first time since their reunion. “Things are… complicated. They have been.”

Peter had a begrudging understanding. He wanted something that he wouldn’t know what to do anything with… didn’t know how to interact with it. And what about Mark? It had been so long, and there he was, facing him, unaware of where his life even was. What was he ready for? Interested in?

It was asking a lot.

[alpacaparkaseok]

It's been a long tiring day. Work which has be a escape hatch for the past year has tends drain you out . The glamour of working in an advertising agency as worn off along with the enthusiasm for life. As you park the car , a memory slides in of you and Jin trying to decide who would park the car the tight corner slot ... You chide yourself .. snap out of it .. it's been a year ... A long year at that .

Throwing the car into park, you take a moment to pull down your mirror and take a look at yourself. Do you actually look like a mess, or are you just imagining it? If you squint, you swear you can see just how empty your eyes are.

"Hey!"

You jump, seatbelt locking at the sudden movement. Someone knocks on your window, and with a groan and a sheepish smile, you roll it down.

"Hey, yourself."

Namjoon laughs. "Were you planning on getting out anytime soon? I'm having a Discover Channel marathon at my apartment if you wanna come."

Your sheepish smile makes a return. "Oh, thanks Namjoon, but..."

If you'd actually been paying attention to the boy, you would have noticed the nervous fidget of his hands and the way his expression dropped at your tone.

He's been inviting you up to his apartment for months, to no avail. Without fail, it ends up in a half-formed excuse and awkward goodbye.

"Actually," Namjoon interrupts before you can come up with an excuse. "I have something for you in my apartment. Would you mind just dropping in really quick? So I can give it to you?"

"Oh. Like a package or something?"

"Er...no, not really. It's, uh..." Namjoon takes a step back from your car as you get out, scratching the back of his neck. "Hard to explain...?"

You chuckle, shrugging your shoulders. "Sure, Joon. That's fine. Let's head up."

The two of you walk up the stairs, keeping a good distance. Namjoon calmly asks you about your day, and you wonder if he sees right through you when you tell him that it was fine. He doesn't push it, though. Instead he changes the subject.

Jin used to do the same thing, you note. Until the day he walked out of your life forever, leaving nothing but a heart wrenching note and his wedding band on the kitchen counter.

You should have seen it coming, you should have talked to him earlier. If only you would have looked past yourself and focused more on him-

"You good?"

Blinking, you realize that you've come to a stop outside of Namjoon's apartment. He stands just inside the door, holding it open for you and wearing a concerned expression.

"O-oh. Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry I zoned out, I'm just tired."

Namjoon nods, holding the door open a little wider and gesturing for you to enter. You tip-toe after him, glancing around his apartment with curious eyes.

It's a little cluttered, plenty of books or boxes are half-opened. Almost as though their owner got distracted halfway through the process, leaving them until further notice.

Maybe that's what this feeling in your heart is. Despite a year having passed since your sudden separation from your husband, you're left feeling half-open. Still hoping that Jin will slide back into your life to complete the process of loving you. Afraid of what you would do if he tried to come back.

"Sorry it's a little messy," Namjoon is muttering, his cheeks taking on an adorable red tint. "I honestly wasn't expecting you to come in. Give me half a second to grab it. Make yourself at home."

He scurries off around the corner toward the kitchen, if you're not mistaken. It's strange to see his apartment, which is the mirror image of your own. So familiar and foreign all at once.

It makes you dizzy.

Chancing a seat on his leather couch, you grab the nearest half-open book. Thumbing through it, you're delighted to see that it's one that you've read before. Did you recommend this to him? Or did he just happen to have similar tastes as you? Honestly, most of your past conversations with Namjoon have been rushed and awkward. Something about him throws you off and sends you running back home before you can do something too stupid.

It probably has something to do with the fact that he found you nearly passed out outside of your apartment about eight months ago, too drunk to even open the door and too distraught to see straight.

Namjoon had heard the noise, and headed out into the hallway to see what the issue was. Despite your inebriated state, you still remember with startling clarity the way he gently took your keys from your trembling hands and unlocked the door.

You could still feel the ghost of his hands as he helped you brush your teeth and tucked you into bed. Going above and beyond the kindly neighbor role as he fluffed your pillow and gazed down at you with an adoring look in his eye.

You think he was banking on the fact that you were probably too drunk to remember anything in the morning. At least, that's what you assumed when he planted a sickly sweet kiss to your forehead before leaving you to go back to his apartment across the hall.

But you remember everything.

"Here you go!" Namjoon appears in the living room, carrying a familiar cardboard box and a wide smile.

You blink up at him, setting the book off to the side. "...pizza?"

"Not just any pizza," Namjoon croons, setting the box down in you lap before sitting beside you. "That kind you used to order all the time, remember? I noticed that you didn't get it delivered that much anymore...so you know. I thought I'd get some for you. It came last night, but you didn't answer your door, so I just stuck it in the fridge."

Staring at the man beside you and then daring to lift up the lid of the box, you gasp as you see your favorite pizza waiting for you.

"Wait, you got this for me?"

Namjoon grins, nudging you with his elbow. "Yeah, I did. I mean, I was kinda hoping that you'd share a slice with me, but..."

Your voice is small and pathetic when you speak next. "Why...why would you do this?"

The silence is crushing as you stare down at the top of the pizza box. The bright logo of the pizzeria is practically burned into the back of your eyelids as you wait for an answer. When it comes, it's not what you expected.

"Pretty selfish reasons, honestly."

"What?"

Namjoon stretches a little, reaching for the remote that sits on the coffee table. "I wanted to have a Discovery Channel marathon with you, and this seemed like the best way to bribe you into it."

"But Namjoon," you sound incredulous, "you don't want to hang out with me-"

"Yes, I do."

"But-" your breath catches, and suddenly you find yourself back where you were that morning when you discovered Jin's wedding band on the kitchen counter.

It was simple, gold. A couple of nicks and scratches on it, proving to you that it was all real. But when you picked it up, it seemed too light in your hand. Like it never held any real weight, anyway.

"But what?"

"But I'm divorced! And you, you're successful and don't have that kind of baggage! So you really don't want to get involved with me, Namjoon! Just- stop being so nice to me!"

He's silent as he regards you, and your skin flushes red under his gaze. His eyes don't miss a single thing, from the way you're breathing heavily to the way your hands tremble.

Jumping a little when he opens the pizza box and grabs a slice, Namjoon takes a big bite before smirking at you.

"Are you the kind of person that can eat cold pizza or do you always have to heat it up?"

You frown. Did you not hear you confessing your baggage and invitation for him to ignore you for the rest of his life?

"Uh...no, I like cold pizza."

Namjoon nods, eyebrows scrunched as though processing some life-changing information.

"Good. I think that would be the only thing I can't handle. Other than that, I'm not worried about your 'baggage', as you put it." Taking another bite, Namjoon turns on the TV and leans back against the couch. "I'm not asking you to marry me, you know. Just watch some Discovery Channel with me?"

Sinking back against the couch cushions with a huff, you wonder if this is even real.

"I...yeah. Sure."

Shooting you a smile that sends you reeling, Namjoon begins his quest to remind you of what falling in love feels like.

[wizardofrozz]

Welcome to Westview!

Warnings: swearing, slight implied smut (barely), mention of past violence

A/N: This chapter is a little longer but I couldn’t find a spot to break it up that I liked lol. Taglist is open 😊

Chapter 5

Bucky POV

Steve, Clint, Loki, and I hurried up the steps of the library, hoping to find Vision before the meeting started. The four of us stumbled into the main room, seeing a table of men talking softly; I spotted Vision’s light hair first.

           “There he is,” I whispered, jabbing an elbow at Loki, who stood next to me.

           “Hey, Vis,” Loki called, starting towards our friend.

           “Hey, guys!” Vision called, waving us over.

           “Who are these guys?” a man next to Vision with a mustache asked.

           “Oh, these are a few of my buddies. This is Loki Laufeyson” -Vision rested a hand on Loki’s shoulder as he sat next to him- “then Bucky Barnes.” I took a seat on Loki’s other side, waving when Vision brought attention to me. “Steve Rogers.” Vision pointed to Steve, who took the chair at the other head of the table opposite the man with the mustache. Steve smiled softly, waving as his eyes flicked around the table. “And Clint Barton.” Vision pointed to Clint, who sat across from me.

           “Heya, gentlemen,” Clint greeted, leaning back in his chair, spreading his legs, getting comfortable. The other men around the table mumbled ‘hellos’ or waved at us, still visibly uneasy.

           “So, new business?” Vision spoke up.

           “New business actually means another round of Danishes,” the man named Norm said. I sighed, quickly realizing these guys were just as bad as the woman. Loki passed me the box after pulling a treat out for himself, smirking at me.

           “Gossip club, anyone?” Loki mumbled. I snorted, holding back my laughter as I picked up a raspberry Danish for myself, and Steve then passing the box to Clint.

           “I thought we’d be talking about neighborhood safety, not a kid’s treehouse,” I chuckled. Loki dropped his head, covering his mouth as he chewed, hiding his smile.

           “Anyone else get the wrong idea?” Steve asked, leaning forward.

           “I was thinking the same thing,” Clint snorted, taking a bite of his pastry. A fit of laughter from the other end of the table caught our attention; the four of us turned our heads, trying to catch up on the conversation.

           “Hey, care for a stick o' Big Red?” the guy I recognized as Wanda and Vision’s neighbor Herb said.

           “Well, hold on there a second. Didn't you hear the man? He doesn't eat food,” Norm cut in, stopping Vision’s hand short.

           “Is gum food?” the man with the mustache asked.

           “Well, my understanding is that it's purely for mastication,” Vision stated matter-of-factly.

           “Oh boy,” Loki whispered, hiding his smile. Steve looked at his lap, a small smile on his lips, and Clint threw his head back, covering his mouth; I elbowed Loki and kicked Steve’s leg, glaring at Clint.

           “No, I don't do that,” Herb shot back, visibly uncomfortable.

           “Ah, well, when in Westview…Cheers,” Vision took the gun, putting it in his mouth.

           “Stop him!” I hissed at Loki, but it was too late.

           “This could be a problem,” Loki mumbled, his eyes glued to Vision.  

           “Who knew you were such a funny guy?” I heard Norm chuckle in the background.

           “It’s gum; what’s the problem?” Clint whispered, leaning over the table.

           “And to think you came here all hot and bothered about protocols and nonsense. We actually thought you were serious!” Herb laughed, clapping a hand on Vision’s back. Loki tensed next to me when he heard the audible noise of Vision swallowing.

           “That’s the problem!” Steve hissed, falling heavily back into his chair.

           “So what? He swallowed it, big deal,” Clint said, tilting his head, still not understanding.

           “He’s a machine”-Steve leaned over to whisper to Clint- “he has gears, not a stomach.” It took Clint a few seconds, then his eyes widened, his panicked gaze flicking to Vision.

           “Shit,” Clint mumbled, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

           “You okay, Vis?” Loki asked, leaning closer. Vision’s brows pulled together, bringing a hand to rest on his chest as he blinked a few times. “Vis?” Loki tried again.

           “I…*hiccup*…think so,” Vision croaked.

           “This isn’t good,” Steve mumbled, the panic in his voice sending his voice up a few octaves.

           “Hey” -I grabbed his forearm with my left hand - “he’ll be fine.” Steve sighed, nodding after a few seconds before his shoulders started to relax. I smiled at him, squeezing his arm; the soft whining noise of my arm filled the room, and I watched the lights in the library make the dark metal of my hand twinkle.

           “What the…” I gasped, ripping my hand away from Steve. My hand started to shake as I inspected the metal plates slotting together on my fingers and my palm. My heart rate jumped, beating against my ribs as panic set in and the once soft whining in my arm became deafening. I screwed my eyes shut, trying to catch my breath; I slowly opened my eyes, finding the slightly lighter skin of my palm facing me. I blanched, opening and closing my flesh fist that was metal only a few seconds ago. I glanced up and Clint was staring wide-eyed at me, but he quickly turned to listen to what Steve was saying.

           “What’s wrong?” Loki mumbled, elbowing my arm lightly. Steve looked away from Clint when Loki spoke, his gaze boring into the side of my head.

           “Does my arm look funny?” I croaked, glancing at Loki.

           “No?” Loki said, his brows pulling together in confusion. “Are you okay, Bucky?”

           “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” I stammered, inspecting my hand again.

           “Okay?” Loki mumbled, flicking his gaze to Steve.

           “Well, I think that’s all we have time for today, gentlemen,” Herb’s voice cut in, stopping my internal meltdown.

           “We’ll catch you guys at the talent show later,” Norm said with a smile, pushing away from his chair. I set my hand on the table, wondering why I was staring at it so intensely before smiling at the men at the other end of the table.

           “See ya later, guys,” I said, nodding once. “Help me carry Vision,” I mumbled, leaning closer to Loki.

           “On it,” Loki whispered. “Hey Vis, we have to get you ready for the talent show.”

           “Talent show?” Vis giggled, stumbling as he stood. “What talent do I have?”

           “You and Wanda are doing a magic show,” I assured in a soft voice, firmly gripping the back of his arm. Loki did the same on the other side, helping me lead Vision towards the door. Steve and Clint brought up the rear, glancing around to make sure no one was shooting us odd looks.

           “Magic!” Vision exclaimed, giggling again, stumbling through the door.  

           “Shoo, don’t yell,” Loki warned softly.

           “But no one” -Vision wretches like he might throw up- “can know *hiccup* about Wanda!”

           “You’re going to pretend,” Loki reminds him, patting his hand.

           “This is going to be a mess,” I sighed, dropping my head forward.

           “You can say that again,” Clint grunts from behind me.

***

           “Come on, Vis. Wanda is waiting for you,” I grunted, dragging Vision along. Vision swatted my hand away, stumbling forward to start up the steps. Loki’s head dropped back, his eyes closing as he pulled in a deep breath.

           “(Y/N) and Nat are going to kill all of us if he messes this up for Wanda,” Loki groaned, running a hand through his short hair.

           “Don’t remind me,” I grumbled, rubbing my temples. Seeing Wanda glaring at us from behind the stage, I winced, mouthing ‘I’m sorry’ before dragging Loki towards the crowd. I pushed Loki towards his seat across from (Y/N), plopping into the chair behind Loki across from Steve. Clint and Nat’s table was in front of us; Clint turned around, raising an eyebrow at Loki and me.

           “I take it by the look on your face that Vision isn’t any better,” Steve whispered.

           “No, and Wanda was not happy,” I sighed, bracing my elbows on the table. I lifted my head to talk again, but Dottie hurried onto the stage, drawing everyone’s attention.

           “I want to thank you all for coming out to support Westview Elementary. For the children.” Dottie smiled, waiting for the crowd to respond.

           “For the children,” the audience chorused. I shot a look at Steve, raising my eyebrow but caught the same fearful look on Steve’s face. I glanced over my shoulder, seeing (Y/N) fidget in her seat, and peek at Nat, who was picking at the tablecloth.

           “What the hell?” Loki whispered over his shoulder to me.

           “I second that,” Clint mumbles, leaning back in his chair.

           “We were about to ask you two the same thing,” Steve added. Dottie drew our attention back to the stage, but I couldn’t ignore the somersaults my stomach was doing.

           “And for our final act... I give you, Wanda and Vision.” I sucked in a deep breath, noticing Loki, Steve, and Clint doing the same thing as Wanda walked on stage.

           “What’s wrong?” I faintly heard (Y/N) ask Loki.

           “I’m going to say this: it was not our fault,” Loki whispers back. I anxiously waited for Vision to walk out, but nothing happened for a few seconds, and Wanda was looking tenser; suddenly, Vision threw the curtains open.

           “Oh! Yeah! I've got to go! Hello, Westview! Good afternoon. It's so lovely to be…” -Vision knocked his hip into the railing of the steps- “I'm so sorry. Excuse me. I am Glamour, and this is my delightful assistant, Illusion.” Vision’s words slurred together as he swayed in place, lazily gesturing to Wanda.

           “I am Glamour, and he's Illusion,” Wanda corrected, exaggerating her voice, playing the part.

           “Yeah, what she said. Today, we will lie to you, and yet you will believe our little deceptions because human beings are easily fooled due to their limited understanding of the inner workings of the universe.” Vision shrugged, flopping his hands to the side in front of him. “Flourish!” Vision pulled one hand pack, facing his other palm towards the crowd like he was shooting something from his palm. I dropped my head onto the table with a dense thud, resisting the urge to do it again.

           “We’re dead,” Loki stated.

           “Yep,” I mumbled.

           “It was nice knowing you,” Steve huffed.

           “You just do it; you don't say it out loud, honey,” my enhanced hearing picked up on Wanda’s whisper and Vision’s scoff.

           “And now my wife and I will delight you in your dumbstruck little faces. Flourish!” Vision bellowed. I lifted my head just in time to see Vision starting to fly, a pleased, drunk-looking smile on his face. The audience around us began to gasp except for the six of us; Loki, (Y/N), Clint, Nat, Steve, and I all tensed, staring wide-eyed at the stage.

           “We need to help her!” (Y/N) harshly whispered to Loki, starting to stand.

           “Wait,” Loki shot back. Suddenly a pulley system appear, connected to the back of Vision pants; I let out the air I was holding in as I watched Vision now dangling in midair.

           “Ha! See there? He's using a rope,” Norm shouted from somewhere in the audience. Wanda giggled, moving the sign from in front of the pulley; she started to move the crank, smiling brightly.

           “Wanda, what's... Oh, no! Oh! No! Wanda, please! Darling, let me down!” Vision shouted, flailing. “I’m feeling pukey!” I couldn’t help but laugh along with the crowd, momentarily forgetting the issue. “Ooh!” Wanda finally let Vision down, who stumbled a little, trying to regain the little composure he had.

           “Maybe this won’t be too bad,” I chuckled.

           “Uh, what's next? Oh! Yeah, this is... This is gonna be great!” Vision got excited, hurrying towards the piano, a goofy smile spreading across his face. “A staggering feat of strength!” I nearly choked on my spit when Vision lifted the piano, making noises to encourage the audience as he smiled, proud of himself.

           “Illusion... Uh... Uh... Illusion, Master of Enigma, allow me,” Wanda called, hurrying towards her husband. My eyes widened, and I heard Steve gasp when Wanda took the piano from Vision; Wanda turned to the side, showing the audience that it was only board, giggling and winking at the crowd.

           “Whoops! You weren't supposed to see how we did that trick,” Wanda joked, wiggling her hips. I felt something bounce off the back of my head; I turned around to see (Y/N) glaring at me.

           “You are so lucky our friend can think on her feet!” she scolded, continuing to glare at me. I dipped my head to hide the embarrassment blooming on my face; Loki, Clint, and Steve all sported a similar expression. I tensed again when Vision hopped off the stage before Wanda could turn around again, making a beeline for Herb.

           “Oh, Sherbert! Yeah, this is my old mate, Sherbert. Stand up, Sherbert,” Vision bellowed, hurrying to where Herb stood, confused. “Say hello to the crowd!”

           “It's Herbert, er- Herb,” he corrected, eyeing Vision suspiciously.

           “Dear God,” Loki mumbled, scrubbing a hand over his face.

           “Pipe down, Sherbie, and pick a card. Any card. Yeah, put it back in the deck. I'm not looking,” Vision urged, holding the deck of cards out. Herb pulled a card out, looks at it then placing it back in the deck so that Vision could shuffle them. “All right. Watch this,” Vision quipped, smiling. Vision pulled a card, showing it to Herb with a pleased look on his face. “Is this your card?”

           “Uh, no,” Herb mumbled.

           “I beg to differ,” Vision slurred. Herb shook his head ‘no’ only making Vision irritated. Vision started pulling cards out, asking if it was Herb’s card, and none of them were; panic shot through me when Vision’s hand started moving faster, too fast for human eyes to keep up with. Vision made it to the last card, holding it out to Herb, clearly annoyed. “Is this your card?”

           “Oh, it is!” Herb exclaims with a smile.

           “Can’t get much worse, right?” Loki whispers, leaning his chair on two legs to get closer to me.

           “Please don’t say that I’m begging you,” I groaned.

           “They’re almost done, Buck. It can’t get much worse,” Steve tried to reassure me. I looked back at the stage to see Vision stumbling onto the stage.

           “And now, for my next trick...” Vision reached up for his hat that was sitting turned over on the stage, missing the rabbit inside.

           “Oh goodness me,” Wanda mumbled, watching her husband.

           “Who stole my hat? Oh! Oh, stop that rabbit! I gotta pull a hat out of it!” Vision starts for the rabbit, but Wanda had beat him to it, holding the animal to her chest.

           “Maybe we leave the poor bunny out of this one, shall we?” Wanda pleaded. Vision seemed to agree before his face lit up, and he bent down to pick up his hat.

           “Well then, I will just have to pull this hat... out of myself,” Vision giggled, holding the hat in front of his stomach.

           “Damnit, Loki,” I growled, bracing my elbows on my knees, cradling my head in my hands.

           “In my defense, I didn’t see that coming,” Loki mumbled back. The audience gasped around us as Vision phased the hat through his body, yelling in triumph after doing it.

           “How many more tricks do they have left?” Clint called over his shoulder.

           “One,” (Y/N) ground out, her jaw clenched.

           “And now, ladies and gentlemen, for our grand finale, I bring you, The Magnet of Crysteries!” Vision yelled, throwing his arms out.

           “The Cabinet of Mysteries!” Wanda corrected, gesturing to the box that rolled onto the stage.

           “Yeah, yeah. What she said. I will now make my wife... disappear.” Vision opened the doors to the cabinet, showing the crowd that it was empty but closed them before Wanda could get in; I watched her head drop slightly, sighing.

           “Are you sure you don't want an audience volunteer named ‘My husband Ralph?’” Agnes called from the crowd. I shot a dirty look her way, glaring at the back of her head, noticing the rest of my friends shooting her similar looks; Wanda must have seen because she covered a laugh, turning her face away.

           “No. Abracadabra!” Vision laughed, hitting a magic wand into the door, reminding me of a child.

           “Uh, sweetheart?” Wanda chuckled.

           “Yeah?”

           “Hi…”

           “Oh,” Vision mumbled, looking back at the cabinet where Wanda was supposed to be. After a few seconds, people in the crowd started yelling, ‘what’s in the box?’ and I could visibly see the irritation on Wanda’s face. “Yeah, what’s in the box?” Vision asked Wanda, his face scrunching in confusion. Wanda took a deep breath, and they open the door to reveal another woman I didn’t remember meeting.

           “Geraldine?” I heard Nat mumble, raising an eyebrow. Wanda, Vision, and the woman Geraldine bowed as the crowd cheered and clapped for them.

           “Let’s get outta here!” Vision yells, running off the stage. Wanda closed her eyes momentarily, and then her gaze landed in our general direction when they opened again, glaring before hurrying after Vision.

           “Up. Now,” (Y/N) growled, her gaze moving between Clint, Loki, Steve, and me. Nat stood next to her, her arms crossed over her chest as she took turns glaring at each of us. All four of us flinch before standing; our heads bowed as we followed the girls backstage. The six of us made it to the bottom of the steps in time to hear Vision talking.

           “Ah, I'm not as funny without it, am I?” he grumbled, sounding disappointed.

           “Not really,” Clint snorted, earning a smack on the back of the head from Nat. Clint yelped and quickly moving to rub the back of his head.

           “Wanda,” (Y/N) called, hurrying up the steps with Nat on her tail. “We’re so sorry. The boys are idiots.”

           “It’s okay,” Wanda sighed. “They couldn’t have known, but Vision should’ve known better.” Wanda shot Vision a look, and he dipped his head, trying to avoid the wrath of his wife. “Don’t blame them,” Wanda assured them, pulling them into a hug.

           “Let’s get out of here before anyone says anything,” (Y/N) urged, shooing Vision towards the four of us. The eight of us clustered together, hurrying down the sideway, trying to avoid anyone catching us.

           “You two, stop right there,” Dottie called from the stage, pointing at Wanda and Vision.

           “Go!” Wanda whispered, shooing the rest of us. (Y/N) grabbed mine and Loki’s hands while Nat grabbed Steve and Clint, dragging us across the street, back towards our homes. The walk was eerily silent; Nat and (Y/N) dropped the hands they had and were walking with their arms linked. Steve, Loki, Clint, and I exchanged worried glances periodically, waiting for the explosion.

           “You boys are lucky,” (Y/N) called over her shoulder. I searched her face for any trace of anger or irritation, and surprisingly I didn’t find any.

           “It didn’t turn out that bad,” I tried, bracing for anything.

           “It was quite funny,” Nat pointed out, looking at (Y/N).

           “Okay, are we in trouble?” Loki asked, raising an eyebrow.

           “No, Wanda’s not mad, so you boys got lucky,” Nat giggled.

           “But you four need to pay more attention to your friend!” (Y/N) scolded, looking over her shoulder at the four of us. “He’s a machine; he doesn’t really know how to be human,” she whispered. The girls stop in front of the Barton house, turning to face us; the four of us shuffled in place, each mumbling an apology.

           “Come on, birdie,” Nat giggled, reaching a hand for Clint. Clint rolled his eyes, shaking his head but clapped a hand on Loki and Steve’s shoulders and smacked my back before grabbing her outstretched hand.

           “Later, boys,” Clint called, saluting us as Nat pulling him towards the house. When Nat and Clint disappeared, Steve, Loki, (Y/N), and I walked across the street, stopping between our homes.

           “Let’s go home, trickster,” (Y/N) sighed, snaking an arm around his waist.

           “See you tomorrow, boys,” Loki said with a slight nod. Steve and I waved before heading for our door; I gestured Steve through and closed the door behind me, slumping against it.

           “That was a train wreck,” I sighed, scrubbing at my face.

           “That’s an understatement,” Steve groaned, throwing his upper body over the back of the couch. “Thank god it’s over now.” I pushed off the door, my eyes raking over the curve of his behind as I walked towards him; I positioned my pelvis behind him, leaning into him.

           “James,” his warning muffled by the couch cushions.

           “Mm, you’re not helping,” I growled, resting my hands on his hips. Steve pushed himself up again, so his back was flush with my chest. “This is your fault,” I chuckled darkly into the shell of his ear.

           “No, you’re just insatiable,” Steve snorted, relaxing into me. My eyes slid shut as I started to sway, wrapping my arms around his waist, moving Steve with me, humming against his throat as we moved together.

           “You got me there,” I mumbled against his skin. We swayed to nonexistent music for a couple of minutes until I started to get greedy, pulling him tighter against me. Steve huffed out a laugh, spinning in my arms despite my protest.

           “I need a shower; care to join?” Steve whispered, cupping my face so I would meet his eyes. I kept my eyes closed for a few seconds before groaning again, slowly opening them; I jumped back, bile burning at the back of my throat when I saw Steve’s face again. Steve wore an unfamiliar uniform with a large star on the chest, and his left eye was swollen almost shut, and there was a small cut below that eye which was bleeding. Another cut started at the corner of his mouth on the right side, his lip was busted, and a nasty cut curved over the top of his right eyebrow. ( x ) My chest constricted, making it harder to pull air into my lungs as my eyes flickered over his face; a crippling wave of panic and guilt tore through me. I choke on a sob as I stumbled into the wall next to the steps, tears clouding my vision. “Bucky?” Steve begging, stepping closer.

           “No!” I cried, trying to move away from him. Somehow I knew this was my fault, I did this, I hurt Steve, but I had no idea what happened or what I did to him. I sobbed loudly again, sliding down the wall, covering my face with my hands; my body shook as I tried to make sense of the situation. I flinched when I felt Steve’s hand on my wrists.

           “Bucky, please!” Steve begged, pulling on my hands. He managed to pull my hands away, and when I opened my tear-filled eyes to look at Steve, I blanched; Steve looked fine again, his skin was smooth with no dried blood, and he was wearing his dark sweater. I grabbed the sides of my head, crying out when a sharp pain exploded through my head; I cowered against the wall as the pain pulsed through my brain. “Bucky,” Steve cried, sounding desperate. As quickly as the pain started, it stopped, leaving me shaken; I tentatively looked up at Steve again, cringing at the tear stains on his cheeks.

           “Steve,” I croaked.

           “What just happened?” Steve blurted, cupping my face.

           “I-I don’t know,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “I’m scared, Steve.” Tears pooled in my eyes again, and I buried my face into Steve’s chest. We sat on the floor, clutching each other until I could talk again and try to explain everything to Steve, but the memory quickly faded.

Chapter 6 | Series Masterlist

Taglist:

@marvelfansworld @imagine-yourself-happy​ @lovelokiqueen​ @neenieweenie​ @shadowolf993​ @alluringshawn​ @somegeekychic​ 

[imagine-that]

Win you back

Pairing: Carter Baizen x Bass!reader

Warnings: a little angsty, kinda sad at some parts, bad writing tbh 🤪🥴🙃

AN: I have been working on this for WAYYYYYYYYYY too long for it to suck this much

“Babe I’m here.” You call, walking into the kitchen of your boyfriend’s family’s home.

You walk around the penthouse, looking for him. Finally his mother appears, eyes glued to her phone.

“He’s in his room.” She mutters, walking away before you can even say thank you.

You shrug to yourself, knowing better than to bother her at all. Turning the corner, you make your way over to his room.

It seemed as though you were always there. His parents were used to you just walking in, as was the maid.

“Hey Baby, your mom told me you were in here and-.” You start as you enter the doorway, stopping when you see the mess of his bedroom. His clothes are tossed all over the place, empty hangers fill the closet and the thing that really makes you stop is the duffel bag laying across the bed.

“Oh! Hey y/n...” He says as he walks out of the en-suite, looking surprised to see you.

“Hi... what’s- what’s all this?” You ask, a feeling of unease settling into the pit of your stomach.

“I,” he begins, tossing some of the clothes and other junk into the bag as he speaks. “Am leaving. I’m sick of this place. And of all this stupid glamour.” He finishes, a smile on his face as he finally looks up at you for the first time since you’d gotten there.

“Oh? And where are you off to then?” You ask with a playful smile of your own, hands on your hips.

“Anywhere I want to.” He responds.

You grin, sitting down on the bed. “Sounds like fun. What if I, say, came with you?” You ask, looking over at him hopefully.

“No!” He exclaims, making you jump a little. “Sorry, I just mean no.” He sighs.

“And why not?” You ask with a frown, feeling a little bit hurt.

“Like I said, I want to get away from all of the stupid glamour.” He mutters, looking back at his things.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You demand with a scoff.

He groans, finally looking over at you again.

“I mean, you’re a part of this place.” He blurts, looking away again as your bottom lip starts to tremble.

“W-what?” You ask sadly.

“You’ve faded into all the glamour y/n. You’re exactly like all the spoiled, gossiping rich girls at Constance.” He cries, shaking his head a little.

“Excuse you?” You demand, glaring over at him.

“I need to get away. From you, from this city, from the money hungry people. It’s nothing personal.” He shrugs nonchalantly, as though he hadn’t just single handedly shattered your heart.

You march up to him, slapping him hard across the face.

“I can’t believe I’ve wasted so much time on someone who would talk about me or my friends like that. Go to hell Carter.” You hiss, tears stinging your eyes as you storm out the door, letting it slam harshly behind you.

You quickly walk back to the elevator and press down, not looking back at all.

—————————————————

Stepping off the platform you sigh, looking around you at the familiarities of the old train station. Memories come flooding back, making you remember the pain and suffering you endured while you were last in New York.

Much like Serena, you’d ran away from your problems. You figured bits of your shattered heart could probably still be found around the city, fragments of your past turned to dust by now.

“Hey! You’re finally here!” Serena exclaims excitedly, pulling you in for a tight hug.

You laugh softly, embracing her and her sickeningly sweet perfume before grabbing your suitcase from behind you.

“Hey. It’s great to be back.” You say, looking around almost hopefully.

“He isn’t here.” She says simply.

You sigh, beginning to walk with her quietly.

“I figured he wouldn’t be.” You say softly, a sad smile appearing on your face.

“He’s not even in New York anymore. It’s like he disappeared or something. So I’m sure you won’t see any of him. Definitely not at the ball.” She assures you, squeezing your arm in support.

“Yeah. Probably not.” You hum absentmindedly. You shake your head a bit, blinking yourself out of the past. “Whatever. Where’s my idiot of a big brother anyway?” You ask, forcing a smile to spread across your lips.

“Surprisingly, he’s not at the empire. He’s actually at cotillion rehearsal.” She says with a roll of her eyes, making you giggle a little.

