#But the five man gang is better

[disorganizedkitten]

okay but soulmate groups with five people

Scooby-Doo

Backyardigans

Power rangers

Voltron

Early Winx

The color coding. The adventures. The archetypes and stereotypes.

The way they all actually mean so much to each other and the group can only split if it splits like a lava lamp, destined to come together once more.

[loving-barnes]

LOGAN HOWLETT - DEFEND YOUR HONOUR

A/N: And another one-shot with my precious Logan. This has angst and some fluff. Enjoy!

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Mutant! female reader

Warning: angst, some fluff

Words: 3700+

Important note: Hugh Jackman!Wolverine (which means he's tall as fuck!)

FULL MASTERLIST | LOGAN HOWLETT MASTERLIST

LOGAN HOWLETT - DEFEND YOUR HONOUR

It was a wild, exhausting day. Well, more like five days. The last time I visited my parents was almost a year ago. They knew nothing about my new life, only the lies I told them.  That’s why I didn’t have time to see them as often as they wanted to. 

I missed them. That’s why I came back. I thought my short vacation with them in my home town would be without incidents and fights. Oh how wrong I was. 

It was eleven in the evening. I was sitting on the front porch, wrapped in a fluffy blanket. The night was cold. Autumn hit with full force. I wished I could return to the place where I felt more at home. Unfortunately, the school was over four hours drive away from my hometown. 

I had my phone in my hands, contemplating whether to call the person who could make me smile or not. My eyes were on the contact name, and I was not sure whether to press the button or forget about it and head back to bed. It was too late for a phone call even when I knew he’d be up. After a couple of deep breaths, I decided to tap the screen and call my boyfriend Logan. 

<< Hey baby. 

Hearing his voice made me smile. Logan picked up the call quickly. “Hi. I hope I didn’t wake you up.” 

<< No, of course not. I’m reading that book you got me before you left. Damn, good choice, baby. 

I laughed. “Yeah, it’s that good? Glad you like it. Maybe I’ll get you to read more. Even if they are historical memoirs or anything that has to do with history. We could start our own club, just the two of us.” I heard him laugh. Quickly, he changed the topic.

<< So, how’s the visit going? Everything good? 

I sighed, not knowing what to say to him. I didn’t want to complain. I already told him something about my parents - how they treat me even when they care about me. My relationship with my family was complicated. “It’s okay,” I said simply. “It’s okay. Really, okay.”

<< One more and I’ll believe ya.

“It is what it is. I always believe it’ll be better and it’s not,” I admitted. “Only two more days and I’ll head to the mansion. I have the bus tickets and everything planned to get back.” 

<< What happened, darlin’? You know you can talk to me.

“I know,” I kept shaking my head, nodding to no one. “I just don’t want to complain. I hate complaining. I’m a big girl. I can handle it.” 

<< I get that you hate it. But maybe it’s time you did complain a little. I am here for you, darlin’. I’ll listen and we can talk about it. I don’t want you to feel miserable. Just… can’t believe you decided to visit them when they treat you like shit. 

He was right. They always treated me like shit. As an only child, I was the black sheep of the family. Or they saw me as one. My parents didn’t mind ridiculing me in front of our other relatives or their friends. Even as an adult, they continued to do this to me. I was dumb enough to let them. 

<< Tell me what happened, Y/N.

“We visited my relatives, my father’s sister, and they all ganged up on me,” I said. My voice was low. I whispered most of the time, not to wake anyone up. 

I didn’t trust anyone from my family. They didn’t know I was a mutant, where I was working or that I saved the day multiple times since becoming an X-man. They lost my trust the moment they decided to invade my privacy as a teen and snoop around my messages, diaries and stuff. It wasn’t just that. I was ridiculed for liking books, and for being too excited about the little things in life. My taste for music was weird and laughable. My lack of interest in boys was concerning. It was a whole story. 

“My friend and I wanted to go to a concert in a few months. I got excited someone wanted to attend with me - no, baby, you don’t listen to that kind of music -  and they decided to make me feel miserable for my excitement,” I explained. 

<< Darlin’, why do you always let them do this to you? 

“Because I am dumb,” I rolled my eyes. “Because I hate fights and any type of quarrels. I don’t like conflicts.” 

Logan knew I never mentioned to my family that I was seeing someone. I wasn’t ashamed of the relationship - the opposite, honestly. My family didn’t deserve to know anything about me. 

<< I think it’s time you cut contact with them. I know it sounds horrible when I say it. As If I tried to influence you in some way. Just, fuck, I hate when they make you miserable. Baby, to me, it seems like they don’t care and don’t give a shit about your well-being. 

I knew he was right. And yet, I was afraid to do that step. “They are my parents-”

<<Whom treat you like shit, Y/N. I am so fucking angry at them. I should have come with you. I’d be there to teach them a fucking lesson about respecting the woman I love. 

Those words made me smile. Never in my life have I had someone to defend me like Logan would. The grump, my grump, was there for me when no one was. He was mine for over a year now. 

“You love me, yay,” I said happily. 

<< Baby, you know damn well I love you. I should have been there tonight. I should have been there to let them know how shitty they are. 

I hummed. “That’s okay. I know you’d defend my honour. And I love you for that. I need to survive two more days before I head back to school. The bus drive will be the best thing from this trip.” 

<< The school is your home. So, come back home. Change the bus tickets and leave. I want you here with me, darlin’. 

“No,” I shook my head. “That would be rude. I need to toughen up and survive these last two days. Afterwards, I’m done. Besides, I don’t have a good emergency story.” 

<< You don’t need one. 

“Logan, come on,” I sighed. “I’ll be back in two days. I miss you. Can’t wait to be with you. I’m staying.”

<< Miss you too, darlin’. Two fucking days.

I had to laugh. He was cute and he didn’t know that. After that, we ended the call. I remained sitting on the porch swing, looking at the silent street. Everyone was asleep. The whole neighbourhood calmed down as their residents rested for the night. 

The air got colder, so I moved from the porch, back to my old room and headed to bed. What if I was exaggerating the problem with my parents? What if it was me creating conflict when there wasn’t any? With a heavy sigh, I went to bed. 

The next day was a chaos. Around lunch, my father’s aunt and her family came to the house. “Didn’t your mother tell you? We’ll have lunch together and we wanted to be with you some more before you leave again,” my aunt chuckled at her words. 

“Great,” I said, but I wasn’t thrilled at all.

Her kids were loud, spoilt brats. They’d let them do anything they wanted. It pissed me off. I knew they were my cousins. Unfortunately. As much as I wanted to teach them a lesson and tell them no, their mother would always allow everything. 

Both boys were running around the house, screaming and throwing toys around. To calm them down, they got tablets to do whatever they wanted -  a movie, a game? Why not both? 

Logan was right. I should have left. I didn’t want to spend the rest of the day with them. And with lunch approaching, I knew it would be a stressful one. All the yelling, the bitching and moaning…

We were about to head to the dining table when we heard the doorbell ring once the food was ready to be served. “I’ll get it,” I said. I was the closest to them. 

As I walked to the door, I put my hair in a messy bun, to keep them away when I’d eat. I expected to see a neighbour or another family member that I wasn’t interested in seeing. When I opened the door, I gasped.

“Hey, darlin’.” 

Logan was leaning against the doorframe. He had black sunglasses on his face, dressed in those damn jeans and a green-blue flannel shirt. A brown leather jacket was resting on his shoulders. Dressed to kill… me. Fuck. He looked hot.

“Holy shit, what are you doing here?” My eyes widened, lips twitched because they wanted to curl into a smile. I grabbed him by the leather jacket to pull myself closer to him. He smelled like cigars and nice minty body spray. 

“I came to rescue my princess from this hellhole,” he said, voice firm and serious. 

I coughed. “What? Baby, we’re having an unexpected family lunch,” I made a face. “Holy shit, I can’t believe you are here,” I hummed with a smile. “Wait, did you ask Charles to help you get here? You went through my file!” 

“I needed to get here somehow,” said Logan innocently. “And it seems I am on time for lunch. I am starving.”

My mouth dropped to the floor when I heard him say that. I wanted to say something, anything. Unluckily, my mother decided to make herself present by approaching us. “Oh, hello, is everything okay?” she asked us. 

Logan put down his glasses and grinned at my mother. “I came to see your daughter.” 

“Oh?” 

I looked up at the ceiling, cursing mentally. I felt stress crawl up my back. Not because Logan decided to show up. It was my mother’s subtle reactions. How her brows rose, how I could sense the tension in her body. Or was it thrill?

“This… is… Logan,” I lazily turned to my mother. “He’s my boyfriend.” 

“You have a boyfriend?!” she squealed. “And you didn’t tell us?” It seemed she was offended. “You never tell us anything! Ah! This is a big deal. Oh my god!”

Deep breath in and slow exhale. I did it multiple times. Immediately, Logan approached me as I tried to calm myself down. He rested his hand on my lower back. 

One last deep breath. “Uh, we’ll be right there. I need to talk to Logan for a moment, okay?” 

My mother nodded, grinning like a maniac. She clapped her hands and ran back to the dining room. I knew she would let her mouth run wild and comment on what she saw. Lunch was about to turn into a nightmare. 

“You okay, baby?” Logan asked me gently. 

I pushed him outside and closed the door behind us. I was panicking a little. “This day is crazy,” I mumbled. “Oh my god.” I panicked a little. 

As I got closer to Logan, he wrapped his arms around my body, pressing me to his chest. “Everything will be fine,” he assured me. “You angry at me?” 

“No,” I said. “Quite the opposite. I’m glad you are here,” I inhaled his scent which helped me calm down a bit. “Fuck, you are like a gift from heaven. I should have listened to you and headed back to school. I’ve been receiving shit since the very morning. And now, my aunt and her family are here and… I want to run away.” 

He pressed a kiss on top of my head. “So, let’s go. Fuck them,” he said. “I’ll get your stuff and we are out of here.” 

“It’s not that easy,” I sighed. 

He growled, thinking. “Okay, listen to me,” he pushed me enough to look into my face. “Here’s the deal. One shit, one stupid thing from them, we are out. I don’t give a shit they are your family. They will not disrespect you. I won’t allow that.” 

I didn’t have the chance to say something. Logan took my hand and led me back into the house. He trusted his instinct which led him to a room filled with my family members. The moment we stepped into the dining room, all eyes were on us. 

First came the introductions. My father tried to be intimidating. My uncle used his dumb intelligent humour to impress Logan. Neither of us found it funny. My aunt was too touchy. I wanted to step on her foot for that. My cousins didn’t give a shit. They were interested in their mobile games. 

“How long have you been together?” 

It was the first of many questions. Logan and I sat next to each other. My mother brought a plate for him. One of his hands found my thigh, squeezing it reassuringly. “It’s been over a year now,” he said, voice low and gruff. 

“Where did you meet?” my aunt asked. 

“At work,” I said quickly. “We work in the same building.” 

“Really?” My father didn’t believe that. “He doesn’t look like someone who would work in a big corporate company.”

“Dad!” I glared at him. 

No one knew what I was, what was my real job. I told them a story about my life in New York, working for a big company. For them, I was the daughter who moved to New York. I wasn’t the mutant, the whiny girl they used to call me. Of course, Logan knew it all.

My aunt eyed Logan once more. “They take you seriously with that hair?” she asked him. 

My eyes almost popped out of my head. I couldn’t believe she dared to say it. “Excuse me?” was all I got out of my mouth.

And it got worse. 

“We always believed our Y/N would move to Europe and live her life there. Empty promises how she’d become a writer, leave the country and live a better life,” my mother laughed. “We believed she would be the one to leave the county and do great things. And here we are.” 

“Still can’t believe she didn’t settle down. But what do you want from someone who’s not fond of kids? She always hated kids, so be prepared she wouldn’t want a family with you,” said my aunt. 

“She never went to college. She lied to us about applying, her interest in decusation.” 

“Always complaining and crying.” 

“She was a sensible child.”

“She suffered from depression and anxiety.”

Logan smashed a hand against the table. All the plates and cutlery rang. I closed my eyes, ready to release my last breath from all the humiliation. My family went rampage - saying shit that even they knew was not true. But here we were. 

“Everyone shut your goddamn mouths,” he snarled, slowly rising from the table. “She is your goddamn daughter and you’ve been treating her like shit the moment I sat behind this damn table. How the fuck do you think you make her feel?” 

“Language!” my aunt glared at him. “Children are present.”

“I don’t give a fuck about your two spoilt bastards,” Logan glared at her. “You can’t even make them put the damn tablets down while eating.”

“Who do you think you are?” my mother asked. She was offended by Logan’s behaviour. 

“I am the guy who needs to put you in your fucking place. You do not respect your daughter and you keep humiliating her in front of me. Instead of saying something nice, something positive, you’ve been running your mouth off with a lot of bullshit and I am sick of it.” 

Logan grabbed me by my arm and helped me get up. I barely listened to a word they all said. My mind was spiralling. I felt like the biggest loser, the black sheep of the family. Someone who shouldn’t be born.

“Don’t you fucking dare say one more word about her,” Logan spat at them. “Or I swear, I will make your lives miserable. She’s the most amazing woman in this godforsaken world. She means the world to me. She’s the definition of goodness, kindness and love. And fuck, I don’t deserve her. But I will defend her and show her how worthy of love she is because it seems you never loved her in the first place!” 

Silence. Everyone was glaring at Logan, shocked by the words he said. As if they all forget how to speak. 

“Y/N? How can you be with this rude man?” 

“Rude?” I raised a brow. “You’ve been rude to me the whole week I was here. Logan defended me when no one else did. Even I couldn’t stand up for myself and send you to hell and back! You are the rude here, not him.” 

“That’s not true,” my uncle chimed in.

I got up from the table. “I’m gonna go pack and we’ll be on our way.” 

“I’ll wait for you in the car,” said Logan, quickly pressing a kiss to my temple as I walked by him. 

The packing took me less than five minutes. I threw everything into my suitcase. I made sure I had my documents. The moment I got downstairs with my belongings, my mother was the first by my side. 

“You can’t be serious,” she said. 

“I am.”

“And with that man?”

I stopped and glared at her. My feelings were battling inside of me. I wanted to scream, shout nasty words and throw a tantrum like a child would. However, I would never do that. I hated conflicts. I hated this moment.

“Bye, Mother,” I said and left the house. 

Once I stepped out of the house I grew up in, I felt relief and grief. A chapter, that was supposed to end sooner, finally closed. It was not a happy ending, but it had to happen to move on. Without Logan’s help, I wouldn’t be able to do that. Thank god he came here so unexpectedly. He got my back.

Logan was leaning against the car, cigar in his mouth. When I approached him, he took my suitcase and put it inside the car. 

“Thanks,” I whispered. 

I ended up in his tight embrace. The cigar long forgotten. He had to put it off on his hand. “Come on, beautiful. Let’s get going.” 

“Take me home,” I said with a broken voice. 

“Home?” I knew he was smiling when he said that.

“Yes,” I nodded. “ Like you said - the X-mansion is my home. You are my home. Not this, not here.” 

Logan lifted my head by pressing a finger under my chin. Our eyes met. “I’m sorry they never treated you right. I’m sorry they saw you as something damaged, broken, now worthy of their time” He took a deep breath. “I’ll do everything to show you, that you are the best thing that ever happened to me. You…” Logan sighed. “You are the love of my life.” 

“Logan,” I gasped. We told each other many times the three beautiful words. This was something new, deep. It was an undiscovered territory that didn’t feel intimidating. 

His lips found mine in a simple kiss. I tasted the cigars and the coke he had during unfinished lunch. It was perfect. Like a definition of our relationship. “Let’s get you home, darlin’.” 

[rainnyydaysworld]

You guys know what time it is… INCORRECT QUOTES TIMEEE

—

Barbara: What's worse than a heartbreak?

Damian: Stepping on a cat's tail and not being able to explain that you're sorry.

—

cass: I'm not creepy.

cass: I'm petty.

cass: There's a difference, ya' know.

—

Tim : Damian gave me a get better soon card.

Dick: That's sweet!

Tim : I wasn't sick, he just think I can do better.

—

Dick: Barbara said its my turn with the brain cell.

Jason: Square up.

—

Jason: Ugh, there’s always that weak bitch in the group who isn’t down with murder.

Jason: *glares at cass*

cass: Well, sorry I have morals!

—

Duke: This is getting embarrassing.

Jason: Getting? We’re already there!

—

*The gang when they drop food on the floor*

Duke: Aw man. *Throws it away*

Dick: Five second rule!

Damian: Foolish germs, thinking they can stop me!? *Eats it off the floor*

Cass: *Sobs on the floor*

[jeonjcngkook]

clandestine | myg (m) teaser

pairing: gangleader!yoongi x f!reader

genre(s)&au(s): gang au, bitch better have my money or i'll fuck ur girl au, angst, pwp, smut

rating: 18+

word count: teaser - 405

warning(s)&smut warning(s): strong language, mentions of weapons, threats of murder

summary: bloodthirsty and dangerous, yoongi wont stop until he gets what he is rightful owed. and if you're on offer, then he just cant say no to that.

banner: @kth1 | @kth1fics

note: hehehe...

“Sir, over here,” you overhear someone whisper — probably having heard the snoring from above you.

The sound of heavy duty combat boots picking up pace and heading straight in your direction makes you still. You don’t move an inch in fear of getting caught, placing a hand over your mouth to keep your breathing at bay.

From underneath the bed, you count five pairs of boots. They move slowly around the bed surrounding you in a circle. Two of them make their way to the side of the bed where Hee-won lies and another two direct themselves to your side of the bed, vanishing behind the comforter that you had pulled down earlier.

The remaining body doesn’t move from the bottom of the bed. Instead, you watch on as he pulls out the chair from underneath the vanity; the scraping of the chair legs against the floor is like nails on a chalkboard causing you to hiss at the sound.

He sits down in the chair and spreads his legs too casually for someone who is breaking into an apartment which can only mean he has done this many times in the past. He’s calculated and smart — knows how to play the game.

The room is silent.

Nobody talks and nobody moves.

Your eyes frantically dart back and forth between their legs, watching for any movement…but nothing. The sound of a large heavy bag being dropped to the floor makes you jump in terror, your body hitting the framing of the bed.

Someone had to have heard that…

Your body chills at the thought of being caught; who knows what awaits you outside of your hiding spot. Who knows what these men are capable of.

You’re able to make out someone shushing those around him and you watch as the man who is sitting in the chair eventually gets up and walks over to the side of the bed to join the other two where Hee-won lays.

One of the men bends down in your peripheral vision as his leather gloves starts to unzip the bag, emptying the contents all over the floor. The sound of metal on metal hitting against each other is deafening in the small bedroom. You watch as guns, knives and an array of other weaponry is scattered in a small pile on the floor.

“Where is she?” You hear who you presume to be the leader of the home invasion ask. “She’s supposed to be here. I swear if this fucker has touched her, I’ll bury him myself.”

[thecuriousbeauty]

Traitor-The Present

Chapter Five

Warnings: Gun, violence, physical assault. Smut. Degradation, fingering, slight anal play, spanking, cum play, oral (male receiving), choking.

Summary: Just when y/n starts to think that Harry isn't the old mafia gang's leader, she discovers some secrets about him that makes her wonder whom she really fell in love with.

Word Count: 8.3k

Catch up on the story here: Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three*, Chapter Four* ______________________________________

There couldn’t be a better place to be, y/n thought, as she sat beside Harry on the beach side, gritty sand in between her toes and the cool breeze making her feel refreshed. Harry’s arm around her shoulders kept her close to him, close enough that his fresh, masculine scent blanketed her. 

“I want to stay here forever. It’s so beautiful.”, y/n tells him. “The sea looks so calm.”

“It may be calm now, but I feel like it’s getting ready for war. Quiet, and calculating.”, Harry spoke softly, and y/n looked at him, raising her eyebrows. Harry chuckles, pressing a kiss to her temple. “It is beautiful though."

“Well, when you put it like that..”, y/n mumbles. She wonders what goes inside Harry’s mind half the time. 

“I’m hungry.”, Harry says, nudging his nose against her cheek. “Me too, let’s go grab some food. What do you think is good here?”

y/n and Harry talk as they walk to a shack It was located on the beachside, with a live band and people dancing.

"Do you think where we live is unsafe? It's not the first time you've mentioned about me moving someplace else and settling down.", Harry asks y/n, referring to their previous conversation, just before they told each other how they feel.

"Um, I-I'm just worried, the crime reports from our place increases every day.", she quickly comes up with something, and Harry cocks his head to the side, not believing her. "Uh huh. And it’s not because you want me to go away?”

y/n laughs, and nudges his ribs. “Now why would I want that?”

They walk into the shack, and she leads him to a table at the back. She notices two men eyeing her as she walks in. They were swinging beer from their bottles. One of them winks at her, and she turns away, ignoring them.

y/n and Harry look at the menu and decide on what they want to get.

"You don't have to worry about my safety, y/n. I can take care of myself.", Harry tells her. "And I'll take care of you."

She smiles, leaning into his side as she feels cold. Harry was warm. They have their food, and y/n gets up to use the restroom. On her way back, she feels a squeeze on her ass, and shivers climb up her spine. That was not Harry.

She looks back to see the man who winked at her earlier.

"Hi beautiful, want to take it somewhere private?", he grins, showing her his teeth as he runs one of his hands through his messy black curls. A cigarette stuck out between his lips.

"No. Touch me again and I'll report you.", she warns, and the man laughs, looking over at his friend. "Feisty one, this."

"Told you she'd be a good one. You can tell from the rack.", the other guy walks towards them, eyes on her breasts.

"Shut the fuck up and stop staring at me. I'm going to-" One of them grabs her wrists. "Don't tell us what to do, little girl. We will-"

"-Finish that sentence, and you won't have a tongue to say anything again."

y/n struggles to get her wrists free as she sees Harry glaring at them both. "Let her go, now."

"Ah hah, this is getting interesting. Got your boyfriend out to play huh? Show us what you got, man."

Harry didn’t hesitate. He smirked, before he punched his fist straight into the man's nose. He groans and holds his nose.

"Your turn now. Let. Her. Go."

Before Harry could reach him, the guy pushes y/n away with force, and her hip hits the drinks counter making her yelp, her head smashing on a glass.

“You fucking bastard!”, Harry charged at him.

"Oh my god. I told you to keep those douchebags out, Frank!" A lady helps y/n onto a chair, probably the owner of the shack. "Are you okay darling? Oh god, I'm so sorry. They're such creeps, always getting into trouble."

y/n was too shocked to reply. Shocked because of what she was watching. Harry had the man who grabbed her on the ground. He was kicking him, growling. "I warned you. Nobody fucking touches my girl!"

Everyone in the shack watches as Harry beats the crap out of him.

"Harry!", y/n shouts as the other man prepares to swing a bottle against Harry's head from behind. Harry's arm shot up to grab his arm, without even turning back, and with one grunt, he flipped him over, making him fall at his feet with a big groan of pain.

"Harry that's enough-", y/n tried to say, but Harry wasn't listening to her. He was burning with rage. y/n noticed that every kick and every punch he threw was while he stood in perfect form. His biceps flexed while he reached behind him and the veins in his neck popped. What he did to the guys was rough, but his movements were sharp and defined. 

“Who do you think you are Mr. Show Off?” Suddenly, a few other men joined the fight, and they were armed. One of them held a pocket knife, and the other held a baseball bat. Two others screamed as they ran to Harry.

y/n brought her hand to her mouth in shock as she realized something. All these four men who joined now were the ones that were following them, back at home. They were the ones who kept watching them.

y/n wanted to pull Harry into safety, but she didn't have to. Two arms projected out and grabbed one of their necks, while he punched the other one's head, throwing them both onto the wall. He kicked the knife out of the third's hand, and y/n thought he looked like he was flying in the air after the kick made the man slam onto the floor with a big thud.

The last man standing raised his baseball bat, and Harry slams on to him, leaving them both on the ground.

Harry was unscathed. Six men were down, and he continued to beat them up, making sure no one could get up again. A normal man couldn't fight like this.

This was the job of an experienced fighter. He had been in fights way worse than this before. Even if Harry couldn't remember how he could do it, his body was moving out of muscle memory.

This was what y/n was searching for. Some glimpse of him from the past life. The man that everyone was afraid of. y/n now saw why.

Harry groans, looking down at the injured men. "Don’t you dare lay a fucking finger on my girl again.”

All his anger vanishes when he looks at y/n. Her small frame was shaking. He rushes to her, and grabs her wrists. "Are you okay, y/n?"

She nods, looking at the blood on his knuckles. "H-Harry.."

"It's not mine.", he assures. He put his arm around her. "Come on, let's go."

She feels everyone's eyes behind their backs as Harry walks them out of the shack. y/n's head hurt. She wasn't sure if it was because of the injury, or because of everything she saw. What was she thinking? They had warned her that Harry could get dangerous. She was scared.

Harry held her hand tight in his as he led them to their room, and then to the bathroom.

"Harry..", y/n opens her mouth, taking a breath as he looks through his bag for something. "Y-You-"

"There are glass shards on your head baby, let me take care of it for you.", Harry cuts her off, coming back with a bag, it probably had some first aid stuff. It was bigger than a normal first aid kit, but he was a doctor by profession, so it made sense. He washes his hands, and she searches his eyes for the look she saw a few minutes ago. How his eyes were darker, and there was no hint of kindness on his face.

Harry grabs her waist, and places her on the slab next to the sink, before going through his first aid supplies. 

"Any dizziness? Headache?", Harry asks softly, gently taking her face. One of his hands held her chin, tilting it up while his other hand examined the wound carefully.

"H-Head hurts a bit..", she mumbles, and Harry nods. He picks up a pen flashlight and turns it on. "Just gonna check your eyes, yeah?"

She holds in her breath as Harry flashes the light in her eyes, the thumb over his other hand on her eyebrow. She stared into his beautiful eyes, but they remained focus. He kept the pen flashlight away, and put up numbers on his fingers, asking her to follow his finger.

"You're okay, no signs of concussion.", he sighs in relief. "And your wound doesn't need stitches, I can fix it up in two minutes."

"Harry we should talk about-"

"-You're hurt.", Harry tells her firmly. "We'll talk after I make sure you're gonna be okay."

She didn't protest. She flinched when he dabbed the cotton dipped in antiseptic on her broken skin, making it sting. "I know, I'm sorry..", Harry murmurs, gently holding her face. These were the same hands that roughed up the men, but now they were so gentle. He picked out little glass shards with tweezers, and she pulled her face away when it hurt.

"Shh..almost done, baby. Stay still for me.."

y/n sat there, caged between his legs, and watched his face as he treated her wound. She couldn't believe it. He was a completely different man when he fought them.

"That's it, you're all done. Nothing to worry about, that'll heal very soon." Harry gives her a small smile as he finishes applying an ointment and then bandages it.

"Thank you.", she nods.

"Of course. If they had hurt you any worse I would've-"

"-You would've what, Harry?", y/n finds her voice finally. "Y-You beat them to a pulp, they'll need to be hospitalized. T-There was blood."

Harry looks at her while he dries his hands after washing them. "What did you want me to do, y/n? They were hurting you!"

"S-Some of them..I-I knew some of them. I've seen them follow us around. W-Who are they?"

"I don't know.", Harry grumbles, while placing her back on the ground, and she grabs his hands, moving them away from her waist.

"Where did you learn to fight like that? H-How did you disarm them like that? Tell me Harry, please, who are they and why were they targeting you?"

"I said I don't know!", he snaps loudly, and y/n takes a step back, afraid of him. Harry curses, looking down at her feet. "Fuck, I'm sorry y/n, I-"

She steps further away when he tries to hold her hand. "Please tell me what you know, Harry.", she begs, tears running down her cheeks.

"I-I've seen them too.", Harry finally says. "I know they follow me around. There are more of them. But I don't know why. I honestly don't know, baby. I don't know why they don't let me go on with my life! I don't know why they tell me to remember stuff that I don't! I don't know how I can fight like that and I don't know why they're after me."

Harry looks into her eyes, desperate. "But I do know that I'll never hurt you. I felt so angry when I saw them touching you. I couldn't control myself. You mean a lot to me, and I'll never hurt you or stand back and watch as you get hurt, y/n. I would never put you in danger. I-I..I love you."

y/n crashes into his chest and he wraps his arms around her tight, pulling her as humanly close as possible. His warm big hands rub down her back, comforting her "I-I'm sorry for scaring you. E-Everything just burst out of me at that moment."

"T-They deserved it.", y/n admits, and Harry lets out a nervous chuckle, kissing the top of her head. "I will always protect you, sunshine."

y/n trusted him. His words were filled with emotion and she had seen how much he cares about her.

"We'll figure it out together, okay? All the missing pieces, we'll figure it out.", y/n tells him, holding his face and he nods. "I love you too, Harry." She kisses him before going back to hugging him. They would figure it all out.

____________________________________________________

"Just because I let you sleep yesterday doesn't mean you can sleep today!", y/n pokes Harry's ribs making him groan from his curled position in the passenger's seat.

"Talk to me unless you want me to crash us both into a tree.", y/n says, and he opens his eyes, squinting at her. "Aw, is my passenger princess angry?", she teases.

"Shut up.", Harry pouts at her, and she giggles. "I'll give you something to do. I need some rest too."

y/n pulls over, and Harry gives her a look. "Why are we stopping in the middle of nowhere?"

"For a switch. Your turn to drive.", she says, turning the engine off.

"No!"Harry's eyes widened. "I can't drive y/n! I won't sleep, but don't make me drive!"

"You do know how to drive! You have a license. Come on Harry, you can't be that bad. The road's empty, it's all yours.", y/n says, already getting out, and pulling Harry out of the other side. She opens the door for him and pushes him in despite his protests.

When y/n was settled, Harry looked over at everything, adjusting his seat. "Okay. You brought this upon yourself, sunshine. Seat belt on."

She pulls it over herself, and grins. "Let's go."

Harry changes the gear, and starts the car. "Okay, good start-"

y/n's voice cuts off as he changes the gear again, and stamps on the accelerator, speeding down the empty road.

"Oh my god. Harry!", her heart skips a beat as the air slaps against her face.

"I warned you.", Harry smiles, and then laughs. "I missed this!" "I wouldn't mind if you slowed down a bit-"

He only goes faster, and she squeaks, gripping onto the sides. "Don't worry, I got this.", Harry assures her, and she looks at him with wide eyes. "What else do you have hiding? Were you an F1 driver in the past?"

"That would be cool but I don't think so!", he laughs.

Hearing him laugh, and seeing his happiness, she broke into a laugh too. "You're a different breed altogether!"

"This car is amazing! Do we have to give it to that guy?!"

y/n laughs as she reaches to keep a hand on his knee. "I love you."

They sang at the top of their voices, enjoying the drive. "Do you know these routes?", y/n asks him, as he takes a left turn without cross checking with the map.

"Um, no, I just thought this is the better road.", he says.

"Huh. These roads were used for gold smuggling, illegal drug transport and things like that, apparently. They were used regularly a few years back, did you know?"

"Why would I know that random fact?"Harry raises an eyebrow.

"Just asking.", y/n shrugs, and changes the topic. They were planning on staying in Las Vegas for the night. They had found a hotel in the heart of the city, and they planned to spend some time there exploring before hitting the road a little later tomorrow.

Harry goes to take a shower once they get to their room, and y/n calls Uncle Luke. She was happy to know that he was doing perfectly fine. 

The room they got was beautiful, they had a big bed, and a beautiful view overlooking the city. Las Vegas was a party capital. They had to check out some of it.

y/n couldn't find her hair brush, and she thinks she might have kept it in Harry's bag, so she quickly goes through it. Sure enough, she had.

