#the fact that ao3 doesn’t save work as you go sucks ass sometimes

[wisecura]

Sheets

megumi fushiguro x fem-reader

p.1

p.6  ( ⸝⸝꩜ ᯅ ꩜⸝⸝;) p.8

p.7

AN: Oh babe, this thing was a real bitch 'n a half to crank out. Sorry for the delay. I was right in the thick of editing when Google Chrome had the audacity to update itself. I will never edit on my ao3 text box ever again. lesson fucking learned, yeah? get ready for somethin

warnings: this story may cover sensitive and uncomfortable topics. please read at your own risk, yandere, obsessive behavior, possessiveness, mommy kinks, mommy issues, arranged marriages, forced marriages, angst, eventual smut, clan politics, age gap (5 years from meg, and a little over 10 with toji), toji aint the best dad, mentions of child abuse, slowww build.

Short summary: Your arranged marriage to Toji Fushiguro had been sudden and unexpected, but now you found yourself living under his roof alongside his moody stepson. Your only directive from your clan head before moving in was clear: keep a close eye on Toji, the notorious Sorcerer Killer, and his son, a potential sorcerer prodigy.

the bitch n' a half

Megumi’s decision to enroll at Tokyo Jujutsu Tech caught you completely off guard.

For as long as you’d known him, he’d shown little interest in becoming a sorcerer, dismissing the world of cursed spirits and exorcisms as something he didn’t want to be a part of.

You’d never pestered him about his cursed technique either, sensing early on that it wasn’t a topic of interest to him. You figured if he ever wanted to talk about it, he would.

So when he announced his plans at the dinner table, the words felt like they’d come out of nowhere, leaving you blindsided.

“You’re…serious about this?” you asked, trying to keep your tone steady, though the surprise was clear in your voice.

Megumi gave a small nod, his expression as stoic as ever, but there was a fierce determination in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “Yeah,” he said simply, his voice firm. Just where the hell—

You were supportive, of course—you’d never hold him back from a choice like this—but his sudden decision, combined with the way he’d been acting over the summer, left you feeling....unsettled. Something about it just didn’t add up.

The change in Megumi had been slow and subtle, but impossible to miss.

Over the past three months, he’d grown distant, retreating into himself and spending more time in his room than with you.

The boy who used to trail after you, helping with chores or lingering in the kitchen just to chat, now seemed intent on keeping his distance. It was as if an invisible wall had sprung up between you—a large, impenetrable barrier that left you feeling helpless and unsure of how to reach him. You're relationship regressing to something that felt a little more than just indifference. And the ache of his absence settled heavily in your chest, a familiar weight that was all too similar to the isolation you’d endured within your clan.

Whenever you tried to ask gently if something was wrong, his responses were curt and dismissive.

“I’m fine,” he’d mutter. His tone sharp enough to discourage any further questions. If you pressed, he’d retreat entirely, shutting down any chance of meaningful conversation.

It wasn’t just his words that had changed—his entire demeanor was different.

He’d grown skittish, almost wary. A casual touch on his shoulder or a playful ruffle of his hair—gestures he once accepted without hesitation—would now make him flinch, his cheeks flushing an uncharacteristic red. Not meeting your eyes.

Hugs, something he’d finally grown comfortable with over time, had disappeared altogether, replaced by a deliberate and careful distance.

Even when you knocked on his door to call him for meals, he’d answer from behind it. His voice clipped and muffled rather than coming out like he used to. Like he was afraid of you.

You couldn’t pinpoint what had caused the shift, but it left you anxious, as if something important was slipping through your fingers.

You’d tried bringing up Megumi’s decision to become a sorcerer with Toji, hoping for some clarity or even reassurance. Instead, he’d brushed you off with his trademark nonchalance.

“Well, it’s the kid’s death wish. What do I have to do with it?” he’d muttered, though his irritation was poorly hidden. Toji’s avoidance of the topic didn’t help.

When Megumi did emerge from his room, he seemed different each time you saw him, the changes more noticeable as the weeks passed. Over the summer, he’d shot up in height, now towering a head or two above you by the break’s end.

His lean frame had started to fill out, and his once-soft features had taken on a subtle sharpness, hinting at the man he was growing into.

But it wasn’t just his appearance.

Megumi carried himself differently now, with a quiet restraint that felt intentional, as though he were holding something back. Even his interactions with Toji had shifted. The explosive arguments that once echoed through the house had become less frequent, replaced by a tense silence that felt all the more suffocating.

And with each passing day, you heard less and less from Megumi altogether.

Maybe it’s just hormones. Was I this moody at his age?

Adding to your unease was the unsettling shift in Toji’s presence. He’d been around more lately, taking up the spaces Megumi left vacant, though his company wasn’t exactly comforting.

His sharp taunts and teasing demeanor made every interaction feel strained and somewhat awkward. And then there were those quiet dinners—the ones where it was just the two of you sitting across the table.

Still, you exchanged a few sentences here and there, yet the silences always seemed heavier than the words.

Toji had noticed the change in Megumi, too, though his reaction was far from helpful. Instead of offering advice or insight, he leaned into his usual brand of provocation.

He spent more time loitering in the kitchen, leaning lazily against the counter with that infuriating smirk that seemed to suggest he knew far more than he let on.

“Looks like the kid’s growing up,” Toji drawled one evening, his sharp eyes flicking toward you as you worked at the stove. “Getting pretty tall now, too. Bet he doesn’t need you hovering over him anymore.”

You frowned, sparing him a glance. “I wasn’t hovering,” you said, turning back to the pot. Still, your tone carried a note of defensiveness you couldn’t entirely hide. Always when it came to Megumi.

“Sure you weren’t,” Toji said, his smirk ever-widening. “Though I gotta admit, it’s funny, you know. Watching him get all flustered around you. Kid blushes like a lovesick fool.”

Your grip on the spoon tightened, and you sighed, shaking your head in exasperation. “What are you even on about now?”

Toji’s teasing tone dropped slightly, a sharper edge creeping into his teasing voice as he stepped closer.

“Come on, it’s obvious. You really don’t see it? The way he stumbles over himself? Turns bright red every time you so much as pat his shoulder? The kid’s got it bad.”

Your hand froze mid-stir, Toji’s words hitting you like a bucket of ice water. Slowly, you turned to glare at him, heat creeping up your neck despite your best efforts to stay composed.

“That’s ridiculous,” your voice low and tight, attempting to dismiss the insinuation.

Toji, ever the perceptive fucker, didn’t miss a thing. His smirk deepening, his amusement clear.

“Is it, though?”  he drawled, his tone thick with mockery. He leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. His eyes zoning in on you. “You sure about that?”

“Cut it out,” you snapped, your irritation bubbling over. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh, sure, sure,” he said lazily, clearly enjoying himself. “But you gotta admit, it’s a little weird. Him acting that way around his mom. And with you being so… sweet with him? You’re what—eighteen? You wanna play mommy that bad?”

The taunt made you flinch slightly.

“What? Don’t like the title? Cause Megs sure seems to love calling you that when he thinks I’m not around. "Mom this, Mom that." Real cute, honestly.”

Your stomach twisted at his words, a mix of embarrassment and frustration rising in your chest.

“He calls me that because I’m his stepmother,” you shot back, trying to sound firm, though the conviction in your voice wavered.

Toji leaned in, his breath ghosting over your neck, his tone dipping into something darker and deliberately provocative. “Oh, yeah? Swear I’ve heard him at night,” he said, his words slow and venomous. “‘Mommy—Mommy,’” he mocked, dragging the word out sinfully, savoring each syllable as his grin twisted into something wicked.

He watched your face carefully, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as your expression froze in shock. “Not exactly what you’d expect to hear coming from your kid’s room, huh?”

His words hit you like a slap, sending a shiver up your spine. Heat surged to your cheeks as you angled yourself away, gripping the spoon tighter.

“Toji,” you snapped, your voice sharp, teetering between embarrassment and frustration. “That’s disgusting.”

“What?” he replied with a feigned look of innocence, shrugging lazily, though the malicious glint in his eyes didn’t waver. He finally leaned back.

“I’m just pointing out what I’ve noticed. Kid’s got a lot on his mind these days, doesn’t he? He may not be talking to you, but trust me—he’s thinking about you. A lot.”

“That’s enough,” you bit out, your voice firm. But Toji’s continued on.

“Hear me out,” his voice thick with mockery, and far too laid back for the topic at hand.

“Before all this sorcerer crap, he was glued to your hip. Don’t act like you didn’t notice. Always trailing after you like you hung the damn moon. And you? You let him. No—you didn’t just let him—you encouraged it.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you stirred the pot, refusing to meet his gaze. “He’s just a kid,” you said tightly, your voice low. “He needed someone to lean on.”

Toji barked out a laugh, the sound cold and condescending. “Yeah, lean on. That’s what you wanna call it. Kid doesn’t just lean on you, sweetheart. He worships you. You can’t tell me you haven’t seen the way he looks at you, like you’re the only person on Earth who gives a damn about him.”

“He’s figuring things out,” you retorted, trying to inject some finality into your words—end this shitty conversation with him, though even you could feel the weakness in them. “It’s just a phase.”

“A phase,” Toji repeated with a snort. “Right. A phase that’s got him locking himself in his room and avoiding you like the plague. You think that’s normal? You think he’s just ‘figuring things out’? Sweetheart, I’ll give him six months before he grows a pair and spills his guts. Don’t come crying to me when the kid drops a confession on you.”

The spoon clattered against the edge of the pot as your hands stilled, and you turned to glare at him, your heart pounding. Why were his words effecting you so much?

“Megumi’s not like that,” you said firmly, though the quiver in your voice betrayed your conviction.

He tilted his head as if considering you.

“Maybe yes, maybe no. But don’t kid yourself, sweetheart. The way he’s acting? He doesn’t just see you as his stepmom. When he finally figures it out…” He trailed off, his grin widening, flashing his canines. “Oh, It’s gonna get real messy—for the both of you.”

Your fists clenched, heat flooding your face as frustration and unease warred within you.

“Are you done?” you hissed. “Can you stop now?”

Ignoring you, he chuckled, a low, grating sound that made your skin crawl. “Don’t be surprised if I kick the bucket and you end up with a marriage proposal on your hands. Kid’s already been giving me those killer glares. It'll be any day now, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, desperate to shake the knot tightening in your chest. “You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, turning your back on him and focusing intently on stirring the pot.

“Maybe,” Toji said with a crooked grin, tossing a wink your way that only made your irritation spike. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

And with that, he strolled out, leaving the room in a silence that felt heavy and suffocating. His words shouldn’t have gotten to you—absurd, cruel, teasing for the sake of his own amusement—but they lingered, scratching at the corners of your mind like an itch you couldn’t ignore.

The way Megumi had been acting lately—so distant, so evasive—came rushing back to you.

Was it really just growing pains? A harmless, fleeting crush? It was normal for boys his age to feel that way, wasn’t it? But Toji’s pointed remarks, for all their venom, planted a seed of doubt that you couldn’t easily dismiss.

Even so, you couldn’t ignore the ache in your chest that came from missing him.

The day before Megumi was set to leave for Jujutsu Tech, you made a quiet vow to yourself. His growing distance, the walls he’d carefully built between you—it all weighed heavily on your heart. You couldn’t let him go without at least trying to understand what had caused the rift.

Despite the silence between you and the lingering sting of Toji’s teasing remarks, you couldn’t deny the soft spot you had for him. No matter how far he went or what path he chose, you wanted him to leave knowing one thing—he would always have a home with you. Always.

Softly, you knocked on Megumi’s door, the sound echoing in the stillness of the hallway. From inside, there was a creak of the bed, then his low, detached, "Yeah?"

"Can I come in for a minute?" you asked gently, your voice betraying the uncertainty you felt.

After a moment’s pause, his footsteps approached, the door creaking open.

Megumi stood there, towering over you, his sharp gaze locking onto yours with an unreadable expression that made your chest tighten. His recent distance, the coldness in his demeanor, still left you feeling somewhat awkward.

"I just wanted to talk," you said softly, breaking the tension. His eyes flickered away, thinking for a moment, before returning to meet yours. With a small nod, he stepped aside, allowing you to enter.

You hesitated, nerves prickling under his impassive stare, but forced yourself to step inside. This was Megumi—the same boy who used to shadow your every step, who helped with chores and sat with you on quiet evenings.

But now, the room felt heavier, the air charged with something unsettling. Unfamiliar. You perched on the edge of his bed, your hands nervously smoothing over your knees, while he leaned casually against his desk. The distance he maintained felt purposeful, deliberate.

He looked so different. His posture was composed, his arms crossed as he regarded you with an air of quiet authority that felt nearly foreign. His once-boyish features were sharper now—defined cheekbones, a strong jawline, and piercing eyes that seemed far older than they should.

He looked uncannily like Toji.

Handsome. The word slipped unbidden into your thoughts, and your stomach twisted with discomfort. You immediately pushed it aside. This was Megumi—your stepchild. You were the adult here, a maternal figure. There was no room for such thoughts, no excuse for the nervous energy buzzing under your skin.

“What’re you doing here?” His voice broke through your spiraling thoughts, startling you. It was sharp, direct, his gaze cool as it swept over you. The weight of his attention made you squirm, a sensation you couldn’t quite place.

“I—” You faltered, suddenly unsure of how to bridge the gap that had grown between you. “I just… I wanted to talk. You’re leaving tomorrow, and you’ve been avoiding me.”

His expression didn’t shift, but his head tilted slightly, as if considering your words. His eyes, however, lingered. They moved deliberately, tracing the curve of your neck, the nervous way your hands fidgeted in your lap. There was something in his gaze—quiet, intense, and unsettlingly focused.

You looked away, heat rushing to your cheeks. There was no reason to feel this nervous, no reason for the air to feel so charged. It’s Megumi. And yet, the way he was watching you, the sheer presence he carried now, made you feel small, vulnerable, like you were suddenly under scrutiny.

It reminded you too much of Toji—the quiet confidence, the unnerving calm, the way he seemed to peel back your layers without a word. You felt desperate to ease the silent tension.

“I just…” you stammered again, your voice weaker now. “I wanted to make sure you were okay. We haven’t… we haven’t talked much lately.”

Megumi didn’t reply, yet his stare remained, and for a moment, you swore there was something almost predatory in his expression—an intensity that made your chest tighten.

When he finally moved, it was slow, deliberate, like he didn’t want to spook you.

Pushing off the desk, he crossed the short distance between you, his steps measured and quiet. You stiffened, your breath catching as he loomed closer, his shadow falling over you. Your instincts screamed to move, to retreat, but you stayed frozen, your pulse pounding in your ears.

“Megumi,” you murmured, your voice barely audible. His name sounded more like a plea than you intended. He didn’t answer, his towering presence swallowing the small space between you.

The sharpness in his eyes softened, just slightly, but the tension in the air remained, coiling tighter with every passing second. Whatever words you’d intended to say were gone now, lost under the weight of his presence. And for the first time, you weren’t sure if you were speaking to the boy you’d once known—or someone else entirely.

For Megumi, this was agony—pure, unrelenting torture. Watching you sat on his bed. Your wide, uncertain eyes—meeting his with such sincerity, was unraveling him bit by bit.

You looked so natural in his space, so right, like you belonged there.

But it wasn’t enough. Not like this.

His heart thundered in his chest, erratic and deafening, and it took everything he had to keep his expression impassive. He couldn’t let you see just how much he wanted—needed—you to stay.

But deep down, he didn’t know if you even saw him that way. Maybe you never had. Maybe to you, he was just a kid—someone to care for, to look after, not someone to lean on or depend on. The thought stung, even as he tried to push it down.

And the worst part? He hadn’t given you much reason to think otherwise. That was why he was leaving. That was why he needed to change.

“What do you want?” he asked again, his tone flat, though his piercing gaze swept over you, making you feel small, trapped under its weight.

“I…I told you, I just… I wanted to talk. You’re leaving tomorrow, and you’ve been avoiding me,” you said, your voice hesitant but steady, searching for his eyes.

His jaw tightened as his arms crossed over his chest, his posture tense and defensive. “I’ve been busy,” he said simply, though the lie didn't move past you.

“Busy avoiding me,” you countered softly, your words gentle but probing. You didn't want him retreating again, couldn't let him pull back. You leaned forward slightly, trying to catch his gaze, but, now, he stubbornly refused to meet your eyes.

“Why does it matter?” he muttered, sharper now, his tone dismissive, almost annoyed. “It’s not like I’m gone forever. I’ll be back next summer.” He was going on the defensive again.

“It matters because I care about you,” you said, holding your ground. “You’ve been distant, Megumi. I just want to understand what’s going on.”

He scoffed softly, shaking his head, his gaze set on you. “There’s nothing to talk about,” though the way his voice dipped, betrayed him. His fists clenched at his sides, the tension in his body visible.

“That’s not true,” you replied gently. “I know something’s wrong. I can see it. Please, just.....talk to me.”

His expression flickered then, a crack in his armor, letting something raw and vulnerable slip through. “You wouldn’t get it,” he finally says, his voice even quieter now, almost hesitant.

“Try me,”

The silence stretched, taut and suffocating, before he finally spoke. His voice was low, deliberate, and heavy with meaning.

“I’ll protect you.”

His words completely caught you off guard, and you blinked, unsure how to respond. “Megumi, what are you—?”

“I mean it,” he interrupted, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “I’ll get stronger. Strong enough that you’ll never have to worry about them. About anything. I’ll keep you safe.”

There was something unyielding in his tone, a quiet desperation that left you reeling. “Megumi…” you began, unsure of how to navigate this sudden shift in conversation, but he shook his head sharply.

“You don’t understand, I’m not letting them take you away. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you here.”

Those words hung in the air. Heavy and final, leaving no room for argument.

You swallowed hard, your mind racing. You really hadn't expected...this. Toji’s teasing, his warnings—it all clicked into place, and your stomach twisted with unease. “Megumi, did someone tell you—?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he cut you off, his voice sharp. “All that matters is that you’re safe. That you stay here. With me.”

“Megumi…” you tried again, but his silence was impenetrable. The tension in the room was unbearable, and you felt your resolve faltering. He was already shutting down, retreating further into himself, and you didn’t have a damn clue how to reach him. So much for being a good mother. Then again, you thought bitterly, your role model wasn’t exactly the best to begin with.

You hesitated, torn between the urge to comfort him and the gnawing voice in the back of your mind telling you to leave quickly. “I don’t need you to protect me, Megumi,” you said softly, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to stay calm. “I’m here to protect you. That’s what family does.”

“Family,” he repeated the word bitterly, as if it personally offended him. He straightened, turning halfway to glance at you over his shoulder. “Is that what this is to you? Just… family?”

“Of course it is,” you replied. “That’s what we are, Megumi.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tightening as a low, humorless laugh—almost a scoff—escaped him. “That’s all I am to you, isn’t it?” he said, his voice sharp and cutting. “Just the kid you have to look after. The one you’re stuck with.”

“Megumi, that’s not—”

“Don’t lie to me,” he snapped, his voice sharper, meaner than you’d ever heard it directed at you. His eyes locked onto yours, unrelenting, and something stirred behind them—something dark, layered, tangled with emotions you wouldn't even begin to name. His voice came out desperate, rushed and

“You don’t get it. You don’t understand how much I—”The words broke off, his jaw clenching as if the very thought of finishing the sentence physically hurt. The silence that followed was suffocating, the unfinished confession hanging between you like a live wire, charged and volatile, threatening to ignite everything you thought you knew about him.

“How much you what?” you asked softly, your voice breaking through the thick, suffocating silence. You took a cautious step forward, your chest tight with uncertainty but unable to let the moment go unresolved.

He didn’t answer immediately, the tension in the air thickening with every passing second. Then, finally, a quiet, almost guttural confession slipped from his lips, as though being dragged out against his will.

“How much I care about you,” he said, his voice low and raw, trembling with suppressed emotion. His eyes flicked to yours, burning with an intensity that made your breath catch. “You’re all I think about. Every day. And the thought of them taking you away, of losing you…”

His voice faltered, breaking as he trailed off, his hands clenching into tight fists at his sides, his whole body trembling with barely contained emotion.

Your chest tightened painfully as you struggled to find the right words. “Megumi… I care about you too,” you began cautiously, your voice soft, like treading on fragile ice. “But this—what you’re saying—it’s not…”

“Don’t.” His voice cut through yours, sharp and raw, almost desperate. His fists clenched tighter, his gaze burning into you with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. “Don’t brush this off,” he said, his tone walking the line between a demand and a plea. “Don’t tell me it’s just some… phase, or whatever excuse you’re going to use to push me away.”

Your conversation with Toji replayed in your mind like a broken record as you stepped back slightly, the weight of Megumi’s words pressing down on you like a physical force. But it wasn't enough. His intensity was suffocating, his desperate gaze pinning you in place. You couldn’t ignore the vulnerable and raw emotion in his voice, the way his words seemed to carve themselves into the air between you.

“Megumi, you’re leaving tomorrow,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “You’re starting a new chapter of your life. This—whatever this is—it’s not something we can just… talk about right now.”

“So when?” he shot back, his voice rising, trembling with an edge of anger that felt dangerously close to breaking. “When I come back? When it’s too late? Tell me—when am I supposed to say it? When am I supposed to matter enough for you to see me the way I see you?”

His words struck you like a hammer.. You opened your mouth, searching for a response, but nothing came out at first. His eyes were on you, demanding answers. Finally, you managed,

“You do matter, Megumi,” your voice breaking despite your best efforts to hold steady. You could feel the sting of tears threatening, your composure slipping with every second under his intense scrutiny. “But this… I don’t know how to—”

“Just don’t leave,” he whispered, his voice breaking, raw, needy. “I’ll get stronger. I promise. I’ll do whatever it takes. Just… please. Don't leave.”

His vulnerability clawed at your chest, each word heavy with a weight you didn’t know how to carry. The silence that followed was unbearable. Suffocating. Guilt scrapped along you conscious.

He turned away, his shoulders slumping under the burden of what he couldn’t say—and what you couldn’t answer. You opened your mouth, wanting to comfort him, to offer anything—but the words wouldn’t come.

The moment stretched too long, aching and unresolved, before you finally stepped out, the door clicking softly behind you.

“Goodnight,” he murmured, barely audible, his voice laced with defeat.

But you were already gone.

And the next day, Megumi left for Jujutsu Tech.

p.1

p.8

AN: To be continued soon. please give a follow and reblog if you want to stay updated - or follow along on my ao3

I will also be posting updates here:

https://www.tumblr.com/communities/obsessedjjk

[ms-demeanor]

While I appreciate that you want a person to live, have you considered that you are just another person who has refused them help? Sometimes it doesn’t get better. For how many years, and from how many people, is a person supposed to be ok with being dehumanized before it is ok for them to throw the towel in?

Telling someone what caliber of gun is most likely to kill them so they can start a savings fund for it isn’t helping; refusing to respond to that with anything other than mental health resources isn’t refusing to help.

But okay we’re going to have the It Gets Better talk.

I am almost thirty four years old. I’ve been getting treated for depression for literally more than half of my life. I have spent even MORE of my life than that kind of wishing that I was dead and occasionally REALLY wishing I was dead and sort of getting off my ass to do something about it. I have the standard CSA/multiple rape survivor Oh No The Trauma backstory and spent the last *nine* years living with an emotionally abusive relative who had recently taken to tracking my activity by filming me in my home.

I kind of hate “it gets better” narratives because you know what, sometimes life is shit and it doesn’t really get all that much better. Sometimes things are bad and the only thing that gets you out of the abuser’s house is the fact that your partner nearly died. Sometimes everything sucks and it sucks for a long time and there’s no end of the suck in sight.

I have friends who are chronically, degeneratively ill. I know “It Gets Better” doesn’t really help them because they aren’t going to get better. They’re going to stay sick, they’re going to keep hurting, and in a lot of cases things are going to get worse.

So “It Gets Better” kind of rubs me the wrong way. I’d like to reframe it.

You get better at dealing with the bullshit.

Sometimes your situation doesn’t improve but how you approach it does. You may be stuck in the same shit but dedicating less mental space to caretaking an abuser’s emotions. You may still be dealing with daily pain but you’ve gotten to know what triggers it and what to avoid. You may be stuck in a miserable, terrifying situation and have a rich and thriving community of fanfic authors you talk to when shit gets to be too heavy.

The people who “it gets better” narratives tend to be really helpful for are young people who don’t have any autonomy who are close to being old enough that they’ll finally get to make some choices about their lives.

It’s harder dealing with feeling trapped as an adult because you can’t generally escape the things that are trapping you by living in a college dorm or getting an apartment with a bunch of roommates or coming out because you may have already done those things OR you may be in a place where those things aren’t possible for you.

So what do you do?

Well, for starters instead of saving up money for the best kind of gun to kill yourself with save up money for something stupid and funny that you like. Save up money for a tattoo, save up money for an arcade-size DDR cabinet and pads, save up money to buy a camera to make a youtube channel of you doing bad cover songs. (And if you don’t have money to save up then take up a free hobby; if you’ve got access to the internet to send me anons about how to kill yourself you’ve got access to the internet to use AO3 and I strongly recommend you start writing self-insert fic where you get to hang out with the cool fictional characters you like because it’s sort of like maladaptive daydreaming but people will stop by and say nice things about it and you feel validated when the numbers go up)

If you *can’t* fix your situation (because you live in a country that doesn’t recognize your gender, because you’re poor and have to live with people who hurt you, because you’ve got such deep and overwhelming anxiety that making the change seems impossible, because you don’t want to abandon someone more vulnerable than you to the bad situation) then do something, ANYTHING, that you and you alone are in charge of. You’re in charge of your bad cover songs youtube channel. You’re in charge of the smiley face tattooed on your ass. You’re in charge of what happens in your totally self-indulgent, fluffy, found family fic.

Find one thing, ONE THING, that allows you to assert your autonomy and everything gets a lot easier from there because A) you’ve got proof you can do something for yourself and B) you’ve now got something to fall back on when you ask yourself “why do I keep going?”

You keep going because you like your gender affirming roleplay group online. You keep going because you want a horrible butterfly tattooed on the other ass cheek. You keep going because you want to see how many kudos the next update gets.

And while you’re doing all of that you’re making a plan.

Let’s not kid ourselves here, suicidal people are GOOD at making plans. Not at keeping them all the time, but good at making them.

So you plan to get out.

You might not *keep* that plan but if you can sit and fantasize about eating a gun so that the pain will stop then you can sit and fantasize about buying a plane ticket or running away or looking for a different doctor so the pain will stop.

Do the little things that you can do. Write fic, go fishing, fold paper cranes, take long walks by yourself, pet a cat, get a tongue piercing, read a book. Do the little things that you can control, that you enjoy, that you do just for you.

And while you’re doing that think about the train you’re going to take to leave, how much nicer the nurses will be at the new doctor, how great it’s going to feel to dress in a way that feels right.

And even if it doesn’t work and you’re stuck living with a shitty abusive harpy who screams you awake and makes you have panic attacks whenever you hear her moving around the house you’ll get better at dealing with the bullshit. You’ll build up a space for you in your head where the bullshit isn’t there.

And then maybe someday the outside matches the inside. Maybe your friend needs a roommate, maybe you get a job that pays better, maybe a new medication is released. You don’t know for sure that it’s going to happen, there’s no guarantee it’ll happen, but at least if it doesn’t happen you’ve carved out a little space for yourself where you can survive.

ALSO

I know that a huge number of suicidal people are suicidal because they feel helpless.

One way to IMMEDIATELY make yourself feel less helpless is to help someone else. Here’s an app where you can give visual assistance to blind and low-vision people: https://www.bemyeyes.com/

The world is shitty and everything sucks and sometimes you can’t make your own situation better, but you can write video and image transcriptions on tumblr and maybe that’ll cheer someone else up.

Anyway, it’s not up to me to say when anybody else has had enough, but I figure you shouldn’t try to kill yourself until you’ve gotten a stegosaurus in an admiral’s hat tattooed on your thigh or something because who knows, that could be the thing that makes you feel better enough to keep going and if you’ve put up with the pain and bullshit this long what do you have to lose by putting up with it a little longer?

[joonie-beanie]

The Chase

Pairing: Satan x Reader

Word Count: 4,982

Preview: Despite the fact that you're supposed to have the House of Lamentation all to yourself, Satan shows up in your room with an all-too-familiar charm.

He wants a chase, and you're willing to give it to him.

(This is a follow up to my other Satan fic, “Feline Charms”, so please go read that first if you haven’t!)

** Please note that this is a cross-posting **

This chapter is also being posted on 6/25/20 as a part of my “Devil Doms” series on AO3

Satan walks into your room one quiet day—a sparkle in his eyes.

You pause from where you’re sitting on your bed, surprised to see him. Last you’d heard, Diavolo had invited the brothers to the castle for dinner. You hadn’t been included in the invitation (something about discussing sensitive Devildom politics over the meal), but it hadn’t bothered you.

For once, you’d have the entire house to yourself, and that thought was exciting. But…

Here Satan is, standing in your doorway, and looking suspiciously happy.

“Did you…not go with your brothers?” you ask, pushing yourself into a seated position, with your legs crossed under you. You stare at him innocently, head cocked to the side.

“I told them I needed to catch up on homework first,” he says, waving his hand uncaringly. “The first hour or so is just mingling anyway. Dinner doesn’t start until late.”

“Ah,” you respond, but you’re still confused. It’s obvious to you that Satan doesn’t have any real homework to do, considering he’s standing in your doorway all mischievous-like. There’s got to be a reason why he’d stayed behind, and come to visit you in particular…

Sighing, you press to your feet and pose with a hand on your hip—eyebrow raising as you stare at him.

“What can I do for you, Satan?”

At that, he grins. Digging into the pocket of his jeans, Satan carefully tugs out what looks to be a small keychain. He only holds it only by the silken ribbon, and your eyes narrow in on the all too familiar golden charm dangling at the end.

Immediately, your body goes stiff—explicit memories flashing through your head.

Satan chuckles as he notices your obvious shift in demeanor.

This shouldn’t be a complete surprise to you. After all, you and Satan had spoken on the possibility of once again using the charm to make things a bit more…interesting.

It wasn’t like your normal sex wasn’t fun, or fulfilling, but…you and Satan both had admittedly gotten immense pleasure out of your first (albeit accidental) use of the charm, so why not try once again?

“I managed to adjust the spell so you won’t turn fully into a cat, like last time,” Satan speaks, his foot inching forward. His pace is slow as he approaches you, and you feel your breathing pick up—your tongue darting out to wet your lips.

You know that this time, you’re both looking for that bit of resistance you’d shown before—when Satan had been forced to wrestle you into the shower. Except, today, you won’t be running due to a fear of water—you’ll be running to feel the thrill of the chase.

Satan had expressed to you some while ago that he’d admittedly always loved being able to let go and indulge in his Wrath-born tenancies from time to time. And…part of those tendencies typically involved games of cat and mouse.

For as composed as Satan appears to be, he gets twisted pleasure out of stalking his prey—chasing them, letting them work themselves into a frenzy, until finally Satan puts them out of their misery.

…of course, Satan has no intention of killing you.

No, for you, a much more…pleasurable ending awaits.

“Of course, we don’t have to do this right now, if you’re not up for it.”

He lifts his free hand and cups your cheek, dragging you into a soft kiss. That mischievous glint in his eye is gone, replaced with a look of understanding and affection.

You and Satan have only grown closer over the last few weeks, and there’s no way he’ll jeopardize your relationship by forcing you into a scenario when you’re not on board.

A quiet moan builds in your throat, and you raise your hands—cradling his face between your palms. You steal another kiss from him, and your heart begins to race.

You love him so much that sometimes you think you may drown in your affections for him. How can one man make you want to melt, but manage to get you so sexually aroused in the same beat?

Lowering one of your hands from his cheek, you trail your fingers down his chest, and onto his arm. Within moments, your fingers skim against his own. You feel the soft silken fabric holding the charm, and without second thought, reach down to touch the spell-laden metal.

Immediately, your body tingles—and you can sense the magic changing your form. The sensation stops only after a few seconds, and true to his word, this time around you have not turned into a house cat. Instead, you remain human, but with feline characteristics—your ears twitching on your skull, and your tail waving behind you—showing the excitement you’ve been attempting to hide.

“Do I at least get a head start?” you whisper against his lips—smile overtaking you. The Avatar of Wrath chuckles, pressing one final kiss against your mouth.

“10 seconds,” he says.

In a flash, you’ve disappeared—your shoulders brushing together as you dart past him and exit your bedroom. He can hear your footsteps echoing down the hall as you run, and Satan grins to himself. It’s clear you don’t intend to make this easy for him.

As adrenaline begins to flood his veins, his power begins to seep. Horns appear on Satan’s head—his clothes transforming into his demonic outfit, and a green and black tail snakes around his leg.

“3,” he mumbles to himself, turning to face the open door to your room. He rolls his neck side to side—loosening his muscles.

“2.”

Satan takes a deep breath, his ears straining to hear you. You’ve traveled quite far in just a few seconds…perhaps the spell had granted you a tiny boost in speed, as well.

“1.”

Tongue darting out to wet his lips, Satan rushes after you.

You’ve already made it down the staircase and into the dining room by the time Satan is done counting.

While a part of you had admittedly debated slowing your pace so that Satan could find you more easily, that idea had quickly been chucked aside. Satan wants a chase, and, well…to be quite honest, the Avatar of Wrath is a bit scary. At least when he’s like this. (Although you know he would never actually hurt you.)

A wave of power extends throughout the house, and you feel your hair stand on end. Briefly pausing, your cat ears—with heightened senses—swerve around on your head. Somewhere behind you, a stair creaks.

You suck in a sharp breath, gaze quickly darting over your shoulder. How is he already this close??

Hurrying forward, you do your best to tread lightly as you round into the kitchen. You stay low behind the counter tops, a tiny smile tugging at your lips when you suddenly feel foolish for the way your heart is hammering against your ribs. You’re excited, and anxious, and aroused, and—

“Neko-chan~”

The voice is drawn-out—playful—but it still makes your hackles rise.

Suddenly, you’re all too aware of the demon lurking behind you. You don’t even dare look—simply leap forward and out of Satan’s reach. He grins mirthfully as you turn your head to stare at him--shocked. It’s seriously unfair that he can move so silently.

“I found you,” he says, taking a step forward. In response, you take a step back. The doorway to the hall is still a few feet behind you, and Satan is blocking the entrance back into the dining room. Your best bet would be to stun him, and then run further into the house and hide.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see an apple sitting on the counter.

You swipe at it without warning, effectively sending it flying towards Satan’s head. The demon, luckily, is thrown off by the action.

He lifts an arm to save his face from being struck by the fruit, and by the time the apple has bounced off his arm and clattered to the floor, Satan’s eyes only manage to catch the sight of your tail disappearing from the doorframe.

A grin tugs at his lips, his eyes flashing dangerously.

You’re cute when you’re desperate. Too bad your efforts are in vain.

You only make it half way up the hall before a hand wraps around your tail. With a shriek, you tumble off your feet—landing ungracefully on your ass. There’s an amused snort behind you.

“And that’s why I keep my tail close to me.”

You scramble to your hands and knees—knowing that Satan is behind you—but he doesn’t allow you to get away again.

“It’s adorable when the prey doesn’t realize it’s time to give up.”

Satan’s warmth and weight are suddenly on your back. You feel his prominent hard-on against your ass, and pointedly rut back against it—hoping to loosen his hold. However, the action in turn causes him to grip you tighter—his sharp nails digging into one of your breasts through your shirt.

You whimper, but the sound quickly escalates into a pained gasp as Satan’s other hand roots in your hair.  He tugs your head back—his teeth sinking into the crook of your neck as punishment for that last, pathetic escape attempt.

“Satan,” you breathe hotly, your tone pleading. Your ass wiggles against his crotch. Despite the small amount of distress you feel towards your current situation, it is vastly outweighed by the arousal pooling your gut. The Avatar of Wrath catching you and pinning you down like this is a huge turn-on.

“Wasn’t much of a chase, in the end,” he mumbles against your ear, and you blink in shock as the world spins. He easily flips you onto your back, and suddenly you’re staring at his devilishly handsome face—his lips pulled into a wide smile, and his blond hair disheveled.

“You should have just told me if you wanted my cock that badly, Y/N.”

You flush red, hand lifting to press against his chest, but he doesn’t budge.

“You prick—I ran with all I had! Maybe if you wanted more of a chase, you should have given me a bigger head s—”

Your words are cut off as his palm presses against your neck—his fingers squeezing tightly around your throat. You’re very much reminded of the first time he’d fucked you--the same ears and tail adorning your body.

“I would watch your mouth, kitty.” You start to go light-headed, and Satan feels you become more pliable beneath him. He drags his knee between your thighs--grinding up against your pelvis, and you whine. “Is that any way for a pet to talk to their master?”

“I-I’m not--,” you attempt to deny his words, but you’re aware that this is a battle you won’t win. You’d said once before that you were the “Avatar of Wrath’s personal little pet”, and he’s taking that very seriously. Especially now that you’re pinned beneath him--cute, fuzzy ears flattened against your hair. 

Satan leans in so your faces are mere centimeters apart, and his eyes flick to look at your lips.

“Want to try that again?”

Your body heats up with embarrassment. You will yourself to meet his gaze.

“I’m your pet, Satan.”

He smiles at that, and you feel his grip on your neck loosen as he leans down to kiss you. You moan quietly into the kiss—your arms lifting to wrap around him—but the soft moment is over as soon as it begins. The Avatar of Wrath nips his canines against your bottom lip, drawing a bit of blood, and his fingers tighten against your throat once more.

“And as my pet, I can do whatever I please, yes?”

His knee is still rubbing up against your pussy, and even though the friction is lessened by your clothing, you’re so riled up at the moment that you swear if he keeps going, you’ll cum soon.

You nod weakly.

“Say it.”

“You can use me however you want.”