“Oh? I’m shocked.” You laugh as the two of you climb into the back of the car parked outside just for you.

The drive is silent, you looking out the window in thought of the past and Serena on her phone, leaving you be. She knew better than anyone, even your brother, how much you needed space when it came to thinking of him.

“So, who’s your escort to the ball tonight?” You ask, trying to fill the silence.

“Oh, I’m not going. I just didn’t take much interest in it anymore.” She says with a shrug.

“Ah. I’m sure Cece is pleased.” You say teasingly, smiling a bit.

“I haven’t told her yet but I’m sure she’ll understand.” She says and you raise an eyebrow but she merely shrugs.

After dropping your luggage off back at the hotel, the two of you go off to the dance studio where you find the majority of your old schoolmates in the middle of dance practice, twirling and switching partners with ease.

You watch as your brother dances around with the girls who, to no ones surprise, were practically drooling over him along with his best friend.

“Oh great, y/n is back.” Blair says sarcastically as she comes over and pulls you into a hug, making you laugh a bit.

Though Blair could be hostile, she and Serena had become your honourary family over the years which happened to mean you were used to it.

“Hi B. Good to see you too.” You say with a smile, leaning back against the wall.

“Why aren’t you getting your ass out there? I thought you were taking part in cotillion this year.” She asks.

You let out a sigh and push a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Yeah I was. Then... I just don’t feel it anymore I guess.” You say with a shrug and a half smile. She nods a bit, understanding what you mean. She quickly rushes back into the crowd and continues with the dancing, smiling apologetically your way as she glides past.

“So why are you here if you’re not going?” You ask Serena, not taking your eyes off of the couples.

“I’m meeting with grandma and Dan so they can meet.” She explains and you nod, following her through the bodies of dancing teenagers as she goes running over to the boy you’d heard so much about.

“Oh, Dan this is y/n, Chucks little sister. Y/n, this is Dan, my boyfriend and his little sister Jenny.” She introduces with a smile.

Dan waves awkwardly and you nod in greeting, too busy watching the dancers to speak.

As much as you didn’t want to take part in the cotillion, you couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the traditions of the whole thing. The dancing was the best part, something magical about moving in sync with everyone else in the room.

Lily enters the room, talking on the phone with one of the many organizers of the event. She lectures them for a moment about how Cece wouldn’t be happy if she didn’t have it exactly her way.

You for one, knew for a fact that that was true.

“Y/n, darling you’re back.” She exclaims as she slips her phone in her bag, hugging you quickly.

“Yeah I figured it was about time and you know there’s no time like the present.” You tell her with a smile and she smiles back warmly.

The two of you chat for a moment but soon Cece arrives and Lily is back to being busy with her planning and with her family.

You stand by your lonesome, swaying to the music as you watch your old friends together, ignoring the nagging feeling of nostalgia tugging at your heart.

When the music stops, your brother comes waltzing over to you with a sly grin.

“Ah so my baby sister finally decides to return to society.” He comments and you roll your eyes, smiling a bit.

“Oh shush. I was away at school, not dead.” You giggle, hugging him tightly. He reluctantly hugs back, knowing you wouldn’t let go unless he did.

To many people, your brother was cold and closed off and a perve. To you, he was a big old softie with a wall around his heart, keeping him closed off to anyone he felt necessary. Still a perve, you knew that much. Just not around you.

“Let’s go runt, you’ll see everyone later.” He says, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

“Yeah yeah. See ya Serena.” You call over your shoulder and she smiles and waves as you walk away.

——————————————————

That night as you sit at the hotel painting another coat of nail polish over your toes, your phone starts ringing. You pick it up, holding it close to your ear and carefully putting down the brush.

“Hello, y/n speaking.” You say, listening for a response.

“Hello darling. It’s Cece.” The woman you remembered so well says sweetly from the other end.

“Oh hi Cece. I’m sorry we didn’t have the chance to catch up earlier.” You say, sitting up a little straighter even though you know she’s not actually in the room with you.

“It’s fine dear, don’t even mention it. I just called to ask if you would consider helping me plan the rest of the cotillion. You always have had an eye for detail, I’d love to have you there as a second opinion.” She asks hopefully.

You look out the large window at the darkened New York sky, pondering your options.

“I’d love to.” You reply, already regretting your decision.

“Oh lovely. The tea that Blair is throwing is tomorrow so you can come with Serena and we’ll discuss it then.” She says.

“Alright, I will be there. Goodnight Cece.” You say back sweetly, not bothering to mouth your confusion to Serena coming to tea. She says a quick goodnight and hangs up the phone.

You sigh, wondering why you decided this was a good idea.

A few hours later, your brother once again comes barging into your room without so much as a knock.

“Chuck, you do realize there’s a door there for a reason right?” You ask him, moving over to make room for him to sit down.

“I’m aware.” He replies.

“Then why didn’t you use it? For all you know I could’ve been changing.” You remind him with your arms crossed over your chest.

“Oh please. I have girls around here often enough that you know not to leave the door open when you’re changing in case I have company.” He says with a doubtful eyebrow raised.

“I’ve also been gone for about a year. What if I had forgotten?” You point out.

He rolls his eyes. “I know you. You have a good memory, you don’t forget anything.” He says simply and you shrug, knowing he’s right.

“Alright then. What exactly did you need?” You ask, leaning back into the pile of pillows behind you.

“”I heard you’re helping with cotillion. You sure you can handle that?” He questions, examining your face for any sign of upset.

“I’ll manage thanks. How’d you even know about that so fast?” You ask, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“A little Waldorf told me.” He says with a smirk.

You make a disgusted expression and smack his arm with a pillow, recoiling a bit.

“That is one of my best friends you’re talking about. And she’s technically your best friends girlfriend. You’re lucky I don’t like drama otherwise I’d have told Nate by now.” You scold seriously.

Chuck scoffs. “You’d betray your own brother like that sis?” He asks, feigning hurt.

You nod. “He’s also one of my best friends. I definitely would.” You say as you pull a blanket over your body.

He laughs a bit, rolling his eyes. “Always the loyal one sis.” He remarks sarcastically before making his way out of your room.

You curl up more, trying to get yourself used to to living in your fathers hotel instead of a quaint dorm room again.

After a few hours of fitful tossing, turning and overthinking, you finally drift off.

——————————————————

“Ah y/n, there you are!” Cece exclaims as you come out of the elevator to Blair’s penthouse.

You’d decided against coming with Serena when she’d told you she was coming with Dan, not feeling like being a miserable third wheel.

“Hi Cece.” You greet with a welcoming smile, pulling your bag over your shoulder a little more.

She gives you a moment, rushing around as you pull off your coat and put it down with your purse and then she comes rushing back, clearly enthralled with the planning.

“Alright dear, I’ve had one of the other volunteers set up a table over here for you to work at. You can also participate in the tea of course, it’s just until everyone else arrives.” She instructs and you nod, taking a seat at the table she pointed out.

You sit there for a good hour, working out the last minute details Cece had no clue what to do with.

By the time you’re finally through everything, the majority of the debutants are sitting in Blair’s living room, listening to Ceces stories in complete fascination.

You recognize the story shes telling and decide it would be a good time to get food, walking over to where you see Dorota standing, ready to help anyone who needed it.

“Hi Dorota!” You say happily, having missed her more than most others. She was always happy to see you over with Blair and Serena when you were young.

“Oh miss y/n! It’s been so long.” She says cheerfully, pouring you a cup of tea.

You gladly take it, chattering a bit with Dorota until she has to get back to work.

You stand in a corner by yourself, not wanting to bother anyone as you try to listen to more stories but your train of thought continues to go back to the time where you were happier than ever on the Upper East Side.

Your thoughts are interrupted as you hear the one name you thought you’d never have to hear again.

“Serena darling, this is Carter Baizen. Your escort for tomorrow night.” Cece introduces and you feel your heart practically stop and you swear you hear it’s slow cracking.

How you hadn’t noticed him with her at all before Serena arrived, you had no clue. You didn’t really care either. You just wanted to be able to disappear into the floors and never come back here.

Memories flood through your brain, making you wince a bit as you feel the starts of an incoming headache.

“Y/n are you ok?” Isabelle asks, clearly concerned.

You wave a hand as best you can, feeling like your feet are glued in place.

“Yeah totally fine. Just busy you know?” You offer, forcing yet another smile.

She nods slowly, clearly not completely buying your response but obviously not caring enough to pester you for more of an answer.

Knowing better than her minions ever did, Blair hurries over to you as subtle as possible.

“Oh my god, I cannot believe he’s here.” She murmurs, sneering at his back. “The nerve of that boy. Are you ok?” She asks, turning back to you with a much softer expression.

“Fine. Nothing I can’t handle.” You mutter, staring down at the floor and away from your former love.

“Are you sure? Because I can have him thrown out of here if you want. It’d be more mercy than he deserves but.” She asks, trailing off a bit.

You smile weakly, squeezing Blair’s hand a bit.

“As oddly sweet as that is B, I’m fine. I swear.” You respond. She sighs, clearly bored by the idea of not being allowed to mess with him.

You usher her away, knowing how badly she wants to go mingle and walk over to the food, grabbing something you can shove into your mouth.

“Very classy y/n.” A voice says from behind you and you turn around, looking at him wide eyed with your mouth full. You quickly swallow the food in your mouth, trying not to choke in the process.

“Baizen. I’d say it’s good to see you but I’d be lying.” You mutter, crossing your arms over your chest to keep from figetting too much.

“Ah, the classic Bass hospitality I see.” He notes sarcastically, his overly confident smirk in place.

“I save it just for you.” You retort with an icy smile.

“Ah yes, that’s exactly what I thought.” He replies, popping an appetizer into his mouth.

“Oh because you know me so damn well.” You mutter bitterly, voice dripping with sarcasm.

He rolls his eyes. “Yes actually, I like to think I do.” He says, lowering his voice so only you can hear him.

“Well, you thought wrong but are we really that surprised about that?” You growl, narrowing your eyes in his direction.

“What are you doing here Carter, no one here likes you.” You ask bluntly.

“It seems Cece does. And besides, I was asked.” He replies nonchalantly, taking a teacup filled with something that is definitely not tea.

“Oh please, Cece only asked you because you were once the model son. She just hasn’t seen your true colours yet.” You hiss with a smile still grazing your lips.

He scoffs, watching in amusement as you walk away gracefully, walking over to find Cece.

By the time you find her, Carter has already been talking with her for a while. You scowl at him before plastering on a smile and aiming it in Ceces direction.

“Oh y/n dear, perfect timing! Carter was just about to tell us all about his endeavours!” She says excitedly as she guides you and the other girls over to a seat around the Waldorf coffee table.

Though you try to excuse yourself several times, you’re forced to sit and listen to Carter boast about his travels, making small and nearly unnoticeable digs at Serena every now and then, trying to gauge a reaction from her.

You feel a twinge of hurt, wondering where they could have possibly been travelling together and why it was such a big deal to him.

“I can still kick him out.” Blair singsongs in your ear as she passes by again. You laugh, rolling your eyes a little.

“B, it’s fine.” You assure her for the hundredth time, hoping it’s believable.

She walks off with a shrug and you stand, not sure how much more of his voice you can take.

Excusing yourself, you walk back over to the table and drown your sorrows in tea and the last minute cotillion details.

——————————————————

“Ok so the girls line up on the stairs and wait to be announced-“ Cece begins, pointing out the places as she explains.

“Cece, I’ve seen so many of these since I was a little kid. I know how they go.” You promise, squeezing her hand in reassurance.

“Alright dear, I have to go get ready so I’ll leave you to it, feel free to change in the bathroom over there if you don’t have to time to go home.” She instructs, waving as she walks over to the door.

You finish setting up after a few hours, quickly rushing into the bathroom and changing into the sleek y/f/c dress you’d brought with you, knowing full well you didn’t have time to get back to the hotel and change.

You fix up your hair and apply a layer of lip gloss before walking out, shoving your makeup bag, clothes and anything else you’d brought into your bag and discreetly placing it in the coat room along with everyone else’s things.

Walking out into the ballroom, you find all the girls and their escorts on the stairs. Quickly, you fix them into the order of their names being called and Jenny rushes around you to help Serena with her statement.

“Hey beautiful. What’s wrong?” You hear Carter say as Serena frowns down at the paper in her hands. You feel another twinge of hurt at the name.

“Serena, either fix your statement or live with it but I have to get it back to the announcer so please hurry.” You mutter, rushing past to fix all the others order and such.

You quickly go down the lineup, fixing the ties of the escorts too lazy to do it themselves, cursing yourself for getting involved in the event in the first place.

As you work you way through them, you fill with dread as you reach Carter.

“Need any help?” You hiss icily, glaring at his blue eyes.

“Please?” He asks cockily, grinning a little as you stand on your tiptoes to fix his tie.

“You know y/n, I’d much rather be escorting you, no matter how beautiful Serena may be.” He murmurs, gazing into your own eyes.

You bite your lip to keep from shouting at him, quickly untieing the knot he’d made and delicately redoing it to a satisfactory level.

“Should’ve thought of that before I was dead to you.” You whisper before moving on down the rest of the line.

You can’t help but feel his eyes watch your every move as you lean close to several of the helpless boys to fix their messy tie jobs.

Finally you finish and walk over to stand with Jenny, watching the cotillion.

It goes perfectly until they arrive at Serena’s statement. You cover your face with your hands in horror the more the announcer reads, cringing at the thought of Ceces reaction.

You knew the minute it was read that it was Carters doing and you felt yourself fill with rage once again.

You stand to the side with your arms folded in frustration while you watch the debutantes dance around the ballroom contently.

Once the dancing had begun, everything was back to its initial perfection and you felt yourself not only mentally but also physically relax, letting your shoulders release the tension you’d hardly noticed until then.

Suddenly, a boy you’d never seen before comes up to you, offering a hand and asking you to dance with him.

Not wanting to be rude, you nod, taking his hand in yours and walking over to the dance floor.

He places a hand on your waist, a little too close to your ass for your comfort but you ignore it, not fully caring as you get into the proper position for yourself.

But before you can even start moving, you notice Carter coming towards you from the corner of your eye, looking like an angry and jealous version of himself.

Before you have the chance to stop him or even register what’s happening, Nate stops him dead in his tracks and punches him in the face. The two start fighting to the ground before you pull yourself together, walking over and helping one of the other poor organizers pull them apart from each other.

“What the hell was that?” You growl at Nate.

“He was making a move on Blair.” He mutters back, fighting against your already weak grip.

You heave a sigh, smacking his arm.

“You’re an idiot! He has no interest in Blair. That I am sure of.” You exclaim, trying to drag him away from the party to prevent even more of a scene than he already made.

Ignoring everything else going on around you, you get one of the other escorts to help you drag him up to the entrance.

You run a hand through your hair and leave him there without another word, on your way back up the stairs when you see Serena taking care of Carter in the hallway. You stop where you are, hiding behind a wall.

Listening in, you feel a bunch of twinges of hurt when you hear him tell her that it hurt when she left him alone.

Wiping away a tear and taking a deep breath, you walk over, hands on your hips.

“Serena, you can get back to the party if you’d like. I can handle this.” You suggest, barely looking over at Carter.

“Oh... uh, ok. Sure. Sorry again.” She says to Carter before walking quickly away, her heels clicking on the floor.

“So...” Carter says, holding the ice to his eye.

“I knew someday you’d get socked in the face, I just figured me or my brother would be the one to do it.” You joke, sitting down next to him and grabbing the ice, gently dabbing it on his eye yourself.

“And I would’ve deserved it.” He admits, a ghost of a smile on his face.

You laugh a little, looking down at your lap. “Yes you would have.” You agree, feeling very reminiscent of the moments you’d spent together.

“I missed that laugh.” He says with a slightly bigger smile.

You roll your eyes. “Always the charmer, huh Baizen?” You tease, a soft smile on your lips.

“I suppose so, though, I never seem to charm the girls I really want.” He shrugs.

“Carter... those things you said... they- they hurt. They hurt a lot.” You start, tears in your eyes.

He looks away, a frown on his face.

“Yeah... I realized that after I said them. I regretted everything after I said it. I don’t know what made me decide to.” He sighs, running his hands through his hair.

“You were a total asshole. I’m still kind of glad Nate punched you.” You murmur with a small smile.

He chuckles a little. “Yeah I was. I hope you don’t think I still am.” He says sort of sheepishly.

You laugh a bit, a hand on his shoulder.

“What?” He asks, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Just remembering Nate socking you in the face.” You continue giggling, a smile taking over his face as you do.

“It isn’t that funny! But I’m glad you think so.” He chuckles.

Meeting his eyes again, you can’t help but let the memories of everything good between you come flooding back. Soon, you can hardly contain yourself, smashing your lips right onto his own in a moment of heat and desperation.

He returns the gesture, kissing you passionately, his hands trailing down your spine and leaving shivers in their place.

As you both pull away breathlessly, your eyes meet again and a glimmer of mischief appears in his.

“Guess that means I’m forgiven?” He asks hopefully, a grin spreading.

You giggle a bit, picking the ice pack back up and resting it back over his eye. “We’ll see about that Baizen.” You tease, but you both know you’re too enthralled with him to ever stay completely mad.

[itsamejin]

this love || yoongi angst

Summary: A story through the years detailing your relationship with Yoongi and all the ups and downs that came with dating an idol. 

Warning: cursing, sexually suggestive content

Genre: angst, fluff, idol!yoongi, artist!yn

Pairing: Yoongi x female!reader

Premise: Based on the song ‘This Love’ by Taylor Swift. Reader is an artist.

Commission Request: @minyoongail​

Word Count: 7,681 words

—

You met Yoongi when he was just a trainee, ready to take on the world and bursting with energy to get on stage. He had visions of grandeur- him living in a beautiful mansion, wearing name-brand jewelry, cruising in rare sports vehicles. When times were simpler, he’d promise that you’d be there with him, indulging in the glitz and glamour that came with his fame. He’d be an idol and you’d be his muse. Yet under all those pretenses, under all those empty promises, he was just Yoongi.

He was a guy who walked in and out of your life as easily as ocean tides come and go on the shore. He taught you how to fall in love, fall out of it, and rekindle it all the same. It was a sort of beautiful asphyxiation, being wrapped up in his lifestyle and learning to accept the consequences that came with dating a celebrity.

You wonder even now as you search his name on the internet, if you had any regrets. After all, you lost too much to be with him.

—

April 2013

A first meeting meant everything to you, especially when it came to your clients. You didn’t accept jobs from weirdos who didn’t respect your craft and you definitely hated impatient ones who badgered you to finish your pieces as quick as possible.

Big Hit was a happy medium and had hired you as a contract employee after reviewing your portfolio. Although the style of work they wanted from you was not at all what you specialized in, you were happy that they treated you like an actual employee and not some sort of machine. Plus, the pay was good.

You were asked to work on some cute animal characters for an upcoming boy group that you weren’t terribly familiar with, maybe stumbled on a vlog of theirs that you forgot about. You were intrigued by the slew of trainees that sat in front of you, their palms clenched out of anxiousness.

“I’m [Y/N], one of the digital artists that will be working with you guys from now on,” you introduce yourself politely to the seven bright-eyed boys in front of you.

You were in a room with other staff members, discussing the concept of the “Hip Hop Monsters” your graphics team was working on. This was a planned project lasting over a span of years and would eventually result in collectors edition items. It made you giddy just thinking of the royalties you’d earn from it all.

“I’d like it if the animals took after us,” one of the boys suggested shyly, slightly intimidated by the large number of corporate employees there were in the room for something that seemed so trivial. “I think our fans would like the characters more if they kind of resembled our personalities and stuff...”

You nod along to his suggestions, staring at his jersey to notice that the member who spoke up was Rap Monster. It was cute how they all wore clothes with their names on them. That’s one way to attract attention, you suppose.

“Any other suggestions you guys have for us?” you ask, jotting down notes and making rough sketches as they talk amongst themselves.

“I’d like it if,” a somewhat husky voice starts and you can’t help but stare into the guy’s eyes as he speaks, “my character was a turtle.”

You burst out into a fit of laughter along with the other staff members. He had said it with such a straight face and with so little enthusiasm, yet you could tell from his slight blush that he was serious. He was cute in the way that he wasn’t trying to be.

“You resemble one,” you grin at him, drawing out a small turtle with a cute beanie on your iPad, like the one he wore in front of you. You show it to him. “Something like this?”

“Exactly that!”

He breaks out into a gummy smile, one so bright that it hurt your heart to stare at him for too long. Now you were the one left flustered. He realizes how enthusiastic he was and got embarrassed once again, scratching the back of his head to avoid eye-contact.

“S-sorry, for shouting. It looks good.”

You bite your lip from forming too big of a grin. You still had to remain professional after all.

“You’re welcome,” you smirk slightly as he goes back to trying to look cool. You can’t help but doodle his name on your iPad even as the other members shared ideas for their own animals.

Suga, Suga, Suga.

You smile to yourself. It does have a ring to it.

—

June 2013

Yoongi sees you in the hallways sometimes and wants to say hi, but he can’t because other people are watching. Though, that isn’t the only reason.

He tells himself every day that he’ll muster up the courage to go talk to you, but every time he sees your face his legs turn to jelly. Yoongi was busy with debut stages recently, but he found some free time in his schedule to approach you.

Yoongi was never the shy type, more reserved if anything else, but you had something that enamored him- intrigued him. He wanted to know who you were other than the cute girl he was stuck in meetings with from time to time.

As you sat there on your desk, Yoongi lingered in an area nearby. He would give you his number today and if things didn’t work out then that would be that. There was no need to be all shy about this; it’s not like this is his first time asking someone out.

He strides over to you with feigned confidence and you look up after a minute, not noticing how his shadow loomed over you. He sees that you’re working on realistic portraits of the members and not the cutesy characters he usually sees you drawing.

“Hi,” he says curtly, trying to seem disinterested though he was the one that approached you first.

“Hello,” you smile up at him.

Suga.

“You draw really cool stuff,” he says to break the awkward tension. “You should show it to the CEO. I’m sure we’d have cooler concepts for our albums with your work.”

You look up at him, a happy glint in your eyes. He was complimenting you, although avoiding eye contact to seem a little less nervous than he really was.

“Well, I’m just a contract worker so I don’t think I really have the authority to start up new projects out of nowhere,” you say with a smile on your face at how flustered he looks. “I feel like you’re here to ask me for something. Am I right?”

He looks away for a split second, coughing to alleviate his nerves. He was a grown man for fuck’s sake, why was this so difficult?

“I was actually wondering if you could come give me some opinions about some art that I drew,” he lies through his teeth, just trying to find a way to get you in a more private area than the corporate floor teaming with watchful gazes. “I’ve been trying to start a new hobby.”

You chuckle slightly, seeing right through his words. You stand up to amuse him.

“I’d be happy to.”

He leads you to a studio filled with whacky knick-knacks and dim lighting, not necessarily the best place to draw. You know by now that he just said those things as an excuse to be alone with you.

“So where’s this masterpiece?” you tease slightly at his nervous expression. How did a guy who looked so deadpan have such a giddy personality?

“Well actually,” he starts off, palms already sweaty. “I-It’s not here right now, but I think I left it at the dorms. Maybe if we exchange phone numbers I can text it to you.”

He tried to appear nonchalant, but his hands moved as if he was doing a public speaking presentation. Yoongi thought he was doing great, though growing a little more nervous at how you were giggling.

“You know, Suga,” you start teasingly, “My number is in the company directory. Feel free to text me anytime.”

Yoongi slightly cringes hearing his stage name. He loves it, don’t get him wrong, but he didn't like hearing it come from you. He didn’t like the unfamiliar aspect that came with using his stage name- like you two only went by professional terms.

“Call me Yoongi,” he says with genuine confidence this time. “I like it better when my friends call me Yoongi.”

You nod, relieved that you could finally know this cute guy’s name. Truth be told, you were snooping around his conversations with other people to figure it out.

“So we’re friends?”

Yoongi nods, sitting down in his rolling chair.

“I’d like to be,” he grins, patting the sofa, hoping you’d take a seat with him.

And you do.

—

Present

It’s hard to work efficiently when you’re no longer in a corporate space. There’s no boss to check up on your progress nor is there a nosy coworker trying to see what you’re doing from the corner of their eye. You missed the hustle and bustle of an office floor, but it was nice exploring your creativity through freelance work.

You tap your digital pen onto the table repeatedly, looking at the reference image over and over again. It was a sick joke played by the universe to have been commissioned to draw your ex-boyfriend’s idol group, but you couldn’t refuse the hundreds of dollars the ecstatic fangirl was willing to give you. Truth be told, she might have offered too much pay, but you took up her offer anyway. Money is money.

Yet a face you’ve touched so often, a person you’d been with for years felt so unfamiliar to you. It wasn’t like you were drawing him realistically either. The client wanted anime-style figures that resembled them, looked enough like the boys to display it as her Twitter header. In the end, it’s still too difficult to draw. The rest of the members were lined up and sketched perfectly, but there was a blank area where Yoongi’s face should’ve been.

Your wrists hurt from the constant drawing and erasing so you set it down to massage your hand from cramping. In moments like these, you hated your job.

Ting.

A message notification popped up on your phone that laid beside your iPad. You usually left it silent when you were working, but you opened yourself up to distractions when drawing this particular piece. Whoever thought it was a good idea to specialize in celebrity artwork? You pick up your phone and smiled softly at the text.

hey, can I come over?

—

March 2014

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Yoongi, happy birthday to you~~”

You cheer on with the rest of the boys in their cramped dorm. Somehow you had gotten close enough with them to be at this level of comfort, sitting crisscrossed and shoulders touching with Jungkook and Seokjin. Yoongi blows out the candles and claps his hands, a little sad that another year passed by so quickly. He kept glancing at you who was focused on cutting the cake like the perfectionist you were.

He couldn’t help but feel like time was running out, like if he didn’t confess to you now then it would never happen. Yoongi took off the beanie he wore and ruffled his hair. He was feeling anxious all of a sudden.

“Dude don’t do that your dandruff is gonna get everywhere,” Hoseok whines. “The cake is gonna be decorated with your dead skin cells.”

“Go wash your hands,” Jin commands and Yoongi could only roll his eyes.

“Relax, I don’t even think we’re gonna have cake anytime soon when this slow-poke is taking forever to cut.”

He flicks your forehead as you glare up at him.

“I could so easily throw this in your face, but I choose not to,” you stick your tongue out at him and he scoffs.

“I’d like to see you try.”

All the members groan out of annoyance.

“Oh my god they’re having a lovers quarrel again,” Jimin yawned. “Aren’t you guys sick of arguing?”

Yoongi freezes at his words. Lover’s quarrel. That was a nice way to put it.

“They’ll stop arguing when Yoongi finally-”

Taehyung was cut off as Yoongi swipes three fingers worth of frosting from the cake and lathers it all over Taehyung’s face.

“You talk too much,” Yoongi shakes his head and soon chaos descended. Cake flew in places it shouldn’t have and ended when Namjoon knocked over a glass of water, managing to break it on the floor tiles. In the end, no one got cake.

Yoongi and you were laughing amongst yourselves at the kitchen sink, washing off some of the bits that got onto your shirts.

“I’m so sorry about your cake,” you say through your chuckles. “I’ll make it up to you some time.”

Yoongi only smiles.

“Yeah, you can treat me on a date,” he replies a little too boldly. You look at him in shock, not quite processing his words.

“A date?”

He nods.

“We should go out sometime.”

You purse your lips to prevent the huge grin about to be displayed on your face.

“We should.”

—

Present

It was subtle, the way it all started. You trace over the features you drew so far, only getting to his eyes. Yoongi and you were innocent lovers for a while, keeping your trysts a secret from everyone in the company except his managers and the members. A few of your friends knew, but none of them knew BTS well enough to be all that surprised. It wasn’t all that rare to go out with a celebrity in your line of work.

You almost miss those days when he was unrecognizable. After your friends realized who he was after he hit it big globally, you felt like a secret of yours was displayed to them. Your love was supposed to be private, but his fame left very little room for privacy. You missed when you were the only one that knew of him and maybe it’s selfish to think that way, but you were past the point of being selfish.

You text back.

yeah, can't wait to see you

—

Jan. 2015

Yoongi lays you down on the couch gently. His hands caressing your sides underneath the thin material of your shirt as he pulls you in closer to his kisses. This felt different from other nights, different in that there was nothing around to stop what would come next.

He pulls away from you slightly, panting from the lack of oxygen.

“Are you sure?” he asks, drawing circles on your hip with his thumb. He was only supposed to come over to help you unpack some stuff for your new apartment and here you were, pinned on the couch and sweating from the close contact.

You nod back in response, not finding the right words to get him to continue. He pulls your shirt over your head, peppering kisses on your neck and atop your breasts. He fixates on your neck languidly, biting as he sees fits.

There was a pause as you felt him press up against you and you knew then that there was no making it to the bed. You would have your first time with him on this newly moved-in couch.

The clothes dropped to the ground as his touches get more impatient, more desperate. It all passes by like a blur and you could only remember the pleasure that came with his long fingers, the satisfaction you felt when he was inside you. The climax of it all made you realize that you loved him, truly and without regret. He holds you in his arms when you come undone, flashing a satiated smile as you look up at him. It’s like the stars were in his eyes.

“How do you feel?” you ask him, worried he was already drowsy. You didn’t want to have to sleep on the couch naked.

“Satisfied,” he says with a smile on his face.

You can’t help but swoon, his eyes fixated on you. At least for now, he was yours He wasn’t Suga, a rapper. He was Yoongi, your boyfriend.

It didn't matter to you that he was struggling to make a name for himself in this cut-throat idol industry or that he would spend countless nights cursing as one of his numerous tracks get rejected. None of that was in your mind. Only he swam through your thoughts. Only him.

“I love you,” he sighs out. He was the first to say it.

“I love you too,” you reply back and he holds you tight against him.

He’s nuzzling himself in your hair, his chest pressed up against you so his heartbeat can synch with yours. He loves this, can’t get enough of it. He catches your lips and once again you are whisked in the pleasure of it all. This is it. This is what love is.

—

Present

The piece is finally finished and you send it off to your client, hoping she doesn’t ask for revisions because you can’t handle another second of drawing his stupid face. His soft skin, his tiny moles, his gummy smile...

It's not like you hate him. It’s just... a certain contempt lingers after a breakup from a long-term relationship. It’s the type of resentment that can’t really be explained. You don’t want to see him, but you catch yourself watching his videos on Youtube. You don’t want to think about him, but you hope he thinks about you. You don’t see yourself ever getting back together with him, but you don’t have his phone number blocked.

It’s a sort of paradox you catch yourself in and you wonder if you could ever get out of it. Will Yoongi ever escape your mind?

can't wait to see u too babe

—

Aug. 2016

Yoongi hugs you from behind, his face scrunched at the nape of your neck where several marks were made from last night’s events. Your eyes stayed focus on the TV in front of you, still impressed by your own ability to afford one in your bedroom at your salary.

“BTS' SUGA drops new music video for his song and mixtape Agust D...”

The news anchor drones on and you could barely hear her through the sounds of Yoongi’s soft snores. His hold on you grew tighter as he hears his stage name from an unfamiliar voice and it makes you giggle slightly at how different the edgy music video being displayed was from the same person wrapping you in his arms so tightly.

“Babe, wake up. I have work to do,” you whisper into his hair and he only shakes his head back in response.

“No,” he mutters, pulling you into him closer. You roll your eyes, managing to pry off one of his hands as you sit up on the bed.

“Don’t you have studio stuff to do today?” you ask him, searching for a shirt to wear.

He shakes his head as his eyes start to flutter open. You both reeked of alcohol since you opened a bottle of wine last night to celebrate the release of his first solo work. He was proud of it and you were proud of him.

“Can you turn that off, I’m getting a migraine,” he whines, covering his head with a pillow. You opted to wear Yoongi’s shirt instead of your own since you couldn’t be bothered to walk to the other side of the bed to find it. You smiled at his laying figure, cooped in a fetal-like position. He was still naked, but you were with him long enough to no longer be phased by that sort of thing.

“From one bottle of wine?” you tease slightly. “I think you’re losing your touch, Agust D.”

You chuckle as he throws the pillow on top of his head towards you.

“Don’t call me that,” he pouts, “It feels like you’re making fun of me.”

You stand up from where you were, stretching out your back as you make your way to the door.

“That’s because I am,” you smirk, “You know you’re saved on my phone as Sugar?”

He gives you a glare.