Just as she was about to pull out her hand, it landed on something cold, and heavy. y/n frowns and moves her fingers over it, and it was shaped like a..no way.

She pulls it out, and gasps in horror. Harry comes out of the bathroom at the same time. He looks at her as she stares in disbelief at the weapon she was holding.

"y/n, put that down.", Harry says calmly. "It's loaded."

A loaded gun.

"W-Why do y-you have a gun?", she asks shakily, dropping it. Harry quickly picks it up and puts it back in his bag. "Why were you looking through my bag?", he grumbles.

"Harry! That's not an answer.", y/n held his arms and looked into his eyes. "Tell me why you have a gun. Is that even yours?"

"Let it go baby-"

y/n pushes at his chest. "T-Tell me the truth please, Harry. Stop playing your games with me. Who are you?"

"I-I don't know.", Harry whispers, grabbing her hands and squeezing them when she tries to pull them out of his grip. "The gun is for safety. I told you that those men have been following me, and it's been going on for a long time. Before I even met you. I live alone y/n, what if all of them sneak up on me when I'm not expecting them to? That's why I have a gun. Yes, I shouldn't have brought it along and I should have told you. I'm sorry."

y/n wanted to believe him. "I-Is that the truth?"

"Yes, I promise.", Harry kisses her hand. "I'm not playing any game with you, y/n. It drives me crazy that I can't remember things. I wish I knew why all of this happens to me. You're the only normal thing in my life and you're the only person I have. I would never lie to you. You know who I am, you've seen who I am. I trust you sunshine, I've let you into my life because I trust you, and I love you. I wouldn't keep anything from you."

He pulls her into a hug, and she closes her eyes, holding on to him. She knew he was telling the truth. She was the one lying to him. She was breaking his trust. She was a monster.

"I-I need some air.", she whispers, pulling away from him.

"y/n please-"

"I have some things to think about Harry, please." She looks into his hurt eyes, before grabbing her phone and stepping out to the balcony. Harry didn’t want to let her go, but he understood that she needed some time alone.

y/n called Romania.

"Hello y/n, I was waiting for your call. How is-"

"-Romania, I'm done. I'm done with your memory game and I don't want your money. I can't do this for you."

"y/n what happened?"

"He's dangerous!", y/n whisper shouts. "He took down six big thugs all by himself yesterday and now, I found a gun in his bag."

"What?", Romania laughs. "He fought?"

"What the hell is so funny about that?", y/n snaps, so mad at her.

"Harry has not fought anyone since that incident, y/n! That means he's still in there. He was one of our best. He can take down anyone. Tell me what caused the fight."

y/n explained last night's event to her. "That is fantastic news y/n, that means he cares about you so much that he risked his mask coming off. Everyone who saw him there now knows that he's still someone to be feared. He must care deeply about you."

"A-And I care about him.", y/n whispers. "I know I'm in too deep now, but I can't keep hurting him by keeping this from him. I have to tell him."

"No! y/n you have two more days. I need you to get him to the location and then you're free to go, or tell him, or whatever you want to do. We will pay you double the amount. Please y/n, no one's got this close to him, you can get him to remember. Please. Reagen would want him to remember the memories they had together. He has to remember what happened that night."

y/n sighs, running her hand through her hair and she felt like pulling it out. She thought like Reagen. What would she do? She heard that she was extremely brave. However scared she must have felt deep down, Reagen wouldn't have given up. She probably died to save Harry. y/n couldn't let that sacrifice of love go to waste.

Harry had to remember.

"F-Fine..two more days.", y/n whispers.

"Harry won't hurt you y/n, trust me.", Romania said. "But if you feel unsafe, I can send my men to make sure you're safe."

"No it's okay, h-he, he won't hurt me.", y/n nods. "I'll call you later."

"Yeah. You got this, y/n, I'm-"

She hung up before hearing any more of her crap. How had she got herself into this fucking mess? y/n wasn't ready to face Harry yet, so she went down to the hotel's bar. She had to drink. She needed the alcohol to burn her emotions. She sat there by herself and tipped drink by drink down her throat.

Two days. Romania told her she'd be free to leave after that, but she was sure she couldn't just walk away without a scar. She had a feeling her life was going to turn upside down in those two days.

__________________________________________________________

Harry was jittery. He was sitting on the bed, knee bouncing with stress as he thought about everything. The last thing he wanted was to make y/n feel unsafe. He didn't know what to do. He wanted her to trust him. 

It had been too long since she walked away. Three hours. Harry worried about someone getting to her, someone hurting her. He was scared. He knew the world was full of bad people.

Harry takes his phone out and tries calling her. She doesn't answer.

"Fuck it.", he gets up, and he's tempted to stuff the gun into his pocket in case someone's got her, but he decided against it. That was only for emergencies.

Harry looked in the most obvious places first. He searched the restaurant, the rooftop DJ Party going on, and the bar.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he saw her sitting on a bar stool, sipping her drink and blabbering to the bartender.

"y/n.", Harry says as he approaches them.

"Oh hey Berty, meet my boyfriend! Harry, say hi to Berty!", y/n gives him a big grin, turning around on her stool to pat Harry's arm.

Harry looks at Berty, who gives him a small smile and a nod. "I was just going to ask her if there's someone to take her to her room, or back home if she's not staying here tonight."

"We're staying, and I'll take her. Thanks." Harry looks at y/n. Her eyes were dazed with the amount of alcohol she must have drowned, but she still looked gorgeous to Harry.

"Wait, Harry, have a drink with me, I haven't had one with you since that first week. Berty, get him a whiskey! The fiery kind!", y/n giggles, and pats the chair next to her. "Come sit, Harry."

Berty looks at Harry who shakes his head, and Berty nods, going away. "I don't want to have a drink now, love. Come on, it's late, you're sleepy."

"You don’t wanna have a drink with me?", y/n pouts at him, and his heart melts, so he sits down, but he doesn't ask for a drink. He knows that she is not a big drinker and he caused this now. He felt horrible about himself.

"I would love to have a drink with you sweetheart, but not now, okay? You've had a lot too, let me take you back to our room, okay?"

She nods, looking into his eyes. "Harry?"

Harry strokes her hair back, away from her face, nodding. "Tell me, babe."

"D-Do you..do you really love me?"

A small tear rolls down her cheek, and Harry's heart breaks. He cups her cheek, thumbing that tear away. Harry knew he had done horrible things, but if there was anything in his life that was steady, it was y/n. y/n showed him love, again. She was healing him.

"I do, I love you with all my heart, sunshine. I always have and I always will.", Harry whispers, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. "I'm so sorry for everything, I wish-", he stops talking, and words himself again. "I would never hurt you on purpose."

"I know, that's what I keep saying.", she says, nodding to herself.

"Saying to who?", he asks, confused.

"Romania. You smell good.", she says, smiling at him like he was the best thing that ever happened to her.

"We should go, y/n.", Harry motions to Berty. "Add her tabs to our room please, 401."

"Yes sir, have a good night y/n.", Berty waves at y/n and she laughs, waving back as Harry helps her off the chair and puts his arm around her waist.

"Good night Berty, live your life while you can. Don't be greedy for money, just be happy."

Harry wondered where that came from, while he walked with her out of the bar. He holds her hand tight in his, and keeps his eyes out for anyone following them or spying on them. She leans on him in the elevator, and he holds her close as she mumbles incoherently.

"What happened that night, Harry?", y/n asks, looking up at him.

"Which night, love?"

"On the night you were smuggling the gold? The night you had your accident and lost your memory? Do you remember?"

Harry freezes, and his nostrils flare angrily. He hates anyone asking him that. He was sick and tired of all the accusations he had heard about him.

"I-I don't remember.", he answers coldly. The elevator door opens, and he ushers her out and to their room.

"That's too bad.", y/n says. "I know you don't, but those thick heads don't understand! Woops!" y/n goes off her balance, and Harry grabs her before she can fall. "Careful. There’s another step, there you go." He leads her inside their room, and decides to just pick her up. He easily picks her up bridal style, and she grins, putting her arms around his neck.

"You are so strong, babe.", y/n pats his shoulder.

"You're not at all heavy.", Harry kisses her nose, taking them to the bedroom. He lays her down on the bed, and she pulls him down with her, yanking him by the shirt. "Let's have some fun.", she wiggles her eyebrows, like she was telling him a secret, and he couldn't help but laugh.

"Not now, darling. Tomorrow, okay?"

"You don't think I'm sexy?", she asks, and he kisses her sweetly. "I think you're very sexy, sunshine. You're drunk now, so we can mess around later. Let's just sleep now, we drove four hours."

Harry gets her some water and makes her drink it. "Do you know Oliver?", y/n asks him, as he takes the glass back.

"Oliver? No.", Harry says, while taking her shoes off.

"Oliver Khan.", y/n says. "Or so he says. I heard mafia people have different names, so I don't know."

"Mafia? What are you talking about y/n? One of your mystery movies?", Harry asks, taking her shirt off for her. She giggles. "I wish! It is kind of like that."

"Gonna slip your jeans off, yeah?"

"Uh huh.."

Harry's fingers brush her skin as he unbuttons her jeans, and pulls it down her smooth legs. "He was your best friend. Don't remember, do you?"

"No."

"What about Hans? Strike a bell?"

"No."

Harry unbuckles her bra, knowing she wouldn't want to sleep with it on. He slips one of his shirts over her body while listening to her.

"You were a mafia leader, Harry, you were good at everything. You were smuggling gold that day you had the accident. And your name isn't Harry Turner like you call yourself, it's Harry Styles."

Styles. A mafia leader. Harry wonders how she knows that. She does seem to be sure about that.

"What are you talking about y/n?", he leans closer, cupping her cheek. She smiles sleepily, rolling over on the bed. "I don't know either. I'm drunk as hell!"

"y/n. What mafia? What do you know?" Harry pats her cheek, but her eyes are already closed, and she is out like a light.

He would ask her when she's sober. She knew things about his past life. And he wanted to know what she knew, and why she was hiding them from him. She said they'd figure it out together, didn't she? Now, she was the one keeping secrets.

__________________________________________________

y/n wakes up with a massive hangover headache, and groans, turning over and burying her face into the pillow. What had happened? y/n tries to remember what got her into this hangover misery and then she wishes all of it never happened. How was she in bed now? Did Harry come and get her?

She looks beside her and sees an empty bed. The sheets were rumpled, so Harry had slept here, but he wasn't here now. Or was it even their room? Where was she? She sits up and looks around. Yes, she saw her bag, it was their room.

"Harry?", she calls, hoping he would answer. She had made peace with the fact that he had a gun. And like Romania said, it was good. He is showing parts of his old self and it's only a matter of time before he remembers everything.

Harry appears, holding a cup. She thought it's her coffee, and smiled but it quickly disappeared. "Water?", she looks up at him when he hands it to her.

"You're dehydrated.", he murmurs, without looking at her. "Ibuprofen's there if you have a headache."

She found the pill beside her on the bedside table, and took it, washing it down with the water. "Thank you. Did you um get me to bed?"

"Don’t remember?", he asks, and she scoffs, it's usually her asking him that question.

"No, I don't. Last thing I remember is talking to Berty about his date...um, I thought about it Harry. I understand why you have a gun, I just needed some time."

Harry nods, sitting down on the bed, looking away from her. "What’s the matter? Are you okay?", she asks, frowning, noticing how he didn't spare her a glance yet.

"I'm hungry, breakfast closes in an hour.", he grumbles.

"Oh. Give me just one second to look a little presentable and we'll go." y/n gets off the bed, and kisses Harry's cheek before going into the bathroom.

They go to breakfast, and eat in silence. y/n was used to Harry being quiet, but he would hold her hand or keep his hand on her thigh, brush his shoulder with hers, he would do something. He did none of those today, and he seemed to be in deep thought as he ate. y/n worried whether she had said something to him last night. She doesn't remember one bit of her drunk rambling. Or was he mad that she ruined the one night they had in Vegas?

Probably everything. She kept quiet too. She deserved it.

Back in their room, Harry got some work calls and y/n laid in bed, watching him. She couldn't let him give her the silent treatment for any longer, she had a task to do and it won't work if both of them remain quiet. y/n loves talking and hates silence.

"Harry, talk to me. I'm sorry for running away like that.", y/n pipes up when he was done with the call.

"It was not  safe.", he murmured.

"I was around people, it was safe. I didn't go out of the hotel either. Why do you think it wasn't safe? Did you see those guys again?"

Harry walks over to plug his phone for charging. "No. I don't know, they could've been there."

y/n slowly nods. "I didn't think about that. We still have some time before hitting the road, wanna go check out the streets?"

Harry sighs, finally looking at her. "I don't wanna travel anymore. I want to go back."

"Why?", y/n asks, reaching for his hand. "Harry-"

"-Harry Styles.", he says, making her freeze. Did he remember his real last name?

"You said I'm Harry Styles, yesterday.", he completes. "Something about the mafia, and Oliver Khan. How do you know those things about me?"

His green eyes bore into hers, and she was speechless. Shit. Had she drunk blabbered all that? Had she told him everything? About the money and the deal with Romania?

"Tell me, y/n. Are those true?"

She couldn't tell him the full truth just yet, but she could tell him some of it. She nods.

He groans, running a hand through his hair. "How do you know? And tell me everything you know, right now."

"I um one of my friends recognized you, and they told me all this information about you."

"What friend?"

"Um, T-Tony?"

"What does Tony do?"

"He um...he's in the media.", she stumbles out another lie. There was no Tony.

"I need his number, I want to ask him myself.", Harry tells her, making her sweat.

"I'm not sure if I have his number-"

"Isn't he your friend?" Harry looked angry now, and that's the last thing y/n wanted.

"Was, not anymore. I'll find out his number, okay? I'll uh tell you what I know in the meantime."

Harry nods, not even blinking as he listens to her. y/n told him everything she knew. "R-Reagen died that day..but you lived. T-That's the story.", she completes.

She studies Harry's face which appeared expressionless, then he buries his face in his hands. "I don't remember any of that, y/n."

"I-It might not be true, Harry, that's the story I know.", y/n rubs his back gently. "I-I'm a doctor, I don't do all that stuff..", he whispers. y/n scoots closer to him and hugs him tight. She knew that. She knew Harry in front of her wouldn't do all that.

"That's why those men were following you and they're all scared of you Harry. Even if you get back a small piece of who you were, they don't stand a chance against you.", she speaks softly. He looks up at her, eyes watery. "A-Are you scared of me too? Is that why you kept all this from me?"

"No, I just didn't want to upset you.", y/n cups his face. "I'm not scared of you Harry, I never was and I never will be. You saved me. I know you'll never hurt me. I feel safe in your arms, I feel loved. I know who you are. You're a brave and kind man. No matter what I hear, that's what I'll believe, okay?"

Harry buries his head into her neck, and she wraps her arms around him, cupping the back of his head. "I love you and my feelings are real. That will never change."

"I-I love you too.", Harry whispers. She held him while he processed everything. She made sure to tell him that it might just be a stupid story with zero truth in it. y/n still hadn't told him everything, but she would, in time.

"You trust me?", Harry asks her, and she nods, kissing him. "I trust you."

Harry pulls her onto his lap as they kiss, y/n's hands moving to his hair. His lips attacked hers roughly and desperately. She feels him getting hard, and starts moving, straddling his lap, making him groan. 

"Let me make you feel good, Harry.", she whispers as she tugs his shirt off. She had to distract him from thinking more into Tony or anything else, she didn't want him to get worked up. Harry's hand grabs the back of her neck, pulling her lips away from his. "Get on your knees."

y/n bites her lip, getting off of his lap. She loves when he gets dominant in bed. Maybe it's because she's so busy and in charge of her life, she likes to be manhandled and thrown around a bit in bed. It's like a stress buster. And sex with Harry always feels so good.

y/n gets on her knees on the floor as Harry takes off his pants and sits back down on the bed. y/n palms him through his boxers, and he sucks in a breath. "Go on, take me out."

y/n obeys, her fingers slipping inside the waist band of his boxers, and slowly pulling them down his legs. "You're so big.", she murmurs, admiring his thick, long, dick. She wonders how that fits inside her.

Harry smirks, looking at her as she takes his dick in her hand, stroking it from it's base to the top, dangerously slow. Her other hand played with his balls, squeezing them ever so gently. 

"You're such a tease.", he says, looking down at her. "Wait. Take off everything except your panties."

"Whatever you say.", she pulls away to take her top off, leaving her upper half bare. She hadn't worn a bra. She slipped of her shorts as well, leaving just her panties as he asked. Her nipples were hard, and Harry groaned at the sight of her on his knees for him, ready to pleasure him. He leans down to cup one of her breasts and squeezes. "Are you gonna be a good girl and take this big cock down your throat?"

Harry's eyes were dark with lust, and y/n moans, "Y-Yes, Harry."

"Get to work.", he says, sitting back up. She keeps her eyes on him as she spits on his dick, and rubs it all over. He groans, hands going to hold her hair up for her.

y/n teases him at first, slowly running her tongue along his length, while her hands palm his balls. She leaves little kisses on his dick. Harry was getting painfully hard and frustrated.

"Okay that's enough, put me inside your mouth or I'm going to do it myself.", Harry mutters, not able to handle the teasing anymore. She takes him in her mouth and he lets her adjust, trying hard not to just push it down her throat.

"That's a good girl.", he coos, and curses as she bobs her head up and down his length. "Fuck."

She was driving him crazy. Her pretty lips wrapped around his cock, her gorgeous eyes looking up at him like she only wanted to please him, that was enough to drive Harry over the edge. She moves her head further down, gagging around him, her eyes watering but she loves it. 

"Oh bloody hell, that feels so good. Are you gagging around me, baby?", Harry moans. She knew how badly he wanted to just have his way with her. She pulls out. "Fuck my mouth.", she tells him. 

"Beg for it.", he says, continuing to stroke his dick as she stops. He pinches one of her nipples, and she clenches her thighs together. She was getting so wet. "P-Please Harry, fuck my mouth."

"That's not good enough, try harder baby.", Harry rolls her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. 

"Please make me gag. Make me choke on your big dick, Harry. Use my mouth as you please."

Harry moves both of his hands back to her hair. "You're so fucking hot. Tap my thigh if it gets too much, alright?"

"Yes.", y/n smiles, opening her mouth wide for him, making her jaw go slack. "Your throat's gonna to be sore by the time I'm done with you, darling. You asked for it.", he says before thrusting his dick into his mouth.

y/n chokes as his dick touches the back of her throat, and she feels the sting on her scalp as he moves her head up and down by her hair. He pulls her away to give her a second to breathe, before pushing it back in her mouth, keeping her head still as he moves his hips. Saliva drips down her chin. 

"So f-fucking good for me.", he moans, legs starting to shake as he feels him getting close. He pushed her head down, and tears run down her cheeks as she gags around him, her nose buried into his hound. 

"Just like that, baby, your mouth feels s-so good. I-I'm going to cum."

He pulls her head up. "F-Fuck..."

"G-Give it to me Harry, cum for me.", she whispers, her voice coming out hoarse. Harry strokes his dick, and she opens her mouth to catch his cum as it shoots out. She hums, tasting him on her tongue. 

"Keep your mouth open.", he groans and moves his dick to paint some of his cum over  her chest. y/n sits like a perfect girl, tears running down her cheeks, mouth open holding his cum, and her beautiful breasts covered in his cum as well.

"You look so pretty like this.", Harry strokes her hair. "Swallow."

She does, and shows him her empty mouth. He grabs her jaw to see. "Good girl."

She smiles, pleased with his praise. Her fingers scoop up the rest of his cum on her body and brings it back to her lips, cleaning it off, all while looking at him. "Tastes so good.", she tells him.

"Yeah? Stand up, baby." 

She raises on her legs, and he pulls her in between his knees. He taps her thigh and she separates them. Harry's fingers touch her wet core through her thin panties. "Did you get so wet from gagging on my cock, y/n?"

"Uh huh..", she's tempted to close her legs. "All for you."

Harry hums, tugging on her wrist. "Bend over my lap, let me take a good look at that beautiful pussy."

She listens, bending over his thighs and Harry adjusts her so her ass is propped up and her feet are dangling. 

Harry's hands go to her panties, and he rips them apart. "Oh god.", y/n moans. Everything he did was so hot. "I liked that.", she pouts, her poor panties.

"Sorry baby, I'll buy a new one.", Harry grins, throwing the cloth pieces away after ripping it in half. He spreads her cheeks apart, looking at her glistening pussy. "You're dripping, sweetheart. Oh, look at all that sweetness."

"Please Harry.", she whines as his fingers stroke over her folds, feeling the moisture. 

"You want my fingers? My mouth?", he asks, enjoying her being a mess for him. 

"A-Anything, please." She starts to use his thigh, moving down on it to cause some friction and yelps as his hand comes down on her bottom. "Did I tell you to move?"

"No, sorry.", she moans. "More, please."

"More? You like it when I slap your ass, baby?", he asks, giving her another slap. He groans, watching her ass jiggle from the hit. 

"Fuck, yes.." She gasps as he spanks her again. She loved the pain, and as the sting faded away, she was only left with pleasure. Harry's hand smoothed over the sting, before he thrust his fingers inside her pussy without warning, making her let out a scream and hold on to his legs for support. "P-please, please..", she begs, as he spreads her legs with his knee.

He pulled his fingers away to give her ass another swat, making her whimper. She was getting dizzy from all the pleasure. "Feels good, doesn't it? You gonna cum, baby?"

"Y-Yes, yes..oh.." His fingers curl around her g-spot and she's a mess on his lap as she tries to lay still. It felt so good. "Come on, cum for me.."

y/n's sure she's seen stars, as Harry helps her through her orgasm. All the blood was rushing to her face as she was dangling on his lap. Harry notices and places a pillow beside him, before bringing her up so her head's laying on the pillow. He also lifts her legs and lays them on the bed. 

Harry brings his fingers to his lips, tasting her. "So sweet, baby."

He takes some of it dripping out of her, bringing it to her lips. "Here, clean my fingers, darling."

y/n's lips wrap around his fingers as she sucks on them. He pulls his fingers out of her mouth and brings it back to her pussy, making her whimper.

"What? Is your little pussy sensitive already?", Harry chuckles. "Okay, I'll give you a few minutes. How bout I play with your other hole?"

She gasps as he spreads her cheeks with one hand, and circles his finger over her asshole. She grips onto the sheets, letting out a small whine. "I will fuck you in this little hole one day. I bet it'll be tight like your pussy."

He pushes his finger into her asshole, and she moans at the new feeling. "Harry.."

"So tight, and pretty." He spits on her hole, and pushes his finger back in. "Would you like that baby? I'll fill all your holes up, and you'll take it, won't you?"

"Yes, yes I will. Please." She whines when he pulls his finger out, and he laughs. "Not today, you're very tight and we don't have lube. I don't want it to hurt. Some other time, huh, baby?"

He sits her up on his lap. "I want you to ride me. Your tits look so pretty and perky today, I want them bouncing on my face."

She looks at his dick which was hard again, standing up straight. "That's what you do to me.", he says, and she grins, placing her hands on his shoulders as she gets comfortable. Harry holds her hips, and guides them over him as she sinks down on him slowly. 

y/n moans, feeling him deep inside of her. Harry moves one hand from her hip to her clit, his thumb rubbing slow circles over her sensitive bud of nerves, as she starts moving. 

"F-Fuck, Harry..", y/n's body over flows with pleasure. "Let me hear how much you like it, baby.", Harry says, watching her breasts bounce up and down as she rides him.

"G-God it feels so g-good, so good."

Her thighs were burning, and her body was tingling. His dick felt so good inside her, and if he kept up with her clit rubs, she was going to cum again within minutes. Harry takes one of y/n's nipples into his mouth, sucking on it. 

"H-Harry I'm gonna-"

"-Already? I think you can hold it for a bit.", he tells her, teeth grazing against her nipple as he looked up at her. y/n moans, trying to keep her pace, but she slowed down. Her thighs were burning and shaking with too much pleasure. 

"Be a good girl for me.", Harry murmurs. "You're my dirty little slut, aren't you?"

She yelps as his hand slaps her ass before squeezing the stinging flesh. "Y-Yes.." She tried to move, but she couldn't. "Harry.."

"What's wrong baby? My cock too much for you?", he teases.

"P-Please fuck me, please.", she begs. 

"Since you asked so nicely.", he grins, grabbing her hips again.

Her fingers curled around his shoulders and she screamed as he thrust his hips, hard and fast. She was almost falling off his lap. 

"You can cum, baby.", he tells her, and her eyes roll back in her head as she lets go. Harry fucks her through her orgasm and it hurts from over sensitivity before it feels good again, Harry doesn't stop. "W-Who's making you feel so good?"

y/n couldn't answer. Harry brings one hand to wrap around her throat. "I asked you a question."

"Y-You. You, Harry..", she moans, and her vision goes blurry as his fingers press against the sides of her throat. He was driving her crazy. "T-That's right."

y/n looked so divine, covered in sweat, cum, and tears as she bounced on his cock. Harry released inside her soon, and she cums again. She slumps on him, exhausted and he wraps his arms around her before falling back on the bed, letting her lay on top of him.

They breathe heavily, taking a moment to recover, before y/n looks up at him. Harry smiles at her, stroking her hair back gently, before taking her chin and bringing her close for a kiss. "T-That was crazy.", she whispers. "I can't feel my legs."

Harry laughs, running his hand down her back. "I'm sure it'll be fine after a nice warm shower and a small nap."

"I do need a shower, but you might have to carry me inside."

"With pleasure.", he nods, and kisses her nose. "I love you, sunshine."

"I love you too, H.", she squeezes her arms around his waist. "You're perfect."

After a few minutes of laying down and catching their breath, Harry carries y/n to the shower,  holding her under the warm water. He mumbles praises against her skin as he washes her, and she tangles her hands into his hair as she massages the shampoo into his locks. It was very relaxing. 

So relaxing, that Harry let his mind wander. y/n kisses his chin, looking at him fondly as she continues to wash his hair.

"What's on your mind?", she asks, after a few minutes.

Harry turns the water back on, running his hands through his hair as he washed the shampoo out. "I was thinking about everything you told me. She's not dead, y/n."

"W-Who's not dead?", y/n asks, although she feared the answer.

"Reagen. She didn't die."

y/n felt like throwing up.

"They were in love. Love like you've never seen before. Harry would do anything and everything for her.", Romania's words ring in her ear. Reagen wasn't afraid of anything. She didn't have anyone. Harry was her world."

Maybe Harry was starting to remember things, and his mind didn't want to believe that his love was dead.

"H-Harry, I'm sorry but, Reagen is dead.", y/n says slowly, rubbing his arm. "Only you survived after that night-"

"-No.", Harry cuts her off, staring right into her eyes. "Reagen's alive, y/n. I don't know where she is, but I know that she's not dead. Things..they're coming back to me."

[cordeliawhohung]

In Limbo [Prologue]

mafia!141 masterlist | In Limbo masterlist

| mafia!Simon x fem!Reader - violence, death, gambling, gang/mafia violence |

Everyone knew not to ask the Riley brothers what they did after dark. Don’t ask Tommy why he looks so skinny, and don’t ask Simon about the bruises on his hands and face; it’s better that way. Even if you did, neither of them would tell the truth, though they lied for different reasons. Tommy lied because he didn’t want anyone to ruin his fun. It was already bad enough with his brother getting on his ass about his addictions, he didn’t need anyone else trying to play hero for him. Besides, he was perfectly content couch surfing, drinking all his friend’s booze, and shooting up in order to numb anything that the alcohol couldn’t. 

Simon only lied because he was ashamed. 

But it wasn’t shame that stuck him in that boxing ring. No, it was something else. Loyalty, most likely. Servitude, more accurately. Whatever word that could be used to explain Simon Riley’s undying need to take care of his family, even at the cost of his own wellbeing. Even if that meant spilling someone else’s blood and destroying himself in the process. 

It was difficult to hear the sound of his own thoughts in that room. Long abandoned, the pool house bounced around the voices of all the men looking down at him and the poor bastard he would have to fight. Nothing but cracked concrete walls surrounded him and his opponent as they stared at one another from opposite sides of the empty pool, sizing one another up. An announcer using a jerry-rigged auditory system mumbled something into the microphone about last call for bets that sent a few people scrambling. Maybe it was the dull, grey concrete prison he found himself in, but the men in charge had a way of making boxing feel like being put in the colosseum. 

In five minutes, one of them would leave a bloody mess. Simon had every intention of leaving in one piece. 

While he waited, Simon adjusted the wraps on his knuckles and the balaclava obscuring his face. He always refused to show his face in that place because the last thing he wanted was for any of that to come back and bite him in the ass. Underground boxing wasn’t the most legal thing in the world, but being a butcher wasn’t exactly a well paying job, either. The only reason he risked his life in that hole was because the winner got to take home twenty percent of the pot, and he had family to take care of. 

Once everyone began to line the edge of the pool, Simon knew his five last minutes of preparation was almost up. Pressing one thick soled boot against the concrete at his back, he pushed himself off of the wall and towards the large spray painted circle that decorated the bottom of the pool. The line was drawn long ago and was so faded he had a difficult time telling the paint and the bloodstains apart. His contender mirrored his actions as he lazily sauntered up towards the ring, oozing a confidence Simon wasn’t sure was well founded. 

The referee was a bored man who looked like he was nineteen going on forty. Out of all the spectators, he was the only one brave enough to sit down with his legs hanging over the side of the pool, despite how easy it would be to snap one of his scrawny legs should he get caught in the crossfire. Like all the other men who were in charge of the fight, he wore all black which made the silver whistle hanging around his neck all the more eye-catching. 

“Alright boys,” he shouted over the commotion swirling around them, “you know the rules.”

Both men nodded before turning their attention to one another where they took their last few seconds to fully size one another up. Simon was taller, but that wasn’t exactly anything new. He was always well aware that his height and size was larger than the average man, but that rarely seemed to get anyone to shy away from fighting against him in the ring. His opponent had forgone his shirt, which was something Simon himself would have done if it wasn’t for the tattoos and other identifying marks he covered with the cloth on his back. Less clothes meant less things for someone to grab onto during the fight, but the man knew how to adapt. He wouldn’t have been alive that long if he didn’t learn to do that much. 

Neither of them wasted any time getting to work the moment the whistle blew. His nameless opponent didn’t bother to wrap his hands, and he flaunted his tightly wound fists as he danced around the ring. Simon, however, was not that flamboyant, and instead chose to keep his arms guarding his face as he waited for either the man to make a move, or for an opportunity to attack. He had no need to show off, to prove himself to the people who bet on him; his only objective was to survive. To win.

The man’s first punch was slow. Sloppy, even. A quick duck of his head and adjustment of his hips had Simon avoiding the blow like it was child's play, and he responded with a quick and sharp jab to the man's exposed abdomen. The move got him a sharp grunt in response, followed by a half-assed punch intended for his face, but was easily blocked by Simon’s forearms. Bit by bit the fight started to pick up momentum. A quick jab on the right. A wide swing that sent one of the men ducking. Each blow was punctuated by roaring applause mixed with slight grimaces and groans from the audience. 

Two minutes had passed and Simon had managed to receive a decent hit to his cheek, but his opponent suffered from a bloody nose that bled profusely, wetting the skin of his chest. His blood mixed with the rest of the stains that coated the concrete floor of the emptied pool, but neither man paid it any mind as they were too busy sizing up opening opportunities. 

The crowd began to grow restless with the match, as fights usually only lasted a minute maximum if the fighters were good enough. They wanted their results. They needed their winner so that they could claim their share of the prize, should they be so lucky. Instead of continuing the fight, of picking up pace and doubling down, Simon’s opponent placed his hands on his hips with a heavy sigh. There was a slight pull to his lips, some sort of twisted grin that Simon refused to trust. 