Your voice is frantic, and breathless. Satan can see the way your face has started to color from lack of blood flow, so he removes his hand from your neck. Instead, he places a finger at the collar of your shirt—his green nail extending into a point on command. The sharp nail catches the fabric of your shirt and tears it clean up the middle.

Because you’d been expecting to have the house to yourself tonight, you aren’t wearing a bra.

As your tits spill into the open air, Satan’s dick throbs. Immediately, his hand descends upon the soft mounds, giving them a rough squeeze. You whimper--your eyes straying to look at the crotch of Satan’s pants, and the pitched tent is quite obvious.

Unconsciously, you lick your lips. Satan notices, his eyes narrowing. He removes his hand from your chest, and instead replaces it with his mouth. As he sucks your tit between his lips—his teeth gently nipping at your hardened nipple—his free hand sneaks beneath the hem of your pants.

His fingers slide between your wet folds, two digits curling into your pussy with little resistance. You writhe beneath him, your hips grinding down against his hand, and he sinks his teeth into your breast as a warning. You’re quick to cease your movements.

“Good girl.”

Satan laps his tongue against your tit—soothing over the indentation of his teeth. Acknowledgement of your good behavior.

You whine, unable to help the miniscule twitching of your body as Satan begins finger fucking you. His pace is frustratingly slow—serving only to rile you up—but you know that if you beg for more, you’ll be punished. Good pets learn to wait, and so shall you.

“Mmm--!” you mewl—your chest arching into Satan’s mouth. He’s taken to biting and sucking against your breasts—leaving you with a pretty pattern of soon-to-be hickies.

“You like it when you have marks, don’t you?” he speaks, voice deep. His emerald eyes flit up to you, and a grin pulls at his lips when he fucks his fingers into you particularly hard—making you gasp.

“That way, whenever you see them, you’ll be reminded of this—,” Satan drags his mouth upward to rest against your throat. His words are hot against your skin as he continues, and you shiver.

“—me, fucking you in the middle of the hallway after a pathetic game of cat and mouse. You’re quite literally the cat out of the two of us, and yet you were caught…”

“Not exactly a fair game when you’re running from a demon,” you shoot back. Satan breathes a laugh, and a moment later, you feel his canines against the column of your throat. He bites down—a cry falling from your lips—and Satan enjoys the way your pussy tightly grips his fingers. Despite the pain laced in your voice, he can feel your walls getting wetter.

“You’re quite mouthy for a pet,” he comments, sitting back a little. There’s a clear impression of his teeth against your neck. Your chest rises and falls quickly—eyes blown wide as you stare at him. Looks like your bratty remarks have finally given way to needy submission.

“How about…,” Satan pulls his fingers from inside of you, watching the way your bottom lip quivers in disappointment. “…you meow for me?”

His two digits—slick with your own arousal—press against your clit and begin rubbing slow, gentle circles. Your skull angles back into the carpet, lips parting in a silent moan, and after a moment your wanton gaze resettles on the demon.

You hesitate, your cheeks getting redder, and Satan grins. He rubs against your clit a bit harder, leaning down to press open mouth kisses to your sternum.

“If you be a good girl and meow, I’ll quit teasing and give you what you want. How’s that sound?”

He mumbles the words against your skin, smiling when he feels your thighs tighten around his hand. It takes a few seconds for you to work up to it, but eventually Satan hears you sigh—giving into your fate.

“N-nyaaa~,” you manage quietly, pitching your voice high, and attempting to come off cute. Your heart is racing against your ribs, embarrassment and arousal clashing as your body continues to heat up.

Satan’s fingers pause against your clit—the blond-haired demon leaning back, and giving you a curious look. It seems like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Despite his inner amusement at making you meow; his dick is throbbing.

He wants to fuck you into the floor.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he remarks, resting back on his knees as his hands fumble to undo his belt. You watch him with wide eyes, surprised at the desperation that is oozing off of him. A part of you wants to tease him for getting so turned-on from making you meow of all things, but you don’t want to jeopardize your chance at finally having his cock inside of you.

And you need this.

A gasp falls from your mouth as Satan grabs you—his fingers tugging at the waistband of your pants. Since you’re fairly desperate yourself, you lift your rear off the floor, making it easier for him to shuck the clothing off of you.

Now, with your lower half revealed to him, Satan wastes no time in settling between your legs. His pants are already shoved down his thighs—cock weeping and hard.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he commands a little breathily as his hands find your hips—guiding you against him. The head of his length rubs between your wet folds, flicking against your clit, before finally dragging down to your sopping hole.

You groan pleasantly as he seats himself between your walls—your legs curling around him as his cock stretches you open--filling you so deliciously. Despite the wrath in his nature telling him to be mean, a hint of fondness tugs at his heart--happy to see your satisfaction.

Leaning down, Satan cups your face. He kisses you hotly—his tongue dragging against your own as he swallows each and every pleasurable sound that threatens to escape you. 

With his cock sheathed within your heat, he kisses you until your breath is completely stolen away.Then, he leans back--his eyes roaming you from head to toe. Hickies litter your chest, your lips are wet and swollen, and the bite mark on your neck is sure to be there for days. He grins with satisfaction at his work.

“What a good pet,” he comments. His hands find your hips once more, and the soft intimacy of the moment has ended. You’re once again his prey.

“Oh--!” you choke in surprise as Satan suddenly thrusts himself into you—his pace fast and rough right from the get-go. Your fingers tear into the carpet beneath you—desperate for something to hold onto. If it weren’t for the remnants of your torn shirt protecting your back, you’re sure you’d have carpet burn in minutes.

“Ah,” Satan bites out, his heart thundering in his chest as he continues fucking into you. With your legs tightly wrapped around him, it makes it so easy for him to grind your pussy onto his dick—his fingers digging into the plush flesh of your hips as he forces you to meet him in the middle.

Uncalled upon, little whines and pleas begin to drip off your tongue. The chase combined with all of Satan’s teasing has gotten you so worked up that you can already feel arousal pooling heavily in your gut. Each drag of the demon’s cock between your walls inches you closer to your release, and at this rate, you won’t last very long.

“S-Satan, I--,” you open your mouth to warn him, but that’s all you can manage. You can barely form a coherent thought, your eyes glazed over as you stare at him. And Satan loves seeing you like this—falling apart beneath him. All it would take is one final push, and he’s sure that you’d unravel.

“Oh? Are you close already?” he teases, despite full well knowing he’s nearing his breaking point as well. Sweat has started to bead on his brow—the ends of his messy blond hair sticking against his forehead. As much as he could poke fun at you for being so close already, he doesn’t have the right. At this rate, he’ll be pumping you full of his seed within the next few minutes.

You bite your lip at his question and manage to nod your head. Your pussy is throbbing around his length—gripping him tighter with each passing second. You’re drowning in your own arousal.

Whining a little, you lift your arms towards the demon—craving to feel him. He’s already fucked any remaining disobedience out of you, and now all you want is to keep him close as he drills you into the floor.

Luckily, Satan is feeling nice enough to give in. He wraps his arms behind you, hugging you tightly against him as he continues fucking his hips into yours. Wet slapping sounds echo down the hallway, and you moan--your fingers digging into his shoulder blades as you wrap yourself around him.

Satan’s breathing is heavy against your ear, quiet pants and curses puffing against your skin as the two of you rocket towards your climaxes. However—

Brrrring Brrrring~

Satan’s rhythm stutters as he feels his DDD begin vibrating against his lower thigh. He growls.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Your head thumps back against the floor in disappointment as Satan untangles himself from around you and wrestles his phone out of his pocket. The screen reads Mammon, and Satan momentarily debates ignoring the call. However, knowing that he’s supposed to be at an important meeting with his brothers and Diavolo currently, he can’t justify doing so.

“What?” he bites in annoyance, connecting the line. Despite also being peeved at the interruption, you find yourself smiling—Mammon’s offended voice reaching your ears as he complains about the rude greeting.

As Satan seethes, you become aware of the fact that his cock is still inside of you. Even though he had picked up the call, he has made a point of keeping himself seated between your warm walls, and the realization has you feeling a little…devious.

“Lucifer is wonderin’ where the hell ya are,” Mammon states after airing his complaints at Satan’s cold greeting. The Avatar of Wrath sighs.

“I’ll be there soon, I’m nearly fin-ished--,” his voice wavers, pitching high in response to your pussy clenching around him.

“You okay, Satan?” Mammon asks curiously as Satan’s narrowed emerald eyes shift down to you. There’s a look of disbelief on his face—had you really just done something so ballsy?—but the anger in his eyes quickly melts into something much more devious.

He leans back a little more—his free hand moving between your legs. Before you can beg him not to, the Avatar of Wrath is quickly rubbing two of his fingers against your aching clit. His motions are swift and damning—a side to side motion that has your eyes rolling back, and your lips parting. A moan threatens to tear out of you, and you hurry to lift your hands and cover your mouth.

A grin tugs at Satan’s lips even as your pussy tightens around his cock once more.

“I’m fine,” he responds after a brief pause, his voice even and put together. It’s a stark contrast to you, who is quite literally writhing beneath him. You cry into your hands—your thighs pressing tightly against Satan’s hips as you attempt to close your legs, but it’s no use.

“…okay then,” Mammon relinquishes, still sounding a little suspicious. “Dinner starts in 30 minutes. Get here by then, alright?”

“I’m sure I’ll finish in time,” Satan replies, now full-out grinning as he watches you squirm. He can feel your pussy pulsating around his length. If he keeps going, there’s no doubt you’ll cum.

“Ya better, or Lucifer will have your ass. Get here soon.” 

With that, Mammon ends the call, and Satan doesn’t hesitate in chucking his phone across the floor. It skids to a stop on the carpet a few feet away just as the demon reaches up and tears your hands away from your mouth.

“You bas--,” you start breathlessly, but Satan cuts you off. His mouth crashes against yours—his arms once more wrapping tightly around your torso as he picks up where you’d left off. And all you can do is moan around his tongue—a thick layer of need blotting out your anger and embarrassment.

Once again, the two of you are thrown into the depths of your pleasure. The world disappears from around you. All you know is Satan, and the way he’s making you feel.

“Please,” you beg, fingernails pressing crescents into the skin of his shoulders. You’re so, so close. You could snap at any second.

Satan notes the way your walls grip him—squeezing tighter with every thrust of his cock, and he bites out a curse. He can feel your breasts pressing against his chest—hear each of your breathless pleas and whines. You’re quite literally falling apart in his fingers, and he has never experienced anything more beautiful.

“Cum.”

Permission.

With a strained cry, you hug yourself to him as tight as you can, and cum. Your body convulses beneath him, your pussy milking around his cock, and you feel his muscles tense. He pants harshly—a near whine caught in his throat—and his rhythm finally falters.

Seating himself inside of you, Satan paints your walls with his seed. His chest heaves as he slumps against you—holding you near as your pussy forces every last drop of cum from his length. Taking a deep breath, you reach a hand up to pet through his blond hair.

“Good?” you question tiredly, turning your head to press a kiss to his ear. Satan hums in affirmation, and you shiver as he drags his hips backwards—his length disappearing from inside of you.

“Very,” he assures you, moving to kiss you.

You smile, happy to hear him say so, and then laugh a little. He cocks an eyebrow, leaning back onto his knees so he can fully look at you.

“What?”

“I think you just have a cat fetish,” you tell him, your ears twitching atop your head. “I mean…we could have sex like this without using the charm, you know?”

Satan turns a little red at that, sheepishly tugging a few strands of damp hair from his forehead.

“I just…think you look really cute like this, okay?”

It’s clear that now that the Avatar of Wrath has gotten his fill, he’s not feeling so mean anymore.

“Then I’ll be your kitty whenever you want,” you tell him, pressing your palms to the floor as you sit yourself up. Satan immediately reaches forward and cups your cheeks—a fond look in his eyes as he guides you into another kiss.

“That’s a dangerous offer,” he tells you, smiling against your lips. You laugh again, and Satan is sure to pepper you with a few more soft kisses before he grabs your hand and helps you to your feet. The two of you put yourselves back together best you can—Satan reassuring you that he’ll buy you a new shirt when he sees you motion to the now destroyed garment on your top half.

“Have fun at dinner,” you tell him as he bends down to retrieve his discarded phone. The demon rolls his eyes, his horns and tail disappearing into thin air.

“Of course.”

Pausing to hug you and kiss you one last time, Satan then makes his way up the hall and disappears from sight. Once he’s gone, you stretch your arms above your head and turn back towards your room. You could really use a shower.

Later than night—just past 1AM—you’re pulled from your sleep by a dip in your bed. An arm wraps around your waist—a nose nuzzling against your neck—and you murmur quietly.

“Satan?”

“Were you expecting someone else?” he shoots back, clearly tired himself. You shake your head “no”, and settle back against the pillow. You feel his fingers lift to pet against the furry ears still lingering atop your scalp, but you can’t be bothered to say anything. The sensation is nice, and it quickly lulls you back to sleep.

“Night,” you mumble, drifting off, and you hear him chuckle.

“Good night.”

In the morning, you wake up safely tucked into Satan’s embrace, and the two of you end up lounging in bed talking for a fair while. You only decide to start the day once your stomach growls, in need of some breakfast.

Exiting your room together (Satan being sure to remind you to cover the bite marks on your neck) the two of you make your way towards the kitchen, but are stopped by a frowning Leviathan.

“What’s up?” you ask, and the otaku motions over his shoulder down the hall.

“Lucifer found some weird stain on the carpet this morning. He’s currently patrolling and is trying to find the culprit.”

At his words, you and Satan freeze. You turn to look at each other—realization shining in your eyes.

You’d both left the scene of your love making without bothering to check if you’d…left a mess.

Well shit.

“Thanks for letting us know, Levi!” you say, grabbing Satan’s wrist and tugging him up the hall.

You need to clean up now.

After all, the last thing you need is Lucifer to start asking about how the stain happened.

[artificialqueens]

(I Feel Like) I've Been Wanting You All My Life (Rosenali) - Goodemethyd

A/N: sequel to (We Don’t Need Words) Let Your Body Talk featuring more rosenali smut. thanks to everyone who read/liked/reblogged that one and hopefully y’all like this one too

Summary: “Are you still coming over tonight?” she asks when Rosé meets her on the other side of the bar.

“Yeah. Hopefully cleanup won’t take too long.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Denali says, pulling Rosé in close for a kiss that practically makes her weak in the knees, and she really wants to make an excuse to leave early. There’s no place she’d rather be right now than in Denali’s bed. But she knows that there’s no way Jan and Lagoona would buy it.

Read on AO3

Rosé can’t believe her life is real at the moment. At least once a week she has to pinch herself to make sure that she’s not dreaming. But it’s real, and she’s actually dating the hottest woman on the planet. After the night where Rosé made a fool of herself and thought all hope was lost, Denali surprised her by being into it. And she continues to surprise her every day.

She’s at work again, this time it’s a Friday night and it seems like every single person who lives in New York is packed into the club. Rosé has served so many drinks, she wonders how they have any alcohol left. But with the way she’s reeling in the tips, she would never complain. Add that to the fact that Denali is there, showing off for her on the dance floor, and Rosé is one happy human.

There’s a lull in the crowd at the bar, and Rosé takes her chance to take a quick break, hoping that Denali is watching her like she normally does so she can meet her out in the back alley.

Rosé’s not disappointed when Denali steps out of the door just a few moments after she does.

“You look really hot out there tonight,” Rosé informs Denali as she wraps her arms around her waist, pulling her in close.

“I know,” Denali says, giggling before she closes the small gap still between them to attach her lips to Rosé’s. Rosé deepens the kiss, moving her tongue against Denali’s and lets her hand run down Denali’s body to rest on her ass, which has quickly become one of Rosé’s favorite body parts.

She loses herself in the kiss, enjoying the press of their bodies against each other as she leans against the brick wall of the club, and Denali slots her thigh between Rosé’s legs. Denali starts getting handsy then, pushing her hands up under the hem of Rosé’s tank top and running her fingers along the swell of her breasts. Rosé’s breath catches in her throat when her thumb brushes against her nipple, and she grinds down against Denali’s thigh without thinking.

Rosé is getting way too flustered for someone who is standing in an alley in public while she’s technically at work, but she’s saved from herself when the door flies open.

“Can you stop fucking your girlfriend out here and help us with this crowd, bitch?” Lagoona shouts, sticking her head out.

“We’re not fucking!” Rosé yells back, laughing, but she starts to disentangle herself from Denali, trying to gain her composure so she can go back in and do her job. It’s probably a good thing Lagoona came out when she did or Rosé might not have been able to say that truthfully. She just can’t seem to help herself when it comes to Denali.

“I wish we were,” Denali mutters. It’s sometimes a blessing and sometimes a curse that Denali feels the same way about her.

“I’ll come over when I’m off tonight. Then I’m all yours,” Rosé promises and kisses her softly one more time before they head back inside.

Rosé has been going to Denali’s when she gets off work more often than not lately. So often that Denali gave her a key a couple weeks ago. It’s close and convenient, and Rosé would much rather share Denali’s bed than sleep alone.

Denali follows Rosé to the bar when they get back inside, shoving her way up to the front to lean against the counter, positioning herself to make sure that her cleavage is on display before ordering a drink. Rosé takes her time preparing it, getting distracted by Denali’s tits and completely ignoring the judgmental stares coming her way from Jan and Lagoona.

She passes it over when it’s ready, and Denali presses money into her hand before she can move it out of the way. Once Denali found out how much money Rosé was losing from her own check for all the free drinks she’d given her, Denali insisted on paying, and insisted that Rosé could give her some free things that were much better than drinks later on.

“Thank you, baby,” Denali says, leaning over to kiss Rosé before taking a sip of her drink, and Rosé ignores the gagging sounds Jan and Lagoona make behind them.

Denali sits at the bar for a bit longer, sipping her drink slowly, and Rosé keeps sneaking glances at her while she’s serving up drinks to other patrons, winking at her and relishing in the dimpled smiles she gets in return. Denali gets her attention and gives her another kiss before making her way back to the dance floor, and Rosé enjoys the view as she goes, her red dress hugging her curves in all the right places.

It gets really busy again, and Rosé doesn’t have a spare second to think about anything other than the drinks she’s serving up, losing track of Denali on the dance floor.

When there’s another small lull in the crowd at the bar, Rosé takes a quick glance over, looking for her girlfriend, and she drops the bottle of beer she’s holding when she sees her. The way Denali is moving reminds Rosé of something she did in the bedroom a few nights ago, and she barely registers the way Jan and Lagoona are laughing at her as she cleans up the broken bottle and tries to wipe the beer off herself because she’s so lost in thought.

Soon enough it’s closing time, and Denali comes over to say goodbye before she takes off.

“Are you still coming over tonight?” she asks when Rosé meets her on the other side of the bar.

“Yeah. Hopefully cleanup won’t take too long.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Denali says, pulling Rosé in close for a kiss that practically makes her weak in the knees, and she really wants to make an excuse to leave early. There’s no place she’d rather be right now than in Denali’s bed. But she knows that there’s no way Jan and Lagoona would buy it.

“I’ll see you soon,” Rosé says before she heads back behind the bar, starting to work on her nightly closing duties. She can’t even pick up the spray bottle to start cleaning before Jan and Lagoona swoop in on her.

“Sooooo, you and Denali. Seems like it’s getting pretty serious,” Jan starts, and Rosé just ignores her, spraying the counter and wiping it down.

“I think you owe us some details here,” Lagoona adds in, starting on inventory. “We’re the reason why you got together in the first place.”

“Fine,” Rosé relents, knowing it’s the truth. “What do you want to know?”

Rosé provides all the details the girls request, telling them how much she really likes Denali, how happy she makes her, and how fantastic she is in bed. She probably has hearts in her eyes as she talks, because that’s just the effect that Denali has on her, and she’s not ashamed of it.

When they’re finally done closing up, Rosé has a spring in her step as she walks the few blocks to Denali’s apartment. She uses her key to let herself in and heads straight to the shower, memories flashing back as she quickly rinses the sticky beer off herself. She dries off and doesn’t bother getting dressed before heading down the hallway to Denali’s bedroom, ready for some naked fun.

But when Rosé gets there, and she sees Denali sleeping peacefully, looking as gorgeous as always, she doesn’t have the heart to wake her up. She just climbs into bed and snuggles up against her, wrapping an arm around her waist. She presses her nose in close to Denali’s hair, breathing in the scent of her shampoo as she drifts off to sleep.

She’s awoken the next morning by soft lips on her cheek, and there’s a smile on her face before she even opens her eyes.

“Good morning,” Denali whispers and then moves from Rosé’s cheek to her mouth, pressing a sweet kiss onto her lips. “Sorry I fell asleep before you got here.”

“It’s okay.” She’s honestly just happy to spend time with Denali at all, even if they are sleeping.

“Let me make it up to you,” she says, swinging one leg over Rosé and straddling her.

Rose’s definitely not going to object to that. She lies back and enjoys it while Denali attaches her lips to her neck, kissing down to her breasts and sucking a nipple into her mouth. Her hands wander along Rosé’s body, leaving goosebumps in their wake, and by the time Denali kisses her way down further, settling between her legs, Rosé is dripping wet.

Denali runs a finger through the slickness between her folds, dipping in when she gets to Rosé’s entrance, and she can’t help the moan that falls from her lips.

“Fuck,” Rosé breathes out, and it seems to spur Denali on further, because she pushes another finger in and starts fucking her slowly, glancing up her body to make eye contact. Rosé shivers under her gaze.

Denali smirks at her, showing off the dimples that Rosé can never get enough of, before breaking eye contact to bury her face in Rosé’s pussy. She licks around her fingers, just soft, slow caresses of her tongue and it’s driving Rosé crazy. She grips the bedsheets in her fists and wriggles underneath Denali’s ministrations, wanting more. Denali seems to get the picture and moves to focus on her clit with the same torturously slow licks, just on the edge of great but not quite enough to really get her going.

“Fuuuck,” Rosé groans again. “Faster, baby. Please.”

It doesn’t take long for Denali to pick up her pace, licking faster and giving Rosé what she wants. Rosé can’t help but move her hips in time with Denali’s licks and the thrusts of her fingers, feeling the pleasure starting to overwhelm her. Her toes curl as she reaches her orgasm, moaning Denali’s name and reaching to tangle her fingers in her hair. Denali licks her through it, slowing the movement of her fingers as Rosé clenches around them. She feels boneless when she comes down, not able to move a muscle as Denali withdraws her fingers and crawls her way back up Rosé’s body.

“God, that was good,” Rosé breathes out after Denali kisses her, and she starts regaining control of her body, able to move her arms and hold Denali close to kiss her again. “What do you want?” she asks when they pull away.

“Just kiss me,” Denali answers before she attaches their lips together again, licking into Rosé’s mouth as she straddles one of her thighs, grinding down against it. Rosé grips her ass, pulling her in closer as she continues kissing her, swallowing the moans she’s making. She can feel how wet Denali is against her thigh, but Rosé wants to feel it with her fingers. She snakes her hand down between their bodies until she reaches her cunt, trying to get her fingers on her clit, and Denali breaks from the kiss to groan into Rosé’s neck when she makes contact.

“Feels good,” she breathes out. “I’m close, baby. Keep doing that.”

Rosé follows Denali’s instructions and continues to rub circles into her clit, working to get her off. “You gonna come for me, baby?” she whispers into Denali’s ear before flicking her tongue out to lick and bite down on it.

“Yeah,” Denali gasps and thrusts against Rosé a few more times before she comes, groaning and biting down on Rosé’s shoulder. A few moments later, she rolls over to the side, starfishing her arms out and breathing hard.

“Nap time,” Denali says, her eyes already starting to drift closed as she moves to cuddle up against Rosé. Rosé chuckles and settles into Denali’s arms, more than willing to get some more sleep before going for round two.

[doitforstamets]

A fanfic..!

Edit: AO3 with more chapters!

Star Trek Discovery Hugh Culber/Paul Stamets Before Discovery General audiences / Not beta read

Paul sits in the dim hotel lobby, tapping on his thigh with one hand and mindlessly browsing a PADD with the other. There is text on the screen he doesn’t read, and pictures he glances over but doesn’t look at.

His heart jumps at an incoming message.

“Be there in 20 minutes”, Hugh writes.

Paul is frozen staring at the message pop up until it disappears. His hand stops the nervous tapping to grab the PADD from the glass table, and to write back.

“Can’t wait.”

And he really can’t. 20 minutes, still? Paul feels like he’s been waiting for weeks – and technically he has. But he’s only sat in the hotel lobby for a while, just long enough to finish a cup of coffee and go trough his presentation one more time, sloppily. Hardly a way in which he does anything, usually. He takes pride in being very particular about his work.

But not this weekend.

After an unexpected encounter on Alpha Centauri 6 weeks ago – Paul checks in his head, yes, it really has been 6 weeks since he met Hugh – they’ve only been in contact via video calls and messages. Not that it hadn’t been nice – it’s been very nice – Paul was starting to get impatient with not being close to Hugh, physically.

For a while, he had been afraid to say anything, in case Hugh felt differently. He had tried to focus on his work, only messaging Hugh once or twice a day compared to the earlier long daily conversations and calls.

He didn’t mean to get so lost in the research, but that’s just who he was. One day, he had forgotten to message Hugh completely. He had spent his entire day calculating and testing yet another idea for harnessing the potential of the spore drive. It didn’t work.

He returned to his apartment, overlooking the research station on Deneva, defeated and annoyed. He had frustratedly kicked off his shoes, thrown his jacket on the couch, rest of his clothes leaving a messy trail to the bathroom. He didn’t pay much attention to anything while showering. He’s pretty sure he had washed himself.

Stepping out of the bathroom to be met with the warm glow of the Denevian sunset, Paul sighed.

Instantly, there was a muffled vibration coming from somewhere near the entrance to his apartment.

Oh shit, Paul realized. He had not looked at his personal PADD all day.

Quickly making his way to the entrance, he tried to grab the jacket he wore today from the coat rack. It wasn’t there. He turned around, remembering throwing the jacket on the couch, only to realize the buzzing was coming from his feet.

Paul grabbed the PADD from the case on the floor, almost instinctively answered the video call, before realizing he was wearing nothing but a towel around his waist.

Hastily, he grabbed the nearest shirt he could find, struggled while putting it on trying to simultaneously hold the PADD. He took a few steps to the couch and answered the call while flopping down on the couch.

Hugh’s face appeared on screen, his brows furrowed a bit, but his mouth turning into a faint smile at the sight of Paul.

“Hey,” Hugh greeted in a soft tone.

“Hi.”

“Where have you been?”

Paul had realized his mistake just moments before, and took a second to think of the answer, no matter how obvious it was.

“In the lab,” Paul answered sounding a little exhausted.

“Of course,” Hugh smiled. “Anything exiting?”

Paul sighed again, turning his gaze to look at the sunset taking its final breaths in the horizon.

“Not really. Another day spent with algorithms and experiments only to prove myself wrong.”

“Oh,” Hugh exhaled with an apologizing look. “That sucks.”

By now, Hugh knew better than to answer Paul’s disappointment with the previously tried encouraging facts, like “that’s part of the research. You’ll get there eventually.”

Instead, he had noticed, Paul took comfort in him just agreeing that sometimes his work was a pain in the ass.

Looking at the pale man on screen, direct sunlight hitting his face and hair, illuminating it even lighter and bouncing off his blue eyes with a beautiful glow, Hugh definitely agreed that right now, he would rather have Paul not so invested in his research. Maybe they could spend some time together, if it wasn’t for their distance and both of their demanding jobs.

Hugh sighed smiling, studying Paul’s white-appearing eyebrows, now furrowing a bit in a way that had become quite familiar to Hugh. Paul quickly turned back to face the screen.

“I don’t really want to think about it,” he huffs. “How was your day?”

“I missed you,” Hugh answers without hesitation.

Paul is taken aback by the honest statement. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to ignore you,” Paul murmurs, realizing there are at least a few notifications unread on his PADD from Hugh.

“I know. You were working.”

“Still. I could’ve at least messaged you,” Paul goes on to say, genuinely annoyed at himself for ignoring Hugh for a full day. He meant to keep his distance, but not this much.

“Yeah, you could’ve,” Hugh admits, flashing a grin that almost melts Paul.

Hugh is still in his white Starfleet uniform, although the jacket is open, revealing an undershirt with a far more giving neckline. Paul tries not to stare.

“But I had a busy day too,” Hugh continues. “I have time now.”

“Good,” Paul smiles, although he’s a tiny bit uncomfortable remembering that he isn’t wearing any pants.

“You’re home?” Paul asks an obvious question. He’s seen enough glimpses of Hugh’s quarters to recognize it.

“Well,” Hugh looks a little surprised. “I guess.”

Paul raises an eyebrow as in asking Hugh to elaborate.

“It still doesn’t feel very... homey.”

Hugh had lived in these quarters on this starbase for about six months now. He’d gotten used to it, and felt physically comfortable where he was, but he had never referenced to it as “home”. Maybe because he spent so much time on duty outside the starbase.

“I get that,” Paul answered. He in turn had lived in this apartment for almost 6 years. It was a place to sleep, eat and shower, above anything else. If there was a place he’d consider home, it would be the garden in the lab.

Both men startle slightly, as Paul’s PADD receives a message. Paul furrows his brows and purses his lips, opening the message. Hugh recognises the look from previous calls, often followed with an apologetic Paul having to head back to the lab.

Paul groans at the message in frustration. He places the PADD on the coffee table, disappearing from the screen.

“What is it?” Hugh asks while grabbing something off the screen himself. Might as well fill some reports if Paul must head back to work.

“Umm,” Paul huffs from outside the screen. “It’s Straal.” He reappears wearing grey collage pants and scuffing his damp blonde hair with a towel.

“Back to work?” Hugh asks with a tender smile.

“No... Well, not right now,” Paul answers, reading the message again. He scoffs. “He’s bailing on me for a conference next weekend.”

There’s an annoyed look on the man’s face, as he dismisses the message and leans back on the couch, defeated.

“Fucking Straal,” he hisses, just audibly for Hugh to hear. He chuckles to himself, trying to hide a smile.

“Where is it?” Hugh asks, apparently while writing some notes on another device in front of him.

“Betazed.” Ugh. That’s far.

“Really?” Hugh raises his brows and opens a new tap on his PADD with a swift touch. Betazed is closer than Deneva, that’s for sure.

“I’m so tired of having to act like an idiot at these things,” Paul starts ranting. Hugh nods, but is still flicking trough tabs on his device to look at something else.

“I don’t know anyone, or even if I did, I don’t care enough to remember them. Most people don’t actually care about the research and are there just for the show and... gossip,” Paul huffs. “Who goes to a science conference for gossip?”

Hugh glances at Paul and gives a small chuckle. He’s reminded of what often goes on during Starfleet Medical personnel seminars, after and in between the lectures...

“I know some people,” Hugh laughs. He’s dug up a file listing his work shifts, displayed in thick boxes of multiple colors for multiple sites and types of shifts. He scrolls down to next week.

“It’s obnoxious. Would be fine if it was just the presentations, but there’s always some afterparty you’re expected to attend if you’re to actually make connections and get sponsors. Escapes me how my social presence has anything to do with the research...” Paul rants on.

They’ve had this conversation before, a few weeks ago, when Paul was getting ready for another one of his trips across the galaxy to present his genius research to much less interested audiences. It was clear Paul wasn’t much of a people’s person. He was a convincing speaker, though. Hugh had been intrigued from the first moment he saw Paul give his presentation. Intense, captivating and so excited about his own work, it was hard not to be. Or so Hugh had thought. Apparently, he was in the minority.

“Why does Justin just get to inform me he’s not coming. I better be in a hospital if I were to skip one of these things."

Hugh looks at Paul on the screen, his face now more frustrated than annoyed.

“Please don’t hurt yourself for that,” Hugh kids. Although there’s a slight chance Paul actually might be that stupid, he admits.

Paul smiles back at him softly. A moment passes in silence, before Hugh continues.

“You know... I have vacation days saved up. I’ve always wanted to visit Betazed.”

________

GAHH. I have not written fanfiction in years..! Please be gentle, I know I also change the tense halfway trough, sorryyy. But also, this needs a name I guess?

[misterewrites]

Hellish Blitz (Welcome to the Underground)

Hey everyone! E here after a pretty long month. Sorry it's been a rough one and I've barely had time to actually write the next part down but it is here, it is ready and I hope you all enjoy it! I am very pleasantly surprised how well this original work is doing and I appreciate everyone who reads this story or shares with your friends. Thank you so much and I hope you keep enjoying it. Stay safe, wash your hands, wear you mask and take care of each other. E out have a great week!

Here’s the link if you wanna read it on ao3!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814297/chapters/73437030

Chapter summary:  Now trapped in prison for a demonic hellspawn, Abigail and co. race to find the seal that will weaken the demon and prevent its a escape before it grows too powerful to stop. As Abigail and Oliver search for the seal, it is up to the forsaken paladin Fen and Archibald to distract the demon long enough for everyone to escape.

-----

“You’re terrible.”

“And?”

Abigail frowned, unsure how to respond to the simple matter of fact tone of that answer.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” She asked curiously.

“Why should it?” Oliver eyed her carefully.

“It might affect my opinion of you.”

“So?” Oliver began plucking books off their shelves and tossing them to the floor haphazardly “I don’t really care about your opinion.”

Abigail pursed her lips unhappily “You’re just the worst.”

Oliver kicked over a chair “Maybe but I’m exactly who I said I am. I’m not pretending and putting lives in danger.”

Abigail said nothing, opting to check under a rug for any sign of the seal.

“Besides what do you care?” Oliver shot back “It’s not like we’re not friends.”

“I’m trying to be polite.” Abigail mumbled softly under her breath.

“Don’t.” Oliver said simply “Speak your mind. You might not get a chance later.”

Abigail bit her lips, unsure if this was a trap or some other angle the bard had planned.

Oliver leaned against the wall, arms crossed and eyes focused on Abigail.

Abigail sighed and rose to her feet, brushing away the dust from her hands and pants “I think you are a jerk who has never learned manners ever. I think you get your kicks from pissing off people and making them feel miserable. I can’t get a bead on you and it’s frustrating! Every time I think you might not be that bad, you go and kick a paladin when they’re down! And now I’m going to die with you being an ass.”

“All better?”

“Yeah actually.” Abigail admitted, surprised how much anger and frustration she been holding in. Three days and she hadn’t really realized how much was eating at her.

“Good.” Oliver pushed off the wall, his eyes darting around for any sign of a hiding place “Let’s get a move on.”

“That’s it?” Abigail tilted her head “You’re not gonna say what you hate about me? How much of a goody two shoes I am or that I’m annoying?”

“Nope”

And like that Oliver disappeared deeper into the house, not another word escaping his lips.

-----

The creaking of the house did not help Archibald’s nerves as he and Fen moved silently through the unhallowed halls of the prison.

Archibald’s six months with the Swift Slivers brought him vital battlefield experience he never got as a recruit on the surface but nothing prepared him for this nightmarish situation: Hunting a demonic being from another plane alongside a forsaken paladin with the only goal being stalling long enough for Abigail and Oliver to find a well hidden seal and figuring out how to restrengthen it without any prior experience or knowledge. He didn’t have his family of warriors, clerics and Cecilia his basically sister. He was fumbling in the dark surrounded by strangers whose shared goal was trying not to die.

“Does your bard always make friends this way? Insults and disrespect?” Fen asked bitterly, lute locked in a death grip.

Archibald sighed. Fen had been poking and prodding about Oliver since they parted ways and always with a harsh tone.

Archibald wasn’t sure what to make of Oliver and while he only known him for a day, there was something about the bard that brought him an odd comfort. He was sharp and not just with his tongue. His quick decisive thinking had saved their lives and his firmness reminded him of Borrick. He saw through Fen’s deceit and within moments already figured out the severity of the situation and knew the paladin must’ve arrived with some sort of plan. He subtly pushed everyone into the roles he knew they would be best at: Him and Abigail the noncombatants searching for the seal and the fighters keeping the hellspawn occupied.

Archibald wasn’t sure if he liked Oliver but he knew as long as their goal aligned, he could trust him. Still wouldn’t pay to see him sing though. Too pitchy for his taste.

Out of all the terrain the archer found himself in his six months in the underground, this had been so far the worst. Nothing about this house made any sense: Halls seemed to stretch into impossible lengths, doors tilted and opened at odd angles with rooms changing each time he took his eyes off them. Fen told him the demon would regain more control of the house the more the seal weakened and was no doubt alternating any and everything it could to disorient and distract them. The good news that Oliver and Abigail should be free of such issues as the demon was more concerned with those hunting it.

“On guard” Fen firmly ordered as the pair stepped into a large dining room that no way should’ve fit inside this tiny house.

The room would’ve been spacious to move about if not for the long dinner table centered in the middle. Rusted cups and plates laid rotten and decayed across its surface as the dust swirled about in the air.

Archibald held his bow in one hand with an arrow at the ready resting between his fingers. The holy water vial was safely tucked away in his cloak pocket. He already dipped the arrow within the blessed liquid but he’d doubt a single arrow would slow the demon for long.

“Let us pray your bard is good as he claims he is.” Fen narrowed his eyes, searching through the dark for their prey.

Archibald could feel his skin shiver as the air turned hot and stuffy, a low growl faintly echoed from the shadows.

The beast asked something once more in its infernal tongue but Archibald had never been good at other languages aside common. Borrick taught him dwarvish curse words he’d never use though he desperately wished he could now.

“Steel yourself” Fen murmured unhelpfully

‘No shit’ Archibald thought to himself, notching the arrow in his bow.

-----

“So there’s nothing you believe in?”

Oliver sighed, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice as he pushed a chair onto the floor. The search was going poorly and little time remained.

Abigail rolled her eyes “I take that as no.”

“I didn’t say that, I’m just annoyed.”

“Nothing new then.”

“Well more so.”

“Just answer the question bard. I’m trying not to panic.”