“It’s Suga,” he says, attempting to add some intimidation to his voice. It doesn’t work because all you do is stick your tongue out at him.

“Whatever sugar.”

He chuckles lightly and watches the silhouette of your figure exit his view. Yoongi can’t help but mindlessly follow after you.

As you exit towards the kitchen, you can’t help but hear the television from the bedroom.

“Suga has recently been caught up in a dating scandal with Suran, the solo artist, who sang with him in a song...”

Your head snaps up from those words, your skin crawling with goosebumps. You make it into the kitchen but with a heavy heart and no appetite.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, passing by you to pour himself some water.

“Nothing,” you say, though you sounded bitter. He caught on quite quickly. You were jealous again.

Yoongi heaves out a deep sigh and sets the glass of water down. He comes over to your angry figure and gives you a soft hug, laying his head on top of yours as if to comfort you. You try to pull away but he keeps you close.

“I’ll tell them to drop the rumors, okay?,” he says, genuinely enough to make you believe him. “I don’t want us to fight so early in the morning.”

“You promise?”

He pulls away.

“I promise,” he says, brushing a hair away from your face. “Let’s not think about those rumors right now. You and me both know they’re not true.”

You were never one to forget so easily.

—

It was around 2016 when you had stopped working at Big Hit. They halted the Hip Hop Monster brand and your contract was expiring with them anyway. You went from living a kush office life to struggling freelance worker in a matter of a second. It also meant that Yoongi and you would be spending less time together. His busy schedules couldn’t permit him to stay with you longer than a few hours and his presence slowly started to disappear from his side of the bed.

It was like a sinking ship, what you had with him. The pain starts off slow, unnoticeable. You’ll still laugh and keep up appearances as time passes, but you could tell there was an ominous atmosphere that wasn’t initially there in the relationship. Your screams start to grow silent as more problems start to stack on top of each other. It’s then when you hit the iceberg. It’s then when it all starts to fall apart.

He was still good for you, you convinced yourself, even as the currents swept you out under your feet.

—

Dec. 2016

“What the fuck do you mean you’re not coming?” you yell through your phone. You were sitting on the floor of your living room, holiday decorations strewn around the apartment. He promised he’d come spend a day off of his winter promotions to be with you.

“You know how hectic the end of the year gets with promotions,” he says in quiet hushes. “I can’t do anything about it. This is my job.”

You suck in your cheeks to prevent yourself from yelling. From the sound of it, he was in public.

“Yoongi, I called out of talking to a really high-paying client,” you say through gritted teeth. “And I still came home. Why am I the only one making sacrifices?”

He sighed at the other end. He didn’t have the patience to deal with you today.

“Look, can you stop being so fucking needy. I don’t need this right now.”

He couldn’t tell from the phone call, but your heart broke at the word. Needy. He thought that you were needy.

“I’m already stressed out as it is,” he continues through the phone. “I don’t need you up my ass all the time.”

“I’m not gonna wait for you,” you reply, tears threatening to spill over. “I’m going to sleep and you’re gonna get rid of all the shit you have in my apartment. I’m sick of you, Yoongi.”

He scoffs.

“I’m sick of you too.”

Yoongi hangs up, about ready to hit the wall when Jimin comes to calm him down. Small things that were never meant to be taken seriously built up until it was ready to crash down.

When Yoongi comes at night to visit you, he sees that you’re asleep on the couch. He sits next to you, pulling you into his arms.

“I’m sorry baby,” he whispers quietly. “I’ll do better.”

You nuzzled closer to him, comforted by words you forget the next day. Even when you woke up with a bad neck and Yoongi snoring onto your skin, you couldn’t find a way to stay mad at him. You knew, deep down, that some way or the other you’re gonna find yourself arguing about the same thing next week.

—

Present

Junghoon comes to pick you up. Junghoon, your boyfriend.

He’s a little uptight and too stern for his own good, but has a good heart and a knack of giving great gifts. You met him from working in the same industry, a 3D graphics designer for several video game companies. He was a new addition to your life, your relationship only about three months old.

You were warming up to him slowly, thankful for finally having a consistent presence in your life. He always made time for you, never used work as an excuse, and didn’t act cold just for the sake of acting cold. Junghoon was sweet in the way that Yoongi used to be when he wasn’t such a massive celebrity.

It was a relief to have someone like Junghoon in your life that didn’t walk in and out of your door without much of a thought to even say goodbye. Your life with him has been a tad bit dull, but you don’t mind all that much. Junghoon’s made you feel secure in ways that Yoongi couldn’t.

—

May 2017

“Your boyfriend is winning a whole ass award across the world and you’re having ramen with me?” Chaerin sighs. It’s typical for a best friend to judge the actions of the other.

“Yeah and?” you reply snarkily, swirling your chopstick around to find the perfect clump of noodles. “I’m not the top social artist according to Billboard, what’s it have to do with me?”

She rolls her eyes at you.

“I don’t know, you could at least watch him win the award?” she suggests. “The live stream is literally happening right now. Your boyfriend is making history and you don’t even care!”

You look at the clock on the restaurant wall. It was nearing 2 o’clock and your client meeting would be starting soon. You were in high demand as a graphic artist recently and as far as you were concerned, that was the only thing on your mind at the moment. You stare back into your bowl, suddenly losing your appetite.

“The apartment is lonely without him,” you admit sadly.

He bought one for himself and had you move in. ‘It’s easier to not get noticed by the tabloids,’ he convinced you. The modern sleekness of his penthouse was a nice change to your lifestyle, but you missed the comfiness of your small studio apartment. It was often too cold when he wasn’t around.

“You could watch it with me?” Chaerin suggested. “Yoongi’s probably so sad that his own girlfriend doesn’t even want to watch him win such a major award.”

You bite down on your chopstick harshly.

“Well he didn't even want me to come with him so I don’t wanna hear anymore about him from you.”

Chaerin squinted her eyes in your direction.

“Well I mean I get where he’s coming from. He’s still an idol, [Y/N],” she scolds. “It would be a massive risk to take you with him.”

You shook your head disapprovingly, pushing the bowl away from you.

“I’m not an idiot, Chae. It’s not like I was asking to be on the red carpet with him, I just wanted to be there waiting in the hotel room after the show. Two nights ago he suddenly backs out and says I shouldn’t come.”

Chaerin’s jaw dropped out of shock. That wasn’t what she was expecting at all.

“Did he say why?”

You stare down at your nails, your heart growing heavy as a long pause of silence takes place. It would be better to be honest, right? You shouldn’t have to pretend like everything’s okay when it clearly isn’t.

“He said he wants space,” you say, careful not to get choked up. “So I’m giving it to him.”

You clutch your thigh instinctively, remembering how Yoongi had brought that up with you just nights before. You two weren’t happy and that he needed to figure himself out before the relationship gets any worse. It’s just a break or whatever bullshit he spouted.

She scoffs.

“What is wrong with you two?” she asks, genuinely concerned. “You are not the type of person to take a break in a relationship.”

You stare bitterly into the reflection of your soup.

“I just don’t think I’ve been happy for a while,” you reply, taking a sip of your water that was left untouched for a better half of the night. “I don’t think he is either.”

—

Sept. 2017

The break lasted for months and you wondered if it was really even a break at all. It felt more like a break up if you were honest. He’d text once in a while and video call you when he was free but other than that it felt like he became a stranger, just another celebrity billboard you walked past on your way to a client’s workplace.

You’d draw sketches of him countlessly, in fear you’d forget how his face looked in real life and not through a low-quality screen. You etched every baby hair, every small blemish he’d hide with makeup. It was your method of not forgetting who the real Yoongi was because honestly, you didn’t know anymore. You didn’t know him.

Trrrringggg.

The sound of your doorbell could be heard all throughout your apartment. You stood up from where you sat on the bed, leaving the sketchbook of his face on the comforter. You weren’t expecting any visitors, but surely enough, Yoongi stood in front of you with a lopsided grin on his face.

“Hey.”

You let him in, not uttering a single word. He looks different now. His hair was black, thank god, but his face was a little softer than you were used to. You remember him being so paranoid about turning bald just a few years ago and here he was, no bald spots to be found. He looked healthy.

“It’s been a while,” you respond, hugging your arms close to your chest, uncomfortable that he was in your presence. It was his apartment technically, but you lived in it more than he did. He opted to stay in the dorm ever since he issued that idiotic break.

“I miss you,” he says in a lowly voice and you almost believe him. Almost.

You scoff.

“It seems like you’ve been having fun without me though,” you say through gritted teeth. “I thought you still wanted space?”

He shakes his head and brings his hand to touch your arm.

“No,” he swallows his saliva. “I miss you.”

You could feel his sincerity, but you can’t help but not trust him. He’s been viciously cold to you, but you find yourself pulling him closer anyway.

“Don’t ever do that again,” you threaten. “It’ll really be over then, Yoongi.”

He sighs into your hair. He loves you. He does. But he doesn’t know why it’s so hard to express it.

“I promise [Y/N]. I won’t leave.”

—

Aug. 2018

He buys you flowers, your favorite kind. It’s a small gesture, but it has you jumping into his arms all the same. It shows that he still cares somewhat. It’s been a while since he’s last shown it.

He holds you closely, appreciating the softness of your body and how you curl perfectly into him.

“I want to stay like this,” you say mindlessly, just relishing in his presence.

You’re not mad at him today and he’s not frustrated with you. It’s a high point in your relationship.

“Me too.”

His words are simple but it warms your heart nonetheless. Yoongi looks at you with twinkling eyes and for a moment you think that this could last forever and that it will last forever. You kiss him slowly and he reciprocates.

It reminds you of your first time, slow and careful- like you were the last person he’d ever want to hurt.

His love, although painful at times, was good to you when you needed it to be.

—

July 2019

Yoongi’s gone again. He’s on tour, as usual, and not giving you any updates. You were getting sick of it. The constant waiting, the constant insecurities that ate you up inside. You weren’t built to endure this kind of torture.

Suga. Suga. Suga.

It rolls off the tongue but it feels disgusting coming out of your mouth. His stage name, a persona. He starts to resemble that name more and more as the days go by. You hear it so much now that it no longer registers as an actual word.

You call him.

He doesn’t pick up.

Again.

No answer.

You’re about ready to throw the phone at the wall until a soft ring was heard from the small device. You take the call immediately, smiling as if you passed the hardest difficulty of a video game. The grin would soon be wiped away, though.

“Why’d you call?” he grumbles from the other line, loud music blasting in the background.

“Why weren’t you picking up?” You sound bitter. You don’t care.

“I’m out right now,” he says, exasperation laced in his voice. “I’m not in the mood to talk.”

Clearly, he just wasn’t in the mood to talk to you. Yoongi was at a party or a club or wherever he could possibly be in the streets of Shizuoka at 10 p.m.

You just wanted to chat, check on him as a good girlfriend would. He’s been complaining that you haven’t been in a while. You thought this was what he wanted- for you to care.

“I just wanted to see if you were doing okay,” you sigh. “How’d the concert go?”

“Good,” he says, clearly distracted. “Some of us snuck out of the hotel rooms to let loose for a bit.”

You nod as if he could see you.

“So you’re partying?”

You could hear him laugh at the other end, but it wasn’t from your comment. Someone else was making him laugh. Someone with a light and dainty voice, whiny as she got closer to Yoongi.

“Yeah, I guess you could call it that,” he says, clearly distracted. “Listen I’ll call you back, okay?”

You feel a lump stuck in your throat. There are no words left to say. The foreign girl on the other end giggled harder at whatever Yoongi was saying and it felt like you were invading their privacy- as if she was his girlfriend and you were nothing. You hung up, your mouth feeling dry as the tears poured down.

You see a text from Yoongi just a few seconds into your wallowing. You sniffle as you read it.

don’t misunderstand. nothing’s happening rn i'm just having a bit of fun.

This time you really threw your phone at the wall.

You go to your iPad that’s sitting untouched on your desk. You open your drawing app and just let the anger in the stylus take you from there. You draw a rough sketch of a couple on the edge of a beachside cliff. The woman seems to be falling into the water as if she was pushed. The guy’s hand reaches out to her, but you can’t really tell if he was trying to grab her or if he was the one that let her go in the first place.

As the tears spilled onto the cool surface of the iPad, you sob harder. Nothing could be fixed and everything still felt broken. It was meaningless, sleeping in his bed and wearing his clothes when he was all the way in Japan snuggling up to girls that were probably much prettier and much more willing to understand his lifestyle.

You look around the penthouse he had bought for the two of you, beautiful wide panel windows and modern furniture. It mostly looks empty, everything nice and tidy as if no one lived here. It had such a stark contrast to that of his old life when he shared rooms with other members and had no place to really put his keyboard except the studio. You smiled at the memory of you all hovering around the small coffee table in the cramped living room eating ramen.

Maybe it was your fault for falling behind, for letting the world around you build up and not follow in Yoongi’s tracks.

—

Present

You guess it was then when the relationship had passed a point of no return. When everything that felt right had started to feel incredibly wrong. You tolerated his presence rather than bask in it. You heard him speak but couldn’t bother to listen. Maybe you were petty, but more than anything you were angry.

You were angry that he could break you that badly and you would still forgive him for it.

You stare over at Junghoon who’s cooking you up something on the stove. This is what you needed.

—

Nov. 2019

Yoongi was back from some big-name award show that you didn’t watch. You heard he won Artist of the Year or whatever, the accolades that he’s collected no longer having meaning as the days pass. Why be happy for him when he himself showed no signs of excitement? This was routine. He expected the awards at this point.

You walked towards him. Yoongi looked angry, though you have no idea why.

“Hey, I made dinner to celebrate,” you tell him. Yoongi’s sitting on the couch, scrolling through the congratulatory messages he received from other industry stars. He looked like he needed to get something off his chest.

“I’m not hungry,” he mutters. “Just leave it.”

“Are you sure?”

He scoffs. It was a simple question.

“Not in the mood.”

You give him a pointed look and sit next to him.

“Why are you never in the mood for anything?” you ask him. “It’s just food Yoongi. I just want to eat with you.”

You don’t see it properly but he rolls his eyes.

“Just drop it okay? Today’s a good day, I don’t need you to ruin it.”

You suck in your cheeks.

“Ruin?”

Yoongi sighs heavily.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” he starts, facing you. “Why do you have to be so dramatic over everything.”

You grit your teeth.

“Dramatic?” your voice quivers. “I didn’t know feeling hurt was being dramatic.”

His gaze softens and he touches your arm lightly.

“Sorry, I didn't mean it like that.”

You shake your head, feeling your eyes dampen at his words.

“I hate your apologies, Yoongi,” you say in a hushed tone. “They don’t mean anything anymore.”

He’s shocked, not really sure how to respond. You were never one to confront him, especially when he was angry. Instead, he holds your hand softly. He was terrible at comforting people.

“Yoongi are you really sorry?” you ask abruptly. It was a question you’ve been meaning to ask for years now.

His grip on you tightened and you can’t quite read his expression, but you can tell that it’s not a positive response. He looks conflicted and he shouldn’t have to be if he really was. You force him to let go of you.

“I am,” he says, knowing he answered a little too late for his words to not seem suspicious.

“I don’t think you are,” you reply sadly. “You say sorry more than you-”

say I love you.

He doesn’t let you finish the sentence because he knows. He knows what you’re trying to say.

“I am,” he says with more sincerity, but he looks at you with an unreadable expression. “I just don’t think it’s enough at this point.”

“What’s not enough?”

You were confused. Is he still talking about whether he's apologetic or not? Or is it something entirely different?

“I do love you,” he says with a certain conviction in his voice, “and I always will, but it feels like nothing’s working out.”

Yoongi doesn’t look at you and focuses on the leather of the fancy couch. He doesn’t say anything but you know what this means. He’s about to stand up, but you grab onto his wrist.

“This is your apartment,” you say before he could say anything to break your heart even further. “I’ll leave.”

“[Y/N], no,” he says. “You don’t have anywhere else to go. I’m just gonna stay over at the dorm. I just...”

Your eyes get blurry from the tears. Even now it felt like he was looking down at you. Nowhere to go. It was like he pitied you.

“...need to go clear my mind,” he finishes the sentence, standing up to grab his coat.

You shake your head and stand in front of him. He’s usually like this. A coward. A bumbling fool who would rather avoid problems than face them head on.

“I need you to stay, Yoongi,” you cry out. “I need you to actually stay for once and comfort me.”

He looks at you, mouth open but no words come out. He smiles sadly and walks toward you, kissing your cheek.

“I don’t think I can do that anymore, [Y/N],” he says and you watch him leave as easily as he walked in.

It’s not like he ever comforted you in the first place.

—

The break up happened silently over a late-night phone call a few days after he disappeared on you. You packed up your things, stayed over at Chaerin’s house, and braced yourself for what was to come. It should’ve happened sooner, you admit, but your heart still sinks when he speaks.

“I just don’t think either of us is willing to try anymore,” he says solemnly. “We’ve been on and off for the past few years and I don’t think it’s healthy for either of us to continue.”

You agree, just wanting the call to end quickly so you wouldn’t have to hear his voice any longer. It hurt to have to listen to him rationalize breaking your heart.

“I don’t think we should be together anymore, [Y/N],” he says, not even a tiny bit choked up. “I think we’ve... outgrown each other.”

You knew what Yoongi really meant. He’s outgrown you.

“I think so too,” you say rigidly. Short and simple. You left nothing to be desired. “Let’s break up.”

Yoongi looks at his phone, slightly disappointed. He wished you would fight back, maybe rekindle something in him that he’s lost over the years. Yet you were silent on the line and he just had to accept it- that there was nothing left to be saved.

“Take care, okay?” he says softly because in the end he still cares- he just doesn’t want to anymore.

“I will,” you reply, ultimately hanging up the phone. You collapse onto a bed unfamiliar to you. Yoongi would no longer sleep beside you, no longer reach over to hug your side and whisper sweet nothings in your ear. He was gone and you had to accept that maybe he was never yours in the first place.

His last words replay in your mind.

Take care.

That was the most concern he’s ever shown you in the past few weeks. You almost scoff at the absurdity of it all. You don’t notice how truly broken you were until the tears start streaming down your face. You see the image of him through blurry eyes and you wonder how you could let Yoongi leave such a permanent scar on your heart.

—

Present

“Do you like your eggs runny or no?”

Junghoon asks as you approach his figure. You hug him from behind and smile at his warmth. Safe.

“Just a little runny,” you reply.

He smiles and nods, turning off the heat and grabbing some seasoning from your cupboard. You detach yourself from him when you realized what he was grabbing.

“Babe that’s not salt. That’s-”

Sugar.

You stop yourself from saying it and Junghoon looks at you with concern. He chuckles at your stoic state and ruffles your hair.

“Cat got your tongue or what?” he asks, grabbing the right container this time. “Maybe I should’ve asked if you like your eggs sweet instead, huh?”

“I’ve never tried that combination before,” you say teasingly. “Why don’t you test it out for us.”

He clicks his tongue at you and splashes some salt on your face.

“I’ll pour sugar all over you if that’s what you really want.”

You laugh half-heartedly. A simple word shouldn’t affect you this much but you find yourself get more teary-eyed as it repeats in your head. It wasn’t fair to Junghoon that you were thinking of your ex in his presence. It wasn’t fair to you either.

You feel a vibration from your pocket and you pull it out to serve as a distraction from your wallowing thoughts. It’s a text.

From Sugar.

—

A/N: This was so hard to write because my mind has just been empty these days but I’m so glad it’s done now >_< Thank you to @minyoongail​ for requesting this story. I’ve been bumping to the Taylor Swift song now because of this commissions T^T I recommend you all to listen to it. I tried to write this in a different style from my other works so I hope this is still readable for you all LOL

I’m closing commissions temporarily to focus on the ones I have now and to also start writing my own stuff. Let me know how you feel about this, I appreciate all types of comments and criticisms <3 Look forward to Part 2!

[enigmas-artdeck]

The Cold Felt Familiar

(Skitters in) HEY Y'ALL WANT ANGST?

Related to this, it’s quite the time with his bud, but not for long~. Buckle up buckaroos, angst is coming.

Also on AO3!

He should've seen it coming, he's used the same trick before. Promises of improvement, strength, power-

"Wouldn't it be wonderful to get him back? You were so close back then, before he was granted his empty title-"

He'd wanted nothing more to burst in and pull 2 havocs in Heaven himself for the sheer disrespect from the Heavenly Court. Bi Wa Men, a lowly stable keeper, wasn't a wonder why he stormed out. Oh yeah, giving him the title Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, only as a way to keep him complacent, that won't turn out bad at all.

"-Being trapped under Five-Finger Mountain-"

He swore, he screamed, he declared, he did everything without care for volume and respect once he found out about the imprisonment. Scoured that mountain for decades, never finding a trace of his friend anywhere. Ran himself raw, searching and pleading for anything or anyone to grant him mercy and let him find his lost companion.

They never did like him anyway.

 "-Going on the journey with Golden Cicada and his disciples-"

His blood boiled at that, the journey being the sole reason Wukong was…different. He was still impulsive and hearty, going to Heaven for bi-yearly fights, unafraid to fight anything, chaotic as ever. 

But in the fight at the mountains, after stealing Monkie Kid's powers, he knew Wukong was holding back. He heard all the tales (however scrambled they became over the centuries), and had seen himself the power he held. He could've leveled the area and be done with the dispute in mere minutes. They fought, that's true, but the only reason he was beat was because of the kid.

Wukong didn't even have the dignity to strike him down himself, relying on a trainee who'd needed his powers locked up.

It was downright laughable, nay, pathetic at how Wukong was holding back because of one journey.

"-Before he struck you dead."

Oh. 

Ah, the one experience he had with death. The one where even after blotting out and ripping his name from the book had him checking over his shoulder and hiding in the shadows for a century in f- caution. It was that long before he realized Wukong did the same thing and no one went after him again (the others don't count, that was Heaven trying to remove his immortality).

Every time he saw his scar, he couldn't help but flinch. It still seemed fresh, still felt raw. His red facial marking didn't help either. (Keeping the glamor was second nature to him after all these centuries. He likes causing nightmares, not having them.)

Wukong didn't hold back then.

He took a deep breath, frosty air chilling his lungs as he turned to the young girl holding the spirit whispering promises laced with shards of ice and flakes of snow.

"Deal." He sneered.

(Macaque didn't want to think about the freezing light crawling down his throat. Too familiar. Too frightening.)

θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ 

Having a body mate was weird, but he learned to tune it out for the most part. Acquiring her ice abilities gave him an edge no one saw, and having her on energy sensory lookout helped with telling who's who and keeping tabs on the shady folk. Added a bonus in battle since she could warn him of any ambushers.

Though there were a couple...nitpicks he had.

Macaque had noticed with each new shadow clone, they turned just the teeniest shade bluer, thankfully not visibly noticeable to other folk yet.

Oftentimes when he summoned his staff, the spikes were coated in thin layers of ice. He rather let the blood flow from his enemies, thank you (though he rarely did more than a passing glance).

Even his shadow smoke form was tinged blue, frost trailing up the wrapping adorning it.

No matter, Macaque could handle this, he was flexible in his strategies (certainly helped with stealing Sun Wukong's power from the kid.) He would rather do without the personal physical changes.

Despite how many layers he covered himself with, his fur and skin stayed cool to the touch. Was a great help in traveling to the warmer sections of the area. With the drawback of visiting anything below 15 °C intensifying the chill. 

His face marking, the brilliant red he associated with power, ferocity, hurt, had blue creeping along his eyes. It looked to be icing out in crystalline patterns if he got close enough to reflections.

And his scar, the reminder of why he didn't just remove the spirit he was housing, stayed iced over even in his current setup in the Flaming Mountains.

Ah well, a quick glamor could fix those up. Right now he needed to strategize a way to get Wukong off Flower Fruit Mountain, separating him from the kid and the menagerie. 

(Macaque rose from sleep littered with some cuts and bruising. Didn't notice his camp was a few miles closer to Flower Fruit Mountain. Couldn't notice the blue fading back into gold sclera.)

θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ 

"What the hell was that?"

Macaque snarled at his reflection, the outline of White Bone Spirit staring back at him with nonchalance.

"I helped you win the battle and retreat, is that not what you wanted?"

It was going so well, Wukong managed to be separated with a few shadow clones and simple visual and vocal glamours. The recent attack (more like stolen power-high frenzy. Paint crudely helped hide the Demon Bull family's emblem) from the Gold and Silver Demon Brothers managed to split the group up. It was a simple send off of the right fakes to the right area after they split.

Once Wukong was below and far enough, Macaque made his entrance discreetly, ambushing him just as the other caught wind of something off. 

And it was going great for a while, without his staff Wukong was forced to fight harder. Wasn't close to the levels of Wukong back in the day, but more than the mountain battle. And the sheer thrill of it, seeing his "bud" let loose more, feeling the higher thrum of energy, oh gloriously maddening!

At least until a quick quip about the fake Wukong acting his part of the plan slipped out. Macaque found himself with too warm a liquid dripping out of his nose and mouth, from a punch and kick respectively.

The clarity at which he saw the unfiltered rage made the haze feel less like fog and more like a spotlight.

It was touch and go for a bit after that, but after a harsh, nearly numbing kick had Macaque gasping for breath, he asked for a boost as he wide eyed the threatening advance.

Blinding blues and white crept over his vision's edge, making Wukong's painfully shocked and horrified face the last thing he saw. Macaque regretted calling his power forth.

"I wanted a power boost, not a power surge blackout!"

"You received the power, but you were already on the verge of blacking out. I'm sorry it made you do so-"

"Excuses, excuses, that won't change the fact of what happened." Macaque turned away, only his eyes giving away his surprise, coming face to face with the cyan glow of White Bone Spirit.

"...Since when could you do that?" 

"When I'm not active."

"'When I'm not-' you mean to tell me you can pop out willy nilly? You didn't tell me this before?" Exasperation dropped in his tone, squeezing his eyes shut in annoyance.

"It never came up, this situation is different from humans. With your power, I couldn't-"

"I don't care, you're out." Held up his hands, moving forward, wanting to be done and gone from her.

"I'm sorry-" She made no effort move out of his way, so he walked through. 

"I don't want an apology, I want you out, gone, see ya! Deal's off, get your ice and leave-!"

"-But the body isn't yours now." 

Realization dawned on him once he passed through. Macaque froze.

As in the body stopped responding to any movement he willed.

"Oh, what's wrong? Can't move what was yours?" Cyan and white passed around behind him, swirling in the air as she skimmed her chilled fingers up his neck.

"Well then, I suppose there isn't anything special about you." She cupped his face, drawing in close, her eyes filling his entire vision. In the cold white, he could see his own gold turn deep, icy blue.

"You're just a macaque with nothing left." With that she drew back into the body.

Hundreds of eyes gleamed from the shadows, some stretching out on shapes familiar- himself- but wrong. He willed his body to move forward, to turn, to fall, do anything to get him away from the twisted glowing outlines as they approached.

He didn't even so much as jolt when the screaming skeletal face flooded his internal vision, bringing an icy air with her. Forcing to stare at the eternally screaming maw, dark icy hands grabbed hold and pulled down, with him along. 

No sound left him, not even a gasp.

(The bleakness made him want to flee.)

(The chill made him want to scream.)

(The nothing made him want to cry.)

(Macaque did.)

θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ 

Wukong slammed into the volcano's side, smoke and ash obscuring his vision. Blue cut through the thick black, having him reach back into the lava. Red and black shot to the unwelcome color, but turned to white powder before reaching the target.

"Aw, what's wrong Great Sage?"

Okay, this was bad, this was wa-a-ay bad, but distance was key, if he could get distance he could vanish and regroup with MK-

When did the molten rock turn to ice?

Wukong feverishly tugged at his right side, the ice crawling up his limbs, spreading out over stone and lava alike.

He made the mistake of turning around.

 A blue eye with a pinprick snowflake iris nearly touched his own golden eye. Steam rose out past their fangs, doing nothing to help the chill rolling off.

"You look like you've seen a ghost!"

[the-wintershade]

in another life (I surely was there)

pairing: loki x reader summary: he wants to create a new world and he needs you -- loves you, but love is corrupt and he fails to realize the corrosiveness of his affections. wc: 3.1k+ genre: slightly angsty, dark, unhealthy desires, villian!loki

The first thing he learns is there is always darkness in the dawn. 

Thrown onto the ground after portaling to Joutenheim, he cowers in the face of danger and death but swallows the unnecessary emotions with a pearly grin. There’s nothing that grin can’t repair, can’t magically fix. 

They speak, the giant’s red stare burning holes in Loki’s perfectly concocted excuse. He bites back his unrestrainable irritation and partial embarrassment and continues with the facade hoping that they’ll grant his true desire. 

….

He watches it in your face. 

Your eyes zone onto his and he feels the anger, hurt, disappointment vibrating in the air around you — even if you are several feet in front of him. Your chest heaves, blood stains your brow crimson, and your eyes curl with darkness, conjuring every hateful emotion available to you. 

But you smile at him, lips painted red. And it’s the smile that frightens him the most. 

It’s not a smile of joy like he’s used to, but a smile with the promise of retribution, with the inkling of death and the promise of a deep, chilling anguish. 

He knows he shouldn’t have left. And you turn away from him, throwing yourself back into the slaughter, defending the innocent while he watches, rooted in place, afraid — not by you but for you. 

…

You ignore him. 

Even when beaten to a pulp and unable to lift a leg muscle, you refuse his help. It is the captain who carries you to the safety of the jet as you cling to consciousness. 

He feels how desperately you sway between life and death and hovers around, wanting to fight the man of black with a sharpened scythe. He can’t take you away, you still have sinners to punish, breakers of justice and righteousness to cleanse. 

Your work here can’t be done. It’s barely begun. 

He watched you go into the fray, punching wildly, impacts of limbs constantly striking you, repeatedly, without stopping. He would have stepped in if you hadn’t been so, so—

Your eyes peel themselves open and a moan escapes your mouth and it’s like he’s breathing again for the first time. They don’t stay open long enough; he needs to feel that wrath inducing stare pin down. But he can relax. You’ll pull through, he’s sure of that. 

….

He finds out quickly that everything won’t go back to normal with flowers...or chocolate...or a gem refined by the dwarfs. 

Nothing brings you back to him and he eats every present he brings you with no eye contact, no acknowledgement, and no indication that you’re aware he’s here. 

He feels hollow, invisible, a ghost to forever haunt an unbeliever. 

Bandages nearly obscure your face and now he feels horrible for leaving you and the others to fight the demon spawns of some alien race. He may have made a terrible mistake there but he couldn’t comprehend how you could ignore him so well. 

He couldn’t understand how you frosted over in one day and now you were an impenetrable block of ice that no amount of warmth and care and heat he produced, you wouldn’t crack. 

He was supposed to be the heartless one, not you. This was wrong.

…

“Why are you avoiding me? Why are you trying so hard to be as far away as possible?” He breaks the tension in the air, splitting the unspoken rule of silence established when it was just the two of you in a room. 

It wasn’t like him to talk about motivations or ideas behind doing things. It wasn’t like him to bring up conflict. He was doing a lot of things he wasn’t used to doing now. 

You glared. There was nothing in your eyes that gave the inkling of a promised answer. 

He took two steps forward and you crossed to the other side of the room. 

He felt it then. The split, the divide, the chasm that had opened between the two of you. 

You wanted nothing to do with him. Nothing at all. And he was still holding onto who you used to be. Both stuck in limbo. Both trapped in each other. 

Instead of saying anything, you exited the room and Loki just stopped and stared. Maybe it’s time to give up. Maybe it’s time to let go. 

…

You fall through the air. 

And you smile. 

That’s the first thing he finds strange. The second is your obvious lack of concern for your own safety. Because you used to warn him all the time to protect himself and be careful, always with a hidden undercurrent in your words. 

Loki wasn’t good at emotional attachment so he brushed away your warm eyes, easy to fall into, and did whatever. 

Now he feels what you must have felt when he was being reckless. Uncertainty. Fear. 

The wind whips your hair and Loki only hesitates a second in horror before catching you and teleporting you to solid ground with him. 

He holds you firmly, but you still refuse to pay him any mind. “Don’t—“ he breathes raggedly, as if he’d run a mile in the past few seconds. “Don’t ever do that again.”

He watches you fragment. The walls you’ve carefully built fall for a moment and only a moment before those soft, open eyes shift into a predatory, hateful gaze. 

You shake out of his arms and weave out of his reach. “You should have let me fall.” You toss over the back of your shoulder and it’s the first time Loki can remember the echoing staccato of hurt. 