“Look… I really need that money.” 

Now that was new. Simon was no veteran in the career of illegal underground boxing, but he had never seen or heard of anyone begging to win. Refusing to let his guard down, he stayed braced as he watched the man take a step forward, his movement far too confident to be grounded in good will. 

Though Simon hadn’t been expecting anything friendly from the man, he certainly didn’t expect something as insidious as him pulling a pocket knife from the pants of his jeans. Its edge glistened deadly in the dull lights of the pool house, and he couldn’t stop the way his eyes widened at the sight of it. A deafening uproar sounded from the crowd at the blatant display of rule breaking, and the referee blew his whistle in an attempt to halt the fight. 

“The fuck did I say about following rules?” the man shouted after letting the whistle drop from his lips. “Give that here before you get yourself hurt.” 

Despite the man’s warning, no one exactly rushed to defend Simon. Not that he could blame them. They weren’t the ones stuck in that pool with that man. They were perfectly safe and had no intention of spilling their guts just to save their entertainment.

Ignoring the referee, the man continued to stalk closer to Simon who refused to waver even in the threat of the glinting blade in the man's hand. It was a beautiful knife, obviously well loved and kept without a single hint of rust or other ailment. But Simon knew knives, and he knew them well enough to know that the grip the man used was not the telltale sign of a man who was confident in his abilities. Just as sloppy as his punches were, his grip was that of a novice, someone desperate for an easy way out. 

“Just step outta the ring,” the man said as he approached close enough to Simon that he was within reaching distance. “This doesn’t have to be difficult.” 

Simon didn’t even bother giving the man a reply, and he certainly didn’t wait around for him to make the first move with a knife in his hand. Instead, he grabbed the blade by hand, taking great care to avoid putting the edge along the fleshy part of his palm as he did so, and used his other hand to twist the man's wrist into submission. His yelp cut through the shouting of the crowd around them as Simon yanked the knife out of his feeble grip and then swung him to the side. Blood and bone crunched on the cement of the pool wall as the man’s already tender nose collided with the rough and unforgiving surface. 

“Sorry mate,” Simon said as he watched the man’s face slide down the wall, “shoulda fought harder.” 

Violent cheering and shouts brought a whole new deafening sound to the crowded room as those who betted on Simon reveled in their win. The man himself stood in the center of the ring as a few workers surrounded his opponent, all roughly grabbing him and yanking him out of the hole, certainly to drag him off to teach him a lesson. Boxers dying during fights wasn’t exactly good for business, and those who placed bets usually got pretty sour when their lucky contestant was too injured to play. 

Folding up the pocket knife and shoving it into his pocket to keep as a souvenir, Simon turned towards the pool ladder where he quickly yanked himself up out of that bloody hole. Several people were brave enough to give him a pat on the back as he cut through the crowd, but most others stared at him with slight terror and the respect he deserved. 

He had won, and that was the only thing he cared about. 

Things were significantly more quiet in the cash room. What used to be a locker room had been turned into something of a makeshift bank with large, heavy duty safes that housed all the cash from that evening's bettings, as well as everything left over from previous weekends. As Simon was the victor, he got priority on the dispersal of money, which meant he found himself standing for quite some time in front of a rickety folding table while the banker, so to speak, counted out his winnings by hand. 

Eight thousand was how much he would take home that night. With a minimum required bet of five hundred, and then some choosing to place even higher bets, his payout was always eye-catching, though usually took some time to count out. Not that he was in a hurry or anything, certainly not at that time of night. He didn’t have anyone waiting for him back home, anyway. 

“Ghost?” 

Unlike most of the other fighters, Simon refused to reveal not only his face but his name as well. In fact, he had peeved the sign up rep a little when he refused to give the man his proper name and in some sort of fit of annoyance he was given the name Ghost. It was a name that had gotten him laughed at when he had first stepped in that bloodied pool as he was seen as nothing but some stupid boy who dreamed too much of being in the WWE. After a few matches, people learned to respect both the name and the man behind the mask. 

Simon turned around to face who spoke to him and wasn’t much too surprised to find a well dressed man with an easy smile. He stood only an inch or two shorter than him, which was something to notice, and he could catch a slight whiff of expensive, woody cologne mixed with tobacco. Though that abandoned pool house was meant for the grunts, it wasn’t rare to find the occasional well off business man or two feeding into their gambling addictions with something a bit more bloody than your average horse race. 

“Yeah?” Simon responded as if bored. 

Much to his surprise, the man held out his hand for him to shake. He was quick to notice the watch band on his wrist, though it wasn’t as expensive as Simon had anticipated it to be. Still, he courteously took his hand as he allowed the man to introduce himself. 

“John Price. That was some good fighting you did down there,” he congratulated as they both returned their hands to their sides. It was obvious the man wasn’t from the area based on his accent. London, Simon guessed, which was quite a ways away from Manchester. 

Simon hummed as he quickly glanced over his shoulder. The sudden quietness hadn’t been lost on him as every soul in that room eyed John Price with suspicion. Even the bank guards looked apprehensive despite how obviously armed they were. He turned his attention back to John as he gestured to the table behind him. 

“Too excited to wait patiently for your winnings?” he asked. 

John laughed, and it rumbled deep in his chest as he glanced down at the ground with a friendly smile. “No, my wife doesn’t like it when I gamble. I came here to offer you a job.” 

It was as if the ambiance of the room itself silenced the very moment those words left John’s mouth. Anyone shuffling and counting cash ceased, as did their breathing by the sound of it. There didn’t seem to be any insidious intent or tone behind the man's voice, and yet his offer stopped the very turning of the world. 

“Must be an interestin’ job if you’re scoutin’ in a place like this,” Simon noted. 

“Interesting and well paying,” John agreed. “I think it would be a shame to let those talents of yours go to waste.” 

Talents? Simon nearly laughed at the compliment. He wasn’t a trained fighter by any means, just obnoxiously big and brutally strong in a way that most other people never had the misfortune of being. There were very few reasons why Simon would want to turn to a life like that, a life full of nothing but violence and fighting, and simply being offered decent pay was not one of them. 

“Thanks, but I don’t think I’m interested,” he said as he turned his attention back to the man at the table. Apparently he had finished counting his winnings quite some time ago because he held the stack of cash in his hands out for him impatiently, almost as if he begged Simon to leave. 

Relieving the man of whatever awkward tension had built up in his body, Simon took the cash and quickly shuffled through it before tossing a few bills back as a tip. The man muttered a soft thanks before his gaze turned back to John Price. Whoever this man was, no one else seemed to trust him even with his kind demeanor. 

“Have a good night,” he said to John with a simple nod. 

Just as Simon walked to the side of the man, he put his hand up in front of his chest, forcing him to stop in his tracks. That same hand then slowly snaked into the pocket of his pants, and he half expected him to pull some sort of weapon on him for denying his offer. Wouldn’t have been the first time that night. Instead, John pulled out a small, rectangular card, which he held out for Simon. 

“Take this before you go. In case you change your mind,” John insisted.

Simon stared at the card for a long moment, studying its features. It was nothing but plain white cardstock with a phone number handwritten on one side, which was oddly simple for someone with a powerful aura. It was almost like the man had scribbled it down before he even entered the building, as if he had anticipated Simon’s rejection. Seeing no harm in taking the card, and also wanting to get the man off his back as soon as possible so he could go home, he took the item and shoved it in his pocket. 

“Just know that if you do decide to change your mind, I always take care of my men. Always,” John said, his eyes unwavering. 

Unconvinced, Simon gave the man a curt nod. “Sure,” he responded gruffly before he turned to leave John Price and that dilapidating building far behind him. 

Simon didn’t take his balaclava off until he was halfway home. Well, the house he grew up in as a child wasn’t exactly home anymore, but his mother still lived there, and that was close enough. It hadn’t changed much since he was younger; it still had the floral patterned curtains and the cement stairs with the railing that squeaked as he approached the front door. The inside had changed considerably, though. Significantly less toys than he remembered, and his mother was able to keep it more tidy since the death of his addict father.

When he reached the kitchen, he flipped the light on and did a quick glance around the room. Several hand washed dishes sat neatly in a drying rack next to the sink, and the fridge was adorned with old photographs of him and his brother Tommy from when they were younger. Annoying bastard used to be cute back then. 

Digging his hands into his pocket, Simon pulled out the cash he had earned that night and began to shuffle through the bills. Six thousand would have been plenty for him to live off of for a little while in addition to what he already made at work as a butcher. His mom could use the extra two thousand, although she’d chastise him and attempt to give it back to him. No, maybe he should give her three thousand just in case his brother came around asking her for cash. Begging seemed to be a bad habit of his.

“Tommy?” 

Simon stopped in his tracks when the sound of his mothers tired voice cut across the quiet kitchen. She stood in the doorway with a hand bracing against the wall while she attempted to squint into the bright light of the room. Surprisingly, her hair was kept fairly well despite her having been roused from sleep, though her pajamas had been wrinkled from her tossing and turning throughout the night. 

“Oh, Simon,” she said in surprise. “Everything alright sweetie?”

He felt like a kid again getting caught red handed trying to steal snacks at some ungodly hour, except instead of stealing he attempted to give something. It was too late to shove the cash into his pocket and pretend he was there for some other reason, her eyes had clearly scanned the bundle in his hands as soon as she had made herself known. Instead of drawing more attention to it than had already been done, Simon continued to count out the cash like it was of no importance. 

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he spoke softly. It didn’t take him much longer to count the amount he wanted to give to her, and once he was finished he set it in a neat pile on the counter before shoving the remaining amount deep into his pocket. “Just droppin’ something off real quick. Go back to bed, mum.” 

Ignoring his request, she continued further into the room as she made her way to the fridge where cold air soon brushed against Simon’s arm as she searched around in the freezer. It wasn’t long before she pulled out a bag of frozen peas and shoved it his way, all but forcing it into his hand. 

“If you ice it now the swelling should go down by Monday,” she said while her eyes watched him meticulously. 

Sighing, Simon turned so that his hips leaned against the counter while he pressed the cold bag of peas against his eye. The pain from the impact was hardly there, and it felt more like a dull throb than anything else, but he supposed nothing could beat a mother’s intuition. Not like it would have mattered if his eye did swell up. There were very few people he visited, and he always hid in the back of the butcher shop when he worked. 

“You’ve got to stop doing this to yourself, Simon,” she sighed as she shut the freezer door. Despite her short stature, she stared up at her son with her hands on her hips to scold him as if he was still a child and not a twenty-six year old man. “Whatever money you’re making from this isn’t worth what you’re putting your body through.” 

“It is if it helps get you through the month,” he retorted bluntly. Crackling plastic sounded as he adjusted the bag on his face. His fingertips already ached from holding the ice cold object. 

“I know your mother is getting closer to being a helpless old lady, but I’m not there quite yet,” she chuckled. “I’m not going to be living out on the streets, sweetie.” 

“You will be if you keep givin’ money to Tommy as often as you do.” 

It was difficult for her to come up with a response because deep down Mrs. Riley knew her son was right, even though she didn’t want him to be. The oldest of her two sons grew skinnier and more pallid every time she saw him, and the only thing he ever seemed interested in consuming was cash. His expensive diet was insatiable, and she didn’t have the fortitude to deny him his favorite meal. 

“If he comes around again, tell him to come talk to me,” Simon continued. By that point his cheek felt completely numb and he hastily pulled the frozen bag of peas off his face in order to offer his skin a little reprieve from the biting cold. “Kick him out if you have to. Unless he’s tryin’ to sit for tea, he doesn’t need to be harassing you for money.” 

There wasn’t much more to be said for their late night kitchen conversation. Sleep pulled heavy at his mothers eyes, and all Simon wanted to do was wash away the filth of that night down the drain. So he placed the bag of peas back in the freezer before giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. They quietly muttered their goodbyes before Simon quickly slipped out of the kitchen and towards the exit. His hand had hardly brushed against the dull, brass door knob before he heard her call out to him from the kitchen doorway once more. 

“Stay safe, Simon.” 

Hesitating for only a moment, he continued to twist at the knob until the door swung open and the night air seeped into the entryway. He glanced over his shoulder and looked to where his mother’s small frame stood, blocking the illumination from the kitchen. A small smile appeared on his lips, but his face felt too numb to give her something more proper. 

“Always.” 

The thing about Simon Riley was that his hands were always dirty. No matter how much pink tinged water swirled down the drain, he could never quite get the stench of death and raw muscle out of his skin. But that was alright. Men like him, large and burly and utterly terrifying, were meant to be that way. Hidden in the back of butcher shops, transforming once living creatures into something so unrecognizable that the average person would be able to stomach consuming something that once looked at the same stars as them. 

Just as Simon had finished washing and drying his hands, the small pitter-patter of feet caught his attention. Looking up from his station, he caught sight of Meara, the young girl who ran the register up front. She was kind enough yet always seemed eternally bored with the work at the shop, but her usual dull expression was replaced with one of slight concern. Meara leaned against the doorway and jammed her thumb over her shoulder as she cleared her throat. 

“There’s someone up front asking for you,” she said. “He’s uh… very adamant about speaking to you.” 

Sounded about right. It was a Monday, and for some reason that usually attracted the frustrated white collar workers and the absolute loons. Simon tossed his paper towel into the bin next to the sink before following Meara up front where he was met with neither office worker nor freak but his own brother. Each time Simon saw Tommy, he looked worse with gauntly cheekbones and heavy sunken eyes. His skin was so pale it looked as if it had been rotting for some time, and yet he still smiled at Simon as if nothing was wrong. 

“Simon, hey man,” Tommy greeted as he placed his hands on the counter. His scuffed knuckles didn’t go unnoticed, but Simon didn’t bother to mention it. “How’s work?” 

“What do you want?” he questioned, skipping the pleasantries and getting straight to the point. “Got tired of freeloadin’ off of mum?”

Whatever kind persona Tommy wore quickly morphed into something a bit more desperate at his little brother’s comment and he slumped forward over the counter. He was close enough that Simon could smell his breath; it was as if he had rotting flesh stuck in his teeth. 

“Come on, Simon,” he said, nearly begging, “I know it sounds bad, but I just- this is serious alright? Look, I couldn’t tell mum because she’d freak the fuck out, but I… I owe some guys a bit of  money, and they’re getting a little impatient with me.” 

Feet shuffled behind Simon as Meara not-so-secretly eavesdropped. Papers slapped against one another as she messed about, pretending to be busy when he knew that she didn’t have any work to be done. Ignoring it, he kept his attention on his brother, and more importantly the bit of information he had dropped. 

“How much?” he asked. 

Sweating, Tommy rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “I’d just need a couple hundred to keep them off my back for a while.”

“That’s not what I asked you,” Simon snapped. “How much, Tom?” 

Avoiding his gaze, Tommy looked down at the counter. “Seventy five.” 

“Hundred?” Simon pressed. 

“Thousand.” 

Simon nearly laughed at the absurdity of the number. He was well aware his brother was an idiot, but he never imagined he would get into that much trouble. Tommy refused to look at him, which gave Simon the time he needed to get his thoughts together and stay as level headed as possible, lest he scare Meara. 

“How the fuck did you manage that?” Simon asked as he kept his voice low. 

“That’s not important right now,” Tommy retorted, though he backed off when he saw the glare his brother gave him. “I-It’s a long story, I can explain later but right now I need you to help me. Please.” 

A small bell rang with the opening of the shop door and Tommy anxiously turned around to greet the two men like he knew them by their presence alone. Both men were dressed similarly with large bulky coats that Simon knew couldn’t be hiding anything good. Neither brother had time to react before one of the men threw a punch that hit Tommy’s diagram. All the air in his lungs left him with a pitiful heave before he was promptly shoved onto the cold linoleum. Meara’s gasp came shortly after followed by what sounded like a sob when the other man pulled out a knife and pointed it towards Simon in a warning. 

“Let’s not get any ideas,” the man chuckled as his partner sauntered over to Tommy’s crumpled form on the floor. 

Stuck on the other side of the counter, Simon’s eyes flickered between the two men in assessment. Average height and build, neither of them were all too intimidating and yet they both sauntered into the shop like they owned the place. The man who stood above Tommy chuckled as he knelt down to his height like some ravenous beast ready to eat his meal. This was Simon’s work, but this was their territory. 

“Time’s up,” he said as he held his hand out, but all Tommy could do in response was sputter and attempt to catch his breath. “Do you have the cash or not?” 

Suddenly, Simon was in that empty pool again with its cracked cement walls and stained floor. Adrenaline pumped through his body so furiously the only thing he could hear was his brothers groaning and the blood rushing in his ears. He could freeze up. He could stand there and watch his brother get beat to a pulp or stabbed beyond recognition. It was easy to give in to fear, to be nothing but a helpless bystander, but it wasn’t in his nature. No, a man like Simon Riley would do the thing he did best: fight. 

Mimicking his movements from the other night, Simon grabbed the blade of the knife with one hand and the thugs wrist with his other before bending them in opposite directions. A loud crunch reverberated through his hands as the man’s forearm shattered in his grip, causing the man to scream louder than anything he had heard in his life. There was nothing left in Simon’s grip than powdery bone and mushy meat. Yelping, Meara took that as a sign to get the hell out of dodge, and she quickly dove through the doorway and into the back of the shop. 

All it took was a simple shove to get the man to lose balance, and with him out of the way Simon was able to step around the counter. The man closest to his brother was no longer concerned with Tommy and instead turned his attention to Simon. He looked to his comrade who squirmed and moaned on the floor as he gripped his flopping arm, and it was in that moment that they finally realized they should have taken Simon seriously. 

Cursing, the man fumbled with one of the pockets in his coat and Simon’s stomach dropped at the sight. This was the moment where the man would try and level the playing field by drawing his own weapon, and though Simon was strong, no amount of fortitude would stop a speeding bullet. Bracing himself, Simon charged as fast as he could towards the man with his new weapon held tightly in his hand. Strong and powerful steps propelled him forward, and they collided seconds later where they both toppled to the ground right next to Tommy like dominos. 

Ensuring that he was ready for whatever came next, Simon jumped to his feet and looked down at the man he had tackled. His breathing was short and sputtering, and at first he thought that was just because he had knocked the wind out of him; until he realized the knife was no longer in his hand. A long blade had been embedded into the thugs stomach and it fit so snugly as if it had never known any other home. All the man could do was lie there on his back with his hands pawing at his abdomen as if he could will the pain away. But nothing could get the blood to stop oozing from the wound. 

Simon had just washed his hands. 

“Fucking… Jesus fucking… holy shit,” Tommy stuttered, still gasping for air. “Simon… oh my god, he’s gonna fuckin’ die. W-What do… what do we do?” 

Simon’s heart felt like it was about to jump out of his chest, and each thump rattled painfully throughout his entire body. Both intruders laid on the ground, one still half conscious moaning in pain over his arm, and the other slowly losing the light in his eyes. It was then that Simon realized he was scared. Terrified, even, but he had a difficult time deducing what had spooked him. The fact that he had killed a man, or the realization that taking a life was just as easy as butchering a pig?

Ignoring his brother, Simon dug around in his pocket where he quickly pulled out his phone and a small card. He wasn’t sure why he still even had that useless piece of scrap that John Price had given him. Maybe he lugged it around because he knew that there was no escaping a life of violence, no matter how fast he ran. He unlocked his phone and hastily punched the numbers on the keypad before bringing it up to his ear. The line rang for so long he was a little worried no one would pick up, but eventually it stopped and the silky smooth voice of John Price came through the speaker. 

“Hello?” 

“This is Ghost,” Simon answered. His voice was terrifyingly calm despite the fresh corpse that rested on the ground next to him. “That job offer still on the table?”

here's our little introduction for the boy. still not quite sure how i feel about it, and updates will be slow to come, but i'm excited to get more of his lore out there. hope you all enjoyed. we'll get to see reader in the next part

[zil-street]

Human John headcanon time!

Gets tired very quickly after gaining a body.

Wears a wooden ring on his left pinky.

Very loud.

Will still narrate things when he’s walking next to Arthur, and occasionally does this with other people when Arthur isn’t around.

Can still see through Arthur’s eyes if he concentrates really hard, this gives him a headache though.

Look at him hard enough and sometimes things will feel off, like his shadow is moving while he is just sitting still.

Got drunk with Noel one time and then never again because the hangover was the worst pain he had felt in a while (he had one drink).

Very clingy not just with Arthur but also Noel and eventually Oscar. Will just kinda drape himself over them whether they’re standing or sitting.

Loves gossip about people he doesn’t know.

All the little old ladies in the neighborhood love him because he’s quite the strapping young man. At least five of them say he’s just like their grandson.

For his first meal he ate way too much and got stomach cramps, even though he didn’t really like half the stuff he was eating. Next morning Arthur gave him bread and butter and that was a much better start to the whole food thing.

Really quiet when walking and scares the shit out of other people because they hadn’t realized he was in the room. Arthur is the only person this doesn’t affect.

Ambidextrous because he kept forgetting which hand he was supposed to be writing with.

John keeps a daily diary because a part of him is scared to forget anything about his life and he doesn’t trust that some weird eldritch being *cough* Kayne *cough* won’t mess with his memory.

John is a bit mischievous and goofy around people he knows well but will snap into “normal person” mode when he’s around others. Noel finds this hilarious, Arthur does not.

Never sits in chairs properly, and somehow ends up half lying down (for exceptions see the above headcanon)

Faroe specific:

He will describe her puppy dog eyes to Arthur whenever she wants something.

Carries her around everywhere, and lets her hang off his arm.

90% of the time something she hasn’t experienced neither has he so they both gang up on Arthur trying to convince him to let them go do something.

She likes his voice so Arthur and John alternate reading her bedtime stories.

Has a list of hard ‘no’s from Arthur on what he can or cannot buy for Faroe. Otherwise she’d have two puppies and three kittens by now.

Both Faroe and Arthur will occasionally fall asleep while leaning against him. One time both of them at the same time. He was overly cheerful about this and sat way too still for multiple hours.

[sinkovia]

Yes, Lieutenant: I

Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

Violence, suggestive themes.

Yes, Lieutenant Masterlist

Under the scorching sun, the team gathered in a huddle as Price provided the final briefing for the mission in Al Mazrah. Intelligence had pinpointed the location of Iván Espiga, Valeria's new right-hand man.

The stakes were high – capturing him was crucial for extracting any information about Valeria's potential hideout following her escape from Alejandro's prison.

As you move swiftly through the labyrinthine streets of Al Mazrah, your eyes flicker over to Alejandro, engaged in small talk with a local vendor.

Vigilant, you keep a watchful eye on his back, prepared for any indication of trouble. The urgency to find Ivan before he slips away from the city fuels every step.

Navigating through the bustling market, you seamlessly blend in with the local populace, your senses attuned to the surroundings. The air is thick with the scents of spices and the murmur of haggling voices.

Alejandro and you find a momentary refuge under an overpass, your eyes scanning the crowd for any signs of Ivan's presence. Amid the ambient sounds, your radio crackles to life, interrupting the tension.

"Bravo 1-1, this is Echo 3-1, how copy?" Alex's voice crackles over the comms, and you glance at Alejandro, your silent communication understanding the urgency in the situation.

"Alex, talk to me. You pick anything up?" Alejandro queries.

"Affirmative. You see that big tower with the bell. It's south, about half a click away from our entry point." you and Alejandro began to move.

"I see it. We are down the street from it. Two minutes. How far are you and Farah?"

"About five minutes. Do not engage, wait for Ghost and Soap to rendezvous."

"Copy, out."

As you approached Ivan's supposed safe house, the atmosphere grew tense. Guards were everywhere, and infiltrating without being seen would be a challenge. Taking cover behind crumbling walls and rusty vehicles on the side of the safe house, you instinctively took the safety off your weapon, ready for any unexpected confrontation. 

In the distance, a faint whistle caught your attention, and you saw Soap with Ghost following closely behind, both crouched behind some barrels. Glancing around the perimeter, you signaled to them that it was safe to cross over and join you.

Soap approached your side, speaking softly. "Aye there, lass. Are Alex and Farah here yet?" 

You turned to Soap and nodded your head. "They mentioned they were slightly behind the rest of us. They're probably still making their way over," you replied, noticing Ghost crouched behind you, his gaze fixed upon you. 

Despite his hunched position, his dominating presence was evident, his towering figure, broad shoulders, and muscular frame drawing your attention. As you held Ghost's gaze, his brown eyes burned a hole through you. Even in the midst of tension, he exuded a calm demeanor that caught you off guard.

A deafening explosion rocked the air, ripping you from your thoughts. Peering over the wall, you witnessed the front gate of the safehouse blown up, and men in civilian clothing rushing through the debris. The chaotic scene sparked questions – was the safe house under attack by a rival gang?

Gunfire erupted from every direction as bullets whizzed past, kicking up dust and debris. The team ran for better cover behind the safe house, adrenaline surging through your veins. Ghost turned around, and all attention focused on him.

"This is our only chance to infiltrate while we still can before Ivan catches wind and leaves. Soap, I want you to breach the back door so we have a way in. Alejandro and I will clear the first floor, Y/N and Soap will find the stairs and clear the second."

Soap quickly planted and detonated the door, the team moving in unison. Bullets found their marks, dropping cartel members one by one. With the path clear, you and Soap advanced towards the stairs, leaving Ghost and Alejandro to handle their assignments.

Slowly ascending the stairs, you and Soap took out a few enemies, clearing each room systematically. As you opened another door, a man lunged from behind, slicing your arm. Reacting quickly, you slammed the door against him, sending him sprawling back into the room. Soap entered from the room across, pointing his gun at Ivan.

"It's over, Ivan, we have you like a cornered rat," Soap's Scottish accent cut through the tense atmosphere.

While Soap remained oblivious, you noticed Ivan's hand slowly reaching for something next to him. Your eyes zeroed in on a small pocket knife, just inches from his grasp.

Acting swiftly, you grabbed a throwing knife and aimed for his hand. The knife went through his hand and embedded itself in the floorboard below, incapacitating him from reaching the weapon. Ivan screamed in pain, unleashing a string of curses.

"Ahora sabes cómo se siente, perra. Mira lo que le hiciste a mi brazo" (Now you know how it feels, bitch. Look at what you did to my arm). You turned your arm to show him the small cut he had inflicted, and he sneered through the pain.

"Eso no es nada comparado con mi maldita mano. Te voy a matar, perra" (That's nothing compared to my fucking hand. I'll fucking kill you, bitch). You laughed as you retrieved handcuffs from your vest and secured them on his wrists. Rendezvousing with Ghost and Alejandro downstairs, Ghost noticed your arm.

"You alright sergeant?" you look at him a bit confused before you realize he's talking about your arm.

"Oh yeah, it's just a graze L.t I'm good" You hold eye contact for a couple of seconds before breaking away to walk outside through the back door you breached. You all made it back safely to the exfil where Price was waiting.

The mission in Las Almas spanned three days, and you are eagerly anticipating a much-needed shower. After checking your weapons back in, you make your way to your room to get a change of clothes and your shower bag. You head towards your personal shower, turning the knob you wait for it to warm up. However, after running cold water for about five minutes, you curse to yourself.

"The hot water probably isn't working on this side of the base"

For fucks sake. With a sigh, you collect your belongings and navigate your way toward the communal showers. It's 3 am, so fortunately, the area is pretty empty with everyone else heading to bed or watching the interrogation with Ivan. As you turn on the water, you shed your clothes, allowing the warm cascade to envelop your body. The sensation of scrubbing and lathering your hair fills your senses, the fragrance of your shampoo adding a refreshing touch.

Lost in your own thoughts, your peace is abruptly interrupted by the sound of someone entering the shower area. The walls dividing each shower stall aren't particularly tall, granting you a clear view over the top. Curiosity piques, and you cautiously peek your head over the wall, spotting the familiar sight of a Ghost mask.

"Im guessing your shower was cold too huh?" you remark, turning back around to rinse the shampoo from your head.

"Shit was colder than the motherland" he states in his brooding voice, eliciting a laugh from you. Ghost's rare sense of humor always brought a welcome respite from his typically solemn demeanor.

"How's the arm?"

"It was nothing, won't even leave a scar" he hums in response. Both of you shower in silence, and as you turn off the water, Ghost does the same. Reaching out to grab your towel, you realize with a mental curse that you left it behind in your bathroom.

Frustrated, you turn to Ghost, "Hey, Ghost, could you do me a favor? I left my towel in my bathroom. Would you mind getting one for me from the cabinet?"

He steps out of his shower stall, only in a towel that dangerously hangs low around his waist. The alluring sight of water droplets cascading down his chiseled chest captures the soft glow of ambient light. Each droplet follows its own path, delicately tracing the contours of his well-defined muscles, only to vanish upon reaching the edge of the towel.

You watch the subtle movement of his muscles beneath his skin as he reaches into the cabinet to grab a towel. Before you can register the intensity of your gaze fixed on his exposed torso, he stands in front of your shower stall, towel in hand.

"And here I thought I was the one with a staring problem," he teases, a blush heating your face as you hastily take the towel without uttering a word.

Oh god, what the fuck is wrong with you. Ghost just caught you staring at him like some hungry ass dog. You mentally let out a string of curses as you begin to dry yourself off. Quickly changing into the fresh clothes you brought; a pair of black sweatpants and a short-sleeved black shirt.

Slipping on your slippers, you step out from the shower stall. You make your way towards the counter adorned with a small mirror. Ghost emerges from his own shower stall, now dressed in a combination of sweatpants and a form-fitting short-sleeved t-shirt.

"I'm sorry for staring earlier, it was rude and I shouldn't have done it" He halts his approach towards the door, diverting his path to stand directly in front of you, his imposing figure towering over your smaller frame. A sense of vulnerability washes over you as you instinctively try to retreat, only to find yourself trapped by the counter.

"Why were you staring?" he asks, taking another step towards you, his hands firmly planted on either side of the counter, effectively caging you. Caught off guard by his question, you struggle to find the right words.

"I, um, I-I don't..." you stumble over your words, flustered by how close he is and the intensity in his gaze as his head tilts slightly to the side, his eyes land on your lips.

"Come on, Sergeant, use your words," he urges, his tone laced with a hint of teasing, igniting a rush of heat to your face. You find yourself at a loss for words, paralyzed by the way Ghost is addressing you.

"I don't know what to say, Lieutenant," you finally exhale, almost in a whisper, lifting your gaze to meet his eyes that meet yours with unwavering intensity.

In a daring move, he raises his hand, his fingertips brushing against your jawline, trailing down to your chin. With gentle yet deliberate force, he cups your chin, his thumb grazing over your bottom lip.

"Should I help you then sergeant?" he mutters, causing your heart to race within your chest, and your knees threaten to buckle beneath you. 

"Yes," you breathe out, releasing a shaky breath you hadn't realized you were holding.

"Yes, what, Sergeant?" Ghost's grip on your chin tightens slightly, not enough to cause pain, but enough to assert his dominance in the moment.

"Yes, Lieutenant," you mutter, your cheeks growing warmer at the closeness between the two of you, acutely aware that anyone could enter the showers and catch you in this compromising position.

"Good girl," he utters, his free hand lifting his baklava to rest atop his nose. Before you can fully absorb his features, his lips press against yours. On instinct, your hands rise, one resting on his shoulder and the other on the back of his neck to let you deepen the kiss. Bodies entwined in a heated exchange, you both press closer, driven by a ravenous desire for one another.

His hand trails down from your jaw to your throat, giving a gentle pressure that elicits a breathy moan of pleasure. With a sense of urgency, he hoists you up and settles you on the edge of the counter, stepping into the space between your legs, you felt him press against you. 

Whose horse is that?