Oliver paused thoughtfully, pursing his lip in concentration before answering “I’m really big in The Choir.”

Abigail raised an eyebrow “A choir? Isn’t that a little too tight knit for such a….solo act?”

Oliver shrugged “Sometimes you need an aria and sometimes you need the marching band.”

“I have no idea what you just said.”

“Yeah that’s par for the course.” Oliver sighed tiredly “We’re getting nowhere.”

“We need to think like the people who made this place.”

“No duh” Oliver scoffed “Okay. This is a prison for a demonic hellspawn.”

“Right.”

“So.” Oliver began to pace back and forth, the creaking of the wood thundering in the silence of the house “It would have to be hidden so the demon didn’t claw at it to break free.”

“Of course.”

“But they couldn’t just let it roam around here unchecked.” Oliver continued “they must’ve intended to come back periodically to check on the prison. Doesn’t matter that they suck at their jobs and forgot!” he threw his hand up in exasperation “Whatever. They needed it somewhere they could access it quick and easy.”

“I know you’re not actually listening to me but I feel uncomfortable just standing here.”

Oliver paused, Abigail could practically see his brain whirling and steaming as he tried to will whatever he was putting together into existence.

And into existence it came when Oliver let out longest unhappy groan Abigail ever heard.

“FUUUUUUU...”

“It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“...UUUUUUU...”

“Okay you can stop now, we don’t have forever. We don’t actually know how much time we have so be dramatic later.”

“...UUUUUUCK. It’s in the front.”

“What?! SERIOUSLY!?”

“Yes!” Oliver grunted before bolting down the hall “It makes the most sense!”

“Hey wait up!”

“Like you said no time!”

-----

“On your left!” Fen warned but Archibald already ducked under the wide swing of the demon, darting forward underneath its arm to clear some space for his shot on its backside.

The demon was prepared for this though: its arm elongated then bent itself backwards, twisting inhumanly with a sickening crunch of bones as it began to reach for Archibald.

‘Are you kidding?!’ he thought to himself as he dove sideways. He slid across the wide end of the table, knocking the various decayed silverware and plates to the floor as the arm snaked after him in pursuit. He braced himself against the wood and jabbed the holy water tipped arrow in his hand wildly.

The demon grimaced as the hand reeled back, smoke and the hiss of burning infernal flesh filling the room. Archibald scrambled backwards, allowing himself to hit the aged floor with a creaky thud.

“Regain your bearings!” Fen shouted from somewhere “I’ll distract the beast!”

Fen bull rushed the hellspawn and brought down his full weight into his swing. The demon’s face curled into something that reassembled pained surprise as Oliver’s lute crashed into its shoulder, the unmistakable sound of cracking bone filling Archibald’s ears. The demon stumbled back in a moment seemingly confused. Fen pressed the attack, chasing after his hated foe with reckless fury.

Archibald wished Fen focused more on fighting than trying to direct the archer. Any useful information he attempted to convey was already too late and pointless by the time he said it. It was clear he was not used to working in a team: In the Swift Slivers, Borrick more or less taught them to act with autonomy and to trust your fellow mercs. Fighters fought and kept the enemy distracted, archers aimed for the most dangerous foe and Cecilia blasted everything with arcane magic.

Archibald scampered to his feet, his eyes trying to readjust the chaotic back and forth of the battle: Fen fought as furiously as his opponent, trading vicious blows with the demon but making it almost impossible for Archibald to get a clear shot. The demon’s reddish skin contrast with the darkness somehow made it difficult to determine where the wall began and the creature ended. The stuffy air its mere presence created dried his eyes and impaired his vision ontop of everything else.

He gritted his teeth and backed away, arrow loose in his hand as he searched for the opening he needed.

-----

Fen could feel his body surge with the battle fury he hadn’t felt in such a long time. He felt like he had a purpose again, a calling and it was intoxicating.

Normally this infernal beast of hell would be no problem for a warrior of his caliber but at this moment he was no holy chosen of a higher being, he was merely a man and this hellspawn was not of this world.

The bard had not lied about his instrument. It bypassed the beast’s resistance to mortal weapons, bruising and batter more purplish splotches across its body as Fen laid into it.

Fen smashed the lute into its arm again, the crunch of bones heavenly to his ears. The demon snarled, swiping with its free hand but Fen brought his weapon up, the claws scraping harmlessly across the magical instruments surface. Fen countered driving the lute deep into the stomach of the demon. He winced as his wrist ached at the solid mass of muscles the lute ran into. He had forgotten this was not a sword but a mere bard’s instrument.

-----

The demon took advantage of this momentary lapse: It lashed out, trying to catch Fen’s throat. The paladin stumbled to the side. He flinched as the demonic claws raked against his aged armor, the sound of metal scraping against metal overwhelming him for a moment. He realized his mistake too late as he caught sight of the elongated arm snaked above him as it raced forward towards his head.

The demon reeled back in pain, its screams roaring like thunder across the house. The elongated arm retracted, its skin blackened and shriveled as the arrow embedded within blazed with holy light for a moment.

It shot a dirty look towards the archer whom was already prepping another sanctified payload. It growled angrily as it broke the shaft of the now normal arrow. Its skin bubbled and popped, dislodging the arrowhead from within as the demon focused on the archer.

The elongated arm swelled, the skin and muscle mass returning to normal as it launched towards the irritation with deadly intent. The archer had barely managed to dip the next arrow into the cursed water when he dove out of the way, the elongated arm barely missing the prey’s head as it dug deep into the walls.

The paladin yelled, throwing himself back into the fray with religious fever but it was not concerned. The seal weakened and each passing moment it regained more of its unholy strength. The blows from whatever the warrior was hitting it with hurt but sooner or later these human pests would be spent and all demons were well familiar with pain. It waited this long. A few moments more mattered not.

-----

Abigail could see the panic in Oliver’s eyes as he rushed back and forth, tearing the room apart in a desperate search for the seal.

Not that Abigail was much better: she was furiously throwing everything just as manically as Oliver.

They knew every second wasted was a second too long and there was still the task of actually figuring out how to strengthen the seal once more.

“THIS IS WHY I HATE CLERICS AND PALADIN!” Oliver shouted in frustration “WHY CAN’T THEY MAKE THIS EASY!? WHAT KIND OF GROUP FORGETS ABOUT A FUCKING DEMON ON A RANDOM SIDE PATH?! It’s kinda a big deal guys!”

Abigail said nothing, opting find the seal instead.

“We’re running out of time!” Abigail cried.

“No shit! Keep looking! It has to be something they could spot easily and get to!”

Abigail was about to angrily retort that she knew when she spotted something: A sunburst, same as the one on Fen’s armor, embedded in the wall near the front door.

“Oliver!” Abigail gestured hurriedly.

Luckily the bard was quick on the uptake. He made a mad dash for the symbol, eyes glowing with the soft golden light from before. Small fancy looking words surrounded the sunburst but Abigail couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

“It’s celestial.” He murmured more to himself than anything else “Of course it’s the language of the gods.”

“How are you doing that?” Abigail asked curiously as a way to distract herself “I know it’s a spell but…”

“Comprehend languages” Oliver answered honestly “Super basic spell. Normally I’d just cast it as a ritual to save energy but we don’t have ten minutes.”

“What’s it say?”

“The protection of heaven is granted by the sacrifice of pain.”

“That’s...oddly ominous. There’s nothing else?”

Oliver shook his head “And nothing’s scratched out. This is the seal they used but I’m not sure I’m getting what I’m supposed to do! This is oddly dark for the God of Redemption.”

Abigail paused for a moment, trying to remember the few sayings her family taught of the Solius. The protection of heaven is granted by the sacrifice of pain? That didn’t sound right.

“Wait” a thought came to her “Does the spell perfectly translate words? I don’t know about spells but if it’s super basic….”

“No!” Oliver cheered “It translates the most direct version of the words. So it’s not saying the protection of heaven is granted by the sacrifice of pain. It’s saying something similar.

“The path to redemption” Abigail quoted “is made by self sacrifice. That’s the closest quote I can think of in Common.”

“Give me your dagger.”

Abigail was unsure what Oliver had planned but did what the bard asked of.

Oliver took carefully and without a moment of hesitation, jabbed it directly into his palm.

“Oliver!”

But he didn’t responded. Instead he placed his bloody palm in the middle of the seal. The celestial words glowed with a soft gentle light as the blood slowly formed a circle of around the heavenly quote. The blood turned from a dark red to a pure white and the house hummed with a silent energy.

The sounds of battle, formerly unheard, now boomed from the next room. Grunts of effort and the thrashing of broken furniture echoing loudly down the hallway.

Oliver stood up “We need to go.”

“Oliver, your hand.”

“After” Oliver said with a hint of finality “When we’re all safe. Now let’s go get our solider boy. And the paladin I guess.”

The two broke into a sprint, resisting the syrupy urge to rest ebbed at their weary bodies.

“How did you know that would work? Why didn’t you tell me?” Abigail asked, trying to stay focus.

Oliver shrugged “Never ask someone else for something you won’t do. It needed to be done. If I asked you, I needed to convince you and it was going to be painful. Besides it’s about self sacrifice. It had to be willing. No hesitation knowing the freaking religion.”

Abigail said nothing.

With victory and safety filling their resolve, the two made their way into the dining room, Archibald letting loose an arrow towards some unseen threat.

Abigail sighed in relief as Oliver moved to call to the mercenary.

Their faces fell to horror as the demons elongated arm dug deeply into Archibald’s stomach, lifting him off his feet in some sickening display of victory.

“ARCHIE!”

[wheresmynaya]

Lost in the Lights Ch.3 | Brittana

Aaand we’re back to the usual weekly routine! Thank you for all the luv, I appreciate it so much you have no idea. 

Available on ff.net (x) ao3 (x) 

By early October, Brittany has finally adapted to her busy schedule. With Autumn settling in, the mornings are a lot cooler but Brittany finds the crisp air refreshing when she’s out on her daily runs before class. Winters in Florida weren’t really all that cold, so this is all new to her.

Brittany takes it in stride though; in fact, she’s interested to see how the colder weather will impact her playing when it comes to Game Days. So far, the team is 5-0 now with just five more games left of the regular season. Everyone on the team is feeling good about their current standings, but Brittany knows it’s wise not to let it get to their heads.

Cockiness doesn’t mesh well with an undefeated record. She knows that one from experience.

Brittany’s in the locker room just after practice one Wednesday and she’s a hot, sweaty mess. Her hair is sure to be all over the place, but she’s too tired to care about appearances after such a grueling session. All she wants is a shower and to be able to scrub the dirt and dust caked on her arms and shins. Maybe a nice face mask too? She’ll wait until she’s home for that one though.

“Woah,” Santana gasps when she rounds the wall of lockers designated for the Cheerios and nearly runs into Brittany. She eyes her up and down and smirks, “You look like you’ve been rolling around in mud.”

Brittany chuckles at her comment. Since Santana’s surprise visit a couple weeks ago, things between them have been a lot better. They actually talk and sometimes they even walk together to their last class if Brittany gets to her locker in time. It’s a nice change and it makes her school days a whole lot easier.

“Yeah, these new drills Coach Beiste has us doing are intense,” Brittany sighs but a happy smile soon graces her lips, “I didn’t expect to see you here still.”

“Me neither,” Santana groans, “Coach Sylvester wants Quinn and I to hang back and help come up with routines for Homecoming Week.”

“Is it that time already?” Brittany wonders aloud, “That would explain the extra drills.”

“Yeah, it’s next week,” Santana answers, “It’s one of the most busiest times for the squad. Honestly, Spirit Week should be renamed Hell Week because that’s where I’d rather be than to deal with all this extra work.”

“The perks of being Co-Captain,” Brittany teases before she asks, “Is it really that bad?”

“Small town high schools go apeshit over events like this,” Santana explains, “You’ll see. Quinn and I have to start campaigning for Homecoming Court as well, it’s kind of mandatory for us. I’m sure you’ll probably get roped into something too being that you’re the quarterback and all.”

“I hope not,” Brittany scrunches her nose, “I hate the extra attention when I’m not on the field. It’s super weird being treated like some kind of celebrity.”

Santana smiles apologetically and echoes Brittany’s earlier words, “The perks of being QB.”

Brittany grumbles through her pout. It makes Santana’s smile soften.

“Well, I’ll let you get cleaned up,” Santana says and shakes her phone, “Quinn’s finally back from our coffee run so I better go meet her.”

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow then!” Brittany waves as they go their separate ways.  

\\

When Friday comes around, the Titans are more amped up than ever. The guys are dressed in their jeans and jerseys and strut around the school like they own it. Brittany wears her jersey as well seeing that it’s tradition on Game Days, but she starts to notice the annoyed glares they get from some of the other teams.

More importantly, the Hockey team.

There was once instance where Brittany, Mike and Sam were talking by Sam’s locker when a couple guys from the Hockey team walked by. Brittany instantly felt the tension as the two teams exchanged glares.

“The hell you looking at?” Sam growled to Brittany’s surprise. She hadn’t ever heard him take a tone like that when it wasn’t being directed at Dave or Azimio.

Mike stood up a little straighter too and balled his fists.

The tallest one just laughed as he shook his head at them, “Couple of sell-outs.”

Brittany’s brow knitted; what’s that suppose to mean?

“Fuck you, Rick,” Sam scoffed, “At least we know what it’s like to win.”

“Right. You’re winners now that you’ve got a girl on the team,” Rick teased, “Fucking stupid.”

Brittany felt like she should say something, but she just griped the straps of her bookbag tighter until her knuckles whitened.

Rick looked to Brittany, “At least those gay ass tights finally work in someone’s favor.”

“Get out of here, man!” Mike ordered as he took a step forward and shoved at Rick’s shoulder.

Rick stumbled back and held up his hands although the sly smirk was still there. He gave Brittany a wink then motioned for his guys to keep walking.

Suddenly Brittany felt a little gross. She’s no stranger to those kind of comments too, but they’ve never lost their effect on making her feel sexualized. That might be one of the worst drawbacks to having so much emphasis on her being a female on a boys’ team.

“Don’t worry about them,” Mike said with a nudge to Brittany’s arm, “They’ve always been jealous of us even when we weren’t winning.”

“Hockey sucks,” Sam added, “That’s why. No one ever goes to their games.”

Brittany just nodded and pasted on a smile. She saw Santana down the other end of the hall walking towards her with Quinn and soon her smile turned genuine. Santana hadn’t looked her way yet, so Brittany just watched as those around her just stared like she was the hottest girl in school.

Brittany kind of agreed with that sentiment.

Sam and Mike noticed her leering and began to smirk when they realized who Brittany was looking at. When Santana and Quinn got closer, Sam and Mike glanced over at Brittany again to see if she was still staring.

They chuckled when they found that she was.

“Hey Pierce,” Santana smirked as she admired Brittany in her jersey and tight blue jeans. Maybe she kind of had a thing for a girl in uniform, but who didn’t?

“Hi Santana,” Brittany grinned.

Sam and Mike looked between themselves to see if they were invisible. That could be the only reason why Santana skipped greeting them.

Quinn chuckled and acknowledged the guys, “Hey boys.” Her eyes lingered longer on Mike than Sam before she averted her gaze to Brittany, “Hey Brittany.”

Upon hearing her name, Brittany blinked out of her staring contest with Santana and smiled in response. They haven’t actually met officially yet, but Santana talked about her enough for Brittany feel like she knew her.

“Hi,” Brittany greeted.

They five of them plummeted into an semi-awkward silence that was only broken up by Sam saying, “Well…this is awkward.”

Fortunately though, that was enough to have everyone laughing and the awkwardness wore away just as the bell rang out. Brittany’s next class was with Mike so she turned him and nodded.

“We should get going,” She said as she gave a last fleeting glance to Santana and smiled,  “I’ll see you later.”

“Later,” Santana smiled back before turning to Quinn. The smile fell as she hardened, “Let’s go.”

Quinn nodded and together they continued their walk down the hall with their heads held high, their expressions only a couple of top bitches could wear.

Sam just looked between the duos and frowned, “Guess I’ll just walk by myself to class.”

\\

By Lunch, Brittany’s sitting with Kurt, Tina and Mercedes at their usual table but today Brittany feels like she’s being stared at. Actually, she always gets stared at for her table choice but she doesn’t get what the big deal is.

Kurt, Tina and Mercedes are going on about an upcoming performance they’re planning with some of the other members of their club. Brittany can tell they’re excited about it as they reel off potential song choices.

“It’s going to have to get the approval from Rachel,” Kurt complains, “With her being the self-proclaimed Team Leader and all. I have no idea how Mr. Schue let her get away with that one.”

“Rachel can kiss my ass,” Mercedes waves off, “If she has us singing Barbra again, I’m going to riot.”

“I agree,” Kurt nods, “There’s just a time and a place for showtunes and I don’t think a school dance is one of them.”

“Definitely not,” Tina says, “Artie said he wants to do Miguel.”

“He would,” Mercedes laughs, “I can see it though; white boy could probably pull it off.”

Everyone at the table laughs, even Brittany although she’s barely following along. She hasn’t met a Rachel or Artie, but she knows who Mr. Schue is so she’s not super lost.

“Sorry Britt,” Kurt smiles apologetically, “We shouldn’t make you feel left out by talking about all of this Glee Club stuff around you.”

Brittany just shrugs, “I don’t mind it. It’s kind of nice hearing about something other than football and schoolwork so don’t mind me.”

“Would you…ever consider joining?” Tina wonders.

Mercedes and Kurt are surprised by the question but await Brittany’s answer anxiously.

“It sounds fun, but I just don’t have the time for it,” Brittany answers easily, “Plus I can’t really sing so I’m probably doing you a favor.”

Everyone can understand Brittany’s reasoning, so they don’t press any further. Instead, they go back to tossing out different ideas for a set list. It’s kind of cool listening along, but then Puck and Finn approach her and the mood changes. Brittany only know they’ve walked up because everyone at the table instantly silences.

“We’ve saved you a seat at our table,” Puck says.

Mercedes, Kurt and Tina glance between him and Brittany like they’ve just settled in for a show.

“Thanks but I like sitting here,” Brittany answers politely then turns back to her friends. She feels them still lingering behind her though.

Puck scowls and looks to Finn who’s staring at her like she just spoke in another language.

“Look, you don’t have to perform this kind of community service by sitting with these losers,” Puck tries again, “You’ve already proved that you’re cool.”

That comment has Brittany feeling hot.

The worst thing anyone can do is make fun of her friends and even if she doesn’t hang around them as much as Sam and Mike, Kurt and Mercedes were some of the firsts to treat her with kindness when she arrived to McKinley. That doesn’t get forgotten just because she’s higher up than them on this imaginary McKinley food chain.

“Don’t call my friends losers,” Brittany warns. The politeness is still there but it’s wearing down.

Puck just shakes his head and looks to Finn, “You tell her, man.”

“Britt, you can’t sit with them,” Finn says sternly. There’s an edge to his voice, like he’s trying to simplify it for her, “Titans sit with Titans.”

“I don’t see you saving a seat for Kurt too,” Brittany challenges. She can see they’re starting to gain an audience – even Santana and Quinn watch from their assigned table – but she doesn’t waver on her stance.

“It’s different for him. You’re the quarterback. There are certain things you just can’t do. One of them being this,” Finn explains with the wave of his hand at the table, “Quit making things difficult.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Brittany snaps as she goes to stand this time and all heads turn to watch. She keeps her chin raised though Finn towers over her. She’s not going to get pushed around over something so ridiculous, “If Kurt can’t sit with the rest of the team then neither will I.”

Finn just presses his lips tightly together in a grimace while Puck stares at her in disbelief.

“You’re not Team Captain anymore, Finn, and one of these days you’re going to finally understand that the way things are done here aren’t right,” Brittany explains, “And if I have to be the one to teach you that, then so be it. I’m already schooling you on the field. I don’t mind the extra work.”

Finn scoffs at that but Puck looks a little impressed.

“Damn,” Puck smirks and glances to his side at Finn, “She might have bigger balls than you.”

Finn ignores him though.

“Whatever then,” Finn huffs, “Don’t come running to us when this backfires on you.”

“Don’t worry,” Brittany smiles sweetly, “I won’t.”

When she sits back down, Kurt’s jaw is dropped.

“That was amazing,” He applauds.

Brittany just shrugs, “I hate the double-standards at this school, almost as much as I hate bullies.”

“Well there’s a ton of them here,” Mercedes jokes before giving Brittany an approving nod, “That was pretty cool though. Don’t think I’ve ever seen Finn so tripped up.”

Brittany smiles at the compliments but she hates confrontation so the conversation doesn’t sit well with her. She knows it’s impossible to breeze through high school without a ruffling some feathers, doesn’t mean she likes to do it on purpose. She’s just not one to sit idly by either.

Brittany goes back to her lunch and tries to push away how Finn’s warning lingers in the back of her mind.

\\

By Game Time, the Titans take the field with the most energy that Brittany’s seen yet. They’ve gained quite a crowd despite it being an Away game for the them. Now that they’re on this historical winning streak, it that adds to the team’s eagerness to play and the spectators eagerness to watch.

Not to mention that this game happens to be against their biggest rivals: the Carmel High Camels.

The school has dominated across the board in all aspects, so – before Brittany’s arrival – the Titans never stood a chance. That doesn’t stop the rivalry from being any less intense. The teams’ hatred for each other runs deep, but the Titans feel revived this season because now they’ve got Brittany and Brittany’s a gun in the pocket.

Or so that’s what all the guys have been saying. Brittany tries to keep a level-head though.

She has watched the tapes of their past games against Carmel, she can see why they’re the top team to beat. The Camels are a well-oiled machine with a current standing of 5-0 as well. Their defense has been known to get aggressive when it comes to applying pressure on the QB, so Brittany’s going to have to rely heavily on her O-Line for protection.

They’ve done pretty well thus far in doing that, but Brittany knows anything can happen. The other team can just as easily find a weak point and there goes their winning streak.

Brittany shakes out her arms to loosen up and wonders if she’s being realistic here or if she’s still letting Finn and the Hockey guys get in her head. She can’t decide, so she glances up at the stands for a distraction and finds her mom and brother waving at her.

Pete’s holding up a sign he made and it has Brittany smiling at all the colors he decided to use. She gives them a wave too before she’s putting on her helmet and jogging out to join the ref and the other team’s nominated player to perform the coin toss.

When the other team wins and decides to be on the receiving end, Brittany gets a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach.

\\

The Titans are dealt their first serious blow of the season.

It’s the worse game Brittany’s played yet. Not that her performance was specifically bad, she just wasn’t prepared for the Camel’s intense man-to-man coverage which made it extremely difficult for her receivers to get open.

She also can’t believe they lost to a school that has a camel as their mascot, so weird.

The Titans had to rely on their still-developing run game which – to be put simply – sucked majorly. Puckerman was wrapped up every single time and Brittany could see that he was starting to let his emotions get to him. She tried to remind him to use that for the next play, but by then she had lost a lot of the guys’ to their rivalry.

At one point in the third quarter, the teams were a taunt away from an all-out brawl.

The Titans were just a couple yards away from the end zone – the closest they’ve been able to get all game – but Carmel High’s defense was nearly impenetrable. Even Brittany was beginning to get frustrated, but she couldn’t succumb to her emotions too.

At least one person on the team still had to keep a level head.

It was fourth down and her head was telling her to bring out Special Teams and go for a field goal. It would at least get 3 points on the board where they currently had none, but Brittany didn’t want to give up all their hard work that drive just to get a field goal.

It was a tough decision, but she decided they should go for it. Half the team looked at her like she was crazy, the other half just wanted to rip the Camels apart. Even Coach Beiste was in her ear asking if Brittany was sure that���s the route she wanted to take.

Brittany was certain she could get in there. All she needed was for her O-Line to make a small break so that she could dive in. It was a risky call, but she hoped that Carmel High was too focused on her passing game to think she’d ever go for a sneak.

And they were; Brittany was able to push in over the top for the touchdown. Unfortunately though, that would be the only one the Titans would get all game.

The Camels end the Titans winning streak: 23-7.

\\\\\

When the final whistle was blown, Santana watched Brittany pull off her helmet to reveal a disappointed frown. It had been a rough game by the looks of it, but she was no stranger to how intense games against Carmel High could be. Puck’s been ejected from at least two games for swinging on one of the other guys so that should tell you that it’s never pretty.

Brittany must’ve not known that though and Santana hates how the blonde sulks to the sidelines in defeat. She doesn’t get why she’s beating herself up, Brittany was the only one that scored!

“They look so crushed,” Quinn mumbled as they watched the rest of the team walk off the field battered and bruised.  

“Yeah,” Santana breathed out.

She kept her eyes on Brittany while Coach Beiste pulled her aside to talk. Slowly, the anguish on Brittany’s face started to morph. It wasn’t so much the disappointment and defeat anymore, but instead determination.

Santana wondered what the coach was saying to her that could bring on such change.

“Hope the guys don’t give her a hard time,” Quinn says when she notices Santana watching Brittany.

Santana crinkles her nose at the thought and scoffs, “They should be used to losing to Carmel by now. It’s not her fault they couldn’t get their shit together. She’s the only one that freaking scored anyway!”

Quinn just smirks at how riled up Santana gets and replies, “I guess we’ll just have to see what it’s like on Monday.”

“Yeah. I guess so,” Santana nods and tears her gaze away from Brittany to glance at Quinn, “You still coming over tomorrow? These posters aren’t going to make themselves.”

“I’ll bring my hot glue gun,” Quinn teases before they join the rest of the squad in packing up.

\\

When it comes to Homecoming Court campaigns, Santana and Quinn are veterans. Quinn’s been doing competitions and pageants like this a lot longer – probably since Quinn was born if she’s being honest – so Santana’s pretty grateful to have learned so much from her over the years. Although they’re best friends, when it comes to Homecoming there’s nothing like a little friendly competition to keep things interesting.

They’re two of the most popular girls in school so the race tends to be pretty close, but Santana wonders if that’ll be the same this time considering how things went down last year. Santana’s reputation and status as one of the HBICs of the school really took a hit and she has had a difficult time moving forward like nothing happened.

It’s hard to forget and she wonders if it’s the same for everyone else too. She’s heard the whispers about her, but Brittany’s arrival has drowned them out. For now. Who knows when they’ll turn a critical eye back on her?

It’s not a concern Santana voices to her best friend though, so it eats away at her and whispers words of doubt while they begin campaign planning.

\\

Santana and Quinn are in the living room at the Lopez residence with all of their poster-making supplies spread out between them. They’re working away busily with some music in the background when Hector makes his way downstairs.

“Hi girls,” He greets as he slips into his jacket. Santana looks up and notices he’s dressed for work.

“Hi Mr. Lopez,” Quinn greets with a polite smile.

“You’re going to work?” Santana asks looking somewhat dejected. She thought he was off.

“I got called in. Nightshift today,” Hector confirms, “Your mom should be getting home soon though and I think she picked up something for dinner. What are you girls up to?”

Hector comes around the couch to put his shoes on, carefully moving so he doesn’t step on anything important.

“Just Homecoming stuff,” Santana answers with a shrug, trying to mask her disappointment. It’s not like they were meant to hang out or anything, but she has been noticing that he keeps his distance when it’s just them. Maybe she’s looking too far into it, but it seems like he can’t be bothered to be around her while Maribel’s away.

Or maybe he just doesn’t want to and that’s what makes Santana feel even worse. She used to be such a daddy’s girl before last year. She hastes how much everything’s changed.

“Santana and I are campaigning for Homecoming Queen,” Quinn adds when she sees Santana getting wrapped up in her thoughts.

“Ah yes, that’s right! You two always compete against each other,” Hector chuckles, “It’s good that you’re still so involved in extracurriculars, Santana.”

At the sound of her name, Santana looks up and for the first time in awhile she sees a proud smile on her dad’s face. It instantly makes her feel lighter.

“It’ll look good on your college applications,” He adds.

“I know,” Santana answers. It’s hard for her not to feel a little relieved by his encouraging words. She craves his approval, why? She has no idea.

Hector gives her a resolute nod and looks to Quinn, “My girl is going to make a great doctor one day.”

Santana’s once again pleasantly surprised by her dad’s words even if she doesn’t agree with them. My girl; she can’t remember the last time he said that. Maybe he really is starting to see that nothing’s changed, that she’s still the same person she was before it all went to shit?

“Of course,” Quinn smiles back. Santana can tell she’s faking it and she’s grateful for that.

“Well, keep up the good work!” He applauds and pushes to stand, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Santana. Good day, Quinn.”

When Hector leaves for work, Quinn throws a wad of construction paper at Santana. The brunette scoffs and looks up.

“I can’t believe you still haven’t told him you’re undecided,” Quinn says.

Santana looks to her in disbelief, “Are you kidding? That was the longest he’s ever spoken to me without my mom being there. It wasn’t until just recently that he could look me in the eye again. No way I’m going to tell the truth now.”

Quinn purses her lips. She knows very little of Santana’s dynamic with her parents, but like her own she knows most of it is all for show. Families like theirs are usually only concerned with one thing and one thing only: their reputation.

“I’m going to drag this out for as long as I can,” Santana tells Quinn before she’s going back to her arts and crafts.

Quinn just sighs, “That can’t possibly end well.”

Santana doesn’t even look up, “I’ll take my chances.”

\\

Awhile later, Santana and Quinn are nearly finished with their posters. They’ve gone with three variations of posters that they can hang around school on Monday and they’re pretty pleased with their work.

Like Hector said, Maribel comes home a short while later with take out and there’s enough for Quinn too so the three of them have dinner together on the couch while watching tv – something they wouldn’t dare do if her dad was around.

They’re talking about their Homecoming campaigns with Maribel when Santana accidentally brings up Brittany.

“You’ve never mentioned a Brittany before,” Maribel states as she turns away from the tv to Santana, looking as interested as ever.

Santana wants to kick herself for the slip up, but she does her best to deflect with a shrug, “She’s new to McKinley.”

She doesn’t know why she makes a point to leave out that Brittany’s also the Titans’ new QB and she feels a little disappointed in herself that she does.

“I’ve heard she might run,” Quinn adds with her eyes on the tv screen still.

Santana had a feeling Brittany might get talked into it, but she didn’t think she’d actually do it. She surprisingly has mixed feelings about it. She needs the win to solidify her reputation, but she doubts she’ll stand a chance against Brittany.

There’s also the small chance that Brittany’s only being nominated as a joke. Santana knows how the people of McKinley act and it’s not usually out of kindness.

Santana shakes her head, “No way. She hates the limelight.”

Quinn quirks a brow as she turns to Santana, “What would you know?”

“We talk sometimes,” Santana shrugs again casually. Quinn and Maribel eye her for more information, “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Quinn begins to smirk, “You talk, huh?”

Santana flinches and glances to her mom out of reflex but Maribel’s too swept up in watching tv again to notice.

“We have class together,” Santana explains, “She sits right next to me. We’re bound to talk at some point. Don’t make it weird.”

“I wouldn’t if you didn’t bring her up so often,” Quinn replies. She laughs when Santana rolls her eyes at her, “What? I think it would be nice for you to have another friend besides me.”

“I have other friends,” Santana argues but even she knows that’s a lie.

“You have many acquaintances,” Quinn corrects, “You don’t consider any of them friends.”

Maribel chimes in next now that the show’s on commercial, “I wouldn’t mind you making another friend, mija. You can never have too many.”

Santana fights another eye roll because of course her mom would say that. Santana doesn’t say anything in response – she doesn’t know how to tell her that being friends with another girl isn’t as easy as it use to be, not to mention that girl being Brittany.

She doubts Maribel would understand, so Santana just goes back to watching tv until her mom excuses herself for the night.

\\

It’s not until Quinn’s sure that they’re alone that she brings up the topic again.

“I just think you two would really hit it off,” Quinn reasons.

“So we’re not talking about friendship anymore?” Santana asks sarcastically.

“I mean, it could start off that way?” Quinn shrugs, “Like you said, you already share a class together. Plus I’ve seen you two talk by your lockers. Not to mention the way I witnessed you check her out the other day in the hall.”

Santana whirls on Quinn with wide eyes, “You didn’t witness shit.”

“I disagree.”

“I don’t know how when you were too busy checking out Boy Chang.”

Quinn’s jaw drops, “I-I wasn’t.”

Santana smirks upon seeing the blonde’s cheeks flush, “Sure Q. How is Mike anyway? You two done side-stepping around the obvious yet?”

“Don’t try to deflect,” Quinn says pointedly, “This isn’t about me. We’re talking about you.”

Santana just grumbles at her best friend’s persistence. She’s starting to feel like the walls are closing in on her or something, “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Uh yeah there is. Brittany’s perf – “

“Can you stop?” Santana finally insists.

Quinn looks taken aback but she doesn’t say anything. Santana just feels like she’s about to crumble apart. She hates that feeling, it seemed like she was stuck in it for all of last year. So when she feels it creeping in again, it puts her on edge.

“I’m not ready for that,” Santana admits softly. Her gaze averts to her hands wringing themselves out in her lap, “She’s too…I don’t know. I just can’t. I can’t do it yet, okay?”

Quinn softens as she watches Santana shrink in on herself. She scoots closer to her, “Baby steps at least? All joking aside, I really do think she’d be good for you. I mean, how many other people at this school can you relate to? There’s Kurt, but he doesn’t really count. Does he?”

Santana knows she means because he’s a guy and agrees, “No, I guess he doesn’t.”

“And then there’s Berry…” Quinn jokes, “But I doubt you’re going to want to make nice with her after all of these years.”

Santana cringes, “Definitely not. She’d probably make me sing a homoerotic song with her or some bullshit that would have me running back in the closet.”

“Exactly. So I think you should try it with Brittany,” Quinn suggests lightly, “She seems sweet, relatively normal. I can see the appeal, you know? There’s something about her, it’s refreshing. She isn’t like everyone else in this town.”

Santana can’t help but smile.

“You’re right,” Santana says, “She’s better.”

“So you’re gonna try?” Quinn questions.

Santana fakes an eye-roll, “Maybe but don’t meddle, alright? I know how you thrive off of other people’s drama.”

Quinn doesn’t even mind the jab and goes to pull Santana in for a tight hug. Santana pretends she hates it, but after so many years of friendship they both know she doesn’t.

\\\\\

By Monday, Brittany has somewhat prepared herself for the criticism she’s bound to hear about Friday night’s game. Coach Beiste’s encouraging words after the game really helped break up the haze of disappointment, but there was something that stood out to her during their short talk.

“They’re going to give you a lot of grief after this. A loss to Carmel is always a hard pill to swallow, but stand tall. Don’t let these guys walk all over you,” Coach Beiste said, “You’re a great Team Captain, Pierce. You’ve helped improve the team so much already, keep that up. Set the example for these guys, it’s a good one to follow.”

She spent the entire weekend trying to get right with the loss and focus on how she was personally going to improve moving forward. She wanted to set the right kind of example for the guys, she wanted to leave McKinley better than she found it.

Still, no matter what kind of preparations she did, that nervous feeling still lingered.

There was tension everywhere: between the Titans and Carmel High, the Titans and the Hockey guys, the Titans and Brittany. Then she has Coach Beiste in her ear basically saying she needs to girl up if she wants to continue gaining the team’s respect.

It was a lot for Brittany to deal with.

She knew that being Team Captain meant that she had additional responsibilities, but she had very little experience when it came to all of this casual hatred. Sure, at her old school there were other teams that they wanted to beat but it wasn’t ever this intense.

But, Brittany loves a challenge so she’s determined to keep at this until she gets it. Moving forward, she was more determined than ever to win the next time the Titans and the Camels crossed paths.

So when Brittany arrives at school, she holds her head high and braces herself for whatever may come.

\\

Surprisingly, no one approaches Brittany about the loss. In fact, everyone’s mostly swept up in the excitement of the first day of Spirit Week – which Brittany totally forgot about. Dressed in her jeans and blouse, Brittany sticks out like a sore thumb in a sea of students still in their pajamas.

But at least the weird looks are because of her attire and not about the game. She thinks she can handle that and heads over to her locker. There, she finds Santana applying lip gloss in the tiny mirror she has stuck to the inside of her locker door.

“Hey,” Brittany greets as she starts to put in her combo.

Santana glances at her through the corner of her mirror and spins. Her greeting dies when she sees what the blonde is wearing, “Didn’t know you were the type that slept in jeans, Pierce.”

Brittany smirks at the teasing tone, “Didn’t know you kept that uniform on all hours of the day either.”

“I don’t,” Santana answers in a tone Brittany isn’t familiar with. It has her peeking around her locker door to see if she can read what it might mean instead, but Santana’s expression changes to one of annoyance, “Coach doesn’t let the Cheerios participate in Pajama Day.”

Brittany frowns, “Why not? Aren’t you guys meant to be the most enthusiastic about it all?”

“I’m sure there’s some batshit crazy reason that makes zero sense,” Santana shrugs as she closes her locker, “Anyway, I can’t be late today so I’ll see you later.”

“Sure,” Brittany smiles, “I’ll see you later.”

When Santana sends a glance over her shoulder, Brittany thinks that maybe today will be a good one after all.

\\

Brittany makes it to the end of the school day without a single incident.

No random interviews from JBI, the Hockey guys don’t show their faces, and the guys on the football team leave her alone at lunch. It’s oddly normal for a Monday after a loss, but Brittany doesn’t complain.

It’s not until after football practice that things start to change.

“I’ve noticed you don’t have any posters up,” Kurt says. Coach Beiste has just dismissed the team after a post-practice huddle.

“Posters for what?” Brittany wonders as she watches Coach Beiste and her assistant head for their office. She has a feeling that she knows what Kurt’s hinting at, but she plays coy.

“For Homecoming, obviously,” Kurt chuckles, “You’re a shoe in.”

Brittany shakes her head, “Yeah. I don’t really care about that stuff.”

