#would have been nice to have a mention in the epilogue even or something

[luveline]

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧

Things between you and Peter change with the seasons. [17k] 

c: friends-to-lovers, hurt/comfort, loneliness, peter parker isn’t good at hiding his alter ego, fluff, first kisses, mutual pining, loved-up epilogue, mention of self-harm with no graphic imagery

｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ

Fall 

Peter Parker is a resting place for overworked eyes, like warm topaz nestled against a blue-cold city. He waits on you with his eyes to the screen of his phone, clicking the power button repetitively. A nervous tic. 

You close the heavy door of your apartment building. His head stays still, yet he’s heard the sound of it settling, evidence in his calmed hand. 

“Good morning!” You pull your coat on quickly. “Sorry.” 

“Good morning,” he says, offering a sleep-logged smile. “Should we go?” 

You follow Peter out of the cul-de-sac and into the street as he drops his phone into a deep pocket. To his credit, he doesn’t check it while you walk, and only glances at it when you’re taking your coat off in the heat of your favourite cafe: The Moroccan Mode glows around you, fog kissing the windows, condensation running down the inner lengths of it in beads. You murmur something to do with the odd fog and Peter tells you about water vapour. When it rains tonight, he says it’ll be warm water that falls. 

He spreads his textbook, notebook, and rinky-dink laptop out across the table while you order drinks. Peter has the same thing every visit, a decaf americano, in a wide brim mug with the pink-petal saucer. You put it down on his textbook only because that’s where he would put it himself, and you both get to work. 

As Peter helps you study, you note the simplicity of another normal day, and can’t help wondering what it is that’s missing. Something is, something Peter won’t tell you, the absence of a truth hanging over your heads. You ask him if he wants to get dinner and he says no, he’s busy. You ask him to see a movie on Friday night and he wishes he could. 

Peter misses you. When he tells you, you believe him. “I wish I had more time,” he says. 

“It’s fine,” you say, “you can’t help it.”

“We’ll do something next weekend,” he says. The lie slips out easily. 

To Peter it isn’t a lie. In his head, he’ll find the time for you again, and you’ll be friends like you used to be. 

You press the end of your pencil into your cheek, the dark roast, white paper and condensation like grey noise. This time last year, the air had been thick for days with fog you could cut. He took you on a trip to Manhattan, less than an hour from your red-brick neighbourhood, and you spent the day in a hotel pool throwing great cupfuls of water at each other. The fog was gone just fifteen miles away from home but the warm air stayed. When it rained it was sudden, strange, spit-warm splashes of it hammering the tops of your heads, your cheeks as you tipped your faces back to spy the dark clouds. 

Peter had swam the short distance to you and held your shoulders. You remember feeling like your whole life was there, somewhere you’d never been before, the sharp edges of cracked pool tile just under your feet. 

You peek over the top of your laptop screen and wonder if Peter ever thinks of that trip. 

He feels you watching and meets your eyes. “I have to tell you something,” he says, smiling shyly. 

“Sure.” 

“I signed us up for that club.” 

“Epigenetics?” 

“Molecular medicine,” he says. 

The nice thing about fog is that it gives a feeling of lateness. It’s still morning, barely ten, but it feels like the early evening. It’s gentle on the eyes, colouring the whole room with a sconced shine. You reach for Peter’s bag and sort through his jumble of possessions —stick deodorant, loose-leaf paper, a bodega’s worth of protein bars— and grab his camera. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m cataloguing the moment you ruined our lives,” you say, aiming the camera at his chin, squinting through the viewfinder. 

“Technically, I signed us up a few days ago,” he says. 

You snap his photo as his mouth closes around ‘ago’, keeping his half-laugh stuck on his lips. “Semantics,” you murmur. “And molecular medicine club, this has nothing to do with the estranged Gwen Stacy?”

“It has nothing to do with her. And you like molecular medicine.”

“I like oncology,” you correct, which is a sub-genre at best, “and I have enough work without joining another club. Go by yourself.” 

“I can’t go without you,” he says. Simple as that. 

He knew you’d say yes when he signed you up. It’s why he didn’t ask. You’re already forgiven him for the slight of assumption. 

“When is it?” you ask, smiling. 

—

Molecular medicine club is fun. You and a handful of ESU nerds gather around a big table in a private study room for a few hours and read about the newer discoveries and top research, like regenerative science and now taboo Oscorp research. It’s boring, sometimes, but then Peter will lean into your side and make a joke to keep you going. 

He looks at Gwen Stacy a lot. Slender, pale and freckled, with blonde hair framing a sweet face. Only when he thinks you’re not looking. Only when she isn’t either. 

—

“Good morning,” you say. 

Peter holds an umbrella over his head that he’s quick to share with you, and together you walk with heads craned down, the umbrella angled forward to fight the wind. Your outermost shoulder is wet when you reach the café, your other warm from being pressed against him. You shake the umbrella off outside the door and step onto a cushy, amber doormat to dry your sneakers. Peter stalks ahead and order the drinks, eager to get warm, so you look for a table. Your usual is full of businessmen drinking flat whites with briefcases at their legs. They laugh. You try to picture Peter in a suit: you’re still laughing when he finds you in the booth at the back. 

“Tell the joke,” he says, slamming his coffee down. He’s careful with yours. He’s given you the pink petal saucer from the side next to the straws and wooden stirrers. 

“I was thinking about you as a businessman.” 

“And that’s funny?” 

“When was the last time you wore a suit?” 

Peter shakes his head. Claims he doesn’t know. Later, you’ll remember his Uncle Ben’s funeral and feel queasy with guilt, but you don’t remember yet. “When was the last time you wore one?” he asks. “I don’t laugh at you.” 

“You’re always laughing at me, Parker.” 

The cafe isn’t as warm today. It’s wet, grimy water footsteps tracking across the terracotta tile, streaks of grey water especially heavy near the counter, around it to the bathroom. There’s no fog but a sad rattle of rain, not enough to make noise against the windows, but enough to watch as it falls in lazy rivulets down the lengths of them.

Your face is chapped with the cold, cheeks quickly come to heat as your fingers curl around your mug. They tingle with newfound warmth. When you raise your mug to your lips, your hand hardly shakes.

“You okay?” Peter asks. 

“Fine. Are you gonna help me with the math today?” 

“Don’t think so. Did you ask nicely?” 

“I did.” You’d called him last night. You would’ve just as happily submitted your homework poorly solved with the grade to prove it —you don’t want Peter’s help, you just wanted to see him. 

Looking at him now, you remember why his distance had felt a little easier. The rain tangles in his hair, damp strands curling across his forehead, his eyes dark and outfitted by darker eyelashes. Peter has the looks of someone you’ve seen before, a classical set to his nose and eyes reminiscent of that fallen angel weeping behind his arm, his russet hair in fiery disarray. There was an anger to Peter after Ben died that you didn’t recognise, until it was Peter, changed forever and for the worse and it didn’t matter —he was grieving, he was terrified, who were you to tell him to be nice again— until it started to get better. You see less of your fallen, angry angel, no harsh brush strokes, no tears. 

His eyes are still dark. Bruised often underneath, like he’s up late. If he is, it isn’t to talk to you. 

You spend an afternoon working through your equations, pretending to understand until Peter explains them to death. His earphones fall out of his pocket and he says, “Here, I’ll show you a song.” 

He walks you home. The song is dreary and sad. The man who sings is good. Lover, You Should’ve Come Over. It feels like Peter’s trying to tell you something —he isn’t, but it feels like wishing he would. 

“You okay?” you ask before you can get to your street. A minute away, less. 

“I’m fine, why?” 

You let the uncomfortable shape of his earbud fall out of your ear, the climax of the song a rattle on his chest. “You look tired, that’s all. Are you sleeping?” 

“I have too much to do.” 

You just don’t get it. “Make sure you’re eating properly. Okay?” 

His smile squeezes your heart. Soft, the closest you’ll ever get. “You know May,” he says, wrapping his arm around your shoulders to give you a short hug, “she wouldn’t let me go hungry. Don’t worry about me.” 

—

The dip into depression you take is predictable. You can’t help it. Peter being gone makes it worse. 

You listen to love songs and take long walks through the city, even when it’s dark and you know it’s a bad idea. If anything bad happens Spider-Man could probably save me, you think. New York’s not-so-new vigilante keeps a close eye on things, especially the women. You can’t count how many times you’ve heard the same story. A man followed me home, saw me across the street, tried to get into my apartment, but Spider-Man saved me. 

You’re not naive, you realise the danger of walking around without protection assuming some stranger in a mask will save you, but you need to get out of the house. It goes on for weeks. 

You walk under streetlights and past stores with CCTV, but honestly you don’t really care. You’re not thinking. You feel sick and heavy and it’s fine, really, it’s okay, everything works out eventually. It’s not like it’s all because you miss Peter, it’s just a feeling. It’ll go away. 

“You’re in deep thought,” a voice says, garnering a huge flinch from the depths of your stomach.

You turn around, turn back, and flinch again at the sight of a man a few paces ahead. Red shoulders and legs, black shining in a webbed lattice across his chest. “Oh,” you say, your heartbeat an uncomfortable plodding under your hand, “sorry.” 

“Why are you sorry? I scared you.”

“I didn’t realise you were there.” 

Spider-Man doesn’t come any closer. You take a few steps in his direction. You’ve never met before but you’d like to see him up close, and you aren’t scared. Not beyond the shock of his arrival. 

“Can I walk you to where you’re going?” Spider-Man asks you. He’s humming energy, fidgeting and shifting from foot to foot. 

“How do I know you’re the real Spider-Man?” 

After all, there are high definition videos of his suit on the news sometimes. You wouldn’t want to find out someone was capable of making a replica in the worst way possible. 

You can’t be sure, but you think he might be smiling behind the mask, his arms moving back as though impressed at your questioning. “What do you need me to do to prove it?” he asks. 

He speaks hushed. Rough and deep. “I don’t know. What’s Spider-Man exclusive?” 

“I can show you the webs?” 

You pull your handbag further up your arm. “Okay, sure. Shoot something.” 

Spider-Man aims his hand at the streetlight across the way and shoots it. He makes a severing motion with his wrist to stop from getting pulled along by it, letting the web fall like an alien tendril from the bulb. The light it produces dims slightly. A chill rides your spine. 

“Can I walk you now?” he asks. 

“You don’t have more important things to do?” If the bitterness you’re feeling creeps into your tone unbidden, he doesn’t react. 

“Nothing more important than you.” 

You laugh despite yourself. “I’m going to Trader Joe’s.” 

“Yellowstone Boulevard?” 

“That’s the one…” 

You fall into step beside him, and, awkwardly, begin to walk again. It’s a short walk. Trader Joe’s will still be open for hours despite the dark sky, and you’re in no hurry. “My friend, he likes the rolled tortilla chips they do, the chilli ones.” 

“And you’re going just for him?” Spider-Man asks. 

“Not really. I mean, yeah, but I was already going on a walk.” 

“Do you always walk around by yourself? It’s late. It’s dangerous, you know, a beautiful girl like you,” he says, descending into an odd mixture of seriousness and teasing. His voice jumps and swoons to match. 

“I like walking,” you say. 

Spider-Man walking is a weird thing to see. On the news, he’s running, swinging, or flying through the air untethered. You’re having trouble acquainting the media image of him with the quiet man you’re walking beside now.

”Is everything okay?” he asks. “You seem sad.” 

“Do I?” 

“Yeah, you do.” 

“Maybe I am sad,” you confess, looking forward, the bright sign of Trader Joe’s already in view. It really is a short walk. “Do you ever–” You swallow against a surprising tightness in your throat and try again, “Do you ever feel like you’re alone?” 

“I’m not alone,” he says carefully.

“Me neither, but sometimes I feel like I am.” 

He laughs quietly. You bristle thinking you’re being made fun of, but the laugh tapers into a sad one. “Sometimes I feel like I’m the only person in the world,” he says. “Even here. I forget that it’s not something I invented.” 

“Well, I guess being a hero would feel really lonely. Who else do we have like you?” You smile sympathetically. “It must be hard.” 

“Yeah.” His head tips to the side, and a crash of glass rings in the distance, crunching, and then there’s a squeal. It sounds like a car accident. Spider-Man goes tense. “I’ll come back,” he says. 

“That’s okay, Spider-Man, I can get home by myself. Thank you for the protection detail.” 

He sprints away. In half a second he’s up onto a short roof, then between buildings. It looks natural. It takes your breath away. 

You buy Peter’s chips at Trader Joe’s and wait for a few minutes at the door, but Spider-Man doesn’t come back. 

—

I don’t want to study today, Peter’s text says the next day. Come over and watch movies? 

The last handholds of your fugue are washed away in the shower. You dab moisturiser onto your face and neck and stand by the open window to help it dry faster, taking in the light drizzle of rain, the smell of it filling your room and your lungs in cold gales. You dress in sweatpants and a hoodie, throw on your coat, and stuff the rolled tortilla chips into a backpack to ferry across the neighbourhood. 

Peter still lives at home with his Aunt May. You’d been in awe of it when you were younger, Peter and his Aunt and Uncle, their home-cooked family dinners, nights spent on the roof trying to find constellations through light pollution, stretched out together while it was warm enough to soak in your small rebellion. Ben would call you both down eventually. When you’re older! he’d always promise. 

Peter’s waiting in the open door for you. He ushers you inside excitedly, stripping you out of your coat and forgetting your wet shoes as he drags you to the kitchen. “Look what I got,” he says. 

The Parker kitchen is a big, bright space with a chopping block island. The counters are crowded by pots, pans, spices, jams, coffee grounds, the impossible drying rack. There’s a cross-stitch about the home on the microwave Ben did to prove to May he could still see the holes in the aida. 

You follow Peter to the stove where he points at a ceramic Dutch oven you’ve eaten from a hundred times. “There,” he says. 

“Did you cook?” you ask. 

“Of course I didn’t cook, even if the way you said that is offensive. I could cook. I’m an excellent chef.” 

“The only thing May’s ever taught you is spaghetti and meatballs.” 

“Hope you like marinara,” he says, nudging you toward the stove. 

You take the lid off of the Dutch oven to unveil a huge cake. Dripping with frosting, only slightly squashed by the lid, obviously homemade. He’s dotted the top with swirls of frosting and deep red strawberries. 

“It’s for you,” he says casually. 

“It’s not my birthday.” 

“I know. You like cake though, don’t you?” 

You’d tell Peter you liked chunks of glass if that was what he unveiled. “Why’d you make me a cake?” 

“I felt like you deserved a cake. You don’t want it?” 

“No, I want it! I want the cake, let’s have cake, we can go to 91st and get some ice cream, it’ll be amazing.” You don’t bother trying to hide your beaming smile now, twisting on the spot to see him properly, your hands falling behind your back. “Thank you, Peter. It’s awesome. I had no idea you could even– that you’d even–” You press forward, smushing your face against his chest. “Wow.” 

“Wow,” he says, wrapping his arms around you. He angles his head to nose at your temple. “You’re welcome. I would’ve made you a cake years ago if I knew it was gonna make you this happy.” 

“It must’ve taken hours.” 

“May helped.” 

“That makes much more sense.” 

“Don’t be insolent.” Peter squeezes you tightly. He doesn’t let go for a really long time. 

He extracts the cake from the depths of the Dutch oven and cuts you both a slice. He already has ice cream, a Neapolitan box that he cuts into with a serrated knife so you can each have a slice of all three flavours. It’s good ice cream, fresh for what it is and melting in big drops of cream as he gets the couch ready.

“Sit down,” he says, shoving the plates with his strangely great balance onto the coffee table. “Remote’s by you. I’m gonna get drinks.” 

You take your plate, carving into the cake with the end of a warped spoon, its handle stamped PETE and burnished in your grasp. The crumb is soft but dense in the best way. The ganache between layers is loose, cake wet with it, and the frosting is perfect, just messy. You take another satisfied bite. You’re halfway through your slice before Peter makes it back. 

“I brought you something too, but it’s garbage compared to this,” you say through a mouthful, hand barely covering your mouth. 

Peter laughs at you. “Yeah, well, say it, don’t spray it.” 

“I guess I’ll keep it.” 

“Keep it, bub, I don’t need anything from you.” 

He doesn’t say it the way you’re expecting. “No,” you say, pleased when he sits knee to knee, “you can have it. S’just a bag of chips from Trader–”

“The rolled tortilla chips?” he asks. You nod, and his eyes light up. “You really are the best friend ever.” 

“Better than Harry?” 

“Harry’s rich,” Peter says, “so no. I’m kidding! Joking, come here, let me try some of that.” 

“Eat your own.” 

Peter plays a great host, letting you choose the movies, making lunch, ordering takeout in the evening and refusing to let you pay for it. This isn’t that out of character for Peter, but what shocks you is his complete unfiltered attention. He doesn’t check his phone, the tension you couldn’t name from these last few weeks nowhere to be felt. You’re flummoxed by the sudden change, but you missed him. You won’t look a gift horse in the mouth; you won’t question what it is that had Peter keeping you at arm’s length now it’s gone.

To your annoyance, you can’t stop thinking about Spider-Man. You keep opening your mouth to tell Peter you talked to him but biting your tongue. Why am I keeping it a secret? you wonder. 

“Have something to tell you.” 

“You do?” you ask, reluctant to sit properly, your feet tucked under his thigh and your body completely lax with the weight of the Parker throw. 

“Is that surprising?” 

“Is that a trick question?” 

“No. Just. I’ve been not telling you something.” 

“Okay, so tell me.” 

Peter goes pink, and stiff, a fake smile plastered over his lips. “Me and Gwen, we’re really done.” 

“I know, Pete. She broke up with you for reasons nobody felt I should be enlightened right after graduation.” Your stomach pangs painfully. “Unless you…”

“She’s going to England.” 

“She is?” 

“Oxford.” 

You struggle to sit up. “That sucks, Peter. I’m sorry.” 

“But?” 

You find your words carefully. “You and Gwen really liked each other, but I think that–” You grow in confidence, meeting his eyes firmly. “That there’s always been some part of you that couldn’t actually commit to her. So. I don’t know, maybe some distance will give you clarity. And maybe it’ll break your heart, but at least then you’ll know how you really feel, and you can move forward.” You avoid telling him to move on. 

“It wasn’t Gwen,” he says, which has a completely different meaning to the both of you. 

“Obviously, she’s the smartest girl I’ve ever met. She’s beautiful. Of course it’s not her fault,” you say, teasing.

“Really, that you ever met?” Peter asks. 

“She’s the best girl you were ever gonna land.“ 

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I guess so.” After a few more minutes of quiet, he says, “I think we were done before. I just hadn’t figured it out yet. Something wasn’t right.” 

“You were so back and forth. You’re not mean, there must’ve been something stopping you from going steady,” you agree. “You were breaking up every other week.”

“I know,” he whispers, tipping his head against the back couch. 

“Which, it’s fine, you don’t–” You grimace. “I can’t talk today. Sorry. I just mean that it’s alright that you never made it work.” You worry that sounds plainly obvious and amend, “Doesn’t make you a bad person. You’re never a bad person, Peter.” 

“I know. Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome. You don’t need me to tell you.” 

“It’s nice, though. I like when you tell me stuff. I want all of your secrets.” 

You should say Good, because I have something unbelievable to tell you, and I should’ve said it the moment I got home. 

Good, because last night I met the bravest man in New York City, and he walked me to the store for your chips. 

Good, because I have so much I’m keeping to myself.

You ruffle his hair. Spider-Man goes unmentioned. 

— 

He visits with a whoop. You don’t flinch when he lands —you’d heard the strange whip and splat of his webs landing nearby. 

“Spider-Man,” you say. 

“What’s that about?” 

“What?” 

“The way you said that. You laughed.” Spider-Man stands in spandexed glory before you, mask in place. He’s got a brown stain up the side of his thigh that looks more like mud than blood, but it’s not as though each of his fights are bloodless. They’re infamously gory on occasion.

“Did you get hurt?” you ask. You’re worried. You could help him, if he needs it. 

“Aw, this? That’s a scratch. That’s nothing, don’t worry about it. I’ve had worse from that stray cat living outside of 91st.” 

You look at him sharply. 91st is shorthand for 91st Bodega, and it’s not like you and Peter made it up, but suddenly, the man in front of you is Peter. The way he says it, that unique rhythm. 

Peter’s not so rough-voiced, you argue with yourself. Your Peter speaks in a higher register, dulcet often, only occasionally sarcastic. Spider-Man is rough, and cawing, and loud. Spider-Man acts as though the ground is a suggestion. Peter can’t jump off the second diving board at the pool. Spider-Man rolls his shoulders back in front of you with a confidence Peter rarely has. 

“What?” he asks. 

“Sorry. You just reminded me of someone.” 

His voice falls deeper still. “Someone handsome, I hope.” 

You take a small step around him, hoping it invites him to walk along while communicating how sorely you want to leave the subject behind. When he doesn’t follow, you add, “Yes, he’s handsome.” 

“I knew it.”

“What do you look like under the mask?”

Spider-Man laughs boisterously. “I can’t just tell you that.” 

“No? Do I have to earn it?” 

“It’s not like that. I just don’t tell anyone, ever.” 

“Nobody in the whole world?” you ask. 

The rain is spitting. New York lately is cold cold cold, little in the way of sunshine and no end in sight. Perhaps that’s all November’s are destined to be. You and Spider-Man stick to the inside of the sidewalk. Occasionally, a passerby stares at him, or calls out in Hello, and Spider-Man waves but doesn’t part from you. 

“Tell me something about you and I’ll tell you something about me,” Spider-Man says. “I’ll tell you who knows my identity.” 

“What do you want to know about me?” you ask, surprised. 

“A secret. That’s fair.” 

“Hold on, how’s that fair?” You tighten your scarf against a bitter breeze. “What use do I have for the people who know who you are? That doesn’t bring me any closer to the truth.” 

“It’s not about who knows, it’s about why I told them.” Spider-Man slips around you, forcing you to walk on the inside of the sidewalk as a car pulls past you all too quickly and sends a sheet of dirty rainwater up Spider-Man’s side. He shakes himself off. “Jerk!” he shouts after the car. 

“My secrets aren’t worth anything.”

“I doubt that, but if that’s true, that makes it a fair trade, doesn’t it?” 

He sounds peppy considering the pool of runoff collecting at his feet. You pick up your pace again and say, “Alright, useless secret for a useless secret.” 

You think about all your secrets. Some are odd, some gross. Some might make the people around you think less of you, while others would surely paint you in a nice light. A topaz sort of technicolor. But they aren’t useless, then, so you move on. 

“Oh, I know. I hate my major.” You grin at Spider-Man. “That’s a good one, right? No one else knows about that.” 

“You do?” Spider-Man asks. His voice is familiar, then, for its sympathy. 

“I like science, I just hate math. It’s harder than I thought it would be, and I need so much help it makes me hate the whole thing.” 

Spider-Man doesn’t drag the knife. “Okay. Only three people know who I am under the mask. It was four, briefly.” He clears his throat. “I told one person because I was being selfish and the others out of necessity. I’m trying really hard not to tell anybody else.”

“How come?” 

“It just hurts people.” 

You linger in a gap of silence, not sure what to say. A handful of cars pass you on the road. 

“Tell me another one,” he says. 

“What for?” 

“I don’t know, just tell me one.” 

“How do I know you aren’t extorting me for something?” You grin as you say it, a hint of flirtation. “You’ll know my face and my secrets and even if you tell me a really gory juicy one, I have no one to tell and no name to pair it with.” 

“I’m not showing you anything,” he warns, teasing, sounding so awfully like Peter that your heart trips again, an uneven capering that has you faltering in the street. 

Peter’s shorter, you decide, sizing him up. His voice sounds similar and familiar but Peter doesn’t ask for secrets. He doesn’t have to. (Or, he didn’t have to, once upon a time.) 

“Where are you going?” Spider-Man asks. 

“Oh, nowhere.” 

“Seriously, you’re out here walking again for no reason?” 

“I like to walk. It’s not like it’s dark out yet.” You’re not far at all from Queensboro Hill here. Walking in any direction would lead you to a garden —Flushing Meadows, Kew Gardens, Kissena Park. “Walk me to Kissena?” you ask. 

“Sure, for that secret.” 

You laugh as Spider-Man takes the lead, keeping time with him, a natural match of pace. It’s exciting that Spider-Man of all people wants to know one of your useless secrets enough to ask you twice. The attention of it makes searching for one a matter of how fast you can find one rather than a question of why you’d want to. It slips out before you can think better of it. 

“I burned my wrist a few days ago on a frying pan,” you confess, the phantom pain of the injury an itch. “It blistered and I cried when I did it, but I haven’t told anyone about it.” 

“Why not?” he asks. 

He shouldn’t use that tone with you, like he’s so so sorry. It makes you want to really tell him everything. How insecure you feel, how telling things feels like asking for someone to care, and half the time they don’t, and half the time you’re embarrassed. 

You walk past the bakery that demarcates the beginning of Kissena Park grounds across the way. “I didn’t think about it at first. I’m used to keeping things to myself. And then I didn’t tell anyone for so long that mentioning it now wouldn’t make sense. Like, bringing it up when it’s a scar won’t do much.” It’s a weak lie. It comes out like a spigot to a drying up tree. Glugs, fat beads of sound and the pull to find another thing to say.

“It was only a few days ago, right? It must still hurt. People want to know that stuff.” 

“Maybe I’ll tell someone tomorrow,” you say, though you won’t. 

“Thanks for telling me.”

The humour in spilling a secret like that to a superhero stops you from feeling sorry for yourself. You hide your cold fingers in your coat, rubbing the stiff skin of your knuckles into the lining for friction-heat. The rain has let up, wind whipping empty but brisk against your cheeks. Your lips will be chapped when you get home, whenever that turns out to be. 

“This is pretty far from Trader Joe’s,” he comments, like he’s read your mind. 

“Just an hour.” 

“Are you kidding? It’s an hour for me.” 

“That’s not true, Spider-Man, I’ve seen those webs in action. I still remember watching you on the News that night, the cranes. I remember,” —you try to meet his eyes despite the mask— “my heart in my throat. Weren’t you scared?”

“Is that the secret you want?” he asks. 

“I get to choose?” 

Spider-Man throws his gaze around, his hand behind his head like he might play with his hair. You come to a natural stop across the street from Kissena Park’s playground. Teenagers crowd the soft-landing floor, smaller children playing on the wet rungs of the climbing frame. 

“If you want to,” he says. 

“Then yeah, I want to know if you were scared.” 

“I didn’t haveI time to be scared. Connors was already there, you know?” He shifts from one foot to the other. “I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it before. I wasn’t scared of the height, if that’s what you mean. I already had practice by then, and I knew I had to do it. Like, I didn’t have a choice, so I just did it. I had to save the day, so I did.” 

“When they lined up the cranes–”

“It felt like flying,” Spider-Man interrupts. 

“Like flying.”

You picture the weightlessness, the adrenaline, the catch of your weight so high up and the pressure of being flung between the next point. The idea that you have to just do something, so you do. 

“That’s a good secret.” You offer a grateful smile. “It doesn’t feel equal. I burned myself and you saved the city.” 

“So tell me another one,” he says. 

—

Maybe you started to fall for Peter after his Uncle Ben passed away. Not the days where you’d text him and he’d ignore you, or the days spent camping outside of his house waiting for him to get home. It wasn’t that you couldn’t like him, angry as he was; there’s always been something about his eyes when he’s upset that sticks around. You loathe to see him sad but he really is pretty, and when his eyelashes are wet and his mouth is turned down, formidable, it’s an ache. A Cabanel painting, dramatic and dark and other. 

It was after. When he started sending Gwen weird smiles and showing up to the movies exhilarated, out of breath, unwilling to tell you where he’d been. Skating, he’d always say. Most of the time he didn’t have his skateboard. 

You’d only seen them kiss once, his hand on her shoulder curling her in, a pang of heat. You were curdled by jealousy but it was more than that. Peter was tipping her head back, was kissing her soundly, a fierceness from him that made you sick to think about. You spent weeks afterwards up at night, tossing, turning, wishing he’d kiss you like that, just once, so you could feel how it felt to be completely wrapped up in another person. 

You’d always held out for Peter, in a way. It was more important to you that he be your friend. You were young, and love had been a far off thing, and then one day you suddenly wanted it. You learned just how aching an unrequited love could be, like a bruise, where every time you saw Peter —whether it be alone or with Gwen, with anyone— it was like he knew exactly where to poke the bruise. Press the heel of his hand and push. The worst is when he found himself affectionate with you, a quick clasp of your cheek in his palm as he said goodbye. Nights spent in his twin bed, of course you’ll fit, of course you couldn’t go home, not this late, May won’t care if we keep the door open —the suggestion that the door being closed might’ve meant something. His sleeping arm furled around you. 

Now you’re nearing the end of your second semester at ESU, Gwen is going to England at the end of the year, and Peter hasn’t tried to stop her, but he’s still busy. 

“Whatever,“ you say, taking a deep breath. You’re not mad at Peter, you just miss him. Thinking about him all the time won’t change a thing. “It’s fine.” 

“I’d hope so.” 

You swing around. “Don’t do that!”

Spider-Man looks vaguely chastened, taking a step back. “I called out.” 

“You did?” 

“I did. Hey, miss, over there! The one who doesn’t know how to get a goddamn taxi!” 

“I like to walk,” you say. 

“Yeah, so you’ve said. Have you considered that all this walking is bad for you? It’s freezing out, Miss Bennett!” 

“It’s not that bad.” You have your coat, a scarf, your thermal leggings underneath your jeans. “I’m fine.” 

“What’s wrong with staying at home?” 

“That’s not good for you. And you’re one to talk, Spider-Man, aren’t you out on the streets every night? You should take a day off.” 

“I don’t do this every night.” 

“Don’t you get tired?”

Spider-Man’s eyelets seem to squint, his mock-anger effusive as he crosses his arms across his chest. “No, of course not. Do I look like I get tired?” 

“I don’t know. You’re in a full suit, I can’t tell. I guess you don’t… seem tired. You know, with all the backflips.” 

“Want me to do one?” 

“On command?” You laugh. “No, that’s okay. Save your strength, Spider-Man.” 

“So where are you heading today?” he asks. 

There’s a slip of skin peeking out against his neck. You’re surprised he can’t feel the cold there, stepping toward him to point. “I can see your stubble.” 

He yanks his mask down. “Hasty getaway.” 

“A getaway, undressed? Spider-Man, that’s not very gentlemanly.” 

You start to walk toward the Cinemart. Spider-Man, to your strange pleasure, follows. He walks with considerable casualness down the sidewalk by your left, occasionally letting his head turn to chase a distant sound where it echoes from between high-rises and along the busy street. It’s cold and dark, but New York is hectic no matter what, even the residential areas. (Is there such a thing? The neighbourhoods burst with small businesses and backstreet sales, no matter the time.)

“Luckily for you, crime is slow tonight,” he says. 

“Lucky me?” You wonder if your acquainted vigilante flirts with every girl he stalks. “You realise I’ve managed to get everywhere I’m going for the last two decades without help?” 

“I assume there was more than a little help during that first decade.” 

“That’s what you think. I was a super independent toddler.” 

Spider-Man tips his head back and laughs, but that laugh is quickly squashed with a cough. “Sure you were.” 

“Is there a reason you’re escorting me, Spider-Man?” you ask. 

“No. I– I recognised you, I thought I’d say hi.” 

“Hi, Spider-Man.” 

“Hi.” 

“Can I ask you something? Do you work?” 

Spider-Man stammers again, “I– yeah. I work. Freelance, mostly.” 

“I was wondering how you fit all the crime fighting into your life, is all. University is tough enough.” You let the wind bat your scarf off of your shoulder. “I couldn’t do what you do.” 

“Yeah, you could.” 

He sounds sure. 

“How would you know?” you ask. “Maybe I’m awful when you’re not walking me around. I hate New York. I hate people.” 

“No, you don’t. You’re not awful. Don’t ask me how I know, ‘cos I just know.” 

You try not to look at him. If you look at him, you’re gonna smile at him like he hung the moon. “Well, tonight I’m going to be dreadfully selfish. My friend said he’d buy my movie ticket and take me out for dinner, a real dinner, the mac and cheese with imitation lobster at Benny’s. Have you tried that?” 

Spider-Man takes a big step. “Tonight?” he asks. 

“Yep, tonight. That’s where I’m going, the Cinemart.” You frown at his hand pressing into his stomach. “Are you okay? You look like you’re gonna throw up.” 

“I can hear– something. Someone’s crying. I gotta go, okay? Have fun at the movies, okay?” He throws his arm up, a silken web shooting from his wrist to the third floor of an apartment complex. “Bye!” he shouts, taking a running jump to the apartment, using his web as an anchor. He flings himself over the roof. 

Woah, you think, warmth filling your cold cheeks, the tip of your nose. He’s lithe.  

Peter arrives ten minutes late for the movie, which is half an hour later than you’d agreed to meet. 

“Sorry!” he shouts, breathless as he grabs your hands. “God, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry. You should beat me up. I’m sorry.” 

“What the fuck happened?” you ask, not particularly angry, only relieved to see him with enough time to still catch the movie. “You’re sweating like crazy, your hair’s wet.” 

“I ran all the way here, Jesus, do I smell bad? Don’t answer that. Fuck, do we have time?” 

You usher Peter inside. He pays for the tickets with hands shaking and you attempt to wipe the sweat from his forehead with your sleeve. “You could’ve called me,” you say, content to let him grab you by the arm and race you to the screen doors, “we could’ve caught the next one. Why were you so late, anyways? Did you forget?” 

“Forget about my favourite girl? How could I?” He elbows open the doors to let you enter first. “Now shh,” he whispers, “find the seats, don’t miss the trailers. You love them.” 

“You love them–”

“I’ll get popcorn,” he promises, letting the door close between you. 

You’re tempted to follow, fingers an inch from the handle. 

You turn away and rush to find your seats. Hopefully, the popcorn line is ten blocks long, and he spends the night punished for his wrongdoing. My favourite girl. You laugh nervously into your hand. 

—

Winter 

Spider-Man finds you at least once a week for the next few weeks. He even brings you an umbrella one time, stars on the handle, asking you rather politely to go home. He offers to buy you a hot dog as you’re walking past the stand, takes you on a shortcut to the convenience store, and helps you get a piece of gum off of your shoe with a leaf and a scared scream. He’s friendly, and you’re getting used to his company. 

One night, you’re almost home from Trader Joe’s, racing in the pouring rain when a familiar voice calls out, “Hey! Running girl! Wait a second!” 

Him, you think, as ridiculous as it sounds. You don’t know his name, but Spider-Man’s a sunny surprise in a shitty, wet winter, and you turn to the sound with a grin.

He jogs toward you. 

You feel the world pause, right in the centre of your throat. All the air gets sucked out of you. 

“Hey, what are you doing out here? Did you get my texts?” 

You blink as fat rain lands on your face. 

“You okay?” Peter asks, Peter, in a navy hoodie turning black in the rain and a brown corduroy jacket. It’s sodden, hanging heavily around his shoulders. “Come on, let’s go,” —he takes your hand and pulls until you begin to speed walk beside him— “it’s freezing!” 

“Peter–”

“Jesus Christ!” 

“Peter, what are you doing here?” you ask, your voice an echo as he drags you into the foyer of your apartment building. 

Rain hammers the door as he closes it, the windows, the foyer too dark to see properly. 

“I wanted to see you. Is that allowed?” 

“No.” 

Peter takes your hand. You look down at it, and he looks down in tandem, and it is decidedly a non-platonic move. “No?” he asks, a hair’s width from murmuring. 

“Shit, my groceries are soaked.” 

“It’s all snacks, it’s fine,” he says, pulling you to the stairs. 

You rush up the steps together to your floor. Peter takes your key when you offer it, your own fingers too stiff to manage it by yourself, and he holds the door open for you again to let you in. 

Your apartment is a ragtag assortment to match the one next door, old wooden furniture wheeled from the street corners they were left on, thrifted homeward and heavy blankets everywhere you look. You almost slip getting out of your shoes. Peter steadies you with a firm hand. He shrugs out of his coat and hangs it on the hook, prying the damp hoodie over his head and exposing a solid length of back that trips your heart as you do the same. 

“Sorry I didn’t ask,” Peter says. 

“What, to come over? It’s fine. I like you being here, you know that.” 

All your favourite days were spent here or at Peter’s house, in beds, on sofas, his hair tickling your neck as credits run down the TV and his breath evens to a light snore. You try to settle down with him, changing into dry clothes, his spare stuff left at the bottom of your wardrobe for his next inevitable impromptu visit. You turn on the TV, letting him gather you into his side with more familiarity than ever. Rain lays its fingertips on your window and draws lazy lines behind half-turned blinds. You rest on the arm and watch Peter watch the movie, answering his occasional, “You okay?” with a meagre nod. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks eventually. “You’re so quiet.” 

Your hand over your mouth, you part your marriage and pinky finger, marriage at the corner, pinky pressed to your bottom lip, the flesh chapped by a season of frigid winds and long walks. “‘M thinking,” you say. 

“About?” 

About the first night in your new apartment. You got the apartment a couple of weeks before the start of ESU. Not particularly close to the university but close to Peter, your best, nicest friend. You met in your second year of High School, before Peter got contacts, ‘cos he was good at taking photographs and you were in charge of the school newspapers media sourcing. You used to wait for Peter to show up ten minutes late like clockwork, every week. And every week he’d barge into the club room and say, “Fuck, I’m sorry, my last class is on the other side of the building,” until it turned into its own joke. 

Three years later, you got your apartment, and Peter insisted you throw a housewarming party even if he was the only person invited. 

“Fuck,” he’d said, ten minutes late, a cake in one hand and a whicker basket the other, “sorry. My last class is on–”

But he didn’t finish. You’d laughed so hard with relief at the reference that he never got the chance. Peter remembered your very first inside joke, because Peter wasn’t about to go off to ESU and meet new friends and forget you. 

But Peter’s been distant for a while now, because Peter’s Spider-Man. 

“Do you remember,” you say, not willing to share the whole truth, “when you joined the school newspaper to be the official photographer, and you taught me the rule of thirds?” 