The friction between you causes a low moan to escape your lips as desire courses through your veins. You've never had sex with anyone before but you know if this is where it's heading, you would let ghost be your first. Your tongues melt together in a frenzied embrace, exchanging kisses that leave you both breathless, gasping for air.

As you part, gazing up at Ghost through hazy eyes, he looks down at you, his gaze shifting from your eyes to your lips, down to your body, and back up again.

Something changes in his expression, his lustful look morphing into the cold, distant gaze he always carries. He releases his hold on you and abruptly pushes himself away from you, turning and leaving the showers without explanation, disappearing into the unknown, and leaving you alone.

[swanimagines]

MASKS | KAZ BREKKER

Summary: You are incredibly beautiful but you have always been insecure of your own face, so you wear a mask. But in the middle of doing a heist, the mask breaks.

Ever since childhood, you hadn't liked what you saw in the mirror. Your nose was too big. Or too small. Your lips were too thin. Or then they looked like a bee had just stung them. Your eye color was bland. You just bashed yourself in front of the mirror every morning as you had brushed your teeth, and other kids at your neighborhood didn't really help with that - kids could be cruel if they were given a reason for it.

So, that day you moved into Ketterdam, you made yourself a mask before anyone got to know you. A beautiful white mask made of porcelain, with cat ears and a red stripe going over your eye. It fit perfectly around your face, hiding any imperfections behind its perfect curves.

You joined the Dregs, a gang ran by a young man who was barely 18. Kaz Brekker wasn't interested about your mask, he only wanted to know how you could fight and you were in. It didn't take long after that before you joined the heists with him and the other five people who called themselves "Crows". You quickly had made friends with them, spending evenings with them and finally feeling like you had a family again.

Kaz ended up growing something more than just your boss. It took a while, but he let his walls down with you, took a faint hold of your hand when you were worried about your wounded friend and even tried to comfort you, although he wasn't a master in it. In turn, you had showed him your face, let yourself be vulnerable too. He had looked at you with so much love you thought it's uncharacteristic of him, but at the same time you felt how your cheeks grew hot as you felt cared about for the first time in years.

Jesper had seen your face too, but it was by accident. He had barged in to Kaz's room because Wylan was missing and he was scared out of his mind and walked straight to the bedroom, just in time to see you sit up and your eyes met his. He froze for a moment before you ducked your head and took your mask, and Jesper knew better than to question it. He told you that Wylan is missing and you sprang into action immediately, dressing up and hurrying out of the office.

Turned out Wylan had been fetching Jesper a cake because the sharpshooter's birthday was the next day. Thank the Saints you found him first, so the surprise wouldn't be ruined.

A few months from that, and you were on another heist. Another merchant in the city, who has bragged about his fortunes a little too enthusiastically. In Ketterdam, you had to remember that someone was always listening, and this time that someone was Inej. A week from that, and you were at the manor of that merchant.

Kaz had ordered you and Jesper to keep watch at the hallway as he worked on the hidden safe around the corner - the merchant was smarter than he looked, he had put a safe inside a safe, and hid that behind a large and incredibly heavy bookcase. The blueprints were done wrong as a distraction, and Kaz had cursed himself over not realising it. So it had taken a while to actually get on the safe.

Footsteps were heard from the right, and Jesper's hand immediately went to his other gun. A few guards bickered about something, and Kaz halted his movements upon hearing that too. Jesper met his eyes, and he nodded towards the guards. Jesper started making his way towards them and you glanced at Kaz who started working on the safe again.

You hadn't known what was happening before you already felt a blade on your throat.

"Don't move, bitch," said a voice behind you. His breath had a bitter scent of garlic and you scrunched your nose at it.

The man with the knife pressed hard enough to cut your skin but didn't draw blood yet. A thought of him killing you and going after Kaz next crossed your mind, an d that thought made your heart start racing faster and adrenaline kicking in.

You knew it was stupid. Irresponsible. You should wait for Kaz to deal with it, he by no doubt was already thinking what to do to save you. But you weren't a lady in distress, you refused to be.

So you stomped on his foot with all your might and when he grunted, you elbowed his jaw. The knife made a scratch on your face and you heard something shattering - probably a vase on the drawer next to you. You started giving punches to the brute until he laid on the ground unconscious, and then turned back around to see all your friends gathered there to see what's the noise about. You let out a breath of relief upon seeing they were all alright and walked up to them as you tried to catch your breath. You didn't pay attention to it at first, but then you noticed that they were staring at you.

"What?" you asked, frowning.

"Darling, your mask..." Kaz mumbled, looking over at the shattered piece of art you had been wearing for the past half a decade.

Your heart stopped for a moment.

"Oh," you whispered and suddenly felt self-conscious as you turned away from your friends. Your cheeks burned like hellfire, even though nobody was saying anything about how you looked ugly underneath this disguise. Though, they had probably stared because they didn't recognize you at first, not because of how you looked. But it still felt like the latter option, and the echoes of what the kids in your neighborhood had been saying to you when you were growing up.

"Okay, we got what we came here for, escaping through the third back door." Kaz interrupted the moment and everyone started moving out, leaving Kaz and you standing there to come as last ones.

You walked in silence side by side with Kaz, looking behind the shattered mask - its shards glinting in the moonlight as if to wave its goodbye to you. You felt like a part of you had just been ripped away, and you couldn't help but feel tears in your eyes. The whole thing happened so fast, that none of it registered until that point. Then it was too late.

You could feel the slight night breeze caressing through your face once you were outside in front of the carriage, something you hadn't experienced in years. It felt so foreign now - but somehow also comforting.

You stood there for a moment before Nina spoke.

"Hey, we don't care how you look. We still love you the same."

You closed your eyes against the sudden wetness on your cheek and nodded, sniffling. "I know."

"Hey," Jesper said. He walked up next to you and handed you a handkerchief from his pocket.

"Thanks," you sniffed and wiped at your tears.

Jesper cleared his throat. "It's weird to see you without that mask. You're not ugly, you know. Not really."

You looked down at the cloth in your hands and gave a watery laugh.

"Don't be ridiculous. I've always been ugly."

"No, you aren't. This is what beauty feels like. This is what real beauty would be like."

"Oh," you said softly, biting back more tears.

He glanced at Kaz who was looking at you with something looking like concern. "Kaz is lucky to have you, you know."

You couldn't help but smile a little at that, and everyone started to board the carriage, Jesper being the driver and standing beside the door.

Jesper smirked as he helped you board the carriage, "I know what we just said but just a suggestion, love; you should consider being a model, we could pull out pretty neat heists if you went on a modeling show with rich pigs and turned over their pockets."

You couldn't help but smile at the suggestion - maybe you could finally get rid of the feeling of insecurity you had felt since you were a child.

---

Requests are always open! FANDOM LIST | PROMPT LIST(S) | RULES (READ!!!)

[kittyscupcakeandbunny]

Made by me

The Masterlist

CRAZY OVER YOU

[HYBRID AU]

[FINISHED]✅

Side Characters: Namjoon/doctor, Seokjin/doctor, Taehyung/Hybrid Tiger, Jungkook/Bunny Hybrid, Hoseok/assistant.

Warnings: Smut, mentions of blood, sharp objects, rut, beast behavior.

Genre: Fantasy, hybrids au, smut.

SUMMARY》 Yoongi is a black mamba hybrid one of rarest species of hybrids, who’s about to be put down due to his lack of interest in living. But everything changes after the new medical assistance (y/n) takes a liking to him. Meeting after meeting he realise his feelings for her are not the only thing growing.

INTRO - In the books they say

ONE - Love at first bite

TWO - Bath me with your love

THREE - Hungry for your love I

FOUR - The truth untold II

FIVE - Bitter taste, Jealousy and bites

SIX - Take Me Home

SEVEN - The last bite

SET ME FREE

[MAFIA AU]

On Going

Side Characters: Min Yoongi as Agust D/Mafia boss, Jung Hoseok as Jack/Concierge, Namjoon/Police detective, Jungkook/Police detective, Park Jimin/thief and gang leader, Taehyung/Mafia member FBI Mole, Paradise owner. Jin/unknown, Busan/Mafia boss.

Warnings: This story contains nsfw content (descriptive blood, gore, etc.) as well as sexual content. Mentions may include violence, consumption of alcohol, explicit sexual interactions, sharp objects, knife play, description of injuries, themes of major horror and also explores obsessive behaviors and codependency, robbery, killing, guns, torturing, fire, toxic yandere men, violence, possessive behaviour, unhealthy relationships.

SUMMARY: You made it. Now a police intern as you always promised to your father before he died, you were more than happy to finally be able to help people like he did. But the law was not what you expected to be like. You did not know how lonely it would be for a young woman to grow her career in this kingdom. Having to take care of your 18 year old brother wasn't easy too and things just got a lot worse when you've met Agust D. The king of the mafia Min. He sure knew how to make a life turn into a hell hole.

INTRO

ONE - Red Chopsticks

TWO - I’ll find you in a dark Paradise

THREE - A deal with the devil

FOUR - Welcome to my world

FIVE - Good girl gone bad COMING SOON

SIX - Dance with the devil COMING SOON

FINAL DESTINATION - LILITH COMING SOON

BREATH OF FIRE

[HYBRID GODS AU]

On Going

Side characters: Park Jimin/White fox hybrid.

Warnings: Mentions of blood, death, violence, sharp objects, suggestive words, smut, alcohol, killing.

Genre: Fantasy, romance, strangers to lovers, R +18.

SUMMARY: Did you know a fox only mates once in their life? For almost 400 years Min Yoongi never mated before, all theses years of emptiness and loneliness. He had tried so many times to end with his own hands. Until one night a hint of sweet and fire blows towards his nose, the smell was something he never felt before. And blood. Running for your life you felt hopeless in front of a lake, two man following you behind. Their disgusting smiles and eyes savoring your female body, you knew what they would do but you'd rather die. It all started with fire.

INTRO - Run little girl

ONE - Wood, cinnamon and honey.

TWO - Please wash away this blood on my skin

THREE - A taste of honey and dreams

FOUR - A Rise From The Shadows (coming soon)

…

FINAL BREATH (coming soon)

BUNNY BUNS

[HYBRID AU]

COMING SOON

Side Characters: Yoongi/black cat hybrid, Hoseok/human, Taehyung/golden hybrid.

Warnings: Smut, violence, mentions of blood. And finally some fluff.

SUMMARY: Jungkook needed to hide. He was on the run. And what better place for a bunny hybrid to hide then a Bunny coffee shop? How could he resist? You smelled sweet and looked nice. All it took was one smile of yours and a bunny bread and he was on all fours for you.

INTRO - Bunny on the run

ONE - Bunnies don’t like water (coming out soon)

TWO - Carrot Cake 🥕: Bunny in the kitchen (coming soon)

THREE - Muscle Bunny to the rescue (coming soon)

FOUR - Bunny Fever (coming soon)

THE LAST BUN (Coming soon)

ONE SHOTS

Coming soon

YOONGI

My Best Friends Crush

Characters: Min Yoongi/music theory Teacher, Jung Hoseok/dance teacher, Jungkook/art and design student, Jimin/danc student, reader/art student.

Genre: strangers to lovers, forbidden love?

Warnings: mentions of explicit language, sexual references(smutty material), consumption of alcohol, age difference.

Summary: “my whole life I always hated rules and protocols, growing to fin comfort on art as I could express myself unapologetically and freely. But there was one rule I made with myself; never fall in love with your friend crush.

With my rebellious nature, it was bound to be broken but I just never meet someone who would take that seriously.”

HOSEOK

JIMIN

JUNGKOOK

JIN

NAMJOON

TAEHYUNG

[ukrfeminism]

We’ve been chatting for about half an hour when Eloise lowers her voice to a whisper. Until now she’s been confidently talking through the ups and downs of being a 19-year-old woman in a world she finds unsteady. 

She’s annoyed that, on TikTok, the advertisements she gets are keyrings with rape alarms and “stabby kitties” (a cat-shaped metal keychain with pointed ears sharp enough to cause damage), feels that modern feminism sometimes goes a bit too far, but having grown up in the age of nudes, she doesn’t really trust men. Which is unsurprising considering the story she tells me next.

“So a boy I know was asking a girl at his school for nudes,” she says, quietly. “And then when she refused, he threatened to rape her.” The boy was 14 and had recently posted an Andrew Tate video to his Instagram page, which was Eloise’s first encounter with the online influencer. 

“It said stuff like how women are your property and that it doesn’t matter if women say they’ve been sexually assaulted; if you’re with them that’s your right. I didn’t like it,” she adds.

Tate has made several appearances in the headlines this week. On Tuesday, a Romanian court rejected his appeal to ease the ban on him leaving the country as a legal case against him – in which he’s charged with human trafficking, rape and forming a criminal gang to sexually exploit women – continues. He denies all charges against him. The following day, Ipsos polling for King’s College London’s Policy Institute and the Global Institute for Women’s Leadership found that one in five men aged 16-29 who have heard of Andrew Tate have a positive view of him.

Separately – or, arguably, perhaps not – another survey published in the same week underpinned a renewed focus on the attitudes and beliefs of Generation Z, this time from the Crown Prosecution Service (CPS). The research asked just over 3,000 adults of varying ages – 50.6 per cent of whom were female – about their understanding of rape and serious sexual offences, and the law on consent, and drew troubling conclusions.

Overall, 74 per cent of people surveyed understood that it can still be rape if a victim doesn’t resist or fight back, but the number fell to just over half (53 per cent) of 18-24-year-olds who had the same understanding. Less than half of respondents from this age group recognised that victims might not report a sexual offence to police immediately, that being in a relationship or marriage doesn’t mean consent can be assumed, or that if a man has been drinking or taking drugs, he’s still responsible if he rapes someone. More than 70 per cent of over-65s recognised that even if no physical force is involved a person might not be free or able to consent to sex, compared to just 40 per cent of young people.

Previous generations have become used to hearing that rape myths and misconceptions continue to persist, but that’s precisely why this week’s grim trinity of headlines stings. “There tends to be a public assumption that things are generally always getting better,” says author and feminist campaigner Laura Bates. “Actually, views like these are incredibly widespread among young people.” 

Bates regularly works with schools, talking to pupils who often tell her that “rape is a compliment”, that “it’s not rape if she likes it” or, “it’s your boyfriend, you have to have sex with him”.

She adds: “Attitude surveys have to be taken seriously because they are a real red flag that we’re going backwards – we’re seeing much more extreme and concerning misogynistic attitudes among the youngest generations than we are among the oldest. We have to face up to that and ask, why is that happening?”

Gen Z has never been neatly contained. Growing up as the first digital natives in the chokehold of crisis – climate, Covid, cost of living – has seen them praised for their social awareness, but disenfranchised and forgotten by politics. Their extremely online nature has given them unprecedented access to the world and other people – but, of course, that’s a double-edged sword.

“The internet has made everyone’s voices louder, but that means the most misogynistic people in the world are heard more too,” says Niya Clement-Hickson, a 26-year-old marketing designer from London. He says his generation has been “kind of ruined” by social media.

“You’d be surprised at just how many people around my age will argue that Andrew Tate is not as bad as he seems.”

When I spend an hour talking to 16-year-old Tate fan Manus from Ohio on TikTok, he says exactly that. He’s relatively timid and seems unsure of what he thinks at times, but came across Tate aged 12, being drawn to his motivational speeches, humour, and attitude towards making money. “[Tate] kinda showed me how people really are in reality,” he says. On Tate’s assertions that women are the property of men, he says those beliefs are simply from the Bible (though Manus himself is Muslim).

He maintains he’s never seen Tate speak violently about women, and when I send him leaked voicenote recordings of Tate saying that he enjoyed raping a woman, Manus is certain it’s fake “probably to make him look bad”. I ask for his views on feminism and he responds that feminists now want “superiority” and “more rights”. What rights exactly? “More rights in general,” he says, vaguely.

This opinion is not a rarity – there’s a pervasive idea circling comments sections and pub corners that the pendulum has “swung too far”. “Some of us warned that when you continue to suppress their identity by telling young boys that they are inherently toxic, they’ll start acting irrational,” one comment under an Andrew Tate post this week read. But it’s not just boys who hold this idea. Early last year, a survey from Ipsos UK and the Global Institute for Women’s Leadership at King’s College London echoed this and some of Eloise’s views that feminism has gone too far. They found that 52 per cent of Gen Z and 53 per cent of millennials believe that we’re now discriminating against men. Less than half of Gen Z respondents said they defined themselves as a feminist.

Was it coincidence then, to see that shortly after the research was published in March 2023, the year of the girl was in full swing? A persistently pink summer was punctuated with girl dinners, #tradwives – modern women who believe in traditional gender roles – and stay-at-home girlfriends sharing their daily rituals on news feeds. New York magazine’s The Cut declared it “Woman in Retrograde” as the year came to a close; a cluster of reactionary elements to a significant demise of mainstream feminism.

This shift back to traditional behaviours is also present in younger men, says Niya. “A lot of guys feel that their role is all about providing money, being a protector. But they feel they deserve to get something out of the interaction. They just can’t deal with being told no.”

In terms of consent, does he hear attitudes that put women in danger? “Absolutely,” he replies. Niya didn’t learn about consent in school – “I don’t think it was ever talked about beyond ‘don’t have sex until you’re old enough’” – and thinks this is quite common for men of his age. For Maya, who’s 24 and neurodivergent, the line of consent is difficult to pinpoint and somewhat shaped by social media. There’s a “disconnect” from what she really wants – and is able to articulate – in the moment.

“I think that we do have less and less sex and more and more porn,” Niya adds. “And I think that once porn is your main and in some cases, only engagement with sex and women, then that is going to completely screw up how you see sex.”

Do all roads lead to porn? Probably. Clare McGlynn, who is a professor of law with particular expertise in sexual violence and online abuse, says: “We know that algorithms promote more extreme content, more hate – and many, many younger people, men and women, are getting this. Millions of people, as we speak, are watching mainstream online pornography that is racist, sexist, misogynist and violent in its content. Of course, it’s shaping attitudes and lives.”

“There’s certainly a pressure on young boys and men, for example, to be taking and sharing nudes – they’re part of a culture that is encouraging them to,” McGlynn explains. During a study, she looked at what material was presented on the homepage of popular sites – she found landing pages which were filled with sexually violent material. “So it’s also not them even actively choosing that material; we’re part of a culture that is grooming young men, teaching them expectations around sex – and asking them to accept and normalise it.”

What appears clear from the survey conducted by the CPS is a dangerous lack of understanding of what constitutes a crime. “I do lectures on criminal law and I’ve had students come up to me afterwards and say that they didn’t know they had been sexually assaulted or raped,” McGlynn adds.

Laura Bates says that we’re in the midst of a “crisis of sexual violence among young people”. 

“Deeply misogynistic misinformation is being spread to young people online at a rate that most people just have absolutely no idea about,” she says. “And there is a massive knock-on effect.

“Some will look at these surveys and go, well, what does attitude matter? But you have to draw a connection between these really worrying attitudes about rape and the fact that nearly 80 per cent of young people told Ofsted inspectors recently that sexual assault is normal and common in their friendship groups.”

So what can be done? More responsibility and accountability from social media companies, says Bates. Tate’s content – some of which reportedly shows him attempting to beat a woman with a belt; she later hides behind a locked door – has been viewed more than 11 billion times on TikTok, she says, adding: “That’s more than the population of the planet.” Last year, advocacy group HOPE found that more 16-17-year-old boys had watched Tate’s content than had heard of Rishi Sunak. “I think it’s really important that the government supports high quality, age-appropriate sex and relationships education,” she adds. 

Actively listening to and engaging with boys – as seen in initiatives like the state of New York’s Starting the Conversation campaign – is also important. Boys must have a safe and judgement-free environment to express themselves: the more their experiences of rape culture are internalised, the more difficult they are to see.

The Online Safety Bill, which was enacted in October last year, she says, was a missed opportunity for change. While it asks for more transparency on social media platforms and imposes sanctions for those not following the act, along with criminalising cyberflashing and sending unsolicited nude images, “it went 250 pages without mentioning women and girls once, until campaigners changed that”, Bates says.

“It’s so much more effective to focus on prevention of radicalisation than trying to unpick it once it’s happened,” she says. “Young people really are prepared to listen and prepared to change their minds, it’s just a shame this isn’t happening in every school.”

“It does make me worried about how safe the world is going to be,” says Eloise, who will begin her twenties in the summer. “What if people really start thinking that women are property again?” Then, she’s quiet again. “I really hope it can change.”

[greensagephase]

Nonviolent Communication - Part 16

Pairing: Spider-Man!Miguel O'Hara x Spider-Woman!Reader Summary: Miguel and you make visits to the cemetery to talk to your loved ones. Miguel joins the spider gang for a training simulation so you can continue to rest after being sick. You go grocery shopping with him and then cook together! You debate gifting Miguel something for Father's Day. Word Count: 17.5k Warning: some depressing content; minor injury; blood; Miguel cries A/N: Edited this once, so I'm praying it's good since a lot was done at 4am today 🫠 Masterlist Music Inspo (Spotify playlist for the fanfic here) "Evergreen" - Richy Mitch & The Coal Miners "Home" - Good Neighbours (tyy Laura!!❤️)

Thank you for reading!!

Part 16

You lay fresh flowers on Peter’s resting place. You’ve collected the old ones and placed them with the other ones from your other loved ones’ graves. You always leave Peter’s for last, so you can stay with him the longest. It’s always been like this since he passed away.

A gentle breeze blows on your face as you stare at the gravestone. It’s almost another year since his death, the fifth one.

You sigh and fix the flowers, arranging them in a way that looks pretty. You always take your time with this on every grave, wanting to show love and care to your deceased loved ones even years after their deaths.

You finish fixing the flowers, admiring how colorful and fresh they are. You always opt for bright ones to lighten up Peter’s grave. You like to think that he’s here somewhere, sitting on the ground or leaning against the nearest tree, or even sitting on his own stone listening to you talk about your day. It used to help you in the early days after losing him. Now, it comforts you in a different way. Your heart aches but differently. You’ve healed, even though you once believed you wouldn’t.

You pull back. Usually, you tell Peter everything that happened during the week from the villains you’ve fought to the little moments of your day like simply having a coffee. He always loved that, hearing about your day. You intend to share all of that with him, but there’s something that’s been weighting on your mind especially, and heavily.

Harry.

He left your life in a blink of an eye, and came back just like that.

Nearly five years later, he makes an appearance, asking to reenter your life. You’ve had little time to think about his request with you growing sick the next morning and then having your period. Thankfully, you feel much better today. Your cold is mostly gone and your period’s symptoms have calmed down thanks to the medication that Miguel got you. Your body is still feeling some of the effects, like fatigue, but for the most part, you feel well. Your recovery has been a fast one and you have no doubt in your mind it’s all due to Miguel, who was like your nurse on duty, making rounds every thirty minutes and ensuring you took the medicine as it was prescribed. And then, there’s all the food he cooked and the other kind gestures, like giving you his blanket and sweatshirt, and the ointment on your nose and back.

You chuckle to yourself at the thought and decide to start your weekly moment with Peter at last, even after all these years. You tell him everything from running into Harry to getting sick and how Miguel looked after you to a brief summary of Miguel’s feelings regarding the situation with Harry.

He didn’t say it directly but you have a feeling that he’s not happy with Harry and honestly, even your other friends seemed… on edge about the situation.

His words, along with your friends’ behavior, have made you consider this situation, especially Miguel’s words. He made you realized Harry really did ghost you in a moment when you could’ve used someone’s comfort. Miguel also made you see that maybe, you did deserve a little better, even if you know that you were fully going to try and cut ties with Harry.

Now, you wonder if you would’ve done it had Harry not stepped away for whatever reason he did. Would you had allowed him to stay in your life had he stuck around? You know it’s unproductive to think about this now, so many years later but still.

A part of you is displeased that you have to worry about this now. You had simply accepted that your friendship had ended with Harry. He had his reasons and you had yours, so it felt like a silent mutual decision between you, but now? Harry is back and he wants to be part of your life again.

The question is now whether you let him, or not.

“What do I do, Peter?” you whisper. “I think - I was perfectly okay with the way things were left. Is that bad?” you ask. “I know I have no one in this universe.” Your head dips low once you say this. You truly have no one in this universe. Just you and yourself alone since Peter passed away. Staring at his gravestone, you swallow heavily.

“But I was okay with that for many years. I accepted it because I know I made that choice, to cut ties with everyone. I’ve told you what Miguel said - that I deserved better from our friends - and maybe I did, but it’s too late to think about that now. I accepted it years ago. Just like how I accepted what happened with Harry. We both walked away from each other, so it really felt like a mutual thing, you know? But now… He wants back and I don’t know if… I don’t know if I want him back. Is that a bad thing?” you whisper. “I just don’t know.” You sigh. “I don’t think my friends like the fact that he’s suddenly shown up. You should’ve seen them.” You smile softly, thinking of them. Your little family.

“You would’ve loved them, Peter. I’ve told you that already but I really do believe so. They’re amazing… They took me in and now they’re my family.”

You remain motionless and quiet for several minutes, thinking about the situation. The first thing is, maybe you did deserve better like Miguel said. Do you want that kind of person back in your life? What if Harry just walks out again?

There’s also the fact that you’re Spider-Woman. Having someone back into your life, someone who doesn’t know of your secret, will definitely stir things in your life. You’re not used to that anymore. Like, hiding your suit away in your bedroom, hidden in the closet. You don’t have to explain where little bruises come from, or why you were a bit late to something.

You can get used to that again, you suppose, but you won’t deny that hiding your identity can be exhausting and there’s always the risk of being connected to Spider-Woman. It was always a worry of yours with your parents, Aunt May, and Peter - to have them exposed to villains who made the connection.

You shake your head.

You can’t decide now. Maybe it’s too soon. It’s only been a few days since you met with him. Perhaps you ought to think about it more, give it a few more days.

“I need more time, Peter. I’ll think about it more,” you whisper softly with a sigh. You silently imagine Peter agreeing with your decision for now but your imagination is interrupted by your spider senses.

You glance around quickly, taking in your surroundings. You’ve been so lost with your thoughts you haven’t been paying attention to anything around you. Your eyes find the reason for the warning.

“Harry is coming,” you say, turning to face the grave. “I must go, Peter. I love you,” you whisper, quickly pressing your hand to the gravestone, your physical way of saying bye. “I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

You pick up your things and slip away, hiding behind a tree before Harry can catch sight of you. You watch from a distance as Harry approaches Peter’s grave, flowers in his hand.

You frown as you watch him get closer, your eyes on the flowers. You came to visit Peter very often after his death, multiple times a week, day and night. Despite coming so often, you only brought flowers once a week since they stayed fresh, and also because you’d always find other sets of flowers. You knew they were likely from friends but as the months went on, your flowers were the only ones that continued to come. Whoever else came to drop off flowers stopped two or three months after Peter’s passing.

Now, you watch as Harry stands in front of Peter’s grave with a solemn look on his face. You wonder if he ever comes to visit Peter, even without flowers. You hope he did because otherwise, it’d mean Harry didn’t visit his best friend’s grave. Not for nearly five years. It’d mean today is the first time.

You watch for a few more seconds, noticing Harry’s valet down the street standing next to the car, waiting for his boss.

With a sigh, you silently bid goodbye to Peter once more before slipping away, leaving the cemetery.

You dispose of the dead flowers somewhere appropriate and walk around your city. You’re not too happy you had to cut your visit short and leaving in a rush but you had to if you wanted to avoid Harry to avoid giving him an answer.

With your thoughts on Harry, you mindlessly walk with no clear direction. You must make a decision, sooner of later. For a moment, you wish you hadn't ran into him that day. If you hadn't, you wouldn't be here now, debating this entire ordeal. You're almost certain the stress from the encounter led to you getting sick.

You stop at the end of the street now and wait for traffic while you think about the fact that you got sick and how for the first time in years, someone took care of you.

You bring a hand to your nose, touching the tip, right where Miguel applied the ointment. You smile as you recall the moment, how gentle he was while applying the product while telling you that it was going to help you breathe better. Then, he gave you his sweatshirt and a hot tea.

You fell asleep shortly after while Miguel continued to watch over you. Lyla later told you it was like a man looking after a priceless artifact that could be stolen at any point, something that of course, brought a heat to your cheeks and stirred tenderness in you.

You're not surprised. Miguel is a kind man - a good one. He's caring and tender. He has so much love to give despite all the bad things, all the losses, that's happened to him.

You continue walking, finding yourself on your street. Of course. You'd probably find your way here even with a blindfold on since you've lived here for so long. You approach the construction site, keeping some distance as your eyes take in the progress. It seems like the building will be ready in a few more weeks, and then, it'll be time to move back.

It’ll be nice to be back.

But.

You bite the inside of your cheek. But?

Miguel flashes in your mind.

Him standing in the kitchen, cooking dinner while he talks to you. Then, there’s him sitting on the couch reading, eyebrows knitted lost in deep thought. Miguel, who taps his foot or bops his head slightly when you’re both cleaning the penthouse, the upbeat music winning over his body. There’s also him falling asleep on the couch, snoring softly, which is both endearing and heartwarming, to see that he’s actually resting when he went so long neglecting his body of it.

There’s also Miguel wishing you a good night’s sleep as you both stand in the hallway, him in front of his door wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, waiting for you to enter your bedroom first before he enters his, which you believe he does to be a gentleman. It’s so sweet.

And there’s Miguel, who said was going to miss you when you return to your universe, and who you’ll be missing right back.

It seems you’ll both be missing each other. It almost feels as though, maybe… You shake your head gently.

You’ve thought about it a lot, many nights as you’ve laid in bed. The thought seems to pop up more often now that the weeks have dwindle. It doesn’t feel like much time went by since that first day when Miguel stayed at the penthouse to ensure you rested after the early morning you had helping your building’s residents evacuate.

A sheepish smile forms on your face as you remember telling Miguel how you wanted to hug him that day. You were out of it, exhausted both mentally and physically, maybe even emotionally, and the thought slipped out of your mouth. It did lead to him offering a pinky squeeze, an open one, though. Not like before when he could easily play it off as an accident because you were handing something to each other.

You hum softly. So much has changed since that day. Living with Miguel, temporarily, has allowed your friendship to grow, so much Miguel even admitted you’re his best friend.

“Best friend,” you murmur softly to yourself as you continue to stand on the sidewalk.

You miss your little old building and your small cozy apartment. There’s always going to be a coziness, a warmth from it. It’s a special place for sure, at least in your heart. And yet… You find yourself missing the housing arrangement, even though you haven’t left yet.

You’ll miss Miguel.

You sigh and shake your head.

It’ll be okay.

Things will fall into their rightful place.

They always do.

-♡-

Back in Nueva York, Earth-928, Miguel sits on the grass. He looks up at the sky for several minutes, silently. After a few days of rain, the weather has now cleared up. Today is sunny and bright, and there’s even a gentle but nice breeze that rustles Miguel’s hair. After several minutes, he closes his eyes and just - breathes.

Recently, he’s been trying to come more often and stay for a while. In the past, he was unable to. It was too hard, and after Gabriella’s universe collapsed, even more. Despite not coming often back then, Miguel always made sure the gravestones were taken care of, that they weren’t dirty and overgrown with weeds.

Recently, however, Miguel has tried to visit more often. He supposes part of the reason is that it’s easier now. It’s been several years since Gabriel and his mother passed away. Too many. It’s hard to believe that his little brother especially has been gone for so long.

Truth be told, Miguel always assumed he’d be the first to go. It made sense for the oldest sibling to pass away first, right? That’s how he thought it’d be, but life has its twists and turns, unexpected things out of our hands happen, and somehow, Miguel is still here.

Even when there were so many times he wished he wasn’t.