Kurt looks shocked as he trails after Brittany towards the water station, “Well you should, it’s like on of the two biggest events at McKinley. The other being Prom, of course, but that’s months away.”

Brittany sips her water slowly before shaking her head again, “I just don’t have the time.”

“What if I made up something for you?”

Brittany’s surprised by his persistence, “Oh no, you don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Kurt offered. He glanced around at the guys grabbing water too and pulled Brittany to move further away from them, “I really admire you.”

Brittany’s flattered, but she stays silent as she crumples the paper cup and tosses in the trash before moving to get her duffle bag from the sideline.

“It’s usually a popularity contests between the Cheerios and jocks, but I think it would be a nice change to have someone like you win,” Kurt continues, “You’re the kind of representation people like us need.”

Brittany glances up, “People like us?”

“You know…” Kurt nods to her keychain.

Suddenly the dots are connecting for Brittany and she lets out a long sigh, “You know Kurt, I’m  a lot more than my sexuality.”

“I know that,” Kurt replies and he looks genuine about it, “I know, but there are people in this school that are still afraid to be themselves and you’re obviously not like that. You just live in your truth and it’s truly inspiring. I didn’t think Lima would see the day to be honest, but you came in like a breath of fresh air.”

Again, Brittany feels her cheeks heating up at the compliment. She doesn’t see herself in the same light at all. She’s just Brittany. She goes through day treating people with kindness and tries to do what she thinks is right just like anyone else. She really isn’t that much different.

“I don’t know what it was like at your old school, but we’re just not there yet. People are as ignorant as ever here,” Kurt tells her and Brittany can immediately sense the frustration and hurt. He tries to mask it though, “Just the other day, Karofsky slushied me for wearing an ascot.”

Brittany stiffened, “He did what?”  

Kurt eyed Brittany’s confusion and matched it, “Slushied me? It was actually pretty upsetting, that ascot was designer and the red dye completely ruined it.”

Brittany was still hung up on the fact that Kurt had a slushie thrown at him. She stood, her brows furrowing. She started to feel hot all over as Kurt continued to talk.

“Is that not something that happens where you came from?” He asks. Brittany shakes her head, “It happens all the time here. Most of the guys on the team have done it aside from like Sam, Mike and Matt.”

“Are you serious?” Brittany realizes the feeling is anger and it starts to consume her.

Kurt looks uncertain, “Yeah? They usually go after people they consider beneath them but I think it really just depends on their mood that day. If you even look at someone on the team wrong, you’re probably getting slushied. It’s happened to me so many times. Karofsky’s probably the worst one.”

“Fuck that,” Brittany snaps and storms straight over to Dave. He’s mingling with Azimio and some of the other guys on her O-Line when Brittany gives him a shove without thinking, “Hey!”

He barely moves but she’s gained everyone’s attention now and they all rush over.

“Woah!” The guys around him holler. Brittany doesn’t pay them any attention, she just keeps her eyes narrowed.

Karofsky looks her up and down, “What’s got your panties in a knot?”

“Must be a mood swing,” Azimio laughs.

Brittany ignores him, “Actually it’s the fact that my Right Guard thinks it okay to bully people.”

Dave’s brows shoot up, “What now?”

“Britt,” Kurt pleads from behind her, “Don’t. It’s fine.”

“No Kurt, it isn’t fine,” Brittany says firmly before she’s glaring at Dave, “It’s fucking ridiculous.” She looks around at the guys that have gathered around and targets each of them, “What’s wrong with you people? Kurt is your teammate!”

She sees Mike and Sam exchange a confused glance along with Finn. Puck’s smirking and Matt just stares blankly at the others around him. Everyone’s trying to fill in the blanks here.  

“I’ve never met so many who are just blatantly ignorant,” Brittany snaps. She’s so fired up now, “It shouldn’t matter what anyone’s labels are, if they’re on this team you’re meant to have their back. That’s just common sense, human decency!”

Azimio scoffs, “Listen, he’s – “

“No, you listen,” Brittany growls as she steps up to him and pokes at his chest. She turns her glare onto everyone else, “You all listen. Kurt made it on this team – same as everyone else here – and you’ll treat him with some respect!”

“Is this about the slushies?” Finn mumbles through his dopey confusion.

Brittany looks at him in disbelief before turning to Mike, “How long has this been a thing?”

Mike goes to answer but Finn cuts him off, “Forever.”

“Slushie facials are like tradition,” Puck adds. He still has on that cocky smirk, “It’s how we uphold our badass reps.” He goes to high five the guy next to him while others on the team nod in agreement.

Brittany frowns at him – at them all, “Well not anymore. There’s nothing badass about being an asshole.”

Puck’s smirk drops; the rest of the team looks surprised by Brittany words too.

“It’s mean, it’s bullying and I’m not going to stand for it as long as I’m QB,” She says firmly.

“But that’s how it has always been,” Finn challenges, “You can’t just go changing tradition just because you don’t like it.”

Brittany wants to laugh. She wants to smack him upside the head and shake some sense into him but she’s not the violent type – not usually. If anything, she’s disappointed that someone so deluded has been in charge of leading a team for so long.

“Watch me,” Brittany threatens. She stands tall and keeps her eyes narrowed on him, “Just because something’s always been done one way doesn’t make it right. I’m not going to lead a team full of close-minded Neanderthals to a Championship victory.”

Puck scoffs, “You really want to talk about victories after the last game?”

Brittany quirks a brow, “Tell me, Puckerman, who was it again that put a touchdown on the board? The only one of the entire game?”

She can hear Sam snickering from beside her at the sight of Puck looking dumbfounded.

“That’s what I thought,” Brittany smirks before she’s eyeing everyone else again, “I’m glad we lost, maybe it’ll knock you all off your high horses.” She can see the eye rolls she gets for that comment but she stands her ground, “There’s nothing worse than an overly-confident team and that’s exactly what was happening here. You all let it get to your heads and it cost us the game.”

“That’s bullshit,” Karofsky waves off, “What would she know?”

“A lot, apparently,” Brittany argues, “I’ve won a Championship title already. Hell, I’ve won two!”

“Shit, really?” Matt’s impressed, but Azimio shoves at him to shut up.

“Yeah, so this is nothing new to me,” Brittany adds, “But for all of you – seniors without a single playoff appearance let alone a victory – you’re going to want to straighten up if you want me to stay.”

“I can’t believe we’re letting a girl lead us,” Azimio complains, “What is the world coming to?”

Sam looks puzzled, “Dude. Coach Beiste is a girl.”

“Shut up, Evans,” Karofsky orders, “You know what he meant.”

“This girl doesn’t have to lead you,” Brittany replies as she steps up to Azimio, “I’m more than happy to hand all of this over to Finn, you can let him be in charge again. I guarantee you that he’s not taking this team to the top, but if you’re fine being losers then that’s cool.”

Half of the team glance to Finn and it looks like they can’t help but to agree with Brittany. He’s had three years to prove himself and he’s gotten nowhere. Brittany broke the losing streak in her very first appearance as a Titan and it wasn’t even a regular season game yet, so what does that say?

“No more slushie facials or whatever you call it. Like I said, I’m not going to lead a team of close-minded bullies to the Championship game. You’re free to go if you don’t like that decision,” Brittany tells them without any room for argument then looks directly at Karofsky and Azimio, “I’m sure Coach wouldn’t mind losing the dead weight. So, who wants to go?”

Azimio rolls his eyes but relents, “Nah. I’m staying, I want to win.”

Karofsky looks furious still, but he relents as well with just a single nod to show Brittany he agrees with Azimio. The rest of the team nod too.

“Great,” Brittany gives the team a proud smile, “Glad we’re all on the same page now. See you tomorrow for practice.”

She walks off the field without another word while the team is still reeling behind her.

\\

Tuesday morning starts off just the same as the morning before except this time she sees that the hallways have been covered in Homecoming Court campaign posters. Or maybe she was too lost in her thoughts yesterday to notice. The only people Brittany recognizes though are: Santana, Quinn and that guy Rick.

Brittany rolls her eyes at the last one; who would ever vote for that dickhead?

When Brittany gets to her locker, she finds that she has beaten Santana this time around. She’s busy trying to organize her books in her bag when she sees crisp white tennis shoes appear next to her.

“Nice shirt,” Santana compliments, “See you finally decided to participate and show some school spirit.”

Brittany blushes but tries to recover by giving back a little sarcasm, “Tie Dye Tuesday? How could I resist? It’s so original.”

Santana rolls her eyes though she smiles brightly. Brittany grins too and takes in the tie dye shirt Santana has on made up of red and black. Her eyes dip lower to find that Santana’s still wearing her Cheerios skirt underneath and it has her shaking her head.

“You really wear that uniform 24/7,” Brittany notes with a chuckle, “Do you ever take it off?”

“Nope,” Santana jokes, “It’s like a second skin to me now.”

“Gross,” Brittany scrunches her nose at the image before changing the subject, “I like your Homecoming Court posters by the way.”

“Thanks,” Santana smiles, “Nominations aren’t officially out yet, but Quinn and I are always on the ballot. Might as well get a head start.”

Brittany nods, “Well you’ve got my vote.”

“So I heard you threatened the entire football team yesterday,” Santana says instead of thanking her again.

Brittany bites her lip but she’s glad the locker door hides her from Santana for the moment, “News really does travel fast around here.”

“Not much usually happens,” Santana replies, “You’re really shaking things up.”

“Yeah, well…” Brittany sighs as she closes her locker, “It wasn’t really a threat. I just don’t like bullies.”

“I should watch out then,” Santana says as she closes her locker too. The way she’s smirking at Brittany has the blonde feeling drawn in.

“Why?” Brittany finds herself asking, “Are you a bully?”

“That’s what they say,” Santana lifts her shoulder casually before she’s batting her long lashes up at Brittany, “You gonna threaten me too?”

Brittany finds herself laughing; she can’t imagine threatening Santana.

“I don’t think I need to,” Brittany tells her behind a small smile, “You’re smart; you know what’s right and what isn’t.”

Santana just tilts her head to the side and stares. Her expression is hard to read, but there’s a hint of a smile there so Brittany knows she hasn’t crossed a line or said something wrong.

“I’ll see you later, Pierce,” Santana says just as the bell rings.

And just like always, Brittany nods and watches Santana disappear down the hall – a sea of students parting just for her.

\\

By the end of the day, Brittany sits next to Santana in their final class listening to the afternoon announcements. It’s almost time for them to announce the nominations for Homecoming Court and Brittany can just feel the anticipation radiating off of Santana.

She looks a little nervous too which confuses Brittany. Earlier Santana said that she and Quinn always get nominated; why would she be worried now?

Still, Brittany doodles away in her notebook while Coach Sylvester starts to read off the names.

“Votes will be counted on the night of the Homecoming Dance by a team of respected officials so don’t even think about trying to vote twice. All illegal ballots will be tossed,” Coach Sylvester explains stiffly, “Here are the nominations for Homecoming Queen: Missy Gunderson, Quinn Fabray and Santana Lopez.”

Brittany glances to her side to see the proud smile Santana tries to keep hidden.

“Congrats,” Brittany whispers to her.

“Thanks,” Santana whispers back before turning to face the board again, “Hopefully guys from the Titans get nominated too. No way I’m going with a Puck Head.”

Brittany nods; if anyone on the team is worthy enough to be nominated she’d pick Mike or Sam or Kurt but that might be a little bias since they’re her friends.

“No surprises there,” Coach Sylvester grumbles, “And finally the nominations for Homecoming King are as follows: Rick Nelson, Scott Cooper and Brittany S. Pierce…wait, how does that work?”

Brittany’s eyes go wide upon hearing her name – after the loss the Titans sustained on Friday, after her hard stance on slushie facials, after her lack of self-promotion…she still gets nominated? It doesn’t make any sense.

She doesn’t even hear the rest of the announcements – she’s that surprised.

“This has got to be a mistake,” Brittany murmurs out of disbelief.

“Perks of being the quarterback,” Santana says, “You were bound to get roped into something.”

[sanktnikolais]

Maybe The Night

A/N: tbh i should really stop writing college au but KLJHSDFKASDF this au is my poison so have this 7.6k mess i’m so sorry for being distracted as always 

for @wafflesandkruge‘s college au (tiff where’s my injured zoya)

Word count: 7616

AO3

Zoya winced at the sound of the infuriating blond’s excited voice on the phone.

          “Three days alone with you, Nazyalensky? Is this a blessing in disguise?” Nikolai, the biggest idiot she’s known for years, practically cheered. How could he have such endless energy even at night? 

          "I'd say it's a curse, Lantsov. I'd have to endure a week's worth of you babbling," Zoya muttered as she zipped her suitcase close. "I still haven't forgiven you for taking the midnight flight."

          "But it's the last one available if we want to make the plant visit in the morning," he reasoned out. "Well, aside from the fact that Professor Juris might set our asses on fire if we don't make it there in time." 

          Zoya laughed darkly. "I'm his favorite student," she said with a bit of pride. "So basically the only ass in danger here is yours."

          "Harsh."

          "Honest." And before Nikolai could even say something that would prolong their conversation again, she quickly added, "Where are you, anyway?" 

          "Look outside."

          Zoya raised a brow, setting the phone beside the suitcase on the bed. She stomped to her apartment window and looked out. 

          The curb below was empty. 

          She frowned and, as if Lantsov could see her, he let out a loud laugh. 

          "Wait, my bad. I said that too early. The cab is just rounding the corner to your street."

          Zoya was in the mood to murder a certain blond tonight. "Why did the saints put me in this situation of being your research partner?"

          Nikolai chuckled. "Maybe because we're both one of the top tier students in our program?" 

          "Ah, yes. Thinking highly of ourselves again, yeah?" 

          "But you ask for a reason, so I gave it," he said, and then there was a shuffle and muffled voices. After a moment, he said, "Alright, I'm outside of your complex. For real this time." 

          Zoya narrowed her eyes and looked down the window again. True enough to what Nikolai said, their cab was parked in front of her building. She could already see his blond hair standing out under the light as he got out from the car. 

          "Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes," she said. "I'll see you in a few."

          With that, Zoya ended the call and grabbed her suitcase, double-checking if she had forgotten anything else before leaving her place. 

          They had been tasked together to visit a certain geothermal power plant on the other side of the country that could help them in their plant design in their last year of their program as per Professor Juris’ words. Visits were usually conducted by incoming fourth year students during the summer term, but the both of them were only in the beginning of their third year. So it was definitely in their advantage.

          What Zoya hadn’t anticipated was being paired with the biggest idiot on the planet. She had been talking with their professor quietly in the faculty room and then Nikolai came in with his signature grin that became even wider when Juris told him that they were paired up for the trip.

          Perhaps it’d be a blessing in disguise because Zoya would probably let him do all the talking and questioning. 

          Nikolai was already meeting her halfway down the steps of her building and getting her suitcase when she stepped out. She frowned as it was snatched from her hand and he put it inside the trunk.

          “Are you being a real gentleman or are you going to plead for the window seat again?” Zoya eyed him suspiciously as he opened the car door for her as well. She wasn’t the type to ignore kind actions, but she’s also not the type to fall for it easily. “Because it’s not going to happen.”

          His smile faded. “I am deeply hurt, Nazyalensky,” Nikolai said a bit too dramatically, putting a hand to his chest for emphasis. Then with a pout, he said, “Please?”

          Zoya only snickered and got in. “Probably next time,” she said.

 ***

The flight was an agony to get through. They were expected to arrive at eight in the morning, and it meant having to endure Nikolai having to babble for at least another six hours. By the fourth hour, Zoya was starting to feel more irritated as the lack of sleep from yesterday came back to hit her. She had never been comfortable to fall asleep during flights and the book she had been reading had hit a boring point, so she just slammed it close with a huff.

          “Bad mood, eh?” Nikolai asked, looking at her above the thin frames of his glasses. He showed no signs of exhaustion even though it was almost five in the morning. She figured she’d ask his secret for staying lively the whole day. “Tired of reading? You try to get a bit of sleep. We still have a few hours.”

          Zoya snorted. “I would already be if I could,” she mumbled, leaning back in her seat more comfortably. “I can feel sleep around the corner but it won't come.” She made a move to grab the glass of wine on the small table in front of him, but his hand was faster and he held it out of her reach.

          Nikolai wiggled a finger. “Na-uh, you’re not yet twenty-one, truffle.”

          “Oh, really now?” she said, her eyebrows furrowing. “Who could tell?” 

          “No one. But I’d rather not let you succumb to the temptation of underage drinking.”

          “You’re being dramatic.”

          “A good one, that is.” Nikolai downed the drink in one gulp and set the glass back on the table. He gave her a wink. “Now the temptation is gone.”

          Zoya only rolled her eyes and looked away. Her head was already throbbing as she put a hand up to her temple and began massaging it. There were still a few hours of agony to go. 

          It was then that Nikolai offered an earbud to her, a small smile on his lips. “Music helps me sleep sometimes. It might help you too,” he said. When she didn’t take it right away, he added, “Don’t worry, I have a great music taste.”

          “If this doesn’t have any The Fray, I’m suing,” Zoya said, making Nikolai laugh as he showed her the screen on his phone. She huffed in approval and put the bud in her ear. “Alright, I’ll bite.”

          Nikolai grinned. “That’s the spirit,” he said. “Just try to get a bit of shut-eye. If it still doesn’t work, I’ll tell you my whole life story so you won’t be bored.”

          Zoya wrinkled her nose at the thought. “I’ll definitely force myself to sleep because that sounds horrifying.”

          “Harsh.”

          “Honest.”

          “Now sleep, I’m ignoring you from now on.” Nikolai pushed his glasses up his nose and went back to reading.

          “Idiot,” Zoya mumbled, but closed her eyes anyway. It took only a minute for heaviness to finally wash over her. Perhaps the infuriating blond did have an effective way for inviting sleep over.

          She let sleep take her with Rainy Zurich echoing in her ears.

***

Zoya woke to a nudge on her shoulder and a gentle voice saying, “Rise and shine. We’re here.”

          She opened her eyes groggily, and she looked up to meet Nikolai’s hazel ones that were twinkling with amusement. “What—” she stopped abruptly when she realized that she was clutching on his arm and she had fallen asleep on his shoulder. And his jacket was draped around her. She quickly let go of him, feeling her face heat up as she handed him back the garment. “You should’ve woken me much earlier.”

          Nikolai had the audacity to chuckle. “But you looked comfortable enough. It’d be a crime to disturb you,” he said.

          The next half hour was a blur through her still-hazy mind, and then they were out of the airport. Nikolai had bought them coffee from a nearby vending machine as they waited outside for their ride to the hotel they were going to stay in.

          “Took me ten minutes to find one that was willing to go through the shit traffic,” Nikolai said over the rim of his small cup. The steam from the coffee clouded the lenses of his glasses with moisture, and he immediately reared back with a wince. Zoya stifled a laugh. “It should be here any minute now.”

          Zoya took a sip from her own cup, feeling the warmth of the drink soothe her morning mood. It was already quarter to nine, but she felt like it was way earlier than that. “What time was the visit again?”

          “Around ten, I think? Hold on, let me check.” Nikolai pulled out his phone and began scrolling. “We have at least an hour to unpack our things and—oh, what the hell.”

          “What?”

          “They moved it tomorrow,” he said with a wince, showing the email to Zoya. 

          She closed her eyes as her head pounded. “Saints,” she muttered. Not having the two-day visit schedule happening today meant having to spend the whole day with the infuriating blond. Merely thinking of that made her question everything she had done to get this. “That’s a pain.”

          Nikolai sighed, putting the phone back to his pocket. “At least we have the whole day free,” he said. And then, as if he remembered something important, he cursed under his breath. “With free, I really meant review. I keep on forgetting about the midterm in Heat and Mass Transfer on Monday.”

          “Wait, that’s on Monday?”

          “Unfortunately.”

          Zoya made a face. “What the fuck,” she muttered. If things could get any worse, she hoped that it’d end after the next one. Erase that—she hoped there’s no next. “Let’s start the problem set. Come over to my room in the evening. ”

          “Such a bold declaration, Nazyalensky.” Nikolai wiggled an eyebrow, and then winked at her.

          Zoya frowned, and it took her a moment to realize how her previous statement sounded. She kicked his leg. “Idiot.”

          Nikolai laughed as he feigned being hurt from the kick. Thankfully, their ride finally arrived and it saved the infuriating blond from being beaten up further. He automatically got his suitcase, and also went to get Zoya’s in his other hand before walking over to the car’s trunk. 

          “Acting the gentleman again, eh?” she said as she opened the car door and got in the backseat. 

          He slipped in a moment later, telling the driver the name of the hotel they’re going to. He turned to her after. “It’s for having to endure me for the rest of the drive to the hotel. Traffic sucks.”

          “Who says I have to endure you when I can sleep instead?” Zoya scooted a bit further, making sure to put a good distance between them. She wasn’t falling asleep clutching him again. “I can sleep easier this time.”

          “Whatever you say.”

***

Nikolai checked his watch for the nth time since they left the airport. It’s almost an hour ago, but they were still on the road. Also not to mention that his right shoulder had gotten numb from the weight of Zoya’s head leaning on him. 

          So much for ‘sleeping much easier’; he was being made as a body pillow. Not that he was complaining.

          After several more minutes, the car finally pulled over the front of their hotel. Nikolai turned his head slightly to the side and was immediately met with the sight of ebony hair. She surprisingly smelled of wildflowers. 

          He shook his thoughts away as he nudged her gently with his other arm. "Rise and shine, Zo," he said cheerily.

          Zoya jolted awake, and, when she realized that she had fallen asleep on his shoulder again, she practically jumped back as if she had been burned. The redness on her cheeks didn't escape his eyes. 

          Nikolai stifled a laugh as he looked her over. A stray hair had stuck on her cheek, and he fought the urge to brush it away. "You did fall asleep easier this time," he said, and then he tapped at his cheek. 

          She seemed to understand the gesture and she tucked her hair back to her ear. "That didn't happen," she said, but it sounded more to herself than to him. 

          "Ah, but it already happened twice, Zoya dear," Nikolai said with a grin. "It'd be much harder to forget it."

          Zoya rolled her eyes and kicked his shin again, then got out of the cab. Nikolai shook his head as he paid the driver before following the raven-haired storm out.  

          The lobby was a bit lively as both people and valets were bustling around. Looking at the number of guests, Nikolai felt a wave of unease in his stomach. He didn't know where it came from, but he knew better than to ignore a gut feeling. 

          They walked over to the front desk and Nikolai instantly put on his signature grin. 

          "Room for two please," he said.

          The receptionist smiled back, but he noticed that it was apologetic. Oh no. Nikolai dreaded her next words. "I'm sorry, sir, but I'm afraid that the guest before you had taken one of the last two rooms currently available."

          Nikolai blinked. Oh no, indeed. "So basically, you're saying that there's only one room left," he said, though he already knew the answer beforehand. He just needed to hear it for a second time to make sure he wasn't imagining things. 

          "Yes, sir, that is what I meant."

          So this was the gut feeling from earlier. He didn't know what to make of it. 

          Zoya appeared at his side a moment later. "Can you please double-check?" she asked the woman. "You might have possibly missed one."

          Nikolai looked at the receptionist expectantly as she peered over the screen. After a long moment, she only said, "One queen room on the fifth floor." She shook her head, her apologetic smile returning. "That's really the only one available."

          Whatever the world had in store for them both was definitely not amusing. 

          Without much of a choice, Nikolai said, "We'll take it."

          He immediately felt Zoya's sharp gaze on him the moment the first word came out of his mouth, so he turned to her with a grimace. 

          "The next one is far more distant from the plant, Nazyalensky," he said sheepishly. It was actually true, but the way she was glaring at him made him forget whatever explanation he was about to add. "Stop murdering me with your eyes."

          Zoya's jaw twitched in annoyance. "Why didn't you make a reservation earlier in the week?"

          Nikolai could only answer with a wince. "That's my bad."

          "Yeah, that's definitely your bad." 

          "Hey, at least I don't have to come over to your room to review this evening."

          It was most likely the wrong thing to say. Zoya Nazyalensky could make anyone cower with a mere raise of an eyebrow, but a glaring Zoya Nazyalensky? It only meant murder.

          Nikolai was saved when the receptionist gave them the keycard. 

          "Enjoy your stay," she said, oblivious of the murder-by-glaring that was happening between them.

          If she doesn't murder me by tonight, I probably will. But he could only give a smile as thanks before he turned to Zoya. 

          Nikolai held out the card to her. "I'll buy you coffee for next week?" he offered with a sheepish smile. He could only hope that she would accept. 

          She considered him for a moment, and then she snatched the keycard from his hand with a huff. "A week," she echoed, pointing a finger at him. 

          A grin appeared on his face; he knew he was already forgiven. "Of course," he said. "I know you can't be mad at me for long." 

          "Whatever," she mumbled before walking past him. 

          Nikolai only smiled at her retreating form. Why did she have this certain effect on him? He'd never know. 

          It's probably just the way it always had been. 

***

Evening came, and they already had settled nicely in the room. It was great, cozy and a bit too big, except for the fact that it only had one bed. Nikolai was hogging the whole desk, while Zoya was on the bed beside it. 

          Both places were a mess of notebooks and papers and two frustrated students. 

          Nikolai was furiously scribbling over his own copy of the problem set he had printed, the organization of his solutions in absolute shambles as he fought against the time to answer a problem. 

          A few moments later, Zoya let out a string of curses. 

          "What?"

          "I used the wrong value of heat capacity,” she said, and then she was shuffling through the handbook nearest to her.

          Nikolai tossed a thin stack of paper at her. “Don’t use the handbook’s data, it’s evil. Van Ness’ data is more accurate.”

          “Isn’t he using the one from the handbook?”

          “He doesn’t. He just says he does but when I checked, it’s all wrong. Such crimes.” Nikolai got distracted from his momentum, and his mind ended up shutting down. He slammed the pen down on the table, removing his glasses. “I have no idea if the postponed visit is a blessing or a curse.”

          Zoya huffed. “Probably both, but more on the latter. Because I’m stuck in the same room as you,” she said, turning back her attention to the paper he gave her. 

          Nikolai turned his chair to her direction, feigning a hurt expression as he did. “But it’s economical to have one huge room instead of two.”

          “Good for the economy, yes. But for me? Probably not.”

          “Harsh.”

          Zoya waved the pen at him. “Honest.” She began scribbling on the paper on her lap again. After a long moment, she beamed, her grin lighting up her whole demeanor. Nikolai fought a smile on his lips. “I got it.”

          He raised a brow as she handed him back his data sheet along with her solution. He eyed the paper with surprise, glancing at his watch. “Eight minutes,” he said, regarding her with respect. “I got lost in the sea of numbers.”

          “Eight minutes in hell, yes. When it’s actually the exam day, those eight minutes will be twenty.”

          “Blink, and five minutes will pass.”

          Zoya laughed darkly. “That is one way to say it,” she said, leaning back on the headboard and closing her eyes. She looked exhausted, Nikolai noticed. The dark circles around her eyes were already prominent. 

          “Why don’t you try and get some sleep first?” He looked at the clock on his laptop screen. “It’s almost midnight. We’ll have to get up by eight.” He paused, and then added, “Don’t worry, I’ll take the floor.”

          “Don’t be stupid, the bed is big enough for the two of us. And the floor is cold, for sure,” Zoya said, cracking one eye open to glare at him. “Just make sure to stay on your side of the bed.”

          Nikolai put a hand to his chest. “I am definitely moved, Nazyalensky. I think this is one of the rare times you considered my well-being,” he said jokingly. 

          “Stop being annoying or I’ll take it back and make you sleep on the balcony.”

          “Such cruel intentions.”

          “Only for you,” she said, giving him a wink that caught him off-guard. It wasn’t usual that Zoya would answer back to his playful remarks. But whenever she did, it always surprised him. She began fixing her things in a neat stack. “Aren’t you going to sleep?”

          Nikolai blinked, shaking himself out of his thoughts. He didn’t realize he had been staring at her; his lack of sleep was catching up to him. “Maybe later. I’m not tired yet.” He smiled, gesturing to the coffee mug beside his notes. “Besides, I still have fuel.”

          Zoya put her things on the space at the other end of Nikolai’s table. “I need to know your secret of having endless energy.”

          “Unlimited supply of coffee and optimism usually do the work.”

          “I only have the former.”

          Nikolai laughed and put his glasses back on his eyes. “I can probably pass some of mine to you,” he said.

          “I’d take it.” Zoya settled at the far right side of the bed, crawling under the blankets and putting it until her shoulders. And then she mumbled, “Don’t overwork yourself too much.”

          He had barely written anything on the paper when he stopped again. Nikolai glanced over Zoya, who had already begun snoring, a soft smile twitching on his lips. 

          Perhaps being stuck in one room wasn’t so bad after all.

***

Two hours and endless yawns later, Nikolai felt sleep pulling him from his work. He was almost done with his problem set that had twenty problems, but he figured he’d continue it sometime later after they got back from the first day of the plant visit. He thought that they’d get free time to stroll around or lounge in their room. Or just sleep in throughout the day, as they had always lacked sleep due to their tight schedule. 

          But the midterm in one of their major subjects wasn’t getting extended or moved, and like the very punctual students they were, they’d only started reviewing less than a week before the actual exam. 

          With a tired sigh, Nikolai took off his glasses and put it on the top of the messy stack of papers. The clock on the lower right of his screen showed 2:05. Six hours sounded enough.

          He looked at the bed, seeing Zoya sprawled across the bed and almost occupying the whole bed. Nikolai scratched the back of his ear with a grimace. So much for staying on their own sides of the bed. 

          “Stay true to your words at times, Zo,” he muttered, already considering sleeping on the floor. But when he looked down at the carpeted floor, it didn’t look as inviting as the sheets on the bed. 

          Nikolai sighed as he settled on the other side, near the very edge, trying to balance himself on whatever space was left for him. He made sure to not wake up the sleeping dragon beside him as he pulled the covers around his shoulders. Their close proximity only added to the warmth he felt all over his neck. 

          Zoya shifted, and he felt her presence much closer on his back. Nikolai sighed exasperatedly.

          Saints, he’s probably going to die early.

          He shook his head. He was going to stay on his side of the bed until morning, and he’d make sure to do it. 

          Nikolai moved a bit closer to the edge, maintaining a distance between him and Zoya, before closing his eyes and letting sleep take over.

***

The sound of the blaring alarm echoed through the room, and Zoya groggily cursed under her breath. She had forgotten to set off her usual early alarm during weekdays. 

          “What the hell?” a voice mumbled. Why did it sound very near? 

          She looked up with squinted eyes narrowed due to sleep, her gaze meeting the very familiar, and also groggy hazel eyes. It took Zoya a moment to process everything. When she finally did, her eyes widened.

          Her head was nestled on Nikolai’s chest. 

          And his arm was wrapped firmly around her shoulders.

          A beat, and then Nikolai was literally jumping out of the bed as if he were burned, his face sheepish and apologetic at the same time. A wince was evident on his face as he opened his mouth to speak. “Saints, I’m so sorry,” he said, terror lacing his voice. He raised both arms in surrender. “I didn’t—” He stopped, shaking his head. Then he repeated, “I’m sorry.”

          His usually combed back hair was sticking out in all directions and she had the strong urge to brush it back from his forehead—

          Zoya averted her gaze, mentally chastising herself. “It’s fine,” she said, though it felt too forced for her own liking. Her heart hammered in her chest and she took a deep breath in hopes to calm her down. But it still seemed futile. With much more conviction, she said, “It’s fine.”

          She rubbed at her arms, feeling the absence of extra warmth from him fade in the coldness of their room. The alarm was still blaring, and Zoya reached over the nightstand to turn it off. When she finally did, she stayed on her place with her back to Nikolai, whom she felt his gaze trained on her even without looking. 

          She knew that the infuriating blond had slept late again, just as he always did, she felt bad having to cut his sleep off for at least two more hours. Nikolai could never get back to sleep once he woke up from his slumber. 

          “I’m sorry, I forgot to turn it off.” Zoya looked at the numbers at the top of her screen. 6:02. Too early. She glanced over her shoulder, still not trying to meet his eyes. “I’ll get some early breakfast. You can shower first.” She narrowed her eyes at him, her usual snarkiness not going so well. She was really caught off guard with what just happened. “Make sure you’re done when I get back.”

          Zoya got up and quickly left the room before she could even hear his reply. She had no idea what she would say if she stayed for a bit longer. 

          It was nothing, she told herself. But the still pounding of her heart said otherwise.

          When she got back half an hour later with their breakfast, Nikolai was shrugging on a dark button-down shirt and combing—more of attempting to—his hair at the same time, clearly in a hurry. Zoya almost laughed at the sight. 

          The blond seemed to notice her presence by the door and turned to her, offering her a grateful smile as he went over her and took the coffee from her other hand. “Let me guess,” he said, “black coffee?”

          “Black as my soul.” Zoya could still feel the awkwardness between them, but it wasn’t as heavy as earlier. “Be a dear and set up the table on the balcony while I shower, will you?”

          “Of course,” Nikolai said, taking the brown paper bag from her hand. “Anything for you.” He gave her a wink before walking to the balcony, whistling in his usual off-key tune. 

          Zoya eyed his retreating form with a tired sigh. It was going to be a long day.

***

“Seriously, I feel like a week has already passed since we arrived,” Nikolai complained over the bed, making Zoya snort from her place from the table. He frowned, eyeing her above his glasses. “Alright, whose alarm blared at six in the morning and cut off my sleep to three hours?”

          “Are we playing the blame game now?” Zoya tried to forget the night before, but it seemed branded into her mind. “It’s good to wake up early sometimes, Lantsov.”

          Nikolai wrinkled his nose. “Easier said than done, dear.”

          The first day of the visit lasted for a few hours; it covered mostly the overview of the whole production and the kinds of equipment used. Nikolai handled most of the talking and asking, effectively pleasing their guide Mr. Grigori, who was the head engineer. 

          Zoya was more focused on the concepts and the actual process, which would be covered in the next day.

          After their visit, they had a late lunch in a small diner near the plant, because Nikolai was complaining about his growling stomach that wouldn’t last until the trip back to their hotel. So it involved them lounging there far longer than necessary as they had begun arguing—again—on something about the process mentioned to them by Grigori. Anyone who was within earshot probably had frowned and looked at them weirdly. 

          Now evening came and it was time for them to review or just pretend to review, but Nikolai decided to hog the bed this time because it was ‘his turn’ as per the infuriating blond’s words.

          Zoya shuffled through the stapled papers that were Nikolai’s solutions from last night. “You’ve finished all twenty items?” she asked in bewilderment. “What time did you sleep?”

          “Three,” he replied with a wince. He was putting away his things from the bed. “I’m retreating for the night. The numbers are already flying out of the pages and I can’t get them back.”

          “It’s ten in the evening.” Zoya glanced at the clock on her laptop screen to confirm. It was only five minutes past ten. She raised a brow as she turned back to him. “And you’re sleeping? Is this a miracle?”

          Nikolai sighed. “Yes,” he said, “and also because you might hog the whole bed again and I’m left dangling on the edge.”

          “No, I didn’t.”

          "Yes, you did, Nazyalensky."

          Zoya's mind decided to make her remember about their position earlier this morning, and it immediately made her face heat up. "Alright, I admit my mistake," she said, closing her laptop. 

          "Zoya Nazyalensky, admitting her mistake?" Nikolai said, removing his glasses for more emphasis and dramatic effect. "Is this a miracle?"

          "Shut up, or I will smother you in your sleep."

          "Such cruel declarations."

          "Only for you." 

          Zoya stood up and went to her side of the bed, crawling under the covers with a contented sigh. 

          "You're sleeping too?" She heard Nikolai ask beside her. 

          "Obviously, you idiot," replied Zoya with narrowed eyes. "And also because I'm making sure you won't hog the whole bed."

          Nikolai gasped dramatically. "I don't splay myself in an undignified manner like you." He arranged some of the extra pillows in a line between them. "There's our boundary, okay? Make sure you stay on your side."

          Zoya rolled her eyes and scoffed. "I'd say the same to you, Lantsov." 

***

Apparently, it still happened again. 

          Zoya woke up to the sound of soft snoring, the smell of mint immediately invading her nose and waking her mind up. She looked up to see Nikolai’s still-sleeping face inches from her own, his arm wrapped around her waist as hers was around his torso. 

          She had a second to admire his peaceful look before she realized that they were snuggling again. 

          With a firm tug, Zoya pulled away from his arms, effectively waking the blond. His eyes widened instantly and he reared back.

          "The pillow line didn't work," Nikolai said, wiping a hand over his face. He gave her an apologetic smile that looked more of a wince. "Sorry." 

          Zoya waved a dismissive hand. "It's fine," she muttered. She was taking the couch tonight.They were flying home tomorrow, anyway. She got up from the bed and turned to him. "Your turn to get breakfast. I'm going to shower." 

          Nikolai raised a brow. "Just like that? No 'good morning'?"

          Her reply was throwing a pillow over to his face before disappearing to the bathroom. 

***

The second visit was a bit better, though it went longer than the one they had yesterday. Zoya was completely engrossed in the processes Grigori was explaining, and it earned an amused chuckle from the infuriating blond to which she answered with a stomp to his foot. 

          When the tour was over, Grigori had adored the both of them enough for him to give his business card and tell them that they could intern in the plant in the near future.

          Zoya finally considered the trip as a win after the hapless events that happened to them in the past few days. 

          But the bad luck seemed to return right after they left. 

          It had been sunny for a while, and then suddenly the skies decided to rain down heavily. And, of course, being the good students they were, they hadn't bothered to bring an umbrella on their way here. 

          After a long, shivering ride back to the hotel, they made it back to their room.

          "I swear, the world is throwing shit at us on purpose," said Zoya the moment the door was shut. "The rain came out of nowhere."

          Nikolai laughed lightly. "Ah, yes. Always expect the unexpected, truffle."

          "I always expect the worst, Lantsov."

"Then consider this as one of the worst scenarios." He gestured to the bathroom. "You go first, you might get sick."