…

He doesn’t leave. Not this time. Not even when the whole team is beaten senseless. 

Not even when his skin is turning all shades of black and blue and his legs crumple under the strain. Not even when this battle is going so far left that he’s certain that you’ll all be overrun.

He bites back the bile worming its way through his throat and cuts down another monster, a twisted creation he likely had some involvement in sending there. His fingers ache from gripping harder than necessary on the handle of his knife. He lets them flex, breathing against the tight cage he forced them into.

He’d missed it. It was too late for any reaction as it sunk into his abdomen. 

He couldn’t scream. Oh no. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of a whimper or a plea for forgiveness. He was already light years past that now. 

Besides the quick response of his limbs that move on their own to drive his weapon down to the hilt into their throat, the pain is still there. Blooming. Spreading faster than he anticipated. 

The monster had gotten him good. Better than he could have done while he was paying attention to you.

You were like Tyr himself, a devastating figure of little remorse and brute strength. He knew what that power could do to a person. Its fuel lies in the deep recesses of the mind, midnight ebony and bloodstained red colliding to produce a substance of deep scorching pain. Yours spilled right out of you; it was like he could see it. Like it had a tangible shape, a shadow that clung to you, echoing your movements like a spectral warrior.

And it was impressive and so out of character for you. 

Loki was awed by you once again and that awe led to his own demise. Figures.

He’s not bitter about it all, hitting the ground, watching vermillion soak his clothes and bury into the earth. He’s not devastated that his one true wish might not be fulfilled. 

He’s thankful. For the first time in his life, he’s grateful to watch you become the force he knew you always could be. 

He’s just sorry that he might have been the catalyst for such change.

…

“Loki.” Your face contorts in determination and a firm pleading. “Loki, can you hear me?” He would have thought this was the afterlife, the final test, the final trial to make everything right before he would inevitably be sent to hell. Then he saw the red smeared against the corner of your mouth and knew, oh, I’m still breathing.

He sees no traces of real concern on your face and his own falls at the absence. He just wishes he could make it all right. That he could change that stupid wish he’d made so many weeks ago.

But he was bound. 

There was nothing he could do to get out of it all. He’d be stuck until the plan was fulfilled. 

“Don’t die, okay? Just-” He watches your face contort in a mixture of pain and anxiety. For the first time in a while, he believes that he may be able to peel the darkness back, beat his doubts and the voices in his head warning him that all this will be for nought.

But they always return, always creep along in the back of his mind, circling like one of Odin’s devout warriors, ravens ready to devour a meal.

He’ll lose you, one way or another. 

And that terrifies him more than the blue skin and red eyes he knows he has. It scares him more than his brotherhood with the giants of old and their unnatural complexion — his unnatural appearance.

He’s doing this all for a reason, a purpose that he can see, but others can’t. He doesn’t fool himself that you’ll be able to see it too.

“Hold on.” Your words warm him. He doesn’t feel the sting of the cold when you’re near. He can trick himself and believe that he’s human, not the being of frost that hides beneath the pallor of his glamour.

And when your hand slips into his own, bolstering ice with flame, he breaks in two. He’ll lose you. He knows you’ll leave him too.

…

He can feel you there, right next to him in recovery. He’s well aware of the scorn that the members of earth’s defenders have given you. 

He almost wishes that you would run away from him, cast him off like everyone else does. But a bigger part is thankful that you stayed, even if it’s selfish, even if the end will be bitter.

Your hand is right there next to him. It lies limp on the bed, your head lolled to the side in your slumber. His hand crosses the space separating you from physical contact and grasps your hand in his.

You stir, eyes blurry and dark, waiting, coiled and ready to spring. Gently, he brings your hand to his lips. He feels the darkness stir underneath and in a few days time, everything will fall into place.

He’s just sorry it had to be this way.

“I love you.” He’s not lying when he says it. He’s not saying it because it will win you over, not because he feels obligated to. He’s saying it because it’s the truth. 

There’s no grin to hide behind, no smile to cover up a trick. Just him and you and the truth.

Your eyes widen but the guard is still there, the walls are still up. He notices the black splotches in your irises recede for just a moment and then the moment’s gone.

The Avengers think it’s a side effect of a monster bite and the black veins, spiderweb bruising, and your general temperament will return to normal. But it won’t. You’ll be consumed and if you don’t fight your way out, you could die.

But he doesn’t see that in your future.

You’re too strong.

Your eyes watch his, waiting for the trick, for the moment the cat is out of the bag. When you don’t see one, your hold on him tightens. The words never come out of your mouth and he’s not sure that you can fully reciprocate his words, but you feel something and it’s strong enough to keep you within reach.

He’s thankful that you’ll share this moment together, that maybe this memory won’t be soiled when the change happens.

…

You’re gone.

The change came a few days later and Hel was right there, as was originally discussed, ready to take you for when the time came, when the final days of asgard were in sight.

He flashed that charming smile at his sister and tired to bargain with her. He knew that not seeing you was apart of the plan, that for this to work in accordance with the frost giants he would have to avoid seeing you.

But that wasn’t enough for him. He was greedy, what could he say?

It’s why he was doing this all in the first place.

For the greed of power, of recognition, of the world paying attention to the insignificant brother next to the heir to the throne. It was for the world to forever know his name. He was greedy and selfish; he wouldn’t deny that.

But he was even more greedy when it comes to you. He didn’t want to let you go. He would fight, tooth and nail, to hold onto you.

But Hel, holding your almost completely corrupted figure from falling to the ground, refused. She said no.

You were her warrior now and you’d be a powerful force at that.

And then she sank into the underground, dragging you, her slave, down with her.

The hole in his chest grew that much larger and without trying to, he fell to the grass where you just stood, gripping it firmly in his fingers, feeling the gap between you grow that much larger.

…

It’s been years now. Odin is dead. Ragnorak has begun.

His face is bloody and he no longer hides who he is, no longer denies his true self from the world. 

His skin is a deep cobalt and his eyes burn like rubies set ablaze. He runs with his brothers, no longer ashamed, no longer afraid of the wrath of the Asir. He’s free to burn down his false home as he chooses and Hel has brought her warriors.

The thought of you crossed his mind a few times, wondering where your face would be in the crowd, what powers you would have, how dark and twisted you might have become.

He still feels horrible, but it was for a purpose.

Somehow he hopes he’ll live long enough to see you again, when this is all over, when he’s able to explain everything.

…

“Loki?” He cradled your broken body against him, smoothing the hair and grime from your face. The black lines receded from your face and you were no longer a demon. Loki now looked like the frost giant he was. It was truth to truth, no cover ups or falsities. “Why did you abandon me?”

Abandon?

No, he didn’t abandon you. He helped you work towards a higher purpose. He endowed you with something greater.

“No, no. I didn’t abandon you, (name). I helped you. I made you something greater.” He watched your eyes unfocus and waited before you were able to speak again.

“You lied and corrupted and hurt me. You made me a monster who does horrible things. You dragged me into a war that had nothing to do with me.” You lolled your head over in his direction, the ebony lines weaving in and out of your pupils. “You killed me. My death is your fault.”

He almost dropped you. This was nonsense, slander. You couldn’t be serious. You had to see it his way now. This was necessary. The world was evil and abandones others, but he was there to make it right again.

The world needed a new world order. He was going to give it to them.

“No, (name).” He pulled you closer and gazed deeply into your eyes. “I love you. I want greatness for you. I need you here with me.”

You laughed, laughed harder than you should be able to while on the brink of death. Your hand came up to cup his cheek. “You were always the gullible brother.”

You transformed in front of his eyes and in your stead, Hel stared right back at him. “Like my little performance? I thought that your broken human would be a great way to fool you.”

She streaked against the ash on the ground and Loki stood up, watching her with malice. As he made a dash in her direction, he ran into a bubble, a forcefield of power locking him in. A cage. Another cursed cage.

“You didn’t really think that you’d come on top of this battle.” She smirked and then scoffed at the shock on his face. “You’re too weak brother. You’re too naive. You think you know everything when the person you should have been asking about death was me.” His eyes burned and stinged. “If you want to wipe the slate clean and rule this new world, at least pair with the right person to accomplish your goals. The frost giants never needed you; they needed me. I am going to rule this new world while you sit here in this prison for the rest of eternity.”

He slummed, defeated, tears of shame ready to coat his face. “Oh, and while we were on the subject of your precious little human, you should know that she was wonderful. So much potential, so much power and strength. It’s really a shame that she fell. I was fond of her.”

She smirked when he crumbled. “Tootles, darling.”

Waving, she walked away into the darkness, into death, what she lived and breathed, while Loki sat, in the remnants of Asgard, wondering how he could have thought that this was going to end up any differently.

And as he turned, he found you, sprawled on the ground, a hole in your chest, eyes staring right at him asking, how could you, how could you, how could you? 

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

…

100 years have passed and he still sits in this forgotten cage in a forgot era. He’s let out from time to time, completing one job or another, but he’s eventually locked up again, doomed to live a lonely existence.

He still sees that face. He still sees your eyes that used to shine.

Loki knew you were aware that he was up to something, that he’d betrayed you somehow, that your story and his were intertwined forever. 

And then he sees the darkness take shape, how you’re taking risks you didn’t used to, how your nature changed.

He realized that’s love. That’s what it does to people. Love won’t save, love will corrupt. The name of love means nothing, trust means nothing, and he was foolish to think that you would understand.

But he would find another.

Maybe someone a little stronger, a little purer, and a little more in love with him. Maybe he’d find someone who understood and in the next 500 years, he’d be able to win this time.

Maybe the 6th attempt would be the charm.

a/n: hi, it’s been a while. I hope you’re taking care of yourself and taking the time you need.

I love you. It’s good to be back. 

~Ruby

[makeste]

top 20 favorite quirks

okay, but listen, though! it’s exactly what it says in the title. not best quirks, or most useful quirks, or most creative quirks. not even coolest quirks! I did try to take all of these things into consideration when choosing, but honestly? by far the most important factor was, “I JUST THINK THEY’RE NEAT.”

anyway but let me backtrack and post the actual ask.

you’ll note that at no point was I asked to pick twenty of them. I did that all on my own. so here is my list!

20. Solid Air (Tsuburaba)

Tsubaraba Kousei. all-time undefeated grand champion of The Floor Is Lava. or at least he was until Ochako came along. anyway, so this is an extremely nifty quirk with all sorts of utility ranging from defense to helping him get around. it’s super useful for catching bad guys, and apparently the only real limit is his lung capacity. this quirk has so much potential and I love it.

19. Copy (Monoma)

the fact that he can copy his opponents’ powers and use them against them is badass enough, but add in the fact that he can hold up to 3 (or 4??) of them at once -- for as long as ten minutes -- and this quirk starts getting seriously powerful. anyway so one thing you might note as you read on is that although Copy is on my favorite quirks list, AFO is not! and that’s because Monoma’s limits actually make the quirk much more interesting to me, because they force him (and Horikoshi) to get creative. this is a really fun quirk and I would love to see more of Monoma in action. about time we saw him fight some actual villains and not just class 1-A, honestly.

18. Brainwashing (Shinsou)

as with Monoma’s quirk, what really sets this apart from other mind-control superpowers (to me, anyway) is the fact that it has limitations. he can’t just control anyone at random; in order to take them over he has to get them to respond to him somehow. which leads to innovations like the voice-changer, and which as a result has made his battles so genuinely interesting and fun to watch. anyway so I really want Shinsou to hurry up and join 2-A, and for them to just give him his provisional license all “here you go, son” with no testing whatsoever, because we’re past the point of pretending the HPSC is actually responsible these days, and because I really want to see if he can help turn the tides the next time the heroes battle the League.

17. Zero Gravity (Ochako)

I feel like it’s worth noting that I don’t really have any kind of fear of heights or falling or anything like that. and so I can’t really explain why Toga using this quirk on Ms. Curious and her lackeys was hands down one of the most singularly disturbing scenes in the entire manga for me! but it was!! even now I’m wincing just thinking about it. she just lifted them all up and DROPPED THEM and they just FELL and DIED. just like that. holy fucking shit. anyway, so we should all be very grateful that Ochako is super kind and sweet and more inclined towards helping people rather than murdering them. because holy shit. anyways though this quirk is dope.

16. Erasure (Aizawa)

I once said that this quirk was “not very cinematic”, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so wrong about anything in my life. oh, past me. you truly underestimated the dramatic impact of someone with a terrifyingly powerful quirk going in for the kill, only to be all “NANI?!” as they suddenly realize that their powers are no longer working, and the camera pans over to a man with gorgeous floating hair and intense red anime eyes. I owe you an apology, Erasure. you are cinematic AF.

15. Black Hole (Thirteen)

I really wish we got to see Thirteen fight more often. they suffer from the same “too powerful” curse as so many of the other characters and it’s a shame. anyway so Black Hole is cool af and gives me a ton of Miroku/kazaana vibes, which I freaking love. this quirk is lowkey on a Tomura-level of destructive potential, honestly, and yet no one ever talks about it?? Thirteen could literally destroy anything they touched if they wanted to?? imagine if they ever Awakened, you guys. holy shit.

14. Tape (Sero)

this power is so fucking stupid and ridiculous and completely absurd and I LOVE IT. Horikoshi really drew a skinny guy with tape elbows and was all, “so this kid is basically Spider-Man but with tape. I have not put the least bit of logical thought or creative effort into this power beyond that, and I’m not going to, either.” and somehow we all just accepted it. anyway, dubious origins aside, it’s such a versatile ability and Sero has such amazing control over it. it’s offense; it’s defense; he can use it to set traps; he can use it for maneuverability. TAPE ELBOWS CAN DO IT ALL.

13. Outburst (Ms. Joke)

when will it finally be her time. Outburst is one of those powers that sounds super dumb at first, until you really stop and think what the ability to make someone laugh at will could actually DO to people. true uncontrollable belly laughter is a totally incapacitating thing. she’d have people collapsing to the ground and practically seizing up. and good luck using your own quirk to fight back when you’re doubled over struggling to breathe and can’t even see straight because of the tears in your eyes. that’s assuming any of her opponents are even capable of thinking straight long enough to try it. like, this is such a straight up brutal ability and the fact that we have still NEVER SEEN IT is honestly infuriating.

12. Glamour (Camie)

it’s an illusion quirk. of course I have to put it on my list. illusion powers make every battle approximately 100x more entertaining. and what makes this particular power even better is that in any other series, this quirk would have been given to some Tokoyami-esque super serious emo kid. but BnHA went and gave it to Karen from Mean Girls instead. what a fucking power move. goddamn.

11. Black (Kuroiro)

according to BnHA Ultra Analysis, Kuroiro’s Appearing Out of Nowhere skills are rated a 4 out of 6. I still haven’t figured out if this is meant to be a burn on him or not. this kid can ninja in and out of literally any dark object in existence. if it’s nighttime, that means he can basically move wherever he wants to at will. of course he’s skilled at Appearing Out of Nowhere. so tell me then, why is it ONLY a four out of six?? how could he possibly fuck this up?? who was grading him?? DOES HE JUST SUCK. I don’t know, but anyway it’s really funny to me and also I really love this quirk.

10. Transform (Toga)

Toga went and Awakened herself right into the top ten with the reveal that not only can she mimic other people’s appearances, but that while she is transformed, she can actually use their quirks. like excuse me, what?? holy shit??? it is honestly driving me crazy that we’ve only seen this in action once. Transform is basically Plot Twist: The Quirk. I really want to see Toga use it to its full potential and infiltrate U.A. and/or spy on the HPSC and/or murder someone with their loved one’s own quirk. I WANT HER TO GIVE SOMEONE THE MAES HUGHES TREATMENT. I want her to do something so shocking that people ragequit the fucking manga lol. I know I’m always saying the manga isn’t that dark, but this is honestly the one exception where I would freaking love for it to get dark as shit. anyway so yeah. if you want to fuck with people you really couldn’t ask for a better quirk.

9. Creation (Momo)

MACGUYVER: THE QUIRK. an unlimited inventory in the hands of someone brilliant enough to actually utilize it to its full extent. what’s not to love? honestly if it were me with this quirk it would be completely useless. not only would I get hopelessly bored two seconds into trying to memorize an object’s molecular structure or whatever, but even if I DID manage to figure out how to make stuff, I would never know what to do with the stuff, or when to use it. every time a new situation cropped up I would just create a bunch of random objects in a panic. but Momo is so elegant in her problem-solving that she often needs to create only one or two things to come up with the perfect solution for something. basically this is a good quirk that becomes a truly great quirk when placed in the hands of the best possible person in the world to wield it. the quirk is awesome because Momo is awesome, and I fucking adore quirks like that (see: next entry).

8. Permeation (Mirio)

ah, Mirio. the original victim of the “too powerful to be allowed” curse. remember that time he BEAT HALF OF CLASS 1-A IN UNDER SIX SECONDS, you guys.  small wonder Horikoshi couldn’t even make it through one complete villain fight with him before he had to de-quirk the poor kid. anyway, so Mirio makes this quirk look so mind-blowingly awesome that it’s easy to forget what a terrifying and fucked-up power it is in reality. “yeah it makes me blind and deaf and if I’m not careful I’ll fall into the center of the earth or splice myself in two or some shit.” what the actual fuck Mirio. but because he’s worked so hard and because Nighteye trained him so well, he’s mastered the timing to such an insane degree that he could kick Overhaul in the face without harming a single hair on Eri’s body. and honestly, there’s no way I could not love a quirk that gave us a moment like that.

7. Warp Gate (Kurogiri)

unlike SOME OTHER PEOPLE whose names start with Kuro, I would bet you that Kurogiri’s Appearing Out of Nowhere skills are a full six out of six! alas, the top ten of this list is chock full of people whose quirks are so badass that they had to be written out of the story one way or another. with Kuro at large there was technically nothing stopping the villains from just dropping in on U.A. one night to kill All Might, or rekidnap Bakugou, or whatever else they might want to do. and that’s actually a really scary thought though lol so it’s no wonder that Horikoshi was all, “yeah I’ll just have them capture him now.” anyways do you guys remember that one time in chapter 18 when Kuro used Warp Gate to create an endless loop of All Might suplexing Noumu suplexing All Might?? fucking quirks, though. wild.

6. Fiber Master (Best Jeanist)

another badass quirk, another badass quirk-user incapacitated and taken out of the story before their time. Best Jeanist is honestly terrifying. if he wanted to he could immobilize and even strangle and kill pretty much anyone in the world, whenever he fucking felt like it. that alone would be crazy enough, but then add to that that this quirk for all intents and purposes is basically telekinesis. as long as someone is wearing clothing he can move them around however he wants, as we saw in Kamino. basically, everything Hawks can do with Fierce Wings, Jeanist can probably do with his own quirk. AND THAT INCLUDES FLYING, YOU GUYS. the more I think about it the more I think we truly were robbed. I need Jeanist to come back already and fly everyone at Jakku to safety and tie Tomura to a chair with his own cape before proceeding to style his hair.

5. Rewind (Eri)

IT’S MY LIST!! I CAN PUT WHATEVER I WANT, AND IF YOU SAY I CAN’T, I’M TELLING MOM. okay but listen. everyone always rags on this quirk and how stupidly powerful it is, and look, I get it. but isn’t it kind of interesting that everyone is also always speculating over who Eri is eventually going to heal with her quirk? like, fandom is always complaining about how broken it is but at the same time they’re out here hatching all of these wild theories that center around it. and to me that indicates that in truth, this is actually an awesome quirk -- just so long as it’s used right. obviously there have to be some major limitations or else this is just “Fix Everything: The Quirk.” thankfully, Horikoshi did limit it! it’s super dangerous, she has trouble controlling it, and most importantly, it’s ridiculously slow to recharge and so she can only use it once every few months. it’s basically Recovery Girl’s quirk with a bonus slow-replenishing stamina bar that, once charged, allows her to release one ultra-powerful SUPER HEAL special move. and that’s pretty awesome. basically I think this quirk gets too much hate and not enough credit for the additional menu options it adds to the story. it’s interesting and compelling and I can’t wait to see what Horikoshi does with it.

4. Dark Shadow (Tokoyami)

TOKOYAMI WHY IS YOUR QUIRK SENTIENT. Existential Crisis: The Quirk. do quirks have souls?? if you shot Tokoyami with a quirk-be-gone bullet would Dark Shadow fucking die??? if Tomura absorbed Tokoyami’s quirk would Dark Shadow grow out of his back and be all “hey um, who the fuck are you”?? and would Toko’s head turn back into a normal human boy head?? would Dark Shadow look like Tomura instead of a bird shadow?? what even IS Dark Shadow, actually?? obviously it is not just a shadow because shadows can’t punch people or shield people from attacks or pick people up and fly them around. but yet he’s afraid of fire and grows weaker in daylight?? is Tokoyami secretly the strongest character in the entire series?? is there any way I can possibly justify putting this quirk all the way down at #4 instead of #1 where it clearly belongs?? let me answer that question by not answering it and moving on.

3. Explosion (Bakugou)

is the fix in?? is “exploding hands” really a better quirk than a fucking sentient monster man who lives in your belly button and reads your mind and is made of ~darkness energy~ and is your best friend? apparently the answer is yes! to both of those questions. yes the fix is in. I love Kacchan and his quirk is fucking awesome okay. it just never ceases to amaze me how this one single quirk, which really only does one thing, is nonetheless so spectacularly powerful that it allows Bakugou to compete on the same level as the fucking protagonist with all of his godlike super-strength and Main Character Powers and wacky SIXQUIRKS!! shenanigans. in my opinion the coolest thing about Explosion isn’t even its firepower; it’s the way Bakugou’s adapted it to fly around and to boost his speed. I think he legit may be the fastest character in the series right now, or close to it. he’s faster than Iida and Gran Torino and Endeavor. he can keep up with Deku without breaking a sweat. and he knows how to use that speed, thanks to his insane reflexes. add in the fact that this is also without a doubt the most cinematic quirk in the entire series, and I think I’m justified in putting it this high up. and anyway I still put two others up above it so shh.

2. Search (Ragdoll/Tomura)

Hey, What’s That Guy’s Deal: The Quirk. I just really love this one you guys. it’s so fucking useful. Video Game HUD: The Quirk. one hundred people at a time?? locations and weak points?? works even when you’re not looking at the person anymore and have blinked your eyes, unlike CERTAIN OTHER PEOPLE’S weak-ass quirks?? check, check, and check. is it any wonder AFO wanted this? plus it just looks so damn cool. the visual representation of everyone as little stars on a map. Turn On Location: The Quirk. okay look I feel like I’m doing a bad job of explaining why I have this quirk all the way up at number two. it just has this subtle badassness to it, and its introduction after almost two hundred chapters of buildup was just so fucking cool. maybe it’s recency bias?? I don’t even know; all I know is that I love this quirk and want to see more of it in action.

1. Blackwhip (Lariat/Deku)

listen, I was obsessed with this quirk back when it was called “Venom” and was by far the absolute coolest part of the 1990s Spider-Man cartoon series. I’m not just going to suddenly not be obsessed with it just because fandom is mad that Horikoshi gave Deku an additional power beyond just Smashing Stuff. Blackwhip is hands down the coolest quirk, guys. I’m sorry, it just is. it has the coolest name. it had the coolest entrance. it does basically anything you could ever want a quirk to do in battle. it grabs stuff. it Bloops. what more do you want. you’re all just jealous because you wish that you could Bloop too. I know I am. I wish I had a Bloop. anyway so yeah, Blackwhip is the upgrade to Deku’s fighting style that we desperately needed after 200+ chapters of Delaware Smashes and Broken Bones. all his fights are cooler now. he can save more people! he can fight without instantly dying! plus you just gotta love powers that occasionally explode out of control if their user gets all emotional and pissed off about the fact that you insulted his boyfriend. so yeah. Blackwhip at number one! on this list of favorite quirks. not best quirks!! jesus christ. please don’t kill me I have a family.

 so that’s my list! all 3000 words of it. how does this keep happening.

[halequeenjas]

Glitz & Glam || Camille, Cutler, Dave, Erin, Evelyn, Jasmine, Leah, Nate, Nell, & Oz

TIMING: Tonight  PARTIES: @carrionxcamille @clarkesconvenience @seizethecarpe @corpse--diem @thronesofshadows @halequeenjas @nate-santos @nelllraiser @curatedfaetes SUMMARY: Just some mostly harmless fun celebrating Jasmine’s birthday. 

Birthdays had always been something Jasmine enjoyed, especially her own. As a self-proclaimed lover of being the center of attention, she couldn’t help but love Nell’s idea of being carried into her own party on a palanquin. The notorious Jack the stripper was one of the men carrying her into the jazz bar that was holding her New Orleans themed birthday party. Just by the looks of it, she could tell Nell, Leah, and Bea had really outdone themselves. There was a jazz band currently playing Run the World aka one of her favorite Beyonce songs. The mask decorating station was ago along with some beads. A whole table full of beignets was calling her, but it was the tiramisu cake that Nate made at the center of it all that really caught her attention. Jasmine soaked in some of the cheers as she was carried into the center of the room.

 Nate had made sure to get to the venue early enough to set up the delicate tiramisu cake in all it’s glory. Originally, he’d wanted to do much more gold leafing, but other than on the decorative macarons, it just ended up covering the beautiful layers and that wouldn’t do. He stood back and admired his creation until Jasmine herself entered in true Jasmine fashion: carried in an ornate palanquin carried by muscled men to the sounds of Beyonce. He grinned, expecting nothing less of Jasmine Hale. He applauded along with a few others and hoped beyond hope that this would be just another ordinary party with ordinary people. 

 Nell was one of the many cheers to accolade Jasmine as the woman was carried in by assorted and muscular men, and she gave Jack a friendly wave as he too made his course across the floor. It was hard to forget the time he’d been dressed as a sailor at Bea’s party, and then the time he was Bea’s plus one to Nell’s party. It seemed that their little gaggle of girls had decided to adopt Jack to some extent, and he was quickly becoming a permanent fixture at parties. “Yes, Jasmine!” she yelled along with the rest of the crowd, accidentally jostling the Mardi Gras mask she was wearing while cupping her hands around her mouth. Though...now that she thought of it...now was the perfect time to grab a handful of beignets while all eyes were focused on Jasmine, and she quickly made her way towards the pastry table. “Scuse me,” she offered to whoever got in her path as she worked her way toward the sweetness.

 The last party Dave had been at, he hadn't been, strictly speaking, invited. He had, strictly speaking, almost drowned because he'd been trapped in a magically frozen lake. So. This could only be better. Although it felt mighty weird being invited to a party when the only time he'd really gotten to know Jasmine was by being attacked by Bloody Mary. Wasn't the neatest way of getting to know people. There were some faces he recognised, but as he waited for Jas to come in... Dave felt more than a little out of place in all this glamour. Doubly so when Jasmine (who he really only knew as an exorcist) came in on a goddamn palanquin. It was at this point that Dave concluded he would need a whole lot more beer.

 Attending functions that were important to one’s friends was the right thing to do, and Evelyn also knew that she truly enjoyed Jasmine’s company, and the two of them hadn’t had too much time to spend together recently. What better way to remedy that than by attending her birthday party? Miriam had given her full approval of her outfit (which wasn’t truly something she needed, but she enjoyed having the approval of others, so it certainly didn’t hurt). Evelyn couldn’t help but grin at Jasmine’s entrance. A bit over-the-top, certainly, but charming and perfectly executed. Though she shouldn’t have expected anything less. She’d grabbed one of the beignets and was absent-mindedly picking at it, giving a small wave to Jasmine as she was carried in.

 Once in the center of the room. Jasmine gracefully exited the palanquin as Jack offered her a hand. She smiled widely at the room filled with her various friends and acquaintances. As the song and cheers quieted, she called out, “Thank you so much to everyone for being here. I hope you have as much fun as I do. Please, help yourself to the open bar and assorted snacks available.” She made her way over to the bar to get herself a glass of champagne. It was, after all, a celebration. She dawned her lovely Mardi Gras green dress with gold accents with a lovely mask that included the use of crystals and gold flakes around the edges to give her an extra glamorous flair. She greeted her friends who were already at the bar and was ready for good old fashioned cheers. 

 From the moment she walked in, Erin had been pretty damn sure that she’d never been to a party quite as festive or extravagant as the one she’d stepped into. But the more she thought about it, the more it made sense for someone like Jasmine, and hollered and cheered as loud as she could along with the group when she was literally carried into her party. Good for her, she thought, as she beelined for the mouth-watering treats that lined one of the tables. After making sure she had a glass of champagne, of course. “Excuse you,” she joked, gently nudging Nell away and snatched one of the desserts she was reaching for first.

 So, Camille wasn’t going to say no to an excuse to let her hair down, especially now that she lived alone, even if she didn’t know all these people it was nice just to be out for a fun evening. The decor alone would’ve been enough to indicate that Jasmine intended to throw one hell of a party, and her over the top entrance confirmed it. She laughed and cheered along with others as she was carried in, and then realized that if she was going to be any sort of entertaining at this party a drink was probably a good idea. Thank god for an open bar. With a glass of wine in her hand Camille felt much better, and it wasn’t long before Jasmine appeared at the bar too. “Hey you!” She grinned, already feeling a bit excitable as she clinked their glasses together, “happy birthday! That was an interesting way to kick things off.”

 Not one for giving speeches and drawing attention to herself, especially in the state she was currently in, Leah was happy to let Nell and the others pour accolades and love on Jasmine as she was carried into the party, grinning genuinely for the first time in a few days at the ridiculousness of it all. She looked down at her outfit, wondering if she’d managed to stop it from clashing with her new sling and cast and feeling unusually self conscious.  She waved as Evelyn approached her, grabbing a beignet for herself and taking a bite.   “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for a drink”, she said to Evelyn.  “Can you drink…?  With your… you know, allergies?”

 Nell had already told Jasmine ‘Happy Birthday’ on multiple occasions, including when she’d shown up to help get the decorations in order— so she wasn’t all the intent on pushing through the mob to get to Jasmine at the moment. No doubt she’d make her way over there later, though. No. This was the time for powdered sugared pastries and...apparently Erin. Nell grinned up at the woman with little to no apologies, already stuffing one of the beignets into her mouth and swallowing before answering. But Erin was quick to snatch up the next one she’d had her eye on, “Hey! No, excuse you! That one’s mine- go get your own.” Nell wasn’t so proud so as not to swipe at the pastry Erin had stolen, doing her best to keep the mortician from actually eating it.

 She gave another wave to Leah, grateful to recognize someone in this party besides Jasmine. Evelyn grinned. “Luckily, one can trust Jasmine to have excellent taste in alcohol, so I say absolutely.” She nodded at her friend’s next question. “I can. Well, most drinks. Can… you?” She remembered Leah mentioning issues with water, but wasn’t sure how that extended itself to other liquids. “Just perhaps not a margarita for me, but most other things work well.” She nodded. “Shall we?”

 Nate shuffled himself a bit out of the way of the table to make room for anyone who wanted to grab a beignet or praline, mumbled out an ‘excuse me’ here and there. Nowadays he was far from the party animal he used to be, a man who once took up so much space at a gathering and dragged people out to the dance floor in droves. Now, he was hanging out by the food and trying to make himself as small as humanly possible, his fingers wrapped tightly around the glass of champagne he’d gotten when he came in. 

 Jasmine was more than happy to see Camille at the bar and was even happier that the woman had lived with Cece. New gal pals were always a win in her book and she was smiling ear to ear as she greeted her friend. “I’m so glad you made it,” she exclaimed, “And that dress looks amazing on you.” She laughed a bit at the comment on her entrance. What was a birthday without a grand entrance? Grand people deserved grand entrances. It was like the law… or something. “Thank you. I’ve always been of the go big or go home mentality. I’ll give credit where it’s due and note it was Nell’s idea. If you don’t know her, I’m sure you’ll meet her today. If anything she says sounds too crazy, she’s probably trolling you.” 

 Oz was not immune to a good party. More often than not, they invited chaos. Less often, they were decent opportunities to get information on targets, slip away into unguarded chambers for reconnaissance. He’d spent most of his week arguing with minor artists in the northeast, weighing their work against each other for a spot in the opening exhibition. It made him prickly and, worse, gave him little time to explore the town. Finally, he had time. Wandering through the cold streets, he drifted naturally towards the raucous music coming from Speakeasy, just in time to see a woman being carried in on a palanquin. Huh. Oz slipped in, searching for someone who’d actually been invited. There was a nervous-looking man standing by the food. Perfect. He plucked his own glass of champagne from another guest on the way over, and raised it to the man. “A toast to new friends.” Oz figured, if nothing else, he could have a bit of fun messing with this guy.