Miguel opens his eyes, moving his gaze to the gravestone.

When Gabriel died, Miguel especially thought about that. Gabriel deserved to live. He was a happy, outgoing young man. He brought a smile to everyone, always lifted people’s spirits.

Miguel has always believed out of the two of them, Gabriel was the better one, something he once voiced to him.

Of course, Gabriel O’Hara denied it and told him he was no better than Miguel.

With a sigh, Miguel leans forward. Losing Gabriel, it was more than losing a brother. He lost two things: his little brother, who always told him he wasn’t “little” anymore, and his best friend.

Losing him, it was the last straw. He focused entirely on his lab, burying his grief and loss with work to try and forget the fact that he had lost his last bit of family with his mother dying a previous year. He was suddenly familyless in his twenties, alone in the world.

Of course, he had Lyla but Gabri… He was gone.

Miguel inhales softly. It hurt. So bad. He never thought he could feel any worse but he was wrong because he then experienced losing Gabriella.

After several minutes of silence, Miguel sighs. “Hola hermano [Hello, brother],” he says, speaking for the first time. He’s been coming more often these days, but usually, Miguel doesn’t speak. He looks up at the sky again. “You would’ve loved this weather.”

His words are received by a bird chirping somewhere.

“Remember when we’d play fútbol [soccer] with all the other kids from the building at this time of year? The weather was warm and nice, not too hot yet. We knew school would be out soon for the summer, and we’d be able to stay up late behind our -” Miguel pauses, looking down at the gravestone. For a moment, a fraction of a second, he almost said the word. Sometimes, despite everything, he still associates the word with the man. He supposes that’s what a whole childhood does to someone. “Behind George’s back. Mama would let us stay up late in our rooms, watching movies about superheroes, wishing we were like them.” Miguel rolls his eyes playfully, a smile tugging at his lips before it falters. “Qué días… No sabía que algún día te perdería tan pronto. Siempre pensé que seria yo el que te dejaría primero. Y yo… te extraño, Gabrielito. Extraño mi hermanito enfadoso. Que daría por verte entrar a mi laboratorio para enfadarme, tal vez con otra persona de la sociedad de la cual te hiciste amigo [What days… I didn’t know one day I’d lose you so soon. I always thought it’d be me who would leave you first. And I… I miss you, Gabrielito. I miss my little annoying brother. What I would give to see you enter my lab to annoy me, maybe with another person from the society, one you became friends with]. Or, maybe… I’d see you walking in with Y/N, telling her something embarrassing about our childhood because you thought it’d be funny.” Miguel shakes his head at that image, smiling.

“I know I haven’t talked the last few times I’ve been here, but I just - I couldn’t. Not yet, but now I am. It’s been almost a year, Gabriel, since I possibly saw you. I’m still not sure if I did, or if it was just a dream - an illusion - but my heart tells me it was real. Y/N thinks so, too. Anyway,” Miguel pauses, clearing his throat. “It’s been almost a year, hermano [brother]. A year - a whole year. I’m sorry, if you’re listening, you’re probably hating that I’m repeating myself so much but, yeah, it’s been a year. Can you believe that?” Miguel asks, pausing. The same bird, probably, chirps. Miguel’s lips purse before he continues.

“A whole lot has changed, Gabriel. A lot. I… I’m a different man than I was a year ago. I can look at myself in the mirror now. I don’t shy away from my own gaze, which is another thing. My eyes. I find myself… Happy with them, along with my fangs and talons. That’s thanks to someone, and you know her very well. Well, at least in my dreams you do. Y/N. You and her get along so well in my dreams. We both wish you were around, physically, so she could’ve met you. You would’ve loved her, I know it,” Miguel says smiling again. “She’s a big part of my life now. I finally told her the other day that she’s my best friend. Oh, and she’s living with me now. Temporarily. I think… Her building will be livable again, very soon. She’ll be returning to her universe.”

Miguel looks away, staring at his lap. He picks away some grass from his bottoms, thinking. That same bird chirps again as if responding to him. He looks up again when he hears the fluttering from somewhere on the trees.

“It’s… difficult, Gabriel. I’ve grown used to her living with me. To her presence being there, both at HQ and now at the penthouse, close by. Our routines, they just merged. Clicked. Is it bad… Is it crazy that I’d like Dulzura [sweetness] - “ Miguel stops as he hears the nickname he gave you. “I’ve given her a nickname, too, Gabri. It just slipped out of my mouth that day. Dulzura [sweetness]. She’s so sweet, so kind to me - kinder than other people would ever be. Something about her, Gabri…” Miguel shakes his head. “As I was saying, I gave her a nickname. Dulzura [sweetness] - because she’s sweet and kind - but what I wanted to ask is, if it’s crazy that I’d like her to stay? For her to continue to live at the penthouse?”

The flapping of wings makes Miguel pause. He looks up, his crimson eyes finding a red bird in mid-flight. It so happens to perch itself on Gabri’s gravestone. He stares at it, watching how the bird spreads its wings before bringing them closer to its small, delicate body. Once settled, it looks around before settling its gaze on Miguel, too, observing him.

With knitted eyebrows, Miguel continues to stare, wondering if speaking will startle the bird. He decides not to for a moment, wanting to observe the bird this close up for longer. For a moment, he wishes you were here so you could see it, too. After several seconds, the bird chirps, taking small steps over Gabriel’s gravestone. Miguel remains quiet and keeps watching before the bird chirps again, stopping and turning to look at him, now on the edge of the gravestone’s top.

“What? Can’t find food?” Miguel asks. “I’m sure there’s plenty around.”

The bird chirps again. Miguel groans softly, now he’s talking to birds. “Estoy loco, verdad, ¿Gabri? [I’m crazy, right, Gabri?] I shouldn’t… but I do. I know it’s not likely. Dulzura [sweetness], she loves her apartment, so much. She’d never consider it, plus… This was only because of what happened at her building, not for any other reason. So there’s that.” Miguel frowns, picking up blades of grass with his fingers. He twirls a piece between his thumb and forefinger. “Aun así… No puedo dejar de pensar en el día que se ira [Even then… I can’t stop thinking about the day she’ll leave]. Thinking about it - it upsets me. I have no right, I know.” He gently lets go of the grass, watching it blow away with the breeze. He turns to the bird, still there. “¿Tu que? ¿Te gusto escuchar el chisme? [What of you? You liked hearing the gossip?]” He tilts his head to the side, wondering if something is wrong with this bird, but it moves just fine, no sign of injury.

He sighs.

“… I’m going to miss her, Gabriel,” Miguel admits out loud, his thoughts still on you and the fact it’s inevitable for you to move back to your apartment. “A lot,” he whispers. “But I can’t possibly ask. I can’t put her in a hard position. So, I guess in a few weeks, I’ll be staying at the penthouse on my own. Again.”

Miguel stares at the bird, wondering what his brother would say. He’d be positive about it. He’d say something like how things will work out the way they’re supposed to. So, Miguel holds on to that thought, even if things have not always turned out great for him.

-♡-

The next day, the Spider Society’s HQ is buzzing with energy since it’s Monday. Miguel and you walk side by side as you both enter the training sector, a floor designed for all forms of training, including simulations. You glance at Miguel, who’s carrying a gym bag on his broad shoulder.

Once or so every week, you join the spider gang to do training simulations but due to the cold and your period, you’re not entirely up for it today. So, you decided to ask Miguel if he’d like to join them in your place. He seem reluctant at first but then you added that you’d be here, and he agreed.

You know Miguel works out frequently, sometimes in the afternoon when everyone is gone from HQ, but ever since you temporarily moved in with him, he’s been opting to work out at home. Apparently owning the penthouse means a private gym, which Miguel told you about a few days after you moved in when he remembered it. Of course, he said you could use it if you wanted to, especially because it’s better since it’s more private than the training sector at HQ, where all the spider people train and work out.

Today, though, it seems he might try to work out a bit with the spider gang, hence his backpack to change into other clothes once the training simulation is over. The two of you walk through the sector, the place filled with many, many gym machines and then some more to accommodate the strength of the spider people, such as big blocks of metal among other things that no regular human will ever be able to lift.

As Miguel and you walk further inside, you finally spot the group, so you both head straight for them. You’re about fifty feet away from them when someone calls your name.

“Y/N.”

Miguel and you both turn, halting. Your gaze finds none other than Ben Reilly, who you know spends a lot of time here at the training sector. You smile softly at him and wave.

“Hi, Ben,” you greet him.

“Hey,” Ben replies, giving you somewhat of a smile. He raises his arm to wave back, flexing his bare biceps as he does so, not wearing his suit but rather work out gear. “Hope you’re - feeling better.”

Tilting your head to the side, you offer yet another smile. You didn’t know that others paid that much attention, though maybe it was the fact that Miguel didn’t show up that alerted them. And maybe someone from the spider gang mentioned it, so it may have reached other members’ ears.

“That’s kind of you, Ben, thank you. I’m doing much better, for sure. I still feel a little fatigue, but the worst has passed.”

“Glad to hear that, and to see you back,” he says, nodding. “See you around.”

“Alright, see you around!”

With that, you continue walking, Miguel following a step behind, his brows knitted.

It’s like he wasn’t even there, standing next to you. He glances back, finding Ben staring in your direction but immediately looking away when he notices Miguel’s gaze. He watches for a few seconds as Reilly starts working out again. Miguel exhales deeply as he turns to face the front again.

Weird, he thinks to himself as you both approach the group.

“Huh, Miguel did show up,” Hobie says, as if he expected Miguel to back out.

“This will be so much fun! Miguel is joining us for the first time!” Pav says cheerfully.

You smile as you notice the overall excitement about Miguel joining the spider gang for training today. Over the last few months, you’ve noticed Miguel trying to be more open with them and you have to admit, this little opportunity might help even more. The fact that he even accepted makes you feel very grateful and excited, even if you’re not participating today, unfortunately. Your hope, however, is that maybe after today, Miguel might be willing to train with the group from now on, including you.

“This should be interesting,” Peter B. says with Mayday hanging out on his shoulder, before everyone starts off to the simulation square, excited and eager.

Jess steps back, taking a seat on the edge of the running track. Sometimes she participates and other times she doesn’t, today being one of those days. You nod to Miguel.

“I’m going to sit with Jess. Good luck,” you tell him softly, offering a smile of encouragement.

Miguel raises an eyebrow, playfully. “Gracias [thank you]. I’ll see you in a few minutes.” Miguel watches as you take a seat next to Jess, satisfied that you’re safe and settled down, resting.

He heads to the simulation center where everyone is already waiting for him. The holographic walls engage right away, similar to those barriers used to capture anomalies except these can be broken.

From your spot, you watch as the simulation officially begins. The system selects a random New York from the database along with a random villain from those that have been captured, using the information it has on behavior and skills.

As soon as the villain pops up, the team jumps into action, quickly agreeing on roles and tasks before they split or team up.

As Jess and you watch, Jess breaks the silence.

“So… how is it?”

“How is what?” you ask, giving her a glance.

“Living with Miguel.”

“Oh,” you reply simply. You weren’t exactly expecting that question, so you feel caught off guard for a few seconds before you collect your thoughts. “It’s… great.”

“Just great?”

You chuckle. “I’m sorry, your question caught me off guard.” You sigh, watching how Hobie and Pav launch themselves off a building, swinging easily across the city. “I’ve… It’s amazing,” you start, which makes one of Jess’s eyebrows shoot up. “It’s really nice living with someone - living with Miguel. He’s a very respectful, responsible person. So… considerate. Our routines kind of - just clicked.” You pause, watching how Miguel swings after Hobie now, telling him something. Hobie nods before he parts ways with him.

Jess hums, listening.

“I’m thankful he offered his place to stay. I never thought I’d experience a fire at my building.”

“Girl - your building - I don’t mean to be mean but,” she pauses and you laugh softly.

“Okay, maybe I shouldn’t say I never expected it. I’ll agree the building is - old.”

“I was thinking ancient but old works, too.”

Jess and you laugh again.

“I don’t mean it in a bad way,” Jess says. “It’s an older building, a fire was probably not out of the question, but I understand why you’re… attached to it.”

“It’s been my home for several years. It was the place where Peter and I started our lives together.” You lean back on your hands. “But I also do find it to be cute, in its own way. Anyway, I guess a fire in the near future was not too out of the question but still, I didn’t think - so soon, I guess. It threw me off, into an unexpected situation, and I’m thankful to Miguel for opening his home to me. To all of you for offering your homes, too.”

Jess hums again. “You know my home is still open to you.”

“I know, thank you again. Hobie and the Morales family have continued to offer, but all of you have families. I didn’t want to disrupt anyone’s life. I still feel like I’m disrupting Miguel’s.”

“You’re not,” Jess says rather quickly. She shakes her head. “You know better than most people that Miguel hardly spent time at his home. It’s only been recent that he started to, at least the nights for some reason,” she says, looking at you as if you have the answers.

You keep a neutral face. You’re close with Jess, with the spider gang, but you’re not going to reveal the reason why Miguel has been going home almost every night for a whole year. You’re not going to reveal that each weekend, you offer Miguel a sweatshirt fresh with your scent nor that his gizmo plays the sound of you sleepy breathing - that both things help him sleep because they bring him comfort, that his nightmares have slowly decreased over time.

Jess hums softly, understanding. “Whatever the reason… He goes home and sleeps, I think. That’s all that matters. And recently, because you’re staying with him, he goes home earlier. Do you know how big that is?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “It’s huge. Before you and him - became close - there were times, very rare, when I’d find him slumped over his monitors, passed out. Most of the time though, he hardly slept. He was always in a mood because of his lack of sleep. And don’t get me started on the lack of food. He’d skip meals, too.” Jess pauses and turns to look at the team, still in the simulation. Her eyes find Miguel, thinking about what a different man he is now. “You’re not disrupting anyone’s life, much less Miguel’s - believe that.” Jess stops at that, though there’s more she’d like to say, like how ever since she met Miguel and especially after losing Gabriella, Miguel was merely existing. He went through the days in a blur, day blending into night, in that dark and lonely lab of his.

Over the last year though?

Miguel O’Hara has been living.

It’s as if he’s found a new reason to try at life.

But he’s not the only one.

Jess hums to herself and turns to look at you, offering one of those smiles that never fails to bring you comfort from your once mentor.

Maybe one day, both Miguel and you will realize what you’ve truly done for each other.

For now, Jess Drew keeps smiling at you. “I’m glad to have you here, you know? This place would be very different without you.”

You smile at Jess, thinking. “Thank you, Jess. For going back to my universe even after I first declined the invitation.”

“Don’t worry about it. You made me ask and ask again, but I’m just glad you accepted at last.”

Humming, you think back to the reason for you joining. Your Peter. Jess brought him up, hoping it’d convince you. At first you wondered how she had known about him but being part of the Spider Society for some time now, you know potential recruits are watched for a few days. Mentors make sure that potential new recruits are not a liability for the society, which means Jess probably spent a few days observing you without your knowledge until she deemed you safe for recruitment. During those days, she quickly put together your life - what your schedule was like, the people that had once being in your life, and the fact that most of your talking was with petty criminals and villains before you went to an empty home.

There’s been times over the course of your time at the Spider Society when you’ve wondered where you’d be right now if you had never joined. Of course, there might never be a way to know for sure but a part of you senses that you’d still be on your own. The mere thought fills you with sadness but even more so when you think about the possibility of never meeting the people around you.

There’s a chance you would’ve never met any of them; no Hobie, Pav, or Miles. No Gwen or Margo. No Peter B. or Jess. No Noir, Penny, or Spider-Ham.

No Miguel.

Staring at the group, who are almost done with the simulation, you give a silent thank you to Peter, your Peter, from wherever he is. He was the reason you joined the society, the one that swayed your decision.

You turn to Jess. “Thank you,” you say again.

“For what?”

“You know, going back to get me to join.”

Jess smirks. “I already told you, not to worry about it - but you’re welcome,” she says, nudging your side.

Chuckling, you nudge her back.

It’s good to be here.

With a sigh of content, you watch as the simulation ends. The spider gang steps out of the holographic walls, some of them heading to the area with machines to use them.

Jess and you continue to sit by the track race, catching up on her life. A few minutes later, you both notice Miles and Pav stick to Miguel’s side as he fixes a machine to his needs before he starts using it. He’s changed into dark sweatpants and a black t-shirt, the clothes he had in his gym bag. You nod at something Jess says, watching for a few seconds as Miguel works on his arms, Pav and Miles still at his side, talking to him.

From somewhere, you hear a man grunt, catching Jess’s and your attention.

Ben Reilly puffs out air as he lifts a barbell that no human could ever lift. His bare arms tense under the weight and he let's out another noise. His arms shake as he lowers it one more time, trying to get one last rep, but even from your spot, you can see he'll struggle to lift it.

“I think Ben has pushed it too far,” Jess remarks.

“I think he might need help putting it back,” you add, frowning. “Be right back.” You stand up and approach him, noticing the shaking even more as you walk closer. You're about six feet away from him when someone brushes past you, in front of you.

It's all so quick it leaves you feeling caught off guard, but the familiar scent immediately reaches your nose before your eyes find the person.

Miguel.

He stands behind Ben and gives you a reassuring nod. “I got it. Here Ben,” he says, offering his hands to help the other Spider-Man. You notice his suit activates even over his gym clothes. It seems he doesn't want accidental physical contact.

You nod back as Ben hands the barbell to him before Miguel places it back. Meanwhile, Ben looks at you with a defeated look.

You give him a small smile. It seems he's upset about not being able to continue his reps. You step back and go back to Jess and Peter B., who’s now sitting next to her. They seemed to be gossiping about something, giggling to themselves.

“-ckblocked!” is all you manage to hear from Peter B., giggling.

Jess laughs. “Shush!”

They both notice you and hold back from their laughter.

“Should I be concerned?” you ask, taking a seat next to Jess.

“No, don't worry about it,” Jess says more seriously.

“It's nothing. You're safe,” Peter B. says.

“Safe?” you ask, confused.

“He's just being a goofball. You know how he gets,” Jess says, discreetly nudging Parker.

You shrug and turn towards Miguel and Ben, finding him talking to Reilly still.

“There's a more efficient way to do it,” Miguel says as he take the barbell, positioning his body correctly. “Look.”

Miguel demonstrates by lifting the barbell, stretching his arms above his head. His gaze is focused, staring right ahead as he brings the barbell to his chest. His suit is back to being disengaged now that Reilly is a few feet away from him, so you can see his arms flex as he moves. Your eyes take in the sight of his sleeves, which become even more taut as his muscles flex.

Miguel continues to demonstrate by holding the barbell for a few seconds before he lifts it up again, his torso’s muscles becoming prominent beneath his t-shirt. His gaze remains focused ahead, but then, it flickers to you, meeting yours.

You hold his gaze, giving him a smile and a nod, encouraging him to go on. He returns the nod, his gaze still on you for a few seconds before Ben says something to him, making Miguel’s gaze turn away from you, almost hesitantly.

You turn away and face Jess and Peter B., who you find wiggling his eyebrows at Mayday. Jess and you laugh, returning to your conversation from earlier.

Half an hour later, you decide to do at least a little bit of walking to stretch your legs, so you begin to walk around the track on your own, leaving Jess and Peter B., along with Mayday, to talk. You see them giggling again, once you’re out of ear shot, which makes you wonder but you decide to not investigate. Probably parent stuff.

A minute or two later, Miguel falls in step with you. “Doing a little walking?” he asks, looking over at you before he wipes his brow with the back of his hand.

“Yeah, I figured I’d stretch my legs a little bit, considering I hardly moved the last few days.”

Miguel nods, smiling. “I’m glad to see you’re in better spirits, to see you back on your feet.”

You return the smile. “So am I, which… reminds me.” You hold his gaze as you stop walking. “Thank you for looking after me. I…” you trail off, collecting your thoughts. “It was a while since I had become sick, but all those times, I was on my own. I got used to looking after myself, I guess, so much I forgot what it’s like to have someone worry about and look after me. Thank you, Miguel,” you say softly. “It meant so much to me.”

Miguel hums gently, nodding. You stand in front of each other, meeting each other’s gazes. “Always,” Miguel replies, his voice low, soft. “No matter what - always.”

You almost throw your arms around him. Almost pull him towards you to embrace him and not only “tell” how thankful you are for him, but also show him by giving him the tightest, warmest hug he’s ever received in his whole life.

You almost do it.

Yet, you don’t.

You wish.

Oh, how you wish you could.

You wonder. Maybe there’s a dimension out there, one that hasn’t been discovered yet in the vast multiverse, where you’re in each other’s lives, too, with the difference that that dimension’s Miguel has never shied away from physical contact.

Maybe another version of you gets to freely hug their Miguel, or rather their version of Miguel, not that Miguel is theirs in some way.

The point is, maybe there’s a universe where you don’t hold back from hugging Miguel when you wish to. One in which your version can just hug him.

Like you wish you could right now.

You smile at him, your arms wishing to wrap around him, despite his sweat. “Always,” you whisper.

You both smile at each other, forgetting that you’re in the Spider Society’s training sector with multiple sets of eyes and ears, some curious to catch a glance or a snippet of your moment and friendship.

After a few seconds, you begin to walk together again, soft smiles on your faces.

“I was thinking - how do you feel about homemade pizza for dinner?” Miguel asks, his gaze on you despite the multiple distractions in the space.

“Homemade pizza?” you ask.

“Yes, we can customize - if you’d like to, of course. I was just thinking - I don’t know where the idea came from.”

“Homemade pizza sounds amazing! I’m up for it,” you say looking up at him giddily, which only makes Miguel happy. “We’d need to buy a few ingredients, but we can get them.”

“I was thinking of going to the grocery store. Do you want to go with me?” Miguel asks, tilting his head.

You nod immediately. “Yeah, I’d love to! Just tell me what time, so I can get regular clothes on.”

“I was thinking leaving earlier today,” Miguel says as you both keep walking.

“How early are we talking?”

Miguel grins. “Like… an hour or two.”

You hum softly in response.

“Two hours before my usual departure time,” Miguel decides in the moment, the decision an easy one in your presence.

You grin. “You made your mind up quickly.”

Miguel rolls his eyes playfully. “We can meet up at the penthouse, change, and head to the grocery store.”

“Sounds like a plan,” you answer, looking forward to some homemade pizza and quality time with your best friend.

-♡-

Miguel carries the grocery basket while you both walk down the aisles, gathering the few ingredients that are needed for dinner. Just like Miguel suggested, the two of you left HQ thirty minutes ago, two whole hours earlier than Miguel usually leaves, and went straight to the penthouse to change in to regular clothes, and are now at one of Miguel’s favorite grocery stores in Nueva York.

You’ve seen it before but you’re still in awe as you both shop around, noticing the holograms for screens from which the best deals and newest items are displayed for customers to see. You even catch sight of holographic AIs, much like Lyla, that customers can refer to if they can’t find an item.

Even though it’s just a grocery trip, you find yourself enjoying it because you get to see more of Miguel’s universe, and you’re not the only one. Miguel walks next to you, the grocery basket looking like it’s part of a child’s grocery toy set near him, with great contentment thanks to your wide eyes and “oohs” when you see something exciting. You even end up checking out the sweets aisle, where Miguel added everything that you seemed to stare at for too long to the basket despite your protest once you noticed it.

At last, the two of you head to the check out section. Even though Miguel used the “scan and go” mobile option and paid online, you must show up to this area for an employee to check the purchases. So, you both stand there and wait for your turn to show the receipt. Meanwhile, you take a sip from a coffee Miguel bought you earlier from the attached coffee shop, insisting on you getting something. You declined at first but now that you’ve had it, you’re glad he offered because it’s great. Glancing at the cup, you notice there’s less than three sips left as you both step forward for a woman to scan your receipt from Miguel’s phone.

“How are you doing today? Did you guys find everything you needed?”

You nod with a smile, letting Miguel do the talking. It’s his universe after all.

“We did, thank you,” Miguel says as the lady scans the basket, placing the items in the bags Miguel brought with him.

You finish your drink and look around, noticing garbage bins nearby. “Hey, I’m going to throw this away real quick. It’s so good, I already finished it! Thank you for buying it for me,” you say with a smile. “I’ll be right back.”

Miguel gives you a small smile and nods before you head off.

The lady, noticing the interaction, smiles. “Aww, how sweet! You bought your girlfriend a coffee. What a gentleman,” she says, making Miguel nearly choke on his own saliva, something the lady seems to miss entirely, too busy talking and scanning the items to make sure everything is as it’s supposed to be. “And based on your groceries, you’re having a homemade pizza date.” She finishes her job and steps back, smiling. “You guys have a wonderful evening together!”

Miguel nods, still coughing quietly behind a small, sheepish smile. His cheeks are red as he approaches you, trying to stop the coughing. He stops a few feet behind you as you read something about the store’s recycling system. Apparently recycling is taken more seriously in Nueva York.

Miguel clears his throat, his chest finally calming down.

Your girlfriend, the lady said too happily, too certain. Like there’s no doubt that you’re Miguel’s girlfriend. He stares at your back as you read, still feeling shocked but he composes himself when you finally turn around to face him with a happy smile.

“This is really cool, I wish we had this in my… you know,” you say, remembering not to say anything about universes. The last thing you want is for people to think you’re talking crazy.

With a short exhale, Miguel nods, finding his voice once again. “The work they do is incredible. They’re trying to implement it to more stores like this one. It’s why I shop here, they’re a far more ethical company than others whose greed leads their decisions, even when it concerns everyone,” he explains softly as you both head to the exit.

“That’s really great, I’m glad you have that here. It’s unfortunate that’s not the case in all universes.”

“I know,” Miguel replies as you both begin to walk down the sidewalk. He doesn’t even realize it, but he walks closest to the street, keeping you away from it as he easily carries the bags in one hand, like it’s nothing.

The two of you continue to chat on the way home. Miguel points out buildings to you and answers questions you ask about certain things from his universe until the two of you eventually reach Miguel’s building. Instead of sneaking in through the windows like you both usually do, you get to the penthouse though the elevator and the main front door where Miguel asks you to open it, using your own fingerprint. He added you to the security system almost a year ago, so when you press your finger, the system immediately identifies you.

Together, you put groceries away before you both head to take a shower, in your respective bathrooms, of course.

Miguel, showered and wearing lounging clothes, makes it downstairs first. He heads to the kitchen to start gathering ingredients onto one of the counters, but he gets distracted though. There, on the counter, lies one of your hair ties. He takes a seat, just for a few seconds to look at it. You must have left it while you were putting items away and simply forgot about it.

Usually, you pick everything up, never leaving your personal items lingering around for too long. Miguel knows it’s because you don’t want to make the penthouse appear “cluttered” with your belongings, which Miguel has told you before that it’s fine. It’s not like small things such as your jewelry and hair accessories is going to make the space cluttered, but it seems you’re too respectful of the place to even leave a hair tie for longer than a few hours.

Due to that, Miguel appreciates the fact that you forgot your hair tie now. The truth is, he enjoys seeing little reminders around the penthouse that you’re here. It’s so comforting to him, to know he’s not alone in this big penthouse.

He gently picks it up now, as if it’s the most delicate of things. He finds himself smiling at the sight. Who knew a simple hair tie could bring such happiness to a man? He lets it slip down his fingers, still admiring it with a smile before he slightly stretches it. He’s very careful with it as he doesn’t want to rip it somehow. He learned from his short time with Gabriella that these things are sensitive.

“Miguel? Have you seen my hair tie?” you ask from the living room, coming to the kitchen.

Startled, Miguel quietly slams it back on the counter. His hand lays flat over it for the most part, minus his talons which came out from being startled since he failed to hear your footsteps, too focused on the hair tie. He turns to the entrance just as you walk in.

“... I have not,” Miguel says and then he moves his hand, his talons withdrawn now. He turns to the counter. “Never mind, it’s here.” He picks it up and holds it out, trying to play it off like he wasn’t holding it in his fingers just seconds ago.

You reach his side and take it, looking at it while your mind wonders. You smile. “Thank you. I forgot it down here.” You slip it onto your wrist for now. “Ready to start cooking?”

Miguel nods, his cheeks dusted with a blush. He’s relieved you didn’t catch him holding your hair tie. That’d be too much, right? “Ready,” he replies, standing up.

As you begin to gather what’s needed, Miguel turns on his record player and chooses upbeat music to go with the mood.

With everything on the counter ready to go, you work on the sauce while Miguel works on the dough. He offered to work on it, saying his hands could cover more ground than your smaller ones.

“Plus, years of making tamales will help,” he says as he finds the appropriate measuring cup.

Once Miguel is done and you have the sauce on the stove, you begin to prepare the toppings side by side on the counter, chatting about what you’re putting on your pizzas. At one point, you finish with your part of the toppings, so you move on to prep the pans for the dough while Miguel dices some vegetables.

While prepping the pans, you glance at the windows, noticing the way the kitchen is illuminated with golden hues, giving Miguel’s place a very cozy vibe. You even notice little rainbows on the ceiling, which you point out to him.

Staring at them, he can’t remember ever noticing them before, until now. He smiles at the sight, finding it cute that you noticed that and shared it with him.

You eventually begin to work with the dough for your pizzas when it’s ready since it needed to do its thing. The mood is a light one as you work side by side on the counter. After the last few days with you being sick and running into Harry, this moment is a relaxing one for both Miguel and you. Time seems to slow down as you both continue to talk, at some point even about the grocery store and how you think it’s, “so cool,” which earns yourself a smile from Miguel.

You add a little bit of flour to your dough before you roll the pin over it, trying to make it into a decent circle. You turn to look at Miguel’s to see how his is doing. You notice it looks great, and also that his fingerprints are all over the dough just like yours are over your own.

“Your dough looks-” you pause when you look at his face. You instantly smile and try not to chuckle. “Great. It’s almost a perfect circle.”

“You think so?” Miguel asks giving you his attention, unaware that he has flour on his cheek and nose.

“Definitely,” you reply, smiling. Deciding not to tell him about it, you turn back to your own to keep working on it.

“Thank you,” Miguel says, feeling pleased with himself. “I’ve never made homemade pizzas before.”

You hum gently. “Me neither. It’s kind of funny, I guess. We cook a lot and we’ve never made any.”

“First time for the two of us then,” he replies with a smile, which makes you smile, too.

Silently, you both feel pleased about this - about the fact that you’re both doing something new, together.

“Hiiii, guys! Making pizza?” Lyla asks, popping out of nowhere. She floats in front of Miguel and you, taking a look down at the counter like a manager inspecting quality. “It’s looking good. You guys are good at this, look at you.” She grins and looks up at you two again.

You thank Lyla before Miguel adds a quiet “thanks” as well.

“Uh - hm,” Lyla starts but stays quiet, noticing the flour on Miguel’s face. “Picture!” Before Miguel and you can react, Lyla takes a picture. “So sweet!”

“Lyla - always the same thing with you,” Miguel says but his tone is not angry or even bothered. In a way, his tone reminds Lyla of a disappointed parent.

She grins knowing that at this point, both of you have accepted that she takes pictures whenever she wants. “It’s not the first one I’ve taken today,” she says shrugging. “I took some before I even popped up.”

You raise an eyebrow but once again, don’t feel surprised. “How many have you taken?” you ask.

“A few. I may show them to you later,” she says. “I’m still deciding.”

“I can always just look for them,” Miguel says as he adds sauce to the dough.

“Good luck with that,” Lyla says, crossing her arms over her chest. “So… are you guys just making pizzas? No movie, no telenovela?”

You turn to look Miguel. You hadn’t thought of that, and it seems neither did Miguel because he turns to look at you with a look that confirms so.

“I… Didn’t think of that,” Miguel says. “Do you want to watch a movie?”

You shrug slightly. “If you want to. I’m up for it.”