          Zoya raised a brow, taking in his appearance. He was much more drenched from when he covered her head with his jacket the moment the rain had fallen. She eyed him with concern. "Are you sure?" she asked. "Your state of dress is much worse than mine."

          Nikolai only waved a hand, a smirk evident on his lips. "Go on, Nazyalensky. Don't go soft on me now."

          She only rolled her eyes in disbelief. Still the idiot. 

***

Nikolai felt exhausted. But the trip was over and they'd be heading back tomorrow. It didn’t take that long for them to pack as they were both a bit organized with their things—all except in their notes and solutions. 

          He was just closing his laptop after writing a brief introduction of their plant visit report, as he wanted to retreat a bit earlier because they have the morning flight tomorrow, when he noticed that Zoya had been too silent. It was only ten in the evening, but she was already curled up to her side of the bed. 

          "Zoya?" Nikolai tried calling out to her, and, as he had initially expected, there was no answer. 

          He felt concern twinge in his chest as he went to check on her. When he was near enough, it was only then he realized that she was shivering despite the blankets wrapped tightly around her shoulders. 

          Nikolai eyed her with worry. "Zoya?" he asked gently, and then he reached a hand to her forehead. She was burning up. He quickly knelt down beside the bed, brushing her hair away from her face. "Zoya, love, you have a fever. Have you taken any medicine yet?"

          Zoya's eyebrows were drawn tightly, her face scrunching up as if she were in pain. "Already did. . . .an hour ago. ." she muttered. She clutched the blanket tighter around her. Then she added, "I feel like shit."

          Weirdly enough, it made him laugh in relief. At least she was still herself. "That's already a good sign of recovery," Nikolai said, tucking the covers around her more. "You'll feel a bit better in the morning." 

          "Hmm…"

          He considered it for another moment, but he figured that Zoya was in no shape to travel as early as five in the morning even if her fever broke after a few hours. It would still be hard for her.

          Giving a quick call to the airlines, Nikolai requested a reschedule on the next flight in the afternoon. But all the afternoon flights back home were already booked, so the result was them having another red-eye flight at eleven next evening. 

          Zoya would probably axe him again for it, but it was better than having her force out of her rest while she was recovering from her fever. 

          Nikolai slipped under the covers when he got the new finalized schedule of their flight. He looked over Zoya's still-shivering form. He only hesitated for a second before reaching out and wrapping his arms around her, tucking her head under his chin.

          She was warm enough to suffice for the coldness inside their room, and Nikolai pulled the covers tighter around them.

          Even in her state, Zoya made an attempt to move away from his arms. "No," she mumbled weakly. But then after a short struggle, he felt her shift closer to him as if she were finally convinced. "You'll get sick too…"

          Nikolai laughed lightly. "I'll be fine," he said softly. "You were actually the first one to shower after being drenched in the rain but you were still the one to get sick." He paused before jokingly adding, "And besides, you're hogging the whole blanket all to yourself."

          "...idiot."

          "Don't worry, I'm your idiot," he said. "Now go to sleep."

          "Whatever."

          A moment later, Zoya was already snoring. Nikolai pressed his cheek against her hair and closed his eyes. 

          Sleep came comfortably this time. 

***

He woke several hours later to some gentle nudging. Nikolai groggily opened his eyes and met Zoya's tired ones, his eyebrows furrowing. 

          "What?"

          "Our flight home, what time is it again?"

          Nikolai leaned back with squinted eyes, putting a hand to her forehead instead of answering. She still had a slight fever, but at least she was able to speak straight now. "Don't worry about it, get some more rest," he said, feeling the heaviness on his eyes coming back. He tucked her back under his chin and closed his eyes. "You can still sleep in." 

          He had momentarily forgotten that Zoya wasn't easy to convince. "I remember you mentioning something about an early morning flight. What—" 

          "I rescheduled it."

          There was a short silence and then she said quietly, "Oh," He felt her arms snaking around his waist. "You could've just said so right away." 

          Nikolai chuckled. "I doubt you would have believed me if I said it right away," he reasoned tiredly. "How are you feeling?"

          "A bit better than last night," she replied. "And warm."

          "That's good." He tightened his arms around her. "Go back to sleep."

          Zoya only hummed as a reply. 

***

Zoya hadn't realized that when Nikolai told her to sleep in, he also meant that she wasn't allowed to get up from the bed. He had insisted not to worry about anything and did most things like going down to get breakfast and lunch, and even buying her favorite energy drink that she had been mulling over whether to ask him to buy or not. 

          She ended up not able to ask that of him because he was already out of the door when she worked up the courage. But, somehow, Nikolai had still come back with two cans of it. 

          So here she was, stuffed under the blankets and glaring at Nikolai as he switched the channels back and forth on the TV they'd barely used during their stay. 

          "Please don't tell me that you booked another flight in the dead of the night," she said, stuffing a pillow on her back as she leaned on the headboard to see the TV better.

          It was five in the afternoon, and she was feeling a lot like her old self now, except for the occasional throbs of pain in the back of her shoulder from lying in the same position for a while. 

          She glanced at the blond, who was still busy frowning on the remote.

          "Joke's on you, Nazyalensky, but I booked a flight in the dead of the night," he said without looking at her. "Well, in my defense, all the afternoon flights were packed. It's the only time available."

          "You shouldn't have rescheduled it," she said under her breath, but he seemed to have heard it. 

          Nikolai raised a brow to her direction. "Trust me, when I woke up at three in the morning to check your temperature, it was still quite alarming," he said. "I doubt you'll be able to get up without passing out on the spot."

          Zoya blinked, suddenly reminded of how he had kept her warm and took care of her throughout the night. She only remembered flashes because of her hazy state of mind, but she was sure of those images.

          "Are you feeling better now?" he asked after a moment. 

          "Yeah, sure," she replied, wrapping the covers tighter around her shoulder. "Never better." 

          Nikolai chuckled. "That's good news. At least I don't have to carry you on my back on our way to the airport." 

          Zoya kicked his leg, earning another laugh from the blond. "Idiot," she muttered.

          "A fine idiot, I am," he said with a wink. He switched the channel again, and beamed. "Ah, there you go."

          "What—oh no, you're not." Zoya glared at Nikolai, who only had a grin on his face as he looked at the TV screen. His eyes were alight in amusement. "A reality tv show? Really?" 

          "It's good to have some trashy shows in your system at times. It's fun." He held the remote out of her arm's reach when Zoya tried snatching it away from him. "Na-uh, we're definitely watching this." 

          Zoya huffed. "You know, we still have the midterm on Monday, and it's already Friday. So why don't you stop wasting your time and review?" 

          "But you're sick." 

          "So?" 

          "No study buddy means no review." He gave her a toothy grin. "There's no 'I' in 'team', truffle."

          "But there's two in 'idiot', though."

          "Harsh."

          "Honest."

***

Zoya got a bit engrossed with the show, despite trying her best not to, even coming to a point that the two of them were already doing angry commentaries as it progressed. 

          And true enough to Nikolai’s words, it was quite fun. Or maybe they had just been too focused on reviewing in whatever time they had in the past days. 

          Soon enough, the episode ended in a way they didn't expect because they were agreeing—one of the rare times—on the most likely ending of tonight's episode. But when it didn't happen, Zoya cursed aloud, and continued to even as the credits rolled.

          "What the hell was that? That wasn't supposed to—" she stopped abruptly when she looked over at Nikolai, who was already fast asleep, still leaning on the headboard with the remote in his hand. 

          So that was why he was silent for the last ten minutes. Zoya thought that he had just been too focused on the show like she was, but it had been entirely the opposite instead. 

          She couldn't help a small smile from  twitching on her lips as she eyed his sleeping form. It was only one of the rare times he wasn't being annoying or blabbering; she might as well bask in the moment. 

          Nikolai shifted for a bit, and his glasses fell down slightly on his nose. Zoya only hesitated for a second before reaching a hand out and removing his glasses from his eyes. She set it down on the nightstand beside him, and, with a bit of effort, draped a part of the blankets around him, moving closer to him as she did. 

          Zoya had to admit that he was a great snuggler; not that she would admit it aloud to his fathead. 

          A moment later, she felt Nikolai turn to her, mumbling, "You doing okay?" 

          His eyes were still closed, and Zoya had to laugh lightly at his look. "Of course, I wouldn't want to reschedule our flight again." She paused, and before she could lose the courage, she mumbled, "Thank you."

          Nikolai seemed to understand, and he chuckled, nudging her head with his affectionately. "Anything for you," he said, and Zoya felt her cheeks heat up. She was going to kill him for having this effect on her. "Get some sleep."

          "As if we haven't been getting that all day." 

          "Our flight is at eleven."

          Zoya scowled. "Saints, I'm never forgiving you for that."

          Nikolai gave a tired laugh as reply, though it sounded more of a hum instead. "Oh, please. You adore me."

          She stopped at that, feeling her heart hammer in her chest. He was silent after that, followed by the sound of his soft snores. 

          Zoya pondered over his words with slight panic. Maybe she really did. 

          Shit. 

***

Hours later, they were finally at the airport. Zoya had been mumbling at him all throughout their way here that she was going to make him buy her coffee for two weeks instead of one. And Nikolai only laughed loudly in reply. 

          "Hey, can I borrow your phone for a bit?" he asked, just before they boarded the plane. "I'll send a quick text to Professor Juris to inform him we're heading home. My phone's dead."

          Zoya was scribbling something on her notebook when he asked, and she only nodded before fishing out her phone from her pocket and handing it to him. She remembered a certain detail about their visit out of the blue that might be useful in their research later, so she wasted no time trying to jot it down for reference. 

          A light chuckle from the blond caught her attention, and Zoya looked up from her notebook, her eyebrows raised. 

          "So, Zoya, did you like sleeping with me?" Nikolai asked, wiggling his eyebrows as he showed her an email from her phone.

          It was from the front desk two days ago saying that another room had opened up. 

          And her reply saying that they were fine with their single room directly below the email. 

          "My, my, Nazyalensky, you could've just told me," he said with a knowing grin. 

          Zoya felt her face heat up as she snatched her phone from his hand, and then also kicking his shin for good measure. "It's cheaper to stay in one room," she said defensively, but she knew otherwise. But she wasn't going to admit that. "Stop thinking too highly of yourself."

          "Harsh," Nikolai said, dramatically putting a hand to his chest. 

          "Honest."

          "Then can you admit that you didn't actually mind cuddling with me for the past few nights?" 

          "Shut up, or I'm changing your deal to three weeks."

          Nikolai's hearty laugh echoed in her ears as she brushed past him, climbing up the plane. 

          She was definitely getting back at him.

***

When she successfully snatched away and downed his drink on the flight later, she considered it as a win. 

          "The Zoya Nazyalensky engaging in underage drinking?" Nikolai said. 

          Zoya chuckled darkly. "Nobody would notice, anyway."

          "You snatched my drink, why not snatch my hand and hold it too?" he said after a long moment, giving her a wink. 

          She immediately kicked his leg with a muttered curse, her face heating up. "Shut up."

***

Zoya still held his hand, anyway. 

[turtletotem]

Betrothed

Behold, @ikeracity‘s Cherik fic reward for winning a Star Bright party challenge! Prompt was "I never knew it but apparently I'm heir to the throne and have been betrothed to you since I was three" -- came out as something close to a Princess Diaries AU + arranged marriage! (Also on AO3.)

.

"But why should I have to marry him?" Charles wailed, knowing he sounded like a petulant toddler instead of a nearly-grown-man of sixteen, but feeling helpless to stop it. He'd felt helpless quite a lot lately, ever since the prime minister of the obscure little nation of Genosha showed up at his door and told him he was now their king.

"I mean, technically you wouldn't exist if not for him, so it's the least you can do," said Raven, and sucked frappe foam through her straw with an amazingly obnoxious noise. Sprawled against the sofa at one end of his dressing room—he had a dressing room now—Raven looked completely at ease in the rich royal surroundings, which she ought to be, having grown up in them. Lady Ravenna Evangeline Penelope Margaret Mystique Darkholme was Charles's newly-discovered first cousin, and the single best thing to come out of all this mess.

"What do you mean, I wouldn't exist?" Charles said as his stylist staff—he had stylist staff—continued zipping and buttoning him into a sinfully expensive tuxedo.

"No one told you? Erik Lehnsherr's parents saved your dad's life. They were on their way to the hospital to have Erik when they saw your dad being hustled into a van by terrorists. Erik's mother—Erik's pregnant, in labor mother—fought them off with her handbag. So your dad promised that their child would marry his heir and become prince consort of Genosha."

"Well, that was ever so nice of my father," Charles said. "To give his eldest child away in marriage before I was even born."

"To be fair, even after you were born, no one really expected you to be heir to the throne. Brian was supposed to get married and have legitimate children at some point."

Which, Charles supposed, was why no one had ever bothered to tell him his father was not just from Genosha, but king of Genosha. No one had ever bothered much with Charles anyway, unless they needed a punching bag. At least now that he'd moved to this ridiculous palace in Genosha, Charles would never have to see his stepfather again.

"But this whole marriage idea is barbaric." He was wailing again. "The Lehnsherrs deserve a reward, certainly, but can't we just give them money? A lot of money? As much money as they want? Instead of making me marry some strange guy I've never met? I mean, it's lucky I'm even open to marrying a guy at all, what if my father's heir had been straight?"

"Sexual attraction isn't a required element of an arranged marriage anyway," Raven shrugged. "And same-sex marriage has been legal in Genosha for over a century—honestly it was never not legal, but it got made explicit… yeah, over a hundred years ago now. And Erik's not gonna be some strange guy you've never met. You're meeting him now! By the time you get married in two years, you'll be old friends."

Charles made a face, and Raven laughed, handing off her empty coffee cup to a passing staff member and unwrapping the cookie she'd bought with it.

"This is just how it works for royalty, Charles," Raven said, a little more seriously. "Sucks that you weren't able to grow up with the idea, but it is what it is."

"You're royalty, do you have a betrothed lurking somewhere?"

"I'm not royalty, I'm nobility. If you kick the bucket without an heir, then I might end up royalty. Until then, my parents know I'd scratch their eyes out if they tried to arrange my life for me." She grinned, all teeth.

"Oh, so it's all right for me, but when it's your life—"

"I don't mean it's all right for you! Just that this is how it is, whether you like it or not."

"Yeah? And what if I just refuse to do it? Then what?"

"Then probably they won't let you be king after all and you'll have to go back home to your mom and stepdad."

Charles's face crumpled in disgust.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Raven said, and shoved her entire cookie in her mouth.

Charles made a frustrated whining noise. "But it's so wrong! For someone else, someone who's dead now even, to decide who I should marry? Who I have to spend the rest of my life with, and tough luck if I ever fall in love with someone else?"

"Close your eyes, Your Majesty," murmured a stylist, and brushed powder over his face, making him sputter.

"Raven, what if Erik's terrible?" Charles said as soon as his face was free again. "What if he's mean and selfish and greedy? What if he's like Kurt and just out for himself? What if he's some narcissistic jerk who's going to make my life miserable? What if he's stupid? There's nothing morally wrong with being unintelligent, but I don't think I could stand it, Raven, being trapped all day every day with a stupid person, I'd go mad—I don't mean to sound vain, but it's no use pretending I'm not bright, my test scores—"

"You haven't even mentioned 'what if he's ugly,'" Raven said, sounding amused.

"His looks are hardly the most significant thing," Charles said stiffly. "It's much more important that he be a good companion, a good partner, and a good co-ruler for Genosha." His bottom lip trembled, but he held it together while the stylists finished tweaking him and left, before the words burst out of him. "Oh, Raven, what if he's hideous? What if I'm trapped with him forever and I can't even stand to look at him?"

"What if he can't stand to look at you? None of this was his idea either, you know. Oh, Charles, I didn't mean it!" Raven cried when Charles gave her a horrified, near-tearful look. "I was just teasing! Come here." She folded him into a tight hug. Raven was like that; the first thing she'd done when they met was hug him. Charles wasn't used to hugs, but he'd already decided he liked them, at least from Raven.

"Charles, listen to me," Raven said. "You are adorable. You are sweet and clever and good and full of love, and Erik Lehnsherr is lucky as hell to get you. If he doesn't appreciate you like he should, you divorce his ass and tell the prime minister and the whole cabinet to do whatever they dare about it. You hear me?"

Charles sniffled, wiping away the tears Raven's hug had squeezed out, and nodded. "I hear you."

"Good. Now let's go introduce you to this guy and see if he deserves you."

"It's not about whether he deserves me," Charles said as Raven tugged him out the door and down the corridor, past museum-quality oil paintings and crystal statuettes. "It's about the fact that a marriage arranged without any input or consent from the couple themselves is a human rights violation! It's about the fact that when we marry I'll still only be eighteen years old and that's an insane age to make a lifetime commitment! It's about the fact that Erik's mother doing one heroic deed almost twenty years ago doesn't mean her son will make a good ruler! It's about the fact that the heart cannot be legislated and sexual compatibility is important in a marriage and I don't want to marry Erik Lehnsherr—"

He stopped dead as Raven opened a door, revealing the young man within, and a very tiny internal Charles-voice said very sheepishly, Never mind.

Erik Lehnsherr—and so it had to be, there was no one else in the room—was absolutely gorgeous, with the whip-thin grace of a hunting cat and the cheekbones of a god. He had intense, enigmatic eyes the grey-blue color of a winter sky, and he was using them to stare at Charles just as speechlessly as Charles was staring at him.

Raven pushed Charles ahead of her into the room. "Charles, this is Erik. Erik, this is Charles. Good luck."

And she backed out of the room and closed the door.

"Raven, come back—!"

Charles's wasn't the only voice who had said the words. Startled, he turned back toward Erik, who had a hand extended toward the door as if to pull Raven back into the room.

"Do… you know Raven?" Charles asked.

"Of course I know Raven, we've grown up together." Erik continued staring at him, and it was hard to say whether he looked annoyed or terrified. He shifted his feet awkwardly and scratched at his dark auburn hair. "Um, hi. I'm Erik." He put out a hand.

"Charles." He tried not to visibly react as Erik shook his hand, tried not to let on that the most beautiful person he'd ever seen was touching him. "I wish I'd grown up with Raven, she's much better company than my stepbrother. How did you… why…?"

"King Brian was basically my godfather," Erik said, a shadow of grief passing over his face. "I've spent as much time at this palace as I have at my own home, being trained and educated for the day I would help rule the kingdom… For a while I was afraid I'd have to marry Raven, until the council confirmed you come before her in the succession."

"Afraid? Don't you like her?"

"Oh, I like her very much, but she's not…" Erik's cheeks reddened. "I mean, she's a girl, and I prefer… um…"

"Oh, good!" Charles couldn't help bursting out. "Me too!"

"Really?" Erik's smile, Charles thought, changed his whole face, transforming him from an incredible chiseled artwork into a real person, slightly odd and awkward and imperfect and wonderful. Charles blushed and looked away.

His gaze landed on a chessboard, on the table in front of Erik, and he belatedly realized that was what Erik had looked up from when Raven opened the door. "Oh, do you play?"

"I'm head of the team at my school," Erik said with shy pride. "Sometimes I could even beat Brian. Do you? Play chess, I mean?"

"I'm head of the team at my school," Charles said, unable to keep from laughing. "Or I was. Now that I live in Genosha, I might end up competing for your spot."

Erik's smile widened. "You're welcome to try. Don't think I'll go easy on you just because you're the king. And my betrothed. And—" But he didn't finish that sentence, just got redder in the face, and turned to reset the chess board.

So Charles sat down with the young man he was being barbarically forced to marry, who was not stupid, not ugly, not any of the things Charles had feared he would be, and played chess far into the night.

[let-it-raines]

Nonnie, this is quite possibly one of the funniest prompts I’ve ever received. I actually, legitimately laughed out loud when I read it, and I definitely had to find the original post to read it all. Not gonna lie, I’m totally rooting for that poor girl.

I hope you enjoy this version of such a crazy little tale 😘

on ao3 | here | if that’s more your style

-/-

Her back is absolutely killing her. There are bones in positions they are definitely not supposed to be in, and she has to wonder where the hell David and Mary Margaret got their couch. Emma secretly thinks that when she asked them if she could come stay with them for a few weeks – days, weeks, months, who the hell knows at this point – they got rid of their old couch and replaced it with one that they found on the side of the road that’s full of extra springs and the smallest amount of cushion stuffing on the planet.

David and Mary Margaret are too full of kindness to do something like that, but she knows that if her sister – if she had one obviously – called and said she lost her job and her apartment and needed a place to crash for a little while, she would definitely make the stay as uncomfortable as possible.

If the couch crasher isn’t comfortable, it means they won’t stay as long, right?

It’s July, and she’s been on their couch since the end of April. So much for that theory, obviously. But hey, at least she’s not stuck still living with Neal because if she had to sleep in the same apartment as her cheating douchebag of an ex, there is no guarantee that she wouldn’t murder him in his sleep.

Small blessings and all.

Emma raises her arms above her head and interlaces her hands together, stretching her body out and loosening up her limbs, before she moves her legs and starts running. She’s never been much of a runner. She always thought it was some kind of voluntary torture. Back in Boston, she had a kickboxing gym she went to every day, but there’s not one of those in Storybrooke. There’s one gym here, and it’s got out of date equipment that definitely aren’t cleaned every day. There’s no way she’d ever pay for that when she’s already short on cash to begin with.

So running on the beach it is, even if it makes her calves feel like they are legitimately on fire.

There’s no one on the beach this morning. Sometimes tourists will get here early and mark their space with their chairs and their umbrellas, but today, it’s blissfully empty so that she can run up and down the sand without being bothered. Music blares through her headphones, and it propels her forward every time that she wants to quit. She’s never been one to want to stare at the ocean and soak in its beauty. It’s never calmed her, but now, when her days are spent going between having a bad back, serving drinks to people who don’t know how to tip, and wondering if her life is always going to suck this much, she thinks that the ocean isn’t that bad.

It’s calm and beautiful, and right now, it’s as blue as the…what the fuck?

Emma stops jogging, sand kicking up around her, and her breath escapes her as she squints and looks out onto the ocean past the pier.

Is there…is there someone out there?

About forty, fifty feet out in the water, there’s some kind of floating figure. She can’t really tell from here, but it looks like there’s a man floating on his back, his head tilted backward.

Oh shit.

This area has been full of scuba divers this summer, but they’re usually in groups and only go in the afternoon with some kind of instructor. This guy – or girl, she can’t really tell right now because she doesn’t have her contacts in and can’t see that far away – must have been a dumbass and gone on his own.

Her stomach is heavy, like it’s full of wet sand, and when she looks around, she’s reminded that there’s no one around.

Shit, shit, shit.

This isn’t what she’s trained to do. She’s not even technically trained to do anything. She’s only really ever worked in food service besides her boring as hell office job in Boston, and none of that would have ever prepared her for something like this.

“Oh, what the hell?” Emma mumbles to herself as she pulls her tank top off before tugging her leggings down, kicking them off with her socks and shoes. She drops her phone and her headphones into her shoes. She’s in nothing but a sports bra and a pair of underwear that literally has little animated penises on it from Mary Margaret’s bachelorette party, but that doesn’t really matter when this guy (girl) might be dying.

The water is cold when she first dives in, and salt gets up her nose so that her throat is itching, but she manages to swim out to the water as quickly as possible. Now that she’s closer, she can see that it’s definitely a man, and Emma closes her eyes as she closes the final strides and reaches for him.

When she opens them, he is staring directly at her, blue eyes blown wide in what she can only assume is confusion.

So, he’s not dead. That’s good to know.

“Are you okay?” Emma blurts out, salt water still in her mouth that she hacks up.

The guy nods and slowly removes his regulator and his mask. One eyebrow raises before they both furrow together. “Aye.”

Great. He thinks she’s a lunatic. She probably is.

She just tried to save a man from drowning when he wasn’t actually drowning.

This is all Mary Margaret and David’s fault because they own the most uncomfortable couch in existence, and she obviously is suffering from poor decision making because of a lack of sleep.

“I thought you were dead!” Emma explains as she starts treading water and hopes that a shark doesn’t show up any time soon. That would really be the cherry on top of her day. “But you’re obviously not dead.”

“No, love, I don’t think I am.”

“What’s going on here?”

Emma stops treading and dips under the water before she rises back up and sees another guy floating a few feet away. As she looks around more and more keep popping up, all of them deadly silent, and if she had any air in her lungs right now, she would scream.

What the hell has she just walked…swam into?

And then, when she comes to her senses, she realizes that they’re all laughing at her.

The bunch of assholes.

(She probably deserves their laughter, but she won’t admit to that.)

“Alright, alright,” the non-dead guy says, raising his hand in the air, “leave the lady alone. She is a real savior, okay?” He flashes her a pearly white smile and nods back to the shore. “Do you want to go back and get away from these assholes?”

What she’d like to do right now is drown, but there seems to be none of that going around today.

“Yeah, I would. I don’t need you to take me back though.”

“Good because I’m not going to. I’m simply going to happen to be swimming to the shore at the same time that you do.”

Emma nods and then turns around and starts swimming back. He stays at her heels while his friends whistle out words she’s ignoring behind them, and while Emma considers herself to be in good shape, she is not a swimmer. The adrenaline from her run and from her not-so-daring rescue are wearing off, and she can feel her breathing getting heavier and heavier. Is the shore getting further away? That would be impossible.

“You’re so lucky you weren’t actually dying back there because there was no way I was going to be able to drag your sorry ass back to shore.” He chuckles, and she cuts her eyes back at him. “I’m glad you find this funny.”

“I find this hysterical, love. You need a tug to shore?”

She does, but there’s no way in hell that she’s going to accept that.

“Absolutely not.”

Eventually, after what feels like ages, she steps foot on solid, if sandy, ground, and the early morning air nips at her skin as she emerges from the water. She tries to shake it off while walking toward her clothes, but she knows that there’s no way that she could possibly get her leggings back on.

That would be torture of an entirely different kind.

Holy shit. She’s wearing underwear with cartoon dicks on them.

This day could not get any worse.

Except when she turns around, she sees the guy stripping out of his gear, only the wetsuit left on, and this is the first time she gets a really good luck at him. He’s trim, like he spends a heck of a lot more time swimming than she does, and he’s got dark stubble across his jaw that she imagines would feel fantastic brushing against her skin. His eyes also seem to be bluer now, and she definitely didn’t think that was possible.

Okay, so maybe her day could get worse.

Or a little better.

Then she watches his eyes tail down her body, just for a moment, but it’s long enough that she knows that he’s noticed her unfortunate choice in underwear.

“So, do you go about saving people every morning or is this just a one-time thing?”

“Definitely a one-time thing since all of my effort was apparently useless.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. That’s the most entertainment me and the boys have had in weeks. I don’t think we’re going to forget about this for a long time.”

Emma nods and bends down to get her tank top. She pulls it over, and it immediately clings to her skin. So much for getting a little coverage. “You lead that boring of a life then? All diving all the time?”

“Lately, yeah.”

“Is that so?”

He shakes his hair out and runs his fingers through his locks, and she is not distracted by that at all.

(She is definitely not thinking about the fact that she hasn’t had sex in several months.)

(She just embarrassed the hell out of herself in front of him, so that shouldn’t even be a though going through her mind.)

(Even if these were normal circumstances, that wouldn’t be a thought that went through her mind this early in the morning.)

“We’re training for diving school for the Navy,” he explains. “We’ve got a few weeks off that we’re spending up here for the incredible diving spots, but then we’ll be in Florida for four months.”

“Well, I hope you won’t need any saving while you’re there.”

“It won’t be you, so I’m not sure that it’d be quite as enjoyable.” Emma rolls her eyes, and she has to try her hardest not to let herself smile. That was a bad line. She will not smile at it. “Killian Jones, by the way. And you are?”

“Emma Swan.” She reaches out to take his hand to shake, but instead, he pulls it up and brushes his lips across the back of her hand, never breaking eye contact.

“It’s nice to meet you, Swan. You wouldn’t happen to know a good spot around here to get a beer, would you?”

Emma looks down at her feet, kicking them in the sand, before she raises her head and smiles. He’s flirting with her. She just embarrassed the hell out of herself, interrupted a military training exercise, and he’s flirting with her.

What’s wrong with him?

“I actually work at the Crab Shack down by the pier. Don’t let the name fool you. There is only a small possibility that you’ll get crabs if you shack up while there.”

Okay, what is wrong with her?

Killian cocks his head to the side and chuckles as a water droplet falls from his hair and streaks down his face. Why is that so distracting? “I’ll see if the boys and I can stop by tonight. You know, to celebrate the woman who saved me.”

“Alright, alright,” Emma laughs, holding her hands up and bowing her head. “I get it. I’m never going to live this down.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it.”

-/-

David and Mary Margaret are both at work when she gets home, so she thankfully doesn’t have to explain her appearance. Her heart is still racing and her clothes are still soaking wet. Her leggings were pretty much impossible to get on, so she walked through the streets of Storybrooke in nothing but sneakers, a tank top, and dick-covered underwear. She takes a shower and tries to wash away the embarrassment of the morning. She never thought that she was one to embarrass easily, but she guesses that was not some kind of normal situation.

Why is she such an idiot?

Is this just a new low point in her life?

She’s not working until after lunch, and while she would usually take this time to clean up around the loft to show her appreciation for David and Mary Margaret for letting her crash here, she doesn’t do that. Instead, she spends a ridiculous amount of time trying to decide what to wear to work, like she’s not going to wear her regular cut-offs and a tank top. That’s exactly what she puts on, and if she decides to add a lacy bralette, well, that’s just because all of her other bras need to be washed.

Eventually, she heads to work, clocks in, and starts helping to serve the few tables and the people at the bar. It’s pretty slow, though, and when there’s only one guy in a booth in the corner, she tells Ruby about her morning.

Considering Ruby literally starts choking from laughing so much, Emma thinks maybe that wasn’t her best idea.

“You were wearing the underwear from Marg’s bachelorette party?”

“It was clean! I have to do laundry!”

“This is the best thing to ever happen to me,” Ruby laughs, leaning forward and resting her face on the countertop before she pops back up with wide eye and a wolfish smirk. “Wait. Did you say that he’s coming here tonight?”

“Mhm.”

“Is that why you have on mascara?”

“I wear makeup sometimes.”

“Rarely.” Ruby places her hands on her hips, and okay, maybe she definitely shouldn’t have told Ruby. She probably wouldn’t have noticed the Navy guys coming in. “Oh, is he cute? Are you going to sleep with him? Is that what’s up with you looking slightly put together. Emma Swan, have you gone and found yourself a man in the most ridiculous way possible?”

“I am not going to sleep with him.” Ruby raises her brows and then winks, and all Emma can do is shake her head. “He’s in the Navy. He’s about to go to Florida for four months and then who knows where? What would even be the point?”

“That sounds like the perfect excuse to sleep with him. There are no strings attached, and I’m sure he knows that too. I mean, you’ve got to get over that douche eventually. Why not do it with a hot guy who is going to leave, no strings attached?”

She’s only known Ruby from when she’s come to visit David, but they’ve managed to be pretty close friends over the last few months. Ruby is fearless and crass, and there’s never anything holding her back. Emma often wishes she was like that.

The girl is right, unfortunately, not that Emma would admit that to her. She would never shut up about it.

“He’s probably not even going to show, Rubes.”

-/-

He shows.

His entire crew doesn’t. It’s just him and two guys named Robin and Will, and they all settle down at a booth, ordering burgers and drinks and taking the piss out of her every time she brings them something. Will is the main culprit, and she’s pretty sure that he’s the one who scared the shit out of her earlier by silently popping up out of nowhere.

It’s weird seeing them all out of their gear and in their civilian clothes. Killian is in a pair of dark jeans that hug his legs – not that she was staring or anything – and a short-sleeved gray t-shirt. A tattoo peaks out underneath his sleeve, and she’s curious as to what it is.

She’s not going to sleep with him, though. That’s not…that’s not happening.

“So, I have to ask,” Ruby says after Emma’s been chatting with them on and off for an hour, “did you manage to get a good look at the panties this girl had on earlier?”

“I’m afraid I didn’t, love,” Killian tells Ruby before looking at Emma and winking.

Oh, she might be in trouble if he’s going to do things like that..

“Really?” Ruby asks, disappointed.

“I’m afraid that I was too busy being thankful to be saved to pay any attention to what my savior was wearing.”

“I call bullshit on that, but whatever. You really missed out too. They were the greatest pair of panties in existence.”

Little by little, the bar fills up with people, mostly tourists, but a few locals come in. Will and Robin start talking with a few guys they happen to know, but Killian comes to sit at the bar across from her where she learns that he’s originally from California but that his dad was in the military growing up and they moved around a lot. His mom was British, and they spent the majority of his early years in England, which explains the slight accent, and he has an older brother who lives in Denmark with his wife. At twenty-four, he’s only three years older than her, and he says that he got a bit of a late start to being in the Navy, messing around too much and not knowing what the hell it is he wanted to do with his life.

Emma gets that more than he could probably ever know. She’s literally sleeping on her brother’s couch and working in a place called the Crab Shack.

They don’t even sell crab most days.

He gives as good as he gets with being teased, and she finds that he’s always quick to give back an insult or a jab whenever one comes from Ruby or from his friends.

Or from her.

It’s easy talking to him, laughing and sharing a drink and some fries, and as the night goes on, it’s even easier to forget that she hasn’t flirted since Neal and that the man smiling across from her was the witness to one of the most embarrassing moments of her life.

Killian kisses her against the wall in the hallway that leads back to the bathrooms and the storage closets. It’s dark, the music from the bar dimmed, and the only thing she can focus on is the warmth of his mouth and the expert sweep of his tongue as chills scatter across her body before warming her everywhere, from her toes to her cheeks but especially in the pit of her belly. She hasn’t been kissed like that in quite some time, if not ever, and getting lost in it is as easy as anything she’s ever done.

She doesn’t sleep with him, though.

She desperately wants to, aches for it really, but he mutters something about being a gentleman, which she protests against, but he reassures her that he is, indeed, always a gentleman.

Making out with her in the hallway of a bar doesn’t really allow that theory to hold up, but she guesses he’s going to play the gentleman card.

He promises he’ll be back, though, asking her if she’s working tomorrow, and when she says yes, he kisses her again and then walks out the door.

-/-

Killian comes back the next day.

And the next.

And the one after that.

And then he asks if he can see her outside of work, take her on a proper date or something, and the only reason Emma says yes is because she knows this is temporary. He’s going to leave soon, so it’s okay for her to get to know him and laugh with him and make out with him in the backseat of her car until her lips are kiss-swollen and every part of her is flushed.

It’s okay for her to get to know how he likes his burgers and what his favorite drink is and that the tattoo on his arm is in honor of his mom who passed away five years ago. She learns more about his brother and his apparently shitty dad, just as she tells him about David who he apparently had some kind of run-in with on his first night in town, and little by little, she starts to know all of these pieces of this man she never should have met.

If she were a romantic, Emma would say that this is like something out of a movie, a summer romance that passes by in montages full of laughter and good times. She’s not a romantic, though. She knows that this is the real world where things don’t work out like that, but even so, the weeks pass by, and when she goes to bed at night, she finds herself thinking of blue eyes and a kind but mischievous smile.

Oh.

Oh, okay. Maybe she’s gotten herself in too deep of waters without knowing the way out, and this time, there’s not going to be some idiot running along the beach who dives out into the ocean to save her.

Despite her thoughts starting to attack her, her heart aching even when she tells it to stop, she continues to see him whenever she can. And a week before he leaves, they manage to find a time when no one is home but the two of them, and while she doesn’t intend for it go that far, once his lips brush across her neck and liquid heat blazes over her skin, there’s no stopping them as they shed their clothes.

“No dick-covered underwear today, love?” Killian whispers against her bare stomach as he kisses her in such a way that her stomach ripples.

“I’m afraid those have been retired.”

“A pity that.”

They don’t talk much for the next few minutes, not more than curses and instructions and repetitive words of pleasure, and as her heart races while Killian drives her absolutely mad with his movements, it also aches, the ticking time bomb she wants liked suddenly something she’s dreading.

She likes him.

Honestly, truly likes him.

He’s kind and funny and has a mouth on him that matches hers in curses and in banter. He asks her about her day and listens to her when she talks, which Neal nearly never did, and while she finds that what’s between them is physical, there’s something more underneath the surface, so damn close to breaking through.

When he leaves, she doesn’t want to say goodbye. She’s never been particularly good at those, but Killian still comes to the bar, sits with her at the counter likes it’s not his last day, and when he has to go, he takes her hand and pulls her outside, the wind whipping around them and the smell of salt permeating the air.

“There’s not a day will go by I won’t think of you.”

Emma nearly makes some kind of sarcastic quip, but instead she leans up on her toes and slowly glides her lips over his, savoring the softness and undeniable warmth of them one last time.

“Good.”

-/-

Emma wakes to a text the next morning.

KJ: So, I have some time off in January. Do you think I could take you to dinner?

ES: I think that could be arranged. I don’t know if I’ll recognize you all bundled up to live through Maine’s winter weather.

KJ: I’ll bring a red rose, just in case.

Emma rolls over on the couch and buries her smile in her pillow.

ES: I am looking forward to it.

-/-

Emma sees Killian for the first time – FaceTime not included – on January third, four months and a week after they said goodbye. He’s standing outside her apartment – one she shares with Ruby, each of them with their own, actual bedrooms – dressed in his Naval dress uniform with a red rose in his hand.

His hair is shorter, his usual stubble a little bit more trimmed, his skin tanned, and even with his uniform, she can see that his shoulders are broader than they were this summer.

“Hi,” Emma whispers. She thought she was yelling it, but it definitely only came out as a whisper. “You’re not supposed to be here until tomorrow.”

He cocks his head to the side, smile bright, and God, she has missed that smile. “Ah, well, you see, I had an opportunity to see the woman I love one day sooner, and there was no way in hell I was going to pass up that opportunity.”