 Leah nodded as well, happy to have a chance to explain a bit more to Evelyn.  “I can, mostly everything.  Just water is a no-go.”  She thought about what Evenlyn said, nodding.  No Margaritas, no salt.  Evelyn had mentioned briefly that her skin reacted to salt, but this all but confirmed that the reactions were due to her supernatural status.  That narrowed it down significantly.  “We shall”, she grinned, popping the last bit of beignet  into her mouth before they made their way over.  She was determined to enjoy this night, injuries be damned.  With the wall as her guide, she made her way over to the bar with Evelyn.  “I do really need to treat you to lunch”, she said over her shoulder to the other woman.  “It’s the least I can do after that… sizeable donation I received on Christmas.  It’s too bad this is open bar, Evelyn, otherwise I’d insist on buying for you all night.”

 Nate nearly jumped out of his skin when someone addressed him directly. He’d been perfectly fine standing like a wallflower, careful not to look at anyone too closely lest he see that they had horns or hooves or something equally as monstrous. He smiled at the man and raised his glass a bit, nodding in response to his cheers. “To new friends,” he managed before taking a long sip. Out of the corner of his eye, the newcomer seemed to ebb and flow out of his vision, but when he looked straight on, he was totally normal. Nate took a deep breath. Must be the champagne. “So uh...how do you know Jas?” Cutler was determined to show Jasmine that he had more than one formal outfit in his closet. He had two, to be precise - but she didn’t have to know that. He felt strangled and hot and was beginning to regret the skinny black tie, which hung short over a leafy tropical button up. His eyes were drawn away from the engrossing task of tugging and smoothing his tie by the eruption of cheers around him, followed by the entrance of Jasmine on the palanquin. The bottle of D'Autrefois Pinot Noir suddenly felt heavy at his side as it dawned on him that he was, once again, far out of his depth. She looked extravagant and expensive, as did the cake, the decorations, and everyone here. Probably-no,definitely-too busy to chat. His free hand was already gesturing abstractly in the air at the end of the bar as he thought, I’m not getting through this without a drink. A couple rubbing elbows away, he recognized Erin tussling over a beignet and made a mental note to find her if he needed a reason not to talk to the person he came here to see. Near him, someone mumbled a quiet excuse me and he straightened against the bar to make room for the passerby. “You’re good, man.” He nodded, giving a small smile of acknowledgement. Someone behind him was toasting, and he raised his glass in a pavlovian, robotic response. “New friends.” He echoed, swallowing his drink with professional flourish.

 “That is good to know.” Evelyn nodded. “Yes, I just find that avoiding things like that is better.” Even if she still wasn’t entirely sure how she would react to salted items, it was easier to explain things that was versus explaining that she just couldn’t walk over salt lines. But that was something to discuss when it was just the two of them, and when they weren’t celebrating a dear friend’s birthday. “We will make a plan of it,” she offered Leah a gentle smile. “Besides, that donation was more than earned and was far less than you deserve. If it makes you feel better, you can order for me, how does that sound? Red wine is always a plus in my book.” 

 “You snooze you lose, kid--hey!” Erin laughed as Nell pawed at the macaron on it’s way to her mouth. She put her arm up, blocking off the shorter woman with just enough time to pop the treat into her mouth. “Get away, there’s like a hundred more!” She said, pointing to the table with a full mouth. She washed it down with the last sip of the champagne in her glass and grabbed a few more treats. There were more than a few familiar faces but she could see the woman of the hour from here. Grabbing a few treats in a napkin for the short walk, she headed towards the bar. “Happy Birthday, lady!” She greeted. “I’m pretty sure that was the most fabulous entrance I’ve ever seen in my life. Which, you know. Makes absolute sense considering…” she didn’t need to finish her sentence, just gestured towards Jasmine with a big grin.

 “I can’t remember the last time I went to a party, which meant I had to come.” Camille smiled and sipped her wine, brushing a hand down the front of her dress. It was vaguely on theme- apparently purple was a mardi gras colour- which was good enough considering the small wardrobe she had to work with. “Thanks. Though I don’t look as good as you, obviously.” Her eyes strayed over to the food table, and the woman mentioned. “Oh, I think we’ve met.” Camille looked in thought for a moment, as if trying to remember her. Like she could forget. “Yeah… At a coffee shop. Just briefly, we nearly mixed up our orders.” She laughed, “she seemed nice. I’m sure she won’t say anything crazy- is that a habit of hers?”

 Someone else had echoed Oz’s toast behind him, and Oz shifted his body just so, inviting the person into the conversation without explicitly acknowledging them. The wider a circle could get, the more it’d look like Oz belonged here. Oz grinned, all teeth. “I don’t, actually.” The man seemed to be avoiding his gaze. Oz was hot, but he’d never pushed a man (or otherwise, for that matter) from averting his eyes from his good looks. Did he know this man, somehow? Faces swam in his memory, but none matched with the person in front of him. He filed that information away, searching for a quick half-truth. “I’ve been looking for someone who does know her, but I’ve only found you.” Oz winked, taking a quick swig of his champagne. He shrugged, amicably. “It’s not a party if you’re not meeting new people, I say.” He tossed a quick grin to the man who’d joined in on the faux-toast. “Speaking of…” He held out his hand to the newcomer, another shark-wide grin. “Osric.” A wink over his shoulder to the shy man. “But you can both call me Oz, if you like.”

 “You said it, not me,” Jasmine said with a small laugh to indicate she was in fact joking. It was one thing to call herself beautiful and another entirely to claim she was the most gorgeous person in the room… no matter how true it was. When Camille said she had already met Nell, Jasmine would have bet actual money that it was because Nell had trolled her on the internet. As it turned out, that wasn’t the case. “Oh, good! I’m glad to hear that. And let’s just say she has a penchant for messing with people. It can be highly amusing depending on who you are.” When Erin walked up to join them for a drink, she gave a welcoming wave and smile. “Erin, hey! Have you met my friend Camille?” She gestured to the lovely woman in purple standing beside her. “Thanks, it was Nell’s idea, but I think I pulled it off fabulously. Well, me and the attractive muscled men.” 

 Nell didn’t leave her crusade of taking back the pastry unfinished until Erin had finally and wholly eaten it, determined to make Erin regret taking the macaron that Nell had been eyeing at least a little bit. But as the other woman drifted towards Jasmine, Nell followed suit- but not before stacking an impressively sized tower of pastries into her tiny gremlin hands. “Happy Birthday!” Nell yelled at Jasmine for what was probably the third or fourth time that day. She’d only just caught the tail end of Jasmine’s conversation while walking up, and cocked her head to the side while catching her name. “Of course you pulled it off fabulously. The muscled men were just accessories, and we know it. You were the crown jewel.” With that she ate another of the many pastries in her hands whole.

 Leaning against the bar for support, Leah’s eyes widened at Evelyn.  “Please”, she chided, “That was more than enough.  I don’t think we’ve ever had this much surplus in our budget before… it’s... incredible.”  She thought on it, nodding.  Evelyn’s idea would have to do, at least for now.   The bartenders, for their part, worked quickly, and she handed Evelyn a glass of Pinot Noir, grining.  “In honor of the birthday girl, …her favorite”, she said sipping on her own glass.  “How do you know Jas?”, she wondered, watching Jasmine in her element.  It was a relief that this party was going over so well.  Jasmine, above almost everyone, deserved such an extravagant celebration.

She eyed Leah, a bit of a concerned look crossing her face. But whatever had happened to her, Evelyn wasn’t going to force her to say anything. She didn’t think that Leah was quite as private as she was, but she also didn’t want to pry too much. “Well, you and the library deserve it. So it was my pleasure. She took the glass from Leah, “and an excellent favorite it is, if I do say so myself.” She took a small sip before answering - first glancing over to where Jasmine was standing, before focusing back on Leah. “When I first moved here - well, it will be five years come April - she sold me my house. We got along quite well and I suppose just sort of naturally clicked. How about yourself?” She asked, tapping her fingers against the wine glass. Cutler hummed reciprocally, only half listening to the toaster in front of him. Behind his flowery words, he had a magnetic quality about him. He was attractive, sure, but this wasn’t something so tangible. Whatever was causing the third in their circle to avert his gaze was the same thing that held Cutler’s attention even as champagne bottles popped behind the bar and little pieces of gold confetti itched at his beard. “Oz.” He repeated, pumping their hand shake with a relaxed grip. “Cutler.” He took another sip of his drink and looked between the two men before deciding to weigh in on their conversation. “So, Oz. You don’t know Jasmine? Are you party crashing?” The last drops of his whisky crashed against the side of his glass as he set it on the bar and gestured for one more. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna rat you out. Friend.” He winked, imitating Oz’s earlier action. 

 Erin turned to the other woman with a bright smile. “I haven’t! Nice to meet you. I’m Erin,” she said before putting down her empty glass and plucking up a fresh flute. She felt only a little out of her element at the moment, surrounded by the glitz and glamour of the theme of the party, but it wasn’t a bad feeling at all. Jasmine’s excitement was downright infectious. “Oh, beautiful accessories. Good call,” she agreed. Glancing between Nell and Jasmine, she subtly pointed to one of those muscled men who’d carried her in. “Wait, isn’t that the same guy from your party, Nell?”

 Nate stepped to the side again, widening his circle out of muscle memory. Luckily the new guy seemed totally normal too. He breathed a sigh of relief and continued to try and ignore the watery edges of the man who didn’t seem to know Jas at all. Not that he could blame the guy if he was crashing, this was probably going to be the event of the season. Not to mention Nate hadn’t always been invited to every party he’d been to. He smiled a bit more easily, though the guy - Oz - had something about his smile that made him feel like prey. “Nate,” he introduced himself to the two men before taking another long sip. “Definitely not a Hale party without new friends, that’s for sure.” 

 Camille returned the smile and sipped her drink, “It’s nice to meet you too, Erin.” She nudged Jasmine gently in the side, “we shouldn’t inflate her ego too much.” She teased, “I dread to think what mode of transportation she’ll manage to find next year when her birthday rolls around again.” Camille gave Nell what she hoped was a warm enough smile, despite the nerves that disturbed her at seeing the other woman again. This was a party, surely she wouldn’t say anything out of turn. Though Erin’s question served to distract her from that fear, “How have I never seen this guy before? He is like… The intimidating kind of hot.” She spoke in a hushed tone, so to not be overheard by said man.

 “You’re too sweet”, Leah said with a shy grin, sipping more wine.  It was going down easier than she expected, and that was saying something.  She was determined to find a way to pay the woman back- along with Mercy and Arthur, too, one way or another. Her eyebrows raised in realization at Evelyn’s anecdote, and she nodded.  “She meets so many people that way, it’s incredible.  She sold me my house as well, but well… we met years before that.  We’ve been best friends since we were kids”, she explained, smiling nostalgically.  “Despite White Crest’s antics we’ve managed to stick together with another friend of ours for forever.  It’d feel strange not to be in her life now, honestly.”

 Another wide grin was on her face as Nell approached. Jasmine was grateful for how she pulled this whole shindig off. “Thank you, Nellie. And thank you for planning this perfect party. I don’t know how any of my future birthdays could ever top this.” She gestured around at the decor and crowd. They’d cross that bridge when they got to it. She laughed as Erin and Nell spoke and agreed, “My favorite kind of accessory. Think one of them knows how to cook and is down for being a trophy husband?” Jasmine looked over at who Erin was gesturing to. “Oh, Jack? He was at both Bea’s and Nell’s birthday parties. He’s pretty much a birthday staple at this point. A very, very hot birthday staple.” At the mention of her next mode of transportation, Jasmine giggled and took another sip of champagne. “I’m sure we’ll think of something to top this entrance for next year.” She gave Nell a playful nudge as she spoke. Maybe a magic carpet or like a Britney Spears “Baby One More Time” tour style of flying over the crowd. There was an amused grin on her face as Camille spoke of Jack. “Oh, he’s definitely super hot, but don’t let it be intimidating. He’s a nice guy. Plus, you’re also really hot. And a delight!” 

 “Oh yeah, that’s Jack!” Nell said brightly, giving another wave in the stripper’s direction. She was pretty sure Bea had brought him over for dinner sometimes at this point. “I think he’s Bea’s friend now.” Or maybe she was wrong. It was hard to keep track of things when she was under constant demon cult barrage. Nell’s gaze lingered a little too long on Camille, still having far too many questions when it came to the woman’s necromancy origins. Unfortunately, now wasn’t the place to ask them. “Oh, Jack’s not intimidating, really. He’s actually very sweet.” Sending Jasmine another grin, she rearranged her pile of pastries to make sure none of them fell. “I’m just glad I could help. You know I love makin’ parties. And I’m sure we’ll think of something for next year.”

 Oz feigned a grimace at Cutler’s words, the back of his mind sparking with intent. It was always useful to start lacing webs of promises early, especially ones that had been lined up so neatly for him. “Ah, thanks friends.” Little too thick? Eh. “Promise you two will cover for me if things ever go south?” He shrugged amicably. “I’m new in town, and I’d like to avoid making enemies. For now.” Oz huffed out an awkward, fake laugh.

 “Hardly - or, perhaps, selectively,” Evelyn sighed for a moment, though she kept a small smile on her face. Perhaps she was, if so many people kept insisting upon it. “I do suppose that a job like hers lends itself to that. She does manage it expertly, from what I can tell.” She was grateful to have met someone like Jasmine back then - in part because she didn’t judge Evelyn for being relatively young and able to pay for the house in full right to start, but also for the genuine feeling that their conversations had held, even from the beginning. Even though, as far as she knew, Jasmine was human. “She did? Well, she certainly has a way about the town, so that makes sense.” Her expression softened, and for a moment she glanced down at the floor. What was it like to have a friend since childhood? “That’s great! I’ve heard that can happen, if you have a friend for long enough. Becomes weird to imagine your life without them. I’m glad you two have one another,” she replied genuinely. Grabbing her phone for one moment, she took a photograph of her wine glass, sending a text to Miriam quickly before focusing back on her friend. “A friend could not make it, and so I told her I’d keep her updated on what is going on.” She provided as an explanation. “Does Jasmine try to throw parties like this for you, too? Or did she ever, in all your years of knowing one another?”

 Nate nodded, absently picking up a few beignets to occupy his hands and mouth. It had been so long since he’d been to a party or around a bunch of guys that he’d nearly forgotten how to hold a conversation. His heart was hammering but he tried not to show it, instead focusing on what he could control. “Oh yeah, of course.” He glanced around the room full of laughter and drinking and dancing, wondering how anything could go south. “I’ll help you out in any way I can, enemies here are...well they’re not great to have.” 

 Cutler wasn’t sure if it was the drink or the infectious nature of the other man’s grin, but he felt compelled to agree. “Sure, I’ll cover for you. I don’t think you have much to worry about, though. Seems like an open-invite deal. Don’t see them cracking down on party crashers. Talk about a mood ruiner.” His eyes went from the beignets back up to the third man’s mouth, now stuffed. “Enemies?” Something at the back of his mind began to pulse nervously. All this talk of enemies and trouble, perhaps. “You guys make a lot of enemies? You’d level with me if you were planning something, right?”

 Leah smiled softly at Evelyn’s explanation, reminding her of their previous conversation about emojis.  “Some people like taking pictures of their food and drinks just for fun.  As some sort of documentation, I suppose.”  She shook her head at Evelyn’s question, taking another gulp of wine.  “I think Jasmine and Bea- that’s our other friend-, I think they know I’d just about die if they subjected me to something like this.  Too much attention, I think...I wouldn’t enjoy it at all.  I prefer a quiet dinner with close friends, usually.  Did you ever have big extravagant birthday parties?” She imagined she must have, coming from the childhood she did.  Though she did remember her mentioning that she didn’t have any siblings, or many friends growing up since she never went to school.  Leah hoped her question wasn’t insensitive.  

 Dave breathed in deeply as he took in the scenery, feeling distinctly out of place in his only mildly frayed shirt and cargo shorts, but that was what Jasmine had signed up for. As he inhaled, he caught the scent of a brackish pond, like someone had just been fishing and had fallen in or something. It was deeply familiar. He turned his attention over to a trio of men, where the smell was coming from, walking over. "Evenin' folks. Mind if I join? Don't know too many folks at this party." And most of them were young.

 “A hot air balloon?” Camille chimed in with her idea, giggling as she took another sip from her glass.  She turned her gaze back to Nell, “this is a really impressive party, by the way. Like, wow.” A compliment couldn’t hurt in making sure her secrets were kept for now, right? Plus it was true. Cam had organized a few parties for co-workers before but this was beyond anything she’d ever done. “Oh.” She waved a hand dismissively, “a delight I may be, but I can’t compete with abs like that. Not that- it’s still too soon for me to be thinking about guys and what have you, probably.” She thought of Carrington for a moment and tried not to blush, hiding her face with another gulp from her wine glass. “How do you two know Jasmine, then?” She asked, trying to steer the topic another way.

 Nate’s eyes went wide. “Planning something? Here? Ohhh absolutely not,” he laughed, eyeing Jasmine. The idea of ruining her lavish party with some sort of prank or scheme was far beyond Nate, even in his prankster years. “Talk about making an enemy.” He tossed another beignet into his mouth. “No, more like...you peeve someone off and they leave strang packages on your doorstep for a month. Or blast music at all hours of the night. Or suddenly your car goes missing. Nothing super doom and gloom.” At least that’s what Nate had experienced, not that he ever made many enemies. He turned to the new addition and smiled, the expression freezing on his face when the man spoke. Needle sharp teeth extended from his gums where normal human teeth should have been. His words were friendly enough, but altogether ruined by the fact that he looked like Jaws had a baby with a person. “Y-yeah! The more the merrier!”

 Oz masked a smile at the newcomer’s appearance, happy to be able to avoid any probing questions from Cutler’s direction. A tingle of power echoed the men’s words in the back of his head. “Absolutely! We were just having a conversation about how I didn’t know anybody at this party. My invite…” He let the sentence trail off. Whatever they’d construct was fine, especially given the promises. Nate, however, looked less than pleased at their new arrival. “The more the merrier,” he echoed. What was going on here…?

 “I am trying to attempt to be some variation of with the times, I suppose.” Not that Evelyn figured Leah would mind too much - or at all - if she were not, but some part of her still found herself feeling a bit too out of touch at times. “I sort of had gathered as much. Quiet dinner, or a time spent with films or books, seems far more up your alley.” The name Bea sounded vaguely familiar to her, but she’d have to focus on that more later. “Oh, I have been part of many extravagant parties, birthdays absolutely included in that. My father threw me a party with about two thousand people… somehow… for my fourteenth birthday. I think he just wanted to show me off. I do not know where he found that many people and I spent most of my time to the side. I had other large parties, but that was the biggest. Since coming here, I have found that I sometimes prefer things more lowkey, I’d rather spend time with a few people I care about than many people I,” find boring, too human, and do not care for, “do not know. So I suppose things can change. I have nothing against attention, but I think finally having friends,” she shrugged, “gives a new perspective. I am glad Jasmine gets all this attention though, she deserves it.”

 “Maybe getting carried out could just be your thing each year, you know? Just add a new spin to it. But always, always include the muscle men. I think that part goes without saying but I needed to emphasize it.” Erin glanced over at Nell’s pile of treats and snagged another one from her. Her grin brightened when she noticed Cutler across the way, and after wishing Jasmine another happy birthday, she excused herself and made her way over to the circle of guys loitering by the desserts. “Hey! I didn’t know you knew Jasmine,” she said upon approaching. “Looking snazzy, though. It’s good to see you!” Cutler glanced toward the newcomer, not expecting to have to cover for his new acquaintance quite so soon. He made another noncommittal grunt of agreement and nodded a chin toward him. “Not true, Oz. You know me.” He smiled, the half-truth only a little sour on his tongue. The predatory look on his accomplice’s face didn’t alleviate any of the discomfort that was beginning to turn his stomach. “Of course we don’t mind-” He was cut off by the appearance of Erin at his side, a welcome distraction. “Hey! You clean up nice yourself.” He lifted the wine bottle in his hand woefully and leaned in a little closer to be heard. “Only a little. I was going to give her this, but I..” He turned his head to see her, doting upon her loyal attendees. “...I think she’s busy.”  

“I think you’re doing great, Evelyn.  Blending right in!”.  Leah smiled at Evelyn’s correct assumptions about her, finishing up her last few sips of wine.  “You’ve already read me like a book, it seems”, she mused.   She listened carefully as her friend told her another extravagant story about her childhood, this one just as interesting as the last she’d heard.  “That sounds… incredible,... but perhaps a bit uncomfortable?”  It seemed by the way she was describing it that Evelyn felt more like a trophy piece to her father than his daughter.  “I’m glad, at least, that you’ve been able to establish more of your own rhythm in life.  That’s perhaps the hardest part of coming into adulthood and separating from the people who raised you.”  She thought for a moment, waiting a beat before speaking again.  “But hey-  m

“Hot air balloon sounds fun, but Erin may be right. Having the muscled men is really part of the appeal,” Jasmine joked. Well, maybe it wasn’t so much a joke as it was said jokingly. Almost instantly she was shaking her head, “You can compete with his abs. Don’t undersell yourself, you’re a catch.” She would take none of her friends not believing they shouldn’t shoot their shot. “And hey, if he’s not into it, he’s not into it. That’s a different story entirely though. Ask guys out on dates whenever it feels right for you.” While she was single herself, Jasmine liked to think she had a wealth of wisdom to provide on the subject of dating. Rule number one was always no mimes. Don’t trust anyone on Tinder in this town was a close second. That was how you became someone’s dinner. Decidedly not the type of snack anyone wanted to be. “Anyway, I think it’s time for a toast.” She took that moment to welcome herself onto the stage where the band was playing and clink her glass. “Everyone, I purpose a toast. To another year of thriving and happiness with some of the greatest people in town.” She raised her glass to the crowd before finishing off the flute of champagne. It was now time for dancing and she had the feeling one of the muscled men who carried her in would make for a perfect dancing partner.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

WIN A DATE WITH SPIDER-MAN!

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: E (explicit sexual content) Word count: 10,358 @spideychelleweek​

Spideychelle Week Day 4: Meeting Again After High School

Summary: The fact that MJ bought a ticket to this event doesn't mean she wants to be here. It's a favour for a friend, who is not the man someone in the room is about to win a date with. No, that guy isn't her friend, just a date-skipping, heart-breaking ex from high school. Whatever. She's out of here the second they draw the name. It better not be hers.

“If my name gets drawn, I’m going to murder you,” MJ informs Betty when her friend leans against the bar for a breather. She swallows the end of her drink. “Just so you know.”

“You won’t get picked,” Betty assures her.

She isn’t looking at MJ, but at the rest of the people assembled in the hotel’s large event room, a space generously donated for the occasion. It better be one of them, MJ thinks. Anyone but her.

“I could.”

“You won’t,” Betty insists, turning and flagging the bartender to request a glass of cranberry juice.

“Daring,” MJ mutters.

“I’m working, remember? Anyway, look around. Entry was fifty dollars―”

“That I remember. You’re totally paying me back for doing this.”

Betty rolls her eyes and continues. “It was fifty dollars per entry and how many times do you think they put their names in?” she asks MJ, pointing a subtle finger at a clump of socialites.

“Jeeze, hope nobody blew their allowance,” MJ retorts sarcastically. She’s tempted to get another drink, but more alcohol in her system isn’t going to help her get through this. It may, however, help her get over it afterwards, when she’s back in her apartment.

“Well, one of them’s hoping to blow more than their allowance,” Betty says with a knowing little cock of her head.

“Yikes, Betty, you speak to your grandmother with that mouth?”

Betty ignores her and takes a sip of the cranberry juice the bartender sets before her. She places the glass back on the bar, staring at it for a minute, before she winces―pre-regret, is the emotion MJ’s learned to identify the look as―and asks the bartender to add a splash of vodka.

“I have a lot riding on this,” she tells MJ after a heartier swig of her newly-adult drink.

“I know you do,” MJ replies in a softer tone.

“The event was my big idea and I didn’t think my editor would go for it and now we’ve done so much promotion and if it doesn’t work out...” She turns sharply to her friend. “Do you think it won’t work out?”

“It’s already working out. You got a great turnout. Hell, you got me here.”

“You’re my emotional support though. You don’t count.”

“Ouch. Is that what you tell your fiancé when he comes to these things?”

“I wouldn’t have to. Ned would kill to be here. He’d be laughing his ass off. In, like, a supportive way,” Betty clarifies.

“Guess their friendship’s still strong then,” MJ mumbles. She frowns when the bartender removes her glass. Now she has nothing to do with her hands. She thumps her elbows onto the bar.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know it is. I know he’s still on your radar.”

“He is not. Besides his picture in your paper―”

“It’s not my paper,” Betty corrects, but she’s flattered. Tonight’s event should land her a promotion and that’s one step closer to the editor-in-chiefdom she’s striving to attain by 35. Though she’s still got six years to capture it, she loves to come in ahead of a deadline.

“―I haven’t seen him in years.”

“Well, you’ll see him tonight.”

“Will I?” MJ glances sideways at Betty. “Is he even here yet?”

“Fashionably late,” is her friend’s positive spin. “But it’s fine because I built a twenty-minute buffer into the schedule just in case.”

“You’ll need it. He’s allergic to punctuality.”

Betty sighs so loudly that MJ sits bolt upright.

“Can’t you even say his name?” she snaps.

“Are you ok? Do you need me to find you a paper bag to breathe into?”

“Shut up. God, what time is it?” Suddenly frantic, Betty checks her watch, twisting it around her wrist. She glances up at the stage, where a man in a generic black suit is stepping out to scattered applause. “He’s not supposed to start his speech for another fifteen minutes! Sorry, I have to…”

“Go on,” MJ encourages. “Boss them around. Sort it out.”

“If you see Peter arrive…”

“You’ll be alerted by my loud screeches of aversion,” she promises. Betty hesitates at that, so MJ gives her a gentle shove.

When the back of her friend’s pale pink gown disappears through the crowd, MJ rotates on her stool to observe the room. She still hasn’t said his name and she wishes she wasn’t so aware of it. It’s come out of Betty’s mouth a hundred times today. Besides that, it’s printed on signs around the room, along with his face―unmasked, naturally, to help move tickets. Good looks are always for sale and the newspaper Betty works for isn’t above leveraging that. The money raised by this event is for a good cause though, MJ has to allow that much. Two new clinics to service the city’s vulnerable homeless population, one staffing mental health professionals and the other a safe injection site as NYC combats the opioid crisis. It’d just be nice to attend a fundraiser that wasn’t somehow all about him.

She slips from her stool and realizes cutting herself off at one drink was a good idea; she has unforgivingly-high heels on tonight, the kind that make grown men cry, and her balance is still intact. MJ’s not using the intimidating height the shoes give her to compensate for the secret fear being here inspires. She’s not. Smoothing the front of the silky material of her pants, she lets them fall back into place before circling the room. There’s an art to it, moving through the wealthy strangers without actually mingling, and MJ thinks she’s gotten pretty good at making people scared to meet her eye... until a lackey from the mayor’s office steps directly in front of her and presses a leaflet, featuring the evening’s itinerary, into her hands. MJ sighs and slaps it down on the first tall cocktail table she passes. She doesn’t mean to look, but the white letters on a red background catch her eye: WIN A DATE WITH SPIDER-MAN! No thanks, MJ thinks, walking quickly away in search of Betty. I try not to make the same mistake twice.

Half an hour later, with the mayor’s long-winded speech running over before finally wrapping up, MJ watches her friend step up to the podium that’s just been vacated, clapping and beaming. It’s not her stressed smile either. Fuck. MJ exhales slowly. That smile says everything’s going smoothly, which tells her Peter’s here. Where is he? How did she miss him coming in? In spite of herself, she cranes her head around to look, not paying attention to Betty’s speech that thanks everyone for coming before shifting into introducing the guest of honour. She’s heard it before. Helped her friend practice. MJ was open to that kind of thing, weeks ago, before Betty pressganged-slash-guilted her into buying a ticket for the fucking Spider-Man lottery. She’s right though―they’ve sold thousands of tickets. She’ll never win. If she’s really lucky, Peter will never even know she was at this thing.

Which is definitely what she wants, MJ reminds herself, adjusting the lapels of the tightly tailored blazer she’s worn with no blouse underneath. For him to not notice her.

When Peter steps out from a side door with a big wave and a nervous smile, she’s deaf to the fanfare. Belatedly, she starts to clap, glancing around and dropping her hands when everyone else does. She doesn’t want to be the last idiot clapping. He’d spot her then for sure. As she watches him mount the low stage and let Betty guide him into position, MJ thinks he looks fairly anxious. Like, he looks nice, presentable, but unsure of himself. It’s the nicest suit she’s ever seen him wear, but his all-purpose one back in high school didn’t set a high bar.

He says a few words, voice coming out high at first as his eyes dart around the crowd (MJ steps slightly behind a very tall man and tells herself she isn’t hiding), then Betty takes over again, lightly touching his arm and eloquently rescuing him while keeping her event on track. She’s exceptional, MJ thinks. Distinguished master-of-ceremonies and gregarious gameshow host at the same time. MJ couldn’t do this job, which is why she switched from journalism to a literary agency three years ago. She’s better at negotiating than pleasing, better at handling people one-on-one. Except for him. She sees Peter step to the side and try to look excited as Betty holds a red pail (ok, a little lame―one of the interns failed in prop acquisition) for the mayor to submerge his hand into and pluck out a name. MJ had him one-on-one, looking only at her, with no sea of people. She was fifteen, unaware of his secret identity that still was secret at the time, and things didn’t work out. People think dating a superhero is such a fantasy. Disappointment was the boring reality.

A name’s drawn and MJ starts clapping along with everyone else. It takes almost half a minute for her to realize the name was hers.

They want to get her on stage, but she balks. Betty makes an excuse into the microphone, something about MJ not wanting to take attention away from the evening’s mission. The fact that landing a date with Spider-Man wasn’t the evening’s sole mission might come as a shock to some of the whining voices around her. Normally, she’d glare at them or make a sarcastic comment about their noble motivations, but she can’t. First of all, she won’t jeopardize the success of Betty’s event. Second, her human wall has stepped aside and Peter’s looking at her. And MJ’s looking back. Betty gracefully wraps things up on stage, her diamond engagement ring catching the light stunningly to add glamour to her showmanship, and then she, the mayor, and Spider-Man himself are descending into the crowd.

Does she flee? Is this MJ’s one chance to run?

But no, Betty weaves through to find her and grabs her hand like she knows what her friend’s plotting.

“You have to find someone else,” MJ says hurriedly. “Draw another name.”

“I can’t. You won fair and square.”

“I didn’t want to win.”

“I know.” Neither of them are looking at each other; they’re both looking in the direction Peter will inevitably approach from when he escapes the impromptu meet-and-greet.

“Tell them I’m sick.”

“Wouldn’t work,” Betty says. “The date’s not tonight.”

“Tell them it’s the beginning of a prolonged and ultimately fatal sickness.”

“Not very on-brand for Spider-Man to skip out on a date with someone terminally ill.”

“I’ll make it extremely clear that it was my decision. Would you take a last-minute opinion piece on why I hate Spider-Man and publish it tomorrow?”

“Babe, you don’t hate Spider-Man, you just don’t forgive the people who hurt you.”

Betty’s assessment is presented so casually that it startles MJ. It’s absolutely accurate, but she’s horrified that she’s been so easy to read. That’s the problem with having close friends. They know you and on top of that, they bully you into entering contests to date your high school ex. She’s never making a friend again.

“Yeah, I know,” MJ sighs, and then Peter appears, shaking one last hand, before turning their way.

“I owe you, I owe you, I owe you,” Betty hisses. “Please don’t make a scene.”

People are looking. Jealous weirdos.

“Hey, MJ,” he says, eyes catching hers. She breaks that shit off immediately, looking up and away from him.

“I go by Michelle now.”

“She doesn’t,” Betty cuts in.

“Oh... ok,” Peter says with obvious and understandable confusion. “So, you wanna...?”

He goes to put a hand on MJ’s back and she dodges it.

“What the hell are you doing?” she demands.

He glances uncertainly from her to Betty and back.

“Betty said they’d need to take a picture of me with the, uh, winner.”

MJ laughs bitterly.

“This just keeps getting better.”

Betty mutters a reminder: “No scene.”