“So you didn’t need me,” he says. 

“I was just thinking about it. We ran that newspaper like the Navy.” 

Peter holds your gaze. “Is that really what you were thinking about?” 

“Just funny,” you murmur, dropping your hand in your lap and breaking his stare. “So much has changed.” 

“Not that much.” 

“Not for me, no.” 

Peter gets a look in his eyes you know well. He’s found a crack in you and he’s gonna smooth it over until you feel better. You’re expecting his soft tone, his loving smile, but you’re not expecting the way he pulls you in —you’d slipped away from him as the evening went on, but Peter erases every millimetre of space as he slides his arm under your lower back and ushers you into his side. You hold your breath as he hugs you, as he looks down at you. It’s really like he loves you, the line between platonic and romantic a blur. He’s never looked at you like this before.

“I don’t want you to change,” he whispers. 

“I want to catch up with you,” you whisper back. 

“Catch up with me? We’re in the exact same place, aren’t we?”

“I don’t know, are we?” 

Peter hugs you closer, squishing your head down against his jaw as he rubs your shoulder. “Of course we are.” 

Peter… What is he doing? 

You let yourself relax against him. 

“You do change,” he whispers, an utterance of sound to calm that awful bruise he gave you all those months ago, “you change every day, but you don’t need to try.” 

“I just… feel like everyone around me is…” You shake your head. “Everyone’s so smart, and they know what they’re doing, or they’re– they’re special. I don’t know anything. So I guess lately I’ve been thinking about that, and then you–”

“What?” 

You can say it out loud. You could. 

“Peter, you’re…” 

“I’m what?” he asks. 

His fingers glide down the length of your arm and up again. 

If you're wrong, he’ll laugh. And if you’re right, he might– might stop touching you. Your head feels so heavy, and his touch feels like it’s gonna put you to sleep. 

He’s Spider-Man. 

It makes sense. Who else could have a good enough heart to do that? Of course it’s Peter. It explains so much about him, about Peter and Spider-Man both. Why Peter is suddenly firmer, lighter on his feet, why he can help you move a wardrobe up two flights of stairs without complaint; why Spider-Man is so kind to you, why he knows where to find you, why he rolls his words around just like Pete. 

Spider-Man said there are reasons he wears his mask. And Peter doesn’t tell you much, but you trust him. 

You won’t make him say anything, you decide. Not now. 

You curl your arm over his stomach hesitantly, smiling into his shirt as he hugs you tighter. 

“I was thinking about you,” he says. 

“Yeah?” 

“You’re quieter lately. I know you’re having a hard time right now, okay? You don’t have to tell me. I’m here for you whenever you need me.” 

“Yeah?” you ask.

“You used to sit on my porch when you knew May wouldn’t be home to make sure I wasn’t alone.” Peter’s breath is warm on your forehead. “I don’t know what you’re worried about being, but I’m with you,” he says, “‘n nothing is gonna change that.” 

Peter isn’t as far away as you thought. 

“Thank you,” you say. 

He kisses your forehead softly. Your whole world goes amber. He brings his hand to your cheek, the thought of him tipping your head back sudden and heart-racing, but Peter only holds you. You lose count of how many minutes you spend cupped in his hand. 

“Can I stay over tonight?” he utters, barely audible under the sound of the battering rain. 

“Yeah, please.” 

His thumb strokes your cheek. 

—

Two switches flip at once, that night. Peter is suddenly as tactile as you’ve craved, and Spider-Man disappears. 

He’s alive and well, as evidenced by Peter’s continued survival and presence in your life, but Spider-Man doesn’t drop in on your nightly walks. 

You take less of them lately, feeling better in yourself. Your spirits are certainly lifted by Peter’s increasing affection, but now that you know he’s Spider-Man you were waiting to see him in spandex to mess with his head. Nothing mean, but you would’ve liked to pick at his secret identity, toy with him like you know he’d do to you. After all, he’s been trailing you for weeks and getting to know you. Peter already knows you. Plus, you told Spider-Man secrets not meant for Peter Parker’s ears. 

You find it hard to be angry with him. A thread of it remains whenever you remember his deception, but mostly you worry about him. Peter’s out every night until who knows what hour fighting crime. There are guns. He could get shot, and he doesn’t seem scared. You end up watching videos on the internet of the night he ran to Oscorp, when he fought Connors’ and got that huge gash in his leg. His leg is soiled deep red with blood but banded in white webbing. He limps as he races across a rooftop, the recording shaky yet high definition. 

It’s not nice to see Peter in pain. You cling to what he’d said, how he wasn’t scared, but not being scared doesn’t mean he wasn’t hurting. 

You chew the tip of a finger and click on a different video. Your computer monitor bears heat, the tower whirring by your thigh. Your eyes burn, another hour sitting in the same seat, sick with worry. You don’t mind when Peter doesn’t answer your texts anymore. You didn’t mind so much before, just terrified of becoming an irrelevance in his life and lonely, too, maybe a little hurt, but never worried for his safety. Now when Peter doesn’t text you back you convince yourself that he’s been hurt, or that he’s swinging across New York City about to risk his life.

It’s not a good way to live. You can’t stop giving into it, is all. 

In the next video, Spider-Man sits on a billboard with a can of coke in hand. He doesn’t lift his mask, seemingly aware of his watcher. You laugh as he angles his head down, suspicion in his tight shoulders. He relaxes when he sees whoever it is recording. 

“Hey,” he says, “you all right?” 

“Should you be up there?” the person recording shouts. 

“I’m fine up here!” 

“Are you really Spider-Man?” 

“Sure am.” 

“Are you single?” 

Peter laughs like crazy. How you didn’t know it was him before is a mystery —it couldn’t sound more like him. “I’ve got my eye on someone!” he says, sounding younger for it, the character voice he enacts when he’s Spider-Man lost to a good mood.  

Your phone rings in the back pocket of your jeans. You wriggle it out, nonplussed to find Peter himself on your screen. You click the green answer button. 

“Hello?” Peter asks. 

You bring the phone snug to your ear. “Hey, Peter.” 

“Hi, are you busy?” 

“Not really.” 

“Do you wanna come over? I know it’s late. Come stay the night and tomorrow we’ll go out for breakfast.” 

“Is Aunt May okay with that?” 

“She’s staring at me right now shaking her head, but I’m in trouble for something. May, can she come over, is that allowed?” 

“She’s always allowed as long as you keep the door open.”

You laugh under your breath at May’s begrudging answer. “Are you sure she’s alright with it?” you ask softly. “I don’t want to be a burden.” 

“You never, ever could be. I’m coming to your place and we’ll walk over together. Did you eat dinner?” 

“Not yet, but–”

“Okay, I’ll make you something when you get here. I’ll meet you at the door. Twenty minutes?” 

“I have to shower first.” 

“Twenty five?” 

You choke on a laugh, a weird bubbly thing you’re not used to. Peter laughs on the other side of the phone. “How about I’ll see you at seven?” 

“It’s a date,” he says. 

“Mm, put it in your calendar, Parker.” 

—

Peter waits for you at the door like he promised. He frowns at your still-wet face as he slips your backpack from your shoulder, throwing it over his own. “You’re gonna get sick.” 

“I‘ll dry fast,” you say. “I took too long finding my pyjamas.” 

“I have stuff you can wear. Probably have your sweatpants somewhere, the grey ones.” Peter pulls you forward and wipes your tacky face. “I would’ve waited,” he says. 

“It’s fine.“

“It’s not fine. Are you cold?” 

“Pete, it’s fine.” 

“You always remind me of my Uncle Ben when you call me Pete,” he laughs, “super stern.” 

“I’m not stern. Look, take me home, please, I’m cold.” 

“You said it wasn’t cold!” 

“It’s not, I’m just damp–” Peter cuts you off as he grabs you, sudden and tight, arms around you and rubbing the lengths of your back through your coat. “Handsy!”

“You like it,” he jokes back, his playful warming turning into a hug. You smile, hiding your face in his neck for a few moments. 

“I don’t like it,” you lie. 

“Okay, you don’t like it, and I’m sorry.” Peter gives you a last hug and pulls away. “Now let’s go. I gotta feed you before midnight.” 

“That’s not funny.” 

“Apparently, nothing is.” 

Peter links your arms together. By the time you get to his house, you’ve fallen away from each other naturally. May is in the hallway when you climb through the door, an empty laundry basket in her hands. 

“I see Peter hasn’t won this argument yet,” you say in way of greeting. Peter’s desperate to do his own laundry now he’s getting older. May won’t let him. 

“No, he hasn’t.” She looks you up and down. “It’s nice to see you, honey. And in one piece! Peter tells me you’ve been walking a lot, and I mean, in this city? Can’t you buy a treadmill?” she asks. 

“May!” Peter says, startled. 

“I like walking, I like the air,” you say.

“Can’t exactly call it fresh,” May says. 

“No, but it’s alright. It helps me think.” 

“Is everything okay?” May asks, putting her hand on her hip. 

“Of course.” You smile at her genuinely. “I think starting college was too much for me? It was hard. But things are settling now, I don’t know what Peter told you, but I’m not walking a lot anymore. You know, not more than necessary.”

She softens her disapproving. “Good, honey. That’s good. Peter’s gonna make you some dinner now, right?” 

“Yeah, Aunt May, I’m gonna make dinner,” Peter sighs, pulling a leg up to take off his shoes. 

Peter shouldn’t really know that you’ve been walking. He might see you coming back from Trader Joe’s or the bodega on his way to your apartment, but you haven’t mentioned any of your longer excursions, and everybody in Queens has to walk. That’s information he wouldn’t know without Spider-Man. 

He seems to be hoping you won’t realise, changing the subject to the frankly killer grilled cheese and tomato soup that he’s about to make you, and pushing you into a chair at the table. “Warm up,” he says near the back of your head, forcing a wave of shivers down your arms.

He makes soup in one pan, grilled cheese in the other, two for him and two for you. Peter’s a good eater, and he encourages the same from you, setting a big bowl of tomato soup (from the can, splash of fresh cream) down in front of you with the grilled cheese on a plate between you. You eat it in too-hot bites and try not to get caught looking at him. He does the same, but when he catches you, or when you catch him, he holds your eye and smiles. 

“I can do the dishes,” you say. You might need a breather. 

“Are you kidding? I’m gonna rinse them, put them in the dishwasher.” Peter stands and feels your forehead with his hand. “Warmer. Good job.” 

You shrug away from his hand. “Loser.” 

“Concerned friend.” 

“Handsy loser.” 

”Shut up,” he mumbles. 

As flustered as you’ve ever seen, Peter takes your empty dishes to the kitchen. When he’s done rinsing them off you follow him upstairs to his bedroom and tuck your backpack under his bed. 

You look down at your socks. Peter’s room is on the smaller side, but it’s never been as startlingly small as it is when Peter’s socked feet align with yours, toe to toe. Quick recovery time, this boy. 

“There’s chips and stuff on my desk. Or I could run to 91st for some ice cream sandwiches if you want something sweet,” he says. 

You lift your eyes, tilt your head up just a touch, not wanting him to think you’re in his space no matter how strange that might be, considering he chose to stand there. “I’m all right. Did you want ice cream? We can go if you want to, but if you want to go ’cos you think I do then I’m fine.” 

“That’s such a long answer,” he says, draping an arm over your shoulder. “You don’t have to say all of that, just tell me no.” 

“I don’t want ice cream.” 

“Wasn’t that easy?” he asks. 

“Well, no, it wasn’t. Saying no to you is like saying no to a puppy.” 

“Because I’m adorable?” 

“Persistent.” 

“Yeah, I guess I am.” He drapes the other arm over you. The soap he used at the kitchen sink lingers on his hands. 

“Peter…?” you murmur. 

“What?” he murmurs back. 

You touch a knuckle to his chest. “This– You…” Every quelled thought rushes to the surface at once —Peter doesn’t like you as you desire, how could he, you aren’t beautiful like he is, aren’t smart, aren’t brave, no exceptional kindness or goodness to mark you enough for him. It’s why his being with Gwen didn’t hurt; she made sense. And for months now you’ve wondered what it is that made him struggle to be with her. And sometimes, foolishly, you wondered if it was you. But it’s not you, it’s never you, and whatever Peter’s trying to do now–

“Hey, you okay?” he asks, taking your face into his hand. 

“What are you doing?” 

“What?” He pushes his hand back to hold your nape, thumb under your ear. “I can’t hear you.”  

You raise your voice. “Why did you invite me over tonight?” 

“‘Cos I missed you?” 

“I used to think you didn’t miss me at all.” 

Peter winces, hurt. “How could you think that? Of course I miss you. What you said to May, about college being hard? It’s like that for me too, okay? I miss you all the time.” 

You bite the inside of your bottom lip. “…College isn’t hard for you.” 

“It’s not easy.” He frowns, the fallen angel, his lips an unsure brushstroke. “What’s wrong? Did I say the wrong thing?” 

You’re being wretched, you know, saying it isn’t hard for him. “You didn’t. Really, you didn’t.” 

“But why are you upset?” he implores, dark eyes darker as his eyebrows tug together.

“I’m not–”

“You are. It’s okay, you can be upset. I just want you to feel better, you know that?” He settles his hands at the tops of your arms. Less intimate, but something warm remains. “Even if it takes a long time.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“You’re not fine.”

“How would you know?” you finally ask. 

Peter stares at you. 

“I know you,” he says carefully, “and I know you aren’t struggling like you were, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen or that you have to be a hundred percent better now.” 

“I didn’t realise that I was,” you say, licking your lips, “‘til now. I didn’t get that it was on the surface.”

Peter pulls you in for a gentle hug. “I’m here for you forever, and I’ll make it up to you for not noticing sooner,” he says, scrunching your shirt in his hand.

After the hug, he tells you to change and make yourself comfortable while he showers. So you put on your pyjamas and climb into Peter’s bed, head pounding as though all your energy was stolen in a fell swoop. You press your nose to his pillow and arm wrapped around his comforter, gathering it into a Peter sized lump. The shower pump whines against the shared wall. 

Things aren’t meant to be like this. You thought Peter touching you —holding you— was the deepest of your desires, but you feel now exactly as you had before he started blurring the line, needing Peter to kiss you so badly it becomes its own kind of nausea. Why are you still acting like it’s an impossibility?

When he comes back, you’ll apologise. He hasn’t done anything wrong. He does keep a secret, but don’t you keep one too? He’s Spider-Man. You’ve had deep, complicated feelings for him for months. They are secrets of equal magnitude, and are, more apparently, badly kept. 

You wish you could fall asleep. Your heart ticks in agitation.

Peter returns as perturbed as earlier. 

“Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?” he asks, raking a hand through his hair. A towel hangs around his neck. 

“I’m sorry for being weird.” 

“You’re not weird,” Peter says, bringing the towel to his hair to scrub ruthlessly. 

“It’s just ‘cos things have been different between us.” And, you try to say, that scares me no matter how bad I wanted it. because you’re not just Peter anymore, you’re Spider-Man. I’m only me, and I can’t do anything to protect you.

Peter gives his hair a long scrub before draping the towel on his desk chair. He rakes it messily into place and sits himself at the end of the bed. You sit up. 

“Yeah, they have been. Good different?” he asks hesitantly. 

“I think so,” you say, quiet again. 

“That’s what I thought.” 

“I don’t want you to feel like I don’t want to be here. I just worry about you.” 

Peter uses his hands to get higher up the bed. “Don’t worry about me,” he says, “Jesus, please don’t. That’s the last thing I want from you, I hate when people worry about me.” 

You curl into the lump of comforter you’d made. Peter lets himself rest beside you, his back to the bedroom wall, tens of Polaroids above him shining with the light of the hallway and his orange-bulbed lamp. His skin is glowing like it’s golden hour, dashes of topaz in his eyes, his Cupid’s bow deep. How would it feel to lean forward and kiss him? To catch his Cupid's bow under your lips?

You brush a damp curl tangled in another onto his forehead. 

You lay there for a little while without talking, listening to the sound of the washing machine as it cycles downstairs. 

“Am I going too fast?” Peter murmurs. 

You press your lips together, shaking your head minutely. 

“Is it something else?” 

You don’t move. 

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks. 

“No.”

Peter rewards you with a smile, his hand on your arm. “Alright. Let me get this blanket on you the right way. You’re still cold.” 

You resent the loss of a shape to hold when Peter slips down beside you and wrangles the comforter flat again, spreading it out over you both, his hand under the blankets. His knuckles brush your thigh. 

He takes a deep breath before turning and wrapping his arm over your stomach, asking softly, “Is this alright?” 

“Yeah.” 

He gives you a look and then lifts his head to slot his nose against your temple. “Please don’t take this in a way that I don’t mean it, but sometimes you think about things so much I worry you’re gonna get stuck in your head forever.��� 

“I like thinking.” 

“I hate it,” he says quickly, a fervent, flirting cadence to his otherwise dulcet tone, “we should never do it ever again.” 

“I’ll try not to.” 

“Would you? For me?” 

You laugh into his shirt, feeling the warmth of your breath on your own nose. “I’ll do my best.” 

“Good. I’d miss you too much if you got lost in that nice head of yours.” 

You relax under his arm. You aren’t sure what all the fuss was about now that he's hugging you. “I’d miss you too.”

May comes up the stairs about an hour later. To her credit, she doesn’t flinch when she finds you and Peter smushed together watching a DVD on his old TV. He’s holding your arm, and you’re snoozing on his shoulder, half-aware of the world, fully aware of his nice smells and the shapes of his arms. 

“Door open,” she says. 

“Not that either of us want it closed, May, but we’re adults.” 

“Not while I’m still washing your clothes, you’re not.” 

He snorts. “Goodnight, Aunt May. The door isn’t gonna close, I promise.” 

“I know that,” she says, scornful in her pride. “You’re a good boy.” She lightens. “Things are going okay?” 

Peter covers your ear. “Goodnight, Aunt May.” 

”I have half a mind to never listen to you again. You talk my ear off and I can’t ask a simple question?” 

“I love you,” Peter sing-songs. 

“I love you, Peter,” she says. “Don’t smother the girl.” 

“I won’t smother her. It’s in my best interest that she survives the night. She’s buying my breakfast tomorrow.” 

“Peter Parker.” 

“I’m kidding,” he whispers, petting your cheek absentmindedly. “Just messing with you, May.” 

You smile and curl further into his arms. His voice is like the sun, even when he whispers.  

—

To your surprise, Spider-Man comes to find you after class one evening. A guest lecturer had talked to your oncology class about click chemistry and other molecular therapies against cancer, and the zine book she’d given you is burning a hole in your pocket. Peter is going to love it. 

You pull it out and pause beside a bench and a silver trash can, the day grey but thankfully without rain. The pages of your little book whip forcefully in the wind. It’s chemistry, sure, but it’s biology too, wrapping your and Peter’s interests up neatly. If it weren’t for Peter you doubt you’d love science as much as you do. He’s always been good at it, but since you started college he's been a genius. Watching him grow has encouraged you to work harder, and understanding the material is satisfying, if draining. You take a photo of the middle most pages and tuck the book away, writing a quick text to Peter to send with it. 

Look! it says, LEGO cancer treatment!! 

The moment you press send a beep chimes from somewhere close behind you, all too familiar. You turn to the source but find nobody you know waiting. Coincidence, you think, shaking yourself and beginning the trek to the subway. 

But then you hear the tell tale splat and thwick of Spider-Man’s webbing. 

You wait until you’re at the alleyway between Porto’s Bakery and the key cutting shop and turn down to stop by one of the dumpsters. 

“Spider-Man?” you ask, shoulders tensed in case it’s not who you think. 

“What are you doing?” he asks.

You gasp as he hops down in front of you, his suit shiny with its dark web-pattern caught by the grey sunshine passing through the clouds overhead. “Shit, don’t break your ankles.” 

“My ankles?” He laughs. He sounds so much like Peter that you can only laugh with him. What an idiot he is for thinking you don’t know; what a fool you’d been for falling for his put upon tenor. “They’re fine. What would be wrong with my ankles?” 

“You just dropped down twenty feet!” 

“It’s more like thirty, and I’m fine. You understand the super part of superhero, don’t you?” 

“Who said you’re a superhero?” 

“Nice. What are you doing down here?” 

“I was testing my theory. You’re following me.” 

“No, I’m visiting you, it’s very different,” he says confidently. 

“You haven’t come to see me for weeks.” 

“Yes, well, I–” Spider-Peter crosses his arms across his chest. “Hey, you’re the one who told me to take a day off.” 

“I did tell you to take a day off. It’s not nice thinking about you trying to save the world every single night. That’s a lot of responsibility for one person to have.” 

“But it’s my responsibility,” he says easily. “No point in a beautiful girl like you wasting her time worrying about it. I have to do it, and I don’t mind it.” 

“Do you flirt with every girl you meet out here in the city?” you ask, cheeks hot. 

“No,” he says, fondness evident even through the mask, “just you.” 

“Do you wanna walk me home? I was gonna take the subway, but it’s not that far.” 

Spider-Man nods. “Yeah, I’ll walk you back.” 

He doesn’t hide that he knows the way very well. He takes preemptive turns, crosses roads without you telling him to go forward. You can’t believe him. Smartest guy at Midtown High and he can’t pretend to save his life. 

“Are you having a good semester?” he asks. 

“It’s getting better. I’m glad I stuck with it. I love biology, it’s so fucking hard. I used to think that was a bad thing, but it makes it cooler now. Like, it’s not something everyone understands.” You give him a look, and you give into temptation. “My best friend got me into all this stuff. I used to think math was hopeless and science was for dorks.” 

“It’s definitely for dorks.” 

“Right, but I love being one.” You offer a useless secret. “I like to think that it’s why we’re such great friends.” 

“Me and you?” Spider-Man asks hoarsely. 

“Me and Peter.” You elbow him without force. “Why, do you like science?” 

“I love it…” 

“You know, I really like you, Spider-Man. I feel like we’ve been friends for a long time.” You’re teasing poor Peter. 

He doesn’t speak for a while. He stops walking, but you take a few steps without him. When you realise he’s stopped, you turn back to see him. 

Peter’s gone so tense you could strike him with a flint and catch a spark. It’s the same way Peter looked at you when he told you about his Uncle, a truth he didn’t want to be true. Seeing it throws a spanner in the works of all your teasing: you’d meant to wind him up, not make him panic. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask. “Can you hear something?” 

“No, it’s not that…” He’s masked, but you know him well enough to understand why he’s stopped. 

“It’s okay,” you say. 

“It’s not, actually.” 

“Spider-Man.” You take a step toward him. “It’s fine.”

He presses his hands to his stomach. The sun is setting early, and in an hour, the dark will eat up New York and leave it in a blistering cold. “Do you remember when we first met, the second time, we swapped secrets?” 

“Yeah, I remember. Useless secret for another. I told you I hated my major. It’s not true anymore, obviously. I was having a bad time.” 

“I know you were,” he says, emphasis on know, like it’s a different word entirely. 

“But meeting you really helped. If it weren’t for you, for Peter,” —you give him a searching look— “I wouldn’t feel better at all.” 

“It wasn’t his fault?” he asks. “He was your friend, and you were lonely.” 

“No–”

“He didn’t know what was going on with you, he didn’t have a clue. You hurt yourself and you felt like you couldn’t tell anybody, and I know it wasn’t an accident, so what was his excuse?” His voice burns with anger. “It’s his fault.” 

“Of course it wasn’t your fault. Is that what you think?” You shake your head, panicked by the bone-deep self loathing in his voice, his shameful dropped head. “Yes, I was lonely, I am lonely, I don’t know many people and I– I– I hurt myself, and it wasn’t as accidental as I thought it was, but why would that be your fault?” 

“Peter’s fault,” he says, though his head is lifted now, and he doesn’t bother enthusing it with much gusto. 

“Peter, none of it was your fault.” You cringe in your embarrassment, thinking Fuck, don’t let me ruin this. “I was in a weird way, and yes, I was lonely, and I really liked you more than I should have. You didn't want me and that wasn’t your fault, that’s just how it was, I tried not to let it get to me, just there were a lot of things weighing on me at once, but it really wasn’t as bad as you think it was and it wasn’t your fault.” 

“I wasn’t there for you,” he says. “And I’ve been lying to you for a long time.” 

“You couldn’t tell me, right? Spider-Man is your secret for a reason.” 

“…I didn’t even know you were lonely until you told him. He was a stranger.” 

You hold your hands behind your back. “Well, he was a familiar one.” 

Peter reaches out as though wanting to touch you, but your arms aren’t in his reach. “It’s not because I didn’t want you.” 

“Peter,” you say, squirming. 

He steps back. 

“I have to go,” he says. 

“What?” 

“I have to– I don’t want to go,” he says earnestly, “sweetheart, I can hear someone calling out, I have to go. But I’ll come back, I’ll– I’ll come back,” he promises. 

And with a sudden lift of his arm, Peter pulls himself up the side of a building and disappears, leaving you whiplashed on the sidewalk, the sun setting just out of view.

—

You fall asleep that night waiting for Peter. When you wake up, 5AM, eyes aching, he isn’t there. You check your phone but he hasn’t texted. You check the Bugle and Spider-Man hasn’t been seen. 

You aren’t sure what to think. He sounded sincere to the fullest extent when he said he’d come back, but he didn’t, not ten minutes later, not twenty. You made excuses and you went home before it got too dark to see the street, sat on the couch rehearsing what you’d say. How could Peter think your unhappiness was his fault? Why does he always put the entire world on his shoulders?

Selfishly, you worried what it all meant for his lazy touches. Would he want to curl up into bed with you again now he knows what it means to you? It’s different for him. It isn’t like he’s in love with you… you’d just thought maybe he could be. That this was falling in love, real love, not the unrequited ache you’d suffered before. 

But maybe you got everything wrong. All of it. It wouldn't be the first time. 

—

You and Peter found The Moroccan Mode in your senior year at Midtown. The school library was small and you were sick of being underfoot at home. When you started at ESU, you explored the on campus coffeehouse, the Coffee Bean, but it was crowded, and you’d found yourself attached to the Mode’s beautiful tiling, blues and topaz and platinum golds, its heavy, oiled wooden furniture, stained glass lampshades and the case full of lemony treats. The coffee here is better than anywhere else, but the best part out of everything is that it’s your secret. Barely anybody comes to the Mode on purpose. 

You hide in a far corner with a book and an empty cup of decaf coffee, a slice of meskouta on the table untouched. Decaf because caffeine felt a terrible idea, meskouta untouched because you can’t stomach the smell. You push it to the opposite end of the table, considering another cup of coffee instead. It’s served slightly too hot, and will still be warm when it gets to your chest. 

The sunshine is creeping in slowly. It feels like the first time you’ve seen it in months, warming rays kissing your fingers and lining the walls. You turn a page, turn your wrist, let the sun warm the scar you gave yourself those few months ago, when everything felt too big for you. 

Looking back, it was too big. Maybe soon you’ll be ready to talk about it.  

The author in your book is talking about bees. They can fly up to 15 miles per hour. They make short, fast motions from front to back, a rocking motion. Asian giant hornets can go even faster despite their increased mass. They consider humans running provocation. If you see a giant hornet, you’re supposed to lay down to avoid being stung. 

You put your face in your hand. Next year, you’ll avoid the insect-based electives. 

Across the cafe, the bell at the top of the door rings. Laughter falls through it, a couple passing by. The register clashes open. A minute later it closes. 

You don’t raise your head when footsteps draw near. A plate is placed on the table, pushed across to you, stopping just shy of your coffee. 

“Did you eat breakfast?” Peter asks quietly. 

His voice is gentle, but hoarse. 

You tense. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, not waiting for your answer to either question. “You don’t look like yourself. Your eyes are red.” 

You lift your head. Wet with the beginnings of tears, you see Peter through an astigmatic blur. 

“What are you reading?” He frowns at you. “Please don’t cry.” 

You shake your head. Your smile is all odd, nothing like his, no inherent warmth despite your best effort. “I’m okay.” 

He nudges you across the booth seat and sits beside you. His arm settles behind your shoulders. He smells like smoke and soap, an acrid scent barely hidden. “Can you tell me you didn’t wait long for me?” 

“Ten minutes,” you lie. 

“Okay. I’m sorry. There was a fire.” He rubs your arm where he’s holding you. “I’m sorry.” 

“Will you go half?” you ask, nodding to the sandwich he’s brought you. It’s tough sourdough bread, brown with white flour on the crusts and leafy greens poking between the slices. You and Peter complain about the price. You’ve never had one. He passes you the bigger half, holding the other in his hand without eating. 

“I know you’re hungry,” you say, tapping his elbow, “just eat.” 

You eat your sandwiches. Now that Peter’s here, you don’t feel so sick —he’s not upset with you. The dull pang of an empty stomach won’t be ignored. 

Peter puts his sandwich down, which is crazy, and wipes his fingers on the plates napkin. You’ve never seen him stop before he’s done.

“It was in the apartments on Vernon. I– I think I almost died, the smoke was everywhere.” 

You choke around a crust, thrusting the rest of your half onto the plate. “Are you hurt?” you ask, coughing. 

He moves his head from side to side, not a shake, but a slow no. “How long have you known it was me?” he asks, curling his hand behind your back again, fingers spread over your shoulder blade, a fingertip on your neck. 

You savour his touch, but you give in to your apprehension and stare at his chest. “The night you caught me outside in the rain in November. You called me ‘running girl’. The way you said it, you sounded exactly like him. I turned around expecting,” —you whisper, weary of the quiet cafe— “Spider-Man, and I realised it’s him that sounds like you. That he is you.” 

“Was that disappointing?” 

“Peter, you’re, like, my favourite person in the world,” you whisper fervently, your smile making it light. You laugh. “Why would that be disappointing?” 

“I thought maybe you think he’s cooler than me.” 

“He is cooler than you, Peter.” You laugh again, pleased when he scoffs and draws you nearer. “I guess you’re the same person, right? So he’s just as cool as you are. But why would being cool matter to me? You know I like you.” 

“You flirted pretty heavily with Spider-Man.”

“Well, he flirted with me first.” 

You chance a look at his face. From that moment you can’t look away, not from Peter. You like when he wears that darkness in his eyes, the hint of his rarer side so uncommonly seen, but you love this most of all, Peter like your best memory, the way he’s looking at you now a picture perfect copy of that moment in a swimming pool in Manhattan with cracked tile under your feet. His arms heavy on your shoulders. You didn’t get it then, but you’re starting to understand now.

“I’ve made a mess of everything,” he says softly, the trail his hand makes to the small of your back leaving a wake of goosebumps. “I haven’t been honest with you.” 

“I haven’t, either.” 

“I want to ask you for something,” Peter says, a fingertip trailing back up. He smiles when you shiver, not teasing, just loving. “You can say no.” 

“You’re hard to say no to.” 

“I need you to talk to me more,” —and here he goes, Peter Parker, flirting and sweet-talking like his life depends on it, his face inching down into your space— “not just because I love your voice, or because you think so much I’m scared you’ll get lost, but I need you to talk to me. We need to talk about real things.”

We do, you think morosely. 

“It’s not your fault,” he adds, the hand that isn’t holding your back coming up to cup your cheek, “it’s mine. I was scared of telling you for stupid reasons, but I shouldn’t have let it be a secret for so long.” 

“No, I doubt they’re stupid,” you murmur, following his hand as he attempts to move it to your ear. “It’s not easy to tell someone you’re a hero.”

His palm smells like smoke. 

“That’s not the secret I meant,” he says. 

You take his hand from your face. Peter looks down and begins pressing his fingers between yours, squeezing them together as his thumb runs over the back of your hand.

“So tell me.”

The sunshine bleeds onto his cheek. Dappled orange light turning slowly white as time stretches and the sun moves up through a murky sky. “You want to trade secrets again?” he asks. 

“Please.” 

“Okay. Okay, but I don’t have as many as you do,” he warns. 

“I find that hard to believe.” 

“I don’t. It’s not a real secret, is it? I’ve been trying to show you for weeks, we…”

He tilts his head invitingly. 

All those hand-holds and nights curled up in bed together. Am I going too fast? You know exactly what he means; it really isn’t a secret.

“I’ll go first,” he says, lowering his face to yours. You try not to close your eyes. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for weeks.” He closes his eyes so you follow, your breath not your own suddenly. You hold it. Let it go hastily. “What’s your secret?” 

“Sometime I want you to kiss me so badly I can’t sleep. It makes me feel sick–”

“Sick?” he asks worriedly. 

You touch the tip of your nose to his. “It’s like– like jealousy, but…” 

“You have no one to be jealous of,” he says surely. He cups your cheek, and he asks, “Please, can I kiss you?” 

You say, “Yes,” very, very quietly, but he hears it, and his smile couldn’t be more obvious as he closes the last of the distance between you to kiss you.

It isn’t the sort of kiss that kept you up at night. Peter doesn’t hook you in or tip your head back, he kisses gently, his hand coming to live on your cheek, where it cradles. It’s so warm you don’t know what to make of him beyond kissing him back —kissing his smile, though it’s catching. Kissing the line of his Cupid’s bow as he leans down. 

“I’m sorry about everything,” he mumbles, nose flattened against yours. 

You feel sunlight on your cheek. Squinting, you turn into his hand to peer outside at the sudden abundance of it. It’s still cold outside, but the Mode is warm, Peter’s hand warmer, and the sunshine is a welcome guest. 

Peter drops his hand. “Oh, wow. December sun. Good thing it didn’t snow, we’d be blind.”

“I can’t be cold much longer,” you confess. “I’m sick of the shitty weather.” 

“I can keep you warm.” 

He smiles at you. His eyelashes tangle in the corners of his eyes, long and brown. 

“Did you want my meskouta?” you ask. 

Peter plants a fat kiss against your brow. 

You let the sunshine warm your face. Two unfinished sandwich halves, a mouthful of coffee, and a round slice of meskouta, its flaky crumb and lemon drizzle shining on the table. You would ask Peter for his camera if you’d thought he brought it with him, to take a picture of your breakfast and the carved table underneath. You could turn it on Peter, say something cheesy. This is the moment you ruined our lives, you’d tease.

“You never told me you met Spider-Man, you know.” 

You watch Peter lick the tip of his finger without shame. “They could make a novella of things I haven’t told you about,” you murmur wryly. 

Peter takes a bite of meskouta, reaching for your knee under the table. He shakes your leg a little, as if to say, Well, we’ll work on that. 

—

Spring

“Sorry!”

“No, it’s–”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m– shit!”

“–okay! All legs inside the ride?”

“I couldn’t find my purse–”

“You don’t need it!” Peter leans over the console to kiss your cheek. “You don’t have to rush.” 

“Are you sure you can drive this thing?” 

“Harry doesn’t mind.” 

“I don’t mean the car, I mean, are you sure you can drive?” 

“That’s not funny.” 

You grin and dart across to kiss his cheek, too. “Nothing ever is with us.” 

Peter grabs you behind the neck —which might sound rough, if he were capable of such a thing— and pulls you forward for a kiss you don’t have time for. “If we don’t check in,” —you begin, swiftly smothered by another press of his lips, his tongue a heat flirting with the seam of your lips— “by three, they said they won’t keep the room–” He clasps the back of your neck and smiles when your breath stutters. You squeeze your eyes closed, kiss him fiercely, and pull away, hand on his chest to restrain him. “And then we’ll have to drive home like losers.” 

Peter sits back in the driver's seat unbothered. He fixes his hair, and he wipes his bottom lip with his knuckle. You’re rolling your eyes when he finally returns your gaze. “Sorry, am I the one who lost her purse?” 

“Peter!” 

“I can’t make us un-late,” he says, turning the key slowly, hands on the wheel but his eyes still flitting between your eyes and your lips. 

“Alright,” you warn. 

He reaches for your knee. “It’s a forty minute drive. You’re panicking over nothing.” 

“It’s an hour.” 

Your drive from Queens to Manhattan is entirely uneventful. You keep Peter’s hand hostage on your knee, your palm atop it, the other hand wrapped around his wrist, your conversation a juxtaposition, almost lackadaisical. Peter doesn’t question your clinging nor your lazy murmurings, rubbing a circle into your knee with his thumb from Forest Hill to Lenox Hill. There’s so much to do around Manhattan; you could visit MoMA, Central Park, The Empire State Building or Times Square, but you and Peter give it all a miss for the little known Manhattan Super 8. 

It’s been a long time since you and Peter first visited. You took the bus out to Lenox Hill for a med-student tour neither of you particularly enjoyed, feeling out future careers. It’s not that Lenox Hill isn’t one of the most impressive medical facilities in New York (if not the northeastern USA), it’s that all the blood made him queasy, and you were panicking too much about the future to think it through. He got over his aversion to blood but chose the less hands-on science in the end, and you worked things through. You’re a little less scared of the future everyday. 

You and Peter were supposed to get the bus straight back home for a sleepover, but one got cancelled, another delayed, and night closed in like two hands on your neck. Peter sensed your fear and emptied his wallet for a night in the Super 8. 

The next morning it was beautifully sunny. The first day of summer that year, warm and golden. The pool wasn’t anything special but it was invitingly cool, blue and white tiles patterned like fish below; you clambered into the water in shorts and a tank top and Peter his boxers before a worker could see and stop you. 

It was one of the best days of your life. When you told Peter about it last week, he’d looked at you peculiarly, said, Bub, you’re cute, and let you waste the afternoon recounting one of your more embarrassing pangs of longing. A few days later he told you to clear your calendar for the weekend, only spilling the beans on what he’d done when you’d curled over his lap, a hand threaded into the hair at the nape of his neck, murmuring, Tell me, tell me, tell me. 

He’d hung his head over you and scrunched up his eyes. Cheater.

The best thing about having a boyfriend is that he always wants to listen to you. Peter was a good listener as a best friend, but now he has his act together and the secrets between you are never anything more than eating the last of the milk duds or not wanting to pee in front of him, he’s a treasure. There’s no feeling like having Peter pull you into his lap so he can ask about your day with his face buried in your neck, sniffing. Sometimes, when you text one another to meet up the next day, you’ll accidentally will the hours away babbling about school and life and things without reason. Peter has a list on his phone of your silliest tangents; blood oranges to the super moon, fries dipped in ice cream to the world record for kick flips done in five minutes. It’s like when you talk to one another, you can’t stop. 