“The woman you love, huh?”

“Aye.” He steps closer, and it takes everything in Emma not to tackle him to the ground. “She’s this fiery lass who is beyond brilliant and witty. And, I’ll have you know, that she is so brave that she’ll dive into the ocean to save a drowning man. Would you happen to know anyone like that?”

Emma rolls her eyes and closes the distance between them. It was once 1,500 miles (she may have looked it up), but that is no longer. And it feels damn good. “I might have an idea where you can find her.”

“Good,” he says, her own word from so long ago echoing back to her, before pressing his lips to hers in a deep, slow kiss that feels like it never stopped.

She has never been so thankful for David’s shitty couch and how it inadvertently led her to this.

[syntaxeme]

Nowhere to Go But Up ch. 1

Chapter word count: 3859 Rating: T Pairing: Angel/Val Read on AO3: [x] Next chapter: [coming soon!] Story summary: Angel's history of drugs, gangs, and porn isn't quite as glamorous as most people think. This is the story of how a scrawny, lonely dead boy named Anthony moved up (or down) in the world and became Hell's #1 sex symbol, Angel Dust. The only way to the top is to claw your way up from the bottom.

— — –

When Anthony got to Hell, it didn’t surprise him to find that his old man was already there. Where the fuck else would he have gone? As ‘religious’ as their Catholic family had always been, his father was a piece of shit by all accounts, a sinner through and through. It took a couple weeks for him to figure it out, since people called him ‘Henroin’ down here—but even that made sense. Smack was always his drug of choice in life, so why should death be any different?

It took some doing, some seducing of guards and general sexual favors for his advisors (even though Anthony’s body wasn’t exactly how he remembered it, he still got used to it quickly), but Anthony eventually got an audience with him. And again, unsurprisingly, Henroin wasn’t happy to see him.

“Shit, Anton, you died even faster than I expected,” the boss—even a boss in Hell, apparently—growled, unimpressed. He looked every bit as spidery as Anthony had become, maybe even more so. “Just when I thought you couldn’t disappoint me more.”

“Thanks, Pop, good to see you too,” Anthony said with a roll of his eyes.

“Well? What do you want?” Henroin asked flatly.

“What do you fucking think? I’m your son. Shouldn’t I be involved in your business down here?”

His father let out a cold laugh. “When have you ever been useful to my business? If your brother was here, or even Molly, they might be useful. You? You’re worthless. Always have been. I dunno what you expected to change now you’re dead.”

That was a fair point. His father had never appreciated anything about who he was or how he felt, and vice-versa. Why would he care what happened to Anthony’s soul for the rest of his immortal life? It was Hell. Nobody cared about anybody, as Anthony was soon to learn.

He spent his next few months (assuming he was even perceiving time right in this weird, fucked-up realm) on the streets, whoring around, doing whatever it took to survive. He got ripped off more than once, some demon fucking him all night then beating the shit out of him when he mentioned payment. He figured out pretty quick that drugs were every bit as big in Hell as they were on Earth, so that was where most of his money went. Just to not be conscious. Just to forget for a minute.

It was supposed to be a punishment, wasn’t it? What little he remembered of church was that Hell was where Bad People went because they’d done Bad Things and deserved to Feel Bad. Well, he was, he had, and he did. God, he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d felt like anything other than absolute shit. It might’ve stayed that way forever—or at least until the next extermination—if he hadn’t met Cherri.

That morning, he was slumped against a gutted storefront, his eyes clouded, his head foggy as he was still coming off a high from two days ago. Some woman strolled up to him and nudged his leg with a booted foot. “Hey,” she said flatly. “Get off my street, skid, you’re making me look bad.”

“Get out of my face, bitch,” Anthony grumbled, turning away, covering his eyes to hide from the sunrise’s glaring light.

“Ha!” The demoness bent at the waist, grasped a handful of his hair, and forced his head up. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

“I said fuck off!” Anthony snapped, jerking away from her hand. “Are you fucking deaf? Get away from me.”

The girl laughed again and gestured at a couple of big demons standing at her back. “Bring him.” Although he didn’t want to be taken who-knew where for who-knew what reason, Anthony really didn’t have the energy to fight. They took him across Pentagram City in a banged-up towncar driven by the girl-boss herself, then dragged him inside what he recognized as a shitty little gang complex.

“You’re tweaked out of your fucking head, aren’t you?” When she grabbed his hair again and forced him to look at her, his eyes were clear enough to realize that she only had one above her sharp-toothed grin. He sneered and tried to escape her grasp, but she just laughed as she released him. “Yeah, that’s what I figured. Put his ass to bed.”

Despite Anthony’s attempts to tempt them with his body—probably pretty sloppy attempts, considering how fucked up he was—the guys working for her ignored him and dragged him off to a sort of cell, a bare room with a bed and a barred window, then locked him up alone. What’s-her-tits appeared in a slot in the cell door and told him once he calmed down, maybe they could try talking again. Considering how bad he was coming down, how miserable and unhinged he was, he screamed, he fought, he clawed at his own skin, but nothing did him any good. He tore the room apart. He shouted until his throat shredded and bled. He dissolved into sobbing and hyperventilating in a corner of the room. God, everything, everything felt so fucking bad, and now that he didn’t have some kind of distraction, drugs or sex or booze, whatever, he was being forced to feel every bit of it.

Sometime while he was passed out, they put water inside the room for him, and he savored every drop on his damaged throat. They delivered food, and he ate for the first time in who-knew how long. There was a period, he didn’t have any idea how long, where he was barely even aware of what was going on around him, too angry and scared and agonized to keep track. This wasn’t any better. He wished he could just fucking die to escape it, like he had on Earth, but that wasn’t an option here. Maybe he deserved this. Maybe he had done enough wrong in life to belong in this shithole for the rest of eternity.

Days, maybe weeks passed in this cycle of misery and pain and eventual, merciful oblivion once he passed out. Finally, the girl-boss came back by his room and opened the door to stroll inside, apparently not worried about him trying to escape. Which he didn’t. Dropping to sit in front of the mattress that had been serving as his bed, she rested her chin in one hand. “So?” she prompted. “Who are you?”

“Nobody,” Anthony said quietly, having gotten past all his anger and violence to the point that he was just exhausted and depressed now.

The demoness, his captor, rolled her eye. “Anyway, I’m Cherri. And you are…?”

Despite his reluctance, he huffed out, “Anthony.”

“Great. I’m gonna call you Tony,” she said with a grin, leaning forward to watch him curiously. “What’s your story? How’d you end up on my side of town?”

“What do you care? You saw me before. You’ve seen how pathetic I am all this time,” he muttered, unable to even look at her. “I’m nothing. I’m nobody. If you’re gonna kill me or whatever, just fucking do it.”

“God, you’re depressing,” she said. “Well if you ain’t gonna tell me, you got anybody you know down here? Friends? Family? Some gang I can get you back to?”

“No. I mean, there’s my dad, but he doesn’t give a shit about me. People call him Henroin.”

“Holy fuck!” Cherri crowed, her eye growing wide. “You’re Henroin’s kid? I didn’t think—”

“Didn’t you hear me? I said he doesn’t care,” Anthony snapped. “It’s not like you can ransom me to him or whatever, because he won’t pay.” He knew that for a fact, having experienced something similar in life.

“Huh. Can’t really say I’m surprised. I’ve always heard he’s an asshole.” Refusing to let the subject go, refusing to leave him to suffer alone, she suggested, “So answer me yourself.”

“What’s the point?”

“The point is I wanna know. Look, I know you’re in the middle of some bad withdrawal right now. Like, I can tell, I’ve been there, I see it on you. It fucking sucks. Makes you wish you were deader than you already are. But this place ain’t something you get out of by losing your will to live, and eternity is a long time to keep feeling like that or drugging yourself stupid, you know?” She started bouncing one leg, apparently a little restless but keeping her attention on him. “If you quit being so mopey about it, I bet I can help.”

“Why? Why bother with my mopey ass?” Anthony demanded, and Cherri grinned back.

“I dunno, you were kind of a bitch that first time we talked, and I kind of liked it,” she confessed. “Plus, most everybody around here knows better than to fuck with me, so maybe I like the change of pace.”

“Look, if you think I’m gonna be all grateful you ‘saved my life’ and we’re gonna be best pals, you’ve got another thing coming,” Anthony argued, finally managing to muster a little irritation. “I ain’t here to entertain you, and I ain’t fucking you either. If that’s what you—”

Cherri dropped her head back and let out a loud, grating laugh. “I’m not into dudes, you stuck-up prick,” she snickered, though she sounded more amused than offended. “So ditto. How about you take a few more days to chill the fuck out and then we’ll talk about you maybe joining my crew?”

***

It wasn’t fast, it wasn’t easy, but Anthony eventually got used to his role at Cherri’s place. Every day or so, maybe a couple times a day, she would come by his room and they would chat about whatever—his life before all this, her life, her new life, and the shitty excuse for ‘living’ he’d been doing ever since his dad kicked him out. After all, he had nothing better to do with his time, and he found talking with her worked to distract him from all the shit his body was still going through.

She told him more about the gang and her role in it, about how satisfying it was to kick some douchey demon’s ass when he was trying to horn in on her turf. She was shocked that he was a mobster’s son in life and still didn’t know how to use a damn gun, which she said was a crime in itself. When he mentioned the demons who had taken advantage of him before they met, Cherri was absolutely livid and swore on the spot that she was going to teach him how to defend himself.

“You can’t let them get away with that shit,” she growled. “If they think you’re too weak to stop them, fuckers down here will eat you alive. You gotta show ‘em you ain’t somebody they want to mess with.”

Considering how totally opposed it was to the rest of his experience in Hell so far, it kind of threw him off to be around someone who gave a shit about other people again. Maybe not all other people, but Cherri took care of her own gang, at least, and now she was asking him to be part of it. It wasn’t like he had any better options to pursue. So once he had finally gotten all the crystal and cravings out of his system, once he was himself enough to care where his future was going, he left his cell (which hadn’t been locked for some time) and found Cherri to accept her offer.

It turned out that when you weren’t trying to take on everything by yourself, Hell really wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t 24/7 misery, at least, now that Anthony wasn’t completely alone and struggling for life on the street. True to her word, Cherri trained him with guns. And knives. And bombs. And poisons. She even helped him figure out how to use his own spindly, lanky body to his advantage in a fight; it turned out he was a lot more flexible and agile than he’d realized. The inherent violence of Hell was obviously her favorite part of the whole deal, and with her encouragement, Anthony started enjoying it too. It was nice to not feel powerless for once. And even in the moments when he was overwhelmed, it was nice to know there were people on his side. Cherri’s gang was made up of junkies and criminals, but this group of sinners stuck together and looked out for each other. Good to have a family that actually wanted him for once.

***

About ten years after his death, there was a big turf war between their gang and some bird-looking asshole who took himself way too seriously. Called himself Bedlam. If he had been upfront about his whole hostile takeover bullshit, Cherri’s gang would’ve wiped his, easy. But he decided to come at them sideways with a ‘sneak attack’ and took out a third of their guys overnight. Cherri was furious but a little panicked over the sudden decrease in their forces. As far as Anthony could tell, she’d never been in a fight this big, this serious, and it was really getting to her.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” he asked, more laidback than her, as usual. “It’s not like we don’t have way more muscle regardless. He can throw his ‘cultured’ fuckwads at us all day and we’ll gut every one of ‘em.”

“Muscle ain’t gonna win a fucking war, Tony,” she argued, holed up in her ‘office’ and trying to figure out how to approach this. “If he’s smart enough and he pulls another sneaky trick like this, we can kiss our cozy setup here good-bye. Goddamn it!” She grabbed up her desk chair and slung it out the window behind her, not flinching in the slightest at the sound of shattering glass. She had a point Anthony couldn’t argue with; he’d seen enough of his dad’s business to know brains beat brawn nine times out of ten.

“We need guys who are a little bit of both,” he mused, tapping his foot idly from his seat by the wall. “Like, you got your baseline soldiers and your advisors. You got your bruisers and your assassins. You need more of those guys. Specialists, you know? Precision killers. Right?”

“Yeah,” Cherri said thoughtfully, nodding slowly as she considered what he was saying. “Yeah, I think you’re right, babe. But people like that don’t come cheap. I’d have to…I might have to… Ah, fuck.” With a defeated growl, she shoved away from her desk and marched toward the door.

“Hey, where we going?” Anthony asked, hopping up to follow after her.

“Not we. Just me. I’m going to get some help. I don’t wanna do it, but we ain’t got much choice,” she told him as she strode through the complex without once looking back.

“Hey, why can’t I help? You know I can be persuasive, bitch. Let me—”

“Tony.” She rounded on him, her sneer less vicious and more nervous. “Just stay here, okay? I’ll be back and I’ll talk the whole deal out with you. The only way I’m gonna get this done is if I do it on my own. Okay?”

Seeing how shaken up she was and not wanting to make it worse, he heaved a sigh and threw his hands up. “Yeah, sure, whatever. Try not to die.”

He watched her car drive off, both pairs of arms crossed in irritation. But Cherri had been doing this boss thing for a while. He had to trust she knew how to do it. But getting excluded from the plan like this, being told “just stay at home and trust me to take care of it”? It was too reminiscent of his father and brother excluding him from family work. He hated that shit.

It took hours for Cherri to get back. Anthony stalked around the complex, waiting for a call, a sign, the sound of the car’s engine, anything. It was past midnight when she finally trudged inside, dragging her feet, looking exhausted. Anthony was lounging in her room, half-asleep in her bed when the door slammed open.

“Hey,” he said groggily, forcing himself up to look her in the face. “You look like shit. Where you been?”

“Not now.” She wandered unsteadily over to the bed and collapsed, dropping her face against her pillow. “Just. Lemme sleep. I’ll explain tomorrow.” Anthony watched her for a few seconds, realizing she was already mostly unconscious, and let out a defeated sigh. Dragging a blanket over her still form, he lay down and draped one arm over her shoulders.

“All right. Tomorrow.”

But tomorrow came, and he didn’t get his explanation. The next few days were so busy that he and Cherri hardly had time to sit down and talk; they spent too much time fighting or planning to fight or getting ambushed and then defending themselves. And even though Anthony wasn’t sure how she’d pulled it off, the boss had definitely brought in some skilled help, the kind of vicious, calculating bastards who kept cool in a fight but each did just as much damage as a team of ten amateur muscleheads.

“Shit, Cherri!” Anthony laughed during another street brawl, watching wave after wave of Bedlam’s henchmen get cut down by their reinforcements. “Where’d you find these guys? They’re brutal!”

“Didn’t I tell you I’d take care of it?” she asked with a grin, lobbing another bomb and cackling gleefully as it went off. “Nobody fucks with my people and walks away from it.”

After that point, the ‘war’ didn’t last much longer; with the new demons she’d brought in, Cherri’s gang was pretty much unstoppable, even spreading out further to take over the opposing gang’s turf. When she cornered Bedlam, it turned out he wasn’t much of a fighter himself and had to rely on his bodyguards—who had all abandoned ship when they realized they were on the losing side. Loyalty was a foreign concept to most demons, after all.

Cherri beat the absolute shit out of the guy, even shoved a bomb down his throat in her blind fury. The whole thing was real messy, and nobody walked away from it smiling. But at least it was over.

Sort of.

Sometime later in the week, as things were getting back to normal and Cherri was figuring out how to run shit now that her territory was twice as big, Anthony came to meet her in her office, only to find the door locked.

“Look, I don’t have the time right now,” he heard from inside. Cherri’s voice. He got closer and pressed his ear to the door to listen. What kind of conversation could she be having that she’d lock him out of it? “My gang still needs me directing them while we clean up this fucking mess. Tell him I’ll be there when I’m ready.”

“You better not keep him waiting too long, sweetheart,” an unfamiliar voice responded. “Val ain’t the most patient guy, and you wouldn’t want him having to collect your debt by force.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are, coming into my place and making threats? I don’t care who your boss is; if you don’t get—” Her voice cut off with what was unmistakably a slap and a cry of pain, sending Anthony’s heart rate through the roof. Without thinking, he took a step back and broke the door in with a single powerful kick, already drawing three different guns to aim at whoever was hurting his friend.

Cherri struggled to her feet behind her desk, jaws clenched in an unyielding snarl. The guy she was arguing with was huge and dressed in a suit, totally out of place among their ragtag gang. “Get the fuck away from her,” Anthony hissed. The guy looked him coldly up and down, then turned away to speak to Cherri again.

“You’ve got a week to get your ass to the studio and hold up your end of the deal. After that, there’ll be consequences.” He left the room without another glance in Anthony’s direction.

“You broke my door, you bitch,” Cherri muttered once he was gone.

“Forget that. What the fuck just happened?” Anthony demanded, putting his guns away and coming over to her desk to check on her. Her head was down, but he could still see a red mark growing on her swollen cheek. He tried to reach out, to see if there was anything he could do to help, but she swatted his hands away.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you kidding? That guy just knocked you on your ass. You wouldn’t’ve let him walk away without a good reason.” What was the name he had used? “Val. Who’s Val?”

Cherri was silent for a few more seconds, curling her hands into tight fists and pressing them against the desktop. Eventually, quietly, she explained, “His name’s Valentino. He’s a bigshot Overlord from the North Side. Tons of money, tons of people, tons of ‘friends in high places.’ He loaned me a bunch of his guys for the turf war, so now I…owe him.”

“Owe him what?” Anthony asked despite the sinking feeling in his stomach. Surely Cherri wouldn’t agree to what he was imagining. The longer she waited to answer, though, the worse his fears got.

“He runs Porn Studios. He’s been trying to get me to shoot with him for years, so I told him if he helped us out with Bedlam…” She trailed off with a shrug, unwilling to even say the words out loud. “We were out of options, babe. I couldn’t let the whole gang get murdered because I couldn’t lead them right. So it is what it is. I’ll go do whatever gross shit Val wants from me and we’ll move on like it didn’t happen.” Even as she was saying it, though, she seemed unsure, which was a very rare state to see her in.

Anthony wasn’t sure how to respond. Whatever Valentino was asking her to do, it was obviously something she was dreading, and he’d seen plenty of times how heated she got about anyone being pressured or forced into sex. Him, on the other hand… Well, sex just wasn’t that big a deal to him. Never had been.

Cherri had done so much for him. She was always the one backing him up in a fight, always the one who made him talk about the shit that bothered him. If it weren’t for her taking him in all those years ago, he would almost definitely be double-dead already, totally wiped from existence. There was really no way to pay her back for all that. But if she was finally in a position she couldn’t handle alone, if this was something that genuinely scared her or made her nervous, he was going to do whatever it took to help her out of it.

He would just have to convince Valentino to let him pay her debt instead.

[clericbyers]

learning to heal (part 4)

excerpt: Mike wouldn’t let his shitty mood affect the happy air surrounding the Party. He wouldn’t be the one to make everyone upset because he had to spazz out like in the last month of freshman year when he panicked in the middle of a celebratory dinner because the waitress kept giving him looks like she knew his darkest secrets. Like she knew he liked boys and found one of his teammates cute enough to be a little flustered about it. Like she knew he and his friends were monster hunters and got 30 people killed during the summer of ‘85.

length: 4.5K words

POV: Mike Wheeler

Read on AO3

Master Post

tag list: @vaugency , @lifeinvirtualreality , @princestanley , @lgbtqbyers , @smhbyler , @ticomat , @lightswriting , @lithhiums , @lullabyers , @byers-remorse, @cstlebyrs, @lomlbyers ♡

——————————————

“You took your time getting here!”

Mike rolled his eyes as he, Will, El, and Lucas skidded to a stop by the driveway to Dustin’s house. He was sitting on the curb with his bike and angrily glared at the late quartet. Lucas gave Mike and Will the stink eye as he bounded off his bike to stand by Dustin.

“You can blame Will and Mike; they took their sweet time getting to my place as if I don’t live a few houses away.”

Will shrugged and started biking in small circles in the driveway. El was gripping onto his waist and leaning her head on his back as he went by. “Sorry we’re late, Dustin. Mike and I went to bed later than expected and got kinda distracted when we woke up.”

“Distracted by what?” Lucas snorted. “Dust mites? The way sun filters through Mike’s shitty drapes? The feeling of blankets on your skin?”

Mike and Will exchanged a look, a look that screamed of guiltiness, and Dustin groaned. “Does it really matter what they were doing? We need to get Max and leave before the diner gets too full and starts making Mike antsy.”

Will halted his bike near Mike and he watched El’s grip on Will tighten more. “Antsy?”

“Yeah. Crowds sometimes get to me, but it’s not a big deal.” Mike shrugged and turned toward Lucas and Dustin, who raised suspicion-arched eyebrows at his words. “What? It’s really not a big deal.”

“You threw up in the back of Steve’s car just thinking about the crowd during your first relay race. Oh also, we tried to go to the movies to watch The Voyage Home last month and you spent half the movie in the bathroom doing breathing exercises.”

Lucas started laughing. “Oh my god, I still remember Mike’s face when he came back and saw the humpback whales and Spock’s headband and got so confused.”

“Hey! Look, the humpback whales part made no sense.”

“I told you already, Mike,” groaned Dustin, “Spock and Kirk needed to find the whales that sang at the same frequency as the probe since humpbacks are extinct in the future.”

“It’s still stupid! Same with Spock saying ‘the hell’ every five minutes. I didn’t miss much of anything being in the bathroom.”

“Well, I like The Voyage Home . It was a good conclusion to the trilogy.”

Mike turned on Will with an exaggerated gasp. “You wound me, Byers.”

“Are you really gonna stand here and let Will get away with acting like TMP doesn’t exist?”

“Yes, Lucas, I am, because that movie sucked ass.”

“This is why I’m a Star Wars nerd!” cried out Dustin as he stood up. “We can all at least agree that The Empire Strikes Back is the best of the three.”

Silence took to the air. Mike spoke up first. “Actually...”

“Finish that sentence, Mike, and you won’t have a tongue to continue it.”

El giggled from behind Will and Mike turned to face her out of instinct. She noticed his gaze but didn’t make eye contact and continued to stare ahead. Something in Mike broke a little seeing El unwilling to even just give him a smile. He knew he had no right to be upset over how she took the breakup even if it has been months already, he knew he broke her heart this past summer and he too was still pained by the ordeal, but he had hoped at least that maybe when they saw each other face to face it would be a happier occasion.

Will reached out to squeeze Mike’s arm and then turned back to Dustin and Lucas. “Let’s go get Max, then. She can give us a tie breaker opinion if we need it.”

Max was not enthusiastic about being asked to choose which Star Wars movie she thought was the best and mostly kept saying Return of the Jedi just to annoy Lucas. Will biked next to Mike when El transferred to Max and rode with her toward Main Street. Mike kept sending his boyfriend glances during the ride and he was always a little flustered when they happened to make eye contact and Will’s lips lifted into a small shy smile. There was something refreshing in being able to turn to his side and find such comfort as he did in Will as a best friend and as his significant other.

Mike couldn’t wait to tell the Party about how much he loved Will, about how lucky he was to fall for someone as kind and caring as the other boy. Even better, he was so extremely lucky that Will loved him back. It was nice to have this private happiness for himself and Will to share in by themselves—well, his mom and Will’s mom knew but they only ever exchanged knowing smiles whenever they caught Will and Mike standing a little closer than usual and trying to sneak cheek kisses when they passed each other by—but Mike was beyond ready to tell his friends.

Lunch was normal as usual: rowdy, loud, and uplifting as hanging out with friends usually went. Sometimes they were all so happy and normal that Mike could forget about the dark thoughts ruminating in the back of his mind, the memories that threatened to consume him when he closed his eyes to darkness. He could forget that no one knew what he hadn’t done to save people, no one knew that the monster built from the bodies and blood of their neighbors that terrorized Starcourt was a product of negligence.

It was weird how survivor's guilt worked. Mike never thought he’d really be faced with the troubling issue but he couldn’t help feeling like if they had done more, if he had focused more on what Will was facing, on what Dustin had found with Cerebo, maybe they could have saved more people. Maybe then the young couple from five houses down wouldn’t have been absorbed into a flesh monster and have their autonomy ripped from them as they melted into the single-focused mind of the Mind Flayer. Maybe then El wouldn’t be powerless, fatherless, Mikeless—not that he was the only person El lost but their closeness and desire to be together was a huge part of both their lives and losing that affected both of them.

Mike sighed to himself and closed his eyes as he leaned back in his chair. Will, who was sat across from him, nudged Mike’s foot with his own and sent him a concerned look. Mike smiled back—he was fine, just thinking too hard—and nudged Will’s foot in turn. Will nudged twice, Mike nudged twice, and then they kept playing footsie under the table until Max called them out for shaking the table. Dustin then tried to have a soda chugging contest with Lucas and won with Max’s encouragement, which made Lucas playfully salty and he brooded for a good minute and talked only to El, who humored him lightly.

Will ordered a milkshake to share with Mike while the others chatted excitedly between themselves about the New Year’s celebration and fireworks that would be happening where the fair was usually held. Mike would much prefer to stay indoors watching Dick Clark count the ball drop, but he knew social interaction and connection with his friends was what he needed most. He had already spent so much of his freshman year avoiding people whenever possible; the only reason why his friends knew about his therapy sessions and medication was because they ran into him the day after he missed school and pestered him for details. Mike couldn’t even give a good reason as to why he didn’t tell Will and El, too, why he left them in the dark despite the fact they were the most important people in his life.

Mike squeezed his eyes shut and flexed his hands on the table. Now was not the time for this. He wouldn’t let his shitty mood affect the happy air surrounding the Party. He wouldn’t be the one to make everyone upset because he had to spazz out like in the last month of freshman year when he panicked in the middle of a celebratory dinner because the waitress kept giving him looks like she knew his darkest secrets. Like she knew he liked boys and found one of his teammates cute enough to be a little flustered about it. Like she knew he and his friends were monster hunters and got 30 people killed during the summer of ‘85.

“Mike,” Will called out and the soft tone brought Mike back to the table and the conversation. The vanilla milkshake stood between them untouched and he frowned. He didn’t remember hearing the waiter stop by at all. Was he that entrenched in his thoughts to block out all other senses and trap himself in his head?

“You good?” Lucas asked from Mike’s other side, chewing on a fry as nonchalantly as possible.

Mike nodded. “I’m good. Just distracted.”

“We were just talking about X-Men, it’s no biggie,” added Dustin. “Max got some comics and has been reading a few to El so we wanted to discuss some fave runs.”

Mike’s brain was blanking on him. He couldn’t even think of anything concerning X-Men besides Professor X and Cyclops. He shrugged and turned to the milkshake to occupy his mouth so he didn’t have to actually offer an opinion. He could feel Will’s eyes on him and he looked up while slurping at the shake and made eye contact. Will rolled his eyes but his cheeks were flushed and the sight made Mike smile a little. He nudged Will under the table and mouthed I love you as best he could while blocking the side of his mouth from Lucas next to him.

Will’s smile grew more and he tried to hide it behind his straw but he fell out into giggles and caught everyone else’s attention. Dustin rolled his eyes and stage whispered to El beside him, “They’re back at it again, using that secret best-friends-since-we-were-five telepathy.”

Mike stuck his tongue out at his friend after a small chuckle. “You’re just jealous that all it takes is one glance from me for Will to lose his cool.”

“Hey, I’m not that easy to break.” Will retorted with a small kick under the table. Mike pretended it hurt more than it actually did and moaned as he dramatically grabbed at his ankle.

“My ankles are and I kinda need them for track!”

Will sputtered and then fell out laughing again. Lucas was cackling into his fries and Max was helping him by patting his back when he started to choke from laughing so hard. El was watching Mike, he could feel her eyes on him, and he chanced a glance with a small smile he hoped didn’t look like a grimace.

El maintained eye contact for about two seconds before she blinked and reached over to steal a few of Max’s fries. Mike considered it a success and turned back to finish his milkshake with Will. On the ride back, Mike and Lucas rode side-by-side in the back while Will and Dustin rode together up front and El and Max rode between the two pairs of bikers. Lucas was silent for a while before he spoke up with a huff.

“So, you and Will finally pulled your heads out your asses and hooked up.”

Mike nearly biked into a tree from the shock of the sudden statement. He coughed heavily and then gave his friend a glance. “What makes you say that?”

“You have a very expressive face,” the other boy chuckled to himself. “It’s how I knew you weren’t doing too hot in a really bad way even before you went to the doctor.”

Mike bit his bottom lip. “I know you don’t want me saying thanks or whatever but I really am glad you stuck with me through that.”

“What else would I do? You’re my friend and friends don’t ditch each other when in need.” Lucas smiled. “We’ve been friends far too long; I don’t care if you’re a jock track star now, to me you’re still goofy ass nerd Mike Wheeler with the fattest crush on his equally lovesick best friend.”

Mike laughed and felt a little warmth in his chest from the comment. Lucas was always blunt and direct, which is probably why he worked so well with Max, who was equally as blunt and direct. Lucas was just as loyal as anyone else in the Party and he and Mike has been friends the longest only after Mike and Will. Mike loved him so deeply and trusted him just as much.

“Was it that obvious?”

Lucas cackled. “Are you seriously asking that question? Dude, I thought you were gonna die when Will announced he was moving. And the way you spent practically all the rest of that summer at his side? Mike, you may be oblivious but Dustin and I have eyes and we use ‘em.”

“Dustin knows, too?”

“I don’t think he knows you two are together now but yeah, he knows you like Will.” Lucas shrugged. “It was kinda just a part of the group dynamic, you know? You two liking each other and always dancing around it as if we couldn’t tell, as if you each didn’t know yourselves.” The boy huffed with a smirk. “Dustin and I used to joke about what excuse you two would pull out of a hat for Will to stay over.”

“There were never any excuses!”

Lucas laughed again. “I know but it was fun to guess. Point is, hell yeah we know. I love El and really wanted you two to work things out because you each make each other happy and you deserve that. We all do.” Mike nodded solemnly. “Still, there was always a part of me that hoped that maybe, just maybe, you and Will could find happiness together like before the Demogorgon.”

“Wow.” Mike slowed his bike as they rolled down a hill. “You know, speaking of the Demogorgon, I think I’m gonna tell my mom about everything that happened.”

Lucas gaped. “You’re what ? I thought you were gonna keep that locked up forever.”

“Yeah, but…” Mike glared at the ground. “She helped me and Will get together. She wants me to be happy and the only way that’s gonna happen is if she knows why I’m not.”

“Well, at least you’re admitting it now.”

“That I’m dating Will or that I’m depressed?”

“Both but I meant your depression.” Lucas sighed. “I know you don’t like talking about it and you like pretending that life doesn’t terrify you, but it’s okay to speak up with us. Me, Dustin, and Max. We want you to feel better, too. Don’t forget that.”

Mike’s voice was a low whisper when he replied. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, man,” groaned Lucas as he scuffed his tire against the curb, “Friends don’t need apologies or whatever for being friends.”

“I know, but—,”

“Shut up, Mike, and let it go, alright?” The boy sent Mike a warm smile. “You love to talk but right now just, I don’t know, listen and find comfort in that, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I said shut up.”

Mike rolled his eyes and steered his bike toward Lucas, who yelped and sped up his pace to avoid collision. Mike laughed and watched Lucas catch up to Dustin and Will loudly exclaiming how Mike was trying to run him into the snow. The rest of the ride to the Wheeler’s was spent in silence but Mike could feel the anxiety bubbling inside as he thought about what he would tell his mom. Will parked his bike beside him when they arrived, gently gripping his arm while everyone also attempted to suspend the inevitable split up caused by arrival.

“Good luck,” Lucas muttered when he hopped off his bike to give Mike a hug. “Call me if you need anything, alright?”

“Of course, dude.” Mike chuckled and hugged his friend back. “See you tomorrow.”

El hopped off Max’s bike and made her way to Mike and Will with a small hum. Max waved goodbye and the three watched their friends bike away as the chill of winter sank into their bones. Will shivered and Mike grabbed his hand to lead him inside, turning to hold out a hand for El as well. She blinked twice and frowned but took his hand, too, gently twining their fingers in a promise that the anger and heartbreak wouldn’t keep them from being friends. Not for long at least.

With his closest friends’ hands in his own, Mike felt courage seep into his soul and feed him the strength he needed to tell his mom the truth behind his misery.

“Mom,” he called out shakily, Will’s grip tightening with much-needed comfort.

His mom was upstairs but she came down at the sound of Mike’s voice and smiled warmly as she saw him holding hands with Will and El. “Mike,” she started happily, “I’m assuming the lunch meet went well.”

“Really well,” Mike shuffled on his feet and sent El a glance. “I, uh, I actually need to tell you something really important. And you can’t tell anyone else.”

She raised her eyebrows and tentatively sat down on the couch. “You know I won’t tell anyone about...about you liking boys. I’ll love you still, I do love you still.

Mike coughed and looked upstairs in hopes that his dad wasn’t eavesdropping. “No, I mean, I do but that’s not this conversation.”

And what a weird thing to confess about so easily. Mike liked boys. Only boys. And he confirmed it so easily like any other ‘yes or no’ question. Something in his gut churned, a mixture of relief that his mom truly didn’t care and loved him still, and fright that he confirmed aloud that his attraction to boys and boys only was real.

“What’s going on, Mike?”

The boy turned to Will and then sent his mom an apologetic glance. “When Will disappeared in ‘83, he didn’t just disappear. He was kidnapped by a monster from another dimension that got to him through a gate El opened with her mind.”

Mike’s mom blinked twice and then started laughing though she tried to hide it with a hand to her mouth. “Is that the story you kids told yourselves to deal with the fact he was missing?”

“No, Mrs. Wheeler, it’s real.” Will lifted up his shirt just enough for the burn scar to be visible. It made Mike sick to think about it, think about how they had to burn the Mind Flayer out of Will. “This scar isn’t from the stove. The monster possessed me in ‘84 and my mom and Mike and Hopper helped excise it from me. El closed the gate, too.”

“And then in ‘85,” Mike swallowed the lump in his throat, “the monster came back and...it melted our neighbors into a machine made of human flesh, blood, and bone. The gate was reopened and Hopper died trying to close it.”

“I was the one who found Will,” El spoke up hesitantly. “I found him in my mind. I can find anyone in my mind.”

Mike sent her a smile. “El has really cool powers actually; she can flip cars and levitate objects and I actually hid her in the basement during ‘83 while Will was missing.” Karen’s jaw dropped. “I’m still amazed you didn’t notice.”

“Can she,” Karen turned to El with curiosity. “Can she demonstrate?”

El shifted uncomfortably and Will spoke up. “Her powers are gone now thanks to the monster but it’s real. It’s all real.”

Karen blinked multiple times, eyes darting between the three kids with disbelief written in her eyes. She settled her gaze on Mike and crumpled. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Mike was stuck between surprise that she accepted everything so easily and guilt that he kept this to himself for so long. “I legally couldn’t; the US government is involved in all of this,” he waved between himself, Will, and El, “but you deserve to know why...why I needed therapy. Why I can’t sleep at night, how me and El met in the first place, why I fell apart when the Byers left. Why I’m so fucked up.”

Will’s grip on his hand tightened just enough and he presses himself closer to Mike’s side as a comforting force against his rapidly declining thoughts. Karen stood up and made her way to Mike with tears pooling in her emotional eyes. He was taller than her, head bowed down as he fought his own tears back— pathetic; be a leader, Michael —but he managed to make eye contact with her regardless.

“You are dealing with so much, my dear,” she started quietly. “I’m sorry you felt you had to carry the burden yourself.”

“Dustin and Lucas and Max know. Nancy, too.” Mike rubbed at the back of his neck. “The monster got Barb back then.”

Karen gasped with a hand to her mouth. “Oh, poor girl.” The woman closed her eyes to keep her tears back and then opened them with a shaky smile drawn on her painted lips. “I’m so glad you finally told me.”

Mike shrugged but he could feel happiness threatening to blossom in his chest. “I, uh, well, having Will and El back reminded me that I don’t have anyone else in the house who knows . Nancy does yeah but she doesn’t like to talk about it. And neither do I really but she’s my sister and we don’t talk about a lot of things.”

“You two are close.”

“Yeah, but she doesn’t know that I don’t even want to be on the track team but she looks so happy seeing me on the field; I can’t take that away from her!” Mike clenched his fists angrily as the words spilled from his mouth. “She doesn’t know about me and Will or that I’m—,” the word wouldn’t come out but Mike knew they all knew what he wanted to say. “She doesn’t know a lot of things. But you do. Everything but the secret about the Upside Down. And I can’t keep this up! This lie about who I am, what I’ve seen, what I’ve done .”

Karen rushed to take Mike in her arms and he fell into her embrace just as quickly. Mike felt Will and El release his hands so he could wrap his arms around his mom and hug her tightly. She was sniffling a little, gently rubbing his back and it made Mike feel like a kid again but in a good way. It made him feel like he was 6 or 7, being soothed after falling off his bike in the driveway and scratching his knee. It made him feel like what he just relayed to his mom could easily be bandaged over like that scrape.

“Mike, I love you.” was all she said and it was all Mike wanted to hear, all he needed to hear. “I just want you to be happy . You can quit track, you can join theater, you can do whatever you want, I don’t care.” She took his face in her hands and fixed him with a steady glare. Mike couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. “If there’s anything I’ve learned in life, it’s learning to be yourself. Let yourself be who you are, not who everyone wants you to be.”

Mike frowned. “Is this why you and Dad are thinking about getting a divorce?”

Karen froze and bowed her head. “Yes. I’m sorry. You weren’t supposed to know.”

“I can handle it. He barely cared about me anyway.” Mike huffed and reached up to squeeze his mom’s hand. “I love you, Mom, yeah? We’ll both be happy.”