So she acquiesces, following Betty over to the spot she previously decided on for the photo, next to one of the signs for the event. MJ doesn’t let Peter touch or guide her and he doesn’t try again. A photographer―signaled by Betty―approaches and she tactfully poses her friends to make them look friendly without physical contact. Betty gestures for her to smile and, for her, MJ manages a brief closed-lipped one, standing stiffly at Peter’s side. She’s a little curious about what his face is doing; is he being Spider-Man, beaming and happy to be here, or is he as uncomfortable as she is and just faking it until this evening is over?

After a dozen rapid clicks of the camera, the photographer and Betty walk away, Betty seeming to tell him what else she’d like shots of. Peter can return to his adoring fans, but he hasn’t yet and with Betty occupied, MJ’s floundering for a polite way to excuse herself. She makes the mistake of meeting Peter’s eye and he gives her a soft smile.

“You look so good.”

Heart seizing, she turns and marches for the exit, leaving him standing there.

―

“Thanks for taking the time to say goodbye,” Betty says over the phone, sarcasm perky and damning.

MJ groans. She stretches out on her couch and mutes the TV. It’s the morning after the event and she’s unproductive, not that it has anything to do with seeing Peter last night.

“I’m sorry. I had to get out of there.”

“You know, I think you’re the only person in this city, aside from criminals, who runs the other way at the sight of Spider-Man.”

“I didn’t run.”

“You didn’t stick around either. Peter could’ve used you there.”

“I’m not even going to respond to that.”

“Look, MJ,” Betty sighs, “I’m on your side, but do you really think it’s impossible that he’s grown a little since high school?”

“I haven’t seen any proof of that,” MJ huffs. “What I remember is him always showing up late, if he showed up at all, and let me remind you that he was late last night.”

“It’s the nature of his work.”

“Sounds like you’re defending him and therefore on his side.”

“The world is on his side and not all of us are stubborn enough to disagree with seven and a half billion people!” Betty exclaims. “Fine, I am on Spider-Man’s side, as an admirer of the good things he does, but as a friend, I’m on your side. A hundred percent.”

“You’re still making me go through with this date, aren’t you?”

“I have all the details right here in front of me, if you―”

MJ hangs up. Betty will forgive her.

―

The date takes place in the middle of the day in Central Park. It’s been two weeks since Peter allowed himself to be auctioned off, which has meant two weeks of MJ pleading with an immovable Betty to find a replacement and about two hours of stoic acceptance (just this morning). The time and location were selected for them based on what would result in the best pictures. Oh yeah, there’s a photographer here again, ready to spend the next three hours (three hours?) trailing them around the park to take candid shots of their afternoon. The paper’s planning a big image gallery for their website. According to Betty, this follow-up to her event will be their main photo story of the summer. Fucking excellent. All MJ could really do to prepare was wear comfortable white sneakers and a light denim jacket in case a wind came up or something. She’s already regretting that, with the sun right overhead in the sky and the air totally still around her. She moves her hair off her neck and turns to the photographer.

“He’ll probably be late,” MJ warns.

She, like the photographer, was early. Wanting to get today over with, she paid more attention to her willingness to participate (which might not last) than to showing up a full forty-five minutes ahead of the scheduled time. If this was a normal date, that might look like enthusiasm. Peter, in contrast, probably forgot this is happening today. He’s probably asleep or off somewhere being... Nope, here he comes, bounding up the path. Why did MJ wear the jacket? She’s so overheated.

“Hi,” Peter greets the photographer first, shaking her hand. Perennial people-pleaser, she thinks, but she did the same when she arrived. It just feels so natural to be judgemental towards him.

“And is it MJ or Michelle today?” he asks her.

Ooh, there was a little bite to that and MJ raises her eyebrows at it, though, if anything, she’s impressed that Peter’s developed some measure of a backbone.

“Michelle,” she says. She doesn’t offer her hand. He doesn’t reach for it.

The photographer’s probably great at her job, she wouldn’t have been given this assignment otherwise, but patience must be her next best quality; MJ knows she and Peter aren’t making today easy for her. Things are tense between them, their body language is awkward, their attempts at conversation are worse. She’s done a great job at keeping him out of her life, despite their best friends being engaged, and she really doesn’t want to ruin that by talking about her work, her hobbies, her family, her apartment, her aspirations. None of it. That doesn’t leave a lot and MJ isn’t encouraging Peter to share details of his life either. She’s spent such a long time striving to remain ignorant of everything Peter-related. Basically since they graduated high school.

The best photos of them will probably be at the pond, where they fed ducks and MJ felt her expression soften, if not quite break out into a smile. Then, there was the ice cream. There should be a few useable shots there, seeing as eating doesn’t require smiling, meaning MJ’s lack of a grin won’t seem odd. The best images will probably come from right after. MJ’s ice cream dripped on her jacket, which seemed like divine intervention at first―she finally had a reason to remove it that wouldn’t look like she was trying to get Peter to watch her take her clothes off―until he stealthily grabbed the jacket from her hand while she was trying not to dump the rest of her ice cream. He hasn’t given it back. Probably looks so fucking chivalrous, carrying it around for her and all MJ can do is feel exposed and too aware of her bare shoulders in her green tank top. The self-consciousness makes her grouchy and there’s still an hour of this date to go.

“Michelle, I know you don’t want to be here,” Peter informs her while the photographer’s a short distance away, changing out her memory card, “but this isn’t about you. You could at least try a little bit.”

Her face floods with angry heat.

“I don’t want to be here? Neither do you. You wish I was anybody else.”

His head jerks back.

“What? No, I don’t. If anything, I’m relieved.”

“Are you?” MJ’s suspicious.

“Well, I was when the mayor picked your name. I thought it might be nice to catch up with you rather than have to entertain some rich stranger. You don’t know how exhausting that is.”

She laughs and he spins towards her, clearly upset.

“Why do you have to react like that, like what I do is a joke?”

MJ holds up her hands.

“I’m sorry being with me is so tiring for you. I guess that’s why you were never around when we were supposed to be together.”

“We’re talking about high school now? You know why I missed dates.”

“Or showed up late, or left early,” she continues for him.

“Nobody knew then, dammit! I was all on my own, trying to be me and Spider-Man and, at the time, being him felt more important. Now, I can apologize for that, but I can’t fix it.”

MJ snorts.

“Would you even want to?”

“MJ,” he says, giving up on calling her by her full name, “we were fifteen.”

“And that means what? That it wasn’t a real relationship?”

A laugh bursts out of Peter that the photographer may have caught because MJ can hear her snapping photos of them again. Hopefully, she can’t see the wounded, incredulous look on MJ’s face from that angle.

“It means I was crazy about you and I had no idea what I was doing.”

“You could’ve told me about Spider-Man,” she says, lowering her voice and smoothing her expression as the photographer circles them.

“I kept trying to figure out how,” he admits. She studies his face in silence for a few seconds. “You dumped me before I could.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t very much fun being ignored.”

“I know. That’s been my life ever since.”

MJ rolls her eyes.

“Please. You aren’t ignored.”

“I meant by you.”

She opens her mouth but finds herself shaking her head instead of speaking.

“MJ...” Peter starts.

“Don’t,” she tells him. “Not... right now.”

MJ starts walking again, but not before seeing his eyes turn hopeful at the way she left things open. Peter skips to her side. They look sideways at each other and the atmosphere feels suddenly lighter. It’s been a long time, but also, maybe not so long. It pleases and terrifies her to see that he’s still Peter, even with the fame he’s gained over the years.

“Would you want to have dinner?” he asks quietly. “I think it’s pretty obvious that we have some things to sort out.”

She eyes him, wary.

“When?”

“Tonight?” Peter proposes. “Why not, right? I don’t know what these last two weeks have been like for you, but I don’t want to have to do that again. Sit around and wonder what you were thinking and how you could possibly still be so mad at me.”

MJ’s already told him she won’t get into that again at the moment, but now that he’s offering her an opportunity, she’s unsure if she wants to discuss their history at all. Maybe fourteen years later is still too soon.

“I’m wearing shorts,” she says, like that’s a feasible excuse. Peter looks down as if to confirm that.

“It’s not like I’ve never seen your bare legs before. MJ, come on,” he laughs when she strides away over the grass.

What is this looking like to the photographer? Playful? Adventurous? God, MJ doesn’t envy her or the person who’ll write the story, trying to weave a narrative out of this.

“You can go home first and change.”

“And where am I meeting you?” she asks, like she’s considering the idea.

“My place? Because it’s private,” he explains quickly at the look on her face. “I assumed you would’ve had enough of being watched for one day. If we went to a restaurant or something, everyone would stare.”

Ok, that’s reasonable, she supposes. She still doesn’t rush to agree.

“Just to talk?”

“Just to talk,” Peter confirms, jumping ahead of her and walking backwards so she’s forced to look at him. “I can make dinner too. What do you like? I have to buy groceries anyway.”

MJ halts.

“I’m not picky.”

“That means pasta, unless you say otherwise. Remember, I was raised by an Italian woman.”

“Fine.”

“Ok.”

Peter nods and gets out of her way so they can walk side by side again.

“By the way, all I meant by the leg thing was that I’ve seen you wear shorts before.”

He’s grinning. Such a little liar. MJ laughs loudly, surprising herself.

“Yeah, sure, Parker.”

They walk along in companionable silence for a few minutes, running down the clock on this date. Suddenly, Peter’s head tips towards her and he mumbles something. She asks him to repeat himself.

“Can I touch you now?”

“What?”

“Like, touch your back or hold your hand. Just so whoever puts this article together has something to work with.”

Yes, it’s the same thing she was thinking a little while ago, so she should agree to it, but she was also thinking that before he made another reference to her bare legs, and all the implication behind that comment. Would she say the fact that he brought it up surprises her? Yes. (Does that night still cross his mind?) Would she say there’s any sexual tension between them now because of it? Of course not. (Is she the only idiot here who just realized the feelings she swore she buried before junior year were in a very shallow grave?)

“Gimme my jacket back,” she says. When he does, she sighs and offers her hand in exchange.

―

“Theoretically,” MJ says, hunching and twisting to check her pinned-back hair in the bedroom mirror she hung a little low, “what would you wear to a first date at a guy’s apartment?”

Betty’s gasp comes across loud and clear on speakerphone.

“MJ, you have another date today? I know the one with Peter was technically fake, sorry to all the readers who are definitely going to ship the two of you, but don’t you pace yourself? I had no clue your dating life was so, um, active that you had to squeeze two in on the same day. And don’t tell me how that sounded. I hear it now.”

“None of that was advice.”

“You don’t really want my advice. I bet you’re already dressed. You just needed an excuse to call me because you’re nervous and too proud to ask me for a pep talk.”

“Ok, stop making me feel so fucking transparent!”

“Who’s the guy?” Betty wants to know. “What do we know about him? First date at his apartment, that’s―”

“It’s Peter.”

“I’m sorry, did you just say it’s Peter?”

“Yes, it’s Peter, so you don’t have to worry about me going over to his apartment.”

“But... how do you know where it is?” She can almost see her friend’s panicked expression.

“He texted it to me.”

“He has your phone number?”

“Why do you say that like it’s the most scandalous part of this situation? We exchanged numbers at the park this afternoon.” MJ steps back, still studying her reflection. She’s done the top half of her hair up and it looks pretty even.

“Right, at the park, on the date that you said would be the first and last time you cross paths this decade.”

“Maybe it’s like Cinderella and we get an unlimited number of meetings until midnight.”

“What if you stay later than midnight?”

“No reason to,” MJ assures her. “We’re just going to talk for a bit and eat, I don’t know, spaghetti or something.”

“Romantic.”

“Only if you’re a couple of dogs in a Disney movie.”

“Ok, now I’m curious,” Betty confesses. “What are you wearing to this absolutely not earth-shattering spaghetti dinner? If you say jeans, I’m staging an intervention.”

“Why not jeans?”

MJ says it to provoke her, reaching awkwardly around to fasten the hook at the top of her dress’s zipper.

“I love jeans,” her friend says, “but this isn’t a jeans occasion.”

“No?”

“MJ, quit it. Promise me you’re wearing something nice.”

“Don’t worry, Mom, I’m wearing something nice.”

“Good. Put some condoms in your purse.”

“Betty!”

“Just one condom? MJ, it’s always better to be pre―”

MJ hangs up on her again. She’ll have to make up for this one.

―

His apartment isn’t what she was expecting. It isn’t a dump, but… Peter (or at least his alter ego) has to be one of the most renown living New Yorkers. MJ was picturing a space somewhere between ‘tasteful showroom of a modern furniture store’ and whatever the Spider-Man equivalent of Paris Hilton’s interior design sense is―red instead of pink and framed pictures of himself everywhere. This place isn’t any nicer than hers. Actually, it’s a little shabbier around the edges. She must have left her poker face at home because Peter (who, in her experience, is largely oblivious to her feelings) seems to know exactly what she’s thinking.

“I give most of it away,” he calls to her from the kitchen. He paused in his cooking to let her in, but he’s back at it while she tours his cramped living room.

“Give what away?”

He laughs.

“Whatever they try to give me. Free stuff, prize money for being chosen as Hero of the Year or something. I don’t know. I stopped paying attention. I just donate everything.”

“Are you trying to come off all noble and shit?” she accuses. She’s smirking though, with her back to the kitchen.

“No, just trying to guess at the questions you want answered. You don’t do much of your thinking out loud, you know that?”

“Why should I?”

She picks up a framed photo of Peter and Ned at the beach. When she sets it back down, she notices that the one beside it, clearly from the same day, is a shot of Peter and Betty doing a synchronized leap on the sand; Ned must be the photographer. What makes her almost knock it off the shelf is her jerky reaction to seeing Peter in nothing but swim trunks. With a surreptitious glance in Peter’s direction, MJ steadies the frame and steps away, face hot. Yeah, she’s seen his body before―when they were teenagers. Another decade and a half as a career ass-kicker and justice-bringer hasn’t exactly hurt his physique.

Ok, so he looks like a damn underwear model. Whatever. MJ can compartmentalize that and move on.

Joining him in the kitchen, she toys nervously with the box she brought. There’s a chocolate cake inside and she’s too wound up from nerves to be able to tell if it was the right thing to get. Is it too childish, like she sees this evening as some kind of Sixteen Candles throwback to the romance of their youth? Is it too decadent, like she’s trying to show up Peter’s cooking skills? God, she doesn’t know. MJ starts to wipe her clammy hands on her dress before spinning and hiding them behind her back instead as she leans backward into the counter to watch him.

She doubts this guy has experience cooking for an audience (and secretly, she’s relieved at the thought that there hasn’t been a parade of hookups through here). There’s food on his short-sleeved button-down, utensils gripped desperately in both hands, and his feet are bare. Not that it’s a problem, in his own home, it’s just weirdly vulnerable. Although, MJ’s are bare too. It’s summer and she wiggles her toes freely, anxiously, wanting to both have something to do and to stand here observing him without getting involved. Being in Peter’s apartment is already so involved.

“Can you grab the bowls for me?” he suddenly requests and MJ jerks, realizing she’s been staring at the way his shirt hugs his shoulders.

She does it without replying, retrieving the bowls from where Peter points and handing them off with a civil little nod. The closer she is to him, the quieter she seems to get. It feels wrong and like the complete opposite of what happened earlier today. This is her opportunity for closure, isn’t it? If this is really the end, like she told Betty it would be, then that’s why she’s here tonight; they’ll hash things out and spend the rest of their lives peacefully keeping their distance―as opposed to maintaining it irritatedly, the way MJ’s been doing. Why else would she have come?

“Aw man,” Peter sighs as he dishes up their food. He’s just noticed the stains on his shirt.

“Yeah, you were a bit of a hurricane in there.”

“Sorry,” he says, setting the bowls on his tiny kitchen table, “I’ll… I’ll just… You can start eating. I’ll be right back.”

MJ’s going to refuse for the sake of good manners, but her mouth closes almost as quickly as she opens it because Peter starts unbuttoning his shirt faster than he turns away. She almost knocks over her water glass. He might be the one with food on his clothes, but she’s a fucking mess tonight. Quickly, she averts her eyes as he stumbles to the door that must conceal his bedroom, presumably for a fresh shirt. She can only try to calm her heartrate and twist her bowl back and forth on its placemat in his absence. Conclusions. Endings. Closure. Renewed attraction, MJ thinks―staring down into the colourful splay of thin sauce, vibrant vegetables, and bright seafood―is not on the table.

And it really might have worked out the way she planned if Peter had redressed completely in his room, instead of walking out still pulling his t-shirt down. Instead of shuffling towards her as he tugged it into place. Instead of catching her staring at his naked stomach.

She’s flustered by being caught, hands fluttering over her silverware, and by the feeling of him looking at her. Why is he doing that? To make sure she knows he caught her? She’s embarrassed enough. When she reminds herself that she’s a successful, independent adult and not the teenage girl whose heart was broken gradually by neglect, she has the strength to glance up. He isn’t looking at her anymore. They eat dinner like regular people. If anything, they’re more courteous versions of themselves, skimming the details of the personal lives they didn’t discuss earlier in the day. He’s curious about her job; she asks after his aunt, her last memory of whom is a smiling face behind a camera on graduation day. This must be part one of how this goes: catching up.

Towards the end of dinner, when chewing has loosened MJ’s face enough to let the smiles slip out and the wine Peter eventually remembered to open has added more colour to his cheeks than their afternoon in the sun, they slide smoothly into part two: reminiscence. They’re not drunk, there’s just something awfully tempting about the freckles strewn across his nose. Self-policing the way she’s drawn to him makes MJ gawky and making conversation gets dicey. One minute it’s football games and decathlon practices, the next it’s the dates he missed and the passive-aggressive responses she gave him. He’s wounded, she’s flippant. He all but orders her to stay seated while he clears the table; she tosses her hair over her shoulder and swishes out of her chair to get the cake.

“You could’ve called me to say you weren’t coming,” MJ snaps, trying to unknot the ribbon securing the box. She presumed it was purely decorative; it turns out to be shockingly sturdy. “One of those times. Any of those times. But you just… never showed up.”

“I was preoccupied. I was saving people, on my own,” he retorts. She hears the dishes clatter into the sink. “I thought you were the one person I wouldn’t need to explain myself to.”

“I didn’t need a justification, Peter, but it would’ve been nice to know why you were never there.”

“Yeah, and it would’ve been nice if you could’ve been a little less selfish.”

His words land like a slap and she spins around. Likely spotting her movement from the corner of his eye, he turns from the sink opposite, bracing his hands behind him.

“I was selfish?” she echoes. “Because I was fifteen and naïve enough to think that when I finally let somebody in, they’d do the same and be there for me?”

“A lot of people needed me!” Peter insists. His chest is heaving.

“What have they ever given you in return?” she demands. “Money that you won’t take? Awards you can’t use? A date―” She laughs and gestures to herself, hands sweeping her body. “―you sure as hell never asked for?”

“That’s not nothing.”

“It is nothing! I gave you everything!” MJ shouts at him. The roar of it doesn’t stop her so much as convince her that she’s started something she can’t stop. “I went home with you after that party because your aunt wasn’t going to be there. Because you told her you were spending the night at Ned’s.” It’s controlled fury in her voice now and Peter doesn’t try to halt the recitation. “We were so shy with each other that we barely managed to hold hands in public, but I fucking felt something that night, so I got on your bed and said I was ready and when I woke up afterwards, you were gone.”

“There was an emergency,” Peter murmurs.

“Oh yeah?” Her voice isn’t loud, but it flicks out like a whip. “What was it? Can you remember? Do you remember it better than you remember us taking each other’s virginities because, honestly, Peter, I think my memory of realizing I’d been left all alone in that apartment is stronger than what happened before that.”

“Don’t. Don’t say that.”

“So it’s nice, actually,” she continues sarcastically, “if us having sex only comes in second place for you too.”

“Of course it doesn’t.”

“I. Don’t. Believe. You.” Well, she hasn’t cried, so that’s something. She points beside him, hand shaking slightly, at the black block holding a selection of knives. “Pass me a knife.”

“What? No.”

“It’s to get the stupid cake box open. Pass me a fucking knife!”

Peter pushes away from the sink, hard, and holds her eye as he nudges her out of the way and snaps the ribbon with his hands. She’s breathing heavily.

“I don’t know if you like chocolate ca―”

“No,” he says firmly. “We’re not done talking about this. You hurt me. I never meant to leave you there, ok? I came back and you were gone and then the next day you dumped me. It tortured me that I left. It seemed like I was doing the right thing, going out to help people, but how could the right thing have made me lose you? I thought about that night constantly. Not the part where I walked out on you or you walked out on me, but the good part, and I felt guilty about that, like… like I wasn’t supposed to enjoy it? Because it must’ve been wrong since things went downhill for us so fast after that.”

“A mistake,” MJ summarizes. Voice flat. Dead, even. All these years she’s kept that memory and meanwhile, he’s been thinking it never should’ve happened.

“It wasn’t the mistake. I was.”

As mad as she is, she can’t let Peter put this on himself. It just wouldn’t be factual.

“You couldn’t be a mistake. It’s not in your DNA.”

“I never felt like that again,” he admits, offering her something in return for her reassurance. “The way I did the night we were together.”

“You haven’t had sex since then?”

“Oh, no, I have, it’s just never had the same…”

“I know,” she sighs and ignores the look he darts at her. She can’t stop him from replying though.

“Your sex life’s missing something too?”

“That is absolutely none of your fucking business.”

MJ flips the cake box open and crosses to the knife block, extracting a blade with a smug smile. She returns and slices the cake cleanly.

“Plates, please,” she instructs.

“You asked me first,” Peter points out.

“I didn’t make you answer.”

They are not talking about this, she will not talk about this. Not when she’s seen too much of his skin and they’ve finally dumped some of the baggage they’ve been lugging around this hellish airport of a somewhat-grown-up life. No, she’s far too attracted to him right now, with his glorious abs and his emotional intelligence. MJ is going to serve the cake and secure herself some goddamn closure.

“I just think it’s interesting,” Peter observes. He leans on the counter beside her. Sonofabitch, look at those forearms. “That neither of us has experienced anything like that with anybody else.”

With the flat of the blade, she lifts a slice and lays it on its side on the plate he lazily holds up for her.

“Probably just a numbers thing,” she says lightly.

“Meaning we are gonna have sex like that again?”

“Not with each other. Don’t get your hopes up, Parker.”

He grins and she realizes that, in the process of attempting to dissuade him, she might’ve just flirted with him. Completely by accident. MJ rolls her eyes and gets her own piece of cake. With a jerk of his head, Peter leads her over to his couch. When she sits at the far end, he doesn’t try to get too close, taking the other end. They spend a couple of minutes eating. She’s relieved that the cake’s good and that he seems to like it. He did a nice job on dinner.

“I’m a little embarrassed about the t-shirt,” Peter says eventually. She glances over and he looks down at his chest. The temperature’s changed again though; he isn’t being coy or suggestive, just genuinely humble. “I should own more dress clothes, but… I don’t really have an excuse.” He laughs. “I don’t really like them.”

“You’re fine. You’ve always been a t-shirt guy. Maybe this is an ‘if it ain’t broke’ situation.”

“You look really pretty.”

MJ blushes and feels silly about it. Her eyes drop to her plate and she watches herself push chocolate frosting around before piling it up on the cake she has left.

“I think I might be too old for ‘pretty.’”

“Bullshit.” Peter edges nearer and she looks up at him to see him pointing his fork at her. “You’re not too old to be called pretty and I’m not too old to be excited over chocolate cake.”

“It’s good, right?” she agrees with a smile.

“When you opened that box, I just about lost my mind.” He grins at her. “If we hadn’t been fighting when…”

MJ frowns when he trails off.

“What is it?” Her shoulders fall slightly. “Did you sense something? Do you have to go?”

“Unless there’s a meteor headed for Earth, I’m letting the cops handle things tonight,” he promises. “You just… you have chocolate on your lip.”

He traces the spot on his own face and she wipes at hers. Without Peter touching her to do it himself, this shouldn’t feel as intimate as it does, but the other thing he said won’t let her move on.

“Why should I believe that?” MJ asks. There’s no nastiness in her tone. She sets her empty plate aside and after the final bite of his cake, Peter copies her.

“Because I learned my lesson about priorities really, really well a long time ago.” He shifts closer again and she angles her knees towards him, heart clamoring.

“Are you sure?”

“I think so,” he tells her, face full of honesty. “I’ve never officially tested it because…” Peter shrugs. “…there was never another you.”

“She could be out there.”

“There’s only you,” he says softly, shaking his head. MJ didn’t quite notice when the space between them disappeared, but his hand is gentle on the side of her neck. “And you’re right here.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I just happen to take my fake dating responsibilities very seriously.”

“This one isn’t fake.” His fingers slide around to the back of her neck.

“I’ll have to update Betty,” MJ says with airy thoughtfulness as her gaze dips to Peter’s mouth.

“I think you might still have some frosting on your lip…”

Apparently, he can still be as much of a cheesy idiot as he was at fifteen and she’d smile if she wasn’t so terrified. Their lips brush lightly, then Peter seals them together, holding her fast. She cries out a little at his certainty. That’s what it feels like, but certainty in what? In his kissing abilities? In them, here together? MJ isn’t sure where she stands on that issue, only that it’s far from where she started this evening, with her self-delusions on closure and walking out of this apartment either more at peace or completely unchanged. So much for those possibilities. She hadn’t accounted for what their second first kiss would feel like.

They aren’t kids anymore, so she can skip the tentative shit.

MJ grabs his face with both hands, fingers curling beneath his jaw, and kisses him back with a greedy feverishness. There, let him see what she wants. If he rejects her, he rejects her. He’ll never do worse to her than he already has. But Peter doesn’t ease off, doesn’t try to backtrack to a scrubbed-clean Disney kiss that compresses romance to two dimensions. He lets go of her neck and grabs her by the hips, hauling her forward. She takes his shoulders and settles her knees on the couch on either side of him. Right away, he pulls her down and she doesn’t resist, grinding in his lap with her dress accordioned between them. Peter’s hand finds the edge of her skirt and snakes up her inner thigh to cup her over her underwear. In the same motion, he rubs his fingers against her through the lace. She breaks the kiss wetly and pants next to his ear.

“I wanna take you to my bedroom now,” he tells her, still rubbing while she rubs right back, seeking the friction with a jerk of her hips, “unless there’s some other way you want tonight to go.”

“No, I think we definitely better fuck.”

With that unambiguous assent, Peter hitches her hips against his and stands up with his hands secure beneath her ass and thigh. MJ wraps her legs around him and crosses her ankles.

So, this is Peter at 29. His feet slap the floor of his apartment and their mouths meet over and over with passion and imprecision. He makes it from the living room and into the kitchen without hitting anything; the air smells like dinner as they pass through and what wine the pasta in her belly hasn’t absorbed makes her press her abdomen against his cock while she’s still in his arms. He shoves her to the nearest wall and rocks hard between her thighs, squeezed close by her heels digging into his firm ass. At this point, MJ doesn’t particularly care if they do this on a horizontal surface. There’s a lot stoking this fire and while there wasn’t this much heat in their history (they had sex one time and it was gentle, caring, unhurried), the small flame’s kept burning all these years, ready to be fanned high at the first opportunity.

Peter gathers her against him and heads for his bedroom instead. His willpower’s something, with how fucking solid he is in the front of his jeans. (Jeans, Betty! MJ thinks. Goddamn double standard.) He doesn’t stop to turn on a light―taking her right to his bed and never letting her go as he lays her back―but the late summer sun provides a fading glow through his window and the door he didn’t shut behind them lets warm light spill in from the kitchen. MJ’s breathing hard as her hands, trembling with impatience, peel the t-shirt off of the adult boy she knew. Briefly, he hoists her hips to remove her underwear. She’s embarrassed when he draws them down her legs with a look of realization on his face and holds them up for the light to shine through the lace.

“Even with the denial, it didn’t seem impossible that we might end up here,” MJ offers before Peter can comment. She sighs and admits the rest. “I also have a condom in my purse.”

“We won’t need it.”

He dives down, kissing her neck as his hands smooth her dress up her thighs. With her knees bent, it doesn’t take much to make the material pool at her hips. But MJ pushes at his shoulders and Peter lifts his head.

“Like hell are we not using a condom.”

“No,” he says, expression earnest (there’s his face the first time he asked her out), “I just meant we won’t need the one you brought. I, uh, I didn’t only buy groceries before you came over.”

“Good.”

“Yeah?” Peter grins down at her. She nods.

“That means I’m not the only one who…” Felt something. Hoped for more. MJ can’t quite say that yet, so she shrugs and moves on. “Also means I don’t have to go get my purse.”

He agrees by returning his mouth to her throat, sucking until she gasps, then bucking his hips into hers to make her moan.

“Stay right here.”

“Mmm,” she consents, scraping her fingers through his hair.

Noticing him leaning into the sensation, MJ closes her hand into a fist and gives his hair a tug. Peter groans against her neck and wraps his arms around her. With his hands wedged under her back, she can feel him hunting for her dress’s zipper. She’s lying on top of it and there’s the little hook to fiddle with. It's not that she doesn’t think he can figure it out―it’s that she doesn’t want to wait that long.

“Let me do it,” she murmurs, tapping his arms this time to get him to lift off of her.

He looks dazed when he does, flinging himself to the side, which leaves MJ temporarily leaning back with her skirt up and no underwear on. This is completely not how she saw today turning out. It does make her pause and think for a second, to see if this feels wrong or thoughtless or otherwise emotionally harmful to the person she might go back to being when it’s over. Maybe if she waited longer, her inner voice would say something else, but there’s a consensus of tens from the judges (her brain, heart, and vagina) that she should absolutely nail Peter Parker. If they didn’t share this history and he was a guy she met through mutual friends or a dating app who held off on disappointing her long enough for them to get here, would she sleep with him? With those eyes and that ass, yeah, why not? Maybe the rockiness of their mutual past should make this feel worse, but, in this moment, it feels better. It feels like that thing from fourteen years ago. And this time around, she has a confidence in her body that she couldn’t even see on the horizon at fifteen.

MJ scrambles off the bed and turns to look at Peter. On his back with his shirt off in the dying light, he could be selling an expensive cologne. He’s probably been approached. The obvious bulge in the front of his jeans makes it a little racy for ads though. She’ll just have to appreciate it on behalf of Spider-Man fans everywhere. After all, she’s the one who won a date with him.

“The condoms are… where?”

Peter points to his nightstand and her hand hovers in front of the drawer with a second of hesitation. What if there’s some kind of raunchy sex toy in here and she’s about to find out that his bedroom escapades with other women are not something she’s prepared to compete with. Or what if there’s a photo of another ex-girlfriend? She hasn’t had the right to feel possessive of him for a small eternity, but seeing some other woman’s smiling face would be a blow. MJ opens the drawer. Besides the unopened box of condoms, she sees a travel pack of Kleenex, a cord for a cellphone or a tablet, and a couple loose aspirin that he should at bare minimum be keeping in a container, if not in a bathroom medicine cabinet. Overall, she’s relieved. It’s the sort of stuff she would’ve expected if she hadn’t spent the years since high school trying to hate him. She gets the box open and tosses him a condom that he’s alert enough to snatch out of the air. Then, MJ turns to face away from him as she reaches back to unfasten the hook.

“Wait,” he says when she starts on the zipper.

Somehow, she knows what he wants. She drops her hands and takes a step back towards the bed, drawing her hair over her shoulder and twisting it around her hand. Soon, Peter’s hands land on the middle of her back before he lowers the zipper. MJ can hear him breathing. With that done, she shuffles the straps off her shoulders and lets the dress slip to the floor like an exhale. She didn’t wear a bra.

She turns and climbs on top of him. Their kisses are sloppy and demanding and Peter’s got one hand between her legs with the other groping her breast in about a second flat. He discovers how wet she is―it’s wetter than she gets for just anybody―and plunges two fingers inside her, which is really distracting since she’s trying to get his jeans open. Giving in for a minute, MJ holds Peter by the back of his neck, lets her head fall back, and pumps up and down on his fingers while he swears like she’s never heard him swear. No, they never could’ve produced this at fifteen.

Forcing herself to remember that she could have his dick instead, she rides his fingers more shallowly and refocuses on his button and zipper. On the downside, he removes his hand to help her get his jeans and boxers off (Peter, she thinks, you still wear boxers?), but on the upside, those same hands get the condom on with speed and precision. Carefully, she removes the pins that have started to become snarled in her hair and tosses them backwards. Sounds like they skate across his nightstand and fall onto the floor. She isn’t concerned at the moment.