There are quiet moments. You wake up some mornings to find him awake already, an arm behind you, rubbing at your soft upper arm, fingertip displacing the fine hairs there and trailing circles as he reads. He bends the pages back and holds whatever novel he’s reading at the bottom of his stomach, as though making sure you can see the words clearly, even when you’re sleeping. 

There are hectic, aching moments —vigilante boyfriends become blasé with their lives and precious faces. You’ve teetered on the edge of anxiety attacks trying to pick glass from his cheek with a tweezers, lamented over bruises that heal the next day. It’s easier when Peter’s careful, but Spider-Man isn’t careful. You ask him to take care of himself and he’s gentle with himself for a few days, but then someone needs saving from an armed burglar or a car swerves dangerously onto the sidewalk and he forgets. 

He hadn’t patrolled last night in preparation for today. 

“Did you know,” he says, pulling Harry’s borrowed car into a parking spot just in front of the Super 8 reception, “that today’s the last day of spring?” 

“Already?” 

“Tonight’s the June equinox.” 

“Who told you that?” 

“Aunt May. She said it’s time to get a summer job.” 

You laugh loudly. “Our federal loans won’t last forever.” 

“Harry’s gonna get me something, I think. Do you want to work with me? It could be fun.” 

You nod emphatically. It’s barely a thought. “Obviously I want to. Does Oscorp pay well, do you think?” 

Peter lets the engine go. The car turns off, engine ticking its last breath in the dash. “Better than the Bugle.” 

You get your key from the reception and find your room upstairs, second floor. It’s not dirty nor exceptionally clean, no mould or damp but a strange smell in the bathroom. There’s a microwave with two mugs and a few sachets of instant coffee. Peter deems it the nicest motel he’s ever stayed in, laughing, crossing the room to its only window and pulling aside the curtain. 

“There it is, sweetheart,” he says, wrapping his arm around you as you join him, “that’s what dreams are made of.” 

The blue and white tiled pool. It hasn’t changed. 

It’s about as hot as it’s going to get in June today, and, not knowing if it’ll rain tomorrow, you and Peter change into your swim suits and gather your towels. You wear flip flops and tangle your fingers, clanking and thumping down the rickety metal stairs to the pool. There’s nobody there, no lifeguard, no quests, and the pool is clean and cold when you dip your toes. 

Peter eases in first. Towels in a heap at the end of a sun lounger, his shirt tumbling to the floor, Peter splashes in frontward and turns to face you as the water laps his ribs. “It’s cold,” he says, wading for your legs, which he hugs. 

“I can feel it,” you say, the cool waters to your calves where you sit on the edge. 

“You won’t come in and warm me up?” he asks. 

You stroke a tendril of hair from his eyes. He attempts to kiss your fingers. 

“I’m trying to prepare myself.” 

“Mm, you have to get used to it.” He puts wet hands on your thighs, looking up imploringly until you lean down for a kiss. The fact that he’d want one still makes you dizzy. “Thank you,” he says. 

“You’ll have to move.” 

Peter steps back, a ripple of water ringing behind him, his hands raised. He slips them with ease under your arms and helps you down into the water, laughing at your shocked giggling —he’s so strong, the water so cold. 

Peter doesn’t often show his strength. Never to intimidate, he prefers startling you helpfully. He’ll lift you when you want to reach something too tall, or raise the bed when you’re on his side to force you sideways. 

“Oh, this is the perfect place to try the lift!” he says. 

“How will I run?” you ask, letting your knees buckle, water rushing up to your neck. 

Peter pulls you up. He touches you easily, and yet you get the sense that he’s precious with you, too. There’s devotion to be found in his hands and the specific way they cradle your back, drawing your chest to his. “I don’t need you to do a running start, sweetheart,” he says, tilting his head to the side, “I’ll just lift you.” 

“Last time I laughed so much you dropped me.” 

“Exactly, you laughed, and this is serious.” 

The world isn’t mild here. Car horns beep and tyres crunch asphalt. You can hear children, and singing, and a walkie talkie somewhere in the Super 8’s parking lot. The pool pumps gargle and Peter’s breath is half laughter as he pulls you further from the sidelines, ceramic tiles slippery under your feet. In the distance, you swear you can hear one of those songs he likes from that poor singer who died in the Wolf River. 

He’s a beholden thing in the sun; you can’t not look at him, all of him, his sculpted chest wet and glinting in the sun, his eyes like browning honey, his smile curling up, and up. 

“You’re beautiful,” he says. 

You rest an arm behind his head. “The rash guard is a good look?” 

“Sweetheart, you couldn’t look cuter,” he says, hands on your waist, pinky on your hip. “I wish you’d mentioned these shorts a few days ago. I would’ve prepared to be a more decent man.” 

“You’re decent enough, Parker.” 

“Maybe now.” 

“Well, if things get too hot, you can always take a quick dip,” you say. 

You’re teasing, but Peter’s eyes light up with mischief as he calls, “Oh, great idea!” and lets himself drop backwards into the water. You pull your arm back rather than go with him. You can’t avoid the great burst of water as he surges to the surface. 

He shakes himself off like a dog. 

“Pete!” you cry through laughs, wiping the water from your face before the chlorine gets in your eyes. 

“It just didn’t help,” he says, pulling you back into his arms, “you know, the water is cold, but you’re so hot, and I actually got a pretty good look at them when I was under, and you’re just as pretty as I remembered you being ten seconds ago–”

“Peter,” you say, tempted to roll your eyes. 

Water runs down his face in great rivers, but with the dopey smile he’s sporting, they look like anything but tears. “Tell me a secret?” he asks, dripping in sunshine, an endless summer at his back. 

A soft smile takes your lips. “No,” you say, tipping up your chin, “you tell me one first.”

“What kind of secret?” 

“A real one,” you insist. 

“Oh…” He leans away from you, though his arms stay crossed behind you. “Okay, I have one. Ask me again.” 

You raise a single brow. “Tell me a secret, Peter.” 

He pulls your face in for a kiss. His hand is wet on your cheek, but no less welcome. “I love you,” he says, kissing the skin just shy of your nose. 

You’re lucky he’s already holding you. “I love you too,” you say, gathering him to you for a hug, digging your nose into the slope of his neck as his admission blows your mind. “I love you.” 

Peter wraps his arms around your shoulders, closing his eyes against the side of your head. You can’t know what he’s thinking, but you can feel it. His hands can’t seem to stay still on your skin. 

The sun warms your back for a time. 

Peter lets out a deep breath of relief. You lean away to look at him, your hand slipping down into the water, where he finds it, his fingers circling your wrist. 

“That’s another one to let go of,” he suggests. 

He peppers a row of gentle kisses along your lips and the soft skin below your eye. 

You and Peter swim until your fingers are pruned and the sun has been blanketed by clouds. You let him wrap you in a towel, and kiss your wet ears, and take you back to the room, where he holds your face. 

“I’ll start the shower for you,” he says, rubbing your cheeks with his thumbs, each stroke of them encouraging your face from one side to the other, just a touch, ever so slightly moved in the palms of his hands. 

“Don’t fall asleep standing up,” he murmurs. 

Your eyes close unbidden to you both. “I won’t.” 

He holds you still, leaning in slowly to kiss you with the barest of pressure. Every thought in your head fades, leaving only you and Peter, and the dizziness of his touch as he lays you down at the end of the bed. 

｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ

please like, comment or reblog if you enjoyed, i love comments and seeing what anyone reading liked about the fic is a treat —thank you for reading❤︎

[ur-sick-and-married]

CAPTIVATED • ELLIE WILLIAMS

CONTENTS: dark romance, dark themes, female/afab reader, epilogue Ellie, butch Ellie, possessive but really just protective Ellie, Ellie’s a little mean, a little toxic, but it’s not intense, reader was tied up like Abby and Lev, mentions of injuries and weapons, (and in the words of @eliza-and-her-monsters) mildly kinky

SUMMARY: You often wonder how you ended up here, why you’re still here. “Here” being Ellie Williams pretty much dead farm. Logically and physically, you know how; Ellie saved you in Santa Barbara, and hasn’t parted with you since. Well…she hasn’t let you go since.

NOTE: I’d be happy to add more to this universe. It feels like the beginning of something, if anyone’s into it.

You often wonder how you ended up here; tending to a pretty much dead farm that was not yours, sleeping in a bed that was not yours, cleaning a house that was not yours, and most importantly, living with a woman who was…yeah, not yours.

Logically and physically, you do know how you got there. It’s more the “how is this my life now?” that stumps you.

You had only survived for so long because of family. You had been a child, of course you didn’t know how to fight. You were dependent on others to protect you. Because of this, when you got separated from the family, you had a slim chance of survival. You were captured by Rattlers, and soon found yourself dying a slow and painful death tied to a wooden pillar on a rainy beach. You really thought that was it. You were bloody, bruised, broken…destined to die.

When you heard voices, you thought you had officially gone crazy. You had tried to ignore the voices, knowing it was your imagination playing tricks on you. What you could hear sounded violent, like fighting, and then a boat’s motor, and, for a long time, just distant sobbing.

Then you saw her. Again, you assumed it was your brain. Hallucinations are common before death, right?

She thought you were dead at first. You sure looked terrible. But then you shifted, as best as you could, trying to get the rope to stop scraping against your calf.

“Hello…?” She said shakily.

You were too far gone to answer.

Before you knew it, you were falling to the ground, the ropes around your wrists coming loose. All you could do was groan as you hit the ground. You were rolled onto your back, cold hands moving your body.

“Hey.” She was right in your face then, eyebrows furrowed. “Are you alright?”

Even half unconscious, you gave her a look, like “do I seem alright?”

Something must have clicked in her head. It was like her mind was alerting her, “Companion! Companion!” as if she was a robot. She felt like a robot some days, like some kind of killing machine.

Suddenly she was dragging you off the beach, your blood from various wounds surely staining each other.

You had been with Ellie ever since.

She nursed you back to health, even stitching your wounds and resetting bones. One day, it was like you woke up, and everything felt real again. And, Jesus Christ, everything hurt.

You two hunkered down in an old, rotting lifeguard stand. You were stuck on the beach until your body healed up, after all. It was nice there, despite the pain raging in your body. The waves provided a calming white noise, making the nights a little easier. There weren’t any other people or infected, so the two of you felt, for once, at peace. Well, as at peace as you could feel with a stranger.

Ellie was very quiet the first few days. She would just sit and zone out for hours on end. When she thought you were asleep, she’d let herself cry. It wasn’t loud and hysterical. You could just hear small sniffles, occasional hiccups. You assumed she did this when you were actually asleep as well.

Life was obviously changing when you met. Then it hit her, actually became a thought in her mind, when she was re-bandaging a nasty cut on your arm, she hesitantly placed a hand on your cheek, trying to get a feel for your temperature. She was wondering if you were getting sick from the cut. Sleepily, you leaned into her touch, her fingers cupping your face perfectly.

She knew she couldn’t, and wouldn’t, give you up then.

Slowly, she became less cold. She’d soothingly shush you whenever she had to tend to your wounds again, rather than just stay silent and grimace as you whimpered in pain. When she would wake you up so you could eat, she’d gently play with your messy hair. Whenever you started to shiver, she’d slip under your blanket with you. She wouldn’t cuddle you. She’d just lie directly next to you, your sides pressed against each other. And she never stopped you when your head ended up on her shoulder.

She helped you walk once you could stand upright. She would take you down to the ocean so you could clean up in the salty water. Before, she would just fill an old bucket with the ocean water, then bring it back, and very carefully clean you with a cloth. You two reeked of salt and fish and fire. The scent lingered for a long time, even after you eventually made it back to Jackson.

That journey took a long fucking time. You weren’t exactly graceful on your feet yet, and you had to walk across a few states so…it was slow moving. Ellie was patient. Surprisingly patient. She seemed like an angry person to you. There was certainly a part of her that was, but she was mostly swallowed by grief. With you, it felt like she could get a few gasps of air. She didn’t know why, and she felt silly about it. You were a stranger. She’d rescued you as if you were a lost puppy. Maybe that’s what you were to her; a dog, a pet.

On the way, Ellie gave you most of the food, only eating when she would start to feel faint. She looked pretty terrible; all pale, her shirt stained with blood, starting to get underweight.

When you eventually got to Wyoming, she didn’t take you to Jackson, like she said she would. She steered around it, and you ended up on a farm. You waited by the fence while she went inside. She disappeared into the large house, to “check for infected.” You didn’t know it, but she was figuring out if Dina and JJ were still there. She assumed they wouldn’t be, and she was right. While it saddened her, she was also somewhat relieved that she wouldn’t have to explain the random girl she’d dragged back.

You two slept for days, only getting up to use the restroom or eat. The traveling had drained you. Even depressed and miserable, Ellie was a gentleman; she slept on the couch, and gave you the upstairs bedroom.

You were learning to not ask about things. Like the crib in the bedroom.

Then one day she sat you down and explained as much as she could without breaking down. She told you about a man named Joel. He had been like her father, she said. He was killed, so she went after the killer. A girl named Dina had tagged along. She had lived in the farmhouse before you. Then Ellie decided to go after the killer yet again, after having failed to do so the first time. And that’s how she found you.

It was hard for her to say all this without choking up. She hadn’t really said it all out loud before. You reciprocated by telling her how you ended up on the beach.

After that day, you didn’t feel like strangers. She started calling you nicknames, like “sweetheart” and the occasional “baby.” Not that she was much older than you. Whenever it slipped out, you felt comforted.

As you grew closer, Ellie became more possessive. You rarely went into town. When you did, it was very quick. Ellie seemed almost embarrassed to have you around. She didn’t want to have to explain to anyone that she’d basically snatched you for company. You didn’t see it like that. She was your savior in your eyes. You’d much rather be a bit controlled than rotting on a cloudy beach.

You started sleeping in the same bed. It was much warmer that way. That’s what you thought, at least. Ellie liked to be near you, to keep an eye on you. She didn’t think you’d leave…but she wanted to make sure you were staying put.

You didn’t want to leave. You had very little desire to go back into that cold and painful world. Though, sometimes you were curious about what was out there; about your remaining family, about what other communities had formed, who else needed rescuing, who else was wandering.

You knew leaving would be impossible. If Ellie caught you, God knows what would happen. You had “misbehaved” before, and she had reacted…unexpectedly. “Punished” you. Made you work your ass off on the farm, until your whole body ached and you craved fainting to escape the world for a few minutes. (She had, of course, given you a good fucking massage afterwards, when you were half asleep in bed that night, so you weren’t 100% aware that she was doing it. She gave you emotional whiplash.) You didn’t know what would happen if she caught you trying to escape. Probably worse, probably physical.

If you did make it past Ellie, you had to make it off the property, which was surrounded by barbed wire and booby traps.

If you got through that…you knew you wouldn’t last long out there. Alone, with no weapons, no protection.

Yes, she didn’t let you have a weapon. No gun, not even a knife. Sound familiar?

Plus, you would, in a fucked up way, miss her. And the cat that would wander around the property. She let you feed it after almost accidentally killing it, and the fuzzball had been coming back ever since.

Ellie took care of you. She’d clean and bandage any wounds you sustained, make meals when you were tired, let you sleep in when she knew you’d been awake all night, take over the more strenuous farm chores when you were on your period. Even when you came down with a nasty fever after being around people again in Jackson, all those immune systems and germs, she’d cared for you, not thinking about the fact she could get sick too.

Eventually…you felt like a housewife. Ellie felt like your girlfriend. Honestly, at the end of the day, she was. Feelings had never been discussed. There was never even an official conversation about who you were to each other. She was just Ellie. Angry, quiet, borderline crazy, but caring at heart, Ellie. And you were…yeah, you. You really were like a puppy. In your sleep, you cuddled up to her. When she was visibly grumpy, you found yourself trying to make her feel better, by making her favorite snack, taking care of chores she hated.

But it all leads back to one question.

What am I doing here?

Every time you question it, you go over this in your head, trying to get your brain to accept it.

The real answer? You wouldn’t let yourself realize, let alone accept.

Ellie Williams had, in a way, physically, mentally, emotionally, captivated you.

Only because you had captivated her heart.

Her cold, angry heart was slowly warming, and had been since you leaned into her touch in that decaying lifeguard stand.

Because of what she felt for you, she comprehended why Joel Miller had saved her way back in that Firefly hospital. Fucking Miller.

So she kept you around. Tending to a farm that was not entirely yours. Sleeping in a bed that became yours. Cleaning a house that was home now. Living with the woman that had, for as long as you knew each other, actually always been yours.

[nvyyou]

literally just feminizing bill. thats all.

note: i tried to keep this as gender neutral as i could but it does talk about feminine panties so i guess it could be seen as fem leaning/presenting. i got drunk off half a shot last night and finished this so the ending might be bad but this has been locked up in my drafts for almost 2 months.

tags/warnings: epilogue bill, smut (the most non explicit smut ever) forced feminization, face smacking, literally just dry humping, probably ooc at the end. (let me know if i forgot something)

bill had been especially annoying lately during date nights. It always started by him putting on a movie and complaining about how you never put out. You knew you had to put him in his place before it got out of hand.

watching him insert the movie he picked out into the vcr, walking over to the couch while telling you about the movie. you couldn’t help but have this feeling in your stomach that he would complain about how the date was going. you loved having date nights with him even if it was just staying in and watching a move, but he would always mention how you didn’t want to sleep with him after everything he’s done, and how he’s so nice you should reward him sometime. not even 20 minutes into the movie and he already started.

“you’re a real tease you know.”

peeling your head away from the tv to look at him through blinking eyes

“what now bill?” you huff in response to his annoying comment.

“what do you mean what now? you invite me over here looking like a whore and you don’t even want sleep with me?” raising his voice a bit and turning towards you so he can see the hurt expression on your face.

“you know what… im tired of this.” you softy push him away from you and storm off to your room muttering under your breath.

he knows youre coming back, you do this every time. he gets mad at you over something stupid, you run off to calm down, and come back later like nothing happened. not this time though. this time you are going to show him how a real whore gets treated. grabbing your makeup bag off the floor and walking over to your dresser rummaging through the top drawer for the most feminine pair of panties you own, shoving them in your pocket and grabbing your digital camera on the way out, you walk back out to the couch and stop in front of him to speak.

“listen, im done with your shit. you’re gonna learn how a slut gets treated do you understand.” dropping your stuff on the table, grabbing the remote, muting the long forgotten movie.

he looks up at you through his glasses in confusion while mumbling some words nervously. you have no idea what came over you as you bring your hand up and smacking him across the face just hard enough to nock his glasses down a bit.

“i asked you a question” grabbing his jaw and moving his face so he was looking at you. admiring the red mark appearing on his cheek. he nodded and whimpered out a quiet yes. he looked so pathetic right now and you loved it.

“good, now get up” pulling him up slightly by his jaw. he stumbles to his feet while you giggle and fix his glasses with your other hand. once he is standing up you switch spots with him so you are sitting down on the couch telling him to get on his knees in front of you.

“are you embarrassed?” you asked while reaching for the makeup bag sitting on the coffee table.

“why are you doing this?” he asks quietly trying not to make you madder than you already are. he’s never seen you like this, but he finds himself scared and slightly turned on. you usually never fight back with him so for you to snap at him like this was unlike you.

“oh i think you did this to yourself” you say while reaching for his glasses, taking them off and putting them on the table. “listen to me. im going to make you look like a pretty little whore and then im going to do what i want to you. do you understand?” unzipping the bag looking for your mascara.

“look im sorry i didnt mean to make you mad we can just watch the movie and forget i said anything.” stuttering and speaking so fast you couldn’t help but laugh at him

“we are past the point for apologies.” grabbing his shoulders to pull him closer to the edge of the couch. opening the mascara and grabbing his jaw in one hand you pull his face up to yours applying it to his eyelashes.

“what color eyeshadow do you think i should use hmm?” letting go of his jaw, closing the mascara and putting it back in the bag, digging through it to find your brushes. “maybe a blue would look nice what do you think?” opening the pallet and tapping the brush into the blue eyeshadow. grabbing his jaw in one hand and moving the brush closer to his eyes he swiftly grabs your wrist.

“please don’t i promise i won’t say anything like that again. please” begging you to stop, blushing and looking up at you with pleading eyes.

“you did this to yourself. now let go of me and let me finish this.” gritting your teeth as you grip his jaw tighter. he releases his hand from your wrist, placing it on the floor in front of him. “close your eyes” you spit out at him lightly rubbing the brush on his eyelids. giggling slightly at how he flinches when the brush touches his skin. after finishing the eyeshadow you lean back looking at how pretty he looks with the makeup on. reaching in the bag on last time grabbing out your favorite lipstick color, holding his head still you apply it lightly to his lips.

reaching for his glasses you put them back on his face grabbing the mirror in your bag and showing him the finished product. “what do you think?” handing him the mirror to look while you put your makeup back in the bag.

“i look stupid” he mutters out, handing the mirror back to. you reach for your camera, turning it on and grabbing a handful of his greasy hair with your other hand, pulling his head up to look at you.

“good, now why don’t i take a picture of my pretty little whore.” quickly snapping a photo before he can say anything to stop you. admiring the outcome on the camera in your hands.

“please, no more” letting our small whimpers as your grip on his hair tightens. “get up, i have something else for you.” letting go of his hair and grabbing his hips when he stands up, pulling him closer by the waistband of his pants. pressing the side of your face to his lower torso as you wrap your hands around his hips, hugging him in a away. with how close you are to him now, you can tell how much he’s enjoying this despite his complaints.

looking up at him admiring the blush forming on his face, you lower your tone “i have one more thing i need you to do for me.” lightly running one of your hands down the front of his pants, not wanting to give into him too much. “what is it? please i just want to be done with this.” panting out as you continue to touch him through his pants, watching as his face gets redder with embarrassment. removing your hand from his pants you reach into your pocket taking out the panties you grabbed earlier. “put these on” balling them up and placing them in one of his his sweaty hands, keeping your face close to his waist.

looking down in his hand to see what you placed in it. balling it back up and shoving it in your face before stuttering out. “i… please dont make me” swatting his hand away from your face and moving to unbutton his pants. “either you can do it yourself or i can do it for you” removing your hand from his pants zipper, listening to him whimper as you stand up. “whats it gonna be, hmm?” resting your chin his shoulder, and placing your hands on his waist. “i’ll do it” he huffs out

removing your hands from his waist moving to take off his flannel jacket, sitting down on the couch and taking your top off, putting his jacket on your own body. Watching him remove his pants in embarrassment, swapping his underwear for the pair you gave him. the countless times he’s stolen your underwear, using them to help him get off, he has never once thought about putting them on. how degrading it feels to have such a feminine pair of underwear on, he couldn’t hide how turned on he was, how red his face was getting when he catches you staring at him from your spot on the couch.

laughing quietly in excitement motioning for him to sit down on the couch next to you. “here, why dont you help me with my pants.” standing up in front of him and placing his hands on your waistband, noticing how shaky they are. Watching him fumble with the button and zipper, cursing under his breath at how unstable his hands are. “how pathetic, you cant even take off someone’s pants.” placing your hands on his helping him undo the button and zipper, pulling them off and leaving them on the floor. “lay down” he nods frantically, resting his back on the arm of the couch watching as you straddle his waist, his breath hitching just loud enough for you to hear.

“are you enjoying this?” you ask while running your hands up his sides under his shirt. he nodded at you looking up through his glasses which seemed to be slipping slightly. using one hand to fix his glasses for him “use your words.” stopping the movement of your hand on his body, not wanting to give him what he wants until he admits it. “yes.. fuck yes, just please do something.”

you know he doesn’t last long, thats why you’re trying to drag this out. with how much you have been teasing him, you knew any form of contact would make him finish in seconds. he placed his hands on your waist trying to make you move against him. rocking your hips slowly against him, feeling his grip on your waist tighten not enough to hurt you but you knew there would be bruises there later. still moving your hands up and down his torso, while you speed up your movement. listening to his whimpering and whining, throwing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut to stop the tears forming in his eyes. running his hands up your lower back pulling you down towards him, wanting to be closer to you, hiding his head in your neck. deciding to give in and let him have what he wants, you speed up your movement, listening to him let out full moans as you continue to rock your hips against him.

“you better not ruin those panties” pulling his head out of your neck by his hair, looking him in the eyes while continuing the fast pace movement of yourself on him. not wanting to lose the feeling building up for either of you. “please… i- i need to.” he whines not able to finish his sentence before desperately thrusting his hips up against you. he looked so good like this, eyes glossed over with lust, his head lolled back in the grip you have on his hair, the sweat on his face from the heat of both your bodies. caught up in admiring him, realizing you didn’t answer him. “you’re doing so good, cum for me please” in a breathy tone, moving your hips faster knowing he’ll be the only one to finish.

moving your hands to the sides of his face pulling him closer to you, passionately kissing him. he pulls away from the kiss placing his forehead to yours, thrusting his hips up a final time before finishing with a loud whimper. you slow the movement of your hips not wanting to overstimulate him, letting him rest back on the couch, laying down on top of him. letting him catch his breath before speaking. “you look so pretty like that” staring at his face admiring the way the makeup was running slightly from his tears. “will you shut up” he huffed out annoyed, wrapping his arms around your back, pulling you closer to him.

[vorfreudevortex]

Fake It 'Til We Make It

-`♡´- 11. Made It!

-`♡´- a chaptered smau series featuring: editorial assistant!ino x copy editor!fem!reader

warnings // 3.3k words/12 min. read - cussing, mentions of drinking alcohol, angst, your toxic ex tries to freak you out again, mentions of fighting and arguing, crying, confessions, uhhh lmk if i missed anything!!

author's notes // well damn. i guess that's all folks! thank you all SO much for reading my silly little self-indulgent series!!! might write an epilogue? or something spicy/18+? haven't decided yet, all i know is that i love my lover boy ino and he deserves the entire world.

stay tuned for my next smau/written series starring mafia!toji x sweet!fem!reader :) let me know if you want to be on the taglist for it!! i also have some yuta and noritoshi smau ideas floating around in my brain so please feel free to recommend tropes or anything else you want to see!! love you all and thank you so much for reading!!

10 // series masterlist // my masterlist // epilogue

Takuma cocks a brow when the large, tattooed man pulls out and sits in the linen-covered chair next to him. He figures right away that he wouldn’t ever be friends with the man as he takes in his appalling salmon-colored hair and the treacherously thick tattoos that cover his face and wrists.

The man doesn’t seem to be able to shop properly either, considering the pearly buttons on his white dress shirt seem to be precariously stretched to their fullest extent to keep the fabric together.

“I fucking hate weddings,” the man says with a grimace. Takuma casually shrugs and offers him a polite smile as takes another sip from the cup of beer in his hand.

“Meh, I kind of like ‘em,” Takuma responds politely.

The man scoffs. “What’s your name?”

“Ino. You?”

“Sukuna.”

“Nice to meet you, man,” Takuma smiles.

“How do you know the couple?”

“Oh, I don’t,” Takuma shakes his head. “I’m here with my girlfriend. She’s old friends with the bride.”

“Your girlfriend?” The corners of Sukuna’s lips twitch up. “Where is she? Maybe I know her.”

“Hah, probably. She’s been talking it up with old friends all night,” He quickly scans the room for your figure, but doesn’t spot you anywhere. So, he pulls out his phone and sends a quick text while he continues. “She’s probably still in the bathroom.”

“Maybe she’s hiding from me.”

Takuma glances at Sukuna with a wry smile, just to see him wearing his own smug grin. Okay… he’s weird, Takuma thinks. They offer each other a dry chuckle before Sukuna moves on. He lazily points to the white shoulder bag Takuma holds in his lap, the straps wrapped around one wrist.

“Cute,” He sneers. Dickhead, Takuma thinks. With a little bit of alcohol in his system, he has no problem giving the guy a little flak.

“I agree,” Takuma smiles sarcastically. “It matches her dress perfectly. Plus, I need to make sure she doesn’t lose anything while she dances.”

“Hm…” He responds. “Are you from this area?”

“Nah, I’ve lived around Tokyo for pretty much my whole life.” Takuma sends you another text before continuing the conversation. The last thing he’d ever want to be to a large man with face tattoos, is rude. “What about you?”

“I live in Tokyo, too. But I grew up around here.” Takuma just nods. “You know, I’m starting to think your little girlfriend left you here.”

“Nah, she would never,” Takuma laughs. Another text sent. “The line for the bathroom is long.”

“She seems like the type that would try to up and leave.”

Takuma gives the man a confused side eye, paired with an awkward smile of disbelief. What the fuck is his problem? “…You don’t even know her, man.”

Sukuna just laughs, loud and raspy, as he slaps a hand down on Takuma’s shoulder. “Relax, kid. What’s your deal?”

Your boyfriend doesn’t return the laugh, but holds his uneasy smile as he glances back and forth from the hand on his shoulder and the pink-haired man. Sukuna quiets and his eyes lock on something beyond Takuma with a smug glimmer.

“Hey there, princess.”

Confused, Takuma turns his head to find you standing just a few feet away. You look beautiful as ever, but your shoulders are tense and your lips are parted in disbelief. Your eyes don’t fall on Takuma, much to his disappointment, but to the man next to him. The alcohol in your boyfriend’s system delays the realization that there is nothing but fear in your eyes.

You turn and rush away. Sukuna rises from his seat and follows, Takuma does the same. He grabs a handful of Sukuna’s dress shirt, which is promptly slapped away. “Get off me, boy,” he snarls.

“What did you do?” Takuma spits out, yanking on his arm to slow his hasty strides.

“That’s my girl, you little fucker,” Sukuna growls back. “Know your place and—”

“—Ryomen.”

It’s the groom, with angry eyes but a warm smile. He pulls Sukuna away. “—I thought you promised not to—”

Takuma doesn’t hear or care about the rest, he’s already hurrying after you. He sees you push your way into one of the bathrooms and quickly lock the door. Takuma jiggles the knob and gently knocks.

“Hey, pretty? You in there?”

No response. He hears the soft sound of your whimpers and sniffles and Takuma feels a foreign feeling of hurt course through his chest. As different thoughts fill his mind, he realizes that Sukuna had to be your ex boyfriend. The unsettling way he spoke, the way he reacted, the way you reacted? There was just no other explanation.

“Let me in, please? That guy is gone now.”

“I’m fine, Takuma,” your muffled voice responds. It’s shaky and small.

Takuma remembers the discussion in the groupchat from long ago, about the guy that barged into the office and dragged you out. He suddenly notices that you’ve never spoken about Sukuna to him before, and even diverted conversation away from the topic during the few times it was brought up. It must have been…awful, Takuma thinks.

“Please?” Takuma asks. It comes out as more of a desperate plea.

There’s movement behind the door before the lock quietly clicks open. Takuma immediately slips inside to see you sit back down on the toilet and bury your face in your hands. He locks the door behind him. The bathroom is quite small, with just enough room for a toilet, sink, and a small stool.

You’re humiliated, trying to hide your tears from Takuma as he sits on the stool and gently wraps a hand around your calf.

“Are you alright?” He delicately asks. “That was your ex, wasn’t it?”

You say nothing and avoid his gaze. After a quiet moment of attempting to wipe away your tears, you offer him a small nod.

“I’m so sorry…” Takuma nervously chews on his bottom lip. He looks up at you from the tiny stool, his fingers unconsciously kneading your leg. If you weren’t so distraught, you may have even giggled at the way his long legs awkwardly bent up to fit in this space. “If I’d known, I would have never kept talking to him.”

You let out a sniffling sigh as you shake your head. “Not your fault,” you croak out.

Takuma stands, sets your purse on the sink, and gets a handful of paper towels. He takes your hands from your face and starts to blot away your tears as he awkwardly bends over you.

“God, please don’t cry,” He says with worried eyes and a slight grimace. His face is just inches away from yours. “You’re making my heart break, pretty. I have no idea what to do when people cry.”

You’ve never been so embarrassed, never felt so vulnerable. At the end of the day, Takuma is just your coworker. Technically, your boss. Someone you see 5 days a week, 8 hours a day. Who reads your writing, gives you a stamp of approval, and sends it to Nanami. And here he is, wiping your tears in a tiny bathroom as you sit on a dirty toilet with a lump in your throat and hurt in your heart.

“I was certain he wouldn’t come,” You sniffle, still avoiding eye contact with Takuma. “He doesn’t come to these types of things.”

Takuma, on the other hand, is a bit distracted. He stares at your swollen lips and ruddy cheeks as he carefully wipes away each teardrop that spills from your eyes. The mascara smudged around your lashes makes his heart leap a little. His eyes travel down to your hands in your lap, which fiddle and fumble with the hem of your dress. The dress that he bought for you, the one that made him blush when you first tried it on. To Takuma, you’re just simply beautiful.

“You think he came because he knew you’d be here?”

You nod. His soft finger swipes a hair from your face. “I think he’s been chasing me down for a while.”

Takuma’s movements still. “Chasing you? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” You shrug. “He just always seems to be everywhere I am. Even everywhere I’m not.”

“So he’s stalking you?”

With a small scoff, you shake your head. “I don’t know.”

Takuma sits back down on the stool, eyes filled with concern. “What do you mean?” He repeats. No response. He takes a hold of your hands with his, both of them now a warm bundle in your lap.

“Hey, I’m serious,” He says softly. “Is this Sukuna guy stalking you?”

You finally turn to look at him. The odd intimacy of direct eye contact feels suffocating for a moment. You’ve never seen Takuma so stressed as his big, brown eyes stare back at you. He doesn’t break away while he takes in the exhaustion and pain in your face.

The moment feels like a lifetime before you take out your phone and show him the texts you’ve received from your ex boyfriend throughout the past few months, before you finally blocked him. Takuma reads them in silence. There’s no movement or sound in the bathroom aside from his thumb scrolling and thick swallows as he reads the worst of it.

“This is insane…” He mutters with a disgusting face when he’s finished. “How long were you with this guy?”

“…Three? Four years?” You mumble, ashamed once more. “If you add everything between breakups together.”

“And you kept going back?”

“I…” A small, weird surge of irritation and helplessness courses through you. You pull your hands away from Takuma’s. “Do you really think I wanted to?”

“No!” Takuma’s eyes widen with guilt as he scrambles to find your hands again. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

In a second of silence, he realizes your face is turned to the wall again, and he’s lost a piece of the trust he’d built with you. A pit forms in his stomach. “What I meant is…” Takuma clears his throat. “…You deserve better.”

“Yeah, sure,” You respond dryly. A tear rolls down your cheek.

“I’m serious,” He presses. “You’re just so kind and considerate. Don’t you think you deserve that, too?”

“But I’m really not,” You scoff. “I’d scream and yell at him. I’d call him names, too. I would just up and leave in the middle of the night when I knew he’d find me anyways.”

“Yeah, well, from what I’ve seen, the fucker deserved it.”

“So, you’re saying we both deserved what we got?”

“No.” Takuma stands, gently pulling you up with him. Warm hands delicately hold your arms. “You never deserved any of the shit that Sukuna guy did and said to you, or any guy for that matter.”

“Hey,” He quietly calls when you don’t respond. When you still don’t meet his eyes, he delicately takes a hold of your face in his hands. “That asshole deserved every argument and name you called him, because I know for a fact that he was the one that started everything and drove you to the edge.”

“Just because you fought back, it doesn’t mean you’re a shitty person,” He continues. “You’re intelligent, kind, thoughtful and… you’re so beautiful. You deserve someone that actually likes you, and loves you. Someone that shows it all the time, not just when they feel like it.”

More tears fall down your cheeks, which Takuma catches with his thumbs every time. “Aw, please don’t cry? Please…” He mumbles. He looks exasperated and… desperate? The guilt and exhaustion of the situation bubbles up in your stomach once again.

“Takuma, he’s said it himself,” Your breath catches in your throat as another sharp sob escapes. It feels like you’ll never escape Sukuna. You’ll never be able to rid your life of his hurtful words or his dangerous presence. You’re exhausted. Although he may not be the first thought in your mind anymore, his existence still persists in the back of your head. He almost haunts you. “There’s no one like that left for me. I-I’m… ruined.”

“W-what?” Takuma sputters. “That’s just—that’s not true!” Another raspy sob bubbles out from your throat, and you bury your face in his chest. With furrowed brows, he instantly wraps his arms around you. He pulls you in tight with one hand in your hair and the other on your back, desperate to comfort you. “You know… I’m here.”

You don’t respond. You can’t, not through the painful cries you’re sending into his sternum.

“I’m here,” Takuma swallows. He hopes to God you can’t feel his heart relentlessly pounding in his chest. “I like you.”

“But you don’t like me, Takuma,” you hiccup, voice muffled in his shirt. “You don’t love me.”

“I…I’m pretty sure I’m in the process of it.”

You snap your head up, both of you staring at each other with racing pulses and bewildered eyes.

You’d be utterly lying to yourself if you said you didn’t feel the same. How could you not? It became harder and harder throughout the past few months to not look at Takuma with something that bordered on genuine affection when he complimented you, cooked you dinner, or simply asked about your day.

You remember just a few days ago, after he cooked you your favorite meal and watched your favorite movie with you on his couch. Takuma never checked his phone once, even though it was a cringe rom-com that you had “forced” upon him. As the night wore on, you went from sitting beside him with his arm resting on the back of the couch, to having your slouched body pressed into his side as he scratched your scalp and played with your hair.

It was the first time you had ever let yourself get that intimate with Takuma. You were half-asleep by the time the movie ended and he woke you up. When you had raised your head, you were met with his face just inches from yours. You hadn’t said anything, only a long silent stare at the shape of his eyes and the curve of his lips.

In a sleepy daze, you leaned in. But as soon as Takuma started to do the same, something in your head clicked, and you backed away. You remember the heart-racing confusion as you quietly stared at each other once again. You remembered his disbelieving wide eyes, lit up by the glow of the TV. Your gut had tumbled and turned.

“I better head home,” You had whispered. He had put on a warm smile and nodded. When you got home later, you could only pretend you didn’t know what he was asking about. Laying in bed for the night, you could’ve sworn you felt those all-too-familiar butterflies in your stomach— The same ones you felt when Sukuna kissed you for the first time.