Karen grinned and Mike watched her turn to Will and El with equally wide smiles. El was the first to initiate the hug, brown pigtails whipping around with the intensity of the action. Will turned to wrap his arms around Mike from behind and pressed his face into his back with a hum. Mike laid his hands over Will’s and leaned into the touch with a smile. The conversation went a lot easier than Mike thought it would and the weight off his shoulders had him a little weak in the knees.

He was so lucky, oh so lucky , to have the people in his life that he did.

And when New Year’s Eve came the next day, Mike and Will told their friends about their new relationship just as they planned. Dustin pulled the two into one armed hugs, Lucas shared a knowing look with Mike, Max gave Will a high five for it all, and El...she smiled and nodded with approval and even though she already knew thanks to the conversation with his mom the day before, it was great to have her support confirmed.

“10 seconds until the new year,” started Lucas as he rocked Max in his arms.

“8 now!” Dustin shouted as he took El into his own arms for a tight hug. She laughed and patted his cheeks with a wide grin.

“5 seconds,” whispered Will into Mike’s ear as he held him close to his chest. The Party was toward the back of the crowd, hidden from the gazes of Hawkins as all eyes took to the sky in preparation for the fireworks show.

“3.” A warm kiss to the shell of Mike’s ear.

“2.” A lingering kiss to the nape of his neck.

“1.” A soft breath against his cheek.

Mike twisted and grabbed his boyfriend’s face as the crowd cheered Happy New Year and the fireworks lit up the sky. He looked into green eyes, traced the reflection of pyrotechnics in those sparkling orbs, and leaned in for their first kiss of 1987. Will smiled into it, pulled Mike closer, and ignored the whoops and cheers of their friends surrounding them.

“I love you,” Mike murmured when he pulled away, then turned to the rest of his friends. “I love you all, man. You’re the best friends a guy could ask for.”

“And we love you, too, Mike.” Dustin tagged on with a grin. “Our baby leader.”

Mike rolled his eyes and punched the other boy in the arm with a chuckle. El watched him carefully and then reached out a hand for Mike’s own. He passed it along, worry in his chest as her brown eyes filled with emotion he couldn’t understand. “I love you,” she said and it was different. It was different than the last time, not as desperate, not as needy. It was resignation and acceptance in three words, understanding and moving on in one: love .

“I love you, too,” he breathed out and then pulled the younger girl into his arms. She pressed her face into his chest and clung onto his shirt with shaking fists. “Thank you.”

El laughed. “Next time, don’t hide yourself from me. Or Will. Or yourself.”

A chill ran down his spine but he shook it off and straightened the messy hair on her head. “I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all anyone can ask for.”

[lady-divine-writes]

Moral Arguments (Chapter 2 of 2)

Summary: Crowley doesn't exactly take assignments anymore, but sometimes he does things for fun - like answering the call of a broken-hearted woman summoning a demon on St. Valentine's Day. But what Crowley thinks is going to be a simple hex-and-go turns into more emotionally charged than he bargained for.

(AO3)

Bzzz-bzzz

Bzzz-bzzz

…

Bzzz-bzzz

Bzzz-bzzz

…

“Holy Heaven!” Aziraphale exclaims, batting the air around his face. “The mosquitoes are out and about early this year. Odd considering it’s been so cool out lately …”

“Uh … I think that’s your phone.” Anathema gestures to the table with her half-drunk tumbler of whiskey.

“My wha---?” Aziraphale turns to his rotary phone sitting on his desk and waits for it to make a noise, but it doesn’t.

And the buzzing continues.

“Not that phone.” Anathema snorts. “Your cell phone.”

Aziraphale turns to the table, searching amid the half-empty cups of tea and the polished clean glasses of alcohol for the new cellular phone Crowley had given him. The accursed thing wasn’t so much a gift from his demon but a means to an end since Crowley isn’t fond of not being able to get in touch with his angel every blessed hour of the day - hilarious conceptually since they live together.

In protest, Aziraphale rarely answers it, requiring Crowley to race down to his shop anyway whenever he needs to speak with him.

The phone is apparently on vibrate, and Aziraphale neither knows how it got there nor how to get it to stop. Crowley must have done it when he entered his number in because there’s a rather obnoxiously smug photograph of Crowley on the screen with the words Anthony J Crowley underneath.

“Oh, yes. So it is. Thank you, my dear.” He picks it up and presses an icon marked call. “Hello?” he says, but it continues to buzz. He presses a green picture of a phone and repeats, “Hello?” but that does nothing either. After a third try and fail, Anathema, not quite drunk enough to deal with this hiccup in their plan, grabs the phone out of Aziraphale’s hand, swipes the phone icon with a terse, “There,” and shoves it back.

“Aziraphale! Aziraphale!” he hears Crowley whisper hoarsely.

Aziraphale gives Anathema a bitter eye as she goes back to her seat on the sofa. He squares his shoulders, puts the phone to his ear, clears his throat, and says, “Crowley?”

“Aziraphale! I found the place.”

“Excellent!”

“Put the call on speaker,” Anathema says. When Aziraphale shoots her a confused look, she grabs the phone again and does it herself, laying it down on the table for all of them to hear.

“Now what?” Crowley asks.

“What do you mean, now what?” Aziraphale says, leaning in unnecessarily to talk into the phone. “You’ve done this sort of thing before, I trust. Go … do whatever it is you do.”

“Yes, I recognize that, but there are complications.”

Three pairs of eyes meet across the table, equally bewildered. Anathema and Aziraphale look to Samantha for an explanation, but Samantha shrugs and mouths, ‘I don’t know.’

“What sort of complications?” Aziraphale asks.

“I don’t want you mad at me, do I? Revenge work is highly desired amongst demons because it tends to get bloody. Now, I don’t mind getting my hands dirty for a good cause, but if anything I’m about to do will get me banished to the sofa for the foreseeable future, I’d like to know beforehand.”

“I see. What would you normally do?”

“I could turn him inside out.”

“Ewww!” Samantha and Anathema say in unison, while Aziraphale looks like he’s about to lose his lunch.

“Anything else?”

“The usual, really. I can bury him up to his neck in sand, pour maple syrup over his head and let the ants have at him. I can turn him into a one legged rabbit and throw him to the wolves. I can give him a flesh-eating disease. I can poke out his eyes and make him eat them …”

“Enough, enough!” Samantha says with a hand to her reeling stomach. “A-are all his options so violent?”

“He is a demon, my dear.”

“I could castrate him,” Crowley offers.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale snaps. “If Samantha wasn’t amenable to the idea of eye eating, I don’t think …”

“No, no, wait, Mr. Fell,” she interrupts. “He may be onto something.”

“Are you quite serious?” Anathema gasps.

“I …” Samantha bounces the idea around in her head, looking as certain as she looks uncertain. “I---I think so.”

“That sounds like a yes to me,” Crowley says in a chipper tone. “Let’s get on with it!”

“Let’s back away from the cheerful dismemberment for a moment, shall we, and have a bit of a chat. Look …” Aziraphale leads Samantha back over to the sofa and sets her down, taking a seat beside her “… take a moment and think – if you were going to make him pay for his crimes without demon assistance, how would you do it?”

“Well, I wouldn’t want it to be fast,” she says. “I mean, I assume you can’t live once you’ve been turned inside out, right?”

“I can make that happen.”

“Shhh!” Aziraphale scolds the phone. “No,” he says, turning back to his guest, “he can’t live once he’s been turned inside out.”

“That’s what I thought.” Samantha’s eyes go distant, her thoughts drifting between Aziraphale’s bookshop and somewhere else. “The bigger person in me wants him to learn. To be sorry. To be better. But the petty person inside me wants him to suffer …”

On the other end of the line, Crowley cheers.

“… to live the way I’ve been living. In fear. With heartbreak.” Her lower lip wobbles, her voice cracks. “But mostly the things I want, I want for me. I want my sister back. We haven’t spoken since they ran off together. I want my sense of security back. Every time I change the locks on my house, he seems to find a way in anyway. A-and I don’t have the money to move. Not that it would matter. He’d probably find me.” She sniffles. “A-and I … I want my dog back.”

She drops her head to her hands, weeping openly. Anathema sits beside her, puts an arm around her shoulders and hugs her. Aziraphale takes her hand and gives it a squeeze.

“I know, my darling. I know.”

“Necromancy?” Crowley pipes in. “Is that what we’re talking about? Or just a straight resurrection? Because I can do either.”

“No, I don’t think that’s the way to go,” Aziraphale says, “but I do have a plan. Stand by, Crowley, my dear. I’m about to send you a textual message.”

Crowley sighs. “A text message, angel. A text message. For Satan’s sake.”

“Ah, yes. A text message,” Aziraphale repeats, throwing Anathema a conspiratorial wink. “Thank you.”

“Angel?”

“Yes, Crowley?”

Crowley clears his throat. “Could you … uh … take me off speaker?”

“Dearest, I wouldn’t know where on Earth to begin.”

“Oh … right. Well, before I go, I just wanted to say …” Crowley clears his throat again “I … I love you.”

Aziraphale smiles at the phone. “I love you, too, dear. Now hold on, and be careful.”

“I will.” The phone clicks, the call ended. Samantha peeks up and sighs.

“You guys seem so much in love,” she says. “How long have you been together?”

“Oh, my dear girl …” He hands her a tissue for her watery eyes, taking one for himself after “… it feels like an eternity.”

***

It had not been a good day for Richard.

Not a good day at all.

Being a sewage monkey, on the whole, was a crappy position (pun intended).

But it had its perks.

The salary for one. He couldn’t sneeze at 45,000 euros per year. That’s been more than sufficient to keep him comfortable and then some. What with the way the sewage works kept mucking up, contracts abounded, needing to be filled.

Ergo, the work never ended.

People gotta shit, right?

And they had to be full of it lately.

If things kept going the way they were, he’d be able to retire in roughly ten years.

And for another thing …

…

Nope, that’s it. The salary is the only perk.

But today, everything that could go wrong did go wrong.

There were three major clogs in London proper, and even though that meant o.t. padding his paycheck close to triple, he’d been working in a damp, congested sewer for nearly three days straight with little sleep and less of an appetite.

And boy, did he smell like it.

Today he found out the brat he’d been training is the nephew of his supervisor, poised to take his uncle’s job next year! He should have been offered that position hands down! He’s been working with this same company for over two decades, slogging through putrescence and unimaginable filth, and for what? Now he’s going to be answering to a kid half his age!

Nu-uh. No way. From day one, that kid steps onto site, Richard is going to make his life hell.

To top it off, just as his crew got the all clear to leave, he took a wrong turn, ended up on the M25, and got stuck in traffic for over three hours!

Three hours of traffic? At midnight!?

It seemed evil, like the whole world was out to get him.

Richard turns off the engine of his sedan and sighs. Yup. Today sucked, but at least he’s home now.

He can’t really see things getting worse.

He opens his driver’s side door and pours his numb ass out of his seat. He can’t feel most of the left side of his body, having shifted his weight over an hour into his commute when the right side said, “Fuck you!” and fell sleep. Now he’s limping like a castrated dog up his driveway to his pitch black house.

And that triggers another awful realization.

Valentine’s Day ended hours ago.

And he missed it.

Not just that, he outright forgot about it.

And from the fact that there’s not a single light on in his house, his girlfriend must be pissed.

Temperamental little bitch, just like her sister. She’ll nag the shit out of him about this the second he walks through the door.

Or she’s dressed in head to toe sweats and a hoodie, wrapped beneath the covers like a mummy, prepared to give him the cold shoulder till the foreseeable future.

He’s gotta think of something quick to save his sex life.

“Fuuuuuuuuck!” he bellows, kicking stiff-legged at gravel on the asphalt. “Fuck fuck fuck!” He spins around, searching for a solution that will hold her off till morning. Maybe some flowers from the neighbor’s yard? They looked morbidly brown and wilted when he left for work, but in the dark, would she know the differ---?

“Pardon me, but does your name happen to be Dick Bag?”

“What?” Richard sees the man who interrupted his thoughts emerge from the shadows, strolling over in all black from his jacket to his jeans. “Whaddya mean is my name Dick---?” He rolls his eyes. “Richard Sack. My name is Richard Sack.”

“Same difference.”

“What’s it to ya?”

“I have a message for you from an old friend. Samantha?”

‘Speak of the devil …’ he thinks. “And who are you then? Another process server?” Richard chuckles. “You can tell that bitch she can take me to court all she wants, but nuthin’s gonna happen. She can’t pin shit on me.”

“Ah, now, you see …” Crowley takes a few more steps forward “… you just said the wrong thing.”

“Why? You fuckin’ her?” Richard slams his car door, then goes about punching his palm with his fist, trying to come off intimidating. “I didn’t take her for the goth type.”

“Not the goth type.” Crowley cracks his neck. “More like the demon type.”

“Yeah, right. You shittin’ me or sumthin?”

“Not at all.” A wind blows around them and, suddenly, Crowley stops. His nose wrinkles. He makes a noise and takes a step back. “But it smells like you’ve been. Jesus Christmas! What the Heaven did you step in?”

“Gonna be the remains of your skinny dead ass in a second!” Richard lunges at Crowley, swinging away. Crowley steps to the side, snapping his fingers when he does. Richard flies past him and lands on the ground, struggling within the confines of his clothes, extreme alterations made to his body.

His legs have been fused together, forming one thick limb resembling a mermaid’s tail covered in denim scales. Likewise his arms have melded to his sides, creating an overall fish-like effect.

And he has no mouth. Not a seam of it remains. Just a patch of smooth skin where lips should be.

He squiggles and writhes, building up momentum until he starts rolling down the driveway. Crowley follows him leisurely, knowing where he’s headed. The wriggling mass of human flesh called Richard rolls and rolls until he hits the tire of his sedan and stops, wedged in underneath with his head sticking out, his face staring up. He moans and groans with eyes squeezed shut, begging with muffled words for God to help him.

Crowley waits to see if She will. When She does nothing, he takes that as the go ahead.

He taps Richard on the forehead with the toe of his snakeskin shoe to get his attention. Richard opens eyes bulging with fear. Crowley can feel his fear, taste it like a fine wine slipping down his throat. A rare vintage.

Like an angel’s kiss.

And it’s delicious.

For a moment, he has to remind himself that in this situation, he’s one of the good guys … so-called.

“You have to admit, you had this coming. Now …” He crouches low so the man can hear him clearly “… I’ve got some good news and some bad news – take it as you will. I’ve been on the phone with my people all night, trynna figure out what would be the best possible punishment for a slimy piece of work like you. I wanted to go with an old favorite – turn you inside out and let the buzzards pick you apart … alive …”

That shuts Richard right up.

“… but my lot, well, they’re a might more compassionate than me. So I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do. And you’re gonna go along with it, because the second you deviate from the plan, I won’t care what my side has to say - I’ll snap my fingers and turn you into a human meat suit. Understand?”

“Mmm!” Richard mutters, nodding emphatically, scream-murmuring to the tune of, “I understand! I understand!” if it were being yelled behind a thick wall of flesh.

Which it is.

“Good. Nice to see you being reasonable for a change.” Crowley raises his hand and Richard’s eye go wide. He starts mumbling, something that sounds vaguely like, “No! No! You promised!” but Crowley has stopped paying attention. This is where the fun begins. “Let’s go, Dicky! Time to do some penance!”

***

“So, you framed him for how many crimes?”

“About eighteen.” Crowley accepts a glass of wine from Aziraphale as his angel sits beside him on the sofa, cuddling in closer than usual. “All very old, and very, very cold, but within a reasonable enough timeframe to make them plausible.”

“But … but what about the real criminals?” Samantha asks, worried that, in solving her one problem, she’s unknowingly created problems for eighteen other people. “Will they ever be held accountable?”

“There’s no need,” Crowley says after a swig. “The crimes in question never happened.”

“Let’s just call them a work of forensic fiction,” Aziraphale offers, beaming at his clever demon.

“Mmm …” Crowley interrupts his next sip to say “… except for one. He’s been charged in connection to the disappearance of the Roanoke Colony. I threw that in there for fun. If anyone ever tries to double check it, it’ll disappear.”

“So all’s well that ends well,” Anathema says.

“I guess,” Samantha agrees halfheartedly, gazing sadly into her cup.

Crowley looks at his husband, his angel watching the young lady, their triumph of the night bittersweet, all things considered.

“Look,” Crowley says, “you were right. There was no reasoning with him. He wouldn’t hear it even if I tried. I could read his thoughts. They were very clear on the subject of you. He deserves what he got. Every damned inch of it.”

“I agree,” Samantha says. “I just wish things were different.”

“They will be,” Aziraphale promises. “Tonight was simply the first step.”

“Yeah, have hope and all that.” Crowley downs the remains of his wine and snakes an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders. “And before you know it, things will turn around, just like that.”

Crowley snaps his fingers.

Aziraphale smiles.

Outside the bookshop, someone knocks on the door.

“Oh! Who in the Devil could that be this late at night?”

“’dunno,” Crowley says, picking up his miraculously filled glass of wine. “Someone should go check. I would but …” He raises his glass and hugs his husband.

“Would you be a dear and go answer that, Samantha?”

“Um …” Samantha eyes Aziraphale and Crowley suspiciously “… okay?” She gets up from her seat and slowly walks through the stacks to the front door. Before she gets there, the person outside knocks again, making her jump nearly a mile high.

But this time, the phantom visitor speaks.

“H-hello? Is … is anybody in there?”

Samantha’s brow furrows, her fear dissolving, replaced by confusion “Libby?” she says, opening the locks as quickly as she can.

“I --- I’m a little bit lost, I’m afraid,” the voice continues. “I don’t know where I am. I saw the lights on and I …”

Samantha unlocks the door and holds it open wide. A woman darkens the doorway, dressed in blue jeans and a plum hoodie, a brown leather bag slung over her shoulder, bulging as if it may contain most of what she owns.

A woman who looks remarkably like her.

“Sammy?” the woman whispers, peering at the figure in front of her like it may be a ghost, might disappear with her breath if she speaks too loudly. But as she realizes what she’s seeing is real, she throws her hands to her mouth and cries. “Sammy!”

“Libby! Oh my God! Libby!” Samantha grabs Libby by the elbow and pulls her inside. She throws her arms around her sister, hugging her with all her might as she cries into the shoulder of her sweater. “H-how did you know I would be here?”

“I---I didn’t!” Libby confesses. “I was on the bus to London and the driver let me off outside. He said … he said he didn’t know why he even came here, but he couldn’t take me any further.”

“What were you doing going to London at this hour?”

“I … I couldn’t tell you. I don’t know, but at the time, it seemed really important.”

“What do you think, angel?” Crowley asks, relaxing into the cushions in his favorite way possible – with a glass of wine in one hand and his angel under his arm, holding him tight. “Did I do good?”

“Fabulously,” Aziraphale says, glowing in the low light. “I don’t think I could have done better myself.”

“Uh … and the dog?” Anathema asks, speaking in hushed tones between the two. “You didn’t forget the dog, did you?”

“Oh, a dog will come,” Crowley says like a dark promise, grinning wickedly.

Aziraphale gasps. “Tell me you didn’t order up a Hellhound?”

Crowley snickers. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Crowley!”

“Like you said, she did summon a demon. I’ve been all sorts of noble tonight. I get to do one demonic thing, don’t I?”

“Anthony!”

Crowley goes pale. In all their time together, Aziraphale has never voluntarily called Crowley Anthony. If he’s doing it now, he must mean business.

Crowley has no intention of finding out what that business entails.

“All right, all right,” he accedes, snapping his fingers twice. “Labrador it is.”

[thatishogwash]

The Florist and the Vampire

Written for Bokuroo Week 2019

Day One: April 1st - Supernatural

AO3

Bokuto peered around a large bloom of dahlias, pretending to water the flowers in the corner of the shop even though his watering can was empty.  Also he had accidentally grabbed the broken one that they had been using as decoration at that point but that was neither here nor there.  Because it was all a pretense, a ruse so Bokuto to spy on the other two occupants of the flower shop without it being too obvious.  It probably was obvious, Akaashi would definitely be shaking his head because of Bokuto’s antics, but he couldn’t help it.

Ushijima Wakatoshi had come to work for Bokuto only a couple days after Bokuto had taken over the small flower shop.  Bokuto came from a long line of elemental mages, his affinity leaned more towards air so he had been struggling as a florist until Ushijima came along.  Ushijima was a half-blood, the half mortal child born from a god of harvest.  The flowers that he touched bloomed longer and brighter, the little shop became basically an overnight sensation.  Ushijima was a genius when it came to anything that grew in dirt, but had no idea how to deal with anything else.  He was always polite, but his blunt and unemotive way of interacting with people tended to scare others off.  Which was mostly fine with Bokuto, he was great with people.

Then came Sawamura Daichi, a tattooed dhampir with a habit of befriending even the most unsocial of creatures.  Bokuto had liked Sawamura from the moment Akaashi had introduced him as a new artist at the tattoo studio next to the flower shop.  He looked like the embodiment of a good ol’ country boy with his clean shaven face and sensible wardrobe but underneath the cream colored sweaters and dark slacks was full sleeves and a sprawling back tattoo and peaked above the color, hinting at what lay beneath.

Not even the stoic half-god could resist the charismatic pull that was Sawamura Daichi.

Bokuto had promised Akaashi he wouldn’t play matchmaker, it had worked out disastrously the three times he had tried before Shirofuku had stepped in.  Bokuto couldn’t help it!  He loved love and all he ever wanted was for those around him to be happy.  He had been fine leaving Ushijima to his dirt and plants, content with the knowledge that the halfling had no interest in human interaction, let alone anything romantic or sexual.

At least that’s what Bokuto thought until a busy Wednesday evening pulled Ushijima from the backroom to help Bokuto with a surprising number of customers.  Sawamura had just begun to work at the tattoo parlor and had come into surprise the nocturnal employees with an array of flowers that they could not see in the daylight for fear of severe burns.  Dark Ink was run by vampires after all.  Sawamura was a dhampir, able to walk in the sunlight without fear but his schedule had been flipped, which made him miss the daylight almost as much as his blood sucking co-workers.

Bokuto had been suggesting an array of flowers for a girl who wanted to apologize to her girlfriend for adopting a fifth cat when suddenly the already heavy aroma of the shop had become even sweeter, the buds turning as if sensing the sun.  Bokuto had turned in the same direction as those flowers, surprised to see Ushijima smiling, bright and uninhibited, to Sawamura.

Sawamura came every Wednesday evening, right before close, to get a new bouquet of flowers.  Ushijima spent the majority of the day carefully choosing flowers, large fingers touching each petal and making every single one the most stunning of its kind.  Bokuto had visited the studio, they had more flowers than they knew what to do with and Akaashi had admitted that most of them ended up taking them home now.  Enjoying a little piece of the life they had given up when they were turned into vampires.

“Are you alright?”  Ushijima asked, his deep voice filling the shop.  Bokuto leaned around some flowers to try and get a better look at what happened.

“Yes, sorry I have a new piece and I hit it against the counter.”  Bokuto came running around the aisle, nearly skidding right into Sawamura into his haste to see the new piece.  Sawamura snickered at Bokuto’s clear interest but still raised the hem of his sweater, revealing his left side with clear wrap and black tape around the edges.  “The new artist did it last night.”

“The one Akaashi calls pain in the ass?”  Bokuto asked with even more interest.  Tattooing a mundane person came with its own complications but Dark Ink specialized in tattooing the more magical community.  Sawamura peeled back the tape to show a mostly healed piece that spanned the entire length of Sawamura’s left side.  It was done in a traditional style and it was a thing of beauty.

“His name is Kuroo Tetsurou, though pain-in-the-ass-Kuroo isn’t too far off.”  Sawamura said, putting the tape back into place before dropping his sweater.  Ushijima’s eyes lingered on the now-hidden tattoo for a long moment before going back to arranging the colorful bouquet.  “He was around to learn irezumi when it was first done.”  Bokuto wasn’t too good with history but he thought the traditional Japanese style was most likely a couple hundred years old.  That wasn’t too surprising when it came to vampires.

“That’s awesome!”  Bokuto crowed excitedly before drooping across the counter in rejection.  “Why hasn’t Akaashi introduced me to him yet?”  Bokuto had been trying to decide on a tattoo for years now but nothing had felt quite right.  Akaashi’s own Neo-Traditional style was as beautiful as the vampire himself, the Blackwork Sawamrua specialized in was always clean and striking, Yamaka Mika’s Watercolor work could be a painting but it was not what Bokuto wanted as his first tattoo.

“Probably because that meeting would be-” Sawamura searched for the word, looking over to share a small smile with Ushijima who probably looked unmoved to anyone who didn’t know him but Bokuto saw his features soften.  “Troublesome.”

“What?  I get along with everyone!”  Bokuto tried to defend himself.

“He does.”  Ushijima agreed, adjusting flowers that did not need to be touched just to delay Sawamura’s leaving but another half minute.

“I think that’s what Akaashi fears.”  Sawamura grinned, a quick flash of something mischievous that was gone in a blink.  “You should stop by tonight, he’ll most likely be happy to let you go through his portfolio.”  Sawamura took the flowers from Ushijima, fingers grazing the taller mans.  He said his goodbyes, a warm smile meant just for Ushijima before he turned and walked out of the store.  Outside the sun was dipping below the horizon, the nocturnal creatures would just be waking up.

“Bokuto.”  Ushijima started, uncharastically hesitant as he ran his thumb over his pointer finger, right where Sawamura had touched him.  “Do you think there is something between this Kuroo and Sawamura?”  Bokuto’s first instinct was to deny it but sometimes he missed things so he bit back that response.

“Why would you say that big guy?”  Bokuto asked, placing the broken watering can up on the counter as they both moved around the store to get ready to close it up for the night.

“He has only been working there a week, correct?  But Sawmaura has already let him tattoo him.”  Ushijima’s brows furrowed, the white jasmine next to him curled inwards.  “I was under the impression that Sawamura did not like most vampires.”  Vampires had a tendency to kill dhampirs, it was an ancient, unfounded hatred but many vampires were from older generations.  Ushijima did have a point, Sawamura wouldn’t let just anyone tattoo him.  Especially something as intensive as an entire side piece.

“How about this, I’ll ask him about it when I meet him?”  Bokuto offered, gently prodding the dying jasmine.  Ushijima brushed Bokuto’s fingers away, not unkindly, and brought the poor flowers back to life.  “But to be honest, as beautiful as our flowers are Sawamura isn’t coming in weekly for them alone and he doesn’t strike me as the type of person who flirts with everyone.”  Sawamura was kind of an awful flirt to be blunt, but it worked out well considering Ushijima had absolutely no concept of flirting.

“Thank you Bokuto, I am counting on you.”  Ushijima clasped Bokuto’s shoulder, tone as serious as if he was sending Bokuto off on the most important mission that might save the country from collapse.  Bokuto, being the rational adult person he was ate that shit up and positively vibrated with confidence.

“Leave everything to me!”  Bokuto then started to shoo Ushijima out of the store.  “I’ll lock up, you have that dinner meeting Tendou’s new boyfriend don’t you?  I still say he’s imaginary.”

“Tendou says he is very handsome, stylish, and intelligent.”  Ushijima stated as if that didn’t cement the fact that Tendou might have made up a boyfriend.  What respectable forest fae would go out with a trickster like Tendou?  And what kind of name was Matsukawa Issei anyways?  A fake one, Bokuto was sure of it.

“If Tendou has a hot cool boyfriend then I have mini dragons as pets.”  Bokuto managed to get Ushijima out the door with too much fuss but Ushijima turned to face Bokuto in all seriousness.

“I would like to meet these mini dragons.”  Ushijima said.  “Please.”

“Sure thing buddy.”  Bokuto would have to go over sarcasm and joking with Ushijima again tomorrow.  They were two concepts that kept seeming to go over Ushijima’s head, apparently flowers and plants did not have any concept of jokes.

By the time Bokuto had finished cleaning, only getting distracted a total of three times which he was sure Akaashi would be proud of him for, it was fully dark outside.  The only illumination coming from the tall street lamps and the handful of businesses with their big front windows facing the street.  Bokuto hummed as he excitedly made his way to the tattoo parlor.  The windows were black, one-way mirrors.  No sunlight could filter in during the day and only the occupants in the store could see out into the street.

Despite being operated and filled with vampire, plus one dhampir, employees the inside was brightly illuminated, modernly decorated, and welcoming.  There were framed pictures of the artists favorite pieces they had either drawn or tattooed over the years, certificates and awards along with the flowers that filled every available empty space.

“Hello Bokuto.”  Akaashi’s smooth voice greeted Bokuto as the door closed behind him.  Bokuto gave a whoop of happiness, enveloping the slightly smaller man in a tight hug.  Akaashi always always felt cool against Bokuto, vampires temperatures tended to be lower and Bokuto had always run a bit warm.

“Akaash’ it’s been so long!”  Bokuto set Akaashi back onto his feet, shifting around the other man to try and figure out where his old friend had been.  Akaashi often disappeared for a couple days and came back in a better mood, smiles a bit softer and hard edges smoothed out.

“It has only been five days.”  Akaashi stated but he was smiling too.  Bokuto didn’t mind Akaashi keeping secrets, he knew when Akaashi was ready he would tell Bokuto what he always got up to.  Bokuto hoped Akaashi had a secret lover, or many secret lovers.  An entire harem perhaps, Akaashi deserved all the love in the world after all.

“Almost an entire week!”  Bokuto defended.

“A drone ant would think that was a long time.”  Another voice spoke up and Bokuto spun around, not noticing the other occupant in the front room in his happiness to see Akaashi.  “Their lifespan is only 3 weeks.”  The man said, explaining to the two blank looks he was getting.

Bokuto knew technically hearts couldn’t flip and if his did it would be a medical problem, but it didn’t stop the fact that his heart felt like it flipped in his chest and landed at the strangers feet.  He was tall, though probably not that much taller than Bokuto but lean with muscle that made him appear longer.  His hair was inky black and incredibly messy, the type that could either be terrible bedhead or something the man worked forty minutes on every day.  He was pale, dressed like what Bokuto thought an English professor would look like even though he had never attended a day of college classes in his life.  Tight dark wash jeans, brown leathers shoes, a dark gray button up with a black vest over it stretched across surprisingly broad shoulders.  He had a tattoo on his neck, a splash of color that disappeared beneath the stiff collar and the hint of another piece that stretched out over his right hand before dipping beneath the long sleeves.

“Bokuto, please stop.”  Akaashi’s soft voice asked and it was then that Bokuto realized he had summoned the wind in the enclosed space of the parlor.  Pieces of paper, various writing utensils, and a couple mugs floated around but mostly flowers twirled in the magicked wind.

“Oh.”  Bokuto resisted the urge to drop everything and set it harmlessly down, watched as disconnected petals floated down around the stranger.  “Hello I’m Bokuto and you’re beautiful!”  Bokuto introduced himself, catching the strangers eye as petals decorated his dark hair.

“Bokuto.”  Akaashi sighed.

“I mean you’re art, what you do is beautiful, because you’re Kuroo right?  Sawamura showed me the side piece you did for him!”  Bokuto rushed over to hold out a hand.  “How did you know drone ants only live three weeks?  That’s a really short time but to an ant it’s their whole life!”  Kuroo’s hand was cool in Bokuto’s own, his fingers were long and he got a closer look at the piece on his hand.  The style was familiar.

“Only Bokuto would like Kuroo’s nerdy flirting.”  Sawamura’s deep voice said from somewhere behind Bokuto.

“Do you want to see what we can accomplish in three weeks?”  Kuroo’s smirk was a bit provocative but mostly Bokuto liked the stretch of it, the way it curled slightly higher on his left side than his right.  Sawamura boo’ed Kuroo from behind them and Akaashi pulled Bokuto away, slapping Kuroo’s hand in the process.

“No, I am not letting you near Bokuto.”  Akaashi stated firmly.

“Challenge accepted.”  Kuroo said back instantly.

“No challenge was issued.”  Akaashi frowned, putting a hand up so Kuroo couldn’t step any closer.  Bokuto grinned at Kuroo above Akaashi’s head.

“Would you like to tattoo me?”  Bokuto asked.  There were still petals in Kuroo’s hair.

“Bokuto no.”  Akaashi whispered, horrified.

[ergomaria]

Miles to Go Before I Sleep - Chapter 08

"So, none of you know anything useful?" Vann waited a few moments just to confirm this fact before snarling, "Well, that's just great. I'm so glad I spent two years being tortured just to come home and learn that the Jedi Order used the time to run and hide from their problems rather than confronting anything head-on. Kriffing Sith hells, it's good to see that some things never change you karking cowards!"

The anger surging beneath Vann's skin was comforting in its familiarity, and he clung to it even though he knew this was the worst possible time to lose his temper. But he'd just confirmed that the past two years had been spent collecting information to save an Order that clearly valued him more dead than alive. As that realization settled cold in his gut, the raw power of his outrage coursed through his body. He heard Carth pointedly hiss between his teeth while making a show out of rubbing his own eyes, the message clear. But Vann couldn't bring himself to care that his irises had turned an eerie shade of yellow, the drastic color shift likely projecting over the comm system.

As though to confirm this, Atris sneered, "It's also good to know that you're as weak and corrupt as ever."

"You've never known a damned thing about me," Vann shot back, his voice shaking with barely controlled rage. Ever since his first conversation with Meetra back on the Hawk, small glimpses of his childhood had been filtering back in disjointed dreams. He often woke gasping for air, his heart hammering as loneliness clawed at his chest.

"I'm just a prodigy that the Council heaped responsibilities onto even though you knew that it was isolating me from the rest of my peers. You gave me extra assignments and encouraged me to do my own research, but you never considered the fact that every new piece of information I absorbed enabled me to see beyond your doctrine and think for myself. And then, when I finally dared to use everything that you made me learn, you told me that I was wrong. That I was too arrogant, too manipulative, and too impulsive. But really, the only thing I've ever been is exactly what the Order made me."

"It's true." Meetra's tone was soft, unlike the firm-yet-comforting hand she placed on her friend's shoulder.

Hearing this confirmation only increased Vann's inner fury. "And while we're at it, can we talk about how you took one of the most talented and promising Consulars that the Order has ever seen and treated her like bantha fodder? All Meetra ever wanted was to do was to help others and create a lasting harmony throughout the galaxy. You're lucky she realized that words don't always work and that direct action is sometimes needed in response to genocide."

"I'm not as gifted as you make me sound." Slender fingers tightened their grip as Meetra's presence was clouded by doubt.

"You and the rest of the Council labeled this brilliant woman as a monster when she acted to save the entire kriffing Republic. Yet, she still had enough faith in the Jedi to return to the Order at her lowest point. And you threw that trust back in her face when you refused to help, all so that you could gloat that the Council was right and the Revanchists were wrong!" Turning away from the holograms projected on the table, Vann made an obscene hand gesture towards the Masters before declaring, "I'm done with this karking farce of a conversation."

Meetra opened her mouth to add something and then paused, her brow furrowing as she clearly debated what to say. When she finally spoke her voice was balanced, but tight with emotion. "Vann is right. We bled for the Republic and you hid behind our sacrifice to earn back the people's trust. You publicly called us heroes even as you privately doubted every choice we made."

"You were so young," Kavar insisted. "We had good reason to doubt your decisions."

"You're right, we were little more than children!" Pain laced each word Meetra spoke, the weight of her memories audible in every syllable. "I was nineteen years old when you gave us permission to join the war effort and twenty when we officially became the Republic Mercy Corps. I wasn't even a Knight, I still needed, the Masters' guidance. But you refused to provide it because you didn't want to take responsibility for who we became. Youhad an opportunity to guide us, but you declined it."

Bowing his head Vann guiltily admitted, "I tried to guide you and the rest of the Revanchists… but we all saw how that turned out."

"You did the best you could for someone who was still struggling to find your own path. Hells, you were only twenty when they made you a Knight, twenty-one when you realized that the Mandalorians had to be stopped, and twenty-four when you found yourself in charge of a group of Jedi on the cusp of war. You were so young and idealistic that you never realize how hard that task would be…"

"Because Jedi should never go to war," Vrook stated bluntly while staring at the two Force users.

"For once you're entirely right. And now you understand why so many of the Revanchists ceased to be Jedi and found our own codes. War forced us to realize that passion can lead to peace and knowledge can be found through power and strength. Most importantly, we learned that victory can bring about harmony."

Atris sucked in a sharp breath. "Blasphemy!"

"Only to someone who sat safely in the Council chambers while war raged around you. Someone who was willing to let the Republic fall in the name of patience and wisdom even when you felt the agony that filled the Force as the Mandalorians slaughtered people by the millions. If the inability to stand idly by as innocents are murdered makes us blasphemes against the Jedi Order, then we're proud to wear that title."

"We did not stand idly by…"

Kavar interrupted Atris's excuses with a sharp glare. "Yes, we did. That blood is on our hands."

It was unsurprising when the Echani Master disconnected her comm unit with a scoff of disgust. The truly shocking moment came when Kavar and Vrook remained, neither uttering a sound as Meetra continued to speak.

"I abandoned the Jedi Code when I went to war, but at least I did so with good reason. You abandoned me… us… when we needed you the most, all to soothe your wounded pride. And yet, we corrupted individuals are willing to aid your Order in its most desperate hour, not because we love the Jedi but because it's the right thing to do."

"We both died in our own ways to save the galaxy," Vann noted with a heavy note of irony. "For most people, that would be more than enough. But we're heading back into the fray because your asses still need our help. Kinda says something, doesn't it?"

Both Vrook and Kavar said nothing for several long moments, their expressions blank as they avoided eye contact with everyone else in the room. The silence stretched on for so long that Carth began to shift uncomfortably, glancing nervously at the Force users.

It was Kavar who finally broke the quiet as he bowed his head and admitted, "I… I cannot speak for the rest of the Council, but I for one am sorry for not being a better man."

Read the whole chapter on FF.net and AO3!