“I have the best movie rec for you guys,” Lyla says clapping her hands. “It’s about a guy and a girl. They meet up and then become best of friends and -”

“So, you’re going to give us a summary?” Miguel asks.

Lyla sighs. “You know what? I’ve changed my mind. I’ll give you guys another rec.” She taps her chin, thinking. “The guy and girl end up together in the end,” Lyla says quietly to herself with a grin, watching you two. “You guys feel like watching an action movie? Maybe a mystery one? Or a horror movie? Or - maybe a romcom?” Lyla says, laying out the options, an eyebrow raised.

“I’m not picky,” Miguel says as he watches you carefully spread sauce. “What do you want to watch, dulzura [sweetness]?”

Your hand falters for a fraction of a second when you hear the nickname. Just a few days ago Miguel said it for the first time and since then, he’s said it a few more times - dropping the nickname here and there. Every single time has been when you’re both alone, either here at the penthouse or at the lab.

Either way, it’s caught you by surprise each time without failure. You smile softly at him. “I’m not picky either, we can watch anything, really.”

“Well, if I may… I say no horror,” Lyla says. “The sun is still out. The vibes for it are not it, you know?”

“Wait, I kind of want to see how horror movies are made in this universe with all the technology you have,” you say realizing.

Lyla frowns and Miguel smiles.

“You want to? I’m not a big horror fan but there’s a few classic ones.”

“Yeah… I think I’d like that,” you say nodding.

Lyla watches as Miguel shrugs. “We’ll watch that then.”

You both continue to work on the pizzas, adding your toppings now. Lyla stays in place, arms crossed over her chest with a frown. She sighs. “I still think my first rec was better than any horror movie but what do I know? I’m just the silly AI,” she mumbles.

“What is that word the spiderlings were using today?” Miguel says as he thinks back to training earlier today. “When someone just keeps talking?

“You mean, ‘yapping?’”

“Yeah, that one. Lyla is doing that right now,” he says looking at Lyla.

“You did not -” Lyla stops and facepalms.

“Professional yapper,” you say which makes Miguel chuckle next to you.

“Not you guys calling me a profesional yapper,” Lyla says.

“She’s still going,” Miguel comments as he adds more toppings to his pizza, smirking.

“I see why you’re best friends,” Lyla says in disbelief, which makes both Miguel and you chuckle. She shakes her head, not annoyed but amused. It’s good to see the two of you smiling and laughing. She’s slightly temped to say that you’re both “professional yappers” with each other, staying up until 3am in the living room talking about the most random things, but she holds back. “I’ll set up a horror movie for you guys,” she says with a sigh, disappearing.

An hour later, Miguel and you are sitting in the living room. Neither of you planned to watch a movie today, especially not over dinner but because of Lyla’s suggestion, you’re now both sat on the ground over the coffee table. You cleared it earlier to make space for the plates and drinks, and everything else needed. The blinds have been drawn, leaving the living room in complete darkness except for the TV.

The movie starts, so Miguel and you begin to eat, sitting across from each other.

“Wow, this is great,” Miguel murmurs after he finishes eating the first bite. “Wanna try it?”

Seeing you nod, Miguel offers the plate for you to grab a slice from his.

“Try mine,” you say softly, offering your plate, too.

Hums of approval for each other’s pizzas follows. Napkins and crushed red pepper flakes are exchanged, fingers brushing in the darkness.

You watch the movie in peace, exchanging words here and there until you decide to do an intermission halfway to use the bathroom and clean the remainder of the kitchen, not having much left to do since you both tried to clean up as you were cooking to avoid having a huge mess behind. You head upstairs to your bedroom when you’re both done cleaning to grab a sweatshirt since you’ve grown cold downstairs with the AC constantly turning on. You slide it on, fixing the sleeves when you notice your hair tie, the one you were looking for earlier. You forgot you left it on the counter after arriving back from the grocery store and looked for it here in your room, having forgot where you left it.

You tug at it gently, thinking. Miguel may have been able to play it off well, but it was a second too late.

You saw him holding it and though you weren’t able to see his face, his bashful reaction when you entered the room said a lot. You’ve known for some time that Miguel doesn’t mind you leaving your items around. He’s gone on to say you’re not cluttering the space because he knows that’s how you think, and even Lyla has told you that it probably brings some sort of comfort to Miguel. You hum softly to yourself, ready to head downstairs again as you think about the hair tie when your eyes land on the bookcase inside the room. It so happens to land on a photograph of your parents. It’s a photograph you used to have on your wall back at your apartment, so of course, you have it on display here. You walk over to it, staring at your parents.

It’s hard to believe how many years have gone by since they passed away, so many more than Peter. It hurt at the time, to know that you weren’t there to save them. You miss them every day, wished they were here. Sometimes you wonder if you would’ve told them about your secret, about being Spider-Woman if they were still alive.

You don’t know. Maybe not with the dangers that come with it. You smile and place a finger on the photo, thinking about how a few weeks ago it was Mother’s Day, which reminds you of Father’s Day. With a sigh, you tap the photo gently and whisper an “I love you” to your parents’ photograph before you check your gizmo.

Sure enough, Father’s Day is this Sunday, in just a few days. You check the calendar, noticing that it’ll be Father’s Day in other universes, too, including Miguel’s.

You turn to a photo of him and you, also displayed in the bookcase.

It’s one of the photos Lyla took in the past, the day she revealed that she takes photos, to be exact. It was the day you were painting picture frames at your apartment, in the middle of redecorating, when Miguel showed up to invite you for dinner as a thank you for looking after him. You remember it now. You had paint on your face and he didn’t tell you until later on, when he wiped it away.

The memory reminds you of Miguel’s face while you were cooking earlier, his cheek and nose dusted with flour. You grin at the memory and leave your bedroom, still thinking about Father’s Day. You silently debate about it as you walk down the staircase. You’d like to gift Miguel something but you wonder if it’s a good idea at all. You don’t want to upset him, to cause him any more pain than necessary. In the past, you’ve never spent the day with him, so you don’t know what he does, if he even reacts to it. This will be the first year you’ll be in his presence for the day and a part of you feels worried.

You reach the end of the stairs, now in the living room. You hear noise in the kitchen, alerting you that Miguel is there. You turn to the wall of photographs you put together, illuminated softly by a lamp Miguel turned on earlier when you both decided to take a break.

Miguel has changed a lot, this wall is a great sign of that but you still wonder if gifting him something on Father’s Day might upset him.

“Everything okay?” Miguel asks stepping into the living room.

You turn, startled. You’re still amazed sometimes at how he manages to sneak up on you. You’d think that a man of his size would make more noise when walking but no. Sometimes he walks so silently, you don’t know he’s there until he speaks up.

“Yes, I was just - looking,” you reply, glancing back at the wall, at a photo of Gaby. You smile softly at it for a second before giving Miguel your attention. He’s already walked to the coffee table, which has been cleared once more. He places two mugs on the surface, over coasters, and sits down on the floor again.

“What did you make?” you ask but you already have an idea as you make your way over.

“Give it a second,” he says with a soft smirk, knowing that the scent will reach your nose soon enough.

You reach the table, noticing the mugs filled with a dark liquid. Your favorite.

“I’m not even going to ask how you made it so quick,” you say which makes Miguel chuckle.

“I won’t reveal my secrets, then.”

You snort softly and turn your gaze to him, noticing he still has flour on his face. “I’ll be right back.” You head to the kitchen for a napkin, returning to the table in no time. You kneel on your side of the table.

“I forgot to tell you earlier,” you start as you fold the napkin while Miguel watches you with curiosity, wondering.

“What is it?” he asks softly, his head tilting to the side.

“You have a little something - right,” you lean over the table, carefully, and reach with the napkin. “Here,” you say, wiping his cheek and then dabbing his nose gently. You pull back, not missing the way Miguel blinks in surprise, his brows knitting slightly. He didn’t protest nor pulled back though, he simply accepted it, either willingly or because he was too caught off guard.

You place the napkin down and pick up the mug, taking it in both hands and inhaling the rich scent. “Always smells so good,” you mumble bringing it to your mouth. “Thank you for making it.”

Miguel nods, still blinking. His brain is having a moment, trying to catch up. “Si [yes], you’re we- Always,” he says. stammering. “I hope you like it,” he adds picking up his own and holding it with one hand.

“Should we unpause?”

“Yeah, I - I got it.” Miguel grabs the remote and unpauses as he speaks. “Thank you for, you know, my face,” he says as the movie starts playing again.

“Always,” you say humming, your eyes on the TV once more as you settle down and get comfortable.

You watch the rest of the movie without pauses, drinking your coffees in comfy lounging clothes. Miguel threw on a sweatshirt earlier, too, so you’re both donning sweatshirts now. It’s not until the movie is over that you realize it’s the same one he offered to you when you were sick. Of course, you threw it in the wash since you were sick and returned it to him, along with his blanket.

You glance at Miguel as he reads from a book. It’s a new one. Apparently he finished the previous one while looking after you a few days ago. He turns the page, his eyes moving across the page. You’re both still sitting on the ground, across from each other.

You turn back to your tablet, looking for gifts to give fathers. You don’t even know why you searched that up, but you did, almost mindlessly, as soon as you grabbed the tablet. So now, you’re “just looking.” You’re not buying anything. You don’t think so.

As you scroll, your mind is contemplating.

Should you, or should you not?

You know it might be a hard day for Miguel but at the same time, simply ignoring the day and making it seem like it’s a regular Sunday seems cruel to you.

You chew on your bottom lip.

Which is crueler? Ignoring the day, or bringing it up?

“What are you thinking about?”

You look up, caught off guard. Miguel is staring at you, his book in one hand held open by a finger.

“I… Nothing,” you say softly.

“I don’t believe you,” Miguel replies, knowing you too well. Something is bothering you.

“I… well,” you start, trying to give yourself time to think of a little white lie. “It’s just … I’m thinking about… Yesterday.” You nod, finding a truth. “When I went to the cemetery, I saw Harry there.”

Miguel nods, not giving away that he knows you’re telling him something else. He noticed the way you were thinking, giving yourself time. He goes along with it anyway, trusting that whatever was truly on your mind, you’ll feel comfortable to share with him later on if you wish to. At least, it doesn't seem to be life or death. Still, the fact that you ran into Harry makes his brows raise.

“You did?”

“Yeah. He didn’t see me. I - I fled like a criminal from Peter’s grave,” you say wincing as you realize that’s basically how you left, running away from there before he could spot you. “I didn’t want to run into him and have to give him an answer when I don’t have one yet. Or, have to tell him that I’m still thinking about it, you know? So, I just - avoided him.”

“I don’t blame you,” Miguel replies gently, placing his book down after saving his page with a bookmark. “It’s only been a few days since you saw him again after so many years. I hope he’d understand that his request might need more than a few days to be considered.”

Leaning back on the couch, you nod, relieved Miguel didn’t notice that you very last minute thought of the Harry situation. “I’m sure he would - at least the Harry I knew back then would, but I suppose that doesn’t matter much now. Maybe I don’t know him anymore. So many years have gone by and I’ve changed. Maybe he has, too.”

“Change - is good,” Miguel answers. He knows that himself. He wouldn’t be here now if it wasn’t for the changes he’s made in his life, for accepting and embracing them even when there have been times when it was hard. “Maybe he has changed - matured,” he adds, leaving out that maybe he’s learned not to abandon friends in need. He frowns, his hand curling into a loose fist for a few seconds before he relaxes. “It’s only been a few days. You still have time to think about it, figure out what you think is best for you. Not for him.”

Letting Miguel’s words sink in, you nod with a small smile. “I appreciate your encouraging words. I’ll admit, this threw me off guard more than I’d like, so I find your words reassuring. I don’t need to rush and make a decision,” you say. “I just need to not feel guilty or selfish about it.”

“That’s the last thing you are,” Miguel says leaning on the coffee table slightly. “You’re not selfish for taking your time, nor would you be selfish if you chose to - step back, even if it’s for now. I’m… I have no right to say anything. I know he was in your life since your childhood, and I’m no one to tell you-” Miguel says pausing to gather his thoughts.

“You’re my best friend,” you say softly, seizing Miguel’s pause to speak. “I appreciate your thoughts, your advice - I’ll say what you once told me - you’re someone to me.”

Miguel hums, a smile forming on his lips when he hears you reciprocate his very words from so long ago. Back then, he was unable to call you his friend, so he used the word “someone” instead. “You’re someone to me, too.” Now, he can say it though, so he does. “You’re my best friend.”

Smiling back at him, your heart is elated to hear those words from Miguel’s mouth once again. To have him verbally say it - you’re his best friend.

And he’s yours.

You push down the happiness, remembering you were talking about Harry and your decision. “So… you were saying?” you ask.

“Right,” Miguel says, also recalling what the conversation is even about. “I was saying that… Well, my opinion doesn’t matter at the end of the day. No one’s does. The decision is up to you, but no one would blame you for stepping back, or asking Harry for more time to think about it, but that’s just a thought. All I hope is that you don’t feel pressure, nor stress from your decision when you make one.”

You nod, thinking about his words as you rub your thumb over your knuckles. “I don’t know right now. I don’t have a clear answer, and I don’t want to rush into making one.” You sigh and meet his gaze. “You’re right. It’s only been a few days, and I spent a lot of those days resting and sleeping, so I hardly even gave it a thought. A few more days won’t be so bad.”

“I concur,” Miguel says. “There’s plenty of time to think about it. Just - don’t get too stressed about it, okay? I have a feeling part of the reason why you got sick was because of stress you were - are - feeling about this situation.”

“I won’t, I’ll take it easy,” you reassure Miguel. “I don’t want to get sick again.”

“Me neither,” Miguel says, genuinely as he hated seeing you sick. “I hated seeing you sick, you know…”

You flash him a smile, moving your thumb from your knuckles to your wrist, feeling your hair tie. “I can imagine. I hated seeing you injured a year ago.”

He hums in response, understanding. If he hated seeing you sick with a cold, he can only imagine what he’d feel if something else - something worse - happened to you. He silently prays he never has to witness something like that with you. “Hopefully, it never gets to something like that again. For either of us.”

“I hope not,” you reply, still touching your hair tie. “By the way…”

“Yeah?” he says, raising an eyebrow.

“Do you want more café de olla [coffee]?”

Amused, he nods. “Yeah, I could go for another mug.”

“I got it then,” you say, standing up and grabbing both your mugs. Miguel thanks you as you head to the kitchen. You come back a minute later and place yours down, holding on to his. “Here,” you say, placing his in front of him.

He looks at it, smiling. “Thank you again, I appreciate it,” Miguel says softly before he notices your hair tie next to it, laying on the table. He looks up just as you sit down once more. “You dropped your hair tie,” he says picking it up, remembering earlier when you almost caught him playing with it.

“I did? Oh, I didn’t even notice,” you say, surprised. “I had it in my pocket. Hold it for me, let me get a napkin, yeah?”

“Yeah, of course.” Miguel watches you return to the kitchen, still holding your hair tie.

You return and sit down, placing napkins for each other. You notice Miguel is still holding on to your hair tie. “I think I’m just going to leave it here for now. It was bothering my wrist earlier and seems like it fell from my pocket. I don’t want to lose it,” you say. “It’s my favorite.”

Miguel nods, holding it. He places it down gently, like it’s some delicate item that might break. “You can leave it here on the coffee table, so you don’t lose it.”

“You’re right, I’m going to leave it here,” you say with a smile before you pick up your tablet again, not giving it more attention than necessary to avoid raising any suspicions.

Miguel goes back to reading after a few seconds, seeing you go back to whatever it was you were doing on your tablet.

A little while after searching the internet for gift ideas, you subtly look up.

Miguel is leaning on the couch, his book in his hand. His eyes move across the page fast, intrigued by the plot of his book. Under the coffee table, which is built in a way that allows people’s legs under, you feel his lower leg resting against your own. You hadn’t even noticed it but now that you are, you’re aware of the warmth, finding it comforting.

Up on the table, his free hand rests there. His fingers are busy playing with your hair tie. He turns it around his fingers before he slips it down his hand to his wrist so he can flip the page.

You turn back to your tablet with a smile, saying nothing for now.

It’s much later when you’re both heading upstairs to sleep that he remembers he has it, still on his wrist. He stops in front of his bedroom and turns to face you.

For a moment you think he’s just doing his normal gesture, waiting for you to enter your bedroom first before he enters his to be a gentleman but you notice his hand on his wrist.

“I have your…” he starts, trailing off.

“It’s alright,” you say from your door. “You can keep it.”

“I - what?” Miguel asks, taken aback.

“You may keep it.”

“Your hair tie…?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s your favorite.”

“I know.”

“So you should have it back, then.”

“You can give it back tomorrow if you’d like, but I don’t mind. Keep it safe for me,” you say before you yawn, covering your mouth. “Goodnight, Migs. Sleep well, okay? I’ll see you in the mornin’.” You give him a little wave and a sleepy smile before entering your room, leaving Miguel in the hallway.

His fingers remain on your hair tie, wrapped around his wrist. For a few seconds, he stands still until he shakes his head, dropping his hand from his wrist and entering his bedroom at last.

Inside his room, he heads for the bathroom to do his night routine. He makes sure to take off your hair tie to avoid getting it damp, taking it back with him to the bedroom when he’s done and placing it on his nightstand. He takes off his shirt and throws it at the end of the bed before he gets the bed ready. In a few seconds, he settles under the covers with a sigh. He stares at the ceiling for several minutes, sleep slowly coming to him as he thinks. He eventually reaches for the hair tie and slips it into his wrist before he turns on his side.

Miguel’s hand searches the other side of the bed, looking for something. Once he finds it, he tugs it towards him along with a pillow. He easily slips the pillow into it, gently tugging the fabric down so the pillow is covered. At last, Miguel hugs the pillow, now covered by your sweatshirt, to his chest.

His eyes close as your scent reaches his nose.

“Lyla - do the thing,” he murmurs. Two seconds later, his gizmo plays the recording of your breathing.

With his sleep remedies in place, Miguel slowly succumbs to his slumber as he thinks about the day. There was training with the spider gang, which he enjoyed. He might join them again if they’ll have him. There was helping Reilly, who was acting strange today. He’s never seen Reilly struggle with a set before. Weird. Then, there was grocery shopping with you.

Miguel yawns quietly, shifting slightly to get comfy.

He bought you a coffee and you seemed to love it. Oh, and for some reason the lady working there thought you were his girlfriend. Strange. Then, you made pizzas and spent the evening watching the horror movie. Café de olla [coffee] was made and drank while you did your own things in each other’s company. The conversation of Harry came back.

Half-asleep and half-awake, Miguel sighs at that before he thinks about your hair tie, now on his wrist.

And to end the day, there was the nickname.

Migs.

More asleep than anything now, Miguel smiles sleepily, hugging your sweatshirt closer. “Buenas noches, dulzura [Good night, sweetness].” -Father’s Day-

Days later, you wake up around 8am. You go through your morning routine as usual, though you know what day it is.

It’s Sunday, but not just any Sunday.

You walk downstairs after changing into regular clothes, hoping to find Miguel on the first floor. You noticed his bedroom door is fully opened, which usually means he’s already awake but when you reach the first floor, he’s nowhere to be found. You check the office downstairs and the other living room. Nothing.

Stepping into the kitchen and dining room area, you notice a thermos with a note on it.

You reach for it, feeling the warmth from the bottle as you take off the sticky note. You almost get excited about the fact that he left you a note just like how you leave some for him on some days but his message doesn’t bring a smile to your face.

Frowning, you place the sticky note on the counter with his neat handwriting.

“Went to HQ. I’ll be back in a while. - M”

It’s not surprising that he’s at HQ on a Sunday. For as long as you’ve known him, you’ve known that Miguel was always at HQ, even on the weekends. Over the last year, you’ve noticed he only goes for a bit on both days before returning home, and ever since you’ve been staying with him, he goes for an hour or so. Even then, he’s been going later in the day, not so early like today.

You have a pretty good idea why.

Father’s Day.

You wondered over the week if Miguel would mention it, whether he would react to it as the day got here. He didn’t say nor react over the week, even when Peter B. mentioned something about it to Miles on Friday in his presence at which you shot him a look.

You know Peter B. meant no wrong by it, but sometimes it seems a bit inconsiderate considering the situation and how Miguel’s loss is still fresh.

You open the thermos, the amazing scent of coffee greeting you. You sigh. The fact that he still made coffee despite the day hurts.

“You’re too good,” you whisper to yourself, thinking about him. “Lyla?”

“Hey, there,” she says appearing instantly. “You want to know about Miguel?”

“Yes,” you reply, not bothering to wonder how she knows.

“He’s… at the lab.”

“I know that much,” you reply.

”He’s just working,” Lyla says, shrugging. “He always works today.”

You nod, frowning. “So there’s no missions, no emergencies?”

“Nope. Nada [nothing]. He’s just… there.”

“I see.”

“Are you gonna - join him?” Lyla asks.

“Do you think he’ll stay there all day?” you ask, wondering.

“In the past, he has but this year with you being here… I don’t know, honestly.”

Noticing your frown and worried expression, Lyla adds, “I’ll keep an eye out for him.”

You nod, grateful. “Thank you, Lyla.”

“You got it. Just - stay put, alright?”

“Alright.”

Lyla flickers away, leaving you alone. You check the time. It’s barely about to be 8:30.

You take a seat at the counter and drink the coffee in silence, thinking about how Miguel probably wants some alone time right now. You decide to let him be until noon, at which point you’ll show up to drop off some food so he can at least eat because you have a guess he hasn’t had anything except coffee.

After finishing your coffee, you eat something before going to your universe to check on things. You stay alert to your gizmo, just in case Lyla notifies you about anything, but no notifications come.

You return home an hour later after an easy patrol. Usually there’s no crimes on holidays like these, so there was no trouble. You do some light cleaning around the penthouse to waste time before you jump in the shower and get dressed for the day.

Back in the kitchen now, you notice it’s nearly noon. There’s still no sign of Miguel even when you decide to make lunch since you didn’t eat much before you went out.

It’s an easy lunch, so it doesn’t take long to finish making it. After eating, you gather ingredients onto one of the counters to bake. You decided a few days ago that you wanted to bake something for Miguel today, even if you play it off as a regular baking day and not because it’s Father’s Day.

“Hey, he’s heading out and coming back,” Lyla says as you place the last ingredient on the counter. “He’s a little quiet but not in a bad mood.”

“Thank you for letting me know. I appreciate it, Lyla,” you reply.

“Of course. Take care,” she says, deciding that she’s not needed. Miguel will have someone with him today. You. She waves goodbye before disappearing.

With Lyla gone, you start the oven and check on the lunch. You made plenty for both yourself and Miguel, so you begin to prep it for him.

Sure enough, you hear a window from the living room open a few minutes later. You look up just in time to see Miguel enter the kitchen, donning his suit. For a few seconds, you say nothing, trying to gauge his mood.

He reaches the counter, saying nothing. The oven beeps, indicating that it’s done preheating. It catches his attention, breaking him away from his thoughts.

“…Morning,” he says at last.

“Morning,” you reply. “Do you want something to eat?”

He starts to shake his head but his stomach grumbles with the scent of food in the air. “Yeah, but don’t worry about it. I’ll eat somet-”

“I made lunch,” you interject gently. “I made plenty, if you’d like some.” You fix a plate and show it to him. Thankfully he accepts it and eats at the counter, thanking you.

You do your measuring of ingredients, subtly looking at Miguel ever once in a while as he eats. You can definitely sense a different Miguel right now.

He finishes eating and excuses himself after he puts the dirty dishes away, promising to wash them in a bit before heading upstairs.

You bake on your own for a while. Lyla eventually plays music for you through Miguel’s sound system, probably finding the mood too somber, or something.

Half an hour later, Miguel walks back into the kitchen. His hair is damp and he’s dressed in a t-shirt and sweats. He approaches the counter, watching you as you check the oven through the glass.

When you turn to see him, he offers a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. The sight hurts you, but you don’t let it show.

“Hey,” he says. “How’s your baking going?”

“Um - good. No problems,” you reply, for a moment not knowing how to respond.

“Good, I’m glad it’s going well.”

You nod. “Do you - Did that meal fill you up? I can make something else.”

He shakes his head. “No, I’m alright, thank you. Lunch was good - it was fulfilling.”

“That’s good to hear.”

Miguel nods, thinking. He sits down, watching as you wipe the stand mixer down.

“I’m sorry,” he says suddenly, making you stop. “Today…” Miguel trails off.

“I know,” you say softly. “You don’t have to explain. I understand.”

He sighs gently, your words soothing him. He suspected you’d know but he still wanted to let you know.

“I’m better now,” he says after a few seconds. “I just needed - to be out of the penthouse for a moment. I’m sorry for leaving.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“I just left a sticky note,” he says, shaking his head at himself, as if disappointed at his actions. “Not - very nice of me.”

“Miguel,” you say, straightening up and meeting his gaze. “You don’t have to apologize nor give me any explanations. I understand you needed a moment, or maybe you need the day. And that’s understandable. No one would blame you for doing so.”

Miguel’s eyes soften, he offers a smile once again. This time, it looks more lively.

“Thank you for - always being so understanding, dulzura [sweetness],” he says, so softly.

“Always,” you reply, offering a warm smile.

Miguel keeps smiling, taking in the soft look on your face. You really are so understanding, so sweet.

“I’ll be here for you,” you add. “Whatever you want to do today, I’ll be here if you need me.”

He nods, looking at the counter now. “I really - don’t want to go anywhere.”

That makes sense. There’s probably families out and about, celebrating the day.

“We can stay here then. I’ll let you be.”

“No.”

“No?” you repeat.

“No, you don’t have to - let me be. You can… You can stay with me?” he says, sounding more like a question.

“If you want to… I can.”

“Yes - please.”

So you do. You stay near Miguel all day, like glue. You eat the baked sweets together, watch TV, and read. You make dinner together when it’s time and make conversation, keeping it lighthearted.

After dinner, Miguel asks if you want to go outside with him for some fresh air. Of course, you accept. You both climb out of the penthouse and up onto the roof.

Sitting down, your legs dangle off the building as you both watch the sunset. In the distance, you can see the traffic. You both sit there in silence for a while, watching the sun.

“That was pretty,” you murmur once the sun has set.

“It was, wasn’t it?” Miguel replies.

With a smile, you nod and lean back on your hands.

“Thank you,” Miguel says, making you turn to see him. “For sticking around with me. I really appreciate it.”

“Always,” you say softly, still smiling.

Miguel copies your position, leaning back on his hands. His fingers accidentally brush yours, so he shifts his hand to avoid squeezing yours under his weight.

You both stay like that for a few minutes. The silence is nice, comforting. You think about something as you look at the sky, and it’s not the first time. You’ve thought about it multiple times throughout the day but you’re still making up your mind, wondering if it’s a good idea.

You still debate it even when you both head back inside and tell Miguel you’re washing your hands in the bathroom even though it’s a lie.

You enter your bedroom and pull out the gift bag from the closet, debating. You sigh.

It’s probably not a good idea. Maybe you can wait until next year to give him these things, or maybe on another day that’s not Father’s Day.

“Dulzura [sweetness]?” you hear Miguel’s voice. “Are you okay?”

“I - yes!” You reply, moving quickly to put the bag away. In your rush, you slam your elbow on the closet door, wincing.

“I’m coming in,” Miguel says after hearing your wince.

He steps in just as you put the gift bag inside the closet, except it falls from where you placed it. You catch it quickly, remembering that something could break.

“You hurt yourself,” Miguel says stepping closer. “Are you okay? What happened?”

You huff slowly, giving up and placing the bag on the floor carefully before rubbing your elbow.

Superhuman or not, a hit on the elbow always hurts.

“Hit my elbow,” you say, still rubbing it.

“I heard the hit, let me see,” Miguel says. “It sounded loud.”

“It’s okay, just hit it on the door.”

“Allow me?”

You nod hesitantly, your face feeling hot out of embarrassment that you hurt yourself trying to hide the bag. You show Miguel your elbow, and he hums.

“Damn, dulzura. You broke the skin somehow - hold on.”

“It’s... fine,” you say watching as he exits the room. He comes back in seconds, a first aid kit in his hand. He motions for you to take a seat on the one chair in the room, so you obey. Reluctantly.

He gets down on one knee and gets to work, opening the first aid kit.

“It’s not that bad,” you say, looking at it. There’s some blood but that’s about it. Of course, it’s still stinging like hell - somehow getting worse.

“You’re bleeding,” he says as he opens an antiseptic wipe package. “Here. Let me see your arm.”

You hold it out for him, looking at his concentrated gaze. He shocks you when he gently wraps his free hand around your forearm - his fingers warm.

He gently wipes your elbow, which makes you wince.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers gently. “Just want to clean the area.”

You nod. “I know, it’s not that bad,” you keep saying.

That makes Miguel look at your face. “Why am I surprised? You’re a stubborn one, aren’t you?” He shakes his head and turns his attention back to your elbow. He was already gentle to begin with, but somehow he’s even more now.

“I’m not stubborn,” you say after a few seconds.

“Right, and everyone at HQ thinks I’m a beam of sunlight. They call me ‘solecito’ [little sun] - maybe you’ve heard members call me that before in passing,” Miguel says sarcastically, looking at you.

With serious faces, you stare at each other for a few seconds until your lips quiver, making Miguel’s quiver, too. Unable to hold back, you laugh.

Miguel chuckles, trying to hold back from full on laughing, but in the end, Miguel O’Hara laughs.

It’s a real laugh, so full of life. It’s the kind that makes his entire chest vibrate - rich and deep.

It’s the kind you’d do anything to hear again. And again. And again.

Your laughter subsides after a few moments but grins remain on your faces as Miguel continues to tend to your wound like you’ve come back from a rough mission.

“Solecito [little sun], huh?” you ask, chuckling slightly.

“Yeah, I’m everyone’s ball of sunshine,” Miguel replies as he puts away the antiseptic wipe. “You ripped your skin - what were you even doing in such a rush?”

You look to the side. “I was - putting something away.”

Miguel turns to look at the closet, noticing the gift bag on the ground. He hardly noticed it earlier, more concerned about you than anything else when he heard you wincing.

“A gift bag?” he asks turning back to you. His mind quickly connects the dots as he tends to your cut.

“Yeah…” you simply say, staring off to the side.

“You bought something?” he asks gently while he places an adhesive bandage on you.

You turn to face him and nod. “I did, but I didn’t know how to give it to you, and then when I saw you this morning - or in the afternoon rather - I felt it wasn’t a good idea.”

Miguel hums, his gaze softening. He’s done tending your wound but his hand remains wrapped around your forearm.

“And you hit yourself trying to hide it,” he says.

“I heard you coming in.”

“I came upstairs to grab my sweatshirt and then heard you sighing. It sounded like you were disappointed, so I just wanted to make sure you were alright. I didn’t mean for you to hurt yourself,” he replies, softly.

“It’s not your fault - I was just,” you pause and wave your free arm. “I didn’t want you to see it and then, have to tell you about it. I realized it wasn’t a good idea, so.”

“I’m okay,” Miguel replies. “You didn’t have to hide it. I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t show it to me. The first part of the day was a little hard but… the rest of the day has been better.” Miguel offers a reassuring smile. “Thanks to you. So... If you want to show me… I promise I’ll be okay.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

You nod slowly. “Alright.” You shoot your web and pull the gift bag towards you. “Um - do you want to?” you say offering the bag to him.

He nods, releasing your arm at last. He accepts the bag. After all the trouble you went though, there’s no way Miguel isn’t accepting your gift, even if it makes him feel bittersweet.

He opens the bag, still on one knee, and reaches inside. He feels different objects but he goes for something that feels round and heavy, wrapped in paper, and pulls it out. He places the bag down for a moment.