But each time that fleeting feeling of affection would float through your mind or heart, you’d dismiss it immediately, reminding yourself that it was just pretend. It was for the sake of a good article. A promotion. It was for the sake of saving face at this wedding. It was for the sake of a ongoing office prank.

It’s all fake.

“Takuma,” You blink. “Don’t—Don’t say that.”

“I’m not,” He replies with a wry smile. “…This is really not how I wanted this to happen.”

“Don’t say that,” You persist, your grip on his dress shirt tightening. “It doesn’t mean anything. We’ve just spent a lot of time together and we’re confused.”

“We?”

Your mouth snaps shut. Takuma just looks at you with hopeful eyes. You realize you’re both still holding each other, his large hands around your nape and lower back, but neither of you dare to separate. “No—I—okay,” You sputter. “Yes, we. We are confused.”

“I’m not confused, though,” Deep brown eyes dart around your face as he gnaws nervously on his lip. “I’m certain that I’m not. Are you?”

A long, stretching silence follows his question. Every interaction, every word and memory you’ve shared with Takuma spins through your mind. You remember all the innocent touches, accidental or not, that sent shivers up your spine or a heat across your cheeks.

You have no idea that Takuma is remembering, too. All the times he hyped himself up before sending a flirty text, the giddiness he felt dropping you off after a date, the fluttering feeling in his heart when you flashed him a genuine smile, the raging jealousy that ran through his blood when he met that random dickhead date of yours— Takuma remembers everything.

“I just… want you to be happy,” He hesitantly continues with a sheepish smile. “…Preferably with me—”

“—No.”

Oh.

Takuma’s face falls the smallest bit before he recovers himself. “That’s alright,” He begins to remove his hand from your waist. “I completely underst—”

“—No! I mean I’m not confused.”

“You’re not?” His face is full of uncertainty.

It makes you wants to slap yourself for making him feel this way. You’ve felt it boiling in your bones for weeks now. You wanted to tell him, or at least accept it, that you wanted him. You wanted Takuma to look at you, to sit next to you during meetings, to text you even if it meant you would be too scared to flirt back. You wanted him to keep remembering your coffee orders, be your partner on work assignments, to ask you to proofread his articles.

You wanted him to touch you, but not like that. You wanted the innocent ways like a protective hand on your back, an arm around your shoulders during a movie, or how he’d fix your hair when something was off. God, you even want him to kiss you. Just once, to know what it’s like. You’ve thought about it over and over, but it’s only in this moment right now where you’re allowing these amassing feelings to finally settle.

“I’m not,” You whisper. “I’ve just been denying it. Attempting to, at least.”

“Yeah… I gave up on that like two months ago,” Takuma cracks a smile.

“2 months ago?” Your heart skips a beat. It never really occurred to you that he was having the same thoughts. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

“Eventually. Were you?”

“Eventually,” You can’t help but smile back. “…I knew all of this was a bad idea.”

“But you did it anyways,” He swipes away a stray tear that remained on your splotchy cheek as you both let out nervous giggles.

“…What do we do now?” You whisper.

“I always imagined that after months of pathetically yearning,” He starts playfully, “I’d finally get the courage to confess, you’d feel the same and be so smitten and overcome with emotion that you’d jump into my arms. I would finally kiss the fuck out of you, then we would ride off into the sunset in a cool car or something, leaving Nanami and Yuji to fend for themselves at work.”

“Then… what are you waiting for?” You blurt with a laugh. Takuma’s eyes widen.

“W-what do you mean?”

“Oh, God,” You mutter, shaking your head with a smile. You look up at his sweet, brown eyes, and sigh in relief. “I’m tired of denying it. Please, just kiss me, Takuma.”

With a fiery blush on his cheeks, Takuma pulls your body in flush with his and lifts your jaw with a gentle hand. The warmth of his hand on the small of your back and his breathe against your lips leaves you reeling in anticipation. You wrap an arm tightly around his neck as the other still grips his shirt. The tip of his nose nudges against yours and you both smile.

“Pretty girl,” The tip of his nose nudges yours, you both smile. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited for you to say that.”

10 // series masterlist // my masterlist // epilogue

notes & fun facts! //

i'm kind depressed that this is over but i hope you all enjoyed the fluff and slow burn!!

i wanted to add more drama with sukuna but i ultimately decided against it because y'all have been through enough 😭

lowkey how do i write x reader without saying "you" all the time LMAO i fucking struggle everytime

if i wrote an epilogue it would delve more into their future at jj&k, they'd live together, and just be super fluffy and happy. idk if that's something people would care about tho but lmk and i'd be happy to write something out hehehe

thank you all again for reading :') i love you so much

taglist // @jayathelostdragon @vesserz @loveyislost @grierpilots @shokosbunny @darkstudentsaladbakery @rieamena @yourhornysister @emlient @shutuppeter @90s-belladonna @sttaejoon-blog @fuckisthatahotghost @aldebrana

banner from pinterest (help me credit the artist!) // divider by @/kodaswrld <3

© vorfreudevortex // all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, or repost my work.

[cameronsbabydoll]

Does sugar coated rafe ever do anything nice & sweet for the oc that’s for her happiness & not necessarily for his “control” ? Just anything in general really.

I also was thinking while reading the 2nd epilogue, the oc was pretty deep into post partum depression etc, & if that were to go any further (like her having suicidal thoughts for example) or even just her being genuinely so broken down that everyone (even random kids lmao) can tell that she is NOT okay , would rafe do something (that’s not for solely his gain but for her) ? Like we know he cares for her in his twisted own way but would something like that scare him? Her being so broken down, would he ever have thoughts like “ i cant lose her/ i need to help her etc” ?

Small But Genuine Acts of Kindness:

Taking Care of Her Without Making a Show of It: Rafe isn’t the type to say “I love you” outright or do big romantic gestures, but he shows his affection in quiet ways. Like making sure her car is always filled with gas, keeping her jewelry clean, or replacing things she loses before she even realizes they’re missing.

Paying Attention to Her Small Comforts: If she casually mentions that she likes a certain kind of tea or perfume, it’ll just appear in their home without her asking.

Letting Her Have Some Freedom (On Her Terms): Maybe she wants to go on a small trip with friends or have a night out—something that usually makes him tense. But sometimes, when he can tell she really needs it, he’ll let her go without an argument (while still having her watched, of course).

Moments of Softness at Night: When they’re in bed and she’s curled up beside him, sometimes he’ll play with her hair, rub slow circles into her back, or just hold her a little tighter.

If She Got Really Bad (Deep Postpartum Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Etc.)

Yes, that would scare him. Rafe is obsessed with her—he needs her. The idea of her slipping so far that she’s completely broken down? That would shake him in a way that almost nothing else could.

Denial at First: He might try to brush it off at first, refusing to believe she’s that bad.

“You’re tired, that’s all. The baby keeps you up, you just need sleep.”

But then he starts seeing it—how lifeless she looks, how even strangers can tell she’s not okay, how she barely reacts to anything anymore.

Realization & Fear: The moment it clicks for him that she’s not just tired, that she’s actually drowning in this, it would send him into panic mode. He wouldn’t show it outwardly, but inside? He’d be spiraling.

“I can’t lose her.”

“She’s mine. She’s always been mine.”

“I have to fix this.”

What He Would Do About It:

He’d actually listen (for once). If she says she needs something—therapy, medication, more time to herself—he’ll give it to her, no arguments.

He’d take over completely. She wouldn’t have to lift a finger. He’d hire extra help, make sure she’s never alone, and force her to rest.

He’d be more present. No more late nights out, no more business trips. He’d physically be there, watching her closely.

He’d take care of her in a way that’s not about control, but about making sure she doesn’t slip away from him. If she can’t even get out of bed, he’ll bring her food. If she won’t talk, he’ll just sit with her, quietly, waiting.

At his core, Rafe isn’t a good man. But he needs her, and he wouldn’t let her drown in her own mind. If things got bad enough, his possessiveness would turn into something almost desperate—because losing her is the one thing he cannot handle.

[loganhowlettshousewife]

lazy mornings and the proposal

animal - bonus headcanons

friendly reminder that i am not a writer, i'm just a girl who loves logan howlett and wanted to write something exploring his animalistic side since i so rarely see it done. my first language is also not english, so please do not be rude when giving me any feedback.

i wanted to let everyone know that even with the epilogue coming out soon and the series being officially over, i'm still not ready to let go of these two. so if you have any ideas or prompts or questions about feral!logan feel free to submit an ask!

warnings: mentions of sex, light sweat kink (oops)

series masterlist │my masterlist

there’s nothing better than a lazy morning with logan, staying in bed long past sunrise, chasing the warmth that can be found in each others arms. it’s rare, these days, now that he’s gotten a job as a lumberjack and has to be up fairly early most mornings for work, making sure to wake you before he leaves, kissing you deeply and reminding you that he loves you. gone are the days where the two of you would stay home together, locked in your own little world with no one to bother you.

he’d wanted - no, he’d needed, really- to get a job. it gave him something to do with his days, a purpose other than stalking your every move, following behind you like a shadow as you went about your day. it’s a distraction, and a welcome one, one that gives him the opportunity to be a more balanced version of himself, to find peace and trust that you aren’t going to disappear if he leaves you out of his sight for more than a few seconds.

he brings home a decent paycheck, much more than you were making by selling the extra produce from your garden. it’s unnecessary, everything you own had once belonged to your grandparents and has long been paid off, but it’s nice to have the extra cash, to be able to go into town with logan and splurge on expensive alcohol for him and gorgeous new dresses for you.

he’s good at what he does, hacking away at wood with his unnatural strength given to him by his mutation. he’s the best at what he does, to the point where you occasionally worry it’s become too obvious that he’s not like the others, but he always comes home safe.

the smell of wood and sweat cling to him like a second skin and you bury your face in his neck, understanding his obsession with doing the same to you, loving the way the smell of him surrounds you, makes you feel like he’s the only thing in the world. maybe it should be gross, he’s exerted himself all day and is covered by the proof of it, but there’s something about it that makes you melt into him every time.

he takes off his muddy shoes and picks you up, ignoring your squeal of protest at the unexpected gesture, smirks when you wrap your legs around his waist. he brings you into your bedroom to take the stress of his day out on your body or into the bathroom where you run your hands over his bare skin and wash away anything that isn’t your loving touch. either way, the tension leaves him the moment he’s returned to you, able to recognise that you’re safe.

you love the life you’ve built, the ease and comfort of it, and yet those lazy mornings, so few and far between, are still your favourite. the days where logan doesn't have to go into work and you push back your daily chores for later because you would much prefer to stay snuggled up in bed, laughing as he kisses your neck and bare shoulders, twinning your arms around his neck to pull him closer.

the night he proposes starts off like any other. he returns home from work to the smell of dinner in the oven, takes you apart under the warm stream of water from the showerhead beating down on your skin, lets you wash away the grime from his body and dig your hands into the tense muscles of his back, massaging away the day’s activities. he melts into you, letting you care for him in a way he’d never let anyone else, and you smile beatifically.

when you exit the shower, it’s to the sound of the oven timer going off, announcing that the dinner you’d prepared for the two of you is ready. you hardly notice when logan doesn’t follow you out of the bathroom and into the kitchen as usual - some days he returns from a long day on the job and refuses to leave your side, on others he needs moments of solitude peppered in to keep the overstimulation at bay.

he stops in your shared bedroom as you plate the food, giving logan double your portion size as usual.

his body requires more energy to function, his healing factor taking a lot out of him. it’s not something logan ever noticed, since he doesn’t bother to worry about his own health most of the time, but you see the way it affects him when he doesn’t eat the way he should. it’s horribly taxing on his body, making his veins protrude from his skin in harsh lines, a reminder that no matter how easy it is to ignore it when looking at his muscular and imposing stature, his body is still starving.

you’ve made it your mission to feed him, and so you narrow your eyes into a glare until he finishes his plate, leaning over afterwards to kiss the annoyance from your lips, muttering praises and thanks that have your skin tingling and face feeling hot. 

he’s healthier now, a layer of fat covering his muscles, a softness to his body that wasn’t there before. it’s something you pride yourself on, the knowledge that you’re taking good care of him.

he doesn’t talk much throughout dinner, though he never does. you tell him about the latest book you’ve started reading, going back and forth on whether or not you’re truly enjoying it, complaining about the characters personalities while raving about the writing style. it makes logan smile, watching you be so passionate.

he gives you a few vague sentences about his day at work when you press him about it. “it’s not that interesting,” he says, the same excuse he gives every day. occasionally, he’ll have some gossip to share about the men he works with, his enhanced hearing allowing him to listen to their conversations without being forced to partake in them, but not today. “would much rather listen to you talk, darlin’.”

with desert in front of you and a peaceful lull in they conversation he takes your hand, kisses the back of it with his slightly chapped lips before getting down on one knee and pulling out the ring he’d bought a few weekends ago while you perused the farmer’s market stalls. it’s not big or flashy, the night is hardly out of the ordinary in any way, but it’s perfect. your eyes prick with tears that you attempt to hold back but fall anyway the moment you blink.

this is what makes yours and logan’s relationship, the understanding that there’s no need to be anything but yourselves, that as long as he’s here promising to love you forever, pleading you to do the same, there’s nothing else that could come close to matching the joy in your heart as you say yes.

taglist: @mystiquesvendetta @raeinyourdreams @babey-fruit-bat @meetmypointlessaddiction @kneelforloki @deaky-with-a-c @hypermarvellove @littlepeanut03 @the-ruler-of-death @aliengutzstuff @misscrissfemmefatale @mynamesstevenwithav @teaganthemorningstar @blackkatzz @leryg0 @fries11 @forksloree @i5uckersblog @dragovegogrimborn @quillycrow @melday0105 @just-a-little-cellist @scorpiosaintt @akasha157-blog @insanesosciopath @eridektbh @trickstergabriel69 @lord-bingus666

[supernovafics]

series masterlist | last part — next part

pairing: modern!college!steve harrington x fem!reader, bestfriend!eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 6.7k words

warnings: explicit language, lots of fluff, smut (18+), fingering, protected piv sex, a bit of praise kink, mentions of reader’s strained relationship with her parents, alcohol consumption (drunk!reader and drunk!steve moment)

summary: the semester comes to an end

a/n: this turned out so much longer than expected wow but last chapter! wooo!!! (simultaneously happy and sad woo) epilogue coming next week !!

CHAPTER NINETEEN | ❝𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖❞

Fall Semester 2017

“I’m gonna come over here all of the time.”

“When we actually get a couch, feel free to be our honorary fifth roommate anytime you want, Munson,” Robin said, which made you laugh as you also nodded in agreement. 

It was the first night in the apartment and it definitely showed— there were boxes everywhere, lifeless walls, and nothing in the living room aside from said boxes and a TV (courtesy of Vickie’s mom) on the floor that you all were currently surrounding. Your bedroom was also nothing but a mess, and so was everyone else’s, which was the main reason why camping out in the living room for the night became the immediate consensus. 

At first, you expected it to be a night of watching bad movies and ordering takeout, but Talia— now deemed as one of the coolest people you’d ever met— was adamant about making an actual meal for you all. She said something about how nice it would be to have a real meal on your first night, and who were all of you to deny an actual home-cooked meal? 

Eddie came over right when you mentioned spaghetti to him over the phone. His own shared apartment was also in a state of disarray, but he was fine with setting unpacking to the side for the time being. 

“Okay, the food’s done, but I’m so sad that I forgot to get garlic bread,” Talia said. “Next time, though.” 

“I can’t believe you’re already thinking about next time. You’re way too good to us,” Vickie said and the rest of you hummed in agreement. 

Talia only laughed in response as you all joined her in the kitchen to grab some food and then once again settled on the living room floor. Eddie left afterward, but promised not to “eat and run” next time; none of you were entirely sure if you actually believed him. 

The rest of the night felt equivalent to the kinds of sleepovers you imagine you would’ve had if you had close enough friends when you were younger. There was a mass of blankets and pillows on the floor and you were watching probably one of the cheesiest romcoms to ever exist.

The four of you already felt like a little family. And perhaps it only already felt that way because you’d been craving a feeling like that for the past few years, maybe even for as long as you could remember. In your eyes, it was somehow so easy to immediately call the apartment your home. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

Spring Semester 2018

Anyone else would’ve deemed it as horrible timing— it was the middle of finals and all that should’ve been on both of your minds was studying— but neither you nor Steve saw it that way. You two had been through worse timings, you figured. 

It was hard for both of you to focus on what needed to be focused on, but you and him made it work. Mostly. 

You could admit that there were probably too many moments where you were in the middle of working on an essay and you stopped to text him a random thought that came to mind, and then there were other moments where he was calling you when you knew that he was supposed to be studying for one of his many tests. 

Even in this instance, it probably wasn’t the best idea to be at Steve’s apartment instead of in your own space, and yet here you were anyway— “writing” an essay that was due by midnight, the last one you had to do actually, as he “studied” for the last test he had that was tomorrow. 

“Okay, we should really get serious,” You said when you pulled away from Steve, maneuvering off of his lap and settling back on your side of the couch. 

“What? We were just taking a quick break.”

“Yeah, and five minutes turned into fifteen,” You responded, and then proceeded to say the words that you really didn’t want to say. “I think I should go.”

Steve frowned; it was probably the cutest thing you’d ever seen. “No. Stay.”

“We’re just gonna keep distracting each other.”

He considered your words for a second. There was no way that he could deny them; you two were inadvertently distracting each other and had been for the past hour that you’d been at his place. 

“Okay, what if you stayed out here and worked on your essay, and I went to my room to study. We wouldn’t be able to distract each other then.”

It was endearing how adamant he was about you staying that you were nodding along to his suggestion instead of saying how kind of silly it was, like you were little kids that needed to be separated in school; but maybe that was actually a pretty accurate description of you two in this moment. 

“Okay, yeah, that works,” You told him, biting back your amused smile.

“Okay,” He nodded and smiled, giving you a quick kiss before he stood up from the couch and gathered his stuff off of the coffee table. “See you in a few hours.” 

You managed to finish your essay in what felt like record time, and you hadn’t even been trying to rush through it. You proofread it two times before you submitted it and it was only a little after eleven when you closed your laptop, placed it on the coffee table, and then headed over to Steve’s room to see how he was doing with studying. 

“I’m done.”

You gave him a skeptical look because the timing seemed a little too perfect. “You sure?”

“Yup, you can even test me if you want,” He said, giving you a teasing smile. 

You laughed a bit as you nodded and went to sit across from him on his bed, crossing your legs under yourself. He handed over his notebook and you spent the next fifteen minutes “testing” him and, much to your happy surprise, he knew everything. 

“You are, in fact, ready for this final, Harrington,” You smiled at him. “I see an A+ in your future.”  

“Thank you,” He said, smiling back as he reached out to pull you into his lap and the notebook became discarded to the side.

You rested your hands on his shoulders and his settled on your hips. 

“I’ve missed you,” You told him before you thought about what you were saying, and then you were quickly shaking your head at yourself. “Sorry, I know that probably sounds so dumb to say because, before this, the last time we saw each other was only three days ago, and it’s not like we didn’t text and stuff… But, I don’t know—”

He cut off your rambling with a quick kiss. “It’s not dumb. I’ve missed you too. I’m so glad finals are gonna be over tomorrow.” 

“Me too,” You said and then thought about something. “Well, I’m technically already done with everything, but you’re gonna ace your test tomorrow. What time is it at?”

“One.” 

You nodded at that and then looked over at the digital clock on his nightstand and took note of the time; it was only a few minutes past eleven-thirty right then. 

“Okay, good, so you don’t have to kick me out yet?”

He immediately shook his head at your question. “I’d never kick you out. Even if the test was at eight in the morning.” 

There was a playful tilt to his words, but you could also hear how true they were, which warmed something inside of you. You kissed him instead of saying anything else in response. 

Your hands settled in the hair at the nape of his neck as you pushed yourself closer to him, getting rid of the little bit of space between you two. 

It wasn’t the first time you two had been in this position— you in his lap or just simply being this close to one another. However, this was the first time that it finally felt right to do more, and you suddenly really wanted to do more. 

Other times, you and him had been at your place and things were noisy and it felt as if you two could be interrupted at any given moment, so you always slowed things down instead of pushing them forward. This time, though, you didn’t want to keep things slow or ease away from him. There was no need to— no potential interruption a few feet away, or random noises that carried through thin walls. 

You had never cherished the quiet as much as you did in this moment in Steve’s bedroom. 

Slowly, you moved yourself against him, searching for any sort of friction, and the soft groan you received from him in response made you smile and do it again and again. You could feel him growing hard beneath you with every teasing stir, straining against his sweatpants. 

“Shit,” Steve’s hands immediately went to your hips again and gave them a quick squeeze as you continued your slow movements. 

“Is that okay?” You had a feeling that you knew what his answer was going to be, but you still asked it anyway and tried to sound as innocent and normal as ever. 

He let out a contented sound. “Much more than just okay.”

“Good,” You responded and then leaned into his ear as you softly said your next words. “I want you, Steve.”

He gave your hips another squeeze. “Yeah?”

He was sort of guiding you at this point, controlling your movements; making you move a little quicker and then slowing you down again. It was subtle but so fucking hot and you could feel your arousal pooling in your underwear. You desperately wanted to slip out of the simple pair of leggings you were wearing so that there could be one less layer between you two. 

“Mhm, yeah,” You answered his one-word barely heard question and then pulled back to meet his eyes. “Please.”

Steve didn’t need to be told twice. 

He shifted things with ease— switching positions so that you were pressed back into the bed and he was settled between your now parted legs. 

His fingers teased the hem of the t-shirt you were wearing, and you expected him to push it up and off of you, but he instead slipped beneath your shirt and found the waistband of your leggings so that he could pull them off of you. 

The cool air hitting your now bare legs sent a chill through your body and your eyes slipped shut for a moment. When they opened again, you expected to immediately meet Steve’s eyes, but he was instead focused solely on the wet spot on your underwear. 

“You’re soaked, aren’t you?” He asked as he started stroking your inner thigh, another action that sent something equivalent to a chill through your entire body. 

You nodded shyly, closing your eyes again. “Yeah…”

You felt his hands find the bottom of your t-shirt again and that time he guided it off of you, leaving you in just your black bra. He leaned down to kiss you; it was slow and sweet like you two had all of the time in the world and it genuinely felt that way. “What do you want?”

“Mmm,” It was hard to answer when your brain could barely form any coherent sentences. You could feel his hand traveling upward, getting closer and closer to where you needed him to be, but it was too hard to verbalize that right then. “Fuck…”

“Go on, pretty girl, use your words,” Steve said, and the sweet term of endearment made your heart flutter wildly in your chest. 

His middle finger ghosted over your clit through your soaked underwear and your hips bucked upward, but he pulled his hand away before you could feel anything and you suddenly felt so close to crying. “Fingers— Your fingers, Steve. Please.”

“Mhm,” He hummed softly and your eyes were shut but you could tell he was smirking. You were close to playfully calling him an asshole for all of his teasing but your brain was still practically running on autopilot, and then he was speaking again, anyway. “Anything for you.”

Your underwear was pulled off of you in one slow movement and you whimpered when you felt Steve’s middle finger trace through your soaked folds, gathering your slick and leisurely circling your clit. His other hand came up to firmly squeeze one of your breasts through the thin material of your bra that was the last piece of clothing left on your body. 

“Take this off for me, honey,” He told you and you listened almost embarrassingly fast; bra gone and tossed somewhere on his floor in a matter of seconds. 

“Good,” His finger continued teasing your clit, and the thumb of his free hand moved to rub your now exposed nipple. “Good girl.”

You barely had time to process the soft praise and what exactly it did to you before two of his fingers finally entered you and you sucked in the sharpest breath, all thoughts suddenly gone again. 

“Steve…” Was all you could manage to say in the quietest voice as your eyes slipped shut and you focused on the feel of his fingers inside of you, somehow quickly finding and hitting the most perfect spots. 

“You look so good like this,” Steve whispered, fingers slowly picking up speed and making you softly whine at every movement. “Spread out for me and squeezing my fingers so tight. Fuck.”

A part of you wanted to say something back— match his words and tell him how fucking perfect all of this was, how perfect he was— but your brain was effectively mush and all you could do was moan and whimper and mewl in response to him. Lucky for you, that all sounded like music to his ears.  

He added another finger and his thumb found your clit, which made your body jerk harshly off of the bed.

“Steve, fuck. Right… Right there, yeah.”

The rough strokes against your clit pushed you so close to the edge, you could feel the pressure starting to build in your lower stomach. You turned your head, burying your face into his pillow and trying your hardest to hold back the scream you wanted to let out.

“Shit,” He said. “You gonna come, honey?” 

You quickly nodded. “Yes, yeah.”

“Go ahead,” He told you, voice low. “Come for me.”

Your eyes opened and you met his gaze as you did. He looked completely enamored by you, which only made your orgasm hit you a thousand times harder. You could feel your heartbeat pounding in your ears as Steve continued fingering you through your orgasm, trying to prolong it for as long as possible. He withdrew his fingers when he could tell that the overstimulation was becoming too much for you. 

“You’re so good for me,” He said, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “That was so fast.”

Finally, your brain was able to form coherent sentences. “You’re so cocky.”

Steve let out the softest laugh. “Mm, but you love it.”

He was a thousand percent right, but you still shook your head. “Hate it, actually.”

“Doesn’t feel that way,” He said as he pressed the most featherlight touch against your sensitive clit and all you could do was softly whine at the feeling. 

He was smiling as he lay down next to you and pulled you close to him, the side of your head pressing against his chest and one leg tangling with his. It was quiet as your breathing continued to return back to normal and your mind became clearer. After the briefest moment, your hand moved to dip beneath his sweatpants and boxers. 

Steve let out a low groan when your hand found his hard cock before he softly said, “We don’t have to.”

“I want to,” You told him and then moved so that you were straddling his lap again. Your arousal was practically dripping down your thighs and making the hottest mess against his sweatpants. “I need you inside of me.”

“Fuck,” His eyes slipped shut for a brief second as if imagining what was about to happen. “You sure?”

“Very sure. Really sure. Super sure,” You answered, smiling at him. 

Your hands went to grab at the ends of his t-shirt, pushing it upward, and he got the hint and quickly pulled it off. You then lifted your hips so that he could push down his sweatpants and boxers, and when his cock sprang free you let out a soft sound that slightly resembled a gasp. Your hand seemed to take on a mind of its own as it reached out to wrap around his hard length again and your thumb brushed against the tip.  

He let out a strangled noise. “Shit, shit.”

“Is this good?” You asked softly as you slowly started moving your hand. 

“So good. So fucking good.” 

It was nice seeing him become a mess due to your teasing like you’d been because of him a few minutes ago.

After barely a minute, he placed a hand on your wrist to stop your movements. You were about to ask him what was wrong, but then he was leaning over to his nightstand and rummaging through the top drawer to pull out a condom. You quickly grabbed it from him and did all of the work of slipping it on his cock, which he immediately thought was the hottest thing he’d ever seen and he was close to cumming right then and there, but he somehow managed to hold back. 

He so badly wanted to let his eyes fall shut as you slowly lowered onto him, but he kept his gaze on you and he promptly decided that that was probably one of the best decisions he ever made. There was nothing else that felt more like heaven to him than watching you throw your head back and let out the loudest moan as you took him inside of you completely. 

“Fuck, you’re taking me so well,” Steve groaned, still not taking his eyes off of you, and you could only nod in response. 

You didn’t move for a few moments. Instead, you savored and got used to the feeling of being so full of him. When you did finally start moving, lifting yourself ever so slightly and then sinking right back down onto Seve’s length, you let out a string of curses that morphed into soft moans.

Your hands became lost in his hair at some point and he had a near-bruising grip on your hips as he guided your movements, helping you ride him. 

He flipped you two over when he couldn’t take it anymore, hand finding your hip as he pushed deep inside of you. 

“Fuck, Steve!” 

The thrusts were rough and quick but surprisingly didn’t feel as such.

“You feel so good,” He told you. “You’re so fucking perfect for me.”

You could feel yourself clenching around him when he said his words and he squeezed his eyes shut for a second.  

“You gonna come?” You mumbled, brain barely about to form a coherent sentence, but Steve nodded wildly. 

“Yeah. Yeah, honey, so close.”

You mewled. “Mm, me too.” 

Upon hearing that, he let one of his hands slip between your bodies to find your clit. He started circling the sensitive nub, bringing you closer and closer to that edge with him. You clenched around his cock again and your back arched off the bed, hard nipples brushing against his chest. 

You came when his lips abruptly found yours in the messiest kiss; it was a mix of tongues and teeth that was perfect and pushed you over the cliff. You cried out his name again and again and again as your orgasm abruptly hit you, it almost sounded as if you were saying some sort of prayer. Steve followed suit moments after, spilling into the condom with a loud groan after a particularly hard thrust.  

Your heart pounded wildly in your chest and it barely felt like it was slowing down, but eventually it did. Steve’s weight crushed you in the most soothing way possible and he buried his face in your neck, placing soft kisses against the skin. 

You had no idea what time it was and you felt too exhausted to turn your head and look at his nightstand. 

“Do you have to kick me out now?” You asked, mostly joking with your question. 

Steve pulled away from your neck then, eyes meeting yours. “You’re staying the night.”

You were too tired to play into your joke further so you nodded your head at his words and simply tilted your head up to kiss him instead. You two fell asleep just like that for the time being, exhausted bodies and tangled limbs.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

You smiled when Steve opened the door and you fought the urge to greet him with a hug and kiss like you normally did because in this instance you were holding something behind your back. “Hi.”

“Hi,” He smiled back before giving you a curious look when he noticed that you were hiding something. “What do you got there?”

“A surprise,” You answered as you stepped inside his apartment. “A very important surprise, actually.” 

“Really?”

“Mhm,” You nodded and he looked at you expectantly but you let a silence linger for a few beats to make things more dramatic. After what felt like way too long of a pause, you showed him what you were holding, which at first didn’t look like anything special since all he saw was a gray plastic bag, but then you pulled out the package inside. “They’re curtains for your living room!” 

Steve smiled at you immediately and you could tell he was trying to hold back a laugh. “Finally.” 

“Do I get the ‘best girlfriend ever’ award now?” 

He couldn’t help but laugh a little then as he reached out to pull you into his arms and then he pressed a kiss against the top of your head. “Yes, a thousand percent.”

“And they’re black too so they’ll block out the sun perfectly in the morning,” You told him as you returned the embrace for a brief second and then pulled back. “Come on, let’s put them up now.” 

It took an hour to put the curtains up— the directions were a lot more confusing and meticulous than expected— but once it was done they looked great.  

“Now we can fall asleep out here whenever we want,” You said when you and Steve were settled on his couch.

His hand mindlessly stroked one of your legs that were resting in his lap. “I think I’d much rather be in my bed with you.”

You looked at him, a teasing smile on your lips. “We haven’t had sex on the couch yet, though, and now it’s a possibility because we don’t have to worry about the people across the street looking in.” 

“That’s a great idea,” Steve said, smiling back as his hand moved up to slip beneath your shirt and rest on your waist.

You were slightly tempted to lean into his touch, but you shook your head instead.

“Wait, no, let’s save that for later. We have other important things to do right now,” You said, and when he gave you a confused look, you leaned over to lightly poke his side. “You said you were gonna show me your favorite movie. That was the reason why I came over. Aside from gifting you your curtains, of course.”  

“Oh, yeah,” He nodded as he leaned over to grab the TV remote off of the coffee table. “I haven’t seen this movie in a long time, probably since I was a kid, but for some reason it was the first thing that came to mind when I was thinking about movies I really like.” 

Seconds later, he was pulling up Big Fat Liar, which you didn’t at all expect, but it was the best surprise. The smallest part of you had thought that he was going to out himself as a film bro and force you to watch some Martin Scorcese movie with him. This outcome was a thousand times better. 

“I love this movie,” You told him, smiling. You also hadn’t seen it in forever, but in your eyes, it was still a classic. “It was one of the three that would play on repeat in my house when I was a kid; the other ones were Mulan and the second Spy Kids movie. At one point, my parents hid the DVDs away from me since I played them so much. I did manage to find them, though.” 

Steve gave you an amused smile. “Now I’m imagining a five-year-old you ruining your entire house to find the movies.”

You let out a laugh. “Whatever image you’re coming up with is probably very accurate.” 

“Hey, since we’re on the parent topic, I feel like I need to talk to yours.” 

You immediately laughed again, assuming he was joking, but when he didn’t join in on your laughter or give you a playful smile, you stopped. “Oh, you’re being serious.” 

“As your real boyfriend this time around, I think I should probably meet your parents before we go to a different country again,” He said, playfully smiling at you, but you were certain that he was actually being serious. If it weren’t for his abrupt mention of your parents, you would’ve happily smiled at him bringing up your and his plans for the summer; plans that actually managed to come together pretty fast. 

The day that Steve finished his last final, he came over to your place and you two spent hours upon hours figuring out your plans for the summer; the places you both wanted to go, specific things to do and spots to eat in said places, where to spend the most time and where to spend the least, etc. All of the research was exhausting— you had ended up falling asleep around three in the morning with your head on Steve’s shoulder and your computer opened up in your lap— but it was the good kind of exhausting if that was even possible. The entire thing was impulsive and abrupt, two factors that could’ve easily made the whole thing be deemed as a bad idea, but you truly felt like it wouldn’t be. 

You were quiet for a few moments, processing Steve’s previous words, and then you gave him a quick nod. “Okay, yeah, um, sure.”

He was easily able to pick up that something was at least a little wrong. “Yeah?”

“Yup,” You nodded again, looking away from him then and focusing on the TV. You were about to shift the conversation back to talking about the movie, but he started talking before you could.

“If you don’t want them to meet me yet, that’s okay.” 

“No, no, you’re right. It would make sense if you met them. Like, if we did a quick phone call or whatever,” You said and then let out a sigh. You got quiet again and tried to figure out the best way to say what you really didn’t want to; talking about your parents was a hard feat. You had barely gotten to the point where you felt like you could easily do it with Eddie or Robin or anyone else.

Your eyes were still on the TV when you spoke again and decided to be entirely honest with Steve. “It’s just… It’s really hard talking to them sometimes. Like, talking about myself with them. Life stuff. It always feels like they won’t care.”

Steve’s hand found yours, intertwining them and giving a light squeeze. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“You’d be surprised,” You told him and then finally met his eyes again. There was a soft look on his face that you wanted to get rid of, so you quickly tried to make things lighthearted and a lot less serious and sad. “You don’t need to talk to them. The only parental approval you need is from Robin, which you have, so everything’s fine.”

Steve nodded and didn’t push you further on everything, even though you could tell he kind of wanted to. Weird and strained parent relationships weren’t foreign to him, but you could tell that he was wondering if it really was only just about that. It was a thought that you quickly wanted to shut down.

“And I promise this really isn’t about you. It’s completely about them. If I had actual good parents, I would love to tell them about you and how much I adore you, and how I can’t wait to spend the summer with you. And I’d probably go into an annoyingly deep amount of detail about what all of our plans are,” You rambled and the smile he gave you warmed your heart. “But, I don’t have good parents, so we don’t need to worry about telling them anything.”

“So, if they randomly call when we’re in London, that’s when you’ll break the news?” His question was playful and lighthearted and just what you wanted to hear right then.

“Yes, exactly, that sounds like perfect timing,” You answered, laughing a little. “Y’know this whole parent conversation is making me realize that your parents are probably gonna hate when you tell them that we’re together, or I guess, “back” together. Your mom really didn’t like me.” 

It was a weird set of circumstances that you weren’t entirely sure how it would be solved. Even before Steve told them that you two had broken up because you “cheated,” you could tell that his mom wasn’t at all a fan of you and wanted Steve to be with anyone else. Probably a girl handpicked from a specific list. 

“Remember when you told me that it’s my life, and I should do what I want because I have to live it?” He asked, and you nodded, the smallest smile on your face.

“I’m what you want?” It was a question that you were certain of the answer to, but you still had the urge to ask it. 

Steve nodded as he pulled your intertwined hands up so that he could press a quick kiss to the back of yours. “Always. You just got the ‘best girlfriend ever’ award, remember?”

You smiled wider as you nodded back. “Ah yes, you can never break up with me, no matter what your parents say, because of the curtains.”

“Exactly.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

The party had been an idea since mid-March. Robin randomly suggested it to you and Vickie one night— “How fucking cool would it be if we threw a graduation party for Talia?”— and you both immediately agreed. 

And now, a month and a half later, here it was. Over thirty people were crammed into your guys’ apartment, but everyone was having fun— especially Talia, which was all that really mattered— so it made the mess that you’d all have to clean up in the morning worth it. 

It was pretty safe to say that you were drunk. It was actually a statement that could’ve been said just an hour into the party, but it was even more certain now as the second hour moved into the third. 

You currently lingered by Eddie who, right at the start of the party, had appointed himself as the one in charge of the music, which didn’t surprise any of you. He was sitting with your laptop that was connected to the speakers set up in the living room. Every few minutes you jokingly suggested songs for him to play and he kept playfully shooing you away and vetoed all of your suggestions. When he actually did play the Pitbull song you requested, you laughed for what felt like five minutes straight. 

Eddie shook his head at you, but there was a smile on his face, like he wanted to laugh at your current antics. “You’re so drunk right now.” 

You had enough self-awareness to know that you couldn’t argue with his words, so you simply stuck your tongue out at him instead. 

He couldn’t hold back his laugh that time. “And that confirms it.” 

You started walking away then and gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up when he told you to “Stay safe!” as you wandered off. You headed into the kitchen for no particular reason— a part of you wanted another drink, but you could also recognize how bad of an idea that would be. You considered grabbing some food; a room-temperature slice of pizza didn’t sound like the worst thing in the world right then. 

A pair of hands abruptly grabbing your waist made you jump and yelp. The touch didn’t feel entirely unfamiliar, though, so when you turned and saw Steve in front of you, you were quick to smile at him even though your heart was still racing.  