[weartirondad]

A/N: We did a thing for @parkrstark ‘s appreciation day. You are amazing and we’re sending all our love! xx

This is inspired by Chöre by Mark Forster (a German song, most translations suck but try this one) 

Even superheroes need someone to fight for them sometimes. ao3 I FF.net

I’ll Love You (When You Can’t Love Yourself)

“Mister Parker seems to in distress, boss. His vitals suggest that he has been getting steadily more agitated over the past ten minutes.”

“Wha- Ah- Fuck”, Tony cursed when he hit his head on the underbody of the car as he tried to crunch up before the roller board was completely out from underneath his 1949 Mercury Coupe. The car didn’t seem to mind in the slightest, which didn’t surprise him, but even his AI simply kept talking as if he hadn’t just almost split his nose open again.

“His heartrate has been well over 120 beats per minute for the past five minutes. His blood pressure is significantly elevated at 170 to 100.”

He was already halfway to the nearest suit when he realized he wasn’t even sure where Peter would be. What time was it anyway? Was school over already? Was it even a school day? Good thing his AI seemed to have psychic abilities where she was lacking basic human empathy and told him before he had to ask.

“The tracker that you installed in his watch suggests he’s still in school. Though according to his time table his last lesson ended fifteen minutes ago.”

“Is- Is he involved in a fight at school?”, Tony wanted to know, halting his movements with his hand still stretched out and with half of his armor already attached to his body. Did Peter get into fights at school? Was that bully giving him trouble again? He thought they had handled the Flash issue weeks ago... Then again, Peter was really determined about keeping him in the dark about important things like his wellbeing.

“I don’t think so, boss”, F.R.I.D.A.Y. unhelpfully supplied, “There doesn’t seem to be an imminent threat.”

“Oh-kay”, he turned around, dropping his arms to his side, thinking, “Tap into the voice recording of the watch, F.R.I.”

“I think that would be a violation of the privacy setting you have discussed with Mister Parker.”

“Well, the kid would feel a lot more violated if Ironman were to show up at his school without reason. God that sounded wrong. Just do what you’re told. He can have privacy when I’m dead.”

“Very well, boss.”

Not a second later the slightly metallic version of a teenager’s voice filtered through his lab and he frowned in confusion. That voice didn’t belong to either of the two nerds Peter usually hung out with and it didn’t belong to Flash. He hadn’t known that the kid talked to more than those three people. After just one sentence, however, it became clear what had caused Peter’s current distress.

“-posed internship all you want, maybe Stark Industries does a few things right but the truth is, that your dear Tony Stark’s fortune is built on blood and death. He’s not the hero he claims to be. He never stopped being the merchant of d-“

“No.”

Tony all but flinched at the kid’s cold and steady tone. Peter wasn’t ever supposed to sound so angry. He listened to the kid argue, still unsure whether or not to deploy the suit right away or to get rid of the armor again.

“You have no idea what he’s doing to keep all of us save. He flew a nuke into a wormhole, that our government sent, knowing it would essentially obliterate all of Midtown. He didn’t know if he would make it out alive. He sacrificed himself for all of us. And he did so without hesitation or thoughts to his own wellbeing. Don’t you dare call the person who saved your fucking life the merchant of death.”

That was also the first time that Tony had ever heard Peter curse but he let it slide in favor of concentrating on the jagged breathing coming through the speakers, worried the teenager would start hyperventilating and eventually pass out.

The other boy scoffed and the billionaire could do nothing but watch the red numbers, that were telling his kid’s blood pressure, continue to rise. And his mind was still battling about what to do. Was this really an argument that Ironman should interrupt? Where the hell was Ned anyway?

“Oh yeah, maybe he did that out of the goodness of his heart. Or maybe because he was still feeling guilty. And what about Sokovia? What about all the people that died so your supposed superheroes could have a little party? What about your dear Tony Stark’s Ultron? What about that German airport they destroyed because they couldn’t get their heads out of their asses? He somehow even got Spiderman to fight on his side. That guy would be better off without ties to Ironman. People actually-“

“Shut up!”, Peter yelled and the sound made Tony’s stomach curl in hatred for the person who had elicited such a furious response from the usually calm and happy kid. “You have no idea what you are talking about! He was fighting to keep us safe from their flaws. They’re heroes, they’re not perfect. He was one of the ones who actually signed the Accords, no matter how much they needed amending, because he believes that superheroes need to be held accountable, too. And Spiderman- Spiderman wouldn’t even be alive without Tony Stark you, you-“

Before Peter could actually find an insult to throw at the other’s head, another familiar voice sounded through the speakers in Tony’s lab and he thanked the gods for Peter’s best friend finally making his entry.

“Hey Peter”, Ned called, either oblivious to the tension that was palpable even through audio or actively choosing to ignore it, “Your ride is outside and he’s getting annoyed at the delay. Sorry, Matt, we gotta go.”

A short pause in which all Tony could hear was the metallic scratching and shuffling of fabric and then hushed voices. “Come on, dude. Let’s get outta here.”

Peter seemed to follow Ned’s lead because he heard slow footsteps echoing through a wide room. And thankfully the kid’s heart rate was slowly returning to normal. Even his blood pressure had gone down to 140 to 90 since Ned had gotten there and for the first time since getting the distress signal, Tony felt his own heartbeat calm down, too, and he let out a breath.

He logged out of the watch’s audio once Ned had successfully calmed Peter down and had dropped him off with Happy and he was sure they were both on their way to the Tower.

Suddenly he felt more tired and older than ever before, well, at least ever since almost dying. He couldn’t wrap his head around someone as pure and good as Peter defending him of all people. He had never seen himself as anything other than a major fuck up and he had credited the fact that Pepper, Rhodey and Happy had kept around at all, to them all having to atone for some thing or another they had done in a previous life. There was no way they were sticking around for anything else. No way could someone, who wasn’t as thoroughly fucked up as he was himself, ever even consider loving him.

And still here they were. With Peter wanting to hang out with him, wanting to be mentored by him and defending him in front of people in his school when he was already being bullied.

His heart felt too full and he couldn’t help but feel the weight of the trust the kid had in him, press down on his torso, suffocating him. It was all too much. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t figure out how to be this person that Peter saw in him and he couldn’t bear to disappoint him again. Not him.

Fuck. No. Not a panic attack. Not now. Nonononono.

Without his command, the part of the suit he was still wearing started flying him to the nearby couch, depositing him on it before slipping off of his body so he could curl into himself.

In. 3, 2, 1. Out. 3, 2, 1. In. 3, 2…

He managed to pull himself back from the edge, something he had gotten a lot better at recently, especially when the Spiderling was about to show is face. He was refusing to let the kid see him spiraling into a full blown panic attack. So far his thick head had gotten him farther than his improving mental health, though he suspected it did play a part.

Instead of going back to working on his car, he pulled up the Iron Spider Suit and started working on a few minor improvements and new safe keeping protocols – something that never failed to calm him down – and that was how he occupied himself until Peter got there. Trying not to think of how easy it would be for him to break something so precious that he deserved no part in.

He wouldn’t.

Not quite twenty minutes later the doors to his lab slid open and Tony felt the new presence in the room more than he actually heard the soft footsteps on the floor. He didn’t turn around and for a while Peter didn’t speak up either, simply plopping down on the couch Tony had occupied earlier and watching his mentor work in silence.

Then, really quietly, barely enough to reach the mechanic’s ears hadn’t he been waiting for the words, he heard, “Why do you do this? Why don’t you tell the world what you do to keep them safe every day? Why do you let them believe that you’re not really a hero?”

Tony almost choked on his own spit. So many replies were running through his mind then and he couldn’t bring himself to voice any of them because he didn’t have the heart to tell this kid, his kid, that he didn’t believe it himself. Instead he made up some bullshit excuse about people not needing to know and about them being better off not knowing but of course that wasn’t enough to convince Peter. He had the uncanny ability to see through his crap from still a mile out and he was currently not even five feet away.

The teenager was watching him with knowing eyes. Eyes that went right through his superficial Tony Stark persona and into his soul, dissecting every inch of it without judging. He hated being so see through to people, he hated that apart from his friends who had dealt with him for years, this boy had managed to walk past all his walls and really see him. He adverted his eyes, busying his shaky hands with some (useless) reprogramming of the suit.

Still, he didn’t turn his body away and that seemed to be all the incentive Peter needed to walk up to him and rest a hand on Tony’s shoulder. Of course he had picked up on Tony not being too fond of being touched and tried to avoid it especially when he knew Tony was on edge.

Although, that wasn’t entirely true. A fact he had only started to realize himself – Peter’s touch was okay. It would always be okay.

“You know you’re a hero, right?”

The kid’s voice sounded so self- assured and certain where it was usually rambling and timid, that he had to look up to meet his eyes. He said it like there was nothing that could convince him otherwise, and maybe there wasn’t, because he was stubborn, too.

Meeting the warm brown eyes of his mentee had been a mistake, though, because at seeing the unconditional loyalty (And love? Was that love?) in them, he felt the tears that had been threatening to spill ever since listening to him defending his honor actually fill his eyes and had to blink them away in favor of being able to see Peter’s face.

Also, he refused to cry in front of the teenager.

He didn’t deserve the look he was getting but he couldn’t bring himself to look away. Something in him wanted to make him see that he was not the man Peter believed him to be but as much as he believed it himself – he couldn’t, for the love of it, bring himself to dim the hope and trust in the kid’s eyes with his own self-loathing. He refused to be responsible for Peter ever having to see more darkness in the world than he absolutely had to. And even that he would fight tooth and nail.

Instead he stayed quiet, silently enjoying that the teenager didn’t move away but after a moment it felt as if their moment was over and before it could get weird, he started to turn back to his work. The small hand on his shoulder with the strong grip wouldn’t let him, though.

The billionaire didn’t tell him how the touch grounded him, just raised an questioning eyebrow and that seemed to embarrass the kid, making him get flustered but never actually releasing his grip or loosening the strength he still projected with his eyes. Right now he was being strong for both of them and he seemed to realize it.

Tony hated that he had to.

“You’re my hero”, Peter told him quietly, unwavering even as his cheeks were turning pink, “Not just because of Ironman but because of you. Tony Stark – genius, inventor, mentor – is my hero. You are a hero.”

The repetition sounded like a mantra and maybe it was and it was all Tony could do to stare up at him, still not quiet believing. Some 15 year old kid’s words couldn’t erase everything Tony had been told to believe his entire life but they were a start because he could already feel part of the armor around his heart melt.

It was obvious that Peter thought their moment was over then, that he was close to stepping over an undrawn line, so he started his usual nervous word vomit to, metaphorically, take a step back. “And uh. I know you’re not into hugs and... uh.. touching in general but I really wanted you to know that and I’m just- I’m gonna go n-“

The grip on his shoulder tightened shortly, then the hand lifted but before Peter could stumble backwards (and right into Dum-E) Tony’s Hand shot out, holding the boy back. And then he was standing (he didn’t remember giving his body the signal) and, after just a millisecond of hesitation, he pulled the kid into a hug.

It felt awkward at first, both their bodies surprised and rigid next to each other, and he wanted to slap himself and pull away immediately, thinking that this was a mistake. But when Peter’s arm snaked around his waist tentatively and the boy’s body started relaxing against his own, he could feel, with every fiber of his being that he had wanted that hug since forever but had been afraid to ask.

He should’ve known. Peter was big on touching but he would never try to pressure because Tony was known for being really big on not touching.

After a moment, Tony relaxed, too, and tightened his arms around this kid who had somehow managed to waltz past all the barriers and walls he had so painstakingly erected.

“Thank you, Underoos”, he said in his ear before he pulled away, “That means a lot to me.”

He had wanted to give a sarcastic retort of some sort but felt it get stuck in his throat somewhere on the way and he was glad because the smile he got in return was the brightest he had ever seen and he knew without a doubt that his answering smile was just as open and that this kid was one of maybe three people he let see that smile, his real one.

Tony coughed slightly, all the emotion suddenly getting stuck in his throat, and patted Peter’s back, “Let me show you the new feature I’m working on for Karen.”

It was like a switch had been turned in the kid when he started talking about everything and nothing all at once. Years – hell even months ago – Tony would’ve threatened anyone who dared to disrupt the silence in his lab with rambling but here he was, enjoying whatever the kid had to say just because he liked listening and knowing what was going on it his brain.

Tony turned back around to the screen, knowing that Peter would follow suit, and started working again. Without looking up again he said “Oh, and Peter? Don’t get into fights because of me, will you?”

“What’s gotten your panties in a twist?”

Peter barely had the energy to look up to see his aunt standing in the living room with her arms crossed. “Uh- oh. Hey Aunt May, didn’t know you’d be home already.” He trailed off with a deep sigh and went back to staring straight ahead at the dark TV screen.

A moment passed and he would’ve thought she had gone to her room to change into something more comfy like she usually did, hadn’t he been so acutely aware of her presence – her heartbeat and breathing pattern so uncannily familiar that it immediately calmed him down. He knew he worried her by sitting on the couch without moving a muscle, still in his Spidersuit minus the mask, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it.

Another sigh, May’s this time, and he heard her drop her bag before starting to move towards him, her already soft footsteps muffled by the carpet. He still didn’t move but when she sat down next to him and put an arm around his shoulders he felt his muscles start to relax and he allowed her to pull his head onto her shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

He shrugged even though he could already hear his aunt rolling her eyes at his ‘grumpy teenager antics’ as she liked to call them.

“Okay, let me rephrase that”, she said, her arm tightening around his body, pulling him a little closer still, “Are you physically hurt because of your superheroeing beyond something I can fix with my first aid kit?”

“No, Aunt May”, he answered truthfully, turning his head until his face was buried in the crook of her neck, “I’m fine.” His voice came out muffled but even he realized that he didn’t look or sound fine right now.

“Good.” She pressed a kiss to the top of his head like she had done ever since he was a little child and he felt tears spring to his eyes at the comfort it provided. “Emotionally hurt then?”

He shrugged. She sighed.

“Teenager angst? Did something happen at school?”

He shook his head but stopped once her hand came up to the base of his neck, rubbing soothing circles into his skin.

“Superhero angst?” Shrug. Sigh.

“Do you want me to call Tony?” He shook his head, then changed it to a shrug.

At this point he knew she was humoring him despite being actually concerned. It was part of their routine. It was what they had always done when he needed to talk but didn’t really know how to go about it. May, in her eternally patient way, simply asked him yes-no questions until the dam burst and he spilled whatever was weighing him down. The familiarity of it all made the corners of his lips turn up slightly.

“Is it about Tony? Do I need to have words with him?” Now she sounded protective and Peter loved her even more for her readiness to go toe to toe with a billionaire superhero just because he might’ve hurt his feelings.

“No”, he let out a deep breath and turned his head until he was facing forward again, while never moving out of his aunt’s embrace, “He didn’t really do anything. It’s just- He doesn’t- Ugh.”

“Sort your thoughts, Pete”, she told him gently, “Then tell me.”

The teenager nodded and for a bit he simply enjoyed the feeling of her fingers carding through his curls, trying to make sense of everything he had been feeling ever since he had gotten home. He had been so caught up in his feelings that he hadn’t really tried to wrap his head around it so far, he had simply let himself get stuck in the emotional component of it all.

“I told you how today was this meeting with the rogue Avengers and Secretary Ross about amending the Accords, right?” It was a rhetorical question – they had had a very long, very emotional conversation about why Spiderman had to partake in that meeting in the first place – but his aunt nodded anyway, though she seemed a little tense, prompting him to keep going.

“It went okay, I think.” It really had gone good. Better than Tony had expected it to which, considering his fatalistic attitude at times, wasn’t all that surprising, but not even Colonel Rhodes had believed it to go so smoothly. “There was a lot of talking, not much screaming. It was a very grown up conversation, you would’ve liked it. There are going to be a few more follow-up meetings until it’s all finalized but the cornerstones are already mapped out. So, the meeting ended with scheduling another meeting.”

“But that’s a good thing, right? Why are you so upset about it?”

Peter lifted his head from his aunt’s shoulder then and leaned away to really meet her eyes for the first time that evening. “They scheduled the next meeting for next Thursday.” Pause. “That’s May 29.”

He watched the confused frown slowly morph into understanding first and then she smiled at him, ruffling his hair again.

“He won’t be busy with the meeting all day, though, right? He’ll still have time to celebrate his birthday.”

“You know what he told me, when I asked him why he didn’t veto that date?”, he wanted to know, suddenly feeling his suppressed anger and smoldering discontent flare up in his chest bright and red. “He told me that ‘getting the world its heroes back is a lot more important than some birthday’”, he recounted, his voice laced with mock when he imitated his mentor, “especially his. And I feel like he doesn’t even realize that he is a hero, too! You know, he goes on and on about how America needs its Captain back when Captain America was the one who left him hurting alone in effing Siberia. He doesn’t care about what getting them pardoned means for him! He doesn’t care that he’ll be miserable once they’ve been put under his care and supervision. He’s going to have to see them every day, May! And he flinches whenever Steve Rogers just moves too fast. Yet whenever I try to tell him that he’s a hero, too, he deflects and I hate it. I hate how lowly he thinks of himself. I mean that’s my hero he’s badmouthing and he doesn’t even realize it. He- It makes me so angry!”

“Sorry”, Peter added, breathing heavily after his outburst. He hadn’t meant for it all to come out like that, he hadn’t meant to put all that on May’s shoulders because she had enough to worry about as it was. Hell, he hadn’t meant to get so angry at Tony, he hated being angry. But he couldn’t stop it. It was wired deep into his soul that he had to protect the people he cared about. He just hadn’t ever had to protect someone from themselves.

It wasn’t that he was a stranger to self- doubt. No, he’d been different all his life and he knew exactly what it felt like to feel out of place and unworthy and just plain wrong but he had always had May and Ben telling him off for thinking like that and he’d had Ned in his corner who was different, too, and who helped him embrace it. They never let him talk down on himself. There had always been someone there to catch him when his doubts pushed him over the edge.

In his eyes, Tony Stark was just what this world needed, what he needed. With all his imperfections and the mistakes he had made and continued to make, he never gave up and never stopped caring about random teenage kids he found swinging through Queens, even though the world had told him off far too often.  

“It’s okay, baby”, May whispered, giving him exactly the right amount of time to wallow in his thoughts before pulling him back up, “Sometimes it’s hard to see all the good you’re doing when everyone only ever shows you where you messed up. And it’s a hard habit to break someone out of. But Tony’s strong, too, and he’s got a lot of people in his corner. We all just need to keep telling him every once in a while.”

“I guess”, he sighed in agreement, suddenly feeling worn out now that his anger had run dry, “It’s very infuriating, though.”

“It is”, she nodded and opened up her arms for him to fall into which he did, enjoying how every hug felt like coming home. “But you’re pretty stubborn, I think if someone will get through his thick skull it’s gonna be you.”

Peter grinned, feeling lighter than he had ever since that meeting. “You bet. And I’m getting him to shift that meeting around. I don’t care if the other Avengers had some surprise birthday gift planned. I’m not letting him spend his birthday with people who hurt him. Not on my watch.”

“You’re invited to my surprise birthday party, too, I take it?”, Tony greeted May as she stepped out of the elevator. She didn’t even seem too shocked at the revelation that her nephew had effectively messed up the only thing making a surprise birthday party a surprise – not telling the person in question.

“You don’t have too many friends, Stark”, she gave back without missing a beat, though the playful twinkle in her eyes gave away that she was joking, “I’d be nice to the ones who actually like you.”

“So you do like me?”, he grinned, accepting her half hug graciously, “Now I’ll finally be able to sleep through the night again.”

May pulled back, now openly laughing, and found the billionaire looking equally relaxed. “You’re looking good”, she told him seriously as she took in his faded blue jeans and plain black t-shirt. He was in socks and the only accessory he was wearing was a leather bracelet with an engraved spider she knew Peter had gotten him as an alibi birthday present. There were no sunglasses hiding his eyes and no watch with built-in kill switch. Right now he wasn’t Ironman and he wasn’t even Tony Stark.

He was just Tony. Pepper’s fiancée, Rhodey’s and Happy’s best friend, Peter’s sorta-dad and her sorta- co-parent partner.

It had taken her a while to separate Tony from the masks he usually put on for the world to see but it had been worth it. She could see why his friends had stuck around for so long and why Peter had kept insisting that he was ‘one of the good guys’, why he kept looking up to the man even when he screwed up.

“Don’t tell Pep, she gets jealous.”

The smirk he shot her would’ve riled her up only a few months ago but she’s seen him with Pepper often enough to know that there was no way he would ever be unfaithful to her. He was like a lost puppy without her and he was smart enough to keep the only woman who could handle him and continuously challenged him. He didn’t even seem to realize that it worked the other way around, too, for Pepper.

“Why are you up here anyway? I thought you were all meeting downstairs to get the whole surprising going.”

May nodded, “But someone’s gotta get you to go downstairs without telling you what we’re doing, don’t we?”

“Yes, because you’ve all done such a good work keeping this party a secret from me”, Tony shook his head with a bemused smile, “What did you do to get singled out like that?”

There was that low key self- deprecating that had prompted Peter to throw the whole party in the first place but May took it in stride, knowing enough about Tony to know how to talk to him when he tried to talk down on himself. Honesty usually worked best because he never seemed to expect it.

“I volunteered”, she told him with a shrug, “Peter wanted to but we didn’t think he could get a single word out without spilling the beans and we wanted to give you the chance to act all surprised to make him happy.”

“That’s very thoughtful of-“

“Besides”, she interrupted him, watching his face closely for his reaction, “I wanted to give you your present before you meet the others so you can get those tears out of the way and don’t have to pretend you’re not crying.”

His expression was priceless, May decided, and it was a shame she didn’t get it on camera. She enjoyed every second of his micro expressions, though. How his mouth fell open, actually surprised, and he looked like he was about to protest the accusation once he had gotten over the initial shock before he decided to instead mock her, the skin around his eyes already crinkling before the – undoubtedly sarcastic – words could leave his mouth. Before he had formed a sentence, though, May pulled out his present and continued to watch.

He frowned in confusion when he took the book from her that had a small spider and two bigger ones on the cover. She had personalized the two adult spiders – one was wearing her glasses and the other had an arch reactor on its body. The little spider was ambitiously climbing up the water spout while the two bigger ones stood on the ground, looking up at the little one in concern and/ or fascination (it wasn’t that easy to interpret feelings into minimalistic drawn spiders). They looked eager to catch their little one when it would undoubtedly be washed out again.

Next to the drawing the nursery rhyme was written in artful calligraphy and after a stunned moment it was that detail that Tony decided to comment on.

“Itsy Bitsy Spider? Really?”, he asked amused, “I’m starting to think that your family has a very unhealthy obsession with arachnids.”

She ignored him and instead gestured to the book, “Open it. We’ve only got twenty minutes until we’ll be expected downstairs.”

The first page of the photo album was a picture of Peter, May and Tony at Peter’s last Science Fair. He was posing proudly with his cheap plastic trophy while May and Tony stood to either side of him, sharing a grin over the top of his head.

He met her eyes then and she had never seen him as uncertain and insecure as he was looking now. His gaze screamed Are you sure? at the same time as it begged Don’t take it away. Frankly, it broke her heart but it also made her proud that he was letting his walls down so completely with her, that he trusted her so much.

She poked him in the side, an invitation to keep going, and watched him flip to the second page, her eyes filling with tears as her own gaze fell on the slightly faded pictures of toddler Peter with his parents and slightly newer ones with Ben.

Tony didn’t say a word as he continued to go through the book, pausing ever so often on pictures of Peter he hadn’t seen before, but she watched him the whole time and she saw the two lone tears that trailed down his cheeks until they got lost in his goatee. He didn’t even seem to realize, too captured by the pictures she had chosen.

There were pictures of Peter on his own, dressed up, doing stunts, just grinning stupidly at the camera or caught off guard. There were pictures of him with his parents and with Ben and her – happy memories that had taken her a long time to revisit. Then came a time when there weren’t many pictures of him at all and were his smile seemed a little off.

Towards the end the images had him laughing more and his eyes shining brighter again. There were new pictures, just with May this time, and then came the first picture with Tony. It was a screenshot of the video message Peter had sent her from his ‘internship retreat’ in which Tony looked at Peter while the teenager grinned into the camera, obviously over the moon.

“May- I can’t-“

She shushed him and turned to the next page for him when his hand was shaking too much to grab the paper.

More pictures of Tony and Peter. Some in the lab, some in the park, some in a greasy diner or at Delmar’s. There were some with May and with Pepper and with Happy and Rhodey. In everyone, Peter was the center of everyone’s attention and his smile shone through the pages, making her smile through her own tears.

On the last page was a picture of Peter from just this week. He was in his Spiderman suit, the mask lying forgotten on the chair behind him, and he seemed oblivious to the picture being taken. He was on a video call with Ned and was hanging from the ladder of his bunk bed with only one arm and leg. The other arm held an Ironman figurine he was flying through the air, mouth open because he seemed to be commenting his adventures.

Underneath it, written in May’s chicken scratch – though she had tried her best – was a tiny paragraph.

 Dear Tony,

you never had to step up like you did but thank you for doing it anyway. Thank you for encouraging him, and for chastising him when it’s called for. Thank you for being a dad and a hero to our boy.

You’re family.

May

 She read her own writing over his shoulder and had to swallow past the lump in her throat once more. This was big. For both of them. It wasn’t that she was scared he would run because he’d had so many chances to run and had decided to stick around but still, she was nervously waiting for his reaction.

It took him a moment to fall out of his stupor but when he did, she was surprised that he hugged her. Not the half hug they had compromised on for greetings but a fully body hug, in which he held on to her like a life line.

“Thank you”, she heard his hoarse voice whisper again and again and again. “Thank you for letting me be a part of your family. Thank you for this. Thank you for everything, May. You’re one of the strongest women I know to have raised such a wonderful boy.”

For a while they stayed like that, wrapped around each other, until their tears had dried up and their voices weren’t as shaky anymore.

“I’d say it was a good call to give it to you up here, don’t you think?”, she joked once she got her bearings back.

“You’re a very smart woman, May Parker”, he gave back, finding his way back to his usual snarky self. “Shall we?”

“It is my distinct pleasure.”

They sauntered towards the elevator in companionable silence, hands brushing against each other as they walked as it happened with two people close to and comfortable with each other. The photo album had gone back into hiding in May’s bag but it felt lighter now that it had been put out there, like a subconscious weight she had carried with her until she had seen the honest tears and bright smile.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. didn’t need to be told where to go and so they started their descent without a word until suddenly Tony’s voice interrupted the silence.

“F.R.I. stop the elevator.”

“Wh- Tony?”, May asked, her heart beating faster in her chest when she saw the scared look in the billionaire’s eyes, “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut, a fist coming up to press against his chest. His breathing was accelerating and she reached out on instinct when he stumbled forward a few steps in the tight space.

“I- I can’t do that”, he managed to get out through clenched teeth and suddenly his eyes were open again, looking wildly around the elevator until they settled on her, widening with panic.

A panic attack. Oh no.

“Relax”, she whispered, immediately going into mum-mode as Peter called it, and pulled him to the ground with her. “Breathe, Tony. It’s okay. You’re okay. We’ve got all these amazing people there to see you. We’re all with you. You’re safe.”

Tony shook his head though, fighting through his jagged breathing until he could get the words out. “I can’t- I’m not a parent, May. I’m not. I’m a mess. I-“, his voice broke and he tried to blink the tears away that threatened to take his sight, “A parent should be the one encouraging, helping. He- He shouldn’t have to throw me a party to tell me I’m alright. I shouldn’t be such a fucking mess. I can’t- I can’t, May. I can’t ruin him. Please. Please don’t let me.”

Her body worked on instinct again when she pulled his head into the crook of her neck, her hands finding his hair and soothingly carding through it like she would do for Peter.

“We’re all a mess sometimes, Tony”, she whispered, “Parents are allowed to be messes. God, you should’ve seen me after Ben’s death...”, she trailed off, voice breaking, “And I’m still here and so is Peter. We’ll get through anything, together, that’s what families do, right? You’re not going to mess him up. Just... just let him do this for you, try to listen to the people who love you more than to the ones who don’t. You can do that, right? Ignoring assholes is one of your specialties. Just ignore yourself sometimes.”

That actually earned her a wet laugh and she smiled into his hair when his arm snaked around her waist, stroking her back ever so slightly. Only then did she realize that she was crying, too.

“See, we’re all messes.” She sniveled. “Parenting is supposed to make you a mess and it’s supposed to scare you that you could mess your kid up. But you’re supposed to say ‘Screw you, doubt!’ and do it anyway. Because you’re a parent now. Parents are the strongest superheroes the world has ever seen. Nothing can come against us when it’s about our kid.”

“Sometimes part of our job is to let our kid reassure us, too. Sometimes he needs it as much as we do”, she added after a moment of silence that was only interrupted by both their heavy breathings, “This is not a one sided relationship. You get back, too, on occasions. You can’t and shouldn’t take their gratitude for granted but you should accept it when it comes.”

Tony nodded finally and pulled back, leaning back against the wall of the elevator, just as May did the same opposite of him. “Think we can get away with ten more minutes before we go in?”, he asked quietly, wiping at his eyes, and May nodded because there was no way she would go anywhere looking like this.

“Yeah, I mean they won’t start the party without their guest of honor.”

“SURPRISE!”

The doors to the elevator hadn’t even fully opened yet when he was met with the eardrum piercing yell from way up high on the ceiling and before Tony had the chance to blink, Peter was already sailing down and with him confetti started falling down from all over the place. As soon as the Spiderling had landed, he started singing – loudly, confidently and horribly off-key – and a heartbeat later everyone else had joined in, too.

Happy and Rhodey were standing in front of a huge “Happy Birthday Mr. Dad, uh, Tony” banner, grinning from ear to ear not even bothered by the purple party hats they were wearing that were complimenting their purple bowties. Each of them held a confetti gun in their hands, aimed directly at him.

Pepper stood a little to the side, rocking a dark blue glittery hat, with a champagne flute in her hand that he was about 97 percent sure was filled with apple juice. She was singing, too, almost as badly off-key as the kid and at least as happy about it, too.

When he turned around, he found that May had pulled out a green party hat, too and had joined the awful singing band, winking at him when his wide eyes met hers.

Tony had had a plan. Of course he had. He always needed plans for everything. And he needed plans in place should his plans fail. He needed so many fail saves that sometimes he ran out of letters in the alphabet to name them. Even though this had been supposed to be a surprise party, he had planned exactly how he wanted to act surprised and, as it usually happened, his plan flew right out of the window when he couldn’t even see through the thick confetti shower.

He squinted at his friends – his family – once the song had finished and was about to say something when both Happy and Rhodey made use of their weapons and added some more color to his already color-improved former black shirt. They caught him mid motion and he had to spit out a mouthful of confetti before he could start to chastise them.

“Mr. Stark! Happy birthday!”

Suddenly he remembered why this was supposed to be a happy moment – why he was supposed to be thrilled about being drowned in shards of colorful, glittery paper – just as Peter’s arms wrapped around him in the most physical hug they had shared as of yet. He let his body melt into the embrace and his hands found his curls of their own accord. The answering beam was worth the knowing smiles his friends shot him.

“Mr.Stark”, Peter giggled, still peering up at him, “You’ve got some confetti stuck in your frown.”

“Yeah, and who’s fault is that?”, he shot back with a smile even as he let Peter pick the offending piece of pink paper from his forehead.

“It’s kind of your fault for frowning on your birthday”, the Spiderling retorted and took a step back then.

He seemed a lot more self-conscious now that the adrenalin was wearing off and he was fidgeting with the sleeves of his hoodie until Tony’s hand covered his and he shot him a reassuring smile.

“You want me to throw the gang out for our heart to heart or-“

“No, no it’s fine”, Peter straightened up and finally met his eyes again, “They know why we’re here anyway. The only one who doesn’t get it yet is you. So I’m gonna need their support for this. You have to promise not to interrupt or disagree, though.”

The billionaire blinked at the teenager incomprehensively for half a minute before nodding. “Seems a little unfair seeing as this is my birthday but fine.”

“O-okay, so”, Peter started with a slight stutter before squaring his shoulders and taking a deep breath, “The Cambridge dictionary defines a superhero as someone who has-“

“Wait!”, Tony interrupted, hand raised to stop the kid from talking, he imagined his eyes had to be comically wide but he couldn’t help but stare, “Did you actually prepare a speech? Like you wrote it down and practiced it and-“

“Mr. Stark!”, the teenager whined, glaring at him, “You couldn’t keep your promise for, what? A total of five seconds?”

“Sorry, sorry. I’m just, uh”, the billionaire looked around the room and, finding no support from his friends, “I’m just gonna take a seat right… uh, right here”, he finished a little lamely as he dropped down to the ground cross-legged, watching in amusement when all the adults followed his example until Peter was the only one standing. After a moment of hesitation, he sat down as well, situating himself opposite of Tony, his gaze open and earnest.

“As I was saying, The Cambridge dictionary defines a superhero as someone who has a special strength and uses it to do good things and help other people, as well as someone who has done something very brave to help someone else.”

Tony had to physically restrain his hands by sitting on them to not start fidgeting right away. He was also biting down on his lip so he wouldn’t interrupt the speech again, no matter how much every fiber of his being wanted to protest.

“I know you don’t think you have a special strength”, Peter continued, “I know you think that special strength means being physically strong or enhanced in some way or another but that’s not true. You have so many strengths that are so much more important than any of that. Some might say that your biggest strength is your brain. You’re really really smart, Mr… Tony.”

The boy smiled up shyly at him and Tony decided then and there that he would sit through actual torture again if only he kept smiling at him like that.

“I agree. Ever since I was a little kid, I looked up to you because of your intellect. I was in awe of someone who could build their own superhero suit in a cave out of nothing but scraps and determination. Uncle Ben told me that you were hurt, too, and that made you so much stronger in my eyes. You saved yourself when almost everyone had already given up on you and you didn’t need enhancement to do it, all you needed was yourself.”

I didn’t do it alone. He wanted to scream, his chest starting to ache in phantom pain when he thought back to Afghanistan and to Yinsen. But right now he had more important things to do than fall back into that hell and so he took a deep breath and tried to listen to Peter’s words. Somehow, miraculously, the kid’s voice managed to calm him down. (It really shouldn’t surprise him anymore.)

“Then when you came back, you broke with everything you thought was wrong without a thought about what it would mean for your company. You were a hero to many for that alone. And then you told the world that you are Iron Man. You were the first superhero who held himself accountable by giving away his identity.”

Tony wondered briefly, how Peter managed to overlook all of his mistakes and all the people that got hurt on his path to rediscovering himself. If it had been some other kid, he would’ve thought they simply didn’t get it but with this particular kid he knew that to be wrong. Peter was smart enough to know that the world wasn’t all black and white, he knew about Tony’s mistakes and he was a superhero himself, he knew that people got hurt sometimes. Yet here he was, calling Tony a hero.

“Iron Man is a hero”, Peter pulled him out of his thoughts again, “But Iron Man is only a hero because Tony Stark is. You’re brave and smart and selfless and those are all traits of a hero but what makes you our hero”, he glanced around the room, waving at the people sitting around them watching him, “What makes you my hero is your heart.”

“You care so much about everyone, even virtual strangers. You care about them so much that you would give your life for any one of them and you have proven that numerous times. You cared about me when you really didn’t have to.” His voice dropped a little, sounding much softer and vulnerable now when he met Tony’s eyes again.

“You put so much time and money into keeping me safe from the moment you first made me the suit. You could’ve stopped there and I would’ve been so grateful but you didn’t. You continued to protect me from my own mistakes, saving me when I screwed up and fixing the messes I made. Again, you could’ve stopped there and I wouldn’t have asked for more, because this was so much more than I expected but, again, you didn’t. You basically took me in – me, Peter Parker, not Spiderman – and you made time in your crazy schedule to hang out with me and to teach me. You never had to do that, no one would’ve expected you to. But you did it anyway because you care so much, even about some random kid from Queens who manages to get himself into trouble every other night.”

The billionaire superhero was already blinking away tears and through the veil he saw Peter doing the same thing, but he smiled through it – the love in his expression warming Tony’s heart like only Peter could. His eyes never left the kid’s. If they did, he would’ve seen that everyone was battling with their own emotions threatening to spill over.

“You never had to step up from being a fellow superhero to a mentor. You never had to step up from being a mentor to being more – to being a dad. And yet you did. That makes you the best superhero to me. And it’s okay if you won’t believe me – us - right away but we’ll just keep telling you. Because we love you.”

Tony swallowed. Tears were running down his cheeks freely now but he didn’t care enough to wipe them away.

All his life he would’ve brushed the emotional speech off, making a counterargument to every bullet point on the list just because he never had dealt well with compliments. Now, for the first time, he didn’t feel the need, though. He didn’t want to prove Peter wrong, instead he wanted to prove him right – wanted to become that man that he saw in him – and if that meant dealing with his low self-esteem and not talking back on compliments? Then he’d work his ass of getting better at those things.

So, instead of arguing, he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Peter. It didn’t take the teenager more than five seconds to uncurl his legs and throw himself into the hug, making Tony almost topple over with the force. He let the tears run freely into Peter’s curls and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

“I love you, Pete”, he whispered so softly only the enhanced Spiderling could pick up the words, before looking up and waving to the others with the one arm he didn’t necessarily need to keep his kid close to his chest.

“I love all of you. Come on into the hug. This is probably the first and final time I’m offering you all a group hug.”

It wouldn’t be. They all knew that. They came forward anyway.

May hugged Peter from behind, one hand patting Tony’s shoulder. Pepper came up behind Tony to wrap her arms around his waist and pressed a kiss to Peter’s hand. Happy and Rhodey gave their group hug its finishing touch by standing to either side of the bundle and acting as a cocoon around all of them.

This wouldn’t be the last time Tony couldn’t see his worth. It wouldn’t be the last time either of them doubted themselves. But that only meant the others would be there to convince them otherwise.

As a family did.

pic by @lieselfh

story by @josywbu (ao3 I FF.net)