“You like being on top or do you wanna be on the bottom?” he asks, sagged back with his elbows propping him up and MJ perched on his thighs.

“Let’s not ask,” she suggests.

Normally, that isn’t what she’d say at all. She’s big on telling her partner what she does and does not like. Even if it’s someone she’s been with a few times, sex can be a bit of an interaction―you do this for me, I’ll do that for you―with the end goal of both parties walking away sexually satisfied. She wants more from Peter than an orgasm. Not being able to say that out loud doesn’t negate it. She trusts his intuition and, more than that, she trusts this thing between them. Whatever it is, MJ’s leaving everything to it. She’s surrendering control because the thought of cutting this up with questions to make it fit the mould of what sex is like with anyone else makes her sick. She takes a slow breath and speaks again.

“Let’s just… be here.”

He’s nodding so maybe she didn’t sound stupid, or just not stupid to him.

“Ok,” Peter agrees softly. “I’m not gonna fuck it up this time.”

She can’t ask whether that’s a promise to her or to himself because he sits up abruptly to meet her lips with his. As he fills her mouth with his tongue, she relaxes into him, draping her arms around his shoulders and shifting her hips forward. She can feel his cock, rigid and hot. MJ starts lifting up, hinting for Peter to slip inside her, but he flips her onto her back to continue blowing her mind with the desire in this French kiss. He holds his hips back to leave space for his hand to once again work two fingers into her, this time also using his thumb to play with her clit. She’s woozy with how good he makes her feel. Just when the kiss has her thinking they’re slowing things down (and the kiss is getting particularly dirty now, making her clench around his fingers), Peter brings her to climax by sneaking a third finger into her channel and curling all three in a sudden stab at her g-spot. Gasping against his mouth, MJ breaks the kiss, hips pitching onto his hand for almost a full minute from when the bliss first hits.

“Shit,” she breathes.

Peter laughs with disbelief as he draws back to look at her.

“That’s something I never thought I’d get to see again.”

“Yeah, lucky you,” MJ congratulates, smirking liquidly.

He seems ready to proceed beyond foreplay now, withdrawing his fingers and grasping her hip, but she decides to enjoy him a little more thoroughly first. She lets him settle between her legs without pressing inside and winds her fingers into his hair again as she nudges her mouth to his. Peter thrusts slowly along her wetness, making her legs quiver when he bumps her clit. Arching up, her chest skims his and she’s sure that, with a little bit of time, she could come a second time from the way he’s grinding against her and the rub of her nipples over the hard planes of his chest. Spider-Man looks good outside the suit.

When she tumbles him to the side, he goes willingly and matches her fleeting, sultry smile. MJ shifts her weight to encourage Peter all the way onto his back, then gets herself positioned on top of him, still riding his erection without taking him inside. She wonders what’s making her start to sweat―a failure of his air conditioning or the buzz that’s getting stronger with every pass along his sheathed erection. Bracing her hands on either side of his shoulders, she bends to kiss and lick across his chest, finding the same faint saltiness on his skin. He grabs her hips and guides her more forcefully along his cock. MJ’s moaning in short pants, Peter’s groaning brokenly. He rolls her onto her side and their legs tangle before he lifts her upper thigh to make room to fit his hips into the gap and, with their foreheads pressed together, push into her.

She has to close her eyes. Her body takes him in immediately, but her mind needs a little longer.

Peter doesn’t rush her, but he doesn’t back off entirely, the way he would’ve when they were a couple of kids hanging all their hopes on it turning out right. MJ’s not putting that kind of pressure on the sex this time around. Back then, part of how badly she wanted it was that she harboured this belief that being physical with him would fix things; it was finally a way to guarantee his focus was completely on her. For Peter, well, she can only guess, but maybe he needed to feel more grounded in himself when he was living so much of his life in secret as this whole other entity.

“You want me?” she asks him now, opening her eyes to observe his face, so close it’s blurry.

“Yeah, I want you.” Sensing her resolve, he thrusts harder and she makes her leg slack so he can hike it up onto his hip.

“You wanna be anywhere else?”

Peter shifts his head back and she becomes aware that they’re on the rumpled sheets of his unmade bed. It’s so familiar that her heart surges even before he stares her right in the eye.

“Nowhere else,” he swears.

She gives him a sharp nod before her tear ducts can get any ideas and kisses him fiercely, swinging her hips down to meet his upstroke. There’s a choked sound from Peter’s throat and he tips her onto her back with a mumbled, “Oh god, M.”

On her back, MJ reaches to grasp the edge of the mattress and Peter pounds into her. She’s tempted to shut her eyes and drown in the sensations, but she fights it to gaze at him. Initially, she thinks he’s like a machine; strong, efficient, accurate (fuck, he found her g-spot before and he’s hounding it ruthlessly now). On second thought, he is what he made himself; perceptive, considerate, real despite the persona that’s grown and grown and grown. The action figure it’d probably be easy to slink into the shadow of. It’s clear to her that he separates them better now and that somehow embracing his other identity is what allowed him to do that. And she wasn’t around for any of it. Has she just stepped back into his life now that it’s easier for her? MJ has to admit that, on some level, of course. That’s exactly what she’s done, but she didn’t plan it that way and the intervening years haven’t been smooth for her either―changing careers, struggling to stay present with partners, maintaining friendships only with the couple of people who wouldn’t let her dissolve from their lives. It seems to her that she’s ready to hang on at the very moment Peter’s ready to be hung onto. This already wasn’t supposed to happen. The draw she wasn’t supposed to win, the date that she tried to get Betty to find her a replacement for, the invitation to dinner, everything that spilled out between dinner and dessert, and finally, how they came together on his couch. Both of them making that choice.

MJ cries out, one hand dropping to grab his shoulder, then cup the back of his neck, her gaze roving the ceiling.

“You can shut your eyes,” Peter huffs, driving forward. “I’ve got you.”

She does. He has her. Twining her legs around the backs of his, MJ urges him forward blindly. Peter sucks her nipple, runs his mouth up the side of her neck until she shudders, then does it some more. His hand tilts her hips and he slides into her just that much better, striking the right spot with fiery fixation.

“Peter! Peterpeterpeter,” she chants. Her eyes open and his face is right above hers. She orgasms with a flinch that lifts her mouth to his. A new reflex―to kiss him.

His thrusts are short and quick as he finishes, humming against her mouth, a long M. She can’t believe she tried to make him call her by her full name. She’d rather hear ‘MJ’ from Peter, and she’s rather hear it just like this, his lips vibrating against hers, feeling all the years between them and yet, not feeling them at all.

[ihaveatheoryonthat]

For obvious reasons, I’ve been poking around my MSA folder again. This is an old piece (circa 2016/pre-Hellbent) that I think is interesting, but that I know I’m never going to finish. It’s piecemeal, but hopefully there’s enough to enjoy!

The problem with being a supernatural entity on a team of paranormal investigators was that, inevitably, someone would figure something out.

That was hardly an issue for Mystery these days, since his status was something of an open secret among his humans (both living and deceased), but it did make things uncomfortable around other groups.

Such was the case now, and he watched silently, head cocked to the side in classic canine fashion, as a woman whispered something urgently to Vivi. She was hardly subtle about it, the way her eyes kept darting over to him, and, privately, he wondered why she even bothered keeping up the pretense if she honestly thought he was more than just a dog. Certainly she realized that any sentient being would recognize when they were being talked about.

Whatever the blonde said, Vivi laughed it off and made a sweeping gesture, trying to dismiss it. To Mystery, it was painfully obvious that the other woman had hit upon the truth, but, then again, he knew her. The stranger didn't look entirely convinced, but nodded and walked away-- though not without glancing back at them over her shoulder.

Perhaps trying to sell the part, Vivi closed the gap between herself and Mystery to ruffle his ears. He thumped his tail against the ground a handful of times and nipped at her sleeve.

---

Mystery raised his head in satisfaction, preening under the woman's incredulous gaze. It was put to an abrupt end, though, when one of the other investigators screamed. There was an answering gasp from behind them and, without looking, he realized what had happened. Everyone had been so focused on the main problem that--

"Aw, shit." Arthur breathed, looking at the empty air over his shoulder.

"I can't believe we forgot about that."

---

"Lewis, I truthfully do not care how that spell affected your projection, and if you had any common sense, you would realize why that is. If we don't get out of here right now, one of those ghost hunters is liable to catch you, and then what? We may know you're harmless, but I can guarantee that they won't take so kindly to the idea." / "Don't make us tell your family that you're gone again. Not over something so minor."

And, finally, the ghost relented.

While he'd already had a good idea what the spell had done, Mystery hadn't thought to prepare himself for the impact the glamour failure would have. He'd had all the information, true, but it didn't always play nice with the memory of his humans, and seeing Lewis as he'd been at the moment of his death was surprisingly difficult.

Perhaps guessing as much, Lewis raised his arms to block the worst of the fatal wound from view.

It was a nice gesture, but, ultimately, pointless.

"Come, now." Mystery whispered, dismissing the urge to say as much, "The plan is to meet Arthur and Vivi at the main road and leave before any of our friends here think to ask any more questions. I thought it best to let them do the convincing without any-- ah-- 'suspicious' influence, and, unfortunately, that means you and me."

He set off at a brisk pace, trusting the ghost to follow in his (ahem) wake. If it had been Vivi or even Arthur, Mystery might have been more inclined to keep an eye on them for fear of someone getting sidetracked or sheer dumb luck putting them in a tight spot, but Lewis floated dutifully along, still awkwardly trying to hide the bloody hole in his chest.

Maybe it was silly,  but Mystery had to wonder at irony of the situation. Ignoring all signs of death and his own aura, what would the outside observer see? A dog calling the shots and a young man following them. It fit, he supposed; of his humans, Lewis had always been the most agreeable.  

He snuck a sideways glance, eyes lingering on the gap that had torn halfway through the ghost's throat, and turned away so Lewis wouldn't notice the resultant grimace. Without knowing the specifics of the spell, there was no way to tell how long it would interfere with the ability to project an aura that wasn't so… gruesome. For a group of inexperienced youths, the range would be limited, but whether it was a matter of time, distance or any other variable was a complete unknown. If worst came to worst, there was sure to be a counter-spell somewhere, but that wasn't an ideal solution.

Mystery was so caught up in his thoughts that he almost yelped when a finger hooked under his collar and a steady arm swept him up, deeper into the undergrowth. While he refrained from doing anything quite so undignified, he was hardly thrilled with his new position a good five feet in the air, being held like no more than a puppy against Lewis's side.

With the clumsy crashing that sounded from up ahead, he recognized why the ghost had seen fit to make them scarce, but he was fairly certain that there were other ways to accomplish the same goal. Dryly, he looked up to see what Lewis had to say for himself, but all he got was a nearly inaudible "I panicked."

Mystery exhaled slowly and squirmed until he was set back on the ground, by which point the dull beam of a flashlight made its way along the main path, illuminating each tree in turn.

"--sure, Abby? If it could fool paranormal investigators for so long, it has to be a powerful spirit. The closest we've ever come to an actual haunting was just psychic residue; are we really ready for this?"

A pair of girls strode into view, the speaker nervously sweeping the flashlight's beam from side to side while her companion chewed on a strand of hair, eyes raised to the barren canopy in thought, where they reflected the scant moonlight.

"Your eyes." Mystery hissed in sudden alarm. When he looked up, the offending glow was focused on him. "They'll see--"

A piercing yelp suggested that his warning had come a fraction of a second too late. Had they not been sneaking through a woods pursued by excitable ghost hunters, it would have been funny how Lewis not only closed his eyes, but covered them with both hands and whirled around to face the opposite direction, the same way he'd play hide-and-seek with his sisters. As it stood, Mystery had more pressing matters to deal with, mostly concerning the pair of young women brandishing a flashlight in their general direction.

Though, if he knew humans-- specifically paranormal investigators-- well enough, there was one easy solution that came to mind. Admittedly, it had Vivi written all over it, but of everything Mystery could call himself in this form, A Very Loyal Dog was high on the list; it would be a gamble, but he felt it would be worth it.

In one fluid motion, he leapt away from Lewis and landed lightly several feet away. His impact with the ground made a satisfying crackle as the dry debris gave way beneath his paws, drawing the light off course towards where he was hidden.

"W-what was that?"

"Definitely not what we're looking for." The second girl sighed after a second to process the emptiness, though her expression was fixed firmly between relief and panic. "You see how high up those eyes were? You probably scared a raccoon with that flashlight 'a yours; you're deadly with that thing."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. What kind of ghost kicks up a racket like that?"

The ghost in question was still hiding the glow of his eyes, but the way he had his shoulders hunched up told Mystery that his little stunt had successfully scared Lewis. Good. That made them even.

He crept nearer, any noise camouflaged by the way their would-be pursuers trundled along in the opposite direction, and brushed lightly against Lewis's leg to announce his presence.

"Sorry, I panicked."

Lewis cracked one eye open and gave Mystery an unimpressed look, but didn't bother to say anything about the transparent jab. That was another crisis averted-- if a minor one, compared to what had already happened-- and there was no use in arguing with results.

Neither breathed another word as they continued towards the grove's edge or even for the first few minutes that they idled at the tree line.

Ears swiveling as he listened for any suggestion of human activity, Mystery kept his eyes on the vehicle parked further up the road. It was likely where the two women they'd encountered had entered from, but it wasn't exactly empty; the cab light diffused into the darkness, revealing the vague outline of a person hunched over a book. Despite himself, Mystery's mind wandered to Arthur's crusade to keep Vivi from draining the van's battery the same way-- which had, more or less, devolved into convincing her to drape herself over Lewis instead.

Not that she needed any excuse.

Speaking of Lewis, he had been assigned look out duty. This served two purposes: one was so they'd actually know when to act and the other was that, if his attention was focused in the opposite direction, there was very little chance of him getting them caught because of that blasted glow. It had been a flimsy excuse and, like the joke earlier, it was obvious that the ghost had seen through it. Mystery was fairly certain that he'd been sulking over it for the past five minutes.

It wasn't that Mystery enjoyed poking fun at his humans, but they could just be so funny at times.

"Headlights." Lewis said quietly. After a second, he added, "Definitely Arthur and Vivi; that mud is still stuck to the left one. You don't think that guy over there is going to be any trouble, do you?"

Mystery picked his way over and glanced down the road before turning back to the potential troublemaker. "I don't want to find out. Let's just eliminate the risk and admit ourselves without making them stop for us."

"You want me to phase us through the van?"

The dog flattened his ears, but nodded. "Not my first choice, I assure you, but at the speed Arthur's going-- or lack thereof-- it shouldn't be a difficult task to accomplish."

Lewis mimicked the gesture and, belatedly, Mystery realized that he'd been pressing his arms against the phantom wound again, like he was trying to hide it from a nonexistent audience. He let the behavior slide this time-- though it did make him wonder about the earlier 'sulking'-- and stayed quiet as Lewis gathered him up and launched the both of them at the slow moving vehicle.

They wound up barreling through the windshield and tumbling to a halt in the back, eliciting twin shrieks from Arthur and Vivi, the latter of whom clamored halfway out of her seat to stare into the hold. Even in the darkness, her smile lit up her entire face as she asked, "Couldn't just wait for us, huh?"

"Arthur, speed up." Mystery said in lieu of a greeting, "We don't want to have any more friendly chats tonight. Vivi, sit properly and put your seatbelt on. And you," He rounded on the space Lewis had to occupy, based solely on the magenta glow. "That wasn't quite as horrible as last time. You're getting better at this."

"Hurray." He answered, amusement creeping into his tone despite the heavy layering of sarcasm. "I'm getting better at being dead."

"Oh, just take the compliment."

Reluctantly, Vivi wriggled back into her seat, head swiveling as she watched the stationary vehicle temporarily light up only to go dark again a second later. The detail didn't escape Arthur's notice, and he spared her a quick look. "See? That's why you use Lewis as a reading light and not the van."

She stuck her tongue out at him before leaning backwards, trying to look into the hold upside-down. "You make a better reading nest than this old thing anyway."

"Hurray." Lewis repeated, though the effort was foiled by the laughter that bubbled up before he'd even gotten the word out.

"You guys are so lucky you got out of the 'intervention'." With one hand, Arthur let go of the wheel to add the obligatory scare quotes. "Those people just wouldn't take 'no, we've got it covered' for an answer. At least we aren't like that. Anymore. Were we ever like that?"

Mystery snorted, finally turning his attention from the rear window as the last trace of the would-be ghost hunters disappeared into the night. "You don't want me to answer that."

And, for awhile, the ride lapsed into a comfortable rhythm. Mystery found his way into the front seat and curled up between Arthur and Vivi, listening to the conversation: complaints and rude remarks about the latest venture, debate over the usage of incense in the van, thinly veiled accusations of Deadbeats hiding important tools and, of course, heated discussion over the radio station.

It only lasted as long as the drive did, but that was better than nothing.

As was often the case, the rest stop they pulled into was deserted; given the hour and location, it was hardly a surprise. The light emanating from the post Arthur parked next to was dim, but enough to see by so long as one was in the van's front.

Vivi abandoned her excavation of the glove compartment-- dropping their abused map and an equally battered notebook she used to track investigations-- and made a desperate bid for freedom, bursting out the passenger-side door into the night.

"I can breathe again!"

Arthur rolled his eyes and grinned lopsidedly at Lewis as he pocketed the keys. "Weird how fresh air is such a commodity here. Any idea why my van smells like an aromatherapist's office? Any ideas? I'm stumped."

His grin tapered off when he realized that, instead of vaulting the front seat to join them, Lewis had shrunk back into the body of the van where only his eyes were visible. It was a far cry from how he'd been leaning backwards against the seat to socialize just minutes prior.

Briefly, Arthur's eyes flicked to Mystery, who stared back at him evenly. It was supposed to be a non-answer, but it told him what he wanted to know. So, keys jingling in his vest pocket, he hopped back into the van and knelt on the seat, mechanical arm hanging limply over the backrest as he leaned into the other.

"So. Today was fun. Plenty of paranormal activity and active paranormalists to keep everyone entertained-- some of us more than others." At the lack of any response-- beyond vague agreement-- Arthur sighed and abandoned his perch entirely, slipping behind it into the hold. "It's what that lady said, isn't it? Listen Lew, you know Vivi and I don't--"

As though summoned by the sound of her name, Vivi called, "Oh boooooys," and ran the length of the van, tapping at the siding with her nails. She stopped at the back doors knocked on them in rapid succession, waited long enough to serve as a dramatic pause, and threw the doors open with a cry of "Come out, come out and plaaaay!"

Arthur winced as the doors creaked on their hinges, and was about to remind Vivi 'easy does it' when he noticed something amiss. Blindly, he reached into the darkness after Lewis and pulled his hand back when it encountered something sharp.

"I was way off base; it wasn't what that girl said, it was the spell. What's wrong? What did it do to you?"

"Spell?" Vivi echoed, brows knit together and previous mischief forgotten, "What spe-- oh. That spell. Don't worry so much, it was just for true sight, and it's not like there's anyone around to see."

There was a scuffle from up front then the sound of paws on asphalt and Mystery's voice rang out before he even rounded the corner of the van. "Exactly, it's nothing to worry about. Arthur, might I suggest that you, Vivi and I take a walk?"

"What. Is. Wrong?"

The dog winced and looked to Vivi for backup, but found none. "Nothing's 'wrong' per se…"

He went safely ignored as Arthur and Vivi shared a look and, in unison, turned to stare into the shadows.

"How 'bout this: we find a place to talk and work all this out?"

There was a beat of silence and the magenta glow disappeared as Lewis sighed, "That's really sweet, Vivi, but I'd rather not."

"Why?"

"I just-- don't want you guys to have to see this. Go ahead and get some fresh air; I'll be fine here."

Vivi sighed and puffed her cheeks up. That made things substantially harder. If Lewis had convinced himself that he was doing this for her and Arthur's benefit, he wasn't going to budge on the issue. Not even death had managed to interfere with the force of nature that was Lewis's protective streak.

Still, she didn't understand the first part. What was there to see? True sight swept illusions away and kept them from being reestablished; even if the skeletal projection was Lewis's natural state-- and she knew for a fact that it wasn't-- there was no reason to hide.

"Please don't press the matter," Mystery said, leaping up into the back. "It will resolve itself. If it makes you feel better, I'll stay here and play 'guard dog' while you're away."

Her frown didn't lessen, but Vivi shrugged. "Who needs 'away'? We have full rein of the parking lot and all the fresh air we can handle-- that's good enough for me."

"You don't have to--"

Arthur snorted, cutting off a protest he'd heard dozens upon dozens of times in the past. "You keep thinkin' that, bud. Say it enough and maybe you'll convince one or two of the Deadbeats. Maybe."

As though he expected that to summon the wispy ghosts, Arthur glanced around and, assured that the little troublemakers weren't about to play any trick on him, blindly reached out to find the wall of the van. Once he successfully located it, he leaned back and slid down to the floor in an undignified-- but comfortable-- heap.

"So how'd you convince Mystery to let you phase him through the van, anyway?"

Scoffing, the dog in question trotted back into the van's darkened innards, leaving Vivi standing, idle and alone, at the back doors.

That just wouldn't do.

'Alone' she could handle but 'idle' she could not-- not when she had an investigation log to update and a conversation to eavesdrop on. That wasn't to say that the conversation in back was a secret or that she wasn't welcome to join, but it was more fun to think that there was some element of subterfuge involved. Besides, she couldn't record the day's events and talk at the same time; the one time she'd tried it, the results had been indecipherable.

Even though it would have been nice to run around a little, she could think of worse things to do. She still got her fresh air as she scribbled away in her notebook, heels knocking against the van's siding as she absently kicked her feet.

All things considered, it was an acceptable substitute-- up until Vivi turned the cab light on to scrutinize the map.

Arthur immediately fell silent, which wouldn't have been entirely unusual, but there wasn't any follow-up commentary from either of his conversation partners or any other indication that somebody had said something strange enough to render the lot of them speechless. Confused, Vivi straightened up in time to see Lewis scramble to cover the gaping hole that tore through his chest. It was a doomed attempt, doing nothing to obscure the dried blood caking his vest or the other, more minor puncture wounds. If anything, it only served to prominently show off the tip of a stalagmite that had, somehow, lodged itself in his arm.

Vivi felt her jaw drop and, on their own accord, her hands flew to her mouth.

"S-sorry." The ghost said, stubbornly refusing to meet anyone's eyes as he hugged his arms tighter around himself. "Sorry. It's pretty bad. I didn't want you to…"

Despite having gone so pale he looked ill, Arthur picked the abandoned train of thought up on Lewis's behalf. "Have to see it. Yeah. You mentioned that." / "Wh-what happened? Are you, y'know, okay?"

--

As promised, they found him at the picnic area across the parking lot. He was sitting at a table full of Deadbeats, chin propped up on one hand as he skimmed through one of Vivi's tomes. In theory, all of that was perfectly fine.

In actuality, five of the six wisps had seated themselves properly on the picnic benches while the sixth threaded itself through their leader's torso, staring blankly at the open book but still looking completely thrilled with the situation.

Lewis didn't even seem aware of it until, in his haste to cover the wound at their approach, he flipped the book upwards and hugged it to his chest. The offending Deadbeat phased through it, squeaked in dismay, and retreated.

[one-leaf-grimoire]

“triad”

Chapter 10: the nightmare

Chapter ten, yay!!!!

Slight warnings: The main character goes through a LOT of self loathing, and has a brief suicidal thought. Also, there's like a slightly sensual implication... you'll see. Nothing too weird I just wanted to preface it with this warning.

AO3 link

“Preparations should be complete within a month. We’re gathering our best Spirit Guardians to train your Knights, and I promise that we will produce major results!”

The Heart Queen is a pretty young woman, who looks about as old as I do, her figure adorned in fine cloaks and medallions. A beauty spot beneath her lip completes her look in the most regal fashion possible. Seeing her sends a chill down my back, even though we only ever meet through a screen. The sight of the crown atop her head makes mine look a little lackluster in comparison. But none of that matters right now.

“Thank you, Lolopechka! You’ve really gone above and beyond for us.” 

Lolopechka smiles gently out at me and shakes her head. “No, you’re the one who will be helping us.”

“We help each other… that’s what allies are for, right?” I smile up at her before turning to the others. All nine captains are here to listen to Lolopechka’s update. “In a month, please have some candidates in mind for the training. They should be the people with the most potential to move up to the 1st or 2nd stage.”

The stage system was a little confusing at first, but it didn’t take long for me to accept it as the best way to rank our magical abilities. My flame magic alone was close, if not already at stage 1. And my Dyad magic, of course, is Arcane. Arcane mages are those whose powers could probably defeat a devil already. But that’s not an excuse for me to slack off. 

The worst outcome of this situation is that the Spade Kingdom defeats everyone we send at them. We have no idea about any of Megicula’s powers except the fact that it can set curses on people. If Megicula is much stronger than we realized, then our knights will have no defence against the unknown. I’m hoping to stay out of the actual fight and command from afar. But if Megicula and the Spade Kingdom come knocking at our door…

There’s a very real chance that I’ll have to fight it myself. While being seven months pregnant. 

So… I need to be strong enough to survive that battle. It might be difficult, but I have to…

I pick my hand off of my stomach, where it had been laying all this time, as I stand up after the meeting ends. 

For me… for Julius.

And that leads me to this moment, a moment I’ve been dreading this whole meeting. Each of the captains says goodbye, filing past me and out into the corridor. I smile and nod at each of them, but extend my arm to stop the last woman from passing.

“Dorothy… do you have a few moments?”

.… oh god… this is going to go badly, I already know it…

“Hmm? Yes, of course!” Dorothy stops in her tracks, bouncing a bit as she turns to look up at me. I’m not the tallest, but somehow I almost have to bend over to look her in the eye. The small witch has been awake for the last few meetings, a pleasant contrast to her usual slumber. She has a cheery, bubbly personality, and a smile that almost forces my anxiety out of my mind.

Almost.

“There’s… something I wanted to ask.”

…

Dorothy blinks up at me, her smile only fading slightly when she catches a glimpse of my worry through my face.

“Your dream magic… it allows you to create anything within your Glamour World, right?”

Oh god oh god.

This is going to sound bad, I know it. But I’m on my last straw. The meditation training has gone nowhere so far, only making me stress out more and feel hopeless. 

“Yeah! Anything I want… I can even manifest things from your mind, if you go in there. Why do you ask? Do you need me to simulate something for you?”

I’m scared of the future. Not just for me, but for the Kingdom. Each day goes by smoothly, too smoothly, and gives me too much time to worry about the war looming on our horizon. People could die, my friends could die, civilians could die. If there’s any information about the Devils laying in the Simulcian’s past, I’m sure it will help us.

Because, I know… if anyone dies, it will be my fault. I’m the Wizard King, and I promised that I would protect this Kingdom with every ounce of my life.

Every… single ounce.

If my death leads to our victory… I will accept that.

“Can you… let me see Julius?”

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

Last night, Adeline and I stayed up late, trying our best to clear my head and sink into the meditative state I crave. As the hours passed, it got harder and harder, until I was afraid to close my eyes for even a moment.

“Maybe… I know why it’s been so hard for you.”

I can remember how it felt as she held me, my body giving out and exhausted. I wanted to cry, to let all my emotions out, but I couldn’t.

“My grief, right?”

Grief. 

No, it’s something more than that. More than loss, more than emptiness. Something I don’t have words to describe. Yet, it’s a feeling that’s distinctly human. And maybe that’s why I can’t bring myself to emote, why I can’t let my emotions show. Because I’m not human.

Why… why did Julius leave this to me? His Kingdom full of humans, left to someone who will never truly care about the affairs of humans?

It was then that the tears started to fall.

How… how can you expect me to be selfless? How can you expect me to be able to protect them?

I want to protect them, I want nothing more than to die for them. To die just as Julius did, to save countless people and igraine myself as a martyr for all time.

But… I could never do that, right?

“I…

I hate myself.”

The words are sour in my mouth. Foreign. All my life, all I could ever feel towards myself was love. I loved myself, more than almost anything. But that was because Julius loved me, right? And his soul loved me too… 

But now, that love has faded, extinguished from this world along with his life.

“I hate myself… I hate myself…”

I could hardly feel Adeline anymore, her words falling onto my deaf ears.

For a brief moment, I looked down, into the void. And it consumed me.

It’s a curse, right??? The Dyad’s curse. I flew too close to the sun, and got used to the warmth of its rays. And when I fell back to earth… there’s nothing but the cold.

Nothing. Not the Kingdom. Not Adeline. Not my friends. Not even the baby. And not myself.

I’m the worst… the most selfish person in this world. I stole this position from people who deserved it more than me. 

I’ll never be able to be like Julius… never… never…

So… what’s the point?

Why even try, if there’s nothing to build even the foundation of hope upon.

“I… I want…”

I want to die-

Fortunately, those words don’t pass my lips. I just cry into Adeline’s shoulder as we sit on the floor of my bedroom. Julius’s cold, empty robe lays folded by my pillow like it always has.

“Grief is hard, I know that. I can’t even begin to imagine how it must feel.”

Adeline’s voice vibrates pleasantly through her chest as I lay my head against it.

“But… maybe what you need is closure. Do you have any idea how to get there?”

Closure… 

Without closure, I’ll never be able to move on, and be strong for the Kingdom. The ultimate enemy I need to defeat isn’t Megicula; it’s me. If I can’t get over my weaknesses, I’ll never be able to protect anyone.

But how am I supposed to get closure.

If only… there was a way to talk to him again. 

Wait…

There is a way. 

Oh no…

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

“...what?!”

Dorothy’s eyes blow open wider in shock as my words sink in. She opens and closes her mouth a few times before coming to her senses. “I… I don’t know if that’s a good idea…”

“I know, I don’t think so either.” Embarrassed, I avert my eyes, feeling my chest start to tighten. “But… it might help.”

That’s right… for the good of the kingdom, I have to feel better. And if this has the slightest chance of making me feel better, I have to try it!

“Look…” I turn back towards her as I feel her dainty hand gently touch my arm. Dorothy’s cheery aura is gone, concern straining her eyes as she stares up at me. “It might make you feel worse.”

… I know that. But I don’t think I could feel any worse than I do now.

“Please… Dorothy…”

I look down at her with pleading eyes.

She stares up at me for a long moment, then lets out a defeated sigh. “Fine… but I’m not going in there with you.” She reaches down and takes out her Grimoire. “Is thirty minutes okay?”

I nod quickly, giving her a relieved smile. “Yes, that’s perfect… thank you so much.”

“My pleasure.” Something tells me that she doesn’t really mean that. Dorothy gives me one more look before clearing her throat. “Here we go… Dream Magic: Glamour World.”

A puff of mana, and the meeting room disappears. I blink my eyes a few times as the scene fades in. It’s whimsical, with clouds and sparkles of pink and purple floating through the air. “Wow… this is Glamour World?” I turn around in place, my feet standing firmly upon their own cloud. I’ve never seen this spell purposely, and am not entirely sure how it works. But this is a landscape created for me by Dorothy, specifically for me. And soon…

“Darling! There you are!”

Up until this point, I was nervous and anxious, yes, but also almost giddy at the thought of seeing Julius again. I was sure that seeing him would give me the closure I needed. If I had to, I could return to this place again and again, satiating my need for him even if it was a synthetic remedy. But the moment I hear that voice, his voice… 

My blood runs cold.

Slowly, I turn around, and see a man walking towards me. Tall, blonde, handsome, with a smile that could light up an entire room. One that could light up an entire dark life. 

And yet…

I can’t bring myself to smile, or even move, as Julius runs to my side, his arms immediately pulling me into a bone-crushing embrace. After a moment, I hesitantly hug back.

This is… wrong…

He pulls back to smile down at me. His eyes still sparkle like they did in life, his unbridled joy plain upon his face. I can’t even resist smiling back, even if I can feel my heart skinking.

Because, even if I can see him, and touch him… it’s not him. The only parts of Julius truly left on this world are a shard of a soul and a baby in my belly. This thing… it isn’t him.

“It’s been far too long…” He smiles gently, but it still breaks my heart. Julius’s hand comes up to cup my face. “You’re the Wizard King, right?”

I blink a few times, then nod slowly. Julius laughs heartily, his eyes closing for a moment. “Well, then, you have a lot to tell me! I want to hear all about it… but not now.”

There’s nothing I can do but stand there, petrified, as Julius leans in, his other arm snaking around my waist and pulling me closer. 