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen him tonight, and you also couldn’t remember how exactly you two had gotten split up in the first place. 

“Sorry for scaring you.” 

That was suddenly the last thing on your drunken mind. 

“Hi,” You said, practically jumping into his arms. “Where’ve you been?”

He laughed a bit at your enthusiasm. “Talking to Robin. She was rambling about this one summer class that she signed up for, and then she roped me into playing a drinking game version of Uno with her and a couple of her music major friends.” 

“Oh, that makes sense. That’s one of her favorite things to do at a party. It gets very intense so I always stay away,” You said, and then noticed his flushed cheeks and lazy smile which made you laugh a little. “How much were you forced to drink during the game?” 

“A lot,” He admitted and then proceeded to give you the most exaggerated sad look that you’d probably ever seen. “Turns out I kinda suck at Uno.”

You let out a soft “Aw” and leaned in to kiss his cheek, playing into how “sad” he was. “You should’ve let me warn you how good Robin is at that game. That’s why we never play it at game night anymore.” 

Steve’s hands settled on your waist and he pulled you close. You so badly wanted to kiss him at that moment, and there was so much going on around you both right then that you were certain that nobody would’ve paid attention to the two of you making out in the kitchen. 

Instead of doing that though, you pulled away from him abruptly. Your hand found his and you started pulling him out of the kitchen.

“Where are we going?” He asked, and you weren’t looking at him, but you could hear the amused smile in his voice. 

“I need to show you something in my room,” You answered and then took a quick glance at him. “It’s super important.”

When the door was closed behind you two, you looked at Steve and he gave you a certain look. 

“What did you wanna show me?”

“Hmm, weirdly enough, I completely forgot,” You gave him a quick shrug and a small smile before getting closer to him and circling your arms around his torso.

“Oh my god, did you bring me in here to seduce me?” He asked, returning the embrace immediately, and the playfulness in his tone made you let out the softest laugh. 

“Maybe a teeny tiny little bit.”

“That’s very cute.” 

You lifted your head from his chest and finally kissed him. It felt like it had been years since the last time you’d kissed him and it was definitely your inebriation making you so hyperbolic and over-dramatic because the actual last time was definitely just a few hours ago, but you still savored the feeling of his lips on yours. 

Steve’s hand found your cheek and he deepened the kiss immediately. You inwardly sighed in contentment and your hands fisted themselves in the shirt he was wearing and pulled him impossibly closer to you. 

It was when he started guiding you back toward your bed that the tiniest bit of logical thinking suddenly sunk in and you broke the heated kiss. “Wait, shit, anyone could walk in.”

Steve considered your words for a moment and then walked over to your door to lock it. “Problem solved.”

The door being locked didn’t change the fact that you could still be interrupted by any sort of harsh knock against it, but who were you to deny his logic in this moment and the stupidly happy smile on his face?

You let out a breath of a laugh as you nodded in agreement. “Problem solved.” 

It was a blur of movements that led you two to laying on your bed— Steve on top of you and settled perfectly between your legs. Your skirt had ridden up into oblivion and his jeans-covered hard-on was rubbing against you in the best way possible. 

“I can’t wait to spend the summer with you,” You mumbled at one point. Steve’s mouth had moved from your lips to your jaw and then down to your neck. 

“Just the summer?” He mumbled against your skin. “You planning to get rid of me after that?”

You mock gasped. “Oh no, you caught me.”

He nipped harshly at your neck, which made you giggle. 

One of your hands came up to find his face, pulling him away from your neck so you could meet his eyes in the darkness. “I can’t wait to spend the summer with you, and also many, many days and years after that.”

“Mm, that’s what I like to hear.”

You two were very drunk and it was obvious that most of your words were exaggerated, but your previous statement didn’t entirely feel that way. 

Steve’s lips found yours again and you let out a happy hum in response. His hand moved higher and higher on your thigh which made you moan softly, and you felt so tempted to grab his hand and guide it right where you needed it to be. 

Before you could do any of that or even contemplate it further, there was a loud knock on your door and then you heard Robin’s voice. “Are you two in there?” 

“No!” You yelled out loud enough for her to hear. “Nobody’s in here.”

“We’re about to do the cake, so your presence out here is very importantly needed!” 

The smallest part of you wanted to say no and resume what you were doing with Steve, but you couldn’t.

Your eyes met Steve’s for a second before you shut them. “Okay, we’re coming!” 

“Thank you!”

Steve pressed a quick peck against your lips and then rolled off of you. “We’ll pick this up later.”

You followed suit and stood up from your bed, readjusting your skirt in the process. “I can’t promise I won’t pass out before then.”

“In that case, I’ll make sure to carry you back here and tuck you into bed,” He said with a smile as he circled an arm around you.

You sighed dreamily and leaned into his touch. “Ugh, you’re too good to me.”

He laughed a bit and then pressed a kiss to the side of your head. “You’re also way too good to me. Remember last night at the arcade? You actually let me beat you at air hockey.”

You quickly shook your head. “Shh, you weren’t supposed to know that.”

“I’m sorry, but you made it very obvious,” He said, laughing again, and that time you couldn’t help but laugh too. 

You got the sudden urge to pull him back into your bed. Not even to do anything that would lead to both of your clothes coming off in the process, but to just simply talk to him. About nothing and everything until you fell asleep and woke up with what you assumed would be the worst headache. It had only been a few weeks, but you had quickly gotten to the point where you wanted to tell everything to Steve; every one of your random thoughts or whatever else was on your mind. And you always did, and he did the same. 

Of course, you knew that you couldn’t do that right in this moment because another knock from Robin was inevitable. So you instead laced Steve’s hand with yours and led you both back into the noise of the party. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

next part!

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[wordsarelife]

⛧༺ NO BODY, NO CRIME ༻⛧

EPISODE 06: i wasn’t letting up until the day he died

pairing: theo nott x potter!reader

summary: theo and you try to process past nights events, when you stumble upon a hint that could reveal the real killer

warnings: extremely big trigger warning for the whole series, in this chapter: mentions of murder, illegal activities, mentions of blood, wounds, manipulation, grooming

note: welcome back to the sixth episode of nbnc! i’m so excited to have you all back!! so so sorry this is so late, but i had so much today, i hope you still like it :) (ps: epilogue will be published on thursday probably)

please let me hear what you think in the comments!!

the next morning began like it was the most dreaded thing in the world. which wasn’t so far off, if you remembered the final moments of the night before.

neville was dead. sweet, nice, harmless neville. and he had died because of you. because you did everything, but keep out of things that didn’t concern you.

you had ignored the first warning, that draco malfoy had brought. and neville had been the final one. 

the next one to die would be you, if you didn’t finally stop investigating this whole thing.

the common room was dead silent when hermione and you came down the stairs. silent whispers hang in the air as people were crying, just finding out about the news.

a few younger students, who didn’t have much to do with neville, looked concerned and had the decency to whisper or leave the room all together. 

harry and ron looked as bad as you and hermione. 

they had waited for her, harry clasping his arms around the girl as soon as she came close. ginny was nowhere to be seen and ron informed you that she didn’t wanna get up. 

ron and harry both send you frosty glances and quickly left you behind when they walked to breakfast. they acted like you had betrayed them, and they weren’t even far off. 

hermione whispered a soft “sorry”, before she followed after them. 

maybe you could fetch a piece of bread from the kitchen? you were too ashamed to sit alone at breakfast, with the burning gazes of your friends in your back.

but it didn’t come to that. 

“ow!” a voice called when the portrait swung open and hit the person standing in front of it.

“theo?” you asked confused at what he was doing here.

“morning” theo was rubbing the back of his neck where the portrait had hit him.

“serves you right!” the fat lady commented “a slytherin shouldn’t be lurking here”

“lurking?” you repeated, quirking a brow. 

“i wasn’t lurking!” theo defended. “i was waiting for you and seemingly underestimated the distance i should’ve held”

you nodded, your smile dying down as you suddenly remembered standing in front of the portrait together with theo the night before. your throat tightened.

“hey” theo cooed, pulling you close to his chest and softly brushing a hand through your hair to calm you down. “i’m so sorry, sparrow”

“it’s my fault theo. i should’ve stopped once we received that warning”

“it’s not your fault” theo argued, shaking his head. “i insisted that we continue to investigate. if anything it’s my fault, you did nothing wrong.”

“i’m scared, theo” you muttered, tears soaking the fabric of his jumper. the material was soft, feeling warm against your cheeks. “we have to stop, before someone else gets hurt. i couldn’t bear being the reason. if something happened to my friends or you—“

“shh” theo whispered, pressing a kiss to your hair. “we’ll stop. no ones gonna get hurt. and nothing’s gonna hurt you, okay?” 

you nodded against his chest as he pulled you impossibly closer. you breathed in his smell that gave you so much comfort. a mix between nicotine and fabric softener. a feeling of home, even if he had been so foreign a few days ago. it felt like theo and you were the same. like you had been destined to find each other. 

theo loosened the hug, taking your hand as he started walking down the corridor. 

“wait” you shook your head, freezing in your step. “where are we going?”

“to breakfast of course” theo smiled softly, but quickly sensed your uneasiness, his smile turning into a frown, “what’s wrong?”

“well, my friends basically shunned me” 

“what?” theo laughed, before he realized that you were serious. “shit, really?”

you shrugged, frowning at him. “i don’t think they think i’m at fault or anything, but they’re pretty angry i’ve been hanging out with you all that time.”

“well, slytherins are the bad people, right?” theo smiled softly. 

“theo” you muttered, shaking your head. “that’s not what they—“

“but it is, sparrow” he interrupted. “i can’t even blame them, just think about that stupid ball yesterday and how everyone there was part of my house. there’s a killer on the loose and they’re just afraid that you’ll get hurt” 

“i don’t think you would hurt me. not like that anyway”

theo laughed. “i wouldn’t dare. and as soon as dumbledore finds who did this, there might be less suspicion around our relationship”

“so, you’re not breaking up with me, because my friends are acting like you’re the killer?”

“what does it look like, sparrow?” theo muttered, pushing his hands from your cheeks into your hair to pull you closer, before he connected your lips in a short kiss. “ready?” he asked, leaning back and looking at you. 

“ready” you nodded with a soft smile. it looked that with theo everything didn’t seem as bad. 

you could feel your friends’ and your brother’s gaze burn in your back when theo and you walked into the great hall. even though they were too far away for you to understand a word, you felt like you could hear every question and every malicious input the group of gryffindors were discussing about you. 

for them, this was the ultimate betrayal, the final proof that something was deeply wrong with harry potter’s corrupted sister. 

“it’s alright” theo assured, squeezing your hand that was gripping his like a lifeline. “don’t think about them” 

your arrival at the slytherin table was met with various surprised looks from the surrounding slytherins but also theo’s friends. 

“y/n!” pansy was the first to speak. she robbed to the side, freeing the space between her and mattheo for you to sit. you exchanged a glance with theo, who gave you an encouraging nod, before you settled between the black haired girl and mattheo. 

mattheo and enzo both smiled at you. malfoy shortly looked up from his papers to send you a nod, while blaise was still busy arranging food on his plate. 

“hey blaise” you smiled, trying to be friendly. 

blaise looked up at the sudden greeting. “uh hi” he muttered, obviously confused. “have we met?” 

you blankly stared at him, not even remotely knowing what to answer to that. 

“yes” theo finally said, jumping to your rescue. “of course” he shook his head, not able to hide his smile, because he found the situation so ridiculous. “don’t tell me you don’t remember y/n, she was the reason you got through divination!” 

“hm” blaise muttered, studying your face. “oh! ace, of course i remember you! why didn’t you say that sooner?”

you shook your head, a relieved smile playing on your features admist the awkwardness resolving itself. 

“thanks by the way” blaise smiled, pressing his hands together and doing a little bow, before he pushed a plate with a pancake he had coated in jam in your direction. 

“uh thanks” you smiled, taking the plate with a grateful smile. “and you did thank me. only yesterday actually” 

“huh, i don’t remember” blaise shrugged. “do any of you guys?” the rest of the slytherins shook their heads and theo and you exchanged a confused glance, before blaise leaned over the table and winked at you. “never happened”

“o—kay” you nodded, raising your fork and knife and cutting the pancake in front of you as you began to eat. 

“so did you find out who did it?” pansy wondered, as she filled your glass with orange juice. 

“no” theo shook his head. “we decided it was for the better to stop looking for answers. after what happened to longbottom yesterday, i mean—“

“it was gruesome” you added “i know all of you didn’t really like neville, but it’s just terrible”

“it is” mattheo nodded and he had an unusual caring look in his eyes when he glanced at you. 

“we loved to poke fun at longbottom” pansy muttered. “but he didn’t deserve that” 

draco lowered the papers, looking at his friends and then at you and to your surprise he didn’t say anything to contradict their words, but simply nodded. 

“you don’t know us well” enzo said. “but just know you can come to us if you need anything, loyality is the most important thing among slytherins” 

“enzo is right” mattheo added, exchanging a look with theo, who glanced at him warningly. “we’re here if you need us” 

“thank you” you smiled, looking at all of them individually. 

“yeah, like literally” blaise giggled. “it’s not like we can go anywhere while this stupid snow storm is still happening”

“i completely forgot about that” theo muttered surprised. “they still didn’t figure it out?”

“far from it” draco finally threw the newspaper onto the table, seemingly finished with reading. “they won’t say it, but all of them are disturbed, especially after what happened yesterday. they’re scared it’ll happen over and over again until we can either leave or the killer is caught.”

“he seems to be smart, right?” pansy asked theo and you. 

“well, i guess” you shrugged. “i’m not sure i’m the right person to ask”

“you two seem to have found out more than the teachers” enzo shrugged. “seems like you are”

“well, we found out a little, yeah” theo nodded, before you exchanged glances, silently discussing if it was smart to share the information you had gathered. maybe a controlled share was the best way to proceed. 

“we figured out that probably neither the nocturn society nor the artifact had anything to do with the murder. the motives would be too weak”

“yeah” theo agreed, “we also found the weapon”

“the murder weapon?” draco perked up, throwing the newspaper fully onto the table. 

“yes” you muttered and you noticed how all sytherins hung on your lips, just waiting to hear what had killed their teacher. “poison. very complicated potion, but also very deadly”

“shut up” pansy said as she leaned back on the bench, mouth wide open in disbelief. “and you tell us you don’t know if he’s smart”

“pansy’s right” mattheo agreed. “not using their wand and brewing a complicated potion? that takes intelligence and planning” 

blaise nodded. “the killer had the intention to kill and he knew how to do it without getting caught” 

“well, it can’t be a gryffindor then, can it?” enzo joked and theo shook his head. 

“we have to stay focused, enz. we were so close” he looked at you. “too close probably. the killer felt threatened, means we’re just a hint away from catching them”

“but the killer thinks that he’s smarter than you” pansy pointed out. “you might be close, but he’s always two steps ahead of you”

“he watched every step” draco added. “knows every secret”

you looked up at theo, before your eyes flew over every single person sitting at the desk. “that means..”

“…it’s someone we trust” theo added. 

your mind froze at the sudden realisation. of course! how could you have been so stupid? it was always someone who had been close. someone who believed in himself enough to pull this off. someone who knew that he had made no mistake.

or had he? your mind wandered back. images flew threw your head.

the chandelier ratteling to the ground at the ball, blaise showing you the artifact and telling you about burbage, enzo warning you about the danger it beholds, pansy offering an unexpected allyship, draco giving away warnings, mattheo’s cryptic information about the society and finally burbage’s office. 

no, the killer had clad himself in smoke and mystery, but he had forgotten about one single detail.

one single thing that made him distinctive, something that could only be connected to him, as he was smart enough to not have anyone know about his schemes. no alliences, no accomplice. just him. 

and now you knew how to identify him. 

“i have to go” you said suddenly, standing up from the bench and collecting your things in a hurry. the slytherins watched you in confusion and even theo seemed to be utterly left in the dark. “the library book” you said to him as if it was a reminder. “you promised to come with me to bring it back, remember?” 

“uh, yeah, right” you had almost let a sigh of relief break from your mouth at theo’s quick thinking. “thanks for your help guys” he nodded.

the slytherins still looked suspicious, as you waved at them and left the hall in a quick step, closely followed by theo. 

his hand was on your hip, just as you reached the hallway in front of the doors, pulling you to a halt. “what is it?” he asked, still not being able to make sense of your hurried escape. 

“we forgot something” you explained. “god, theo, we forgot the most important thing ever”

“what?” theo furrowed his brows, his breath hitching at the new information.

“he was smart, he was so smart” you shook your head in disbelief. “but the murder was personal, oh it was so personal” you laughed and theo watched you almost in horror. 

“what are you talking about, sparrow?” he asked helplessly “oh for god’s sake just—“ 

“—the message on the wine!” you spluttered and you had almost done a triumphant dance, if theo’s hands hadn’t been gripping your shoulders this hard. 

all colour vanished from his face as soon as the words registered in his mind. “no” he muttered, shaking his head. but he knew in that moment that you were right, his mind wandered back to the message, —to burbage - for when the pressure gets too much. consider this a parting gift.—, and the image was as crisp as day. 

“handwritten” you finally said. “she knew him, right? she trusted him, just like we did. she drank it, because she knew it was from him, he wrote it because he wanted her to know that it was him. that he had been the one to betray her, the one to kill her”

“shit, y/n” 

“there’s always something distinctive. in every handwriting. the m’s i write almost look like birds. hermione has the neatest handwriting ever, but she curls her g’s a bit too much. and you, you write the t in such a particular way i would recognize it anywhere”

“that’s amazing, sparrow” he smiled impressed. “but dumbledore has the message, how could we check?”

“we don’t have to” you grinned, “i noticed it when i read it the first time, but i was too stupid to make any sense of it”

“so?” theo urged. “what is it?” 

“the e” you simply said. “it’s the e. it’s not the normal one most people write, he writes them like a mirrored three. we have to get back to burbage’s office”

“okay, that’s good, no amazing actually. but the message isn’t there anymore, sparrow”

“theo, we might not know everything about the killer, but we know one thing for sure: he was probably a student in one of her classes. and do you remember how her classes were?”

“an assigned essay each week, of course” theo realized. “the proof’s been inside that stupid office all this time.”

theo and you basically sprinted through the halls. you couldn’t reach the office quick enough. it was as if every moment counted, every second could decide the future. and every minute in which you still didn’t know the killer’s identity was a lost one. 

you picked the lock, just like you had done when you had broken in the first time, theo standing in front of the classroom to keep watch, before you called him inside, revealing the opened office door. 

the contents of the room were in the same state you had left it in a few days before. the desk was still filled with various stacks of paper, which was to your advantage.

“this is gonna take forever” you groaned, pushing one stack in theo’s direction. 

“not if we sort out the papers of people that haven’t been near us this week”

“that would make the circle of suspects very scary” you mumbled.

theo shrugged. “as you said before, we trusted them, it has to be someone we know”

“so who would make the cut?”

theo thought for a second, before he began counting names in a low voice. “mattheo, pansy, draco, enzo, blaise” 

you nodded, feeling sorry for him. theo had questioned everything these past few days and he had told you multiple times that he wasn’t sure if he could trust his friends. that couldn’t be easy. 

you sighed, before you added: “ron, hermione and.. harry” 

theo and you exchanged a worried glance, both absolutely disturbed from the chance that the killer was someone so close. but it was the only possibility and you both knew it, as you silently sorted through the essays. 

the never ending stacks only seemed to grow as you worked through the papers, not seeing an end yet. 

suddenly, there was a disturbance in front of the door. it sounded like someone was rattling on the door to the office. theo and you exchanged hurried glances. but it was too late, both of you had grown far too comfortable, launching on the ground, papers around and in your laps. 

the sigh of relief was silmultaneous as the disturbance revealed itself to be a patronus charm, with a message attached. pansy’s voice rang out in the little office. 

“the teachers just took mattheo with them” she muttered in a hurry. “they think he did it, they’re taking us in for questioning. i know that he didn’t do it, theo, but they believe it’s him” 

the patronus disappeared and left theo and you speechless. 

“shit” theo scrambled to his feet. “shit, shit, shit” 

“it’s okay” you assured, standing up and gripping his hands, that had been trying to rip out his hair. “you’ll go and answer any question, yeah? i’ll sort through the papers and come as soon as i find the proof. they can’t arrest him if i have the proof”

“are you sure?” theo looked from the papers to you and back. he was unsure about leaving you alone, but you nodded. 

“go!” you encouraged, pushing him in the direction of the door. “go”

theo nodded, walking out of the door, but quickly dashing back inside to give you a quick peck. “thank you” he softly said against your lips, before he left the room fully. 

you smiled after him, before you got right back to work. in the span of five minutes, you had a small stack with essays from everyone on your suspect list, including your own brother. 

harry’s was the first one you checked. nothing. 

pansy’s essay was absolutely chaotic and she tended to draw hearts instead of points onto her i’s, but there was no sign of a mirrored e. 

mattheo and blaise were fine too. they had written little to nothing, but you could tell enough from it. 

hermione’s was neat as always, her writing not faltering and it would’ve suprised you if she had ever even thought about writing her e’s the way you were searching for right now. 

the next paper you threw open, made your breath hitch. not only because the handwriting matched the one on the wine message, but because there was a little post it note plastered onto the page.

‘wonderful work as always, darling, can’t wait to see you after dinner tonight’

you and theo had been wrong. yeah, burbage had trusted her killer, but not because he was a student or someone she knew. the killer wasn’t the relative or a friend of her victim. no, the killer and the victim were the same person. 

“i wish you wouldn’t have found this” 

his voice was the first thing you heard. then pain. you fell forward, the essay slipping from your hands as your head made contact with the hard floor beneath you. your sight was black as you felt him bend over you, your hand searching for anything you could use to fight him. you gripped something, bringing it close to your chest, before the pain registered once again and you lost consciousness. 

by the time you woke up, you couldn’t tell how many minutes had passed. the first thing you felt was the cold breeze of the evenings wind. maybe it had been hours since he had taken you, or maybe you had been in that office longer than you could remember now. 

you couldn’t move a muscle, probably a hex that was resting on your body. 

your eyes snapped open, scanning the room, or more lack of, around you. you were laying in the middle of the wooden platform of the astronomy tower. the very same platform theo and you had talked on only days before, minutes before you found the body of your teacher. 

“hello” he smiled, stepping around you and helping you to sit up against a box behind you. 

“i would’ve never even thought” you shook your head, tears brimming at your eyes. 

enzo giggled relentlessly. “oh, don’t cry, angel” he caught one of your tears with his finger. “i should be the one who’s sad” his mimic changed dramatically, as he took on a whiny voice, “i tried to talk her out of it, but she was so far gone. she told me that the murders had been necessary to fulfill what the artifact had needed from her. but she regretted it and couldn’t live with the guilt.” he paused, smiling at you, before he fell back into his previous role. “i’m so sorry, theo, i tried to catch her but i was too late” 

you closed your eyes, silent tears rolling over your cheeks. “she broke up with you, that’s why you killed her, isn’t it?”

enzo laughed. “our relationship was magical and she broke it off from one day to another, like it had meant nothing, like i had meant nothing”

“it wasn’t your fault” you shook your head, trying hard to keep together, despite the hatred that was ready to flood your features. “you are a victim, enzo, she used you, she manipulated you”

enzo stared at you unimpressed. “she loved me” he corrected. “and i loved her too. i did everything for her, was her good boy. and what did i get? not even a proper conversation. she just decided it was over”

“she hurt you” you nodded. “you didn’t deserve that” 

“of course i didn’t” he laughed like a maniac. “that’s why i made sure she knew that too. it was almost too easy to paint myself as innocent. the stupid society, the idiot blaise and his artifact, all these bloody people, they played their part perfectly.” he grinned, “even theo. i have to admit that he was the riskiest part of the plan, but he was susprisingly easy to manage. and that just because he decided to fuck potter’s sister, who would’ve thought?”

you looked away, not giving him the satisfaction of a reaction. 

“i’ve been in love too, i know how it’s like. you lose sight for everything else. just like at the ball were you two were too occupied making out until that chandelier almost ripped you to shreds. would’ve made a great show, by the way”

he shrugged, before he continued to speak. “the only thing that complicated things was that stupid snow storm”

“complicated?” you repeated in disbelief. “gave you all the time in the world, didn’t it?”

“it wasn’t part of the plan.” he shook his head “charity summoned it. couldn’t have been worse timing. she wanted to give blaise and the other idiots more time to figure out how to work the artifact.”

it was weird to hear the professors first name escape enzo’s lips, without so much as a second thought, like it was his nature to call her by her name. which it was, but it freaked you out nonetheless. 

“too bad she gave you time to investigate her own murder, huh?”

“you disgust me” you spit. 

“i only had to do what was necessary, angel” he moved a piece of hair behind your ear.

“neville was not necessary” a bit of movement entered your body, making you able to lean back to escape his touch. 

enzo frowned. “of course he was” he stood up, looking down onto the ground from the railing. “someone had to find that potion for me. what a shame that longbottom enjoyes to read so much.. pardon enjoyed”

another few tears rolled over your cheeks, your head already hurting from all the crying. 

“had to get rid of him just to be sure, god forbid he would’ve made that connection. i was lucky, i guess” he turned around and looked at you, smiling even brighter as he noticed that you were crying even more than before. “and the message it send was just a bonus. how else could i make sure you stay far away from that stupid investigation. but you’re not so good at listening, right angel? we wouldn’t even be here if you had just stayed in line. and i find it awfully impractical that i have to kill such a hot girl, but you’re too young for me anyway” his smile send shivers down your spine.  

“i can’t believe she drank that poisoned wine, because i don’t think she loved you, enzo, she used you, that’s all” 

“don’t you dare” enzo stepped closer, anger evident on his face. “she was fucking obsessed with me. blinded by love. she drank the whole bottle because she missed me”

“she never loved you” 

“she died thinking about me. i was there” he admitted. “that night, i opened the door for her, she said my name before she fell into the snow.”

you huffed. “you were there?”

“well, i had to slip the rune into her hand and make sure someone found her in time. luckily theo and you were right there, like actors in a play.” he paused, a few beats of silence passing by. “is that a game for you guys? stumbling over bodies, investigating murders and then fucking in broom closets? that get you going?” 

“shut up” 

enzo giggled obnoxiously, shaking his head as his laughter died down. “nah, baby” he grinned. “your turn to shut up.”

he reached for your body, picking you up with ease. “you and me could’ve been a great pair, if you were like twenty years older” he walked you closer and closer to the edge. until only the railing was between you and the ground beneath. 

you could feel the wooden beam press into your back. enzo’s breath was hot on your face as he stared down at you. you could tell from his face, that he enjoyed this. almost like it was a game to him, like a sick fantasy that he could get off to.

he caressed your cheek, before softly loosening your ponytail. “makes it look more dramatic” he smiled, as he watched your hair move in the wind. 

he pushed you back slowly, like he was trying to let you down easy, almost like you would float to the ground. but the desire in his eyes told another story, he was blood thirsty and he would keep anything you’d give him. 

your body gained more and more movement as the hex wore off. enzo furrowed his brows when he felt you pushing against him, body to body. 

“trying to keep it interesting, huh?” he laughed, watching attentively as your hand grabbed his underarm. it made you uneasy to see the relaxed reaction he had to you fighting back. like he knew perfectly how easy he could overpower you if he wanted. he was just entertaining you, just enjoying your miserable tries to free yourself from him. 

there was no situation where you had a real advantage. both of you knew that. you could only hope for a wonder, but then, you could feel your legs again. 

it was like you knew what to do immediately. you moved your arm fast, it was so surprising you really got it free. then your left knee flew up, kicking enzo in the balls, just as you moved his body closer with both hands on his shoulders. 

he groaned from the sudden pain, his body collapsing to the ground. it gave you enough time to get away from the railing, but not enough to reach the stairs before he was on his feet again, pressing your back against his chest. “nice try, angel” he whispered into your ear. you wanted to throw up from the tone of his voice. 

so cocky, totally unbothered. 

he started dragging you back into the direction of the railing again. you tried to make yourself as heavy as possible, trying to make it as hard as possible for him to overpower you. 

“don’t be difficult” he groaned, slowly becoming annoyed at your relentless trying. your hand went through the air, grabbing onto a thick beam, that was not fully brought on, but only leaned against the rest of the construction. 

you kicked against it. one, two, three times. enzo looked up from the sudden sound of the beam falling forward. on it’s way down, it hit both of you, as your tried to gamble away. 

now the head injury was joined by a gush on your arm. enzo was bleeding at the leg and both of you stayed unmoving for a second. the heavy beam, claiming the middle of the railing as it fell against it, hit the ground with a thud.

“well, that makes it easier” enzo grinned, eyes on the empty space were the railing used to be, before stumbling back onto his feet just as you did. 

you sprinted towards the stairs, but before you could reach them, enzo had stepped in your way with open arms. “you’re not leaving yet already, are you?” 

you stumbled back, well aware that the missing railing was practically a free passage for you to fall to your death. 

maybe there was no escape. maybe you would die by falling off this stupid tower, maybe you would die, becoming the killer that enzo would direct you to be as soon as he would tell his story. 

a silent movement behind enzo made you look up. blaise had climbed the stairs, stepping onto the plattform. 

your reaction had to have been hopeful enough for enzo to suspect something, as he spun around, facing his friend with a look of surprise. 

blaise wasted no time as he reached out and hit enzo in the face. the younger boy stumbled back, holding his bloody nose, before he regained confidence, the surprise finally leaving his body, as he leaped over the platform, throwing himself at blaise. 

blaise jumped back, but was still taken to the ground, as enzo began hitting him merciless. he reached for a piece of wood beside him, hitting blaise so hard, that blood splattered into the air and a sharp breath left your mouth. 

blaise kept lying on the platform unmoving as enzo climbed off him and turned back around to meet your gaze. there were driplets of blood all over his face, his own, mixed with some of blaise’s. he opened his mouth, widely smiling at you, exposing his teeth to be as blood covered as the rest of his face. 

“your turn, angel” he dashed over the platform fast, ripping you away from the wall, you had stood against and moving you closer and closer to the edge. “third time’s the charm, right?” he grinned. 

you closed your eyes. 

his steps were slow, deliberate, clearly enjoying every ounce of control he had over you. killing was like breathing to him. like it was the only thing that brought him joy. and this person, this killer, was totally different to the person he had been before. it was like something had been awakened in him, ready to strike as soon as needed. 

a thud made you open your eyes again. a disbelieving laugh left your mouth as you noticed that blaise had sat up. the wound on his head bleeding, but he was alive. 

again, your reaction triggered enzo and he turned around searching for the cause of the noise. his susprise was just as present as yours, ultimately being sure that he had killed his friend. 

blaise’s survival was like newfound hope for your body, you pushed enzo back, changing sides, as he was now the one closest to the railing, or the nonexistent one to be more precise. 

you reached for the piece of wood he had hit blaise with and quickly hit him in the stomach. enzo stumbled back and before he could dash forward, you hit him again. 

you noticed the beam of wood on the floor between him and the railing too late. enzo stumbled back from the second hit, trying to find his balance, as the back of his feet hit the beam and gravity did the rest. 

it was like he fell back in slow motion. your hands let go of the wood you had used to hit him as your ran forward, trying to hold onto his hand or any part of him. but it was too late.

you were sure you would’ve fallen off the edge too, if blaise hadn’t pulled you back at just the right time. 

“no!” you screamed as you realized what had just happened, you stared down onto enzo’s unmoving body on the ground beneath the tower for only a second, before blaise moved you back towards the stairs. 

you both fell onto the floor, the shock draining you and making your bodies heavier than usual. 

“i killed him, i killed him” you cried against blaise’s chest. blaise stared straight ahead, just as traumatized as you, before you could feel him shake his head. 

“no, he fell” he corrected. “he fell, it wasn’t you”

“i’m sorry, i killed him” 

“no, ace, you didn’t” he moved you back. “look at me. it’s important that you know you didn’t. he fell”

you nodded, tears falling off your face, because they were running down your cheeks so quickly. 

“repeat it” blaise said. “you have to repeat it: he fell”

“he fell” you repeated, your voice only coming out as a whisper. 

“again!”

“he fell” you said, less unsure, louder, clearer. 

“there you go” blaise nodded, pressing your face against his chest to comfort you. “not your fault” 

you continued to cry together for what felt like hours, but was only mere minutes. not one of you dared to move or look over the edge to find enzo’s body on the ground. your very short sight of his body and the blood on the snow had been enough to keep you from it. 

heavy footsteps echoed through the tower and the next thing you saw, was theo make his way onto the platform, a worried expression on his face. “what happened?” he asked, while blaise helped you stand and you stumbled into theo’s direction. 

blaise nodded as your searched for a confirmation. 

you fell into theo’s arms, while blaise’s nod of permission wandered through your mind. you breathed, a sigh of relief and clear air wandering into your lungs for the first time in hours. 

“he fell”

epilogue out soon...

🏷️ : @melsunshine @shereadsandcries @ch3rry-lips @the-sylver-dragon @mayamonroem @allurearia @prongsprincessworld @brokenpoetliz @winterbarnesblog @cowboy-luvr @ahead-fullofdreams @mietlynn @too-efn-old-to-be-here @insideoutjulie @dvartesgfs @chimchoom @eggsysstuff @uku-lelevillain @lexi2005 @folklcv4r @lovrsm @esmerai-artemis @lia-2008 @liataylorsversion @mysummerwinesblog @reverse-soe @thestrawberrythatgotaway @maxsisly

let me know if you want to be added/removed

ps: there will be one more chapter, the epilogue :)

[gamarancianne]

Azriel x reader - In Between, part IV

Summary: waking up, you realise Lucien was completely right: the man sleeping beside you is an abuser. But how will you escape him and why does this shadow seem to be belonging with you ?

Warning: angst, lots of angst, mention of SA attempt, fight, mention of blood, kinda fluff if you squint, so much sweet Azzy you could die, but also threatening scary Azzy, nightmares, not proofread sorry, my English of course.

Note: again I wholeheartedly apologise for the late posting. I’m so so so happy to get back !!! Here I met 4 there surely will be a part 5 and maybe a part 6 or an epilogue. But for this one, I’m not really sure I like about how it turned out. Let me know in the comments I love when you have something to say ! Just remember to be nice and polite please ! 🙏🏻 love you all ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Part I, part II, part III

The morning came quickly. Too quick for your liking. The second you opened your eyes, Aaron’s mouth was on you. You tried to push him back but seeing his face you understood that you were in a very bad position : his eyes were full of lust and hunger and they didn’t seem to have anything stopping them.

Panic flooded in your veins and grabbing the sheets to have something covering you, you ran away from your bedroom. He followed you closely, screaming, and yelling that you were such an ungrateful slut, whom he had been too nice to wait for and that if you wanted it or not, he would take you anyway.

Fear had paralysed you and he caught you quickly before pining you roughly to the wall. His hands were on every inch of your skin. It felt disgusting, his mouth leaving saliva behind on the column of your neck, on your collarbone, your chest.

His hands were now dangerously closed to your core, and in a last moment of desperation you kicked him in the balls, pushed him off and ran in your bathroom.

Closing the door, he was already banging against it, screaming like a mad man. He was so strong that the door almost gave in twice. Fear had gripped you and you curled yourself in the corner of your bathtub, crying desperately for a different ending of your life than this.

You didn’t want it to end now : you hadn’t met your mate, your friendship with lucien was on thin ice because of you and you haven’t even apologised. You regretted lots and lots of moments in your possibly missed life : you regretted not being able to see Nyx grow up, to continue your friendship with Feyre and last but not least you regretted not having kissed those beautiful lips that belonged to Azriel… Lucien was so right about you. How could he know you so much when you sign even yourself ? Of course you didn’t want this psycho of male threatening to abuse you, as he exactly said the other day, you still weren’t over Azriel. You still wanted Azriel, you needed him with every bit of your body and soul. They aches for the beautiful male. And now it was too late. The mere thought made you crying even more that you didn’t sense the comforting and cold presence caressing your skin.

Not even minutes later the shoutings suddenly stopped and they transformed into pain, even agony screams.

Big steps were heard behind your door and you didn’t even want to know who they belonged to : you had already accepted your fate. So you closed your eyes and waited for death to come like an old friend. But it never arrived, darkness and emptiness never found you. Strong arms wrapped around your shivering frame with care and attention, and your eyes bursted open when you sensed the familiar feeling of burn scars on your bare skin. Hazel sought for your eye colour with so much more worry than you could ever imagine. His mesmerising and deep eyes went down on your chest and shot up immediately with some light pink crawling under them : the sheet had managed to slide off your shoulder and it didn’t cover you enough anymore. Ashamed you quickly out your hands to cover yourself a bit and draped the fabric better on your skin.

As Azriel walked out of your bathroom, you saw Aaron, hurt and unconscious lying on the floor of your apartment. He was in a bad state : blood coated his bruising face and you caught sight of two teeth or three inches away.

No words came out from Azriel’s mouth as he took off for the House of Winds and when he arrived. Even when Cassian and Rhysand came to him completely confused and panicked at your appearance. But he seemed to throw some orders at Rhys in his mind and definitely sent a warning glare to the long-haired man newt to him.

He brought to a room, a big dark one but still full of light. You were delicately put on a silky enormous mattress and given a fresh glass of water. Still no one spoke a word and you didn’t even register when you started to fall in Morpheus arms.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Sweat covered your body and a deep frown adorned your face when Azriel came back in his room to check on you. You were moving and kicking in your sleep letting fearful pleas and whines out of your presses mouth. Azriel ran to you trying to wake you up. He knew better than to let you in the horrible trap that can be your own fears all grouped in nightmares.

Tears stained your cheeks as your body went still and as your worst scenario faded away to leave room to the reality happening before you. Azriel was watching you closely, his hand caressing your still trembling frame and his voice shushing you. The sobs couldn’t stop and you wrapped tightly your arms around his broad shoulders. Azriel never stopped your embrace and whispered :

“I’m here now, everything’s fine. You’re not in danger anymore, you are here with me and everything will be alright”

Rocking back and forth you calmed down a bit before responding.