You slide off the chair and sit on the ground, joined by Miguel a second later. He opens the package gently, sensing it’s something fragile.

Pulling off all the paper, he finally reveals the item and holds it up, his gaze soft.

It’s a pottery coffee mug with traces of the color lilac, but it’s the main design that tugs the most at Miguel’s heartstrings: two bees, one smaller than the other one, and “Father’s Day” written under it.

“You remembered,” he says tenderly. “You remembered what I told you about Gaby - that she loved the color lilac and bees.”

“I did,” you answer, smiling.

Miguel smiles, his chest fluttering with happiness and pure ternura [endearment] as he stares at the coffee mug. “And you made it yourself?” He asks, knowing that you’re a hobby person, you like to try new things.

“Yes. I went to two classes this week and worked on it then. It’s not perfect, being my first time with pottery but I hope you like it regardless.”

“I love it,” Miguel says sincerely, leaving no question or doubt about it. He holds it, not wanting to let go of it. In his mind, he already knows he’ll be using this mug every day for coffee.

“I’m glad you - love it,” you say softly, happy with your idea. “There’s more though.”

“Right,” he says remembering. He places the mug down and reaches for the bag. His fingers find a small box, so he pulls that out. His curiosity grows as he realizes it’s the size of a jewelry box. He glances at you, wondering.

“Open it.”

Miguel nods, opening it gently. His eyes widen for a moment as he finds a gold bracelet, the kind that he grew up wearing as a kid.

“You…” he starts as his eyes read Gabriella’s name on the gold plate. “She had one like this, much smaller, of course. She wore it all the time, day and night. You noticed that from the photos.”

You nod. “I hope you don’t… mind,” you whisper. “I thought… it’s something you can wear sometimes, a physical reminder of her with you.”

He nods, sliding his finger over the name.

Gabriella.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “You didn’t have to - this is real gold, it must have cost a lot.”

“Don’t worry about that, please. I’m just glad you like it. I was worried - it might be too much,” you admit.

“No, no, this is - I only have one thing of hers,” Miguel confesses. “The guitar I place on the ofrenda. It’s the only physical item left, and it was pure luck that it made it, so this… Thank you.”

You can only nod, relieved that Miguel is okay with the bracelet. He takes a few moments to look at it, lost in thought, before he finally reaches for the last item. He doesn’t know what it is but it’s a flat and long item. He peels the paper carefully, revealing an art canvas.

You notice the front is facing you, so you wait for him to turn it.

When he does, his eyes soften and fill with tears.

“Dulzura,” he says. “This is - beautiful,” Miguel says, his fingers tracing the painting. A tear slides down his cheek as he stares at the image you painted of him and Gabriella.

He’s in awe with how beautiful it is, so much he needs to take a moment. He looks away from you and closes his eyes, his chest filled with emotion. He lets a breath out, swallowing the knot in his throat and looks at the painting again.

It’s him in his Spider-Man suit, face uncovered, carrying Gabriella on his shoulders. Gaby is wearing her soccer uniform, one hand in the air while she holds her soccer ball in the other one. Based on the background, they’re, here, at the penthouse.

More tears spill from Miguel’s eyes - tears you’re tempted to wipe away. You swallow the knot that’s formed in your own throat from seeing Miguel grow so emotional, and clear your throat. In a second, you pull your sweatshirt from the bed with your web and take one of the sleeves. You lift it.

“May I…?” you ask.

Miguel’s red eyes turn to you, his tears running down his damp cheeks. He doesn’t say no or yes, so you dry his cheeks with your sleeve, gently.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Miguel blinks a few more tears, but a smile forms on his lips. “Someone on a rooftop once told me they’re happy tears.”

You smile and pull back, remembering the time Miguel did the same for you. You told him they were happy ones.

“Happy tears are good,” you say, nodding.

“Yeah, they are,” Miguel agrees, wiping his cheek. “Thank you - this is really - so beautiful. So, so… beautiful. Thank you.”

“Always,” you whisper.

Still holding the canvas, Miguel sniffles and extends his arm. He offers his pinky finger.

And of course, you accept the gesture with your own.

You give each other a pinky hug.

“Happy Father’s Day, Migs,” you whisper.

“Thank you,” Miguel answers, still smiling with his pinky finger wrapped around yours. "Thank you, dulzura [sweetness].”

A/N: I have many thoughts about certain things in this chapter, hehehe

But anyway - I made myself cry with the Father's Day part at 2am lmao

I WISH MIGUEL HAD GABY IN HIS LIFE !!!😭😭 Gonna be sad about this all day fr but anyway, I want to say thank you to the people that replied to my post from yesterday about what you'd gift Miguel for Father's Day. I did the same thing for Christmas and I really loved incorporating readers' ideas into the fic, so I figured why not do it again and they didn't disappoint!!! @lauraolar14 @only-a-universe-away @oharaslove thank you for the lovely ideas!!!!! <33333

Also one more mention for @lauraolar14 !! The hair tie scenes were based on this fan art that was inspired by a post of NC head canons of reader (I think I'm going to start calling her Dulzura from now on, lowkey) and Miguel as temporary roommates THAT I'M STILL THINKING ABOUT SGFRYEHRUH THANK YOU LAURA!! ❤️❤️ That's enough yapping from me!! I hope you guys enjoyed this one!! I cried and laughed, and hopefully you do, too (but in a good way, you know?)!!

THANK YOU!! IT MEANS SO MUCH TO ME 🫶🏼🥺<3333333 Also, I hope you guys have a great start to your week!!!

Alondra❤️

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[lotsoflola]

all is fair in love and war [1] - s. johnny

summary: you hate johnny suh, you absolutely hate him, but when you're forced to spend time with him on a mission, your passionate hate becomes a different sort of passion genre: gang au, enemies to enemies with benefits to lovers warnings: mature themes, smut, angst, reader is a smoker (projection), TENSION!!!, hate fucking, heavy heavy heavy degradation, johnny's not very nice, the dirtiest fucking talk, dom!johnny, brat!reader, thigh riding, johnny gets head, johnny keeps fucking her despite threat of death, choking, wrote this at 2am lets be nice with my grammar word count: 6.6k author's note: welcome to part one of my baby!! this is the first chapter of all is fair in love and war and trust me, it just gets better...

series masterlist

neo city was a complete and utter shithole.

it had always been like that, at least as far as you were aware. you had lived here for the past five years, getting yourself a cheap starter apartment for half the price of anywhere else. it was a culture shock at first, being scared just to walk through the streets to your job, but you assimilated quickly, finding a job as a bartender in the inner city, in a cosy bar called the 'urban oasis'.

it was there you first had an interaction with gang life. it was a quiet night at the bar. you were practically dosing off, only a few regulars in the far corner playing darts, and everyone else had been sent home, leaving you to close alone.

a man walked into the building, and as he did so, the other men seemed to quieten down, stiffen slightly, stop playing their game. you were confused, but truly didn't care enough to question anything. instead, you turned to the man, and prepared to take his order.

he looked like neo city, if that was even possible. green neon hair, matching the fluorescent lights that covered the city, with tattoos up his neck and arms and a leather jacket to complete the look.

"whiskey on the rocks," he stated, voice harsh.

you rolled your eyes, hating rude customers like him. "what type of whiskey? we've got jack daniels, jamesons-"

"just give me your top shelf," he snapped again, and you gave him a pointed look before going to fulfil his request.

it didn't take you long, and when you passed him the chilled glass, you also handed him a receipt.

"that will be $45, would you like to pay cash or card?" you asked, watching as his face grew clouded.

"i'm sorry," his tone was almost testing, as if he was giving you a chance to take back your statement.

"i said it will be $45, you got our top shelf of whiskey," you repeated, going to wipe some glassware, but were met with a firm grip on your wrist. "what the fu-"

"leave it, honey," one of your regulars, a man called sooman, shouted across to you, fear lacing his voice.

"no, he got a whiskey, he'll pay for his fucking whiskey- let go of me," you tried to squirm, but his grip was harsh, and you truly couldn't escape.

"do you not know who i am?" he sneered, face dangerously close to yours.

you sighed. "i don't care who you are, i'm not getting fired because some dickhead wants to get away without paying."

and with that, you swang at him, your fist colliding with his head as he let go from the impact, giving you a chance to swing at him again. he jumped over the bar, and grabbing your arms, pinning them against your side before pushing you up against a wall, leaving you completely unable to move. it was only then you noticed the gun in his belt, and the tattoo at the base of his neck, one that had three letters.

n. c. t. the name of the most dangerous gang in neo city.

"fuck," you whispered to yourself, practically convincing yourself that you were about to die.

"recognise me now?" he almost joked, and you gave him a look. a look that said if you're going to kill me, might as well kill me now. "i'm not going to kill you."

that took you by surprise, and he must have been able to tell, as he carefully let go of your hands. "scram."

the rest of the customers ran out of the bar, leaving just you and the man alone, and he gestured for you to sit. you refused however, instead grabbing a bottle of tequila and pouring it into your own glass, waiting for him to make the first move.

"my name is taeyong, i'm the leader of nct," he spoke calmly, and you tried to not show your immense anxiety pumping through your veins. "and judging by what i've just seen, i think you would make a good addition."

you could have laughed, instead taking a swig of your drink, the bruning sensation grounding you to this unbelievable reality. "me? in a gang?"

"it's not all killing, and drug dealing, and all the other things everyone thinks it is. you've got bite, got drive, and we need someone like you," he took a sip of his drink, leaning closer towards you, "and you'll make more in your first week than you would in a month here."

and hearing his words, though you wanted to deny, you found yourself accepting his offer.

~~~

four years later, here you were, high in the ranks of the most feared gang in neo city, a force to be reckoned with. the bar you once worked for minimum wage at you now owned, and nct used it for meetings and to unwind.

no one could touch you know, instead of fearing the streets people now crossed the road for you, and you felt untouchable. you had honed your craft, mainly in charge of wooing policemen and being eye candy during meetings. you didn't care, you didn't want to be making all the decisions, it was the sense of community you cared about more.

so here you were, ten pm on a monday night, a group of you playing snooker in the bar. a cigarette held loose in your fingertips, with a fellow member jaemin lying with his head in your lap, playing with his hair with your other hand.

"do you ever think that this is all a simulation and we're all actually fruit in a fruit bowl?" the boy in your lap mumbled, the alcohol obvioudly affecting his thoughts.

jeno, another boy with you, chuckled slightly, finishing putting a pool ball. "shut up, jaemin. i always forget you're such a lightweight."

"now, now, he's not that bad," you hummed, taking a drag from your cigarette.

"stop playing nice, cherry. he's had about three shots and is contemplating life on this earth," haechan sneered, and you stuck your tongue out at him.

cherry was the nickname you had earned yourself, due to the amount you ate the fruit around the members. you preferred it to your own name at this point, making it easier to seperate your personal life and, well whatever this life was, life.

"he's not as bad as jisung though, remember that night after the bank heist," chenle joked, earning a slap from the youngest member.

"it was a celebration, god, leave me alone," jisung mumbled, as the older members ruffled his hair.

it was at this point haechan fell over attempting to put the ball, collapsing into renjun as they both fell on top of each other, roughly slapping each other as they rolled on the floor. the group erupted into laughter, only stopped as a knock was heard on the bar door.

"who's that?" jeno asked, and you shrugged, taking another hit.

"bar's always closed on a monday."

"well, go check it out."

"why don't you check it out, haechan?"

"it's your bar."

"nct owns it. that means we all own it."

"you chose to buy it."

"suck my dick."

"oh my god, you have a penis?"

mark, the oldest of all the members, cleared his throat. "jesus christ, stop bickering, cherry, go get the door."

you flipped haechan off, but stood up nonetheless, causing jaemin to pout against your thigh.

"i'm just going to the door, jaem, don't you worry?" you patted his cheek, before wandering over to the door, and opening the peep hole.

"bar's closed," you sung, "get fucked."

the man sighed. "it's me, open the fuck up."

you recognised that voice. of course you fucking recognised that voice. the one member of nct who you loathed, who for some reason you couldn't stand.

"gonna need the password, i'm afraid," you teased, mouthing to a confused mark who was at the door.

"let me in or i will blow this bar to the fucking ground," he spat, and you oblidged, however much you didn't want to.

johnny suh was a tall man, towering over you as you opened the door, with washed out jeans and an oversized hoodie, with a beanie on his head do deal with the cold winter weather. he was handsome, but you would never admit that to him, because his personality made him completely insufferable.

"hi cherry." god, you hated the way he said your nickname, almost with a twinge of disgust behind it.

"what do you want?" you asked, hand still firmly on the door, not letting him enter just yet.

he smirked. "play nice, need to talk to jaemin about something. and a drink wouldn't hurt, go get us a jack and coke, huh?"

he was insufferable, the way he spoke as if you were nothing, just a pretty thing to run and make drinks and flirt. even the non-affiliates got treated better than you, and you had been here for four years now.

"go fuck yourself, john," you spat, wandering back over to the boys and shaking jaemin awake. "someone's here to speak to you."

"is it the fruitbowl?" he asked, and you sighed, placing his head back down in your lap.

johnny wandered over, and you watched his face drop as he noticed jaemin's state. "why would you let him drink?"

the question was targeted at you, for whatever reason, and you fought back. "i'm not his mother, john. what did you want anyway?"

"don't be snappy, cherry," his voice was laced with venom, a patronising tone irritating you entire being, "it concerns you as well. it was meant to be you and jaemin, but someone's going to have to step in."

you hummed as you realised what he meant. a group of four of you had been working on stealing money from a large formal dinner happening at the mayor's house tomorrow night. that was partly why you and jaemin were drinking, courage needed for tomorrow. it was the two of you, johnny, and another member jungwoo, but the entire thing was already planned out. it was weeks in the making, so you didn't know what johnny was talking about.

"what do you mean?" mark spoke your mind, being somewhat in the know about the situation. he was selected before you were, when they decided they needed a girl to step in.

johnny sighed, palm stroking down his jaw. "you know how we were going to use that catering company, sneak in as waiters for the evening."'

you nodded, resisting the urge to role your eyes at him. you obviously knew this, you had gone over it again and again and again until you could recite the entire thing like the back of your hand.

"well, the numbers have dropped, and therefore we've been dropped from the waiting staff."

you tilted your head. "can't we demand they let us in?"

"they don't know we're nct, that was the only way we could get in," johnny groaned, once again looking at jaemin's drunk state, as if affirming that he was knocked out cold. "cherry, i need you not to freak out."

this startled you; sentences that start like that don't normally end well, especially when someone like johnny suh was saying them.

"there is another way we can get in though, through the hwangs."

haechan wandered over, perching behind you on the armrest of the sofa, grabbing the cigarette from your hand and taking a hit. "they're the businessmen, right?"

"yeah, very quiet, keep to themselves a lot of the time," johnny stated, copying haechan's actions as he settled behind jaemin's feet, "they're also with us, we do a lot of their dirty work."

"but how does that help us?" you jutted in, grabbing the cigarette back from haechan, almost burnt to the filter.

johnny tuts. "i was getting to that, sweetheart."

sweeheart was arguably worse than cherry.

"the hwangs have two children, hyunjin and yeji. but they've never been seen, both of them are off at school in a different part of the country. the plan was that jaemin would go in as their son, and infiltrate that way, but obviously he's not prepared to be briefed tonight."

your hand found it's way to jaemin's hair, your acrylic nails gently massaging his scalp. "so what else can we do?"

"well, there's another option. you," he gestured loosely, and you flipped him off before taking your final hit of the cigarette, putting it out in the ashtray as smoke filled the room. "you're going to go to the event as hwang yeji and represent your parents."

it wasn't that absurd of an idea. you could spend tonight learning some family history and dropping the rough slang you had learnt.

"that doesn't seem that bad," you hummed, grabbing your bag and pulling another cigarette out. "hyuck, have you got a lighter?"

he passed it to you, and you ignored johnny's judgemental stare of your brought the stick to your mouth, the low light of a flame illuminating your face. you took a long drag, head leaning back against haechan's thigh as you exhaled.

"well, i'm not sure whether you know, but for formal events like these, girls cannot attend without a male escort," johnny informed you, and you stopped in your tracks, understanding the implication. "no, no, johnny no."

"there's no other option, cherry," he groaned, and you took another hit.

haechan started laughing behind you, the vibrations travelling through his legs to your head. "you've got to go with johnny, cherry that's absolutely brilliant."

"fuck you, haechan," you spat, eyes locked onto johnny's. "why can't i do it with jungwoo?"

"he's a kim, he can't get away with that."

it was true. the kim's, despite many of them now turning to the crime world of neo city, used to be a very influential family. there was no way jungwoo could walk into the ball pretending to be someone else."

"and there's really no other way," you asked, desperation in your tone, taking another hit before haechan took it from your hands.

jisung wandered over to you. "come on, it's not that bad. johnny's supposedly a gentleman."

"ji, i love you, but there is no way johnny fucking suh is anything resembling a gentleman," you spat, making grabby hands towards haechan, wanting your cigarette back. "come on, hyuck, give."

"smoking's a vice, cherry."

"so's being a dick, give it back."

you could hear johnny tut, but chose to ignore it, instead trying to comprehend the situation. "can i get a makeover?"

haechan scoffed. "really? that's what you're after?"

"i'm just a girl, hyuck."

"yeah, she's just a girl," jaemin stirred, and you gave him a loving pat on the head.

johnny quickly checked his watch. "come on, we've got a fuck ton of backstory to get through."

"is there really no other option?"

"trust me, sweeheart. if there was, i would have found it."

and with that, you gently slid jaemin off your lap, placing a kiss on his forehead, before standing next to the tall man.

"come on then john. i need to get my nails done."

~~~

soft rnb music filled your apartment as the sun set over the skyscrapers, perched in front of your mirror as you carefully applied your eyeliner, ensuring they were equal either side. you had barely slept, spending the entire night with johnny and jungwoo, learning everything you would possibly have to know about the hwangs, and for a rich family in neo city, there was a fucking lot.

you had managed to convince taeyong to get allowance for your makeover, heading to the salon today to get a new set of nails, long and red to match your dress. your hair was in loose ringlets, fingers dripped in expensive rings, wrists the same with bracelets. a diamond hung around your neck, sitting way above your low cut dress. the hwangs were known for being scandalous, despite their quiet nature, so to fit the part, your dress was a low cut v, the back hollow crosses of loose satin, sitting halfway down your thigh.

with a swipe of lipgloss you were finished, packing a small clutch with perfume, lipbalm, and your gun. maybe the gun wasn't necessary, but it wouldn't blow your cover, so you though it better to be safe than sorry. half the people in neo city carried guns, and the other half walked with people who carried them/

you checked the time quickly. 5:57. johnny said he would be at your flat at 6, so you quickly checked through your phone. you had a few texts from mark, asking about the new show you guys had been watching, and a few from jungwoo, wishing you luck for tonight. it wasn't a scary thing anymore, you had done so many of these tasks that they felt like second nature. you were one of the few girls in nct that didn't mind going out, which made you incredibly useful for situations like this.

the doorbell rang just as you finished texting jungwoo, and you groaned, wandering through your kitchen before opening the door, seeing the man himself on the other side.

fuck. he actually looked good.

he was in a black tuxedo, bowtie tight around his neck. he was a tall man, that much was obvious, but with dress trousers he somehow look taller. his hair was in curtains, a deep brunette that hung just slightly over his eyes. not that you would ever say it out loud to him, but jesus fucking christ.

"you ready to go?" he asked, not even acknowledging your outfit.

you rolled your eyes. you knew you looked good, there was no way that he didn't realise how fucking good you looked. "nice to see you to. i just need to put my shoes on, calm down."

the set of red louboutin heels fit you perfectly, sliding into them with ease. you stumbled just after putting them on, but quickly grabbed your bag, a packet of cigarettes and a lighter off the table, before meeting him at the door.

"ready," you hummed, placing your key in the lock and shutting it behind you, before placing them in your bag.

he scoffed. "you really need the cigarettes?"

"you really need that terrible attitude?" you shot back, following him into the lift and pressing the ground floor button. you checked yourself out in the mirror, cleaning up the lipstick that had somehow escaped your lips.

"terrible habit," was his only reply, one that you didn't think needed a response, though you did notice the slight flick of his eyes to your boobs as you leant forwards slightly, an action that led to a smirk on your lips.

you quickly noticed that johnny's car outside, not a limo like you presumed. he seemed to notice your confusion as he deliberately didn't open the door for you, waiting for you to climb in yourself.

"ever the gentleman," you teased, watching as he started the engine, pulling away gently.

"we're driving to the oasis, that's where the limo is," he explained, not even given you a glance.

"why didn't you just ask me to walk to the oasis then?"

johnny scoffed. "like you would have walked through neo city in a slutty dress and high heels."

you flipped him off, but he did have a point. you would never do that anyway, least of all neo city. instead, you pulled out a cigarette, rolling down the window and lighting it, the bitter taste a comfort on your tongue.

"i'm serious when i say you shouldn't smoke."

"i'm serious when i say you have an attitude problem."

he rolled his eyes, eyes darting towards you as you tapped the ash onto the road. you could see the oasis in the distance, the familiar comfort of the bar calming you slightly. all you wanted right now was a drink, just a little bit to calm your nerves.

"fancy a shot?" johnny seemed to read your mind, pulling into the carpark quickly.

you both made your way into the building, the bustle quieting down as they noticed you and johnny walk in. you smiled as you saw jaemin behind the bar, the hangover evident in his eyes. his arms enveloping you in a tight hug.

jaemin was like a brother to you. he had taken you under his wing very quickly when you joined nct, but unlike a few of the other guys, he genuinely had no ulterior motives. he saw your beauty, understood why guys like haechan and jeno were so into you, but that just wasn't him. he was one of the few people you knew would always be there for you.

"fuck, cherry, you look gorgeous," he breathed out, and you planted a soft kiss against his cheek.

"thanks, jae. how's the hangover?" you chuckled, grabbing a bottle of tequila and two glasses, pouring two glasses for you and johnny.

he groaned. "how do you think? i am so sorry though, it should be me there right now."

jaemin had spent half the morning apologising over the phone, saying how you've taken his place and if only he hadn't drank so much. you appreciated his efforts, but you both knew you were more than able to do what needed to be done. despite all this, he paid for your lunch today, and that was a win.

"don't be stupid, besides now there's two of us going. even if one is practically incompetent."

johnny didn't like that, finishing the shot before turning to you. "watch yourself, sweetheart."

"bite me, john."

jaemin seemed to sense the tension, pouring you guys one more shot before leaving you to it. your rivalry was well known throughout nct, even some of the runners knew how much you loathed each other, and most people understood it was better to leave you guys to it, let you fight it out, and hope neither of you killed each other. or that whoever was your favourite made it out alive.

"you're insufferable, you know that," you spat, downing the second shot in quick succession, needing the alcohol to settle the violence in your gut.

"rich coming from you, can't even stand being in your presence."

"you're lying to yourself, suh. saw you checking me out in the mirror," you teased, leaning in closer to him.

he matched your energy, face bending down slightly saw your eyes were almost even. "i was not checking you out, i can assure you of that."

"tell yourself whatever you want, if it helps you sleep at night, but your eyes don't lie."

"half the guys in nct want you," johnny's voice was a low growl at this point, face so close to yours basically all you could see was him. "and do you know what? i don't fucking get it. you're a bitch-"

"lovely choice of words-"

"you think you rule the world, you think you're better than fucking everyone, but you're not. there is nothing special about you, and the sooner you realise that, the better."

"do you know what, suh?" you could feel the anger running through your veins, nails digging into your palms to stop yourself planting your fist into his face, leaving shallow crescents in your skin. "you think you're so smart, so precious. oh, johnny suh, johnny of nct, the johnny- no one can fucking stand you. god knows why taeyong keeps you around, half the young guys don't even want to know you- ever wonder why it's the same two guys who volunteer to be with you? because no one else even wants to be near you."

johnny opened his mouth, probably to insult you even further, smirk creeping onto his lips, but a notification on his phone went off, and he pulled away from you quickly.

"limo's here," was all he could say, and you pushed your anger back down inside you.

you were hwang yeji. be hwang yeji.