“There’s so much that I want to do with you… now that we’re together again.”

Oh… Julius…

His lips hit mine in a hurried kiss, as if he knows this moment is fleeting, something that will never last, something that will just make the world even worse than it already is. But there’s no way he knows that; he’s just an illusion, a broken dream, despair disguised as hope.

This is…

The clouds turn dark purple, like the sky before a storm. The void grows a little bigger.

But despite that, I close my eyes, and cling to his body like it’s the only thing real in this world. I kiss him back with all my might, giving into my desire, into the temptation and selfishness that threatens to destroy everything. 

... a nightmare.

“Darling?”

“Hmm?” 

I open my eyes to see him staring down at me with worry. His thumb comes up and brushes something off my cheek; a tear.

“Are you alright?”

I can feel his skin against mine now. His heat. But it’s cold.

“Yeah… I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Julius… please… keep going.”

Twenty minutes later, and we still lay there together in the clouds. I still hold him, and he holds me. 

This is just like every night we spent together… every night I slept in his arms, heard him snore away in his sleep. Forgotten sounds, sounds that echo like a curse in my soul…

“So… how is it? Being Wizard King?”

Julius is just making idle conversation, moving between subjects aimlessly. But the words Wizard King draw my attention. I look up to see him tilt his head to the side curiously, eager to hear. “Not as easy as it seems, hmm?”

“Yeah…”

Not as easy…

“It’s too much paperwork… not enough fighting! Although, I bet you’ll be doing plenty of that soon.” Julius giggles to himself. “But you’ll be great, I know it.”

“... I don’t know…”

“Hmm?” Julius frowns, his smile only fading slightly. “Why wouldn’t you? I picked you, didn’t I?” Julius reaches out and slides his hand over my head, a pat meant to be comforting, but I almost wince.

Only ten more minutes… I just want this to end. 

“...you…”

Thick tears start to bubble up in my throat.

“...made a mistake… I…”

The volcano erupts. My hands desperately try to cover my shame as the tears fall, my body racking with sobs.

Fuck… FUCK THIS!

I want it to end. This nightmare- no- this life. 

But I can’t… I’m trapped…

“Darling! Ah! What is it?! Mistake!?” Julius’s hands rub my shoulders as he frantically speaks, just as he always did in life. “My sweet, you’re not a mistake! You- AH, I’m sorry! This is something I said, right? Hey, look at me-” His hand tries to grab my chin and gently make me look at him. “How do I make this right-”

“You can’t!”

I bat his hand away and sit up, his face blurry through the veil of tears in my eyes. Anger, frustration, emptiness, it’s finally all coming out, every emotion I had been suppressing until now.

“You can’t make this right… you’re dead!” I cover my face again, not wanting to look at him right now. “You… you died, remember?! And that’s why I’m in this mess! You…” I clench my fist, my hands dropping to my shoulders so I can hug myself. “You died… and left me alone…”

It’s a curse… I’m all alone. 

“Darling-”

It’s because of you… that I hate myself. Because…

“I’ll never be a good Wizard King… I don’t want to be a good Wizard King. I just- I can never do what you did, Julius.” 

My nails start to dig into the flesh of my hand.

“Y-you… why...”

My voice weakens, then sharply erupts again with my next words.

“Why?! Why did you tell me that you loved me more than anything?! Why would you say that, then die for the Kingdom?!”

He loved me more than he loved the Kingdom, yet he sacrificed that love for it.

He can’t answer me. I know he can’t. He’s not Julius. He doesn’t have the answers. But I keep asking anyway, desperate to let the questions out and relieve myself of their frustrations.

Julius died… he didn’t have to die, but he did. He refused to kill Patri, he refused to save himself. A selfless act, and yet…

I can’t look at that act with anything but bitterness. Because now I know, I wish he had let it burn. 

It doesn’t matter how many people died… it doesn’t matter who was hurt. All that matters is that we were together. Yet, he betrayed that promise… he betrayed me. 

But he was right.

Julius had no choice but to die. He had no choice but to give up on his love, right? But the thing that makes me feel the worst…

“If I had been there… in your shoes…”

I would have done the selfish thing. I know it.

I take a deep, shuddering breath. It’s quiet. 

“And now… because you’re gone… there’s nothing left for me.”

I relax my hand, looking down at my palm. Blood trickles out of the cuts I accidentally clenched into the skin.

“I… I wish I could have died with you.”

For some reason, saying those words…

It feels good.

I’m the Wizard King, yet I’m the most selfish person in the Kingdom. 

That’s it… the thing I hate most about myself.

“This world is so empty without you… there’s nothing but the memory of your love.”

My voice starts to strengthen again. I let out a breath through my nose, and my eyes close.

“I… I want to destroy it.”

There…

“A world without you… I don’t want it to exist.”

The tears that flow now aren’t hot and angry. They’re cool… almost refreshing.

I said it… I admitted it…

“I want to destroy this world, along with this emptiness. I want to erase it all.”

The words hang in the air, no one around to hear but Julius’s image.

And somehow… I smile.

Why… nothing’s changed.

But… I said it. 

Were those words weighing me down this whole time? Maybe, my obstacle was never my grief, but my self loathing, brought on by an annoying, intrusive thought.

I’m selfish… I know that. I’m not human. I know that. I’m evil…

No. There’s no such thing as evil.

And anyway… Julius knew all this about me. And… he still loved me.

For the first time, I feel a pulse of warmth from within me.

His soul… stirring.

“Darling…”

I feel a hand on my chin, and this time, I don’t resist. I let him draw my gaze back into his. My eyes widen a bit when I realize that he’s been smiling at me this whole time, a relieved, almost comforted smile, despite everything I just said.

“Do you really think… my love is that weak?”

“...huh?”

His eyes close for a moment, as if he’s amused by my confusion. “Listen… My love still exists in this world. And it’s so strong, it will linger for eternity.” His thumbs come up and start to wipe away more tears. “It’s out there… I promise.”

Julius leans in, one last time, as the scene starts to fade away and I’m drawn back into the real world.

Somehow… I know that I’ll be able to face it a little stronger than before.

Maybe this isn’t the closure of my grief. It’s closure for myself.

Because, what am I? 

I’m not human… I don’t even know if I’m a simulcian.

I’m a soul, a soul whose ego has been shattered again and again. A girl who wants nothing more than to give in to the temptation of destruction. 

But… now I know… despite that, Julius loved me more than anything. He died for duty, but his love lingers on.

“You just have to find it.”

I will…

I’ll find it, Julius.

And for the first time in weeks, hope blooms in my chest.

Next time!!! Chapter 11: the curse. A second decent into the Simulcian unconscious reveals something sinister: the Dyad's curse runs much deeper than anyone ever thought.

[darling-archeron]

Beneath the Dark - Chapter Six

What would have happened if Feyre had come to Prythian much earlier? Feyre Archeron has left her mortal life behind, and accepted being demi-fae. She has found her place in the Night Court's Inner Circle. But when her and Rhys attend a ball hosted by Amarantha Under the Mountain, they are in for much more than they bargained for.

A huge thanks to @theleadcinnabon for helping beta this chapter and story!! <33

-

Three weeks had passed since we had been trapped here. Three infinitely long, dark weeks. Some days passed by as slowly as watching shadows shift. Others seemed gone in a blink.

 Amarantha had been toying with Calder all week while everyone else watched helplessly. Some of his family had tried to heal him, tried to get her to stop, but to no avail. Not only were his healing abilities weakened by losing his magic, but some damage wasn’t meant to be survived. That was the kind of damage The Deceiver knew to inflict. Not to mention that she didn’t take kindly to anyone trying to steal her entertainment. But yesterday it had finally ended, as he had gasped his last breaths out, the color of his blood only a bit darker than the red marble floor. It seemed that even his enemies felt some shade of remorse. They had hated him, yes, but...not like this. 

Jurian’s eye had gone wild inside her ring as if reminded of his own execution. Indeed, it wasn’t the noble death of a High Lord as I would have hoped – it had been a welcome, sad thing. An older High Fae was High Lord of Winter now, his eyes serious by the burden laid upon him. I hadn't yet spoken to him. I would wait, see what sort of leader he turned out to be.

But in the time since we had first been trapped, some semblance of normalcy had begun to knit itself together. We had all begun to get a feel for the central part of the mountain and the passageways it contained – though the tunnels and catacombs far below were still a mystery. Amarantha had even been halfway agreeable when you considered that she hadn't ordered any more mass murders. The week prior, she had commanded the High Lords to find out what their High Fae needed so she could have it shipped over. Of course, requests of the lesser fae were ignored. Yet, among the most requested goods were fabrics, spices, and various other precious items. As if finery and riches would save us, improve this false court in any way. She had even left a few, though not all, requests for weapons slide by, though I knew it was nothing but a taunt.

Rhys was scarce these days, and I could never decipher where he had slipped off to. I caught glimpses of him at the nightly revels and around the halls, but we had exchanged few words over the bargain bond, and even fewer face-to-face.

I would have been lying if I said his ignoring didn’t sting a bit, even if I knew why it was. In the absence of him and his orders, I made it my mission to learn everything I could about the inhabitants of the Mountain and its layout. Gathering any bit of little information that could help me get Rhys, Nuala, and Cerridwen out.

As it was now, the afternoon was drawing to a close, and I found myself standing in a cavernous room, speaking with males who thought themselves better than me as I held a glass of wine in my hand.

A common occurrence these days. Somehow, nobody had lost their taste for alcohol despite the catastrophic curse it had laid on us.

This time, the males were High Lord Nostrus, who seemed to have the interests of his people at heart, and though he was intelligent, was also weak-willed, and his much younger cousin, Tarquin. Beron had also inserted himself into the conversation and was my least favorite to deal with. Misogynistic and cruel, I would never forgive him for what he had done to Mor.

“Truth be told, Nostrus, I can’t see why any of the Courts should consider consolidating their resources. Maybe Summer is weakened, but Autumn doesn’t need to lean on anyone else.” Beron replied.

“That may be true now, but what about in forty years? Not just for us, but for our people. Our trading with the continent has been seriously impacted by recent events.” Tarquin interjected, ever eager to help.

“Tarquin has a point, but I can’t be convinced that the Courts should consolidate completely, Nostrus. But there’s no reason we shouldn’t plan for it in the future.” I pointed out.

Nostrus looked irritated but stayed silent. It was Beron who couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“And who invited you to participate in this, Lady Valspian?” Beron jabbed.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Are you going to pick a fight with me, Beron? As Lord Nostrus pointed out, we are all in this together. Perhaps when the time comes, you wouldn't be so quick to shun what Night offers.” I fought to keep the bitter edge mostly out of my voice. Beron was cut off from responding by Tarquin gesturing to behind me.

I turned around to see a grey-veiled female servant standing a few feet away. The fabric distorted too much of her features for me to see her clearly, but I could make out a pair of bright, catlike green eyes. She shrunk back under my gaze. “Lady Valspian?” 

“Yes.” The sound of her voice startled me – I had never heard one of these servants speak. They were quiet and submissive, just as Amarantha liked them. Supposedly they were her servants from Hybern, but I had heard rumors of Prythian’s Lesser Faeries being kidnapped, cursed into silence and servitude.

“I have a message for you. Her Majesty requests your presence in her chambers in an hour for dinner.”

I had known this was imminent. I had waited with bated breath day after day, knowing that Amarantha would not forget about me. And I had promised myself I would meet it head-on. I was not weak, not helpless anymore. I knew how to use my powers. I could break into minds and glamour and win a swordfight against someone stronger than me.

And yet – my courage faltered. As those images flashed in my mind. Of all Amarantha had done. Of all the times I had failed.

“Tell Her Majesty that while I am honored, I have already promised dinner with Lady Cyra tonight, and I’d prefer not to go back on my word.”

Behind me, I heard Beron snort.

Was it a shit idea? Absolutely. Was it going to put Amarantha off my trail? Probably not. Through the veil, I could make out the girl’s eyes widening. “I-I do not think it was an optional invitation, My Lady. To dine with Her Majesty is a great honor.”

I narrowed my eyes. “The Queen should know that I keep my word. Now leave, before I have to make myself any clearer.”

She nodded once, turning away and soundlessly retreating down the hall. I prayed that Amarantha wouldn't take her wrath out on the servant.

A little over an hour later, I heard Rhys for the first time in days.

“What the hell, Feyre?”

“What?”

“You refused Amarantha? By telling her that you were dining with Cyra, of all things? Couldn’t you have at least come up with a better lie?” His temper was barely in check, anger so sharp lashing down the bond I could nearly feel it.

“I’m trying to keep my secrets just that Rhys – secret. And you’re always so insistent on me staying away from her, I would have thought you would have been pleased.”

“Well, congratulations. You’ve only succeeded in drawing more attention to yourself.”

A cold feeling crept over me. I had been irrational…I had known all along that this wasn’t a permanent solution.

“I’ll be fine, Rhys. I can take care of myself. But how did you hear about it so fast?”

“I’m entertaining her right now. I’m the next best thing to your delightful company tonight.”

Was that where he had been spending all of his time? With her? That cold in the pit of my stomach grew. “I didn’t realize…I’m sorry, Rhys.”

Stony silence. I attempted humor. “ Is the food at least decent? If you’re subjected to her company you should be fed properly.”

No response. Once again, towering walls of adamant environed him. I didn’t bother trying to get past them.

Holding in a groan, I resisted the urge to ask for something stronger to drink. The gravity of the situation had truly settled on me in the past days. At first, despite the horrors, it had almost seemed like a bad dream. That luxury was fading away with each day.

At least I actually had agreed to dinner with Cyra. The youngest daughter of High Lord Julius, the female was certainly clever, if not a bit shallow. Rhys’s ties with Day were tenuous at best, and if having dinner with one of their royals would help me keep a better eye on them, so be it.

--

An hour into my dinner with Cyra and I hadn’t figured out if she was asking nonstop questions about Rhysand for political reasons, or because she thought he was handsome and marriage material.

Well, he was. Handsome, certainly. But that was no reason for me to spend my time answering question after question about him, all while trying to turn the conversation back around to her. 

“And where does Rhysand spend all his time these days? I can’t say I’ve seen him in – well, I don’t know how long!” She tittered, and I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes.

If she was trying to wile secrets out of me, she was making an interesting approach. 

I focused on cutting my chicken into tiny, tiny pieces. “I couldn’t say. He hardly confides in me about his whereabouts And even -.” I was interrupted by the door being violently opened, handle knocking against the stone of the wall.

There in the doorway, framed by faint faelight from the hall, stood Amarantha herself. She looked otherworldly in the lighting, a painting waiting to be created with a crown on her head and a dark dress.

Cyra's fork clattered against her plate.

“Cyra. You will excuse Feyre. She has much greater plans with me this evening.” Her voice left no room for argument. “Feyre.” A beckoning, as if I was a dog to be summoned. I stood from my chair and followed her out the door, not bothering to look back at Cyra.

A string of expletives going off with each step I took, following close behind her, I hoped I was only being over cautious. She didn’t speak.

I had known from my explorations that Amarantha’s chambers had two entrances – the doors to her bedroom, and an entrance to her living quarters. Amarantha took me to the latter, the door less grand than the main ones but still carved. I wasn’t sure what to brace myself for – heads on a pike, more finger bones, servants waiting on her hand and foot – but no. Instead, it was surprisingly empty. The walls had been papered with a rather gaudy purple and cream pattern, and a giant faelight chandelier hung from the ceiling. Amarantha settled herself on a velvet mauve chaise, hand open and awaiting something. A heartbeat later, a grey-veiled female servant appeared, placing a glass of red wine in her open hand. I stared at her for a moment, and frightened green eyes peered back at me. It was the same servant from earlier - Amarantha hadn't harmed her.

“Feyre. So nice to dine with you.” She scanned me up and down, a catlike smile forming on her lips.

“It’s my pleasure, my Queen.” I dipped into a curtsy.

“Likewise.” She gestured to a chair with a wave of her claw-like hand. “Sit.”

I made my way over to the matching velvet chair nearest to her, dress crinkling around me as I sat. I had barely blinked before a wine glass was placed into my palm. Then both of the silent maids were out of the room, nearly floating like specters. Now that I was closer to Amarantha, I could sense the wards and spells she had placed on herself, making physical attacks impossible. Of course, magic ones were already out of the question.

 “So.” She angled her body towards mine, eyes crackling with dangerous power. “I'll do you a favor just this once and not mention the way in which you slighted me this evening. I trust it won't happen again."

I scrambled for a response. "Of course. Thank you, My Queen."

Her entire demeanor changed then - from threatening to untroubled in a heartbeat.

"Then, how are you faring? Are you comfortable here?”

I nodded. “I’m doing just fine, thank you.”

She rolled her eyes. “A boring answer. Come now, Feyre. I find you interesting. So entertain me.” Indeed, I had never quite seen this side of her. How many sides did the Deciever have?

This was what she had called me in here for? Petty gossip and entertainment? I took a long, slow sip of my wine.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much to report on.” 

She took another sip of wine, otherwise unmoving. I had to force my fingers to stop playing with the fabric of my dress. “I won’t dance around niceties anymore. I’m sure you know why I’ve called you here. You have quite a unique skill set.”

I had considered this at length. To play dumb or go along with this. And I still wasn’t sure that my decision was the right one. “I do.”

“I was quite surprised at first. You seemed so ordinary, and yet you walked so close to Rhysand the night of the masquerade. He valued you, and now I know why. You might be the only other of his kind on the continent. I never imagined you’d reveal your secrets on your own so quickly. You fought rather spectacularly in the fight. You even brought down one of my personal guards. I didn’t think many women fought in the Night Court.” She took another swallow of wine, and then lowered her hand again, resting it on the side of the chaise.

For the first time in weeks, the idea of a painting flashed in my mind. The dim lighting, the glinting jewels, the rich fabrics – it would make for quite the portrait. For a moment, I wished that was that she had called me here for instead. It was almost laughable, and though painting her would have been like ripping off a bit of my soul, it would have been infinitely simpler.

I let out a short, mirthless laugh instead. “I have no desire to be weak, to be considered lesser, among these males.”

“Perhaps if you revealed your true gifts, you wouldn’t be.”

“I have already done it without that. Why would I show my true hand?” I countered.

“Powerful and a strategist.” She mused. “What other gifts are you hiding?”

I did that bored half-shrug I had seen Rhys pull off so effortlessly.

“You’re from Night, so you must have some sort of shadow manipulation, correct?”

Right – at least sort of. I could manipulate shadows, but not even close to the extent that Rhys could. They were half inconsequential things of smoke, shades of Rhysand's wonderous creations. Usually, if I wanted shadows, it was easier just to create a glamour.

"I've also seen you walking. You practically prowl, your feet are so silent. In another life, perhaps you could have been an assassin," she mused.

Damn it. Just like that, she had me pinned down.

“Since you insist on knowing, yes. I can manipulate shadows, I can break into minds, I can stab someone before they even know I’m in the room.”

 “You’re my kind of female, Feyre Valspian. And we could do great things together.”

“What are you proposing?”

Amarantha ignored my question. “Do you hate me, Feyre?”

I forced myself to not break eye contact, to keep my hands still. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb. I know you don’t like me, Feyre. I can see it burning in your eyes, you know. If you want to get anywhere, you really should get better at concealing it. But luckily for you, hate has never deterred me.”

Do not let surprise show, keep your face a mask –

I finally found words. “I don’t hate you, My Queen. I hate the murders of my people that you’ve committed. I admire your ambition.”

She tilted her head. “Those deaths were necessary, Feyre. Certainly, acceptable losses in the grand scheme of things.”

“Perhaps.” I allowed, clamping down on my rage. Many of those nobles had been wicked, many of them I could barely name. And yet, I still felt such unmatched anger at their deaths. Perhaps even deeper than Rhys had. Maybe it was because of my youth – I hadn’t had time to grow a shield between myself and the world.

“Your dislike is hardly enough to discourage me, dearest. You’re far too much of an asset.”

“Please, explain to me what it is you want.” I insisted.

“What I want?” Her breathing grew quick, fingers so tight around the glass goblet I thought it might shatter. “I want to see Tamlin fall. I want to make sure all of Prythian recognizes me as their true Queen. I want to watch the dawn of a new age.” She locked eyes with me. “And you are going to be the one to help me do it.”

 My breath hitched a bit, but I looked down at my wine instead, swirling the dark purple around in the glass. “Why should I?”

Amarantha set her wine glass down on the table, the motion making a loud clunk. Cauldron, I was playing a dangerous game.

“Do I need to spell it out? We share so many common goals, Feyre. Don’t pretend you don’t want the High Lords brought to their knees. I saw the way you looked at the likes of Tamlin and Beron. You’d rather die than scrape before them, wouldn’t you?” Her voice was so soft, so persuasive, that I wondered if she had spelled it. “You claim you have no desire to be seen as weak. Prove it to me. The High Lords are already pinned beneath my thumb. The next step is to make it known to everyone else who their ruler is. At the end of these forty-nine years, when Tamlin’s spirit has been broken, I will keep you at my side when everyone else falls and grovels.”

I sat in silence for a moment, pretending to contemplate when I already knew what my answer had to be.

She laughed. “Don’t pretend you have to consider it, Feyre. Would you prefer me to threaten your life and force you to obey?”

I was going to die beneath this mountain. I hated this feeling. After I had left Tamlin, I had worked so hard, for so long, to ensure that I was not a pawn. I told myself I would never be one again. And yet, here I was. To succumb to it might kill me one day.

For a moment, I debated trying to bargain for more. For Rhys’s protection – for my court’s protection. But Rhys could certainly take care of himself, and it would be a risk anyway. With all of his dinners and conversations with her, he certainly had made bargains of his own. The court would also be safe for now – Velaris was hidden, and if she murdered everyone else Under the Mountain there would be none left to worship her.

“We have an agreement,” I said softly, raising my wine glass to hers in a toast. She did the same, a faint smile playing on her lips. I brought the glass to my lips and drank deeply for the first time since sitting down. At least there wasn’t a curse attached this time.

“There’s no point in us wasting time over chit-chat, then. I’ll tell you what first needs to be done.”

 “Word has gotten out to the common faeries about this little exchange of power, and some of them are planning some foolish uprising or another. Offenders will need to be imprisoned. I’ve arranged for extra space in the tunnels and extra caverns to be made into cells.”

There were already at least a hundred cells carved out in the deepest chambers of the mountain, left over from the War four and a half centuries ago.

“How many prisoners are you planning on having…My Queen?” I tacked on the honorific at the end.

She shrugged. “There are entire villages that need to be dealt with. You’ll see. I want you at the forefront with some of mine. I’ll be dividing the courts between you and several of my lieutenants. By the end of the week, I want you up in the courts dealing with the masses appropriately.”  

Horror squirmed in my stomach as I realized what she was planning. Imprisoning the royals, the key players in her twisted little game, that made sense. But she truly was planning a full-scale takeover.

I couldn’t leave my Court defenseless as I had planned. “The honor is mine, my Queen. But surely you don’t plan on extending your forces all the way north?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“Well, for one thing, the war bands of Illyria are hardly a threat right now. They’re indeed a fearsome power, but only if united by Rhysand. Otherwise, they’ll never unite under one front, they prefer to clash with one another. If you leave them be, they’ll probably take out some of their own weak members. As for the cities…well, you’ve visited Hewn City. They’ll take a liking to your reign anyway.”

She wrinkled her nose at me. “You speak so ineloquently. But Rhysand did say the same thing, albeit with a much finer tongue.” She mused

“Then, you know I speak the truth. You must expect that I have loyalty to my birth court.” I pointed out as breezily as possible, ignoring the insult borne of my human upbringing.

"And what of the towns and villages that have no nobles or war bands to fight amongst themselves?"

"The towns are remote and defenseless. Any rebellion could be quelled when the need arose. Why extend your troops so far North and raze what isn't even a threat?"

Amarantha considered it. “I’ll allow it, for now. As a favor to Rhysand. But I will be sending a squadron of soldiers to be permanently stationed there.”

I clenched the side of the chair to avoid slumping over in relief. 

“Then, your will is mine.” I dipped my head. 

Tag List: 

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Comment or send an ask if you want to be tagged! As always, thank you for reading.

[marril96]

The Distance Between Us

Chapter 34: Tripping

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: It’s time for the senior trip.

A/N: Huge thanks to @fangirlxwritesx67 for recommending and helping me out with research about Branson, Missouri.

Editor: @miss-moon-guardian

*****

Traveling was the worst.

The act itself wasn't that bad, but the lead up to it might as well have come from Hell itself.

Waking up early — so early the birds had yet to start chirping and the sun was barely glazing over the horizon, it, too, too tired to function.

Pulling on clothes in a half-assed attempt to look presentable when you didn't even remember your name, yet alone knew what you were doing and why.

Going through your bag one more time to make sure you'd packed everything and messing it up because you still hadn't had your coffee and your vision, on a scale from one to ten, was somewhere between a a minus five and a zero.

To be completely honest, you had no one to blame but yourself (not that you would ever admit it; Rowena's pride had rubbed off on you, or at least that was the excuse you were going with). If you'd gone to bed early instead of chatting with your girlfriend about things you wouldn't be comfortable bringing up in polite society, you wouldn't have woken up feeling like shit.

You wished to say it was worth it, but…

Oh, to hell with it!

It was worth it.

Rowena was worth it.

Today marked the third month, to the day, of your relationship. Time went by so fast; days bled into weeks, weeks into months, and, before you knew it, the dreadful cold was replaced by the fresh green of plants and the brightness of the sun, and you and Rowena couldn't have been more in love.

It was the one constant in the changes around you.

You loved each other; truly, madly, deeply. The more time you spent with her, the surer you were you wanted her in your future.

You wanted to spend the rest of your life with her.

You knew it was too soon. You'd known her for years, but you'd been friends for less than a year and only dated for three months. It was too short a time to get to know her, all of her. To get to know yourself before making such an enormous plan.

But you were sure.

You knew her enough to know there was no one you would rather be with; not now, not ever.

She was everything you'd always dreamed of, and more. So much more.

She knew how to make you laugh when you were down.

She teased and pushed all the right buttons, always with a promise of fun, never crossing lines.

She held you when you were down, whispered sweetly into your ear until you gave into a smile.

She cared about you so much. Too much. More than either of you thought she ever would.

And, most important of all, she loved you.

Good god, she loved you.

She didn't say it much, but she never wasted a moment to show it. Her kisses were love personified. When she touched you — when she held your hand, stroked your hair, hell, even slapped your ass — you felt safe, protected. At home.

You belonged with her.

If there was a way to make it official, to make it last forever, you would go for it in a heartbeat.

Maybe there would be, a hopeful part of you thought. Maybe, sometime in the future, near or otherwise, the two of you would make it official.

It wasn't something you often considered. You didn't need a piece of paper to prove your feelings, but…

Maybe.

Rowena was already in front of the school's gates by the time you showed up. She was clad in her usual attire, a strange mix of business and glamour you found incredibly attractive. A pair of purple sunglasses hung over her eyes. They were huge, extra; completely her style. She sipped on a thermos of what you assumed was tea, and you instantly thought of Crowley's alcoholic coffee.

Rowena was Scottish, but not to that extent.

"Morning," you said, diving in for a quick kiss — your usual greeting.

"Good morning, love." Her voice gave way that she hadn't had her full beauty sleep, either. Which was partly your fault, but, in your defense, she had messaged you first. She'd started it. You'd just joined in on the fun.

"You look like hell," Dean, who was standing right beside her, accompanied by Meg and Castiel, commented.

He was one to talk. "Likewise."

He shrugged.

"Nice shades," you told Rowena teasingly.

You could picture her rolling her eyes dramatically. "Don't you start."

"They are nice," you said defensively.

She looked at you in what must have been a glare. Then, pouting, she said, "I look horrible."

"That's impossible." She could get hit by a truck and would still be beautiful.

"I've got bags under my eyes," she sulked.

"Poor baby," you teased, which earned you a smack in the shoulder. "Ow! Don't be violent."

"Don't be mean and I won't."

"I'm never mean."

She snorted.

You huffed. "You're rude."

"Are you two five?" Dean said. It had been months, and he'd still not gotten used to your banter. If he cared to at all.

At least he didn't hate Rowena anymore.

It was an improvement.

Sort of.

"Are you under the impression we're talking to you?" Rowena retorted.

He rolled his eyes.

You and Rowena weren't the only ones who snared at each other.

She and Dean engaged in plenty of snark battles of their own.

Friendly ones, this time. No malice, all fun.

It was refreshing to see, to say the least. You didn't want to ever have to choose between them again (though your choice remained the same; some things you weren't willing to change your mind about).

Thankfully, it didn't take long for the bus to arrive. You weren't looking forward to spending four hours on the road, but it was better than standing amidst a crowd of kids, a part of which still, all these months later, stared at Rowena and whispered amongst themselves.

She was still the whore. Still the slut, the home-wrecker, the baby killer.

Rumors died hard.

To the Principal's credit, he had held an assembly back when it all happened. He'd managed to get some psychologist to come down to the school and talk about bullying for three long, long hours. It didn't do much, though there were quite a few students who realized what they'd been doing to their fellow peers — to Rowena — was wrong and left it alone. The majority didn't want to get in trouble.

There were no rules about opinions, though.

They were still allowed to think whatever they wanted about her. Whisper whatever they wanted amongst their friends so long as they didn't do it right in her face.

Rowena seemed okay with that.

You were not, far from it, but what could you do?

What they were doing wasn't — technically — bullying.

By some miracle known as being the Principal's kid, Lucifer was allowed to go on the trip. Kids had been banned for less; kids who didn't have daddy dearest guarantee they'd learned their lesson and would behave.

As if.

He and Olivette sat in the back of the bus, surrounded by their equally nasty friends. You and Rowena seated yourselves in the front; you by the window, leaning your head against the glass, and her right beside you, commenting — whining, pout and all — how it wasn't fair, that she wanted to sit there.

Tough luck, baby.

You just chuckled and squeezed her hand, saying, "You can lean on me if you want. I'll be your pillow."

You didn't need to see her eyes to know she rolled them.

Meg and Castiel occupied the seats across from you, and in front of them Dean sat beside Charlie. You didn't know the rest of the students very well, but at the very least they weren't assholes like the ones in the back. It was a plus.

Sticking your headphones in your ears, you let your eyes wander outside. The scenery along the way was beautiful. Fresh and green and colorful with flowers, it looked like something straight out of a fairytale. There were fields of freshly planted corn, and those full of tractors and hunched over, hardworking farmers. Children played on the streets. People rushed to work. Cars buzzed left and right.

The country was alive, even in these early morning hours.

Rowena listened to your advice and let her head rest on your shoulder. It didn't take long for her to doze off. It was an adorable sight. Careful as to not wake her, you removed her sunglasses and lowered them on your lap. Unconsciously, she seemed to appreciate the gesture, as she instantly leaned further into you, pressing herself against you.

Her hand remained in yours, holding tight even in sleep.

She was so precious.

So wonderful.

So lovely.

A soft, tender little creature with walls of ice around her; ice you'd managed to melt and see past, to respect for the protection it provided her.

She trusted you in ways she hadn't trusted anyone for years. You swore to never do anything to jeopardize it.

I love you, sweet girl, you thought. I want to be with you. Forever.

Would she want the same?

Would she be willing to commit?

Would she be ready?

All in good time, you told yourself. For now, you just wanted to enjoy this moment of peace, of serenity. Of pure and utter bliss as Rowena's heart beat tenderly against your side, a soft, calming little melody.

When teachers announced your imminent arrival at your destination, you gently nudged her awake. "We're almost there."

She let out a yawn; a small, adorable one that made your heart flutter like a thousand butterflies. "Already?"

"Uh huh. Sleep well?"

"Decent."

You grinned. "Told you I'm a good pillow."

"Good enough."

"Mean."

"You know it."

Looking around for nosy teachers, you pressed a quick peck to her lips. "I'm hungry."

The corners of Rowena's mouth curled into a smirk. "By all means, go for it."

You rolled your eyes. "You know what I mean. But I wanna kiss you, too. Lots more."

"Do it, then," she said, and it sounded an awful lot like a challenge.

Usually you would be up for it, but… "Don't want the teachers to bitch."

"Who cares?"

"I don't need that shit this early in the morning." Right now, what you needed was food. "We can make out later. They can't supervise us all the time."

Rowena grinned, beaming. "Is that a promise?"

"I guess it is."

This was a senior trip, after all.

Why were you here, if not to have fun?

*****

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