“I thought.. I thought I was going to- to…

-I know. But nothing will happen now, he will never be able to even lay a finger on you.”

With a shaky and raspy from all the crying, voice, you asked :

“You promise ? You’re sure ?

-I am and I promise.”

A strange tingling behind your ear and behind his as well marked your promise now forever engraved on your skins.

Since it was the middle of the night, you rapidly fell asleep again, in the comfort and security of Azriel’s arms. He tried not to sleep, but ended up doing so with the exhaustion from the panic and fear he had felt deep in his bones for hours today. You probably wouldn’t even realise, but he had been so scared for you when the shadow came to warn him about what was happening to you. He had run and flown the fastest he could to come find you, knocking off some furniture in his trail. He couldn’t possibly imagine another man laying forcefully his hands on you without your consent : no that was not going to happen, never, not when he was still breathing and his heart still beating.

Sound asleep, you were woken up by the sounds of dishes in the kitchen. What had happened last night slams back into you full force : Aaron and his attempt to … no you didn’t want nor need to think about it. You observed your environment, the dark room of Azriel, minimalist like him : a bed, a closet and some armoires but not much more. Except a mirror, a big mirror, standing in front of the enormous bed you were in. Your mind started to wander to the use of the said mirror just in front of a king-size bed costumed to big Illyrian wings, full of silky sheets so sweet at the touch…No no no ! You couldn’t go there stop that ! Your cheeks and neck heat up instantly. Shaking your head to make these obnoxious thoughts go away, you made your way outside the room and into the kitchen. There he was, beauty and charm both standing before you, making you both breakfast you assumed. He stiffened and turned to look at you when he sensed you. His hazel eyes trailed down your body to your thighs not covered by anything and quickly tuned back to continue what he was doing. You hadn’t noticed but you were wearing a big and loose tee shirt that arrived to the middle of your thighs and a pair of boxers that were far from belonging to you. ‘Oh shoot!’ Embarrassment ran through your whole body of the situation : how could you have not seen that you were wearing his clothes ? But wait… how did you even get into his clothes ? Last time you remembered you were… oh cauldron boil you ! Your cheeks and hid behind your hand at some search of reassurance.

“I tried not to look if that’s what you’re wondering about.

-Thanks, I guess. For that and the rescue and everything actually.

-It’s okay really. About that, how are you doing, do you want to maybe talk about it or not, it’s up to you. I- I don’t want you to think I’m forcing you into something.

-Don’t worry Azriel, I’m okay, at least I guess I am.”

Silence returned and he placed two plates full of eggs, bacon, pancakes and fruits in them, on the counter, which you were seated to on a stool.

You ate in silence, enjoying a good meal after a whole day being asleep without eating.

“Who was he ? Azriel asked at of nowhere.

-What ?

-Who was he ? And why was he in your apartment ?

-His name is Aaron, I’ve seen him a lot these past few weeks. He slept at mine the night before.

-Like a date ?

-Yes like a date. And no I’m not going to tell you details of our night. But the morning came and just as I woke he was on me and I couldn’t do anything. And by the way, how did you even know I was in danger ?

-One of my shadow stayed with you after babysitting Nyx, despite me trying to get it back, and it came to me to warn me when you were in your bathroom.

-Where is he now ?”

Azriel’s look darkened and he didn’t answer you.

“Az, where is he now ? You repeated your question, articulating each word.

-You don’t want to know. He’s being dealt dont worry if that’s what is your concern.

-Oh..-“

As you were about to continue Cassian, followed quickly by Feyre barged in the kitchen. Feyre was the first hugging you.

“I am so so so sorry you had to live that, and I am so sorry I wasn’t there to help you.”

She had tears in her eyes and still hoped that this was all a bad joke, that it never happened to you. Cassian was a close second to swim you in his arms for a big bear hug.

“Don’t worry, with Rhys and Az we’re examining all the possibilities to make the bastard regret what he’s done to you.

-Thanks to you both.

-Yn, are you alright ? Feyre asked.

-Yeah I am, just feeling a bit empty but I am.”

You smiled at he worried face to prove what you were saying.

“Don’t hesitate to ask any of us, if you need anything.

-Yes I promise, but I don’t need anything for now… Actually, do you know where Lucien is ? And if he-…

-Yes he’s aware, and feeling guilty about it but didn’t want to tell me why. He’s in his room here in the House of Wind because he didn’t to be too far from you in case you needed him.”

You silently thanked her and sent a last thankful look to Azriel as you walked away to find your dear friend.

You don’t even know how much time you spent in front of his door not knowing if you really had the guts to open it. As you put your hand on the doorknob, it opened and a sleep deprived red haired man appeared in front of you, shock adorning his features from seeing you. In a second you were in his arms and booths of you were crying so much that you were soaking each other’s shirt.

“I’m sorry”

You said at the same time.

“No Lu, I am really I am. I should’ve listened to you. I should’ve understood your point of view and should not have treated you the way that I did. You’ve always been so good to me and all I have done is be such a brat to the bestest friend I’ve ever had. I am so so sorry.

-As I am. You are completely forgiven for what you’ve said, even if I can’t say that it didn’t affect me.

-Yes I completely understand and I promis I will make up to you.

-I really am sorry too. I should have stayed and not yelled at you to tell you what I saw. I am sorry about that. I knew this guy was bad. I knew it !

-Yes, you were completely right. Again I apologise.

-Everything is forgotten now. And fortunately because I missed you braiding my hair.”

Cries transformed in laughs and hugs s and kisses from happiness of having finally found again your platonic soulmate.

You spent all day in Lucien’s room telling him about your babysitting week with Nyx and Azriel, about Aaron and what had happened. You avoided the parts where Azriel and you had slept tangled with each other or where you had made a bargain in the middle of the night, curling against him.

You left the House of Wind in the late afternoon with a pained Azriel, whose touch lingered on you a few seconds when he flew you down. The same shadow wrapped around your wrist and another one around your ankle.

You and Lucien has strolled around Velaris for the evening, you had tested out a little pastry shop near the Rainbow and had joked and laughed on the bridge of the Sidra.

You both walked to his flat, a mutual understanding that you didn’t have the strength to go back to yours tonight. Before opening the door, you looked at the night sky, two stars caught your attention, one brighter than the other, that seemed a bit off tonight. Your hand felt drawn to your new tattoo behind your ear and gasped when your fingers made out the pattern now engraved on your skin : two shining stars that seemed orbiting around each others until they reached the other and became one.

“Lu ?

-mmmh yes ?

-I think he’s my mate.”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Taglist:

@mirandasidefics @63angel @leeknows-wife @thehighlordishere @annaaaaa88 @starsinyourseyes @oucereeng @wallacewillow0773638 @kalulakunundrum @lilah-asteria @samuelseoswife

[penkura]

last forever [7/13]

Summary: Zoro only offered to marry you to keep you out of an arranged marriage with a man much older than you. You agreed with the caveat of ending it via annulment once you received word from your parents regarding the original engagement, despite your growing feelings for your close friend.

Pairing: Zoro x Fem!reader, mentioned Sanami later (like epilogue later so chill)

Warnings: Marriage of Convenience, Fake Marriage, referenced sex (waaaaaay later on), mutual pining, Zoro is bad at feelings but what's new there, eventual romance I promise, mention of past attempted assault (I'll warn in that chapter), creepy older dude later on

Note: I apologize for glossing over and skipping fights and so much of this arc. Writing violence is not my forte, and I'd rather focus on the main relationship. We all know how One Piece goes anyway. I had to go back and refresh myself on some of the details, it's been a while since I read/watched Water Seven and Enies Lobby.

But also, I was SO NERVOUS writing a certain part of this, its NOT my usual style omg. But I needed to write what I did when it popped into my head. Just wait until a bit later, though omg. This stays SFW, I swear.

Taglist:

@misfits1a

[Ch. 1] ● [Ch. 2] ● [Ch. 3] ● [Ch. 4] ● [Ch. 5] ● [Ch. 6]

When you finally make it to Water Seven, after your run in with the Foxy Pirates and Admiral Aokiji, it’s nice to be somewhere you recognize. Having only been here a few times when your dad had business and he chose to bring you and Elias, it was always your favorite trip to take when your mother would let you tag along.

The only person who knows this at first, apart from Zoro, is Sanji, when you choose to go into the city with him as Zoro watches the ship; Luffy, Nami, and Usopp go to exchange the gold for actually money, and Chopper goes with Robin to find a bookstore. Sanji laughs a bit when you tell him you’ve been here a few times, give or take.

“You may have been a bit sheltered, but you were well traveled!”

Laughing in return, you tighten your arms around Sanji, laying your head on his back as your Yagara ride continues down the water street, watching all the people. It’s been so long, you forgot how lively this city was.

“Mom would always try to make me stay home with her, but I’d cry and throw a tantrum until she let me go, normally because my brother asked for me to. I was a little spoiled back then by Elias.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Sanji looks over his shoulder to give you a smile, “You were the baby, that’s expected.”

“Tch, yeah,” scoffing, you don’t look up at him, “The baby no one but my brother really wanted.”

He doesn’t say anything, instead just patting one of your hands, which makes you fist his shirt in your grip for a moment before relaxing again. Sanji knows more about your life growing up than most of your crew, only Zoro really having the nearly full story. Even then, you’ve kept somethings to yourself, not because they were painful memories, but because they were some of the few good times you remember, they were more precious to you than any other memories.

The two of you quickly find the shopping district and purchase copious amount of local foods, Sanji reeling off different ideas for dishes as he catches sight of Robin, grabbing your hand to drag you along and around a corner he swears to you he saw her go down, but she’s nowhere to be seen and neither is Chopper.

Your doctor does find you both a few moments later, apologizing on your way back to Merry for losing Robin, but you tell him not to worry, she can take care of herself, she’ll come back later.

When you get back to Merry, the update Zoro gives you feels like a knife in all your hearts. 

“What do you mean Merry is unfixable?!”

“Just what I said,” Zoro doesn’t fully look at Sanji, instead making sure you’re all right with the news, though the frown and starting of tears tell him you aren’t, “A shipwright came to check and said so.”

You hate the idea of having to give up Merry, whether that’s what Luffy’s decided yet or not, you aren’t sure, even as Nami returns and the situation gets worse with Usopp having been beaten by the Franky family and the two hundred million beri being stolen from him. The money didn’t matter, what mattered was Usopp, the rest of your crew going to find him and Luffy but Nami clinging onto you to stay with her, which you do to keep your friend safe.

The rest of the day is a blur, after Usopp is brought back, his fight with Luffy over Merry, and how quickly the rest of you leave to a hotel in the city. Some would probably think it’s strange that you’re holding so tightly to Zoro the whole time, rarely letting go of his arm, but you feel like you need some stability with how things have changed so much in just a day. You all still don’t know where Robin’s gone, you plan to go with Sanji and Chopper later the next day to try and find her.

For now, Zoro doesn’t mind you holding onto and staying by him. He tries to understand, it’s likely you’re thinking back to your parents, having told him of how they’d argue regarding you mostly, Elias being your safe haven who would remove you from the situation for safety.

Part of you doesn’t want to sleep that night, but Zoro makes you, forcing you to lay down. Really you’re worried you’re going to wake up and everything’s been a dream, none of your friends will be there, but Zoro, who you fully are coming to believe can read your mind, pokes you in the forehead before sitting by your bed with his back to you.

“Just sleep. I’ll be here in the morning.”

Every part of you believes him, you’ve got nothing but trust in Zoro.

+!+

With everything that’s happened involving Robin, your crew, Galley-La, and the Franky family, you’re surprised you’re even still on your feet as you follow everyone into Enies Lobby. You’d barely slept the night before and have been awake since early the previous morning, ending up following Sanji to the sea train that was taking Robin from you all. You fight alongside him, Franky, and Usopp, er, Sniper King, to try and reach Robin, only to lose her again in exchange for your own lives.

After the Rocketman train catches up to you and the four of you board it, Nami throws a towel over you since you’re sopping wet from the rain, and you start to draw yourself back from everyone for a few moments. You just need a bit to catch your breath, to keep yourself from crying due to how tired and upset you are. It’s going to be another sleepless night as you listen to everyone try and plan how you’re all going to attack the government island, you want to rescue Robin as soon as possible, even for the selfish reason of being able to sleep properly. Zoro tries to keep you out of the plan discussion, making you sit down and rest as much as you can, giving you water and sending you the slightest of glares if you try to get up too soon.

“Stay there, wife,” he’s quiet while he tells you to stay where you are, trying to keep his slip up of calling you his wife from those who don’t and shouldn’t know, “Rest until we get there. We’ll get Robin back.”

A slight smirk hits your face as you look up at him. “Trust her now?”

Zoro shrugs a bit, leaning on the wall beside you. “I guess. I trust you and Luffy more. But if you don’t rest, it doesn’t matter who I trust.”

Ah, that makes sense, why he’s trying so hard to make you take a break, other than you’re being up for so long now.

You’ll be useless in the fighting if you aren’t as prepared as you can be, if you haven’t had any kind of rest and keep worrying over Robin and everyone else. Even when you get there, convince Robin to let you all rescue her, most of your body wants to give up and stop, but you keep going, keep running to save her with everyone else.

You don’t really mean to get separated from everyone when you go to find the CP9 members who have keys that could open Robin’s sea prism stone cuffs, but it happens and you’re left defending yourself.

A few Marines get a little too close for comfort, but you cut them down fairly quickly, before going the other way from where you came and laughing to yourself at the same time.

I’m starting to take after my husband after all.

+!+

You’ve all returned to Water Seven after rescuing Robin from the government, you’ve maybe given her numerous hugs since even though its only been a couple of hours, and your unfortunate burial of Merry that’d left most of you in tears but all of you heartbroken. So much had happened that you had to step away from everyone for a bit, while there were discussions of what to do next although Luffy had once again fallen asleep from overuse of his powers.

Truthfully you wish you could go to sleep, you’ve been awake for well over twenty-four hours at this point, it would be nice to curl up in a bed and sleep the next several days. Its times like this that make you really wonder if you’re meant to be a pirate, maybe you should just go home and do what your parents want.

“Hey, you okay?”

Then Zoro finds you like always, quietly speaking to keep the others from eavesdropping, though Nami tries, a hand on your shoulder, this time he seems to grip a little tighter than before. You know him well enough at this point, there’s just the slightest hint of worry on his face as he looks at you, brows furrowed just a bit. Zoro knows you just as well, you step away like this when things start to get to be too much, you just need a few moments to clear your head and breathe, and since you’ve had that, you give him a real smile.

“I’m okay.”

“Are you really?”

You nod, Zoro doing the same in return as he knows to believe you, before surprising you by gently taking you face in his hands, as if he’s making absolutely sure that you’re telling the truth.

Having lost track of you while he’d gone on to fight the CP9 members to get Robin’s key, his mind kept wandering to where you’d gotten off to, if you were safe, if you were fighting someone or multiple marines, he really hoped you weren’t against a CP9 member. You had to stay safe, no matter what, you and Robin were his biggest concerns at the time. When you randomly ran into him, Sanji, and Usopp, he was surprised by the relief he felt to see you were a little banged up but otherwise perfectly fine. He’d made you let him carry you on his back the rest of the way, until you got to the ship and were able to safely be on the ground again. He’d barely let you out of his sight since then.

Zoro doesn’t make whatever worry he had about you obvious, only looking like he’s fighting to find something to say while he holds your face and you continue to smile, tilting your head.

“Zoro?”

“Glad you’re okay.”

Giggling a bit, you nod before wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug, your exhaustion and the fears and worries you’ve had the last few hours finally coming to surface while you hug Zoro, making him do the same lightly, to keep you from embarrassing yourself in front of the others while you cry quietly, though you know they wouldn’t care or judge you.

You’re glad Robin is back, everyone is safe and alive, you all may have lost Merry but you’re coming to terms with it.

But most importantly to you, Zoro is safe, and to him, you’re safety is just as important, even if he barely voices it. The last thing he wants is for you to be harmed, in anyway by anyone.

He'll be especially damned if it’s by his hand so he comforts you the best he can, until you’re calmed down enough to rejoin your crew, staying beside him.

He doesn’t make you release his hand as you grip onto it, instead squeezing it back whenever you do so. When you lean into his arm later on, he lays his head against your own, telling you to go ahead and sleep, he’ll get you to a bed. You make him promise to stay with you that night, and he does once everyone goes to turn in, not leaving your side for even a second.

He’ll make sure you stay safe.

+!+

Zoro isn't sure how you two ended up away from the rest of the party. Too much alcohol, yes, but his tolerance is higher than a normal person's. He knows better than to wander off like this, but you took him by the wrist and walked away with a new bottle of sake in your hand, convincing him that it would be good to get away from the noise and everyone else.

You don't normally drink as much as he's seen you do today, he wonders if it's the alcohol that's causing you to giggle incessantly and steal glances at him every bit. Not like you had to steal glances, if you two had been talking you'd be looking at him.

But you'd barely said a word apart from when he asked why you were dragging him away from everyone else.

“Just want some quiet time, husband.”

Zoro never stops you from calling him husband, he's not sure why. Your marriage wasn't real, he should stop you from calling him that.

He should, but he never does.

He doesn't now, even as you lean against him and say “my husband” over and over again. It's only the moment you crawl yourself into his lap that he feels the need to stop you, despite knowing you're drunk or at the very least tipsy enough to not know what you're doing.

“Get off.”

He still doesn't push you off, he's not that heartless.

“Nooooo…” You whine and start to nuzzle your face in his neck, sighing happily after a moment. “My husband~”

“Ain't actually your husband, you know that.”

“But you're my husband still.”

“Stop it before someone sees.”

You pout, but lift your head up to look at him. Zoro can tell more so now that you're definitely drunk, you're more emotional than he thought you'd be. He always expected you to be a giggly or chatty drunk, not emotional to the point you're pouting but also looking like you might cry.

“You should...kiss me.”

“What.”

You nod, leaning closer and touching your nose to Zoro's, making him glance away from you just the slightest bit from the proximity despite the bit of pink across his cheeks that you can see. This is the closest you've let yourself get to him ever, even the nights you sneak into his bed from nightmares, you've never placed your face so close to his.

“You didn't kiss me…when we got married.”

“We're not actu–”

“I'll kiss you then.”

You close the gap for the quickest of seconds, kissing Zoro so fast it's like it didn't happen. Despite your drunk state your face burns with a blush and you apologize, you're not sure why you did that. Must've been the alcohol controlling you or something, that's your excuse. You're both quiet but neither of you moves for a moment, before you decide to get up only to have Zoro hold you in place by your shoulders. His brows are furrowed and you're not sure what's going on in his mind, before he pulls you back into a proper kiss, none of this tiny peck of the lips thing you'd just done. He kisses you fully and for more than a brief second, it's several seconds before he pulls away, leaving you both breathless and you personally shocked.

Shocked for just a moment before you take his face in your hands and kiss Zoro a third time, which he returns, surprising you when he wraps his arms around your waist and brings you closer to him (how you could even get closer when you’re already on his lap, you don’t know). You refuse to let him be the one to end this. You don't want this to end, it needs to continue, even if just for you. Even if all it does is make your feelings for him stronger, even if Zoro later tells you it was a mistake and he still held no romantic feelings for you, despite that fact he's so willingly returning such affection.

Even though, a moment later, Zoro pushes you away gently by your shoulders, neither of you able to breathe properly for a moment, catching your breath as your slowly sobering mind tries to play catch up with what the hell just happened.

You kissed Zoro, and he actually kissed you back. He didn't shove you off or yell at you or anything like that. He accepted it and reciprocated without a single word. You figured he would fight you about this, that he wouldn't accept it so easily.

Is this the progress you've been hoping for?

Once you've both caught your breath, Zoro doesn't even look at you, instead moves just enough that you get the hint and get off his lap finally. It's a few minutes of complete silence between the two of you, that has you confused. You thought things were changing, that you two were getting closer than you had been even before Luffy brought you along.

The fact he'd just kissed you back for several minutes it felt like, you thought maybe Zoro was going to confess to you, but when he still doesn't look at you, you attempt to bring him back by taking his hand, which he lets you for a moment before gently pulling his arm back to himself.

“Zoro…I…I'm sor–”

“I think…you should go to bed, [Y/N].”

“Do you,” you gulp a bit, looking away before you finish, “do you want to come with me?”

“No. That's not a good idea.”

You know this, who knows what trouble you'd bring to yourselves or the crew if you two went to your room together? Whose heart would be broken the next morning if you took things too far when you weren't fully sober? You didn't know, the thought of either of you being hurt made your heart ache and you couldn't bear the thought.

So, instead of trying to convince him things would be fine, you really just wanted to sleep with him next to you, you nod, standing up and dusting yourself off, grabbing the bottle you'd brought with you and looking at Zoro again.

“Are you–”

“Gonna stay here for a bit.”

It's all you can do to nod again, apologizing for pushing things too far before you turn and leave, doing your absolute best to keep your tears to yourself as you return to the party, giving Nami a small smile when she asks where you've been, promising her you'd just gone off to spend some time alone.

She doesn't believe you and intends to get all the information she can later, but she does give you a hug that nearly pushes you over, and says she'll beat up whoever made you sad, especially if it's Zoro, earning her a laugh before you return to your room at the hotel.

I wish he had come with me…

Truthfully you don't regret kissing Zoro, not even a bit. Despite his rejection of your feelings, the fact he so willingly kissed you back made you believe that maybe things were changing in your favor.

Perhaps it was because he was drunk, or maybe he was sober enough that he knew exactly what he was doing, especially when he denied returning to your room with you.

Either way, even with your heart aching from another rejection, it feels like you're making progress with Zoro and your relationship with him, little by little.

For his part of it all, Zoro stays in the same place you'd left him for nearly an hour, trying to calm his own racing heart after that exchange with you.

How he never thought of kissing you before, but now he didn't want to do anything but kiss you (it's the alcohol talking, he swears it is). You tasted like the sake you'd shared and whatever sweet wine Nami had convinced you to take several drinks of. A combination he never expected to be so nice, something he didn't think he'd want to taste again. The moment he thinks about it again his heart skips a beat, and Zoro puts head in his hands in an attempt to stop such feelings.

No, no, shit I gotta stop this.

He sighs and runs his hands through his hair, pulling it slightly to get those thoughts out of his head. Any focus on romance, on you he wanted out of his head. There's been too much of it lately, the want to stay close to you, to pull you away from everyone else, to give in and indulge himself in you alone. He'd told you nothing was going to happen and he had meant it.

But then you had to go and kiss him. The most innocent of kisses, a quick peck on the lips but he'd gone and pulled you back for more almost instantly. Then you made it worse by returning it again and holding his face this time, he didn't know why he enjoyed that so much. This whole thing was ridiculous, there's no reason for these feelings!

The only thing he could do to get some time to think was to push you away, refuse to join you when you went to bed. Who knows what would've happened if he had gone with you? Of course, he knew your thoughts were innocent, you'd shared a bed multiple times when you turned to him after nightmares, it was highly unlikely you were expecting anything more than to just go to sleep and wake up with a hangover, Zoro by your side in case of alcohol induced nightmares.

And he had made you go to bed alone.

That realization, for some reason, causes his heart to ache and Zoro has to finally admit what he's been trying not to, over the last several months, even with the more domestic thoughts he's allowed himself to entertain at times. Something he was hoping would fade away, would disappear over time like it always did for others, the feelings he's finally realized were going to be more long term than he expected.

Damn it all…I'm falling for my wife.

+!+

Contrary to what many may think, Sanji doesn’t particularly like being privy to romance gossip, not the kind involving his crewmates especially. He thinks that such things should be kept between a couple, so when he accidentally hears you telling Nami and Robin how you and Zoro finally kissed the other night, he’s less than pleased to hear it ended with your swordsman pushing you back, not taking you back to your room, or even staying with you for the night.

How unbelievably rude of him! To steal your first kiss, and not even walk you back to your room!

That’s what Sanji would’ve done. If any woman kissed him, he’d walk her back to her room or home, at the very least, to ensure she was safe and nothing happened. Zoro not doing that, when you were inebriated, when you could’ve been hurt or worse, it angers Sanji more than anything Zoro has or hasn’t done thus far. He views you as his best friend, he hates the way you and Zoro seem to get closer to a real relationship, only for something to happen or someone to intervene and ruin your progress. He’s been cheering for you from the start, ever since you confirmed your feelings for the swordsman, only to now wonder if it’s worth it for you.

If Zoro really is what you want and makes you happy, why does it seem like all you do lately is suffer?

Sanji doesn’t fully mean to give Zoro the cold shoulder this time, or even the suspicious looks he throws at him, but Zoro noticed quickly, before anyone else, and confronts him.

“What the hell is your problem, cook?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit, you’ve been giving me worse looks than normal.”

Sanji bites down on his cigarette, finally dropping the knife he’d been holding to face Zoro with a scowl.

“I heard you and [Y/N] kissed the other night—”

“Damn it.”

“—and you didn’t bother to take her back to her room?”

“What, is that my job now?”

“As her husband it should be!”

“I’m not really her husband! Damn it, this is stupid.”

Zoro goes to leave, but Sanji stops him by grabbing his sleeve, holding on and telling him to stop.

“Look, asshole. I could care less that you two are married, real or not, or that you kissed her,” Sanji grits his teeth, finally letting go of Zoro’s sleeve, “But if you break her heart, I’ll never forgive you, mosshead.”

While Sanji turns back to continue prepping for dinner, Zoro stops for just a moment. The two have had fights before, that’s obvious to anyone with a brain, but they’ve yet to fight about you. And he wonders why it's only now, after you kissed him, that Sanji seems so hell bent on protecting you, or maybe he's always been like this, it's just more on display as you and Zoro start to get closer.

“What’s your deal with her?”

“She’s my best friend, mosshead. I just want her safe and happy, even if it’s with you.”

He doesn’t say anything in response, leaving the kitchen to find you lounging with Nami and Robin, the three of you in some conversation when you look up and see him, giving a slight smile that Zoro returns with a nod, before heading off to the crow’s nest. What Sanji last said is stuck in his head, partially wondering if you told your cook what happened that night in Water Seven or if he was good at guessing, but that’s not the biggest thing he wonders about.

Would you really be happy with me, of all people, [Y/N]?

+!+

“All right, wait, so, you honestly kissed him?”

“Nami don't make me repeat myself.”

Nami laughs while Robin smiles, both amazed you got up the courage to kiss Zoro of all people. Yeah, you were tipsy at the time, even though Zoro still believes you were fully intoxicated, but you couldn't help feeling bad about it afterwards, just for a bit.

“I didn't fully think it through. I just…I don't know, I wanted to kiss him so I did.”

“I don't think he's too upset about it then,” Robin nods a bit, taking a sip of her wine, “You said he kissed you back, if he didn't push you away right off the bat, it sounds like he was positively receptive to it.”

“Yeah,” Nami quickly agrees, giving you a grin, “Sounds like you're getting yourself a boyfriend.”

“I don't think he wants that.”

“Well, what do you want? Maybe you guys could talk it through.”

What did you want? You thought you knew, to be a world renowned swordswoman, to help Luffy become King of the Pirates.

But what did you want from Zoro? Just to be with him, to stay married to him? Do you want to maybe have a family of your own with him one day? You'd had those thoughts when your feelings first started surfacing, after your impromptu wedding at that backwater courthouse. You'd stopped entertaining  thoughts for quite a while, but now, they're coming back more often.

More importantly, does Zoro want any of that with you?

“I…think… I want to be with him forever…”

Hearing Nami choke on her own drink, you give her a concerned look before she looks at you with wide eyes.

“You sound like you're in love with Zoro!”

You don't say anything for a bit, even with Nami and Robin looking at you like they're expecting you to deny such a thing. There was no way you were in love with Zoro, not at all. You two hadn't dated, your marriage was only temporary, it was meant to end as soon as you had something from your parents. You two weren't going to last forever, you weren't going to have kids together, live out your lives as a married couple. It wasn't happening.

No matter how much you may want it to. That's what Nami and Robin have come to think over time, from the things you've said to them.

“I am, Nami.”

Despite Nami's new outburst and saying she knew it with Robin laughing, you don't feel any kind of worry or fear about admitting your real feelings for Zoro. Neither of them would tell, your secret was safe as could be.

But for you, all you do is smile to yourself.

You love Zoro, more than anything. You've thought so for a while now, but finally voicing it aloud gives you a sense of peace and happiness. Whether Zoro ever returns your feelings or not, whether you two come to act as a married couple or not, you're more than happy to even stay by his side as his crewmate and friend. Even if you have to love him silently, you'd do so.

You'll hope he comes to love you back one day, but you won't force anything on him.

“I'm in love with Zoro.”

~~

Note 2: Me writing this: now KISS.

After writing: omg they kissed

[eleni-cherie]

among thieves ✨ || bts • pjm

- bonus epilogue

"what even am I to you? your rival, your lover, an obstacle or am I supposed to be your coffin?"

about two thieves who can't live with nor without each other. and a joint past that comes back to threaten them.

© 2023 | eleni_cherie

»»»

masterlist: here

— genre: thief au, gangster comedy, adventure, romcom, humour, angst, fluff, very flirty jimin, friends/rivals/exes to lovers (it's complicated, ok?!) f2l e2l ex2l all members play a role in this story!

ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE. CHARACTERS NOT NECESSARILY LIKE THE REAL PERSONS. ALSO VERY UNREALISTIC PLOT LOL - JUST PRETEND READING A MANGA/COMIC OR WATCHING A FILM, REALLY.

SUGGESTIVE THEMES. MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE & BLOOD (BUT NOTHING TOO GRAPHIC, IT'S STILL A COMEDY!)

»»»

three months earlier Nice, France

"Bella-baby? C'mon, I know you're in there! Open the door!"

A defeated groan left Arabella's lips. 

She should've seen it coming and in a way she did. She just expected it to take longer for him to find her in that purposely chosen small hotel. 

Arabella was avoiding Jimin or at least had tried to, but of couse Jimin had managed to find her anyway. That was the disadvantage of having a masterthief as your lover, he knew how to search for something and find it.

It had only been a bit over a month since they'd last seen each other. Almost 7 weeks, 46 days to be exact. And she'd know, oh, she did know it exactly. She had calculated it over and over again after all.

And if her irritation over the overall sudden pivotal situation she'd found herself in wasn't enough, he had to add to it now by randomly showing up and knocking on the door of the hotel suit in Nice she'd been hiding in for the past three days.

Frankly, she wasn't only avoiding him but the whole world right now. Everything felt confusing and exhausting and somehow she thought by avoiding everything and everyone and just being by herself could help her clear her mind.

So far nothing had changed though.

Another knock was heard even followed by permanent and annoying ringing.

He was persistent she knew. But he was also understanding and kind, as annoyed as she felt in that moment, she knew sooner or later she had to talk with him about it anyway. After all, he had been involved in creating this situation - and he'd get to hear the telling off about it soon.

The phone on the floor buzzed, interrupting her train of thoughts and she picked it up annoyed.

chim (6:47pm):i know we said to lay low for some time after dubai

chim (6:47pm): but i meant for pops! i didn't mean from each other T-T

chim (6:50pm): or did i do smth??

chim (6:54pm): it's ok if you don't wanna see me for whatever reason, but at least give me a sign you're ok. I'm getting worried here

chim (6:58pm):i give you 5. otherwise I'll get a keycard and check myself!

She groaned again. Her eyes briefly fell onto the silver bracelet gracing her wrist before forcing herself to stay up, pushing her body off the warm mattress, the duvant she'd been rolled in like a wrap falling from her torso.

With delicate steps she walked to the door as some kind of calmness took over, reducing her unrestness. Truth was, she wanted to see Jimin. She'd missed him and quite frankly, in this situation he was the only one who she wanted to see and talk to. Not that she had anyone else, she didn't. Well, except maybe Cassandra and she'd need someone like her as well, whatever her decision to deal with it might end up being. And yet, when her hand wrapped around the door handle, she hesitated.

What would his reaction be?

Would he be as panicked and scatter minded as her?

Would he be uninterested?

Mad?

Upset?

Scared?

Or even.. happy?

She didn't know. She didn't even know how she felt herself. Probably all of the above.

What if they couldn't agree?

A lump formed in her throat at the possibility of them falling apart because of this. With a deep inhale she eventually opened the door in a swift move. Not knowing Jimin had been sitting against it, causing him to promptly land with his back on the floor in front of her legs. However, he didn't even acknowledge the unexpected fall or ache in his shoulders. His only reaction being a beaming smile spreading over his features when catching sight of the familiar pair of beautiful hazel eyes. Staring down on him, perplexed seeing him laying there on the ground. 

Her hair was shorter than he remembered, the blond-colour fading into the edges. Matching his own honey-dyed one. Frankly, every hairstyle suited her really, she'd always look hot, but this one might be one of his favourite ones.

"Finally, love! I was worried sick."

She ignored the statement, lightly pushing his shoulder with her toes. "Get up already, Jiminie."

But Jimin didn't move, his irises sliding from her eyes down to her barely covered legs and his smile became a smirk filled with mischief. "Enjoying the view from down here though." "How did you even find me?" He huffed and gave her a lopided smirk. "That offends me. After all it's my job to find hidden treasures." She only rolled her eyes at his flirting, making him giggle. Wordlessly she walked back inside, returning under the bed sheets. Jimin quickly followed, closing the door behind him only to spot her in her newly created hiding spot. And he frowned.

"Are you sick?"

"You could say so," she laughed out from under the sheets.

The crease between his brows deepened and he dragged a chair to the side of the bed. Sitting down right in from of her face with an adorable pout.

"I came all the way from Marrakesh, I think I deserve to know what I did to upset you."

"You didn't do anything."

"I didn't?" he was surprised.

"Well you did, but it wasn't on purpose," she mumbled, her cryptic answers only confusing him more. He watched her rolling herself into the sheets like a child hiding from the world. "Will you tell me what exactly I did or didn't do?" he chuckled and set on the edge of the bed beside her, poking her nose with a grin. "You're confusing me quite a lot, love, but I wanna understand."

She had a weak spot for his dumb puppy eyes and he knew that, so with a dragged sigh she propped herself up on one arm. Her usually fierce eyes now lacking confidence when she stared at him with a straight face for a moment or two. Her cheeks turning crimson when she eventually muttered, "I'm pregnant."

She said it so casually that it took him a moment to process. His expression going blank.

"You're pregnant," he repeated, monotonously.

"I'm pregnant."

"You're pregnant."

"I'm pregnant." With a light grumble, she laid back down, resuming her previous spot.

A few seconds of silence followed until Jimin's lips parted again, realisation seemingly dawning on him as he stared at her blanket-burrito bewildered. "You're pregnant!" His unexpected excited voice made her flinch and curl more into the sheets, leaving her unprepared for his weight that almost crushed her when he fell over her. His arms around her, squeezing her into a tight hug. 

"Ugh, let me breath!!" she whined. He was giggling when she was struggling turning around and wiggling free from the wrapped sheets. As soon as her arms were out, she tried pushing him off of her and he let her, his giggles having turned to a full on laughter, eyes disappearing fully. Amused by her habit of pretending getting annoyed over his display of affection when he knew she secretly liked it. And how could he not show it in a moment like this?

The thought simply didn't fit his mind. Arabella Valentine, one of the greatest thieves and spies of the world, internationally wanted by law enforcement agencies and criminals, wrapping men around her little finger and crushing them only by her charms, wit and dazzling beauty - pregnant. Unimaginable. Ironic even.

He pulled back just a little to give her the space to breath, but his arms remained around her back. His bright smile faltering to a straight one as his crescent eyes got bigger by shyness and hesitation.

"Wait, it's.. it's mine, right? I mean.. " He narrowed his eyes.

He knew that there had been a time where she'd lulled men into her trap to gain information or importent documents for a job, by making use of her female skills. It had been in the past but he'd never had the courage to ever clarify that. He only assumed she'd stopped after the first time they'd got together because frankly, that was what he wanted to believe. After all, the woman he loved was hard to catch, it was in her nature to be free as a bird. Hence why they'd never been officially together again after the first time which hadn't worked out. That was almost a decade ago. 

There was simply this mutual understanding that despite not being tied to one another, they still belonged to each other. It was an unspoken agreement, something that came naturally when loving someone. They could flirt all they wanted with others to gain information, sneak into places - or out of pure habit of character like in Jimin's case - but at the end of the day, that was it. Nothing beyond this. And he trusted her. Yet, in this moment he felt the need to clarify for good that his feelings hadn't deceived him and both of them had shared the same sentiment.

Arabella only scoffed then, giving his chest a playful push. She wanted to be offended but couldn't. After all she knew where that unusual insecurity came from. With a pout on her lips, her hazel irises wandered up to meet his. "Of course it's yours."

His bright grin immediately returned to his lips as relief washed over him and he squeezed her closer to him. "I know, I'm sorry, love. I just had to make sure," he quietly said, kissing her temple. "Don't you trust me at all after all these years?" "Not with jewels, but I trust you with my life, love." And even Arabella couldn't help biting back a smile at that view. He was beaming, his face was beaming of joy. He was actually excited? It seemed weird, this whole scene seemed surreal. Still unable to comprehend how she'd found herself in such a strage situation.

"So.. you're not actually freaking out?" she slowly asked, just to ensure she didn't get ahead of herself. With his arm still slung around her shoulder, he was propped up on her side, now arching a brow at her from above. "No, why? Are you?" And to his surprise he watched her making a vague gesture. "Wait, is that why you disappeared for weeks? You were afraid of my reaction?" "No.. yes.. no.. it was everything." 

With a groan, she averted herself from him and laid on herback. Staring up at the ceiling. Despite the closed curtains, enough light came through due to them being see-through. The afternoon sun projectinng their pink colour onto the white surfaces. "I just never saw myself as a mother, getting pregnant was not on my bucket list so it just.. caught me off guard really. I didn't expect it and got overwhelmed. And then of course, I also didn't know how you'd feel about it, adding to the whole distress."

Jimin was listening intently to her spilling her inner conflict, occasionally humming along understandingly and nodding here and there while observing the movement of her eyes and lips.