and ignore the weird feelings going on in your chest right now.

~~~

"hey, cherry, how's it going?" jungwoo asked, robotic voice over the phone as you pulled out a cigarette, locked in the guest bathroom at the mayor's house.

you sighed, taking a deep hit to calm your nerves. "all good so far, no one suspects anything. you and jae should be all good to hack the system come 12."

all jungwoo did was hum in response, and you hung up accordingly. you couldn't do anything suspicious at all, there was too much on the line. you took another hit, the smoke fogging the room as you took a moment.

you had spoken to about half the city elite, acting like the prestine proper girl you were supposed to be, but it was taking it's toll. you and johnny had been here for about four hours, and that was four hours too long of pretending to be enamoured by johnny suh. he was disgusting, hand settled in the small of your waist as he laughed at your occasional jokes, planting soft kisses into your hair.

it made you feel sick, sick to your core, sick enough that not even the cigarette was calming you down. johnny suh was an unbelievably irratating individual, one who made you genuinely revolted as his eyes locked on yours, and it took every morsel of self control not to announce to the whole room that you were hating every second of it, that you hated him.

you finished the cigarette, spraying some perfume in the bathroom before leaving the room, walking back over to your 'boyfriend'. he was with another two couples, not sure who, but he quickly introduced you as you slid under his arm, his hand resting against your side, thumb rubbing against your ribcage.

"this is hwang yeji, my girlfriend," god, how his voice made you feel ill. he sounded so in love, and the way his thumb felt against your body just added to it. some part of you felt confused, he definitely did not need to be doing so much, and yet he still was.

stop thinking about that. focus on what you need to be doing.

"yeji, my darling, gosh how you've grown," the woman, moon bora, planted a cheek on either cheek, hand cupping your jaw. "i bet you don't remember me, i haven't seen you since you went to boarding school."

"i know, it's been so long since i've been back here," you hummed, body tensing as johnny gently guided you over to a small table, where bora and her husband jinhyung followed you. he sat next to you, arm over the back of the chair, as you continued on the conversation. "i do miss it, yeah, though there are definetly benefits to living by the coast."

"oh, i can only imagine. do you get to go to the beach regularly, i know college can be quite intense," jinhyung asked, voice full of curiousity.

you went to respond, but your voice was a sharp choke as you felt johnny's hand on your thigh. "sorry, but no we do make time to go. it's beautiful in the morning, watching the sunrise over the ocean, it's really something."

bora and jinhyung kept their questions coming, and you could barely focus and johnny's fingers travelled higher and higher up your thigh, crawling underneath the silk of your dress, gently massaging the soft skin of your inner thigh. you squeezed his hand, a warning, a 'stop this', a 'what the fuck are you doing?'.

his hand got dangerously high, to the point where you could feel him just against the lace of your panties, before you heard an alarm on johnny's phone. 11:45. you needed to get a move on.

"god, i'm sorry," johnny broke the conversation, hand finally leaving your thigh to turn of the ringtone, "that's my medicine alarm. sweetheart, will you come with me to the bathroom to take it."

johnny excused himself, but you were convinced if you went with him now you would genuinely kill him. "let me just say my goodbyes, i'll meet you in a moment."

he shot you a look, but you gave him one back, and he dropped it. you turned back to the couple, with bora giving you a knowing look.

"gosh, you guys are so in love," she sung, and you resisted the urge to spit out your drink. "it reminds me of us when we were younger."

you smiled at her, lying through clenched teeth. "i'm glad you can tell, he's honestly incredible."

"don't think i didn't notice the way you were flirting under the table," she gave you a suggestive wink, and you swore then and there you were going to kill johnny. "young love, how much i miss it?"

you couldn't wait any longer to kill him, so you quickly excused yourself, and travelled through the mansion, past the toilet to the computer room, in charge of the entire house's security, one you had previously mapped out in the planning stages.

"what the fuck?!" you exclaimed, entering the room where johnny was sat on a desk, laptop open with a download completing sign on the front. you locked the door behind you, securing it with a desk you pulled across the front. "what the actual fuck?!"

johnny payed no attention to you, keeping his eyes on the laptop as the percentage went up and up.

"fucking answer me you dick, what's your game?" rage coated your voice, your hands gripping his dress shirt and pulling him out of the chair, forcing him up looking at you.

"whatever do you mean, sweetheart?" he cooed, and the fake loving tone drove you crazy, crazy enough that you brought your hand up to slap him across the cheek.

the action through him back, surprise across his face quickly turning to anger. "you have issues, fuck."

"i have issues?!" you were seething, anger clouding your vision and your hand gripped his shirt tighter, pulling his head down so you were opposite him again. "you've been touching me all night, fucking groping my thigh, grazing my waist, are you mental?"

"do you not understand the concept of fake dating, sweetheart?" his voice was low and dangerous and, however much you wouldn't admit it to yourself, sexy as fuck. "we have to pretend to date-"

"dating does not include groping me."

"i didn't fucking grope you, calm down cherry," johnny sighed, and you pushed him away ever so slightly.

your hand ran down his body, tracing a line down the centre of his abs, watching his muscles contract as they tensed under your touch. "so this doesn't bother you?"

"not in the slightest," he tried to keep it calm, but the way his breathing shortened told you the opposite.

but you kept going, you were fucking fuming. "so if i touch you here," you hand trailed further down, running over the waistband of his trousers, your long nail circling around the hem, "that doesn't bother you."

"fucking stop," he ordered through gritted teeth, but of course you didn't instead keeping your descent until you were over were he did not want you to be, pushing just enough to push johnny over the edge.

and he snapped.

his hands came to grab your wrists, his physical strength easily overpowering yours as he pushed you up against the wall behind you, vaging you against the wall, the paint cold against your open backed dress. your hands were pinned above your head, and legs forced still by johnny's thigh in between your own, body pressed up against yours.

"i thought i told you," he spat, mouth so close he genuinely filled all your senses, "to fucking stop."

you hadn't lost your fight yet, though. "i thought you knew, that what you say means nothing to me."

"do you know what you are?"

"please, do enlighten me," you fought against his grip, but you couldn't escape. johnny was told and strong, and however much fight you had, you could not beat that.

"you're a slut."

those words were unexpected, causing you to gasp as they went straight to your gut, weird butterflies emerging in your chest.

"you're such a fucking slut. act all you want but i saw how your body acted when my hands were on you, when i looked at you like that. like a bitch in fucking heat."

you were genuinely gobsmacked. no words could come out of your mouth to defend yourself.

"but do you know what, sweetheart?" his teasing was endless, however, not letting up despite your lack of retaliation. "i think you like this, i think you like me calling you what you are. a desperate little whore-"

"i don't," you're voice was nowhere near as strong as you wished it would be, because deep down you knew he was right. the butterflies in your stomach were definetly telling you that you were enjoying this, and the way your core was aching.

"tell that to your thighs squeezing around mine," his lips were centimetres away, "because i've realised what you need. you need someone to put you in your place, to remind you of what you are. a needy, desperate, slutty little bitch, don't you sweetheart?"

all you could do was whine at his words, your hips rutting against his knee without even thinking. his words were doing wonders, you could feel how soaked you were without him even really touching you.

"grinding against my fucking thigh, you really are a bitch in heat," he practically scoffed, a hand travelled down from your wrists to wrap around your neck, squeezing enough to cut off your airflow slightly, the feeling making your head spin and vision dizzy.

"i know you've fucked hyuck," he stated the words so nonchalantly, like they weren't personal details you had never told him, "and i know you've fucked jeno. i'm pretty sure you've fucked jaemin as well, but they obviously didn't fuck you good enough for you to still have this attitude, huh, sweetheart?"

you couldn't fathom the words to respond, overwhelmed by the pleasure between your legs. your breathing got shallower and shallower and your air was cut more and more, rings indefinetly causing dents against your soft skin. johnny tensed his thigh, and you couldn't hold back the whine that escaped your mouth, the feeling just too good as your clit rubbed against the fabric of his trousers.

he could only scoff, his hand dropping your wrists and instead sliding down to your hip, kneading the skin as he manouvered your body, sitting down and pulling you down onto his lap, or more specifically his thigh. he finally let go of your throat, grabbing the other side of your hip, and you let out deep breaths, trying to gain back some sense of clarity.

"if you want to be a pathetic little thing," his tone was almost teasing, his large hands beginning to rock you back and forth, "then go ahead. get yourself off on my thigh."

and you followed his instructions, swinging your hips and getting into a steady rhythm. johnny's eyes dropped to where your body met his own, one hand sliding under the soft satin of your dress and feeling the lace panties you had on underneath.

"god, you're dripping, you're actually dripping against your thigh," he practically laughed, your wetness sticky on his fingers as he pushed the lace to the side, and the pleasure was just too much to contain, a moan leaving your lips. "shut the fuck up, cherry. don't want anyone to see how much of a whore for my thigh you're being right now."

you dived into his shoulder, biting down on his jacket to stop the sounds he was practically forcing from your throat. his hands sped up your pace, forced you to keep going as you felt the knot tighten in your gut.

you panted out, the sound of your wetness filling the room as he leant up, looking into his eyes with a sense of desperation. "gonna cum, john, need to cum."

"oh, you need to cum, do you?" he sneered, leaning back against the desk chair, feeling a sense of gravity as he watched the girl he hates fall apart on his thigh. "you need to cum."

"need it- need it so bad," you whined, biting down on your lip hard enough to draw blood.

johnny tilted his head, a mischevious glint in his eye. "stop moving."

"what?" you panted, confused by his words but not stopping your movements. "no, no, i'm so close."

"i don't care, stop fucking moving," he spat through gritted teeth and his lifted you off his thigh, your hips moving in mid-air as you groaned, feeling the pleasure leave your body as your high left your body.

your eyes locked onto his, tongue poking your cheek. "what the fuck!"

"needy sluts like you don't get to cum," he said as if it was the most obvious thing ever, sliding back from the chair and spreading his legs, placing you down on the floor. you didn't even have the strength to hold yourself up anymore, collapsing against his leg, the cold concrete floor a shock to the system.

however much you hated to admit it, johnny looked majestic. with his legs spread, eyes glaring down at you, hair messy as his tongue ran over his bottom lip. you couldn't tell what he was thinking, and that worried you. you were on your knees in front of the man you hated, and for whatever reason you were actually excited about what was going to happen next.

johnny didn't say anything, but his actions spoke a thousand words, his hands going to his belt and undoing it with ease. you felt your mouth water as he slid his trousers down, revealing his hardening cock from his underwear. you leant forward, hands ready to grab it, but one of his own hands nestled itself in your hair, pulling it into a makeshift ponytail as he pulled you back.

"here's what's going to happen, sweetheart," he shuffled forward on the seat, tempting you to just have a look. you could tell from the bulge that he was big, and all you wanted at this point was your mouth around him.

god, how were you having these feelings about johnny suh.

"you're gonna let me fuck your face like the slut that you are," your thighs rubbed together as he returned to the degrading words, "and then i'll decide whether you deserve to cum."

his other hand pulled his now hard cock out of his pants, and your eyes widened at the sight. he was big, he was so fucking big, and there was no way that he could fuck your throat without cutting off your air supply.

"john, i can't-"

"you can, just open that slutty little mouth for me," his tip poked against your lips, and you complied, hesistantly parting your lips as he slid between them, the stretch agony at first. "there you go, relax your throat. don't want to hurt you that much, cherry."

those words were different, they were softer in a way. they were johnny being sincere, not 'putting you in your place' or 'teaching you a lesson'. and they relaxed you, enough that he slid even more into your mouth, tears building in your eyes, threatening to spill over.

"god, you have no idea how good that feels," he groaned, seemingly not to you, but just to the world. "tap my thigh if i'm good to move."

you followed his order, typing his thigh twice before he started to move back and forth. you tried your absolute hardest not to gag around him but it was so hard when he was practically stopping you from breathing, hitting the back of your throat over and over again until you physically had to gag around him.

johnny hummed, a pity hum, seemingly back to his old self. "what's wrong? thought you would be used to dick in your throat."

you took a deep breath as he pulled out, gasping for air as drool dripped down your chin, his dick hanging in front of you.

"don't tell me hyuck never fucked that pretty little face of yours?" he voice was playful, hand sliding from your throat to cup your jaw, thumb roughly dragging over your bottom lip. "look at how messy you are, sloppy little slut."

you took a deep breath, looking up at the tall man towering over you. "they weren't as big as you."

"aww," his tone was so patronising that if you weren't so dick whipped you would have slapped that expression off his face, "am i too big for you?"

you didn't resond, feeling like you were stuck in a trap, but that wasn't good enough for johnny. "i said, am i too big for you? because if you can't suck me off, you haven't done enough to cum tonight."

those words went straight to your desperate core, and you leant straight back to his dick, letting him back in as he pounded even harder and faster than before. you braced it, trying your hardest not to gag around him again. johnny's groans filled the room, and you just prayed you were doing well enough to get to cum later.

sa johnny's thrusts began to get more sporadic, he pulled out, hand leaving your head to jerk himself off. "open your mouth, tongue out."

you did as he said, sticking your tongue as you patiently awaited his cum, eyes glaring up at him as he kept his wrist moving at a quick speed.

"god, you're such a fucking slut, aren't you?" his words were said between low grunts and groans, obviously needed to get him over the edge. "tongue stuck out, drooling over my cock, thighs squeezing together at the idea of getting my cum in your mouth. fuck- cherry- fuck-"

and with that he came, most of it landing straight on your tongue, the salty taste filling your mouth. a small bit coated your lips instead, but johnny was quick to scrape that onto your tongue as well, before leaning down and spitting in your mouth. his saliva mixed with his cum as he barked out a 'swallow', and you did as he said. the action was so dirty, so vulgar, he was treating you like a messy, slutty object, and for whatever reason you were loving it.

"you did good, sweetheart," he cooed, thumb rubbing over your cheekbone, "i guess now it's your turn."

his hands settled under your shoulders, pulling you up from the group and back onto his lap, this time legs over his hips as you collapsed against his chest. you were fucking exhausted, head pounding from the pleasure coarsing through your veins. you could only imagine how you looked right now - mascara undoubtably smudged from the tears dropping from your eyes, lipstick removed from your lips and displaced onto your cheeks and chin, hair no longer its perfect ringlets and instead messy curls.

"god, you're still so fucking wet," he almost gasped, pad of his middle finger drawing a line through your folds. you could almost hear his actions, the squelching of your wetness deafening as your cheeks reddened with embarassment, your face hiding in his shoulder. "i bet you're so fucking sensitive- ah, yes you are."

your hips bucked as his finger pushed against your clit, so worked up from the lack of your last orgasm that you barely needed anything to become putty in his hands. he chuckled as he kept up his pace, other hand settled on your hip, rubbing up and down as you whined into his shoulder.

"still so needy, i wonder what would happen if i just...?" and with those words, a finger entered your pussy, curling up against that spot inside of you that caused your entire body to tense. "god, you're so fucking tight, would have thought this slutty cunt would be more used to cock than this, don't know how i'm ever going to fit."

you couldn't even understand the words coming out of his mouth. your orgasm was approaching so much faster due to how sensitive you were. and when he added another finger, the stretch just adding to the euphoria you were feeling, he could tell you were close. you just begged he would actually let you come this time.

but of course, he didn't. pulling them both out of you when you started to clench around him, and the denying pleasure for the second time made you absolutely crazy. your body was drained, completely drained of energy, and you didn't know how much more you could take.

"please," you sounded pathetic, most likely looked pathetic, and all you wanted was to cum. you sounded like the desperate whore he made you out to be, but at this point you couldn't even dispute it. "i can't take it, please."

johnny hums, as if considering your proposition, but really he knew your time was up. "need me to fuck you, sweetheat?"

"need you, john," you panted, using the last of your strength to push yourself up off his chest, to finally look him in the eyes, "please, wanna feel you in me."

that was all he needed, grabbing your hips and aligning you with his cock, and you were suddenly very aware of the position you were both in. there was absolutely no way you could ride him, you were far too out of it for that, but the way you were sat on top of him meant you couldn't think of another option.

but of course johnny was prepared, grabbing onto your hips and completely controlling your movements, sinking you down onto his cock for him and oh my god was he big. your mouth unknowingly feel into an 'o' shape with the stretch, feeling so so good as he bottomed out completely.

"pussy feels so good wrapped around me," johnny groaned, moving your hips up and down for you, so you were riding him without having to do any work. "dripping all over my cock, aren't you, my pretty little whore."

you couldn't even process the fact that he had called you both 'his' and 'pretty', instead trying not to scream and alert the entire house of the fact that you were locked in a room that you were definetly not meant to be in. your orgasm was incredibly fast approaching, the knot getting so unbelievably tight as you clenched around johnny.

"gonna cum, gonna cum," you repeated it like a mantra, until you heard a voice just outside the room. your hand flung to your mouth instantly, biting down on the flesh to stop any sound you were making.

johnny kept going though, despite the glares you were shooting him, to the point where you had to slap his chest in an attempt to stop him.

"fucking stop," your voice was a whisper, as quiet as you could muster while you could still hear voices outside. "i'm serious."

"you want to cum, don't you?" he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and there weren't people outside who would definitely kill you if they found anything out. "so just keep quiet, and then you'll get what you want."

so you tried your hardest not to make a single sound, but johnny's pace was relentless, pounding into you at an angle that hit such a good spot inside of you, and you had to bite down into your hand to stop yourself moaning as you released all over his dick, the feeling so much better after your denied orgasms earlier.

but johnny kept going, still chasing his second orgasm, and you just let him use you as he thrusted up, soft grunts after every buck. "gonna let me cum inside of you, like the whore you are?"

"yes, please," you didn't even know what you were saying anymore, now chasing your own second orgasm while the voices outside grew louder and louder. "want your cum, johnny."

"of course you do, fucking slut," he spat, through gritted teeth, "i can feel you clenching around me, you close again? am i fucking this messy pussy so good that you're gonna cum again?"

you nodded against his skin, and you both came at the same time, and the feeling of him filling you up was the cherry on top of this entire experience. you couldn't move, you felt numb with pleasure as johnny lifted you off his softened dick, placing you on the chair as he ran over to the laptop, and a smile creeped onto his face.

"download complete," he smiled, voice low as possible, "let's get out of here, cherry."

you span around in the chair, looking at him like he was stupid, becuase that's how he was acting. "there's people outside, dumbass."

"then we'll have to climb out the window," he spoke in the same stupidly obvious tone, and you actually accepted his suggestion. you could see jungwoo's car from here, and a quick dash would mean no one would see your escape. "come on, let's go."

you tried to stand up, but your legs gave up straight away, causing you to collapse straight back into the chair. johnny chuckled slightly. "i fuck you that good, huh?"

"you mention anything that happened tonight ever again i will kill you, i promise you," you swore, voice low and serious.

johnny tilted his head. "so you didn't just beg for me to come inside of-"

"just carry me out of here," you snapped, and he oblidged, arms behind your shoulders and knees and he walked through the floor to ceiling windows, and wandered through to where jungwoo was parked.

"never mention it again," you repeated, "tonight never happened."

"tonight never happened," he agreed, but turned to look at you again, "but you better drop that attitude, cherry."

"or what?"

"or i'll have to fuck it out of you again."

[immajustvibehere]

Amidst a Crashing World (1/5)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader

summary: You had left the gang about a year ago. There were many reasons as to why, but that you had received a rather gruff rejection from the man you loved was definitely on that list. Now, Arthur appears in front of your little cabin with an interesting demand.

tags for this series: fluff, little bit of angst, no-tb-Arthur, literally your love redemption, maybe smut (but probably not), slow burn (but I mean how slow can a story really burn in five chapters?)

Link to my Masterlist

1600 words, less than 10 minutes reading time

It had been a year since you had last seen him. He was one of the reasons why you had decided to leave the gang. Because it had become unbearable to be around the man you had feelings for. The man you had confessed those feelings to and the man who had rejected you. It had been an uncomfortable moment, to say the least. Dutch had been talking about a bigger score for a while now and the mission had only been a few days away. You had approached Arthur who had been seated near a campfire with Hosea and Reverend, deep in a seemingly serious but one-sided conversation.

"May I talk to you for a moment?", you had pleaded. Your hands had been shaking. You had been aware: every score the boys went on held the possibility of never seeing them again. And you had felt brave that day. Brave enough to finally confess that you had feelings for this man. He was kind enough and caring towards you. He never was someone to express affection too openly so you hoped...that even if he did not feel entirely the same, he might be open to get to know you better and give you a chance.

"Sure", Arthur had grunted, a little groggily and stood up. You had walked a few steps away from Reverend and Hosea, just far enough to make give them the impression that this was supposed to be a private conversation. Quickly, but precisely and not without a certain shake in your voice, you let Arthur know that you liked him. More than the normal amount at least.

You peaked through your curtains to watch this very man dismount from his horse and caringly fix its reins next to the one of your horse, which was barely acknowledging the visitor.

For a moment, Arthur had just stared. Then he had shifted awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck with a warm but stifled chuckle escaping his throat.

"Yer joking, aren't ya?", he mumbled as he nervously peeked back to Hosea and Reverend, who hadn’t exactly given you attention during this ordeal. When Arthur had caught your dead-serious face and how you swallowed after he had said those words, he knew that you, in fact, hadn’t been joking.

"I- ehr...I don't see ya like that, I'm sorry", he had stumbled over his words. His voice hadn’t been upbeat or hopeful, not even apologetic or friendly. No, the longer you had turned those words over in your mind afterwards, you heard how bitter, how disappointed, and somewhat accusatory he sounded. He had turned around and had walked back to his log, shaking his head, chuckling coldly.

Arthur's hand plunged into his jacket, and he pulled out a wrinkly, yellowy paper that he unfolded. As he held the paper in one hand, a grin flitted across his face, before he took a breath and started loudly:

"I'm looking for the fierce, the ferocious....", Arthur stopped and plucked a ripe tomato from its stem. You had been growing this beautiful tomato plant right next to the gate that separated your garden from the path that travellers commonly used. But Arthur was the first one who had the audacity to help himself. Then he went on: "The downright awful degenerate y/n. Supposedly, she robbed a stagecoach and left the driver in a condition that left much to desire...She has fled to find refuge from her abhorrent, ginormous bounty of 15 proud dollars!"

Arthur had a shit-eating big grin on his face when you finally pushed the door to your little cabin open. He popped the tomato into his mouth, savouring the taste as he watched you step into the light and lean against the door frame.  

"That you?", Arthur asked indistinctly with his mouth full, quick to catch some tomato juice with his sleeve as it escaped the corner of his mouth. He held up the bounty poster that showed the most unflattering sketch of your features that you had ever seen.

"I look myself in the mirror quite often, but I've never seen this creature staring back", you joked as you nodded at the sketch. You were still unsure what his sudden appearance at your doorstep was supposed to mean.

Arthur shrugged and sarcastically answered: "I really think they did ya justice. Have you seen the pictures going round of me?"

You had. They weren't nearly as bad as the one he held up of you. But they did paint him more cruel than he looked right now. Honestly, knowing him better, all you can see is an actually soft man which might look big and scary when he swings his gun around, but now, as he took his hat off, he looked harmless. The afternoon sun nearly blinded him as he looked at you, but he deemed the gesture necessary to be polite, apparently.

"Yer trying to take me in for a 15 dollar bounty?", you asked and crossed your arms.

"Don't want'a sound rude but that's barely worth it...", Arthur smiled, "No I ehrm...was close by. A farmer down that way told me you was living here. I helped him fix a wheel on his waggon."

"Sure...", you mumbled suspiciously. There was no way you would have naturally come up in this conversation.

"'s been a while...", Arthur commented.

"Yeah. More than a year. Took me this long to figure out how it'd bear fruit", you pointed at the tomato plant Arthur had stolen from.

Shamelessly, he plugged another one and ate it, "They're good."

"I know", you sighed. You had given up and moved aside to let the man into your cabin.

It was a humble little place. Just big enough to fit a table, three chairs, a bed, a stove and a cupboard. Arthur noticed the rifle that leaned next to the bed, the few books that were scattered on the table and finally his eyes fell on a couple of sketches you had pinned onto the wall. After leaving the gang, you had tried your luck with drawing. Yes, it was a way to remember Arthur, because though you haven't seen many of his drawings, you knew he sketched everything he laid his eyes on.

For a moment, you hoped that Arthur would comment on your sketches. There was one of a doe that you were particularly proud of, but Arthur just briefly scanned them before turning his attention back to you.

"Nice little cabin ya got here...killed the fella that lived in it before or...?", Arthur suggested, his eyes falling on a little hole in the roof that needed fixing and the bedframe which was uneven and brittle.

You almost laughed at the suggestion: "No. It belongs to an old lady who went to live with her sister in the city. She gave me the cabin to look out for, until her grandson is old enough to live in it."

"Oh", Arthur commented, fidgeting with his hat.

You had spent months trying to forget this man. You were sure you'd never see him again, not if you could have helped it. You were glad about leaving your affiliations with the van der Linde gang behind. However, this had never been the official deal. The deal had been that you could roam for a while, figure yourself out and then join back. You never did. And now you had a sour feeling as to why this man was currently scanning your backyard through the window.

"Why are you here?", you asked, your tone serious.

"It's good to see you again", Arthur light-heartedly said. It almost sounded like a joke.

"Arthur", you warned him.

"Lot has happened since you left...", Arthur said, still wandering around in this cabin as if he was scanning the small territory, "we lost some people in Blackwater...Mac and Davey...Jenny..."

You knew about Mac. It was reported in the newspaper, but when Arthur mentioned Jenny, your jaw dropped. You felt a sort of anger flare up. You had gotten along well with Jenny. She was a kind and funny girl and you had considered her a friend.

"How did- Why...How did this even happen?!", you grumbled, "Jenny wasn't someone who would be in the midst of a fight. Hell, she knew how to handle a gun, but-"

"I know", Arthur interrupted, "couple weeks ago we lost Sean, too."

"Why are you here, Arthur? And why are you telling me this?"

"Wanted to see how you've been doing...", he shrugged, but his demeanour changed when you opened a drawer. You didn't even need to pull out the gun before Arthur stopped with the sugarcoating.

"Dutch wants you back."

Hell, this didn't sound like a suggestion. It was more like a threat. Arthur was here to collect you. Not for a 15-dollar bounty, but for Dutch. Because he had lost too many people and now you needed to jump in. Also, every bit of hope you held close to your heart, that Arthur...that there was a tiny bit of him that wanted to see you. That he really wondered how you had been doing.

It died with those words. It stung.

"Get out", you demanded.

"Y/N-"

"Arthur, I'm not coming back."

"Dutch-"

"I don't care. I don't give a fuck what Dutch wants", you yelled, slowly pulling the gun out, "Honestly, you have some nerve showing up with this request."

Then, you had to laugh. Laugh at the absurdity of it and laugh because you were hurt. The laughter helped to supress the tears, for now.

"Ya ain't gonna shoot me, sweetheart", Arthur said knowingly, putting his hat back on and slowly backing out towards the door, arms still raised because he didn't want to give you the impression that he'd draw on you.

"Don't flatter yourself", you said, slowly walking towards him to make him move out of your house, "I wouldn't shoot your pretty face, but I can put holes in other parts of your body and it would hurt enough."

You felt bold, cocked the gun and aimed at his leg.

"Y/N..."

"Tell Dutch you didn't find me. Tell him I'm dead. Tell him I forced you to draw on me and you shot me...I honestly don't care. I'm not going back. I'm not...canon fodder for a cause I don't believe in anymore", you stated, your eyes fixed on Arthur. He might just notice that tears pricked your eyes, there was a hint of concern in his features.

When he opened his mouth, you were quick to interrupt him: "If you care for me just the tiniest fucking bit...yer gonna fuck off right now and not come back."

You thought about how he'd answer, 'I don't see ya like that', lasso you and drag you back into whatever hole the gang was hiding at the moment, but instead, he tipped his hat, turned around and mounted his horse.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Next chapter: here

I never have the nerve to keep a consistent taglist, but here are some tags for people who said they might be interested in that sort of story:

@pinkiemme @loveheartarthur @lonesome-ranger @twola @shiokitsune @hugthedragon @missredemption @kakashiislut @thewalkingdead1463

If you want to be tagged, please comment under this post if you want to be included to the taglist for this story OR any fic I post in future.

Special thanks to @little-honeypie 'cause we've been cooking that story up together <3

[midnightlizard]

Other side

Kara Danvers x gn!reader

Summary: You and Kara have been dating for a couple of weeks and you've never been very affectionate in public, or in general. So when one night you get drunk, everyone is surprised when you can't keep your hands to yourself. Especially your girlfriend, who can't stop blushing

Warnings: alcohol intake, nothing else, just fluff

Word count: 1580

-

-

It had been a while since the Superfriends got all together, unable to find a day where everyone was free to hangout.

So, when the opportunity finally made itself present, you decided to spend the night at the alien bar.

All the gang was there, except for Kara and James who got caught up in work, but should be here soon.

"what's gotten into you?"

You raised your head from the shoulder it was leaning on to look at your best friend.

"what do you mean?" you slowly squinted your eyes, and Lena laughed at that.

"I haven't seen you drunk in years, and as soon as you drink again, you become the clingy soft friend I met in college" and to emphasize her words, she raised the hand you were holding, fingers linked together.

"Winn lost at beer pong so now he has to pay for my drinks" you explained "of course I'm taking advantage of it"

"and I'm not clingy, because I'm drunk" you clarified after a second, laying your head back on her shoulder "I always show you my love"

And if the ceo had a witty remark to make, she was stopped just in time by the brown haired man, calling your name.

"I want a rematch, you in?" it was only thanks to the alcohol in his system that he didn't notice the position you were in.

"you really think you're going to win, schott?" an uncharacteristic playful, loud voice coming out of your mouth "but if I win, again" you got up to get closer to the man "you'll pay for my drinks next time we go out too" you raised your hand, which was instantly shaken by Winn.

"deal"

While the two of you were playing, Kara and James entered the bar, finding their friends at their usual table. As soon as they reached the table, your girlfirend noticed two heads missing

"where are (Y/N) and Winn?" she asked the group, causing James to look around.

"they're playing beer pong" answered Alex, leaning slightly into Maggie's side, stealing one of her fries.

"you should be careful with (Y/N) by the way" added the police officer, an amused glint in her eyes, but she missed Kara's confused face, to scold her girlfriend for stealing her food.

"what do you mean careful?" she furrowed her eyebrows, and turned to look at Lena when the woman opened her mouth.

"they tend to be a little..different, when they're drunk" she knew she could have explained it way better, especially since she has known you longer than everyone else, but she also wanted to keep the surprise.

And Lena knew the blonde didn't have to wait for long when she saw you approaching, with a wide grin on you face.

"hi baby" you whispered with a light slur to your voice, sneaking your arms around her from behind, resting your hands on her stomach. No one was able to hear what you were saying, except for the kryptonian of course, but your actions were enough to make everyone either laugh or hang with their mouths open. "I missed you"

"uh, hi (Y/N)" James spoke up quietly, as if he didn't know if it was really you

"hi man!" you greeted, raising one hand to high five him, the ohter still laying on your girlfriend. Time was moving a lot slower for you so when James spent a second too long to reciprocate, you turned to the blonde who was carefully watching your every move.

"I'm going to get something to drink, do you want anything?" you took a step back when you felt her moving aroung in your hold, making your hands drop to your sides.

"don't you think you've had enough?" she let her gaze shift between your eyes, noting the slight emptyness in them "why don't you sit down, I'll go get something myself"

Although your steps were secure, as was your balance, Kara still didn't feel like letting you walk on your own with your hands full of liquor, especially since she has never seen you act so 'unserious', or 'different' as Lena described it. And she definitely wouldn't let you drink anything else.

"oh no don't worry, Winn's paying for my drinks" you cheerfully rebutted, not realizing she wasn't worried about the money. That made the woman look at a Winn who was just as intoxicated as you, now groaning at what you said.

"besides" you resumed talking, putting your fingers under Kara's chin so she could look at you, and you missed the way her cheecks turned a bright pink at the touch "I want to treat my girlfriend" you winked, or maybe you just tried to close your eyes, but the action was definetly intentional.

The super rapidly blinked her eyes and when she came back to her senses you were already gone, Winn on your tail.

"don't worry, they know when to stop" vocalized Lena when Kara sat down next to her.

And she tried to listen to her friend's words, to believe you did know when too much was too much, but she couldn't help the pang of worry in the pit of her stomach as her gaze went back to you and the loud conversation you were having with her coworker, while waiting for the drinks.

As Lena predicted, after the beer you just ordered, you stopped drinking completely, and even refused to play another game with Winn when he offered.

"are you sure you're alright (Y/N)?" your girlfirend whispered in your ear after a minute of you silently staring in her general direction

You slightly leaned back to able to look at her, and flashed her a sweet smile "of course I am. You're just so pretty you make it hard not to look at you" you uttered out, removing a strand of blonde hair that fell in front of her glasses.

"uh- oh, thank you" she whispered, but she wasn't sure you were able to hear her.

And if she had any braincell still working properly in her system, it stopped working when you landed a soft kiss at the corner of her mouth, her infatuated red cheeks resembling your alcohol induced ones.

The rest of the night had the same light touches from you, with your hand resting on her thigh or a kiss to her face when she said something funny or smiled sweetly;

and the same hesitation from Kara in accepting said touches, loving the attention but not knowing when was the alcohol doing the decision for you.

Then it was time to go.

"give me your car keys" the blonde softly ordered as soon as you two stepped out of the bar, stopping in front of you, careful so that you wouldn't bump into her with your slow reflexes.

"why do you need my car keys?" you asked, but still held them in the air for her to take.

"because I'm not letting you drive like this" she answered, putting them in her back pocket "come on, I'm taking you home."

"do you need my house keys too then?" you tilted your head to the side, but she shook her head.

"no I was, I was thinking you should sleep at mine, actually." she started walking to her car "in case you start feeling bad in the middle of the night"

While trying to guess why you should feel bad at your own house you felt your hand being pulled, and found Kara back by your side.

"come on, let's go home"

The car ride was silent, the kryptonian did try to make conversation, but a couple of failed attempts later she focused on your breathing, noticing you fell asleep, probabaly as soon as she started driving.

Once she parked her car and turned the engine off, Kara tapped on your shoulder a couple of times, whispering your name.

You let out a little sound, and raised your head from the window "mh?"

She couldn't stop the smile that formed on her lips, leaning in to lay a kiss in between your eyes. "we're here" she whispered, never taking her eyes off yours.

When you entered her apartment she closed the door behind her, putting her bag on the nearby couch. As she raised her arms to take off her jacket you stopped her, grabbing the beige material yourself.

She let her hair down from the ponytail it tied was in, and feeling hands on her waist she turned around, automatically putting hers on your shoulders.

"what's going on with you?" she laughed lightly, and started running a hand through your hair when you crouched down to lay your head in the crook of her neck.

"I'm drunk" as if the reporter didn't know already "and I'm tired. Lena was right"

"yea I can see it" she didn't know what you meant when you mentioned the brunette, but she let it go "you've been stuck to me all night"

You raised your head, the grip you had on her shirt now faltering. "was it too much?" you could feel yourself sobering up a bit

"oh no (Y/N) it was okay" she took your face in her hands, her cheeks red at the memory "I was just surprised"

She laughed at the sound of relief you let out, hiding your head back on her neck.

"come on, enough of tonight." she whispered, pulling you to bed "let's go to sleep"

Kara Danvers Masterlist - Supergirl Masterlist

General Masterlist

[christinesficrecs]

Hey Christine! What are some of your favourite deleted sterek fics?

There are so many!!! Everything by Circe6 and Grimm.

Alpha Spikes by starbeast | 70.1K | Explicit

Unchained by exclamation | 156.1K | Explicit

Werewolves are considered little better than animals and often treated much worse, forced into slavery from birth. Derek has been owned by enough humans to know their cruelty. When he’s bought by Stiles, he expects more of the same. But Stiles is not like any human he’s dealt with before.

The ETA from You to Me by tylerfucklin | 105K | Explicit

No Way Out by trilliath | 121.5K | Explicit

this town is only gonna eat you by sempiternalsea | 16.3K | Mature

On the outskirts of Stockholm, Derek takes down six men of eight with nothing but a boot knife and Stiles at his back. By the end, he’s covered in an array of bruises and blood and dirty snow, crouched low to the ground. Stiles stands by him, posture perfectly erect, Glock still raised. He’s got a smear of lipstick on his mouth and gunpowder residue on his sleeve. The men at their feet do not stir. (An AU where Stiles is a spy and Derek is his assassin.)

My Patience is a Medal by Saucery | 6.1K | Mature

Lead Me Home by Circe6

"Yeah, the world had gone to shit. What's left of it split into territories, viciously fought over andprotected, as if anything is worth protecting any more. Forests to the north, wastelands to the south.There are human territories, wolf territories, witch territories and no-man's lands, where the Chimerasrule."

A post-apocalyptic fairytale

The Silver Lining Of Smog by Circe6

Set in a dystopian future in the year 250X, where everyone lives in large metropolises known asthe Poleis. Each Poleis is controlled by the guilds and the gangs that dominate the seedy underworld.

Derek is a member of the notorious Triskele gang, working as a drug runner for his 'Uncle' Peter, who is a pimp and a ganglord. After Derek brings in a stray werefox he found on the run from the police, his entire world begins to change.

a mountain to climb by grimm | 126.4K

“Don’t do it,” he mutters. “Don’t do it, please, don’t do it.”

But there it is, a soft pink line appearing right next to the control. Stiles’ legs give out from under him; he sinks to the bathroom floor, hands shaking, his entire body shaking. It’s hard to breathe, his vision blurring around the edges. There’s a knock on the door behind him and then it opens and Scott sits down next to him.

“I’m fucked,” Stiles gasps, tears prickling at his eyes. “I’m fucked!”

Want is a Dangerous Thing by grimm | 19.2K | Explicit

It was bad enough that Derek was so terrible at meeting people that he had to buy himself a mate, but it was even worse that his mother called a pack meeting about it. Laura was never, ever going to let him live this down.

Dating Backwards by RemainNameless | 85.8K

Pornstars Derek and Stiles work for the same company. Derek only shoots with werewolves and Stiles only shoots with humans. That’s not going to change after they meet. It’s really not. (It might.)

Its Called a Heart Boner by RemainNameless | 26.7K | Mature

The five times Derek saves a very drunk Stiles and the one time Stiles saves him back.

hold on to me because I’m a little unsteady by starcanopus | 6K | Time Travel AU

show me something beautiful by starcanopus | 9K

Isaac is the one who first catches sight of the ring, an entire two months after the captain had joined the 14th precinct. It’s somewhat pathetic, really, considering the fact that an entire floor full of detectives hadn’t noticed right off the bat.

But when he does see it—a thin, silver band so innocuous that it could have just been a trick of the light—he trips headfirst into a recycling bin, earning a dirty glance from his boss through the window of the man’s office and Isaac kind of wants to sink into the ground and never come back out, but he has a duty to fulfill: spreading the news to every floor of the precinct that the captain is married.

Captain Derek Hale is married.

Circe6 | Grimm | Saucery | RemainNameless | Starcanopus.