"It's not like I thought about it myself, you know," he said with a gentle smile, his free hand caressing the soft skin of her arm. It was cool despite the warm temperature. For a moment, he observed absendmindedly the movement of his fingers before continuing in a low voice, "It's true that in our profession.. that's not a top priority. Making plans for the furute.. We usually don't think that far ahead."

Arabella laughed under her breath and closed her eyes. "No, we surely don't."

Thieves lived for the moment. Of course, they had to plan out coups. But that was the only plans for the future they made. Heists. What and how they'd steal next. Anythinng else, especially when it came to their private life, was too risky and blurry to even dare considering making any plans.

Her eyes fluttered open and she glanced up at the soft edges of the face she loved the most. His friendly eyes were spacing out, partially covered by the longer becoming dark waves.

"So, what now?" she quiely spoke up, breaking his daze.

He blinked, a small chuckle forming on his plush lips. "Good question." The faced her, skimming her features in an attempt of reading her mind. Despite his excellent analysing of the human nature, his skills often failed when it came to Arabella "Do you wanna keep it?"

"Good question," she sighed, repeating his answer. "But I.. I think so? Is that weird? I mean.. I'm not sure, I'm afraid and worried but.." She paused, searching for his face out of habit. And suddenly a wave of serenity overcame her as she saw the love in his features.  

Yeah, she had tried running away from any decision-making the past weeks because she felt scared and insecure. However, looking at the only man she'd ever trusted now and the sparkle in his eyes along with his calm smile, made something inside her switch. The thought of holding something that was half her and half him unexpectedly made her heart swell.

She shook her head. The hormones must've already been at full work for her to suddenly become so sentimental and sappy.

She shrugged nonchalantly then, looking away briefly only to raise a brow at him. "Do.. do you even wanna be a parent?"

Jimin took a moment to simply look at the woman he had called his lover, his nemesis, his partner in crime The love of his life and favourite menace.

"If it's with you, then yes."

Arabella wanted to roll her eyes at his corny remark but she realised quickly that it wasn't one of his usual flirt or charm tactics. She could see in his expression that he was serious, he meant it. And it made her swallow.

"Wow," she whispered, her gaze falling only to meet his again, "You really mean it, huh? You'd actually be interested in settling down and all that? I mean, we tried it once and it didn't work.."

He huffed out a laugh, his lips tugging into a smirk then as he leaned closer to her face. "Of course it didn't. We were too young and did it all wrong. Like the main couple in season two of a tv show, it was never meant to work out back then."

Her eyes grew round at his words. Truth was, it always unsettled her how uncomfortable and strained they both had been in their first try. It was one of the reasons which kept her from persuing another committed relationship with him, even if technically they were in one for years now. Just without the official labels and all that. And the reason she feared of ever making anything official again was rooted by that first initial failure. She'd feared a second one might be enough for them to fall apart and she'd dreaded that thought.

Maybe Jimin was right though. Perhaps it simply hadn't been the right timing eight years ago. They'd been naive and impulsive, forcing themselves to follow what they'd seen everyone else doing. What they'd thought they had to do. That wasn't their style.

"You think the first time was meant to fail?" Smiling, he run his fingers through her silky hair, combing it back. "Think about it, love. We tried acting normal, but Bella, we're anything but normal. It didn't make sense." He placed a kiss on her forehead.

"When did we ever make sense.." she muttered to herself before rising her voice again, "So you mean we should just stay true to ourselves?" He nodded, earning a sarcastic laugh from her. "Thieves and conartists. Great qualities for parents," she retorted. "Oh please, we'll be the coolest parents ever! We just have to be more cautious with our little.. tricks." Wiggling with his brows earned him a genuine giggle from her and he scoffed, pretending being offended. "No, I'm serious, Bella! We ain't that bad after all, we've changed, haven't we?"

Arabella paused, musing over his arguments. They'd indeed changed. She wasn't the ruthless and opportunistic loner nor was he the immature and reckless womaniser anymore. Both had outgrown those old habits, perhaps even thanks to the other.

And if there was a 'first' try, there had to be a 'second' one, as well. Especially after having gone through countless adventures and dangers, binding them together.

"What about pops and his minions though?" she countered, "I don't think growing up on the run would be too great for a child."

However, Jimin only shrugged, seemingly having a solution even for this concern.

"I heard Taiwan's very nice, especially for children."

"Taiwan?" Now it was her turn to repeat his words as confusion was written all over her lovely features. Surely, they'd been there for a couple of peaceful thefts over the years as interp- And then it dawned on her. Of course. One of the few places on earth that wasn't an interpol member. They'd be unbothered there by the agents who'd strangely grown on them over all these years running from them. And surely dealing with local police would be a piece of cake compared to Seokjin, Skylar and Jungkook.

Her lips curled into a grin.

"Taiwan huh? Heard it also houses one of the world's greatest art collections."

And Jimin couldn't help but smirk when imagining all the future heists ahead. And there'd be enough, he was certain of that. "Surely we - I meant, our child can benefit from that."

Suddenly a fuzzy feeling spread inside her chest. Their child. Hers and Jimin's. It was still surreal. And he could read her mind and laughed at her anew panicked expression. "Don't think too much about it now, we still have time to get used to it," he said and squeezed her shoulders, bringing her closer to him. Their lips met and both smiled into the kiss that felt like sealing the deal.

None of them had dared to ever imagine something like this, not even fleetingly, considering their risky lives. But if they had, it wouldn't have been with anyone else but the person in their arms right now.

Arabella didn't know what reaction she had expected or hoped for back then after the first five tests - just to be sure - or when finding him in front of her door earlier. However, for the first time in her chaotic and trauma-marked life she felt light. Lighter then she'd ever felt before.

THE END

»»»

-thank you all for reading this story! it was fun writing something totally new for once, so hope you also had fun reading it!

💜check out the whole "thieves collection" series or my main bts masterlist for other members' stories in this universe or in general💜

Don't forget to like, reblog & leave feedback!♡ It motivates me to keep writing :)

[chezzywezzy]

Yandere L Lawliet (5/6)

WC: 4k

*technically this is the 'end' as far as plot goes, but there will be another plot that involves an explicit epilogue hehehehe

R was wearing the most formal thing she had in her closet, which ended up being a flattering, body-contouring gown with sleeves that was her favorite color. She even wore heels, something she rarely did - even with her typical outfits, crocs or sneakers were her go-to. L’s eyes were glued to the women as a small smile stretched across his mouth.

She was going a date, much to his chagrin. But L was on the cusp of winning. He had bid his time, maintaining a persona that he was even further withdrawn and uninvolved with the rest of the task force. In fact, Light was leading the charge, feigning that he was putting in effort to catch the new Kira.

But L was quite aware about what happened - somehow, Light had given Teru Mikami a second notebook and had now resumed the Kira killings. And even with the shinigami’s watchful eyes, L had noticed something that only confirmed Misa’s identity as the initial second Kira: the shinigami was in love with Misa.

And that caused a problem, because Misa was in love with Light, and to some degree, R. That meant as long as that shinigami was in the picture, L could not win. But during an interrogation, the shinigami had folded and told the story of a shinigami who had died from saving a human.

Despite being gods of death, L had gathered they were not the foolish. However, it felt nice knowing his previous plans still held up, even without that confirmation.

“Why are you staring at me?” R snapped.

L shook himself of his dissociation. The main room was void of people except for the two of them. And so, he stood and caught the woman off guard.

R had stopped her retreat at the back of the couch, clutching the fabric so tight her knuckles became white. Before L could close distance, even with his hands shoved in his jean pockets,  she pushed her hands hard against his chest and made him haul.

L had not broken eye contact once; had he even blinked?

“I simply was thinking about how I’ve won,” he muttered fondly, grinning.

She blinked in confusion. “What do you mean, L? You haven’t shown interest in the Kira case for a while, and suddenly you’ve won?”

“Indeed,” L hummed. “I have not only solved it, but am about to win. Light Yagami is and has always been the first Kira, Miss Amane the second, and now none other than Teru Mikami is the third. However… I would appreciate it if you did not mention this to anyone until after the case is concluded.”

R’s jaw tensed and her teeth scraped together in  a mixture of fright, concern, and irritation. L watched with amusement and removed his hands from his pocket, wrapping his slim and heavily accessorized fingers around her own.

When was the last time they had been so close?

“You… can’t be serious,” R stammered, eyes looking through L in a daze. “You’re just jealous, right?”

“I suppose I am jealous to a degree,” he mused, intentionally drawing her attention once more by swiping his tongue over his bottom lip and narrowing his eyes. “But I still hold logic and reason. It is not a coincidence that after Light and Teru met, the killings resumed. I believed the notebook the second Kira used was gifted to Teru that very night, in fact. And your friend’s involvement was only confirmed by the inane fact that that stupid creature is in live with Miss Amane. To be quite frank, R, there is not much more you can do to save them. Teru has already been caught killing. It is only proving that Light was the first. I have even concocted a way to ensure my safety and deal with that pesky shinigami.”

R’s face had paled drastically and her entire body began to tremble. She could not have cared less about Light; but Misa and Teru… both were, selfishly, the people who gave her happiness - both presently and in the future.

Were the people she loved  going to die?

“No…” R mumbled, tearing her hands away from L’s and pulling them to her chest. “L, please, is there anything I can do to persuade you to at least give me time?”

He quirked a brow and scratched the back of his neck. “Are you trying to bribe the number one detective in the world into allowing you to be an accomplice to the crime I am investigating?”

R bit her lip so tightly it was painful and nodded her head shamefully. Tears threatened to fall as her imagination ran wild with possibilities of how cruel her life would end up being without her best friend and lover.

She would do anything to save them, even if they had both done horrible things.

“Interesting,” L mumbled, placing a finger under chin and tilting her head upward to meet his intensely calculating gaze. “You’re bending right to my design… Very well. What you must do is say no to him - and make it cruel.”

“No…?” R questioned cautiously. “To what?”

“You will see.”

R could hardly consider his words before the wolf descended, not caring about the worried gaze of the shinigami he had become of aware of from behind. L felt so satisfied as all of his pent up attraction to the woman unraveled and L cradled her to him while kissing her passionately. R squeaked in confusion, neither returning the affection or denying it. L, to some degree, cared about R’s opinion on the matter, but that would be more important at a later time.

Her lips were soft and he enjoyed holding her hip and upper back so tightly. L had anticipated this moment, truthfully, since the minute he’d met the woman over a year ago. He had done his research on displaying physical affection and adapted his lifestyle in terms of attempting to lean into his more ‘attractive’ qualities. He sensed the surprise that R had amongst her terror and despair at how skillfully he deepened the kiss without the clacking of teeth together or robbing one another of breath.

Suddenly, his fantasy was disturbed as the distant chatter of returning investigators approaching the door broke through. R squealed in fright, her cheeks bright red and her lipstick smeared. Just as swiftly as L had bombarded the woman with affection, he pulled away and sent her one last warning glance.

R was frozen briefly until the door began opening. With a lowered head and a tense physique, she dashed off before the investigators could inquire about her appearance.

~~~

Rem trailed after Misa who had returned from a movie shoot. Its heart suddenly dropped in confusion and concern when the numbers above her head began to go haywire.

And suddenly, Misa was destined to die in a few days with some certainty.

Rem was concerned, noticing that Light’s dropped, too, matching Misa’s. When it ventured downstairs, L Lawliet’s had as well, but nobody else’s.

What had changed so suddenly to cause the demise of Misa?

It took moments to recognize what changed - something was happening to R that was completely unplanned for. 

Rem took off in the direction of the restaurant it had followed Misa and Light to once. It had never felt such terror.

How pitiful, Rem thought. A god of death scared to die. 

Rem did not even need to enter the restaurant. On the balcony of the Michelin restaurant, R leaned against the railing, leaning tensely against Teru Mikami. 

His lifespan had been demolished as well. What was about to happen?

It kept quietly out of sight, unaware of the eager eyes that observed through a security camera with an innocent grin plastered to his face.

“…You have been tense all night, my dear. What changed? Are you… getting cold feet about our plan?”

R blinked and gulped, thinking about what L had meant. She did not know yet. But, if only to be safe, she had been obstinately declining every offer and invitation Teru sent her way. So, once again, she shook her head no.

“It’s… not that,” R sighed. “I just have a lot on my plate, I suppose.”

“Hm.” Teru clasped R’s hand tightly, withdrawing momentarily as he set into motion. “Perhaps this is not the perfect time, but I cannot help it. I hope this may remove some stress, if I may.”

R tilted her head in confusion and took a step back. Teru lowered onto one knee and withdrew a ring.

Her heart dropped in that instant. This was what L had been referring to.

Tears pricked in her eyes, which to Teru, was a good sign of becoming emotional. The woman grasped her mouth tightly as her heart squeezed in heartbreak. He sent her a gentle smile, allowing the facade of chilliness to fall as he fumbled with the box in anxiety.

“R, I have been planning my life down to the minute for as long as I could remember. I did not anticipate finding the woman I loved so soon, eight years before I thought I could consider moving onto this stage of life. And yet, you riddled your way into my heart and I allowed my plans to fall flat. I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you and I only hope you feel the same like I believe you do. I promise to provide for you with every ounce of my being and  protect you for the rest of your life… Would you do mew the honor of allowing me to become your husband?”

Silence was all that followed - R had become frozen in place, struggling to do what she knew had to have been done. She wanted so badly to say yes, but L had won. And that meant she had to sacrifice her happy future to protect the man and woman she loved.

Her hands lowered as Teru’s body became tense with discomfort and concern. He was rethinking every step along the way. They had agreed they wanted to marry… so why had she suddenly grown cold feet?

“I’m sorry, Teru,” R choked. “I cannot marry you. I do not think I can even be with you anymore.”

Teru’s grip on the ring box tightened as he stood up abruptly, cheeks burning with embarrassment. “What? Why the sudden change of heart, R? Is there an angle we never considered?”

Rem observed the scene. The numbers were still going haywire. It felt the urge to remind itself that Light and R could keep Misa safe in its absence. But things could still change.

“And make it cruel.”

R gulped away the truth.

“Because, Teru, I know who you’ve become. You’re a monster now. I… can’t be with someone evil like you. I - I deserve better!”

Teru, who had previously reached to rub her shoulder, snapped into place with nothing but shock.

How could she know? And even if she did… why did she suddenly oppose Kira, when their entire relationship, they had agreed they worshiped him? Why now was she against god’s will?

She would tell. He loved R, but… everything was now jeopardized. R had to go.

Rem observed in horror as the death date had been solidified. R was now destined to die mere minutes from now from a robbery. And Teru Mikami was destined to die in several days by public hanging. How had a mere break-up stirred it all?

Only Rem could protect Misa in this moment.

“Very well. I will cover the bill,” Teru grumbled furiously. “I understand exactly what you mean. I believe it would be best if you made your own way home, R.”

The woman flinched from how cold his voice was. She could only pray, though, she had bought time for Kira to still win. Her shoulders and head slumped as the woman turned and left with nothing but a purse. 

Rem was quick to hover and follow R. The minutes were ticking away.

It did not connect the dots when Teru withdrew a small rip of paper from his pocket and scribbled down R’s name.

Tears streamed down R’s cheeks as she exited onto the jolly streets of Tokyo. She sobbed, having never hated L until this moment. That horrible detective had robbed a good person like her of everything she loved in one swift moment: all for the name of justice.

Everywhere she looked, R could only see happy families or loving couples. It drove her mad in a way that did not quite feel like herself. The despair controlled her body as she swerved into a back alley and collapsed onto her knees. Sobs escaped her lungs. She was… dissociated.

“R,” Rem spoke, landing on the ground in front of her. “You must find some place safe. Now.”

“R - Rem?” R squeaked, falling back on her buttocks from shock. She felt frozen in place as she observed the shinigami. “Why are you here?”

“Please. Run. For Misa’s sake.”

The woman went to do so, but she did not know how to move. A gulp wracked at her lungs as her body instinctually pulled her knees close and the sobs kept coming, disregarding the shinigami.

Rem became angered and distraught, physically trying to pull the woman off the ground. But Rem realized far too late what had happened. It was left with no choice other than to pull out its Death Note as a man wielding a gun took aim from behind Rem and shot.

The shinigami cried as the man collapsed. Its body was turning to dust. A scream escaped R’s lung as a bullet lodged in her shoulder, barely missing her heart. She suddenly had control of herself. All she could do as she laid on the ground, sand spreading across her body and men in black coming to assist her, was curse L.

Because even through the chaos and pain, she realized R had allowed him to win.

~~~

“I am a man true to his word, R,” L insisted from beside the surprisingly uninjured woman. “I have given them time - after all, with both of our lifespans multiplied, I now have all the time in the world to catch Kira. But I suppose I am still rather childish and hate losing, so… you have a month. And remember, if you dare tell them anything, I’ll have them shot in an instant.”

R had wished so dearly that L had been lying when he said that. She could not help but be consumed by guilt, having walked into his trap. Not only did L win, but he was rewarded beyond compare because of it.

And so after a tearful month of trying to grieve what was to come, she stood on the top of the task force building tearfully, gripping the rail. The view of the city was so beautiful. Her tears mixed with the cold, wet rain. R desired to get what little revenge she could by taking a plunge off the side of the building, but that was not possible. Not only did L have eyes on the healing woman at all times and she tried to ignore the thinly veiled glass beyond the railing, but she was the only sort of bargaining that could exist for Misa’s life.

Teru had already been caught and had been sitting in a cell the last month. There was irrefutable evidence amongst the task force of him being one of the Kiras. But Misa was still living a happy life of bliss with Light. And R would give it all up to keep her safe. L knew that.

“R,” L called, having entered the rooftop. “What are you doing out here?”

She tightened her grip on the rail and her lips quivered, knowing what she had to offer to keep Misa safe. She turned and gulped, quivering under the man’s neutral yet intense gaze. He held a small smile a beckoned her to him.

R wandered over, still maintaining some distance between the two. The rain pattered against her soaked body which adorned nothing but a sweatshirt and a skirt. The bandages from being shot remained glued to her arm and drops fluttered from her eyelashes.

L felt pleased. He knew how things would proceed. He could already sense how R was preparing herself for him. He tilted his head and noticed how R reflexively tensed as his eyes rolled up and down her physique.

“Tell me, R, has there ever been a time where you did not love everyone so fiercely and unconditionally, or were you born this way?”

She pursed her lips, not meeting the man’s gaze further. “I… do not know.” She bit back words L already knew she wanted to say; she would never want to love him unconditionally.

“Come inside, my dear. You’ll catch a cold.”

R slumped by, and L took the opportunity to wrap an arm around her waist, squeezing the skin firmly. The exchange was silent but understood as L pressed her to sit on the staircase. He had a towel at the ready, folding onto his knees to wipe her bare feet and lower calves. His fingers ghosted across her flesh and he occasionally fluttered to gaze at the woman, sending a small smile.

She flushed and bowed her head. “You know what I want to ask, L.”

“Yes, but I wish to hear you say it yourself,” he hummed quietly, setting the towel to the side. He stared intently as his fingers inched up her knee but did not go further than that.

“I do not care about Light - do what you please with him. But… please do not kill Misa,” R pleaded, voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll do anything.”

“That is hardly convincing, R. That’s such a vague promise. Surely you can offer up more than that.”

R clenched her fists. It took all the effort in the world to not resort to violence or at least betray how she truly felt but trembling.

“I’ll be with you, L. I’ll say anything, do anything, be anything for you for as long as you’d like if only to save Misa. Please.”

L blinked, still unimpressed and unmoved. The woman felt frustrated to no end, but she swallowed her pride in that moment. Composing herself, she grabbed the collar of L’s shirt and  pulled him from his position at her feet. She crashed her lips against his and L wasted no time in reciprocating intently, humming with pleasure into the kiss.

One hand hooking around her waist while the other was a pillow for the back of her head as his body covered her’s. R felt repulsed to the extent of vomiting, but persevered. She parted her lips briefly and their tongues intertwined with a heat that was lacking before. R became aware of how flush he pressed himself against her, so much that she felt the bulge in his pants grow.

L felt a fiery passion and adoration for the woman. He had always been aware of his monstrous tendencies, despite standing as a figure for justice. That is why, above all, he felt nothing but joy as things fell into his lap exactly how he planned.

After all, Misa would hardly be a threat; perhaps not even alive after Light died and R left with him. He felt satisfied knowing that even gods of death could not beat him. And neither could the woman who held such a tight leash on his heart and mind.

Everything about her was perfection. For the first time in his entire life, he had felt something beyond pride or satisfaction. L was known for being incredibly autistic, but only Watari knew the diagnosis extended further into the realm of sociopathy. So that meant that he was forever grateful that R still charged past the barriers on his heart simply by being herself.

He relished the feeling of her hands becoming tangled in his hair and how her back arched against the stairs. He cherished the taste of her saliva and the warmth of her breath. He admired how perfectly their bodies fit together, as though destiny had matched them together personally. 

L suddenly broke the kiss, heart thumping happily when R’s lips chased after his. Her hooded eyelashes were seductive and her wide-eyed stare could entrance him for a lifetime. However, he still had to seal the deal.

“All I ask is for a lifetime of love and loyalty, R, and I will let Misa free. Let me worship the ground you walk on until my last breath. That is all I ask of you and I will bend to your request.”

His voice came out as no more than a husk; even in that moment, L pleaded so sincerely, as though insecurity had seeped in and convinced him that R could still change her mind and stop caring for Misa.

“And what if you grow bored of me, L? We will exceed the human lifespan to an unnatural amount, after all…”

“For a woman to enrapture me to the point of abandoning all other passions… Statistically speaking, it is nearly impossible for that to ever happen,” he muttered lowly, thumb caressing her damp cheek.

R hated the constant reminder of the gilded gold brick road that she was forced to follow. At a certain point, she was not even sure if it was out of love or guilt that she protected Misa so frivolously. But if she strayed from the path and put herself first, would L even let her go so freely? Or would every person she met be cursed with a fate of scrutinized criminal charges?

The man she had once been so fond of - yes, perhaps to the degree of a crush - no longer looked the same. Yes, he appeared as a more attractive and average human adult, but his eyes gave away a hunger that she had found herself acquainted with at a pace so slowly she wasn’t sure when it had first set in.

When she had first allowed herself to fall to his beck and call.

“Yes, L. I will be with you for as long as you want.”

L chuckled and his eyes crinkled with amused affection. “You phrase it so poorly that you sound as though you’re a captive, R.”

She gulped and nodded. “I’m sorry… What I meant is that I love you, L. I promise that I’ll love you forever. I want to be with you for as long as you wish it.”

L sighed happily and bowed his head in the crook of her neck, nose twitching from how delicious her smell was, even when muted and muddled from the downpour that still slid off their bodies.

“Yes… I love you as well, R. But I suppose I was never very good at hiding it, was I? So if I may, I wish to show you the extent of my love.”

[mangocallum]

Voltron, as a series is amazing, but I can agree with other people, that the last couple of seasons were weak as heck

There were alot of times where it just made me sit back and go "yo wtf??" And just sit there in sadness as I thought about the wasted potential of the show

So here's a top 3 Voltron things we had in the show!

1. Adam. Oh gosh, I'm here for when I speak for most people that Adam was one of those characters where barely got to see any of them. (because he's dead) And too me, that's just messed up.

He's one of the shows cannon LGBTQ+ rep (along with Shiro), and just killing cannon representation off like that, is just No. WHY???

I wish we could have seen more of Adam, or even Shiro mention him earlier into the series with more of his memories/flashbacks, or even KEEPING HIM ALIVE!! Either way, we all wanted to see more of Adam, and it was really sad to just see his 4 or so minutes of screen time 😞

2. An actual Shurtis storyline. More on Shiro, here we are discussing his relationship with Curtis.

As much as I love Shiro's ending of his wedding and getting married to his husband Curtis, I can understand why some people were upset at this ending.

We never really saw much of Shiro and Curtis together aside from the wedding in the epilogue.

I feel like if they at least had some moments to showcase their relationship, or even flourish Curtis' character would be nice, as the ending of them getting married would make much more sense, and be more satisfying.

I've read some amazing fics on ao3 with Shiro and Curtis. Those fics honestly show what we could have had in the show, I feel like a good plotline for a Shiro/Curtis related plot/ subplot is them wanting to ask each other out or confining in eachother due to the stress off the war.

ANYTHING, just any plot between them would make Shiro's conclusion more satisfying.

3. A better character arc and ending for Lance.

Oh, good golly gee. Lance McClain. Where do I even start. Lance is, and always will be, my favourite character. He was honestly done so dirty by the creators ☹️

His ending of making him a farmer was not it. Like seriously, him settling down, having a simple life, and being a farmer when his lifelong dream was to be a pilot?? No. Just NO.

The rebound treatment, him getting treated like a rebound towards Allura. Honestly Allurance wasn't even that bad, if it was fleshed out more and we got too see more of Allura and Lance together, it could have been something. But the way they decided to execute it in the series itself was horrible.

Lance was a rebound, and Allura showed zero to no interest in him. Allura fell in love with Lotor, not Lance. Honestly, I feel like Lotor and Allura being together should have done some good in Lance's character arc rather than it being bad. It should have taught him to try to move on, or console in his friends, ie, Pidge, Hunk, even Keith etc etc.

Maybe this whole arc could have made him realise who he really needed was right infront of him all along. *wink wink nudge nudge*

Or possibly to realise his own self worth, and that he's more than just "a boy from Cuba"

I think they made him get with Allura beacuse he was such a "ladies man" but in reality he's so much more than that ☹️ He's a guy who values his friends and family, putting himself before others, and wanting the better for others, I wish they could have explored that in him more.

Obviously, there is SO much more I could cover, way much more, this doesn't even scratch the surface! But these are the top three ones that really just stick out to me.

I love voltron! This show is literally one of my favourite shows. It's not perfect, yes, but it's done what it could in it's two year running time, so sad it's getting removed off netflix 😞

[justporo]

Moonbathing

Even though he's nicely settled down with Staeve now there are these moments... Sitting under the bright moon, bathing in the pale silver light, pondering while the cold sinks in - until Staeve comes a long with a big blanket and an even bigger heart.

MASTERLIST | AO3

Author's Note: Ehm, surprise!? I wrote this for @velnna as a present. That request today made me think of it again so I figured I'd share it with you. Partially inspired by the epilogue where Astarion tells the player how the last six months made up for so much. Hope you enjoy! @velnna thanks for letting me steal Staeve again! Writing him and Staeve is super fun! <3 Pairing: Astarion/Staeve (You) Warnings: light mention of past trauma Wordcount: 3,5k ~~~

Your night had been spent almost entirely wrapped in each other’s arms. Just like almost every single one of them since most of your messes had been dealt with. No foes were waiting to hold a knife to your throat as soon as the sun climbed up on the horizon anymore (at least for a while you hoped).

The two of you had time now - and your time you would take.

You had enjoyed the moments and times spent with nothing but each other before too, before you’ve had what you considered your happy ending. And there was certainly something to be said about laying down in the arms of your lover when you didn’t know if the next sunrise might bring both of your demise, if not the end of the world altogether. Because - if the world was ending, who wouldn’t want to be held in its final moments?

You could definitely attest that always dancing on the edge of a blade certainly brought its own thrill and held its own intricate beauty.

But the same could be said about this right now: the less loud and less daunting moments. Falling into your soulmate’s embrace freely and of your own volition - nothing pushing you there but the deep desire to be with him and no one else and just revel in each other’s presence.

And the passion and love between Astarion and you was still burning as dangerously hot as it had in the beginning. Apparently, the spark that had been ignited had been incredibly powerful, surprising you both. High flames had sprung from it, all encasing. And you knew that even when the initial flames would settle, the embers would only burn that much hotter.

Never before in your life had you experienced something even remotely close to this. You were certain you would never again. You had found your place, picked the one to gift your heart to. You only had the one anyway.

But there was no need to dwell on such things now.

Blissful exhaustion had softly tugged you towards sleep and you had drifted off to dreamless, restful slumber while the sweat on your skin was still pearling down your neck and your breath and heart were still trying to find a sustainable rhythm again.

When you woke again the first thing you noticed was that the spot next to you was deserted. The second thing you noticed as you looked around while still in sleep drunk stupor was that it was still night. The light sneaking below the thick curtains was still brightly silver - it couldn’t have been that long.

You rolled out of bed lazily, tugged on nothing but pants and made to shuffle out of your joint bedroom in search of your missing vampire.

With your hand on the doorknob you hesitated and threw a look back to the bed. Your eyes wandered over the messed up sheets and bunched up blankets lying there all bunched up. And with a shrug you went back to take one of the blankets to snugly wrap it around your shoulders - the comfort and warmth of a shirt without having to make the effort to put one on. Then you dragged yourself out of the room to go looking for your partner while yawning repeatedly.

It didn’t take you long to find Astarion - you didn’t even have to think about where he might be. He was in the usual spot: the roof that was easily accessible through the attic.

There was a small shuttered window you could easily drag yourself out of and climb onto the shingles before you could enjoy an exquisite view of the city below. It had become a favoured spot for the two of you. Many a bottle of wine had been shared on the edge of this rooftop already.

You needed to be careful to step lightly and distribute your weight evenly to not slip but it was an easy feat for you or Astarion - you both were skilled and practised rogues after all. Effortlessly, you also made it this time even though you had to hold onto the blanket wrapped around you so it wouldn’t slip off your shoulders.

Once outside you were bathed in glistening silver light. The cold, pale hues illuminated everything relentlessly and allowed nearly no darkness during this full moon despite it being in the deep middle of the night.

You immediately spotted the vampire sitting there near the edge of the roof. Not having to worry about the cold at least from a survival standpoint, Astarion had also only put on pants to go and sit on the roof. His legs were dangling off the edge of it while he was leaning back on his arms, staring up at the big full moon in the night sky.

The scene almost reminded you of the times he’d been basking in the sunlight during your adventures. Every possible moment used to soak up the sun - strikingly similar to a cat.

The comparison also sprung to mind now: a lone hunter of the night enjoying a moment of calm at his favourite vantage point in solitude.

But these times were over now, at least as long as you had a say in it. At least for now, Astarion was very much just supposed to be a spoiled house cat, allowed to indulge in all the pleasures that presented themselves.

A smile crept onto your lips as the image crossed your mind. Especially since you knew that the vampire could also be as feisty and irrational as a feline.

Observing the form of your partner outlining against the bright moonlight, you slowly moved over to where he had settled down. You could make out the scars on his back although with no direct light source they almost seemed to blend in with the rest of Astarion’s smooth skin. But you had seen them, observed them so often that the image of the cruel lines on your lover’s back had been permanently burned into your head.

At first they had always startled you badly whenever you saw them despite your efforts to brush over them and not show that you had noticed. If not for your own sake then for Astarion’s. But you had seen them - felt them - frequently now and even though what they meant would always hurt, they were a part like any other of Astarion.

With a few more smooth steps you made your way over and stood next to your partner. You knew he heard you coming despite your roguish stealthiness by the way his head perked up even more. He didn’t even open his eyes though as you stepped up to him. The vampire knew it could only be you - and he trusted you fully. His reaction a testament of how far he’d come since you’d first met.

“Out here catching a cold all by yourself, handsome?”, you asked smugly.

Astarion snorted but you could see a smirk steal onto his face.

“Neither nor apparently, Staeve, my love”, he answered with an amused chuckle and opened his eyes to slowly look at you.

You remained silent, just cocked your head askingly with a raised eyebrow.

“Just - moonbathing”, Astarion continued with a little pause and let his gaze wander from you to the shining full moon again. The cold light was making even the vampire look more pale than usual. His skin and luscious curls almost seemed like they were made out of alabaster like this - a statue crafted out of smooth stone to forever showcase a perfect body and face.

Only his glinting crimson eyes were proof that he was in fact very much a living being - bringing all comparisons to lifeless and soulless figurines to shame. No stonemason could have ever captured his beauty fully anyways.

Astarion's tone had been playful but you knew him so well by now. You realised immediately something was weighing on the mind of your silly little vampire.

But you also knew that trying to coax it out of him would do you no good: he'd only hiss at you in his sassy manner and snap shut like a clam. You had to tread carefully - even more so than on the shingles of this old roof.

“So - maintaining the tan I see”, you took up his banter with a shit-eating grin and carefully sat down beside him now.

The vampire looked at you again and just rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue in disapproval: “You're such an idiot, Staeve.”

You chuckled while you tried to find a comfortable position on the edge of the roof while in the meantime fumbling with your blanket to also throw it around your partner's shoulders so you could comfortably snuggle up together.

“Well, I'd say it's clear you have a thing for idiots, Astarion babe. And now come here.”

That earned you another offended snort as Astarion crossed his arms over his naked chest - almost looking like a child throwing a temper tantrum. But he still willingly let himself be wrapped in one end of the blanket.

Softly you put your arm around him, dragged the pale elf closer until he was able to lean his head on your shoulder. Again he let it happen, this time with a silent sigh.

You could physically feel how the vampire relaxed into your touch and your warmth and how he even snuggled a bit deeper into your joint blanket once you were done fumbling around with it.

His smooth skin felt terribly cold from the frosty winter night. And even though you knew the cold couldn't hurt him you immediately asked yourself why he'd subject himself to this. Freezing temperatures were still very much unpleasant to the vampire as he'd once admitted himself.

Your brows furrowed thinking about why he kept insisting on making it hard on himself. Meanwhile silence stretched out between you as you leaned onto each other, each of you lost deep in thought.

A kind of sadness welled up inside of you while you looked down at Astarion’s head on your shoulder. His eyes were closed once more as he enjoyed the steadiness and peace of your body holding him up and warmth seeping into him.

It was that kind of sadness that was tenacious, that stuck to you, the one you could never fully shake.

You’d fought the necessary battles to both break free. But just as you had your own battles to fight still, so did Astarion. And moments like this one were when you realised it would be a long way still.

Ridding oneself of two centuries of torture and enslavement and all that had come with it was certainly no easy feat. Maybe some shreds would remain forever, stuck to him - just like the scars on his back always would.

Providing comfort, support and love while giving your soulmate all the time and space he needed to shake off the shackles still remaining from the chains that had bound him for so long, was the purpose you wanted to fulfil. As long as you were able to, you would do everything to overcome these other demons that still stayed behind - even if they might prove much more difficult to take down than the literal ones.

The two of you just sat there in silence while you felt how Astarion became warmer under your touch, the blanket providing a comfortable cocoon for the both of you.

You didn’t speak, just enjoyed the cosiness and let your partner dwell in the warmth until he was ready to speak his mind.

Leaning your head on Astarion’s, you enjoyed how his soft white curls tickled your face and neck. Then you closed your eyes as well and simply basked under the giant, radiant moon, the light easily shining even through your lids.

The silver moon beams were beautiful if not even magical. And sitting there, it was almost possible to mistake them for daylight.

But they would never be able to substitute for the golden warmth of sun rays because there was one determining thing missing: warmth.

Giving yourself to the illusion was nice though - even if it lasted only for a few moments.

And as you sat there, an arm around Astarion who was still relaxing more into your touch, you wanted nothing more but to be this source of comfort - to possibly provide but a fraction of what he’d been forced to give up.

The sadness from before was right there again - slowly closing up your throat as you silently opened your eyes and let them linger on the pale elf once more. The moon was still casting him in his unforgiving light, making him look almost translucent - something that might crack and break if you weren’t careful enough with it.

“You miss the sun”, you said. Not even a question. And what a stupid thing to even say you immediately realised after the words had left your lips.

You expected a snarky joke, a click of the tongue, maybe even a hurtful comment. But it didn’t come.

Instead, Astarion next to you straightened his back and took a deep breath in. His eyes were open now and a million miles away as he gazed off into the distance towards the city and somewhere far down the Chionthar glinting under the night sky.

“I do miss the sun”, he replied to what hadn’t been a question in the first place. His voice was surprisingly firm and somehow you felt slightly unsettled by that.

“But I lost that once before - how hard can the second time around be?”, Astarion continued and his red eyes snapped to yours.

You didn’t know what to answer so you just lightly squeezed his shoulder. The vampire’s eyes didn’t leave yours. His gaze was firm, maybe even proud. Your brows furrowed lightly - you had absolutely no idea where all this was going.

“Staeve”, Astarion began while looking you firmly in the eyes “the last six months with you have been the happiest of my life.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. Of all the things that you could have expected you surely hadn’t expected something like this. The negative feelings that had been squeezing your heart in your ribcage immediately subsided and gave way to waves of gentle happiness flooding through you. And you couldn’t stop the small but growing smile that was spreading from left to right over your face.

But the vampire wasn’t even done.

“What was before - it’s already beginning to fade. It already feels like aeons ago - and that’s because of you”, Astarion continued and the way he looked at you with eyes so open and wide, genuine smile on his lips - it made your chest clench in a completely different way. Your eyes started burning dangerously at the edges and you had to press your lips into a line to keep them from quivering. But you forced yourself to keep gazing at your soulmate’s face.

But it was he who turned away after a few long moments. A sudden rush of guilt and sorrow glazing over the open admiration and vulnerability from before. His crimson eyes sought out the moon again.

“But I fear-”, Astarion’s voice almost broke as he spoke again. He lowered his gaze. Your heart took a leap - not eager on wanting to hear what he might have to add but also not wanting to stay unknowing.

The vampire sighed, then he cleared his throat, still not looking at you: “I’m not used to caring for the wellbeing of others. I mean, for centuries I didn’t even have my own.”

He stopped again, took in another breath - sharp this time. Then faced you again.

“I fear my own selfish happiness has taken away from yours”, Astarion spoke firmly again now. But you noticed the way he was straining his chin to hold it proudly. This was taking more out of him than he wanted you to notice.

You opened your mouth to protest but the pale elf shushed you with a sharp motion of his hand. He had to get it all out now or it might never be said.

“And I feel like - one of us having to give up the sun is more than enough. I don’t” - the words were hurting to get out, you realised, but they were also hurting while being uttered - “I don’t want to put another through that. Or - no! I don’t want to put you through it, Staeve.”

And with that Astarion’s hand sunk back down again and he looked up at the night sky again, closing his eyes once more with a small strained yelp. You could see his Adam's apple work hard in his throat as you took in his side profile while the words needed to register with you.

You paid close attention to his exquisite features while your brain tried desperately to make sense of what you had just heard: his straight, aristocratic nose, sharp cheekbones highlighted even more by sharp light, full, soft lips over which a tongue nervously flitted. You knew this face so well by now, probably better than your own. When you closed your eyes you could easily conjure up his image, down to the last little detail.

And while you let your gaze wander over his lashes and the vampire’s face was still lifted to the heavens with furrowed brows, his meaning clicked into place for you. And with horrifying clarity you realised what had been said: the bastard was trying to give you an out.

The mere idea was wild to you. No wonder it had taken you several heartbeats to even catch on. This hadn’t even been in your realm of possibilities. And you were sad that obviously it was for him.

There was pressure in your chest again - this night really took a toll on your emotions. But you wouldn’t let it end on a note like this.

“Astarion”, you said quickly after. The vampire didn’t move, his brows only furrowed deeper.

“Astarion, love, look at me”, you begged and stretched out your hand to hook your thumb on his chin and turn his head to you.

He only let it happen reluctantly but he looked at you, pain filling his eyes - and fear.

But there was absolutely no reason for that. You’d prove it to him. There wasn’t even a slither of doubt in your heart.

“I am here, Astarion, because I chose so. I am here, because I love you. Giving up the sun is nothing compared to what it would be like to give up you”, you said eagerly, your tongue almost stumbling over itself while trying to get this out as fast as possible, to bridge this gap and never look back on it again.

You tugged on the vampire’s face to press your forehead to his as you said the following words: “I love you, Astarion. Don’t ever dare to think you can get rid of me. You’re stuck with me now, idiot!”

And then you kissed him, forcefully, and hopefully drowning out all forms of question or protest. Positively smothering him with your love until there was no more doubt - at least for this night.

Only after what felt like forever did Astarion withdraw from your kiss. There was no more pain in his eyes although you still saw slithers of insecurity remain. You swore to yourself you’d get them another time. But at least you felt that things were firmly settled for the night.

A small sniffle from you broke the tender silence between you as you kept gazing at each other. It seemed like the burning in your eyes from before had been a little much to contain. Your nose felt overly stuffy all of a sudden.

But at least the delicate mood had turned again to something that felt more mundane - and less heartbreaking.

“Gods, you’re not crying are you?” Astarion commented teasingly, nose slightly scrunched up. But the smile that curled one side of his mouth quickly afterwards was still rather gentle.

You snorted while you quickly and grossly wiped at your eyes and your nose with a corner of the blanket. “No, the moon is just very bright”, you muttered with another sniffle then shook yourself - almost like an animal trying to get something off itself. Then you felt more like yourself again.

“Well, you better get used to it then, darling, if you’re so keen to be stuck with me”, was the last thing the vampire said before he snuggled himself up against you again, leaning his head onto your shoulder once more.

You had nothing to add. You were just happy that two of you were here in this moment. So you just tightened your hold on Astarion.

And together you watched the night sky, cuddled up in the blanket, until the edges of darkness started blushing in the lightest shades of pink and it was time for you to crawl into bed together again.

Taglist (DM if you want to be added please): @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess @darlingxdragon @hereliesblackdragon @ayselluna @ajokeformur-ray @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @rikuyrk06 @marina-and-the-memes

[elyvorg]

Kieran Part Bonus: I AM SO PROUD OF MY BOY

And now for my really actually final analysis post about Kieran, covering both the epilogue and also his scenes in the League Club room once you’ve finished that. Somehow both of these relatively short pieces of content still managed to be packed with delightful nuance showcasing both how Kieran’s still struggling with his issues and yet also how much he’s grown since his main arc. They are absolutely lovely and fill me with so many warm happy feelings about my boy.

Honestly, it’s remarkable, not just from a Pokémon-writing perspective but as a piece of fiction in general, to have this kind of satisfying follow-up for a character arc. Usually once a character’s arc reaches a resolution, their story just ends there, and we don’t get to see more of how they’re processing what they’ve been through and learning to grow further in the aftermath. So it’s a really wonderful breath of fresh air to get to see something like that for once here with Kieran! The Pokémon writers absolutely did not have to make the epilogue and postgame content focused on showcasing this, and yet they did. I am, once again, pleasantly boggled by how much they cared about doing Kieran’s story justice. Just, wowzers, man. There really is no more appropriate word for my amazement than that.

(This is an epilogue, if you will, to my previous two analysis posts discussing Kieran’s character arc in The Teal Mask and The Indigo Disk! Reading those before this is probably recommended.)

Before even getting into things that are strictly from the epilogue itself, can I just say: I really love that Kieran took a mental health break from Blueberry Academy to give him some time to process things? (Okay, the game only calls it a “break”, but let’s be real, it is for his mental health, and this is Good.) It just makes me very happy that the writing acknowledged that he’d probably need something like that after what he’s been through instead of going straight back to business as normal at school – and in an in-story sense, it’s lovely that Kieran realised he needed this and didn’t try and force himself to just keep going as if nothing had happened. He’s starting to learn to take care of himself and not push himself way too hard!

Making new friends

The first lovely sign of Kieran’s growth that we see in the epilogue is that, not only does he want to catch up with you, he also wants to meet your friends from Paldea! He must have spent some time during his break thinking about the fact that you mentioned you had friends from there.

And the thing is, with Kieran’s insecurities, it would have been so easy for him to slip into a mindset of “your friends are probably way cooler than me, why would you need me”. But instead of letting himself get caught up in that jealousy spiral again, he fought against it and did the healthy thing of asking to meet them himself. Hopefully he can become friends with them too and then he’ll have nothing to feel jealous about! He outright says when he meets them, “Any friend of [yours] is a friend of mine!” Look at him go. (Arven should take notes on how not to act insecure about one’s best friend having other friends, because damn, Kieran’s managing to be more well-adjusted than him now.)

All this is also just a sign that Kieran’s hoping to try and make more friends in general. He’s such an introvert that he must have figured that’d be easier for him to do with people for whom he has a mutual friend to get to know them through. Plus, if they’re your friends, then he already has a guarantee that they’ll be good and nice people. Way more manageable for him than trying to approach complete randos.

And really, it’s such a huge remarkable thing for Kieran that he is trying to make friends now. Friends, plural! This is the kid who used to be so lonely and shunned by others that his big dream was to one day be like the ogre who, according to him, doesn’t care that it’s all alone. And maybe then, if he managed that, he’d be able to befriend the ogre – just that one other person who is also alone and outcast. It never even crossed his mind to try and imagine that one day he could be confident and worthy enough to just… have some human friends. That wasn’t even an option in his head – it was “learn to not care that he’s alone” or nothing.

And yet look at Kieran now, actively reaching out to try and make new friends! I am so proud of him.

Learning to ask for help

Soon after you meet up with Kieran, it becomes apparent that something is Very Wrong with his sister. According to Kieran’s account, it was shortly after he sent you the letter that Carmine became possessed, so it’s not that the letter was secretly a call for help in which he couldn’t bring himself to admit the actual problem.

And even now that you’re here… Kieran wasn’t going to tell you about this problem at all until Carmine happened to wander up and start mochi-dancing in front of you. He tries to play the whole thing off like it’s totally normal and she’s definitely just… excited to see you???, even though he has to know that doesn’t make any sense at all. On some level this is just because it’s really scary to admit to himself that something is very wrong and he doesn’t have a clue how to fix it. But it’s also because… he still doesn’t feel like he has the right to ask you and your friends for help.

This is one of the ways in which Kieran’s issues and low sense of self-worth from before are still lingering and have not just been magically, instantly fixed. While he may be making a conscious effort to fight through his insecurities to try and make more friends, he hasn’t started consciously tackling everything that was holding him back just yet. It seems like he imagines that asking your friends for help, these people he’s only just met, would just make him a burden on them and maybe spoil any chance he had of actually becoming their friend himself. (Although, even if you’d come to visit him alone, I suspect he’d still struggle to ask even just you for help, simply due to his old ingrained mindset that he’s not worthy enough to deserve it.)

Happily for Kieran, your friends are all good people who instantly unthinkingly offer to help without him even needing to ask them! Kieran’s sheer surprise and gratitude when this happens is so telling about his insecurities for why he didn’t feel he could ask, but it’s also lovely to see him starting to realise that his instinctive way of thinking about this is mistaken. Welcome to having friends, Kieran, this is how it works actually! Most people are good and will be happy to help out a friend in need! It’s okay to need help sometimes!

There’s another very innocuous line that I find interestingly telling about Kieran’s mindset regarding this. When you’re all at the community centre wanting to use the TV, Kieran laments that it’s stuck playing the tourism ad because the caretaker hid the remote, so Arven immediately suggests you all look for it. And Kieran reacts, in surprise, “Why didn’t I think of that?” It reads as largely rhetorical, but… it’s a good question.

Why didn’t Kieran think of just trying to find the remote? Because he’s spent so long stuck in a mindset where, if things are bad for him, it’s just what he deserves for being weak and there’s nothing he can do about it. His response to his problems during the main storyline was to completely separately fixate on making himself Stronger so that, in theory, problems would just stop happening to him entirely. It never occurred to him to try and just face and deal with his problems directly – at least not until the climactic battle with Terapagos, which was the first time he ever found the courage to take such an approach – so the notion to do so still isn’t quite habitual in his mind just yet.

Hopefully Kieran asking why he didn’t think of that wasn’t quite so rhetorical, and he was reflecting on it himself a little when he said it. He ought to realise that actually, taking action to directly solve his problems is a good thing and something he should strive to do more! He has already begun to do so in some ways by reaching out in an attempt to make more friends, at least.

Solving the problem

Kieran sure does get a lot more practice at Directly Solving Problems thanks to the events that go on to occur that night, doesn’t he. I love that the epilogue’s plot, while ostensibly just there to give players an opportunity to catch Pecharunt, is also a narrative that exists to let Kieran get to be a hero alongside you.

It’s somewhat low key, but Kieran definitely gets pretty freaked out about everything that’s happening. Which is really perfectly reasonable – though the effects of the possession are incredibly silly, it’s still got to be genuinely frightening to see people he knows getting controlled against their will by some unknown force, especially when this includes his own family. (One detail I love is that the game uses that lack of a highlight in his eyes during certain lines to communicate the fear he's feeling and trying not-so-successfully to hide; it’s a small thing, but it works so well.)

Once you’ve fought off his possessed grandparents, Kieran starts to panic, convinced it’s only a matter of time before it gets him (even though the evidence of how exactly the possession occurs is right there if he’d just stop to think about it for a moment). On some level, he must still have this sense that, if it can get all these people he looks up to, surely it’ll get him too who’s so much weaker than them. His inferiority complex is still there and affecting him, especially in this stressful situation.

Good thing Kieran has you by his side, the strongest coolest friend ever whom he knows he can rely on! If you hadn’t been there to reassure him and snap him out of it, he really might have lost himself to his panic. Or he might have just not even tried to battle the possessed people and do something about all of this in the first place – see the earlier point about how him facing problems directly is still not instinctive to him. He’s able to do so here, but a lot of that is probably thanks to being able to follow your lead. Still, this is bound to help him get better at doing so on his own in future!

Kieran’s also still a bit too liable to feel like things are his fault even when they really aren’t. He blames himself for not warning Arven and Penny about the mochi in time, even though he was literally about to do so when Pecharunt showed up and sniped mochi directly into their mouths. That can’t be called Kieran’s fault at all! He tried! (And, hey, it’s not like you made any attempt to warn them either.) But he still feels responsible for it anyway.

And he’s also still rather defeatist when it comes to facing Strong Opponents in battle. Kieran couldn’t defeat Nemona earlier in the day, so when it comes down to facing off against her in order to get to Pecharunt, he just feels like he can’t do it, end of. Really, that’s not necessarily the case – since this is an emergency and not a friendly battle for sport, there’s no reason you have to beat Nemona in a fair 6-on-6. Anything to get past her will do; the two of you could have taken her on in a 12-on-6 double battle, perhaps! Kieran did not need to momentarily feel useless in this situation, but he did, because not being able to win against someone still equates in his mind to being No Good At All. Kieran, nooo.

Happily, the narrative provides Kieran with something else to do with himself while you fight Nemona so that he is very decidedly not useless in the slightest – fighting off the entire town’s worth of people behind you??? That is equally as necessary as taking down Nemona, something without which you’d never have managed to get to Pecharunt, and it must take some incredible battling skill to be able to hold off that many opponents at once. Like, dang, Kieran. I really hope he’s able to reflect on this in the aftermath and realise how incredibly strong and cool that was of him, because it was.

(He was holding his own one-against-many, just like he always admired Ogerpon for doing!)

Kieran’s fear and pessimism also show through just a tiny bit as you’re fighting Pecharunt at the end, when he reacts to the fact that you were able to damage it. Apparently he was afraid that this thing would be completely invulnerable and it just wouldn’t be possible for even someone as amazing as you to beat it and stop the curse. Yikes, that must have been a scary thought. But still, it all worked out in the end! Kieran’s learning that even when things are scary and feel overwhelming, by facing up to them and doing his best, it’ll usually turn out okay! Especially because he’s not alone and has friends by his side to support him now.

And, hey, one way or another, it seems like the events of the epilogue did help give Kieran that last little push he needed to decide to go back to Blueberry Academy! I imagine he was already thinking about doing so – he is actually a very stubborn and determined person at his core, so I don’t think he could ever have been considering just giving up on it – but all of this probably helped give him the confidence to make that leap. The thought of apologising to everyone for how he acted must still be incredibly daunting – but, he’s begun to realise that he can face scary things!

His old Kitakami team

During the epilogue’s battles, I was absolutely delighted to see Kieran send out Poliwrath, one of the Pokémon he used in Teal Mask but not in Indigo Disk – because this is proof that he’s been reconnecting with the Pokémon friends he left behind back then! As it turns out, the rest of his team for these multi battles is the same as his Champion team, with only the Polis switched, but even so, Poliwrath’s presence is enough to be a promising sign for all of his old Pokémon friends.

And this gets further confirmed by his dialogue with Arven in the clubroom! Arven asks Kieran which of his Pokémon he’s closest to, and he mentions his Hydrapple (which has been with him since it was an Applin), his Poliwrath and Politoed, his Yanmega, and his Furret! This accounts for all of the Pokémon Kieran had in his Teal Mask battles up to the third one, after which he started to fixate hard on getting stronger to prove himself to you, so these are likely all of the Pokémon that were friends of his from the start. And he still considers them friends now, which means he reconnected with them all and apologised as necessary for any leaving them behind/thinking they were weak/etc that he might have done! Yes good, Justice For Furret was had, I could not be happier.

(Okay, we never saw the second Poli back then, but the way he talks about both Polis together suggests they’re a pair, so I imagine they were both his friends back then, too. He also never used Applin against you before evolving it into Dipplin – which is fair, Applin is very not good in battles – so the lack of us seeing another Poliwag/whirl is probably because he felt he needed to use a diverse team that didn’t have two of the same species. He doesn’t have to battle with all of his Pokémon for them to still be his friends, after all! He still doesn’t battle with most of them now in the clubroom battles either, which use his same Champion team, but that doesn’t stop them from being his precious pals!)

(On the other hand, since there is no sign nor mention of them in the postgame, I suspect that, like Cramorant before them, his Gliscor, Shiftry and Probopass from the final Kitakami battle got released. Kieran would have only had them for like a day or two during the events of Teal Mask, since he only caught them after he fixated on getting stronger, so I doubt he’d grown very attached to them during that time. Still, that’s okay, because hey, he did make them stronger, which is probably all they ever expected from him when they joined his team.)

Nemona is Good

One extremely delightful aspect of the epilogue and beyond is Kieran’s interactions with Nemona. It turns out that her outlook on battling is exactly the kind of thing Kieran needed to help regain a healthier view on it himself!

His feelings about his own battling skills are still very all-or-nothing at the beginning of the epilogue. When Nemona excitedly declares that she’s heard he’s really good at battling, Kieran’s pretty dismissive of that idea. He couldn’t beat you, therefore that means he’s Not Good At It, right? (Kieran, no.) He also says that Nemona “destroyed” him once they’ve battled – but based on the fact that she has nothing but praise for how good he is, I very strongly suspect that he actually gave her a really tough fight, and he only framed it that negatively because losing at all still makes his inferiority complex blow things way out of proportion.

Happily, delightfully, Nemona tells Kieran exactly what he has always needed to hear this whole time, which is that it shouldn’t matter whether you win or lose, because battles are fun either way! And with a moment to reflect on that, he agrees… yeah, they are, he had a lot of fun!

We’d heard from Drayton that Kieran was always a kid who’d deeply enjoyed battling, from the very beginning. But it seems that somewhere along the way he’d stopped loving it so much, at least when he’s the one battling - probably because he’d often lose, which would trigger his inferiority complex and make him feel bad. We only saw a small glimpse of his passion for battling ourselves at the beginning of Teal Mask, mostly when he watched you battle his sister, and a little bit in his own early battles with you, but he still felt bad over losing, poor kid.

But with Nemona’s help, Kieran’s been able to remember just how much he always loved battling and can just enjoy himself with it again! In your clubroom battles with him, he has a line just before he Terastallises where he says “these feelings never change” – and though he doesn’t specify what feelings he’s talking about, the one thing about Kieran that has never changed this entire time, even if he sort of lost sight of it for a while along the way, is the thrill he gets from battling! He also says in another line that he’s “having a blast” – which is phrasing that Nemona uses that Kieran never has before, so apparently he picked that up from her? Aww. I am so glad he could meet her; she is exactly the breath of battle-loving fresh air he always needed.

Kieran’s clubroom conversation with Nemona is also very good and helps him let go of his all-or-nothing mindset a little more. Nemona praises him for how quickly he climbed the ranks of the BB League, which he insists is meaningless because he pushed himself unhealthily hard and then still couldn’t beat you in the end. But Nemona helps him reframe it and think of it as: he was incredibly dedicated, and it must mean he really loves Pokémon and battling, which is true! This has to help Kieran view his training arc in a more positive light instead of focusing on the negative aspects like his toxic obsession and lack of self-care. Hopefully if/when he starts training hard again, he’ll be able to feel better about it and not associate it with all the bad things, thanks to Nemona! (But also, Kieran, please remember to not neglect self-care again, that was bad. I imagine he has indeed got the message about that, since the way he talks about that aspect in this conversation seems tinged with regret.)

Carmine is Trying

Another thing we see in the epilogue – admittedly only a small glimpse near the end, but it’s something – is that Kieran’s relationship with his sister seems to have gotten a little bit healthier? They each make equal-opportunity Sibling Banter jabs at each other, and Kieran doesn’t slump and shrink and look so defeated when she bites back against one of his. There’s probably still some ways to go here on their dynamic becoming completely truly healthy, but it’s definitely progress from before, which is good to see.

I think Carmine really must have reflected on her role in Kieran’s breakdown and is trying in her own fumbling awkward way to do better by him now. A delightful sign of this is one of her scenes in the clubroom, in which she resolves to be less protective of Kieran, even if it’ll make her lonelier without him around as much. That’s exactly what she needs to do! After all, this whole thing started because Carmine couldn’t bear to let her brother endure even the tiniest amount of badfeels that would have come from learning he happened to miss out on meeting the ogre. Carmine has realised on some level that she needs to have more faith in Kieran and his ability to endure and get through stuff on his own, rather than trying too hard to protect him from everything ever, which just results in coddling him and stifling his possibility for growth. She still does want to look out for him from a distance and be able to help if he really does need it, but she’s trying not to overdo it any more. Yes good, I am proud of her too.

Reconciling with his schoolmates

I said already in the Indigo Disk post that it’s incredibly brave of Kieran to resolve to apologise to everyone he hurt and make amends, and this is still true. That has to have been so scary, but he went and did it anyway! It seems he even apologised to the people who cared about him, such as his sister and Amarys, for worrying them with his behaviour – which also means he has managed to comprehend the fact that people cared about him, even back then when he was at his most unlikeable.

And by the sounds of what he says in his clubroom scenes, most people took his apologies well and are talking to him like normal now, which has to have been such a relief. It means a lot that Kieran wasn’t expecting anything of the sort and apologised anyway despite expecting backlash, simply because it was the right thing to do – but hey, most people are nice and can probably tell he was decidedly Not Himself during that time and are willing to put the past behind them! Social interaction isn’t quite as scary as he’d used to think, it turns out!

Even then, some things are still a bit weird, and with how far-reaching his impact as Champion was, Kieran’s bound to keep having to deal with this for a while. There must keep being more people he was a jerk to that he still hasn’t apologised to yet, people being intimidated by him because they don’t realise he’s changed, constant reminders of some of the hurtful things he said and did back then. Making amends is going to be a pretty long-term thing, but Kieran is putting in the effort to do so all the same, because it’s the right thing to do, and he is so brave.

Someone who is making this harder than it needs to be is Drayton, because of freaking course he is. He still insists on rubbing in the “ex-Champ” thing, even though Kieran has made it clear he does not appreciate being called that (of course, he no longer minds that he’s not Champion any more, but the fact that Drayton insists on constantly reminding him of his past self has to sting). On the one hand, Drayton is still concerned about Kieran in his own way, because he does effectively ask if Kieran’s eating better meals now, but on the other hand their entire clubroom interaction features him deliberately dodging Kieran’s genuine attempts to just engage with him in an effort to make amends, and, geez. This is exactly what he wanted from Kieran all along, and yet he is somehow still not satisfied. Seriously, Drayton.

At least Drayton is the only one of the Elite Four to be like this, and the others seem to be on good terms with Kieran now! Look at Lacey insisting that the past is in the past when Kieran acts confused that she’d want to help him after he was such a jerk to her. (Someone needs to take notes there, Drayton.) And it seems like Kieran’s got another good friend in Crispin, who’s in the same class as him! Our boy is making so many new friends and it is wonderful.

Of course, his insecurities are still around, and he’s still a little too liable to assume he’s doing something Wrong in social situations, as we see in a couple of his clubroom interactions. That one with Arven about his Pokémon is an example, as Arven phrased things as if he expected Kieran to have just one single closest Pokémon buddy, and Kieran seemed to feel bad that he actually had multiple candidates and couldn’t pick – but happily, Arven reassured him that it’s cool to not be able to choose, too! And in Kieran’s interaction with Crispin, he reflexively apologises for not having watched the latest episode of a show, but Crispin calls him out on the apology, and Kieran is able to question himself as to why he apologised and conclude that he didn’t need to, because it’s not like Crispin’s going to mind.

He is learning! He does not need to feel like he has to perfectly match his conversation partner’s expectations in order to be their friend! Kieran’s approach to his own issues has become so healthy and filled with self-reflection and growth, and I am so proud of him.

Friendship with you

Kieran is also able to be a whole lot healthier about his friendship with you, now that you’re properly friends again after everything! Possibly my favourite completely innocuous line in the epilogue is when he casually mentions that you and he became friends during the school trip to Kitakami. This is actually huge, because Kieran had spent so long utterly convinced that you couldn’t possibly have meant it when you called him a friend back then, not after the lie and all of his issues about being too weak to deserve it. But now, he’s been able to reflect on that and realise… of course you meant it. Of course you always wanted to be his friend, right from the very beginning! It wasn’t on purpose of you that he got left out of meeting Ogerpon at all, because you’re a good person and you wouldn’t do something like that, and he never actually deserved that after all.

(Perhaps sometime during his break, he had a proper talk with his sister about what happened and why she lied, and Carmine finally got to fully express that you and she never meant to hurt him and shun him with that.)

Kieran is still not over his idolisation of you, mind you. He reacts to you being the one to find the TV remote of all completely mundane things with “Wowzers! ‘Course you found it first!” – which, really isn’t a wowzers or an of course? Your magical protagonist powers do not and should not extend to this, and yet they still do in Kieran’s head. But even though he still views you this way, Kieran is so much healthier about it now. He’s no longer bitter and jealous and beating himself up for not being as perfect as he thinks you are, since nobody is (not even you, not really) – instead, he’s just so incredibly thrilled that he actually gets to be friends with someone so cool!

I really love that the devs went and gave Kieran a new losing animation for his clubroom battles, too. His previous ones always had him being varying levels of upset about losing, but not any more! He just stares in wide-eyed awe at your amazingness, and then breaks into a big smile and thanks you for the battle, because he still had great fun even though he lost! And he’s able to freely admit that he looks up to you because you’re so strong, or, in an optional line in the epilogue, he admits that he’s jealous that your friends are all really good people. He still has those feelings, but he’s able to healthily express them now without letting them twist him into something harmful.

It seems like he’s still a little insecure about if he deserves to be friends with you, though, based on a few small things. When he asks you for a trade in the clubroom, he appears hesitant to ask, as if he’s not sure he has the right to, and if you say no – even though there’s every chance this is just because you want some time to decide on an appropriately special Pokémon to give him – he slumps, probably having had his sensitivity to rejection triggered. And even once you’ve traded, he can later ask if you’re absolutely sure he can really keep the Pokémon you traded him, because he can’t quite believe he could get to have such a cool gift from you of all people. Aww, Kieran. Hopefully his hypothetical future interactions with you will help squash this insecurity of his further, because he deserves to feel comfortable in his friendship with his best friend!!!

Ogerpon

Another seemingly-innocuous but extremely good line in the clubroom is that Kieran can ask you if Ogerpon’s doing well and say that he thinks she’ll be pretty happy with you. He says this in a completely casual way, with no hint of bitterness – which tells us that he’s no longer jealous that you caught Ogerpon! It makes sense that he wouldn’t be, because he doesn’t need her acknowledgement any more like he used to think he did in order to feel worth something. He’s already got acknowledgement and self-worth and happiness now for so many other reasons, after all! So he can just be selflessly happy for Ogerpon that she’s found a trainer she can feel safe and happy with too, without being irrationally preoccupied over what she thinks of him.

It is interesting to see in this dialogue that Kieran initially calls her “the ogre” before correcting himself to “Ogerpon” – apparently, he’s only quite recently made an effort to shift what he calls her in his head. It’s true that in his reaction to her in the Champion battle, he did indeed just call her “the ogre”. It’d make sense that he didn’t actually work to shift his mental idea of what to call her during his Indigo Disk arc, despite knowing her species name, because the name “Ogerpon” likely brought back too many painful reminders of everything that happened in Kitakami. It was probably easier for him to just stick with “the ogre” and try to forget anything had changed. But he’s okay with what happened now!

And maybe Kieran trying to make a habit of using her name now is a sign that he’s started to realise that Ogerpon is her own individual who’s not quite the same as the mental image he always had of what “the ogre” was like? Maybe. It’s hard to be sure. Unfortunately the epilogue/postgame can’t do much with Ogerpon because it’s always optional for her to be on your team or even in your game at all (since you could in theory have released her or traded her away). But we can at least hypothetically imagine that in Kieran’s continued interactions with you, he’ll get the chance to hang out with Ogerpon a little and come to understand her better. It certainly seems now that he’d be able to hang out with both you and her without feeling uncomfortably jealous, which is a good start! (And Terapagos is on the list of ‘people’ he owes an apology to, so let’s imagine he gets a chance to do that, too.)

Moving forward

The “climax”, such as there is one, of Kieran’s mini-arc of scenes in the clubroom is him excitedly telling you that he’s had the BB League drop him from their rankings. Although your character seems a little bewildered by it (they are still a bit of a social dumbass), this is in fact an extremely good thing for Kieran! He’s taking a step back from the competitive side of things for the sake of his mental health, so that he can untangle himself from the toxically-obsessive mindset that he was in back when he was only focused on winning! Look at Kieran doing all this good self-reflection and self-care, it is so lovely to see. He doesn’t even seem to view this as any sign of him failing, either – he’s just comfortably acknowledging that he needs to do this for now for his own sake and there’s no shame in that.

Kieran seems pretty sure that he is going to want to get back into competing once he’s cleared his head a bit, but he’s already so much more casual and healthy about it! He says he’s going to shoot for the Champion title again, and even if you respond with a friendly taunt of “You still won’t beat me!”, he takes it so well. He’s genuinely okay now with the thought that he might never quite be good enough to beat you – he just wants to have fun trying. Look at how far he’s come!

In the meantime, while he sorts his head out, he just wants to spend time with his Pokémon (who mean a lot to him as far more than just sources of battling strength!) and his human friends (whom he has so many of now???) and figure out what he really wants to do with himself from here. Good for him!

Kieran’s still just a kid, and seeing him already learn how to grow from his mistakes and face up to his lingering issues and be just so emotionally healthy about things now is such a promising sign for wherever he’s going to end up in future. I love that the epilogue and these postgame clubroom scenes put so much effort into showing us this about Kieran now, reassuring us that he really is going to be okay. I truly could not be more proud of or happy for my boy.

[kurishiri]

epilogue . . . happy birthday, alfons! ˗ˏˋ🪞´ˎ˗

— this translation may not be 100% accurate or may contain creative liberties for characterization or narrative flow purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost or claim these as your own!

— please note that the entire story is told from alfons’ perspective. i also do recommend reading his past records with elbie for full enjoyment, but it’s not required!

— cw: mentions of death.

The chirping of the birds drew me out of my slumber.

And, if I listened closely... I could hear the gentle and even breathing of someone sleeping close by.

It felt warm and soft in my arms, and there was a nice scent too.

(...Surely, it must be a cat.)

(After all, there is simply no way... I could embrace a person like this and sleep until morning.)

That was my thought in my semi conscious state.

Kate: Mn...

But, upon hearing a voice that very clearly couldn’t belong to that of a cat, I opened my eyes.

When I did, there in my arms, Kate slept peacefully.

(...That’s right. Only you are a special case.)

No matter how much I tried to lure her into a sweet illusion that treated her kindly, she would simply not let the real me before her escape. Truly, a pitiable, but ever the endearing person.

She was the only one by my side, even after time had passed like a dream.

(To feel so safe in my arms like this... she knows no caution, I see.)

Kate was always the first to get up out of the two of us, so to me, the sight of her deeply sleeping face was quite precious.

(Yesterday, thank you for celebrating my birthday so much.)

(But...)

(The ‘wonderful birthday plans’ you had painted in your mind... if you knew that I would have rather it all crumbled to dust...)

(...you would surely be saddened.)

Since the moment I had allowed Kate in my heart, who had followed me nearly to the point of desperation...

...even though I had the resolve, there were times when I still wanted to distance myself from her as well.

(...And yesterday was one of those times.)

In order to find a way for me to escape the tragic fate I’d been dealt by my Curse, Kate had been trying hard to find leads,

which had ultimately resulted in a vain attempt...

Kate: This time may have come up empty... but I still haven’t given up!

Though she gave a firm smile, I could also see weariness seep through that she couldn’t completely conceal.

...And, when I saw that, I thought to myself, ‘If only you could fall out of love with me.’

(But alas, such was apparently not a possibility for Kate.)

(...That’s why, I wanted to make her plans for my birthday fail.)

As dictated by my inescapable fate, once I died, Kate would forget I ever existed.

When that time came, if we only made happy memories now, that part which had been filled with happiness would perhaps leave a hole in her chest, just like that.

(But, if there were some memories she’d rather not remember in the mix... even if she did forget me, she wouldn’t suffer over it.)

Sadness, anger, pain... if it were memories buried in such negative emotions, not remembering should actually be less painful.

Even if it was just a single memory, it would be alright if I could mix in something like failures on my birthday that could make her think that, even if she forgot this, she wouldn’t mind.

(So, that’s why I made love to her so much the night before my birthday so she would wake up late,)

(and took her to a place I knew was rumored to have bad food when the restaurant she reserved was closed.)

(But...)

When I saw her face scrunch up when she ate the food, I instantly regretted having done something so foolish.

And as if to atone for that, I ate all of the unsavory food on my plate, and seeing the bad luck persist through the day,

blunders followed Kate, even beyond my control.

As they piled up one after another, Kate felt more and more down, and I couldn’t bear to watch that.

So then...

—— Flashback ——

Alfons: No matter if the present comes out as you have planned, or something has gone awry…

A: Your goal to make this a birthday that stays in my memory is going quite swimmingly, I’d say? You have my congratulations.

—— End flashback ——

Trying to weave words in my own way, I encouraged Kate so she wouldn’t feel so down.

(Of course, not a single word I said back then to Kate was a lie.)

(...In the end, she ended up leaving a mark in my memory, as she had hoped.)

(And, as for me, who wished to make this birthday end in shambles, it did not go as I had hoped.)

Alfons: ...To the very end, I can’t win against you.

Murmuring this as I planted a kiss, I quietly left the room.

(...Now then, I should make breakfast for her, once in a while.)

Out of gratitude for giving me a most fun birthday, and out of guilt for wishing that her plans would fail,

I decided to take care of Kate this morning.

And on the way, I ran into someone I didn’t expect——Elbert.

Elbert: Let’s play a game of Dead or Alive.

That was the game I occasionally initiated with Elbert, a death game with two players, but where only one would emerge victorious.

Alfons: ...Well, I’ll be, this is quite abrupt, no? And on top of that, you are the one initiating the game... color me surprised.

Elbert: It was your birthday yesterday, Al. So, you can think of it as a special game.

In both of Elbert’s hands were two glasses. Its contents were perhaps wine.

Elbert: It is a game between just the two of us. And there is one incorrect answer.

His smile resembled that of a beautiful angel — or perhaps that of a impish demon,

as Elbert held the glasses my way.

Elbert: Would you like the glass on the right, or the left?

I didn’t know if something would happen in this game that Elbert had prepared.

(In regards to outward appearances, they both look completely the same. Perhaps he mixed something colorless in one of them...?)

(Let’s see... to see which one is the incorrect answer, and which is the correct one...)

Elbert: If you do not choose, I will go first.

Alfons: ...Come again now?

As I was thinking, Elbert took the glass in his right hand, and without waiting for an answer, downed the entire glass.

Elbert: ...It’s good.

Alfons: To see such an unruffled expression on your face, it would be safe to assume the glass you chose was the correct glass, no?

Elbert: I was the one who made the preparations for the game, so I am aware which is correct and not.

Alfons: ...You chose first while knowing the correct and incorrect answers... would I not be pulling the short end of the stick?

Elbert: You seemed quite hesitant to choose, so that is why. ...Next is your turn, Al.

(...Goodness gracious, just what is going through his mind right now?)

The only glass that remained was the ‘incorrect’ glass.

(That said, I am almost entirely certain he wouldn’t mix in a lethal poison...)

(...but seeing as there’s no way for me to tell, I can only drink what’s in the glass.)

For the briefest of moments, I hesitated taking the glass, but then I subsequently took it, downing its contents.

Alfons: ...

Elbert: Well?

Alfons: I see that it’s some quite delicious grape juice. The kind that Kate would like, I reckon.

Elbert: There is some in the kitchen as well, so you should take some to bring to Kate.

Alfons: I am feeling fine and dandy, though... was the one you drank perhaps the incorrect glass?

Elbert: No.

Alfons: So that is to say that both glasses were correct...

A: ...the ‘Dead’ part of the game is nowhere to be found. All we played was a game of Alive or Alive then, no?

Even now, I didn’t know what Elbert wanted out of this game.

Elbert: ...No, someone did die.

E: I watched you die, just before you took the glass in your hand.

(‘Just before I took the glass’...?)

Just as I was about to ask just what he was saying, it was then I realized.

(Ahh...)

(...I see how it is now.)

I had indeed hesitated when I took the glass that I had thought was incorrect.

And that hesitation was unmistakable proof of a craving for life that had not been within me before.

(The me who thought ‘it didn’t matter when I died’... has indeed died.)

Alfons: ...If I had died and reincarnated, I do so wonder what I would become.

Elbert: Who knows? But... I am sure it would not be anything strange.

E: As long as Kate is by your side, that is.

When I prepared breakfast and returned to my room, Kate was in the middle of getting dressed.

Kate: Ah... good morning, Alfons.

Alfons: Good morning. Would you care for some breakfast?

Kate: Very! I’m really hungry!

Alfons: Indeed, we did many things last night that warranted a workout. So that would come as no surprise.

As I was setting the food on the table, I turned to see Kate’s cheeks as red as an apple.

(She must be thinking about last night, I reckon. ...How honest and endearing of her, to be sure.)

Alfons: If you would like to immerse yourself in last night’s memories again, I would highly suggest looking at your body in the mirror. For you see, I left a plethora of marks—

Kate: Don’t make me remember all those naughty things we did first thing in the morning...!

With the redness of her cheeks persisting, Kate glared at me.

Such an expression resembled that of a cat, and that was adorable in its own right, but it was hardly my intention to spoil her mood.

Alfons: My apologies, it seems I went a step too far in teasing.

A: Would you cheer up for me? See, I have gone out and made breakfast.

Kate: ...! I’m all better now.

Just like that, her expression brightened, and Kate jovially took a seat. I, too, took a seat across from her.

(The me who ‘woke up every morning alone,’ and the me who ‘felt it was alright to die at any time’... they had all been killed by Kate.)

(And reborn in their places was the me who ‘embraced a precious Kate as I slept,’ and the me ‘who didn’t wish to die before her.’)

(I can’t help but wonder just what parts of me will die, and which parts will be born next?)

It was the day after my birthday, the morning sun filtering in the room.

This would surely end up carved in my heart, and hers, as a happy memory.

And finally, when the time came, those memories would perhaps end up hurting her.

In all honesty, flipping the table over here and now, and hurting Kate in the worst way possible

would, in the long term, be for her benefit.

(But... even so.)

Right now, I wanted to taste the flavor of happiness together with her to my heart’s content... and engrave it in me for eternity.

← main story fin. letter →

full masterlist 🪞🍰 ╱ ko-fi ☕

END NOTES: friends, I think I may just have a thing for the star-crossed love but trying to make it work trope… the way Al was really soft here when he’s normally a more guarded character, I feel proud that he is able to be try and be more vulnerable 🥹🫶

and the way Al understands Elbie so well, too! I adore their unorthodox friendship a lot. (and though it’s not mentioned in this story, I think the fact that Al chose the date he met Elbie of all days as his birthday… I think it speaks to how they may be meant for each other in some sense.)

happy birthday, Al! may this year be full of happy memories for you as well 🪞